There was a roar overhead, an American helicopter from the cruiser Roanoke lying offshore was heading for Hood. The Americans may be trigger-happy but they moved fast when they needed to. And that included helping their friends, Dahm thought. Right this moment, he would trade half his guns for a shipboard helicopter.
“You heard, Number One. Action stations now. Seal down. I'm going over to Hood? Outside sirens were sounding, from ships and from emergency vehicles on shore.
Quarterdeck, INS Hood
“Captain Dahm, thank you for getting here so quickly, and thank Rana for the speed of her response. God, what a mess.”
That was an understatement. The quarterdeck looked like a butcher's shop that had been hit by a hurricane. Shattered wreckage and bits of bodies everywhere. Few recognizable. Captain Ladone shuddered, this was worse than a shell hit. “Don't touch anything, the bomb was packed with fragments, nails, bits of metal and there may be some sort of poison in it as well. We don't know if that's true or what it might be. The Docs say a couple of injured died even though they shouldn't have.”
“What happened?” Dahm looked at the hideous carnage surrounding him. This was worse than anything he'd ever seen. He and Ladone ducked as one of the dark blue American helicopters lifted off, taking wounded to a shore hospital.
“The Admiral's Chief Steward wired himself with stolen explosives and blew himself up. Took a tray of drinks over to Admiral Singh and Prime Minister Locock and just blew up. They're gone, both of them. They must be around here somewhere, but, well you can see the mess. We've got at least forty dead, over a hundred injured. Its going to get worse, we've hardly begun to count yet”
He stopped while another American helicopter touched down to pick up casualties.
“The Steward was Iqbal, a Moslem. Been in the Navy for years. He left a note in his compartment. 'We Must Have Pakistan' it said. Kanali, you'd better be damned careful now.”
More sirens and emergency vehicles arrived shoreside. The entire dockyard was a mass of ambulances, fire engines and police cars now, their lights giving a strange festive air to the disaster. While the political and military implications of the disaster started to sink home across the world, on the scarred and bloodstained quarterdeck of INS Hood, the medical teams worked frantically to save the wounded.
Wireless Road, Bangkok, Thailand
Even official limousines have problems sometimes. While Sir Martyn Sharpe and Sir Eric Haohoa relaxed in the back of their official limousine on their way to the Indian Residency on Wireless Road, their driver was trying to work their route through the evening rush-hour traffic. Once, this had been an easy task but no more. Increasing prosperity meant more private vehicles and that meant traffic jams.
Suddenly, their driver pulled into the side of the road. An army motorcycle had pulled in ahead of them and stopped. Now the rider, Army uniform but wearing a white helmet, scarf and gloves was walking back. Sir Eric noted he was keeping his hands in plain view and he had a terrible sense of unease. The soldier, from the Thai military police, an organization better known as “the White Mice” spoke with urgency.
“Your Excellencies, The Ambassador apologizes for the inconvenience and discourtesy but requests that you return immediately to Army Headquarters. The gravest of emergencies has arisen. My men and I will provide you with an escort through the traffic.”
As he finished there was a howl that even drowned out the traffic, four F-104s went over the city on full military power, climbing hard. The other military police were stopping the traffic and making room for Sir Martyn's official limousine to turn. The F-104s were followed by a pair of the F-105s, straining for altitude with their wings loaded down with bombs. The officer gestured upwards. “You may see how serious the situation is, they even have got those working.”
It was a grim and tense ride back through the city. Whatever it was that was happening, word was spreading. Crowds were gathering outside electronics shops selling the new televisions. Thailand had opened its first TV stations only the year before but the technology was catching on fast. The motorcycle outriders did a good job of clearing away traffic and they made it back to the Army headquarters in a few minutes.
Two M-41 tanks were sitting outside the building now and a General was running from one side of the courtyard to the other. If nothing else, that highlighted how serious the events in progress were. The Ambassador had already come to meet them. Now, she was carrying an AK.-47 rifle slung over one shoulder.
“Sir Martyn, I am so terribly sorry have you heard the news?”
““No Ma'am, your men brought me straight back here.”
“Very well, it came just a few minutes ago. Sir Gregory Locock has been assassinated. We have few details as yet but none that we have are good. It appears that he and other members of the Cabinet were attending an official reception on board the Indian battlecruiser Hood when a suicide bomber blew himself -and them - up. The dead and wounded are in hundreds. The hospitals in Melbourne are full. We have gone to full alert, you must have seen the aircraft taking off. Your President has done the same in India. We are setting up a communications link for you now. Our equipment here is much better than that at your Residency. Please come to our main conference room.”
The room was full of senior officers, passing information around as it came in. Most were armed and many were wearing the green-and-black camouflaged uniforms the Army wore in combat zones. As the two guests entered they were seated at the main conference table with a young woman behind them. She started quietly translating as much of the meeting as she could, keeping the guests from feeling left out. Looking around. Sir Eric sensed the primary mood of the gathering was confusion, there was too much speculation, too little hard fact to base it on. Messages were coming in, casualty figures rising inexorably.
The Ambassador sat down with them, her rifle banging her hip as she did so. “The Deputy Prime Minister, Mr. Joe Frye is taking over. He'll be on the line to us soon. Have you noticed the pattern in the casualties? The number of dead continues to rise but the number of wounded has started to fall. It seems though the most seriously wounded are dying at an unexpected rate. I think we will find that bomb was much more sophisticated than just a few sticks of explosive.”
Suddenly every officer in the room jumped to attention. The new Australian Prime Minister had patched through on the secure communications link. The King had also been patched in and was speaking to Mr. Frye. It was the usual message of sympathy and condolence for a great loss but there was one surprising thing; the King stated that he was going to visit Australia in person for the funeral of Sir Gregory and the other victims of the bombing. Sir Eric could sense the wince that went around the room as the security implications of that were absorbed. Once the room had returned to normal he turned to the Ambassador.
“A very brave and wise decision if I may say so Ma'am. And a very far-sighted one for the whole of our Alliance. I think I see what we face now.” The Ambassador raised an eyebrow, “I think I see Tsuji's plan now. This bombing, assassinating an immensely popular and effective Prime Minister on one of our warships, by one of our navy sailors, was intended to split Australia away from the Triple Alliance. It was intended to raise doubts as to the trustworthiness of India as an ally and concerns over the effectiveness of her armed forces.