“Why, wherever our officers tell us to go, of course.” Mongkut replied with equally carefully faked innocence. He listened appreciatively to the wry groan of disappointment that went up.
Mongkut had a shrewd idea where he was. His family came from Rattanburi and he knew the country well. After the train had brought them from Kanchanaburi and unloaded them at the marshalling yard at Sisaket, they had marched east. Combining that with his knowledge of the land, he guessed that the whole regiment was moving towards the IndoChina border; probably close to where the borders of Thailand, Cambodia and Laos intersected. There was no logical reason why an entire infantry regiment would be needed up here; not unless something big was about to happen.
Without being able to explain why, Mongkut knew that war was coming. It wasn’t the troop movements or his sudden resumption of military life. Nor was it the intense training he and his men had gone through over the last few weeks. It was much less definable than that. It was just that there was something in the air; an electricity or a tension. It was as if all the decisions had been taken, all the preparations made and the war was a reality that hadn’t quite happened… yet.
His thoughts were interrupted by a blast of whistles. A rest period. Ten minutes rest for every hour of marching. He couldn’t detect urgency in the movement; it was as if the planners knew that there was plenty of time and they preferred the troops on the move to arrive in good condition rather than exhausted from a forced march.
“Water carriers; fall out and refill canteens.”
The order had come from the Sergeants, but it was for the Corporals to carry out. Mongkut didn’t need to say anything; he just pointed at two of his men and watched them join the rest. There was a lake through the trees, gleaming dark blue in the sunshine. He recognized it; knew the shoreline and the square fish farm that lay across the width of the lake. They were just a little bit north of Non Sung; only a few kilometers from his family home. That really did put them close to the border with Cambodia and Laos.
Troops moving up to the Indochina border and a war in the air.
Mongkut put the two together and came up with a very satisfactory answer. In his opinion, there were a lot of debts owed. It was about time that his country collected on them.
“My apologies, Mister Secretary, for the landplane. Unfortunately, we have no areas suitable for flying boats, so we have to use DC3 aircraft for even the most prestigious of dignitaries. Please accept the warmest hospitality of our nation.” The Ambassador placed both hands together in the traditional Thai ‘wai’ gesture and dipped her head.
“This is a more modern airport than I had expected.” Cordell Hull did not return the gesture or make an equivalent response. “And a much more active one. I assume you have arranged this as a demonstration of your country’s modern outlook?”
The Ambassador ignored the discourtesy shown to her. She’d been insulted many times in her life and had long ago learned to ignore the slights. There were much more important things at stake here than her personal feelings.
“This is a normal day’s activity for this airport, especially now at the end of the rainy season. You see, the whole of the river delta is low-laying ground and it floods very easily once the rains start. By this time, the end of the monsoon, most of the area is underwater. This is wonderful for our farmers who will produce rice on the newly-enriched ground, but it makes the construction of roads and railways in the region difficult. To make matters worse, most of our population lives in the flooded areas. So we have developed air travel to maintain communications. The aircraft you just saw taking off is taking some passengers and, most importantly, the mail to Aranyaprathet. If you wish to look at the logs of the Civil Aviation Division, you will see this is a regularly scheduled flight.”
“I am sure I will.” Hull looked skeptical. “Who runs this airfield?”
“It is a joint civilian and military operation. The plan is to transfer the civilian part of the airfield to civilian employees as soon as they are properly trained and qualified. The actual airfield is run by our air force and they use the northern part. The fighters charged with the defense of the city are based there.”
“What fighters and how many?”
“We have six Curtiss Hawk IIs based here; that’s the export version of the U.S. Navy’s F11C-2,” The Ambassador sighed. “They are old, of course, and quite obsolete. Six more are at Chiang Mai in the north. We had hoped to replace them all with North American Model 68s, but the six aircraft we bought are being held in Hawaii.”
“We cannot afford to allow the Japanese access to our latest technology.” Hull slid into the waiting limousine. The Ambassador sat beside him in the back. “Not with the Japanese set on a course of territorial aggression across this whole region.”
“And as one of the potential victims of that aggression, we could not afford to compromise the effectiveness of our air defenses by giving away their details. The secrets of your aircraft are safe with us. Secretary Hull, Bangkok is a densely crowded city built largely of wood. If anybody was to bomb it, the way the Japanese have bombed cities in China, the fires would be a catastrophe. Our fire fighting services would be overwhelmed and the only thing to stop the blaze spreading would be the canals that divide the city. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, would die. Without modern fighters, if our major cities are threatened with bombing, we would have no choice but to submit.”
For the first time, Cordell Hull paused to question his basic assumptions. It was one thing to look at a map and make theoretical assumptions; quite another to deal with realities on the ground. The vulnerability of Thai cities to fire had never occurred to him. In passing, he wondered how many other cities in Asia would burn just as easily or as catastrophically.
“And why should the Japanese bomb you? It would appear to me that your government and political systems are very much akin to theirs.”
The Ambassador smiled politely. Mentally, she imagined the American Secretary of State being burned at the stake; using a slow, carefully controlled, fire. “To the Japanese, other nations fall into two categories. Those who must be conquered and turned into slaves or those who acknowledge Japanese superiority and become willing servants. We would prefer to be neither; but, if forced to make the choice, we would become the second rather than the first.
“As to similarities, yes, there are many. We are both monarchies where the King is held in high esteem. There is an important difference. In Japan, the Emperor is held in high regard because that is the religious duty of the people. In ours, we hold our King in high regard because he has earned that respect by his service to our people. If the respect is not earned, it is not given and he is replaced. You may remember this happened, less than ten years ago.” And let us see if you remember who commanded the troops that did it.
“Replaced by a military junta that wields authority in the name of the monarchy.” Hull’s voice injected a healthy dose of contempt into the phrase.
“Again, I will concede a superficial similarity.” The Ambassador’s voice remained polite and deferential. “But the reality is very different. In Japan, the military junta is an end in itself; it is the final product of a flawed system. Here, the military dominance of our government is a temporary thing; a step on the road to a functioning democratic government. In any case, our Prime Minister may be an Army officer, but he also functions within the rules and limitations of an elected assembly.