Mongkut was quietly proud of both himself and his squad. In fact, of the whole platoon. Ever since they had eliminated the border post, they had been advancing at the double-quick-time: 180 paces to the minute. Six months of training had shown its value. His men chewed up the five kilometers that separated them from Angkrong in less than forty minutes. They’d been helped by geography. The road had snaked around, but after the crest of the ridge had been passed, it had all been downhill.
Looking behind him, Mongkut could see the mountains that delineated the border. In front of him was the flat plain that had so recently been part of Thailand, but had been seized by the French and made part of their Indochina empire. Now, it would be returned to its rightful owners. That thought cheered Mongkut. It offset the rawness in his chest from the prolonged quick-time march.
Angkrong was a basic rectangle of four unsurfaced roads, divided horizontally into upper and lower halves by a fifth. On a map, it looked like a figure-of-eight that had been squashed so it was wider than it was high. The road that Mongkut and his men were following led into the northeast corner of the town, the top right hand corner of the 8. The road that formed the bottom of the eight was the critical one. Once that was seized, Thai infantry could advance east or west, according to their desires. Their seizure of the road would also prevent the French Indochina Army from moving eastwards. It was a key part of the plan to split the French Army apart and dismember each section separately.
Mongkut waved his arm. His men scattered to the right hand side of the road. Behind him, the next squad was going left. The effect was simple. What had been a column of troops advancing down a road was now a line that would assault the village. The orders had been very strict. ‘Remember, not so long ago, these people were our countrymen. Treat them with respect, for they are to be our countrymen again.’
The company had finished deploying for the assault. Mongkut heard the whistles blow. That was the signal for the charge. He broke into a jog-trot. Then, he was in a full run towards the town. It was quiet. No dogs barked or chickens crowed; just the pounding sound of army boots running on hard ground. Mongkut was panting as he reached the first line of huts. They were poor things by the standard of his home village; rotting wooden walls topped by a thatched roof. A piece of tattered cloth substituted for a front door. The obvious poverty made him hate what he had to do next, but the safety of his men depended on it.
He grabbed the cloth and flung it to one side, pushing his way into the hut. There were two women inside; one young and feeding her baby, the other much older. Probably the young woman’s mother, Momgkut thought. The young woman screamed and swung away, shielding both herself and her baby from the stranger. Mongkut reacted quickly.
“I am sorry to frighten you. Are there any French soldiers here?”
The young woman showed no sign of understanding. Her mother broke out into a beam of delight at the Thai words. She replied quickly in the same language, the words coarsened from long disuse. “At the other end of the village. There are a few. You have come back?”
Mongkut knew what she meant. “We are back and this time to stay. We will not allow our land to be stolen today. Now, excuse me, Mother; we have much work to be done today.” As he left, a thought occurred to him. “Where are your ducks and chickens?”
“The French did not allow us to keep them. They said we must buy all our meat and eggs from them. All we were allowed to grow was rice.”
Mongkut was shocked. A village of farmers not allowed to own ducks? It was unnatural. In the short time he had been checking the hut, a crackle of rifle fire broke out in the far corner of Angkrong. He led his men to the sound of the firing. It was over by the time he had got there. Five men, a corporal and four privates of the 4th Tirailleurs Tonkinois, were standing with their hands raised; their Berthier rifles on the ground beside them. None were injured. A quick glance showed Mongkut that none of the Thai troops were hurt either.
“It wasn’t serious.” Mongkut’s sergeant was watching the scene.
“They fired a few rounds for honor’s sake, we fired a few to show we were serious and they surrendered.”
“Sergeant, may I speak with an officer? I have information they might need.”
The sergeant nodded and pointed at a Lieutenant, who was reading a map. Mongkut went over to him and saluted. “Permission to speak, sir?”
“Corporal?”
“Sir, the importance of winning over these villagers was much emphasized. I have learned the French would not let them keep their own ducks. Perhaps, if we gave them some to keep, they might look on us as friends?”
Lieutenant Somchai Preecha nodded. In fact, Mongkut was the third man to approach him with that idea. “A good idea, Corporal. I will mention it to our Captain. Now, assemble your squad and head east. We have far to go today.”
There was a steady crackle of rifle fire from the hills as the attack spread along the border. It was punctuated by blasts Mongkut recognized as mortar rounds. The French defenders were realizing this was a serious invasion and beginning to try and organize resistance. It was too late for them to defend the border. They would have to concentrate on a defense further inland. Mongkut wondered where that would be, then dismissed the question. He and his men would find out soon enough.
There was a sudden redoubling of the rifle fire from the area of a ruined temple just to their east, followed by a series of loud explosions. The lieutenant looked at the area and grimaced. “The old temple up there; the one surrounded by cliffs. If there are any enemy troops in it, they have nowhere to go. We have much work to do today as well as far to go, Corporal. And your men will lead the regiment.”
That’s phrased as an honor, Mongkut thought, but it’s a really dangerous job we could do without. He went back to his men who were resting on the dried-out grass. “Time to move out, men. It is our honor to lead the regiment.”
There were groans of displeasure at the news, but his men hauled themselves to their feet, picked up their rifles and got ready to head west. They returned to the double-quick time they had used to get here and left the village of Angkrong in fine style. As they did so, the men saw the villagers making respectful wais to them as they passed. Perhaps there is something in this liberating business after all, Mongkut thought to himself. They were supposed to advance to another small village, Choeteal Kong, some 16 kilometers due east of Angkrong. Mongkut hoped that it wouldn’t be so poor and run-down as Angkrong had been.
“Is there any news?” Lieutenant Laurent Babineau stuck his head through the hatch leading to the radio room. Inside, the radio duty crew were scanning the airwaves, trying to find out what was happening.
“Sir, all we know is that the Siamese have crossed the border in large numbers and are advancing on Battambang. Their aircraft have attacked airfields all over Indochina. This is not a border clash, sir. This is a real war.”