“We have learned that Italy is not for export by force of arms. Instead, we must build the best and most beautiful Italy we can, and export Italy by those who choose to follow our example.”
There was a long silence as Mussolini’s words echoed around the room. He stood. The havoc the stroke had wrought becoming obvious as he wavered unsteadily on his feet. The left side of his body had been hit worst; his left hand was largely paralysed and he limped on his left leg. The left corner of his mouth was slack and every so often he dabbed at it with a handkerchief. “Galeazzo, you have done well. I commend you. Now, you must ensure that it is understood that Italy will maintain a policy of strict neutrality. We will expend our efforts on improving ourselves and our country. Our watchwords will be ‘All within the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state.’ Is this clearly understood? We will be neutral in any future conflict. There will be no more military commitments outside Italy.”
Badoglio could hardly believe the change that was taking place in front of his eyes. If Mussolini was true to his words, this was the Italy he had always wanted. Perhaps the disaster in North and East Africa wasn’t such a disaster after all. Il Duce may be right, that we must accept what life brings us and learn to love it; for the benefits it bestows may not be immediately obvious and what seems unbearable today may well be the seed of a better tomorrow. That left just one question in his mind.
“What will Herr Hitler have to say about this?”
“That horrible sexual degenerate? Egli può vaffanculo e morire come un uomo per una volta.”
“Italy out of the war. The Commonwealth of Nations is off to a good start.” Henry Stimson looked inordinately pleased with himself. The airfields in America were clearing rapidly as the aircraft originally ordered by the French and British were delivered instead to the Commonwealth countries.
“Not economically. India is staggering along from day to day, but Australia and New Zealand are sliding into an economic depression very quickly.” Henry Morgenthau sounded deeply concerned. “They will need some additional help propping up their economies and need it quickly. I suspect New Zealand is beyond saving. I have already heard whispers that the Australians are considering absorbing them as an alternative to seeing them go bankrupt. There was provision for that in their constitution, you know.”
“We must do what we must.” Cordell Hull sounded detached and almost disinterested. “And no more.”
“How did your trip to the Far East go?” Phillip Stuyvesant sounded mildly interested, concealing his real feelings carefully. He wasn’t certain whether Hull’s trip taking so much longer than originally planned was a good or a bad thing.
“I confirmed much that I already believed. The Siamese have a military government and is ruled by a regime supported by the force of arms. I deplore that regime and everything it represents. However, I do believe there is both room and desire for change and we should enable that change to whatever extent we are able. If we aid them, they may well evolve into a country we can support. But, if we do not, they will surely side with our enemies. At the moment, their enemies are our enemies. We must recognize that. I will withdraw my objections to the delivery of armaments to them, conditional upon them making the democratic development we expect.”
Stimson interrupted him. “Cordell, we owe the Thais some aircraft. P64 fighters and A-27 light bombers. How can we make good on the order?”
“Have we no equivalent aircraft we can give them in lieu?”
Stimson thought. “The A-27s are no problem. Northrop is building the A-24 for the Army. It’s a version of the Navy SBD. The Army doesn’t like it though; they think it’s too slow, underarmed and its range is too short. They won’t miss a couple of dozen for the Thais. For all its problems, it’s actually a better aircraft than the A-27.”
“Fighters; they need fighters. If you’d seen that market place, you wouldn’t be worrying about the bombers.”
Stuyvesant lifted a pencil. “The Indians have more Hawk 75s than they can absorb at this time and they have a more advanced version coming down the pike. Why don’t we suggest they transfer a couple of dozen of their existing aircraft to Thailand and we give them a credit for the value they can use to buy other equipment they need?”
Stimson nodded. “That works for us. Means we keep the hard cash, the Thais get the aircraft and India gets more equipment it needs. You agree, Cordell?”
Hull nodded. “It sounds fair. And it gives us a chance to see if current Siamese words will match their future intentions.”
Chapter Eleven
SERIOUS NEGOTIATIONS
The border post was supposed to control the passage along the road from Kantharalak in Thailand to Angkrong in French Indochina. In fact, it blocked it completely. The French had brought in local labor to dig up the road surface. Their efforts left a deep ditch across the road lined with parapets made of the rubble from the road surface. There was barbed wire tangled along the mounds of earth and solid wooden stakes to hold it on place. There was even a guard box behind the earth banks that had a telephone. Corporal Mongkut Chandrapa na Ayuthya could see the telephone line heading southeast towards Angkrong. He carefully did not think that it connected the border post to Angkrong, since one of his men had cut the wire a couple of minutes before.
There were just three men at the border post. One was in the guard box and looked as if he was asleep. The other two were sitting on the embankment, smoking and surveying the neighborhood with monumental disinterest. They would have been much more interested if they had realized all twelve infantry battalions of the Queen’s Cobra Division had moved up to the frontier and were currently in their jump-off positions for the invasion. An invasion that had already started with a cut telephone wire. Corporal Mongkut took a deep breath as the approaching dawn revealed more details of the target. In the back of his mind, he noted the birds were starting to sing. Then the hammering noise of a Lewis gun drowned them out.
The burst fountained soil around the two men outside the post. One died instantly, riddled with bullets. The other jumped to his feet, dropped his cigarette and frantically looked around to see what was happening. A second burst cut him down as well, long before he had learned anything. Mongkut saw him down on the ground, his body shaking as he died.
He focused on his primary target, the guard box. The man in it had grabbed the telephone. He was banging the handpiece on the desk, apparently in the belief that doing so would repair the cut wire. There was a short crackle of rifle fire from Mongkut’s group. The glass in the guard box shattered, and he, too, went down. With the border guards neutralized, Mongkut got to his feet and jog-trotted towards the ruins of the border post.
His men worked fast. They took the bodies of the two men outside the post and their corporal from inside it and dragged them to the side of the road. Mongkut quickly checked the bodies, identifying them as members of the 4th Tirailleurs Tonkinois. The sun was already rising over the mountains on either side of their road. Behind him, other units of the 11th Division were crossing the border and beginning to push down the road towards Angkrong.
Mongkut’s lieutenant waved. He and his men fell in with the rest of their unit and joined the march south. He had the map he had been shown clearly in his mind. Angkrong was a small rectangular village, but it controlled a vital crossroads; one that opened the way eastwards. Once Angkrong was in their hands, the real advance could start.