Stuart Slade: A Mighty Endeavor

“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?”

“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.”

“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 that breaking 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.”

“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 painted 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.