Roul wormed his way back from the observation point and checked the defenses his men were digging. There was a slit trench on either side of the road, exploiting the reverse slope to gain protection from artillery fire. Roul had selected the ground himself, taking full advantage of a small area of bushes to provide a little cover. It was a scarce resource along RC-157. The ground seemed bare and almost desolate, other than the odd patches of crab bush and the occasional stand of trees. Almost a kilometer south of his position was a small stream that ran through a depression. Roul had marked that out as his retreat route. He’d noticed that RC-157 was commanded by higher ground on both sides. He had come to the conclusion that any attempt to retreat along the road would be a disaster. Once his position here was untenable, he would fall back on the stream and use its bed for cover as he retreated to the next holding position. The road actually made a loop and the streambed lay across the neck of the loop. He had his third squad dug in to protect the dirt track leading to the stream, thus protecting his line of retreat. It was the best he could come up with.
Having checked his men were digging in properly, he returned to the observation point. The situation didn’t appear to have changed much during his absence, although one of the flares going up showed that the enemy infantry were a lot closer. Now, at last, he could see them. They moved carefully through the huts that lined RC-157. Their dark green uniforms and Germanstyle helmets clearly distinguished them from the Tirailleurs Tonkinois, who wore the standard French horizon blue and the Adrian helmet. Whatever had happened to the Tonkinois riflemen, they aren’t retreating along the road.
That was when Roul saw something that filled him with dismay. A pair of tanks supported the Thai infantry. He recognized them immediately; Vickers 6-ton Type B. Armed with a machine gun and a 47mm gun in a twoman turret, they were more than capable of destroying his roadblock. Once he revealed his position, the battle was going to get ugly very quickly. Roul began to suspect he knew what had happened to the Tirailleurs Tonkinois.
Beside him, private first class Léo Corneille had shouldered his Berthier rifle and taken a sight on the Thai infantry below. He was the platoon sniper; a skill that had gained him the distinction of being a first class private rather than a humdrum ordinary one. His Berthier had a three-power magnification telescopic sight. Roul watched his rifle moving as Corneille scanned for a suitable target.
“Corneille, on the road, beside the third building on the left. He looks like an officer.”
Roul looked again. The man was definitely giving some sort of orders to the other infantrymen. That made him either an officer or a senior NCO. Beside him, Corneille nodded. He settled down into the authorized firing position. There was a flat crack as the Berthier fired. Roul saw the man spotted crumple to the ground. He was hoping somebody would come out and pull the victim to cover; that would provide Corneille with another target. Instead, one of the tanks pulled in front of the victim, screening him from view. By the time the tank moved again, the ground was empty. Reluctantly, Roul was impressed. Somebody thought that out.
Overhead, the gentle buzz of aircraft engines changed. It seemed no more threatening than it had before, but it grew closer and seemed to pause above the platoon. Roul looked up. A biplane was circling overhead, obviously attracted by the shot that had brought the Thai soldier down. Roul couldn’t recognize the aircraft. It looked a little bit like the French Potez 25, but seemed flimsier somehow. From behind him, tracers arched through the air. His three squad light machine guns fired on the aircraft. It turned and left the scene. Mentally, Roul cheered on his gunners who had driven the enemy aircraft away.
The whine of inbound shells changed the situation completely. Roul recognized them immediately; they were French 75s. For a moment he believed he was getting some timely artillery support, but the hope was quickly dashed. The shells exploded on the front slope of his position. That didn’t worry him too much; he had used the reverse slope to protect his road block for exactly that reason.
“Time to drop back behind the ridge, sir?”
Sergeant Arsène Ambroise had put exactly the right note of respectful urgency into his comment. That was hardly surprising; he was a veteran who had served in the trenches during the Great War. The rounds from the 75s weren’t actually that close to the observation point, but there was little reason to wait around until they were. The four men in the post scrambled back over the ridge and down towards the defensive positions.
Roul could see that the Sergeants had done their work well. All the men were in position and alerted for the fighting that seemed imminent. A quick glance around him suggested that his unit was as well-positioned and readied as anybody could expect. All that was left was to wait for the Thai infantry and the two tanks to come over the hilltop. He was confident his men could handle the infantry; the tanks had him worried.
The wait seemed to stretch on. Roul knew that the Thai infantry had some six hundred meters to advance before they could assault the hill he occupied. It seemed like they were taking their own sweet time about it. He glanced down at his watch, surprised by how little time had actually passed since the first shots from the 75s. The artillery fire had ceased after those first few rounds. Roul was sorely tempted to go back to the ridgeline and find out what was happening.
A patter of rifle fire erupted from the low ridge off to his right. It was only some ten meters higher than his positions and was about six hundred meters away. That meant the fire was largely ineffective against dug-in infantry but it was more than annoying. The axis of attack against his platoon had changed. Now, he faced an attack from due north as well as from the west. He knew why the attack had been so long in arriving now. The Thais hadn’t charged his position head on; they had outflanked him.
“A nice move.” Sergeant Ambroise seemed quite impressed. “Should we order our squad on the right to return fire, sir?”
Roul thought for a second. The rifle fire seemed ill-directed and largely ineffective. As far as he could tell, not one of the bullets had bitten yet. “No, keep them quiet. No point in giving the enemy targets to aim at. We’ll let the situation mature.”
His orders were to block the road and delay the Thai advance for as long as possible. He was doing just that. That he had only expended one rifle round and a couple of bursts of machine gun fire to do so seemed to him to be a good thing. Nothing, even rifle ammunition, here in Indochina was in copious supply. There was no telling when any ammunition he expended would be replaced. His thoughts on the neglect of the Indochina Army were interrupted by a renewed crash of artillery fire. This time the shots had arrived from his right. For the first time, the fight had become serious.
“Damn, that will be difficult. They’ve brought up infantry guns.”
Ambroise recognized the distinctive noise of the short-barrelled Japanese 75mm infantry howitzers; quite different from the flat crack of the earlier guns. “And they’re spreading along the ridge.”
Roul swung his binoculars to the east. Behind his position, almost a kilometer away, were two hills. One was 218 meters high, the other 200. Hills 218 and 200 dominated the area, simply because they were the only really high ground in the area. Given his choice, Roul would have occupied them, but doing so would not have blocked the road. He could see what the Thai commander had in mind now. He’s spreading along the ridge and will occupy those hills. He won’t be blocking the road, but he doesn’t want to. What he wants is me out of the way. With those hills in his hands, he can sweep the entire platoon into the can.