A Mighty Endeavor (69 page)

“How long do we have?” It was the most important piece of information Decoux wanted. It would determine everything else that he could achieve.

Catroux thought carefully. It was so easy to give in to despair and give up while there was still hope. Yet, it was also so easy to convince oneself there was hope when all chances of victory had faded. “A week; perhaps ten days. By then, the encircled troops will have had to surrender and we will have lost the one good card still in our hand. While they resist, we can negotiate a peace settlement on terms. Once they are gone, the Siamese will simply dictate what terms they will. At least we have one consolation. We have heard from the Swiss that the Siamese are treating the prisoners they have taken with great kindness. We should respond in kind, of course. We have fourteen of their aircrew as our prisoners and treating them as guests rather than prisoners would be wise.”

“Of course; that goes without saying.” Decoux was slightly annoyed at any suggestion the prisoners of war would be anything other than well-treated. The fact that the Thais had almost a thousand French prisoners of war in their hands took any decision on that point out of his hands.

The conversation was interrupted by the entry of the Thai delegation. The fact that the French had arrived first and had to wait for the Thais to appear was itself an admission of who was winning this war. Decoux was startled to see the leader of the group was a woman. There had been rumors for some time that a previously-unknown woman had been commanding this offensive, but it was the first time he had actually seen her. She was short, stocky and her hair was cut short in the style favored by Thai women. One look at her and the deference given to her was enough to tell him she truly was in charge here. And not just of the Thai forces. It was her will that was driving the whole situation. Decoux could feel the force of that will from across the room.

“Admiral Decoux, General Catroux, I am the Ambassador-Plenipotentiary of the Kingdom of Thailand. That title means that I have full authority to negotiate a settlement of the dispute between our countries. Let us do so now, and not waste more lives.”

The Ambassador’s French was smooth and fluent. To Decoux, who had heard his language butchered by faulty grammar and pronunciation so often, her perfect rendition was a pleasure to hear. He was sincerely distressed at having to disappoint her. “Madam Ambassador, your government has received the settlement terms dictated by the Japanese mediators of this dispute. These offer an acceptable resolution of the conflict and we base our position upon them.”

The Ambassador shook her head. The Japanese had tried to insist that these negotiations be held on board the cruiser
Natori,
currently in Kompong Som, but her government had flatly refused to consider that demand. “I regret to inform you that the position of the Government has not changed. The Japanese terms are not acceptable and will not be considered as a basis for a settlement of this dispute. Our terms are quite simple; we require the restoration of our borders as they were prior to your encroachment upon them from I860 onwards. We also require our borders to be defensible. For that reason, we require the return of all our territories south of the Mekong River and the establishment of the border between Thailand and French Indochina as the riparian center of the Mekong.”

“What the devil is the riparian center?” Admiral Decoux whispered the question to General Catroux.

“The line representing the deepest part of the river in question. It’s the normal way of defining a boundary represented by a river.”

“We are sorry, Madam Ambassador. We have no choice other than to accept the Japanese proposal and reject any other. I mean that literally; we have no choice in the matter other than to accept the Japanese proposal. Or any Japanese proposal, for that matter.”

“As will you.” The words from the door cut across the Ambassador before she could start to speak. “The mediated settlement we have dictated will be accepted without change. That is our final word on the matter.”

The Ambassador stared at the man who had stormed into the meeting room. He was almost a caricature of a Japanese Army officer. Short and bald, but with a bristling moustache; his eyes behind circular rimless glasses, which exaggerated the folds. He was wearing a British-style Sam Browne belt over his Japanese Army uniform and a katana sword hung from it. She shook her head slightly. “And just who are you?”

“I am Colonel Masanobu Tsuji, direct representative of the Imperial Japanese Army.”

“Very well, Colonel Tsuji. If you have an intelligent remark to make, please do so. Otherwise, leave. I am not impressed by foolish men who pound on their hairy chests with closed fists.”

Decoux looked at the two facing each other with something close to awe. The space between them seemed to crackle with energy from their clash. He also realized something else; a blood feud was being born in front of his eyes. Tsuji’s fanatical hatred of the Ambassador was being met by her withering contempt for him. He also realized that Tsuji was confused. Decoux seriously doubted whether he had been openly defied in such a public and blatant manner before.

“I do not have a hairy chest.” Tsuji nearly screamed the words in response. To Decoux it seemed a very strange thing to say. He guessed he was missing a cultural reference that the Ambassador had used to flick a very raw nerve.

The Ambassador seemed slightly surprised. “How strange. I thought you would have taken after your mother.”

This time, Tsuji did scream with rage. He started to draw the sword at his waist. There was a rattle of bolts. The Ambassador’s bodyguards cocked the heavy Thompson sub-machine guns they were carrying. The Ambassador herself had reached underneath her jacket and drawn two semi-automatic pistols. Decoux recognized them as German P08 Lugers, but they were obviously chambered for a much larger round than the usual 9mm. He guessed they were .45s. As far as he knew, only three Lugers in that caliber had been made.
And this woman had two of them?
She now stood there with one in each hand, looking at the sword with unconcealed and blistering contempt.

“How like the Japanese to bring a tooth-pick to a gun fight.”

Tsuji paused for a second, shuddering with the effort to control himself. Eventually, he slammed the sword back into its sheath and stared at the Ambassador with searing hatred. “You will die screaming for this.”

“My enemies have often said that.” The Ambassador’s voice was reflective and, to Decoux’s amazement, amused. “Instead, they all died; screaming soprano.”

Tsuji glared at her, turned around and stormed out. The Ambassador holstered her pistols and sat down at the negotiation table again. “My apologies, General, Admiral, for the interruption. Sadly, I believe that the unwarranted Japanese interference in our relations means that we are at an impasse now. Might I suggest we meet again in a week? At which time, I believe you may have a window of opportunity to reach an agreement that represents our mutual interests, not those of Japan. Our troops will, of course, be continuing their operations during that period.”

Decoux exhaled, suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath as long as Tsuji had been in the room. “Madam Ambassador, I don’t understand what you said to him, but I have never seen that man so angry or filled with hate.”

She smiled. “In Japan, there is a class of people called the burakumin, or eta. They are literally the lowest of the low, ranking even beneath whores, beggars, night-soil collectors and so on. They are regarded as being so disgusting that any other Japanese touching them, even those of the lowest and most degraded kind, has to be ritually cleansed of pollution. The burakumin are supposed to be distinguished by having hairy chests. There are rumors that the mother of Masanobu Tsuji was burakumin, but his father’s family covered it up to save them from unspeakable disgrace.”

General Catroux shuddered. “That man will come after you with every ounce of power at his disposal. He will throw the whole might of the Japanese forces in Indochina at your country.”

The Ambassador’s smile broadened into one of pure delight. “Oh, I do so hope so.”

Forward Pickets, 11th Infantry (Queen’s Cobra) Division, Ban Dan Ky, Mekong River, French Indochina

Sergeant Mongkut Chandrapa na Ayuthya sighed gently and shook his head. He’d just received a rare treat, a letter from home, and he treasured its contents.
Well, most of them,
he thought. His daughter Sirisoon was in trouble again, for fighting at school. Again. Apparently, one of the boys had kept pulling her hair while she was repeating her lessons to the teacher. She turned on him and scratched him so badly he’d had to be sent home. He was actually quite proud of her for doing that. Most girls of her age would have just run away or cried. My daughter had turned and fought her tormentor.
Come to think of it, I am actually doing much the same thing right now.

“Sergeant, I can hear something.”

Corporal Pon spoke very, very quietly. The observation point was right on the banks of the Mekong River, shielded from the water only by some tree-trunks and bushes. At this point on the river, the water flowed smoothly and steadily. Sound would reflect over it.
That is probably what the Japanese were forgetting.
The sounds of hammering and movement their side of the river was faint, but clearly audible.

“I hear it too. Stay alert and watch for any movement.” One good thing was that the moon was up. The Japanese would be visible in the reflections of the moonlight off the water. Mongkut was pleased with the way Pon was working out. He’d selected him for promotion on the advice of the other Sergeants, who had reminded him that a popular Corporal might be so because he was too slack on the men. They’d been right; the very qualities that had made Pon unpopular as a private had worked well for him as a corporal.

Mongkut slid backwards and made his way to the platoon command post, set well back from the river. The plan was to drop back when the Japanese attacked so that their blow would meet nothing but empty air. Then, when the Japanese were over the river and trapped on the Thai-held side, the 11th would counter-attack and drive them back. There was no doubt that the Japanese would attack. Word of how the commander of the Burapha Payak Corps had insulted and publicly humiliated a very important Japanese officer had spread through the whole Army. Even better, the commander of the corps was a Princess; that had added extra spice to the story. By the time the story had finished spreading, it had been elaborated with extra details of how the Japanese officer had burst into tears at the humiliation and had been so demoralized that his men had to restrain him from committing suicide.

“Sir, we heard movement across the river. Hammering and voices speaking. I think the Japanese are assembling boats.”

Lieutenant Somchai was looking at the map spread out on his table. North of his position, the Mekong had split into a vast maze of tiny rivers, each deep and fast flowing. The combination of thousands of small islands and an ever-changing maze of waterways made launching any kind of cross-river offensive impossible. South of his position, the river split in two around a large central island. Any Japanese attack there would have to occupy the island first. They hadn’t. Further south still, the river entered another stretch dominated by rapids; a profusion of fast flowing streams and thousands of tiny, snake-infested islands. By the time the river became crossable again, it was not far north from Phnom Penh. The Thai Army hadn’t got there yet, although the fourth regiment of the 11th Infantry was advancing fast in that direction. First Regiment was on the outskirts of Siem Reap. Second and Third Regiments were here, waiting for the Japanese assault that had to hit this single, 14 kilometer stretch of the river. There was, quite simply, nowhere else the Japanese could make the crossing. Somchai knew he was only a lowly lieutenant, but he could see that this particular stretch of the Mekong was going to be strategically very important one day.

“Very well. The observation points are on full alert?”

“Yes, sir.” Mongkut noted a touch of reproof in his voice. He felt his lieutenant should have realized that would be the case; but he reminded himself that it was a lieutenant’s job to check on such things.

“Make sure they remember the orders. As soon as the Japanese start to cross they are to drop back, keeping the enemy under observation but not impeding his move forward.”

“I will remind them, sir.” Mongkut guessed what the plan was. The Japanese had shown in China that they were attack-crazy; their first reaction was always to attack an enemy in front of them. There was a long ridge a kilometer or so behind the riverbank; one that the Japanese would have to take before they could go anywhere else. Mongkut was quite sure that ridge was defended by every unit that could be brought up. The Japanese would be trapped between the defenses and the river.

The only thing that worried Mongkut was that if he, a sergeant, could see it, the Japanese officers surely could.