Chief Cook opened her eyes and saw the nice young Airman who'd been so grateful for his bowl of soup, lying on the floor. Dead, may his spirit be rewarded by a propitious rebirth, she thought. Assistant Cook was lying across the room, a splinter almost a meter long sticking in her chest. The strange angle of her neck told Chief Cook all she needed to know about her late assistant.
Almost without thinking. Chief Cook took the kerosene container from the rack and started pouring it on the floor. As the container glugged empty, she dragged herself across to the gas stove and opened the valve on the propane cylinder as wide as it would go. The gas hissed into the room, making her choke but it was all ready now. She got out the battery-powered lighter one of the airmen had bought her after she'd burned her thumb lighting her stove with a match and got ready. Then, even above her coughing from the gas that was rapidly filling the room; she heard the crash as the Japanese broke down the door. And she even thought she heard the click as the end of the lighter burst out into flame.
Operations Center, Laum Mwuak Airfield. Thai/Japanese Indochina Border
“Whoa, look at that. The Japanese won't be eating anything there!” The explosion that blasted the cookhouse was spectacular even by the standards of the airstrike a few minutes earlier. Still, the defenders there might have taken some Japanese down with them but the Cookhouse had still fallen.
“Order Cabrank to hit the Guardhouse. Take out what's left of it. The residency is gone, we can't hold it any longer. Call the commander there and tell him to fall back. Burn the place as he goes.”
“Sir, the Clubhouse?” The Clubhouse was also the wing museum, filled with their trophies from the war with France. Parts of aircraft shot down, pictures of victories, a wall covered with the signatures of pilots.
“Burn it. Tell Cabrank to hit anything and everything short of the Golf Course. We'll fall back there. They've still got their rockets?”
“Yes Sir. The big ones, the 132s”
“That will do. Lord be praised, the Ozwalds do like to put big warheads on everything. The Ostriches have to buy us time to regroup around the Golf Course. Are the families out?”
“On their way, out the back door. We're holding that open, there's been some skirmishing in the hills but nothing serious. They're taking as many of the wounded with them as they can.” The ground shook as one of the Ostriches roared overhead, then an ear-ripping scream as it fired a salvo of RS-132 rockets into a group of Japanese trying to outflank the residential area. “How long can we hold Sir?”
“At least to dusk. We've got to hold until dusk.”
On the Road to Tong Klao, Recovered Provinces, Thailand
“It's the Army. Lord be praised, the Army is here.” The policeman's voice was remote, even, almost distant. His eyes were the same way, haunted, as if they were focused on something a thousand meters away that only he could see. His uniform, light green rather than the Thai Army's dark jungle green, was torn and dirty, stained with sweat and the red laterite dust. The policeman had only his pistol but with him were half a dozen villagers, some carrying old Type 45 rifles, one had a thick-barreled flintlock musket.
“How far behind you are they? How long have we got? And are there any more of your people out there?”
“No more, there were, but the Japanese got them. A few minutes no more. They move so fast, never seen men move so fast through the scrub. Every time we set up, they flanked us, drove us out.”
“Very good. Corporal, get your men to the rear, you've done more than anybody could have possibly hoped. I have to ask, did you actually use that flintlock?”
The policeman's eyes flicked into focus “Oh yes, we did that. The Japanese thought it was a field gun; it created so much smoke when we fired it. We bluffed them three or four times with it before they realized what it was.”
Sirisoon nodded. That was the theme tune for today. Make use of whatever came to hand and pray it would hold just long enough. “Go on, get back, get your people something to eat and drink. Sergeant, this is good ground, we'll hold here. Third section out on the right, second section and us here, First, back there and on our left. Give first both the weapons section MG34s, one rocket launcher to each section.”
“Both machine guns on the left ma'am?”
“Both, You heard, the Japanese are in a flanking mood. I want them to try it and walk into three MG34s. Say again, nobody fires anything but rifles until I say otherwise. When I give the word, Second section drops back to there, halfway between first and third. That way we'll get their main body in an L-shaped ambush. Now move.”
Underneath the German-style coal-scuttle helmet, sweat was rapidly turning Sirisoon’s hair into a tangled, sodden mass. Lesson one she thought. American-style crew-cut hair. It would send her mother mad of course. But there was a reason why Thai women of old had cut their hair short and Sirisoon had just relearned it. Then she saw something in the grass up ahead. Figures moving forward up ahead. A skirmish line, moving cautiously but as a unit. Not fire-and-movement, all the men moving together. Risky but a price paid for speed. Move fast enough, keep the enemy off balance and one could get away with taking chances. Only, this time, they hadn't moved quite fast enough. Then she saw a flash of light, reflecting off glass. Binoculars? Eyeglasses? Something like that.
As she watched, she saw the figures moving forward, some half crouched, others kneeling. One of them did have binoculars. You're mine; she thought and centered the hooded foresight of her rifle on his chest, about six inches below his neck. And the foresight blade evenly spaced between the leaves of the rear sight, its top level with the top of each leaf. Safety catch over to the left. Gentle, gentle pressure, an even squeeze throughout her hand and - it was a surprise when the heavy Mauser kicked into her shoulder. She could see the puff of dust from the man's jacket as he was flipped backwards. Then the stutter of rifle fire along the line as her men followed her lead and opened fire on the point unit of the Japanese advance.
There had been ten Japanese in the unit but only a handful got a chance to return fire. The Mausers took them down fast, one after another. Those who survived the initial shots tried to fire back at the figures who were lying in wait for them but they never got an even break. Sirisoon worked the bolt on her rifle, blessing the silk-smooth Mauser action that was so different from the sticky, heavy bolt on her father's Mannlicher and picked herself a second man. She fired, he went down although she wasn't sure whether she'd hit him or he'd just dived for cover. She hadn't watched because after her second shot, she'd rolled away from her first position. Fire one shot, she thought, they know you're there. Fire a second and they'll know where you are. She could hear a wheel, wheel noise as the Japanese return fire sliced through the grass but the time she'd got into position to fire again, it had stopped.
“Get back, everybody stay down and get back to the fall-back position. Now. Fast. Move, move, move.”
Her HQ section and Second obeyed her, crawling back through the grass to the line she'd picked. About 70 meters behind the first and in a shallow ditch. Now, her three sections were in a diagonal line, third advanced, second the center, first refused.