A Mighty Endeavor

by Stuart Slade

  “We had better go down there and introduce ourselves.”

  A few minutes later, the leading section of the Sikh battalion was driving into Sululta. The South Africans had their vehicles parked in the shade. That left the Sikhs to park theirs on the sunny side of the street. Singh and Hamby got out and walked over to the South Africans, who were relaxing. As soon as they approached, the relaxed attitude vanished. One South African jumped to his feet and saluted smartly.

  “Sir, Sergeant Dirk Klaas, Natal Mounted Rifles. Welcome to Sululta. The crabs warned us you were coming.

  “Crabs?” Singh asked quietly.

  “Royal Air Force.” Hamby replied equally quietly. “Major Hamby and Subadar Singh, 4th Battalion, 11th Sikhs. My compliments on a well-executed attack, Sergeant; we were watching from the hill.”

  “The Italians aren’t resisting too much, sir. They’re afraid if they drive us back, the kaffir irregulars will get them.” Klaas realized what he had said and flushed slightly. “Sorry, sir. But the Italians are deathly afraid of the irregulars. We’ve seen a couple of them who’d been taken prisoner by the … irregulars. What was left, it didn’t look human. Poor bastards had been skinned alive and that was just the start of it. We shot them; only merciful thing to do.”

  “When you’re wounded and layin’ on the Afghan Plains.” Singh quoted the line from Kipling. “We know what you mean, Sergeant. I am thinking, who really wants this place?”

  Market Place, Aranyaprathet, Thailand

  The stench of burned wood and charred flesh surrounded the party as they left the trucks that had brought them in from the airfield. The market place had been devastated. Smoke from the explosions mingled with the smell of explosives. What made the sight worse were the remains of the decorations; colored paper streamers still fluttered in the wreckage. Cordell Hull had seen the effects of bombing raids on cities before, first in Spain and then in China, but the Christmas decorations were a heartbreaking touch he had not expected.

  Troops moved slowly through the wreckage, trying to find survivors in the shattered ruins of market stalls and food stands.

  “We have had word from Nakhon Phanom.”

  The Ambassador was standing in the shade, watching the troops at work. “Four Potez bombers hit our market place there with three tons of bombs. There is no doubt in my mind that this was a deliberate attack on our civilians. This, here, might have been an accident. Two such attacks, no. They knew our families would be gathered here today.”

  “How many?” That was all Hull was able to say, but The Ambassador understood him.

  “So far, six dead, forty wounded. Some of those have lost arms and legs. In Nakhon Phanom, only two dead, but about thirty wounded. We are lucky there was no fire here.”

  Hull nodded. He picked his way to the center of the market square. He could hear crying and whimpering from the wreckage and hurried to help shift some of the debris. A market stand had collapsed, but the wreckage had formed a triangle. The victims were in the safe zone. A soldier grabbed the other end of a wooden beam and helped Hull get it clear. There were two young children beside the stand; dirty, terrified but unhurt. They blinked in the afternoon sun, then saw the elderly European who had rescued them. Almost by instinct, they made deep wais to their saviors. The boy placed a hand on the back of his younger sister, helping her bow to the correct depth for their relative status. Hull carefully returned the gesture. His throat seized up and his eyes started to moisten as the soldier led them away.

  He cleared his throat and turned to The Ambassador. “There were no antiaircraft guns here, no fighters?”

  “Antiaircraft guns? No. Why should there be? This is a harmless market town. As for fighters, this is too close to the border. If they were based here, they would be caught on the ground by any attack. They are based further inland. Hawk IIIs. Our version of your BF2C. They were too slow to get here. The bombers had gone.” She looked at Hull curiously, seeing the tears trickling down his cheeks. It is time to tread very, very gently.

  “If you had faster fighters, they could have reached here?” Hull was having difficulty speaking.

  “Probably not.” The Ambassador spoke carefully. If he feels too much guilt, he will become defensive and self justifying. “Aranyaprathet is too close to the border to be defended. That is why the French insisted the border be where it is; so that our towns could be held hostage. This is not your fault, Mister Secretary. It is the French authorities in Hanoi who ordered this raid and the one at Nakhon Phanom. We were lucky that the casualties were so few.”

  Hull looked again and the shattered market. A woman sat in one corner, rocking backwards and forwards while she wept. He didn’t need to speak Thai to understand what she was moaning. Her husband was one of the six dead. Now she didn’t know what to do next. For her, the casualties were not few; nor had the day been lucky.

  “They weren’t so few for her”

  He was about to go to comfort her when he felt the Ambassador’s hand on his arm. “No, Mister Secretary. Pay attention to her now, and she is too stricken with her grief to show you proper respect. Later, that memory will shame her. Leave her to her family; they will look after her. If you wish, you can see her in a day or so when the family will be ready to receive guests.”

  “I must return home. I have already been away too long.” Hull looked around the devastated market place and whispered the next words. “This is like China. And Guernica.”

  The Ambassador stamped down her doubts over whether Guernica had actually been bombed the way the story said and put on her best sincerely-grave expression. “The Vichy authorities are allies of the Germans and the Hanoi administration is aligned with the Japanese. Is this so surprising? Or is it so surprising we consider all those people to be our enemies?”

  Hull shook his head, convincing himself that the wetness on his cheeks was the result of the smoke and smell irritating his eyes. “Madam Ambassador. I will be candid. I do not like your military government and I do not like the way that government rules this country. But, I am convinced that this country has the ability and the desire to change and outgrow its present system. You have convinced me that your government shares that desire to grow and mature. Put together a list of the equipment your country needs to defend itself. It will be supplied. And do what you must to make sure this kind of atrocity does not happen again.”

  Comando Supremo, Regio Esercito, Rome, Italy

  “The situation in North Africa is a catastrophe.”

  General Badoglio stared at the map that dominated the room, trying to absorb the speed and extent to which the situation had suddenly become dreadful. Almost 200,000 Italian soldiers had already either been taken prisoner or had been cut off in Cyrenaica. The only options for the latter were to break out or be added to the total number of Italians sitting in prisoner of war camps.

  “The only reason why the situation in East Africa is less catastrophic is that we had fewer forces out there to lose. Ethiopia is gone. Somaliland is gone. Eritrea is gone. Italian East Africa no longer exists, except as a few scattered forces and isolated outposts. But for all that, North Africa is still the main disaster.”

  “We have received more approaches from the Halifax government in London, Duce. They are offering us a ceasefire and a return to pre-war borders in exchange for a non-aggression pact.” Count Gian Galeazzo Ciano looked across at the room. “This would be a very satisfactory ending for us, were the offer to be of even the slightest importance.”

  “It is another ruse de guerre?” Badoglio was mildly amused by the idea of the Halifax government actually doing something effective.

  Ciano thought carefully. He owed his position to having married Il Duce’s daughter Edda, but that didn’t change the fact he was an astute and skillful diplomat. “I do not believe Halifax’s messages are a ruse de guerre. I believe they are sincerely meant and reflected the perceptions of the situation as seen from London. I now believe that those perceptions are wholly mistaken. T
here are, in effect, two British governments. There is the Halifax government in London and the Churchill government in Ottawa. The question, to which we must find an answer, is to which of these governments do the British forces in Egypt owe allegience? To answer that, we must look at their actions. We see they have ignored every message that comes out of London and gone their own way. So they obviously do not regard Halifax as being their head of state.”

  “So they have transferred their allegience to Churchill.” Badoglio thought about that for a moment. “What is the position there?”

  “I’m not so sure they have.” Ciano seemed almost in despair. I’m a diplomat and I have nobody to diplome with. I’m ready to lie, cheat and steal with the best of them but I can’t find anybody to do it with. A lifetime of preparing for this job and nobody will play with me. It really is too bad.

  “As far as I can work out, General Wavell is taking his orders very literally. His job is to defend the Suez Canal and I think he believes he has to do that until the situation between Halifax and Churchill is resolved. He is defending the Canal so effectively that he’ll be in Tripoli by the end of January, unless we are really careful.”

  Badoglio looked across the great table at where Benito Mussolini sat. In theory, at least, chairing the meeting. In reality, he was completely silent and motionless. “But it’s not just Wavell is it? The whole Commonwealth is there. They’ve sent their best units, their best aircraft, their finest ships to the Middle East.

  “Why? What do they hope to gain?”

  “I don’t know.” Ciano’s desperation was almost comical. “Nothing about this makes sense. The British Commonwealth has become the Commonwealth of Nations, but that’s just a change of name. It doesn’t mean anything, except that Britain isn’t the head any more. But, they’re pouring troops into the Middle East as if their very lives depended on it. One would expect them to look to defending their home countries first, but there’s no sign of that. This doesn’t make any kind of sense. General, I’m not a military man. You tell me what Australia and India and South Africa are doing in the Middle East? Because I don’t know.”

  Badoglio started to speak and then stopped. He thought for a few seconds, started again and then stopped. Eventually he sighed with a level of despair that equalled Ciano’s own. “I don’t know. There’s no great strategic need for them to be there. Persia and Iraq I can see, for the oil. But they have no need to be in the Middle East or East Africa at all. It’s as if they perceive their major threat as coming through there and they are determined to preempt it. I think that isn’t important, though. What is essential is that we take action to stop Wavell’s rampage westwards. East Africa is gone; we must accept that. What is left is to try and save Libya. The naval expedition we sent to do that was a disastrous failure.”

  That is an understatement. One battleship sunk; one so badly damaged it will take months if not years to repair. A third with lesser damage. Half our heavy cruisers lost or damaged. Our best merchant ships sunk or bombed in harbor. Wherever we look, we see disaster. Ciano shuddered slightly.

  “We cannot do this on our own resources. We have to get help from Germany. I have sent them a message, asking for mobile troops. Armored and motorized divisions are all that counts in the desert. The British have taught us that all too well. And aircraft. Those American Tomahawks have driven our colonial air force out of the battle, just as our CR.42s drove away the British colonial aircraft. German Messerschmitts will quickly put an end to them and restore air superiority.”

  “And what do the Germans say?”

  “I have received no reply as yet. I was expecting one and hoped to have it for this meeting. My staff are on orders to bring the message over as soon as it arrives. I am very hopeful though; at this point a little assistance will go a long way. For all the achievements of the British in Africa, the forces they have available to them are very small. Given some aid, we can reverse this situation.”

  “I hope so.” Badoglio sounded unconvinced. “I can see no way of recovering from this disaster without it. The aircraft are key. The Tomahawks are greatly superior to any fighters we have, but they are equally inferior to the Messerschmitt 109. Once we have recovered air superiority, we will be able to stop the bombing raids on our troops and consolidate our positions.”

  Badoglio had been intending to continue. He was stopped by the telephone ringing. Ciano picked it up, listened for a few seconds and then covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “The German Ambassador has arrived with the reply to our request for assistance.”

  “Well, get him up here.” Badoglio sounded impatient; as, indeed, he was.

  Hans Georg von Mackensen was an almost stereotypical picture of a German aristocrat and ambassador. Even so, he seemed exceptionally embarrassed at being asked to present the reply from Berlin personally. That alone gave Ciano a sinking feeling, von Mackensen’s first words reinforced that sensation.

  “Il Duce, gentlemen, I must stress that this is the reply I have received from Herr Ribbentrop himself. These are his words and are counter to the advice I provided. Herr Ribbentrop says ‘Failure has had the healthy effect of once more compressing Italian claims to within the natural boundaries of Italian capabilities. You made your bed; now go whore in it.’ I am sorry, both for the refusal of assistance and the unpardonable manner in which the refusal was made. I do not know what else to say.”

  There was a long pause during which complete silence dominated the room. Von Mackensen stood there, shifting from foot to foot in embarrassment; for all the world, looking as if he urgently needed to urinate. Eventually, Ciano sighed and shook his head.

  “Thank you, Hans. There is no need to delay you further.”

  After von Mackensen had left, Badoglio spoke very quietly. “So that’s it then. We have just been told that Germany considers Britain to be of greater value to its future plans than we are. The Commonwealth squadrons, with their Tomahawks and Marylands, control the air. The British Navy, and its aircraft carriers, controls the Mediterranean. Our forces in North Africa are doomed unless we can arrange an immediate ceasefire. We must contact London immediately.”

  “Not London.” Ciano was emphatic. “Cairo. We have already discussed how General Wavell appears to have struck out on his own. We cannot be certain that any military orders Lord Halifax and his government issue will be obeyed by the armed forces they nominally control. There is only one person with whom we can negotiate and that is General Wavell himself. We must ask him for a ceasefire and save what we can.”

  The silence returned to the room, broken only by the scrape of a chair as Benito Mussolini got to his feet and quietly left the room. A split second later, there was a muffled thud from outside the door. A guard threw the door open in blind, undiluted panic.

  “Summon assistance immediately. Il Duce had collapsed and is unconscious. I think he has had a stroke.”

  GHQ, Middle East Command, Cairo, Egypt

  The radio crackled. The rolling tones of the speech were masked by the atmospherics, but there was no doubt that Winston Churchill was in full rhetorical voice.

  “Rather more than half of a year has passed since the new Government came into power by nefarious and underhanded means. What a cataract of disaster has poured out upon us since then! The whole of Europe, from the North Cape to the Spanish frontier, is now in German hands; all the ports, all the airfields, all the resources of this immense block now stand against us. The perfidy of That Man and his betrayal of our gallant French allies has led to a period of horror and disaster which could challenge our conviction of final victory, were it not burning unquenchable in our hearts. Few would have believed we could survive; none would have believed that we should today not only feel stronger, but should actually be stronger, than we have ever been before.

  “The countries that once formed the core of the British Empire, finding themselves alone, stood undismayed against disaster. Not one of them flinched or wavered; nay, some who formerly thought of peace, no
w think only of war. The banner may have fallen from Britain’s hands, but it has been taken up by the Commonwealth of Nations and waved defiantly in the face of our enemies. Our people are united and resolved, as they have never been before. Death and ruin have become small things compared with erasing the shame of our defeat and our failure in duty. We cannot tell what lies ahead. It may be that even greater ordeals lie before us. We shall face whatever is coming to us. We are sure of ourselves and of our cause, and that is the supreme fact which has emerged in these months of trial.

  “Nowhere has our renewed spirit been more apparent than in Africa. The countries of the Commonwealth of Nations have stood together and ferried to the African theater an immense mass of munitions of all kinds: cannon, rifles, machine guns, cartridges and shell, all safely landed there without the loss of a gun or a round. The Commwealth Nations, led by Australia, India, New Zealand, South Africa and all the other members of our far-flung family, have poured forth troops into the theater. The great battle, which has been in progress in North Africa for the last few weeks, has recently attained a high intensity. It is too soon to attempt to assign limits, either to its scale or to its duration, but the victory won by the Commonwealth of Nations is already great beyond our poor imagination. Undaunted by odds, unwearied in their constant challenge and mortal danger, they are turning the tide of the World War by their prowess and their devotion. The lands liberated from cruel oppression, the sight of the columns of Italian prisoners and the mountains of captured war materials now in the hands of our gallant Commonwealth soldiers, is unparalleled. Never in the field of human conflict was so much surrendered by so many to so few.

  “How much more might we have achieved if our cause had not been betrayed by Lord Halifax and his minions? The effect of their treason is an account that is already overdue and claiming payment is the task which lies before us. It is a task at once more practical, more simple and more stern that simply achieving victory. I hope—indeed, I pray—that we shall not be found unworthy of our victory if, after toil and tribulation, it is granted to us. With the aid of our Commonwealth brothers, we have to gain the victory and exact due and dispassionate penalties on those who betrayed us. That is our task and our privilege.”