The deafening roar of the fighting was supplemented by high-pitched metal squeals and the growl of an engine. A Japanese Chi-ha tank approached. Its green and orange-red paint seemed to blend in with the smoke and explosions around it. The tank fired its short-barrelled 57mm gun at the positions in front of it; the hull machine gun sprayed the area in general.
This was what tanks are supposed to do. Mongkut knew that. They brought their gun up to close range so that they could combine a heavy shell with pinpoint accuracy. That helped the infantry cover the open ground and chew a hole through the defenses. He didn’t see where the first two or three shells went. He did see the one that exploded in the pit used by one of his Lewis guns. He saw something circling up through the air. For a moment, he thought it was part of the stricken Lewis gun. It landed not far from him. He saw it was a foot, still inside its regulation Thai Army boot.
The Chi-ha lurched and started to move towards the entrenchments. Mongkut saw brilliant flashes as rifle and machine gun rounds bounced off its armor. The tank seemed to ignore them. An explosion on the front of the tank seemed to push it backwards. One of the battalion’s 75mm infantry guns had waited for just the right moment to hit the tank from just the right angle. The Chi-ha stopped dead; burning furiously from the devastating shell hit that had torn its front open. Mongkut felt bitterly ashamed of what he had thought about the artillerymen just a few seconds earlier.
The Japanese infantry were still coming; still moving towards Mongkut and his men. He aimed again. This time, his bullet struck his target squarely in the chest. He could even see the little puff of dust from the front of the man’s jacket and the spray of blood behind him as it left his body. Incredibly, the man was still coming. Mongkut worked the bolt on his rifle and fired again. This time his target went down.
There was hardly any time or space left. A Japanese officer came straight at him, swinging his sword back in preparation for a deadly blow. Mongkut fired his rifle. He hit the Japanese officer in the shoulder for all the good that seemed to do. Then, he blocked the swing of the sword. The katana sheered deep into the wooden furniture of his rifle; he felt the shock as the blade bit home. Having blocked the swing, he thrust with his bayonet. Mongkut saw his victim run right onto the point. His arm was flung back. The katana flew through the air, and his hat was hurled high above his head. Mongkut saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. He had much more important things to worry about. The officer had doubled up around the point, fouling the bayonet and dragging it down. By then, Mongkut had another round in the chamber. The recoil as he fired it pulled the bayonet clear of the officer’s body.
The trench line was a primeval bloodbath. Japanese leaped into rifle pits and trenches. The fight was a brutal match of men in blood-splattered green or khaki gouging, clubbing and tearing at each other. One Japanese soldier had Corporal Pon down and was pounding at his face with his fist. Mongkut grabbed the Japanese by the neck and pulled him backwards, dragging him off the corporal. Another figure in jungle green swung at the Japanese with a meat cleaver and ripped open the man’s chest. Even through the dirt and blood, Mongkut recognized the battalion cook. There was no time to ask questions. The Japanese were everywhere. Every man was needed. The meat cleaver was designed for this kind of butchery.
Mongkut moved along the trench line, stabbing and battering anything not dark green. In this confined area, his rifle was useless. He had drawn his entrenching tool. Its weight and carefully sharpened edges provided a much better weapon. It crushed heads or sunk deep into chests. He swung blow after blow. It was now literally dripping with blood and things that Mongkut dared not name. By then, he had lost track of time and space. He didn’t know where he was or how long the fight in the trenches had been going on. All he knew was whether there was a khaki-clad target in front of him or whether it was time to go and find another one. He wasn’t even aware that his men had formed up behind him and were methodically sweeping their sector of the trenches clear.
General Nakamura took another long look at the map in his command tent. It wasn’t supposed to be happening like this. Japanese willpower and fighting spirit always carried all before it. The map was starting to show otherwise.
It wasn’t that the casualties had been much heavier than he had expected. The ground in front of the Thai positions was carpeted with Japanese dead, but the soldiers were expendable. They could be replaced by conscripts for the cost of a postage stamp. It was that the Thais hadn’t fled when the assault had reached their positions. This hadn’t happened before. A few bombs from some aircraft, a few rounds of artillery and a determined charge supported by a light tank or two would send the Chinese Army reeling backwards.
This time, his men were locked in battle in the defense lines against an enemy that would not give up. Several times, in several places, his infantry had broken through the defenses, only to find a Thai officer had grabbed a few men and assembled a blocking force. Cooks, clerks, truck drivers, messengers, anybody who could hold a weapon, had been thrown into the battle. That small group of men would hold back the breakthrough until a reserve force could arrive on the scene and drive his men back into the bloody swirling chaos of the trench-fighting.
“Sir, we need to commit the 21st Brigade right away.”
Major General Masao Watanabe, commander of the 21st Brigade, could envisage what was happening in the maelstrom that was engulfing Ridge 70 without being told the details. The whole of 9th Brigade was committed to the battle there. He doubted very much if anything was left of the 11th Regiment. That unit had spearheaded the assault and it had probably been cut to pieces. The survivors had probably made it to the Thai lines and died there, but they would have disabled the defenses long enough for 41st Regiment to get across no-man’s land with far less loss. It was probably 41st Regiment that was engaged in the bloody battle of attrition taking place up there now. Watanabe believed that if he could bring both the regiments of his 21st Brigade in a coordinated blow at the same sector of the line, they could smash right through.
“One more good, hard push will do it.”
Nakamura looked at the maps. He could see the same thing that Watanabe could. The Thai defenses on the ridge were bending under the ferocity of the Japanese assault, yet not yielding enough to allow the breakthrough he needed. On those grounds alone, hurling 21st Brigade into the battle on the ridge was a road to victory.
Yet, there were things worrying him about this battle. They didn’t end with the lack of any reserves. Most of the Thai artillery had stopped pounding the crossing areas and moved to supporting the infantry defenses. They still had heavy artillery that was concentrating on the Japanese batteries. Nakamura had heard the shells and seen the blast; they were 150mm guns at least. The Thais also had control of the air over the battlefield. Their aircraft were arriving in relays. As soon as one group had finished bombing and strafing, they would withdraw and another group take over. Their fighters had driven off the Japanese defenses and it would still be hours before reinforcements arrived.
There was another reason Nakamura hesitated to release 21st Brigade. The Thai position along Ridge 70 was anchored on the Mekong at one end and on a mass of high ground at the other. Much of the galling artillery fire slowly destroying the Japanese batteries was coming from that high ground. That implied more Thai troops up there. Nakamura had elected to ignore those hills when he launched his assault. The hills didn’t go anywhere; if he’d taken them, they’d simply expose a further stretch of the Mekong. He would have sacrificed much of his division simply to widen his hold on the river bank, leaving no reserves to exploit the crossing. To get anywhere, he had to take Ridge 70. But the Thais could use those hills to launch an attack on his right flank. If he committed 21st Brigade to the assault on Ridge 70 and that happened, they would roll up his entire division.