“Move to intercept that cruiser.”
Luang Phrom was buying time and he knew it. The sun was up and that was both a good and a bad thing. His position in the eye of the rising sun had allowed him to engage the four sloops and hold them at bay while expending relatively little ammunition and suffering no damage from the wildly inaccurate return fire. Now the sun had risen properly, he no longer had that advantage. The accuracy of the French gunnery was improving.
On the other hand, the fact it was now daylight meant that the dive bombers would soon be on their way, if they weren’t already. And always, there was the question of steam. Every minute that passed meant the other warships would be that much closer to joining
Thonburi’s
lonely fight against five French warships.
The tactical situation was changing as well. Up to now, the French cruiser had been out of the fight, masked behind Koh Mai Si Yai and Koh Mai Si Lek. Now she was emerging from their shadow and was threatening to make an end-run past the
Thonburi.
Capable of more than 30 knots, the cruiser could do that and there would be little
Thonburi
could do to stop her, unless she was physically in the way. Luang Phrom saw the ripple of flashes along the cruiser and heard the howl of the inbound shells. Fortunately, they were well off-target.
“Shift target to that cruiser.”
“She’s
La Motte-Picquet.
I saw her on a trip to Saigon not so long ago.” Lieutenant Sunan Shinawatra looked at his Captain and smiled. “I was on a Dutch liner, travelling for my family’s silk business. Met an American called Jim Thompson. Oddly, I just happened to have a very good camera with me when we passed the French warships.” His reminiscence was interrupted by another broadside from the cruiser. This one was closer but it was still far enough away. In reply,
Thonburi’s
200mm guns sent a full broadside at the cruiser. The four splashes were all around her but there was no sign of a hit.
“We need more guns. Our salvoes aren’t dense enough to give a good number ofhits.”
“The new cruisers will have six guns.”
Luang Phrom knew that was irrelevant. What mattered were the forces here and now.
Where are those dive bombers? We need the support here.
“Lieutenant, go aft to the secondary control position. If anything happens to the bridge, you will take over the ship from there. Your orders in that event are simple. Keep fighting until the French retreat or the ship sinks under you.”
A third salvo from the French cruiser was also wild. In reply,
Thonburi
once again straddled her without scoring any hits. The next French salvo was different. It was on target. The eight shells were close enough to the gunboat to rattle her sides with splinters.
La Motte-Picquet
paid a price for her accuracy though.
Thonburi
straddled her once again. This time, there was a brilliant red flash between the funnels. Luang Phrom heard the cheer go up from his ship at the long-delayed success. He saw
La Motte-Picquet
reverse course and return behind the shelter of Koh Mai Si Lek. The threat of an end-run was past, for the moment.
“Reverse course; head back for Koh Krabung. Let us see what our guests in their sloops are up to.”
French Sloop
Dumont d’Urville,
Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
“What the devil is Berenger up to?” Babineau let the words slip out with much more force than he intended or was prudent.
“He is concentrating his force, I think. Perhaps he realizes that dispersing us all over the anchorage may not have been the best of policies. His orders are for us to circle Baidang Island until he joins us. Then his intentions are for us to assault as a group and force our way past that gunboat.”
This is what we should have been doing an hour ago
, de Quieverecourt thought,
instead of wasting time messing around. We should have been in the anchorage by now, shooting up eveiything that floats. One look at the charts shows there is only one way in for ships that draw as much water as we do and that damned gunboat is blocking it.
“She’s hit!” Babineau’s report was a gasp of dismay. “She’s taken a hit amidships.”
Every pair of binoculars on the bridge swung to look at
La Motte-Picquet.
The cloud of smoke amidships was apparent, but there was no red glare of fire and she didn’t seem to be slowing. “Captain, a report from the flagship. She took a hit amidships that has penetrated the armor but damage is not serious. Commodore Berenger’s compliments and the four sloops are to join him at Baidang Island for an assault on the main anchorage.”
“Assuming the dive bombers don’t get here first.” de Quieverecourt muttered the words to himself, but he saw Babineau nodding. The threat of the Thai dive bombers was on both officer’s minds.
The minutes ticked by as
La Motte-Picquet
closed on the four sloops that had rounded Baidang Island and were now heading west. Eventually she drew level with them and rounded the island again; the sloops fell in behind her. At that point, the Thai gunboat reappeared from behind Mai Si Yai Island. Her guns flashed again. The salvo of four shells landed all around the
La Motte-Picquet.
The cruiser picked up speed, heading east and leaving the slow sloops behind.
“Message from the flagship, sir. It says the Siamese are trying to escape via this channel and we are to remain here to block them. The flagship will go into the main anchorage by the eastern channel.”
“Damn him, why can’t he make his mind up? We’re running against the clock here and he is going backwards and forwards.” Babineau didn’t care who heard him. He swung his binoculars up and watched
La Motte-Picquet
round Chan Island and head northeast. Then, he swung his gaze to the Thai gunboat. She had reversed course and was heading east as well.
“There he goes; determined little bugger isn’t he?”
Despite the situation, de Quieverecourt was almost laughing at the comment. “You know, I think I like the captain of that gunboat. He’s decided what he wants to do and has set his mind on doing it. There are others who could learn from that example.”
HTMS
Thonburi,
off Koh Mai Si Lek, Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
Lieutenant Sunan expected
La Motte-Picquet
to emerge from the shadow of Koh Mai Si Lek any moment.
Based on her previous behavior, she should he at least 15,000 meters out, in the deeper waters beyond the Koh Sang anchorage itself.
That was the best range for
Thonburi,
one where her 200mm guns were still effective but the older 155mm weapons on the
La Motte-Picquet
were loosing effectiveness. He had the guns already loaded, trained and elevated so that he could open fire with the minimum of delay.
It didn’t work out that way. This time,
La Motte-Picquet
came in on a much more northerly course and was into the shoal water. Sunan guessed that there was probably only a few meters of water between her keel and the jagged coral. More importantly, she was at least 8,000 meters closer to the
Thonburi
than he had expected. In the race to get the first salvo off, the lighter, handier 155mm guns on the cruiser won. At what was virtually point-blank range, the effects were devastating.
Sunan picked himself off from the deck. His ears rang from the explosions and blood ran from his nose.
Thonburi
had been hit at least four times. The forward section of the ship was devastated. The bridge was a shambles, the foremast down and the conning tower had been penetrated. He knew that Captain Luang Phrom could not have survived the blows. Nobody could, not in that shambles. He staggered to his feet, pummelling life back into himself and the rest of the reserve command crew. Before he could get them to do anything in the way of fighting back, a second broadside slammed into the gunboat. The forward gun turret was knocked out; its barrels drooped dispiritedly as the power failed. Another shot bounced off the roof of the aft gun turret, jamming it in train. Two more smashed into the already-wrecked superstructure, causing fires to erupt from the anti-aircraft guns.
“Bring her round, use the engines to bring her round.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Lord Buddha have mercy, I am the captain now.
Thonburi
started to swing. The French were over-confident; so convinced that the gunboat was crippled that they hadn’t bothered to correct their aim. The shots fell short. Only two of the 155mm shells hit the ship; they hit low on the hull where the armor stopped them. Despite that respite, Sunan felt the tilt of the deck as
Thonburi
listed. There was a blast and he wondered which of the ship’s magazines had exploded. As it turned out, none of them. As
Thonburi
had turned, the guns in the jammed aft turret aligned with
La Motte-Picquet.
The gunners took the opportunity to unload them via the muzzle. The shots went wild, missing
La Motte-Picquet
by a wide margin but Sunan took comfort in the fact his ship was still fighting. He tried to turn
Thonburi
around so that her gunners in the aft turret could have another crack. He was rewarded by two more 200mm shells heading off towards
La Motte-Picquet.
They missed. Sunan felt the ship shift under his feet again and the list
increased.
The battle
was
nearly over
and
he
knew
it.
“Head for Koh Ngam. We’ll beach her there.”
“Sir, overhead.”
One of the men was pointing skywards. Overhead, Sunan saw the glint of the morning sun on the wings of the Hawk biplanes. The leader made the traditional wing-over into a near-vertical descent. The dive bombers had arrived.
French Sloop
Dumont d’Urville,
Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
“Air attack! Air attack!”
The lookouts screamed the warning; the crew of
Dumont d’Urville
cringed, remembering the attack they had experienced a few days earlier. This time, though, they watched the dive bombers drop from the sky towards
La Motte-Picquet.
The first pair of bombs straddled the hull, so close that the towers of water seemed to touch the hull. There was no trace of the third bomb. Babineau wondered what had happened to it. The answer was not long in coming.
“Message from the flagship. She is under dive bombing attack, has taken two near-misses and one direct hit from 100-kilogram bombs. The bomb that hit did not explode but the near misses have caused severe splinter damage and the machinery compartments are suffering from shock.”
Babineau looked at the cruiser accelerating to maximum speed and starting to weave. Perhaps it was the unexpected change in speed and direction that threw the next flight of dive bombers off, for their weapons well off target. Nevertheless, more were coming in. High overhead, Babineau saw a formation of four twin-engined bombers heading towards the formation of sloops. They didn’t have the speed to evade bombing the way
La Motte-Picquet
did.
“Sir, Commodore Berenger orders us to withdraw to the west at best speed.” The communications officer had brought the message up himself.
The starboard lookout added to the mass of information flowing in. “Sir, two more Thai torpedo boats are moving. They are heading up the anchorage now. And more aircraft are coming in.”
“That’s it. We’re out here without cover and the whole Thai Air Force will be descending on us. The Commodore is right. Our time here is over.” Captain de Quieverecourt sounded disgusted. He looked over to where a pyre of black smoke marked the position of the Thai gunboat and shook his head sadly. “One ship against five and she held us off for over an hour. I would say she deserves to make it home.”
1st Infantry Battalion, “Royal Guard,” 9th Infantry Division, Yang Dham Khung, French Indochina
“They’re coming.”
Company Guards-Sergeant Preecha Budisalamat passed the word quietly. He had seen the shadows slipping into place amongst the trees to his front and knew that the attack was coming. He had been expecting it for over an hour, but the observation outposts had reported the French were having severe trouble moving into their assault positions. Apparently, some of their units had become lost in the maze of paths through the trees and disrupted other units that had stuck to their assigned route. Preecha didn’t condemn that; as a city man, he thoroughly understood just how easy it was to miss one’s path in forest this dense. A few street signs nailed to the trees would make life so much easier.
His Guardsmen prepared the defense line as well as they could in the short time they had available. They’d dug rifle pits and dragged trees over to help provide protection against rifle fire. Major Wuthi Wirrabut had put three of his infantry companies up on the line, with the fourth held back in reserve. The line itself was buried deep in the trees. That had already proved its value; the French artillery bombardment had been concentrated on the treeline. It missed his unit completely.
Defend a treeline from in front of it or behind it, but never in it.
