“Any damage?”
The firing ceased. There was relief from the crews as they reported in. A couple of the aircraft had minor fragment damage, but none seemed seriously hurt and there were no casualties on board. It was quite a change from the earlier raid in Eritrea.
Mannix relaxed slightly for the haul back to Alexandria. That meant he could attend to other business.
“Bombardier. That was a good pattern. Well done.”
“Thank you, sir.” The chatty tone was back in his voice.
“And, in future, do not use the intercom for anything other than essential communications. I don’t want a fighter to get us because the spotting report got lost in chatter. Natter away like that on the comms again, and you will walk home. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, sir; perfectly, sir. No more chatter, sir.” Cussans still managed to sound enthusiastic.
Mannix shut off the intercom and shook his head. Times are changing; all too quickly.
“Is there any reply from the French authorities?”
Cordell Hull was not accustomed to being ignored. Two days before, he had sent a diplomatic telegram to the French colonial authorities in Hanoi; one suggesting a conference to discuss issues in the region and offering his services as a mediator. So far, the only reply had been a deafening silence.
“No, sir.”
Hugh Gladney Grant, American Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Kingdom of Thailand, sounded frustrated. Normally, this Embassy was considered something of a backwater, as indicated by his official title. According to the State Department, Thailand didn’t rate an Ambassador Extraordinary, merely an Envoy. Grant had a bad feeling they were making a mistake.
“Not even an acknowledgement. I must admit that is one pleasant thing about doing business here, sir; the Siamese are meticulous about courtesy.”
“So I noticed. That woman who organized their side of this visit has turned common courtesy into an uncommonly beautiful art form. I don’t trust her further than I can throw the limousine she rides in. Who is she?”
“That’s an odd thing.” Grant thought carefully. “She appeared on the scene about six months ago, but our inquiries have shown her position goes back a lot further than that. She’s the direct representative of the Royal Family and has a lot of power as a result. Her role seems to be to present the opinions of the Royal Family, without involving them directly in any dispute. We’ve tried to do some research on her, but all we can find out is that her position is hereditary, passed down from mother to daughter. How far it goes back, we have no idea. It seems as if her existence was unknown outside a small circle until very recently. Those who were in that circle don’t say anything.”
Grant hesitated. The story he was about to tell sounded foolish, yet he thought it was important. “A few weeks ago, we were walking in the Palace gardens; not far from here. Discussing the situation with the aircraft they ordered, in fact. Anyway, we turned a corner and there was a king cobra on the path in front of us, just resting in the sun. Huge brute; at least ten feet long and we had angered it. It reared up, spreading its hood. The king cobra is deadly, sir. It injects so much venom with each bite that survival is most unlikely. I was about to run away, but she just stood there, looking at it. The cobra dropped its hood and slithered away. Afterwards, she told me that the members of her family had a truce with the king cobras. Neither would attack the other, except in self-defense. She said it was probably superstitious rubbish and that cobras tended to back off from confrontations with humans. But, she added that in a thousand years, no member of her family had ever hurt a king cobra or been bitten by one. So, we know her family is that old.”
“If she is telling the truth, of course.” Hull sounded skeptical.
“There is always that. But, if it is true, it means that for generations her family has kept an agreement they believed in. That’s worth bearing in mind.”
Hull nodded. There was a knock on the door. Colonel Jude Roland Wilford entered the meeting room, carrying the latest newspapers. “Mister Secretary? Envoy Grant? I have the latest newspapers from home. They came across on the Clipper to Manila and were flown here from there.”
“Anything interesting, Jude?” Grant had seen the diplomatic cables, of course, but the newspapers all too often had better information earlier.
“South Africans continuing to advance in Ethiopia, supported by widespread native uprisings. Indians doing the same in Eritrea, sans uprising. There’s a huge battle going on close to the Egyptian border between the Australians and the Italians.”
“Wait a moment,” Hull was confused, “I thought the Italians were deep inside Egypt?”
“They are.”
Wilford’s voice was a mixture of awe and professional admiration.
“The Australians are behind them. If the reports in the Post are correct, and their foreign staff is pretty good, they’ve broken through to the coast and encircled some 80,000 Italian troops. That means they’re outnumbered four or five to one, yet are on the verge of taking the Italian Army apart. It’s the most remarkable victory since… ”
Wilford hesitated, “I can’t think of a parallel. Cannae, perhaps. Anyway, there are also reports of air strikes all over the region. The Italians are taking a hammering in the air. The Aussies, Indians and South Africans are putting the aircraft we gave them to good use.”
Hull snorted. “And what is Halifax’s reaction to all this?”
“That’s the confusing bit. The information we have is that the afternoon before the attack started, the London government approached Rome and offered an Armistice. Word from our embassy there is that the Italians are furious, regarding the offer as a ruse de guerre.” Grant shook his head. If those accounts were true, the blow to the diplomatic credibility of the Halifax regime was profound.
There was another knock on the door. A young woman clerk came in, carrying a message flimsy. She looked around, confused by the presence of Cordell Hull. Grant waved to her and took the flimsy. As he read it, his eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Mister Secretary.” Grant’s voice was strained and formal. “This is the reply from the French Colonial authorities to your message of two days ago. They state that it is not their policy to discuss any issues with the Kingdom of Thailand and that their opinions and decisions are final. They add that there is no room for any form of mediation and that the normal reply will be given directly to the Thai authorities.”
Hull pursed his lips. The flat rejection wasn’t just uncompromising; it was also bereft of any diplomatic niceties. In fact, it was downright insulting.
“What’s the word, Sarge?”
Sergeant Joe Solomon looked at the speaker quizzically. “Well, ‘hot’ might be a good one. I’m partial to ‘dingo’ myself. You have any particular words you’re especially fond of?”
A theatrical groan went around the temporary bivouac beside their lorry. Dobson flushed with embarrassment. The battalion was having a brief rest after the capture of the Italian camps at Nibeiwa and Tummar. Behind them, the rest of the 7th Armoured and 6th Australian divisions were pouring through the gap cut through the Italian positions. The 16th Infantry Brigade was establishing a perimeter to their east. The road underneath the 2/1st’s lorries didn’t look like much, but it was the main one that led from Sidi Barrani to Buq Buq. With the Australians sitting on top of it, the entire leading edge of the Italian North African Army was cut off in a pocket that ran from Sidi Barrani to Mersah Matruh.