He was so intent on seeing the dive bombers at work that he missed his forward pickets breaking out of the treeline, running for the ridge. They were half way towards the defenses dug along Ridge 70 when spurts of dirt started to erupt around them. The leading edge of the Japanese infantry had to be close. How did they close up so fast?
It was a hard thing holding fire while his pickets were brought under fire, but the cost of revealing his positions this early would be worse. In any case, the range was a little too long for the Japanese rifle fire to be really effective. A few men were hit, but the others picked them up and helped them to cover. Somchai breathed a little more easily; then suddenly realized that he was impatient for the Japanese assault to start. Waiting for the blow to fall was sapping at his nerves.
“Sir, the Japanese are right behind us. They’re riding bicycles through the forest.” Somchai turned slightly to face Sergeant Mongkut. The man was out of breath from the run back to the main formation and he was trying to compose himself.”
“Did you see the tanks?”
“No, sir. We heard them though.”
“Very good, Sergeant. Rejoin your men and make ready. It is time the Japanese were taught that they are not the only men in Asia who know how to fight.” Somchai thought for a second. That sounded suitably inspiring.
That was when something very strange happened. The whole world seemed to go completely silent. The artillery fire directed at the Japanese positions on the far bank, the buzz of aircraft overhead, everything seemed to pause for a second. In one of the slit trenches, Capa took a look and dived for cover. Somchai guessed that, after covering all the wars he had, Capa probably knew what was happening. Somchai followed his example. His men saw him taking cover, assumed he knew what he was doing and followed his example. The silence only lasted a few seconds.
There was an intense howl of inbound artillery as the concentrated artillery of the 5th Motorized Infantry Division opened up on the positions along Ridge 70. It was followed a split second later by the crash and howl of the Thai artillery opening on the unmasked Japanese batteries.
Somchai curled up in the bottom of his slit trench. He had dug it in absolute conformity with the instructions he had been given. It was as narrow as possible, so that fragments from shells exploding around him would have as small a window for entry as possible. He’d hollowed out the bottom so there was an overhang to protect him from shells that exploded overhead. For all that, he knew that if one of the 105mm howitzer shells scored a direct hit, all the careful digging in the world wouldn’t save him from the blast. He knew that his trench still gave him an excellent chance of survival against any reasonable kind of bombardment. It just didn’t seem that way, now that the shells were actually arriving.
He knew something else. As an officer, he had to be aware of what was going on and make ready to receive the impending assault. He sneaked a look out at the ground in front of him. The shells threw up clouds of muddy fragments that looked like leaves falling in a windstorm. Combined with the smoke from the explosions, he could hardly see anything. The noise was so deafening, it was impossible to make sense of anything else. Then, the hail of shells seemed to slacken. Visibility cleared. Across the couple of hundred meters that separated him from the treeline, formations of Japanese infantry were running towards him. Between the infantry groups were Japanese tanks.
Somchai knew his voice would still not carry well enough to alert his men. There was an answer to that. The shrill blast of his whistle penetrated the bedlam around him. He heard the sound taken up by his NCOs as they led the men out of their foxholes and took up positions to beat back the assault.
The heavy artillery fire had lifted. Now the shells were landing in the gap between Ridge 70 and Ridge 77 a kilometer to the rear. That didn’t mean that the forward positions weren’t getting hit; merely that they were now under direct fire from the Japanese 70mm infantry guns, not indirect fire from the 105mm howitzers on the other side of the river. Sergeant Mongkut wasn’t actually sure than was an improvement. The shells were still arriving. Now they were being deliberately aimed at points of resistance. He sighted down his rifle, looking through the showers of mud and debris and the clouds of smoke. Japanese troops were pouring out of the treeline. They were already starting to cross the open space that separated the trees from the Thai positions. His squad had a pair of Lewis guns, one for each of the two nineman sections. The gunners were waiting for the whistle blast that would tell them to begin their work.
The Maxim guns fired first. Mongkut could hear their long tattoo of fire. The guns swept backwards and forwards across the Japanese troops. There were two Maxim guns per platoon, a total of 24 for the battalion. Mongkut knew the officers had spent most of their time making sure they had been properly placed and well protected. They were they key. As long as they remained firing, the Japanese could not survive an attempt to cross the open ground. The Japanese knew that as well.
Watching the groups of Japanese advance, Mongkut saw them being tumbled down by the machine guns. He also saw something else; small groups of Japanese taking cover. He knew from the information that had been passed down the line that each Japanese platoon had three 50mm mortars. They were more grenade throwers than mortars; sacrificing shell weight and range to lighten the weapon so that it could be carried around by the infantrymen and taken into battle. Their specific job was to take down the heavy machine guns. That was just what they were starting to do. That made them a priority target.
The explosions were small, but the Japanese crews had spotted the Maxim guns. The mortarmen were very good. Their shells were on target. The steady rhythm that was cutting down the assault infantry wavered. Now the Lewis guns would come into their own. Mongkut smacked Corporal Pon’s helmet and shouted into his ear. The battlefield noise was so intense Pon could barely understand what was being said. But he saw where Mongkut was pointing. He was where he belonged, right alongside his Lewis gun. The light machine gun started stabbing out short bursts. That took fine judgement. The bursts had to be long enough to be effective, short enough to conceal the fact another machine gun had joined the battle. The bursts silenced the mortar. Fire from the nearest Maxim steadied as the harassment of the mortar fire ended.
Now it was the turn of Mongkut’s platoon to be on the receiving end of the galling mortar fire. The small shells weren’t really big enough to be a serious threat, but they were a nuisance. There was a big difference between a threat not being serious and not existing. He was being splattered with mud from the little shells. It was only a question of time before one of the splats was from a fragment of shell casing. To make matters worse, the burst of fire from his Lewis gun attracted the attention of the infantry guns. Their larger, much more lethal, shells had started to impact around his positions. The shriek of their shells was almost as terrifying as the bursts, but Mongkut knew that the sounds of shells arriving had never killed anybody. Blast and steel fragments were different. They were all around him. Where is our artillery? Where are our infantry guns? Why aren’t they silencing the enemy guns? Have they run away?
In front of him, barely 50 meters out, the Japanese emerged from the clouds of debris-laden smoke. Not the ordered waves that had left the treeline, but groups of men who ducked and weaved as they ran towards the Thai positions. Another whistle blast pierced the roar of the artillery fire and the hammering of the machine guns. Mongkut sighted on a Japanese infantryman. He squeezed off a round, cursing the useless dustcover that encumbered the action of his rifle as he worked the bolt. The man went down, but Mongkut believed he had simply gone to ground.