by Stuart Slade
Natal Mounted Rifles, Nyang’oma Kogelo, Kenya
“God, this chicken is good. Makes the wait worthwhile.”
Sergeant Dirk Klaas looked at the African woman running the roadside food stand. “Look, we really are sorry about that kid. We’d have stopped if we could, but a big truck like that, towing a gun….”
It had been a simple road accident, almost mundane. The column of South African trucks had been heading south, on their way to an embarkation port, when a young child had run right out in front of the convoy. The lead vehicle had absolutely no chance to stop. It had run him over. The vehicle behind had done the same and so had the one behind that. By the time the convoy had stopped, the child was very obviously very, very dead. The local police had arrived and started to take statements, but Klaas had noted nobody seemed to care very much. One woman was weeping quietly, but that was all. From her age, she was probably the child’s mother.
“Don’t you distress yourself, Sergeant.”
Klaas noted she had his rank right and spoke good English. Mission-taught, no doubt. “Nobody liked that little monster. Uppity child, always telling everybody what to do. More chicken? I can do you a special price if all your men buy from me.”
The South Africans were milling around the market place while the accident report was finished. The chicken stand was, in Klaas’s opinion, by far the best food there. “I’ll tell you what, Mother. You give us a right price, and we’ll buy enough to eat now and also for our meal this evening.”
The woman beamed at the polite address and named a price. Klaas called his men over. She had a plate of samples waiting. They were enough to convince the platoon that this was indeed a deal that should not be missed. A few minutes later, the stand was the scene of frenzied activity as her family got to work making up the biggest order for cooked chicken her business had ever seen.
“Sergeant?” A painfully young South African officer was calling him. “The police have finished interviewing the truck drivers. They are reporting this as a sad accident caused by a child not being taught to respect traffic properly. Between you and me, most of the village does not seem too sympathetic to the family and the child was very unpopular with the others here. Anyway, the division has made a compensation payment to the mother and that has closed the affair. You organized all this chicken for your men? Good move; spending money like this will soothe any hurt feelings in the village.”
“It’s really good chicken, sir. Try a piece.”
The officer did so. a look of sheer delight spread across his face. “My God, man; you’re not joking. Mother, when this order is done, can you make up another for me? The divisional headquarters will have a feast tonight.”
“It will be done, sir.” The woman watched her children redouble their efforts to increase grilled chicken production while making sure they didn’t take short cuts that would affect the quality of her product.
Around the back of the hut, the execution of chickens was reaching holocaust proportions. The family head was ecstatic at the sheer volume of business. He was already working out how to build his family a new home on the profits. He suddenly realized this could be the start of something big. He called out to his wife, “Nyarai, look after our guests well and they will bring many more back. And give the sergeant and his officer some free bottles of beer. You see, that horrible little boy was of some use to the village after all.”
Lieutenant Piet van der Haan was careful to hide his smile. As divisional intelligence officer, he spoke Kikuyu perfectly.
Jarcline Mutheson House, Thanon Witthayu, Bangkok, Thailand
“And so, Madam Ambassador, I would like to formally welcome you to the new headquarters of Jardine Matheson. We’re up and running as the formal headquarters of the Princely Hong as of today. All our key staff and all our records are here. Our agents and clients know that this is where the decisions are made. All the other Hongs are either already here or following. By the end of the year, there’ll be nothing left in Hong Kong except empty buildings.” Simon Keswick hesitated; leaving anything behind for the Japanese upset him. “I wish we could bring them over too.”
“Have you somewhere comfortable to live?” Suriyothai well understood how valuable this alliance would be and it had to work. As much depended on this as it had on the war in Indochina.
“A very fine household, rented on a 99-year lease. And the accommodations you have found for our Chinese staff are more than acceptable. You have worked hard for us, Madam, and your efforts are appreciated. As are those of your army.” Keswick spoke the latter with a dry sense of humor.
The Japanese Fifth Division wouldn’t be capable of doing anything other than rebuild itself. Another division would have to be moved to Indochina to replace it. That meant the planned operation against Hong Kong would be delayed for months. The time so bought had been invaluable in making an orderly move. “I am sure Swire, Hutchinson-Whampoa, HSBC and all the other Hongs will be equally appreciative. It is a pity Lloyds of London have chosen to center their international operations on Bombay, but they were already established there …”
The Ambassador looked out the window at Thanom Witthayu and the construction work going on. The canal down the center had been filled in and the road turned into a modern, hard-surfaced, divided highway to join the city’s administrative center with the explosively growing international business area here. Across the street, the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank had its ‘headquarters’ in a dilapidated wooden house. They had gone to great lengths to be the second Hong to make Bangkok its home. Next to that existing building, foundations for their new office block were already being poured.
Less than a year into the great revolution she had planned and already her city was being fundamentally changed. The buildings going up were a symbol of that. Once, at six stories, this office building had been the largest in the city. It would be dwarfed by the new ones going up along Thanom Witthayu and Thanom Sukhumvit. Already, Jardine Matheson were planning a new and much larger headquarters. Phillip is right; we are going to need a lot of cement.
There was a copy of the latest issue of Life magazine on the conference room table. The cover picture had been taken by Robert Capa. It showed a Thai infantry sergeant bayoneting a Japanese officer. Capa had caught the moment perfectly. The sergeant was in a classically perfect bayonet thrust. The long blade transfixed the officer; its end clearly visible beyond the man’s back. The officer was arching backwards from the force of the thrust; his cap hurled from his head and his sword flying through the air. The caption ‘Japan Meets Its Match’ was, in the Ambassador’s opinion, premature. But, Life hadn’t had access to the long casualty lists from the 11th Infantry to temper its judgement when the front page had been set.
“You kept your promise, Highness.” Keswick looked at the picture also. “All your promises. Your Army fought better than anybody expected. But, I do not think that sergeant will sleep well for many nights to come.”
“You are not concerned about our new Prime Minister?” The change in government had been politically essential, but she was worried about the effects it might have on the business community.
“Khun Pridi? Not at all. He is a good and honest man, an excellent Prime Minister. And one who knows his duty.”
The Ambassador and the Taipan smiled at each other. As always, they understood each other perfectly.
Room 208, Munitions Building, Washington, DC, USA
“I know Pridi. A good man, he studied law at the Sorbonne.”
Cordell Hull was ready to acknowledge the merits of a fellow-lawyer. The result of the elections and the ensuing peaceful transfer of power from the National to the Democratic Party had surprised him. He had honestly expected the National Party to win a massive majority, even without rigging the results. That it had not done so forced him to admit that he had seen everything he could have wished, a democratic government, the Japanese defeated and their allies driven back. The situation in the region had been stabilized; tempor
arily, at least. Even more importantly, with its back door protected, the Indians had felt secure enough to turn a blind eye to the supplies being shipped into Rangoon and then sent to China via the Ledo Road.
“Very progressive in economic matters.” Henry Morgenthau echoed Hull’s feelings. “I have their initial list of proposed purchases from the line of credit we are extending to them. Almost all civilian-sector industrial development. New power stations figure prominently. They want an asphalt plant for road construction and a new University. The University of Chicago has been approached to partner with them and set up their courses. They are also asking us for funding to set up an institute to research and develop snakebite antitoxins.”
“No military equipment?” Stimson was curious.
“Some. Biggest item is 24 DB-7C torpedo bombers for a new naval air arm. They’re the same as the ones the Dutch ordered for the East Indies. Otherwise, they are ordering some more tanks in addition to the M2 lights.”
“Which ones?” Stimson was worried about that. The U.S. Army was desperately short of tanks itself. Even losing a hundred of the obsolete M2s had been a painful blow to an army that was frantically trying to mechanize.
“They want enough M3 medium tanks to equip a battalion.”
Stimson sucked his teeth. He didn’t think much of the M3 design; it was an interim product until a better vehicle was designed, but it was the only medium in prospect for a while. “We’ll have to take that under advisement. The DB-7Cs won’t be a problem. Anything else?”
“Artillery. They want our 105s.”
“So do we. We can ship them surplus French 75s instead. That it?”
“They want more fighters in the longer term; they’re asking about Republic P-44s or Bell P-39s. But they say that can wait, since they have problems absorbing the new aircraft they have. There’s another thing coming up. We’re picking up rumors that the Dutch East Indies, Australia and India are all being approached by Japan for supplies. Oil, rice, food, iron ore and so on. And those countries are responding. Viewed objectively, they don’t have much choice of course. They can’t sell to anybody else and Japan can’t buy from anybody else. Good question whether it’s a buyer’s or seller’s market. But, Cordell, we’re going to have to admit that any trade embargo we mount against Japan is going to be very leaky.”
“Have you read the reports we got from that battle on the Mekong?” Stimson shook his head in disbelief at what he had read. He had a copy of Life magazine in his briefcase. The article on the battle, illustrated by Capa’s stark pictures, had shocked him. “We’ve had a lot of reports back from China, but nothing like this. This is the first time we’ve seen the Japanese defending against a counterattack from a modern army. The Japanese simply didn’t retreat and they didn’t give up. They had to be killed in their foxholes, one by one. We haven’t seen that in China, probably because the Japanese haven’t faced a defeat of this scale there, but the reports are chilling. They took no prisoners; they just killed anybody who tried to surrender, including their own people. Not that they had much occasion to do the latter. Their infantry just didn’t surrender. No quarter given or taken, even when they faced flamethrowers. Towards the end, they’d been driven back on to a spit of land with no way out. The survivors just kept charging the Thai positions until they were gunned down. We’re going to have to accept that if we go to war with them, it will be bloody.”
There was a moment of silence in the room that was broken by a thoughtful Cordell Hull. “Well, that brings us to you, Phillip. How’s the study of the German synthetic fuel business going?”
Short Sunderland Mark 1 F-Freddie, Approaching Sydney Harbor, Australia
“It looks like we’ve made it home.”
Squadron Leader Alleyne was making his final approach to the flying boat landing area. He realized just how homesick he was. The twelve Sunderlands of his squadron were strung out in a long line and he could sense the urgency of the crews. The flight from Aden had been a long one, punctuated only by refuelling stops.
“Any idea what we’ll be doin’ next?” Andy Walker sounded as if he badly needed some sleep. He did; so did everybody else in 10 Squadron.
“Word is, we’ll be based in Queensland. We’ve got quite a maritime empire formin’ and we’ll need ta patrol it somehow. I dunno if we’ll keep these old sheilas, but I doubt if that’ll be possible. Where we goin’ to get the spares from? We may end up flyin’ Catalinas instead.” Alleyne swung the Sunderland on to its landing run and felt the bottom of the hull kiss the water. The aircraft lurched and bounded a couple of times with the chop on the water, then settled down into a smooth glide through the landing area.
“You really think we’ll be flyin’ Catalinas?” Walker didn’t sound impressed by the idea.
“11 Squadron already has them. They were supposed to be gettin’ Sunderlands. We’d better make the most of these while we have them.”
GHQ, Middle East Command, Cairo, Egypt
“The Italians are keeping their side of the agreement.” General Henry ‘Jumbo’ Maitland Wilson sounded relieved. The great fear across Middle East Command had been that the peace agreement with the Italians would break the momentum of Operation Compass and allow the Italians to regroup. If that happened, they still outnumbered and outgunned the Desert Rats. Maitland Wilson was quite sure that, had the war resumed, it would not have been so easy a second time. But, the news from Libya was quite unequivocal. The Italians were withdrawing all the troops not needed for the security of their colony.
“And we ours.” General Archibald Percival Wavell was very firm on that point. It was essential that either this peace agreement held or thatbreaking it was seen to be the work of the Italians. With the second possibility eliminated, the first was guaranteed. “With the Canal and Egypt secure, we can address the problem of Iraq. There are rumblings from that country and I fear the situation there is coming to a head.”
“The latest intelligence is that a group of four Iraqi nationalist army generals, known as “the Golden Square,” are planning a revolt. The Golden Square intend to overthrow the regime of Regent ‘Abd al-Ilah and install Rashid Ali as Prime Minister. Their objective is to press for full Iraqi independence following the limited independence granted in 1932. To that end, they are working with German intelligence and are accepting military assistance from Germany.”
“The Noth Plan.” Major-General Noel Beresford-Peirse sounded almost incredulous. “They actually mean to go through with it.”
“It defies logic, but I must agree with you.” Wavell thought for a few seconds. “Have your Fourth Indians ready to move to Iraq. They can join 20th Indian Brigade there.”
“I’ll need to get my Government’s approval for that, Archie.”
Wavell nodded. “Of course. My apologies; it’s so easy to forget how much things have changed in a year. Please, consult Calcutta, Noel, and ask their approval to move your division. Perhaps we can shift some air power to Iraq. Moving aircraft doesn’t have the political implications of ground forces.”
“My New Zealanders are well-placed, Archie,” Major-General Bernard Freyberg spoke. “We could move a column into Iraq damn fast, if you give the word. I’m not sure how long we’ll be a viable force, though, the way things are going back home. The Government’s bankrupt and the boy’s pay is months in arrears. As far as you’re concerned, if you don’t use us, you could lose us.”
“Thank you, Bernie. I’ll bear that in mind. So far though, we’ll just have to let the situation mature.” Wavell looked around. “If there is no other business, I suggest we adjourn for the day.”
Tomahawk II Marijke, Habbaniyah, Iraq
“So this is the famous Marijke?”
The sixteen Tomahawks were lined up in the parking area after the flight in from Kenya. They were only one of the squadrons that had arrived. A Desert Rat Maryland squadron was also trying to make itself comfortable in its new home. One of their pilots was admiring Marijke and the line of kill marks p
ainted under her cockpit. Flight Lieutenant Pim Bosede had almost two dozen confirmed kills by the time the fighting had ended. His fame was spreading as one of the first Commonwealth aces. The Tomahawks, their noses painted with the garish shark’s mouth, had become as symbolic of the Middle East fighting as the Matilda tank and the Bren Gun carrier.
“She is, and a fine aircraft. A good partner. I’m Bosede; Pim to my friends.”
“Sean Mannix, 47 Squadron. That’s my Maryland over there. G-George. We got pulled out of Egypt a few days ago and ordered here. No idea why.”
“Iraq’s a nice, quiet area. Guess the powers that be decided we needed
a rest.”
“Might be, Pim; might be. Why don’t you come over and I’ll introduce you to my crew?”
Cabinet Office, 10 Downing Street, London, United Kingdom
“According to the note of protest, two Ju-90 reconnaissance aircraft were damaged in the attack.” Sir Arnold Robins looked at the copy of the report again. “The damage is really quite minor; amounts to no more than a few bullet holes really. Nobody was hurt, although one of our regular policemen twisted his ankle while searching for the shooters.”
“It sounds more like vandalism, or even just youthful high spirits, than an organized attack.” Lord Halifax was very reluctant to admit there was anything more to the incident than a few farmers, probably very drunk, taking pot-shots at parked aircraft. He wasn’t even certain whether who owned the aircraft would have made much difference.
“The German note says as much, Prime Minister. They make light of the situation and imply that, taken by itself, it is of little account. However, they do suggest it points to a risk that a more organized and effective attack may take place one day and that an ounce of prevention now would be better than a pound of cure later.”
“And just what would that ounce of prevention be?” R. A. B. Butler sounded slightly suspicious.
“The note draws our attention to the fact that the police guarding the gate at Tangmere airfield were unarmed. In this case, it would have made no real difference to the situation, but they suggest that the replacement of unarmed British regular police by armed personnel would reassure the authorities in Germany.”