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By dawn of the next day, the navy held all of south Bangkok. Army and police were in control of the north, while air force trainers, fitted with improvised bomb racks, fought a desperate duel with navy ships in the river for command of the west side's dockyards and fuel depots. A black pall spread over the city as a bomb struck square on a fuel depot. At one point, the navy sent out an amphibious landing force, only to see it wiped out from the air. An air-force bomb caught the Sri Ayuthia. Fire broke out on board and the ship began to list. Premier Phibun took to the water along with his captors, and, flanked by navy men, swam to shore and safety.
Still Tops. By the end of the second night's fighting, the navy had been blasted from its last stronghold. Some navy men on the west side changed hastily into civilian clothes and were shot trying to escape. As dawn broke, word spread through the city that all was over, that Phibun was safe and still top man. Unlike most Siamese coups (there have been six since 1932), in which practically nobody gets hurt, last week's battling piled up a casualty list well into the hundreds. Like most Siamese squalls, it was a private fight, apparently unconnected with the worldwide struggle between East and West. Foreigners, who feel that Siam is gravely threatened from Red China, could not help feeling that the Siamese were lighting matches in a tinder-dry hay barn. Local observers, on the other hand, felt that the coup had served a useful purpose. They pointed out that the navy, rated before the coup as the weakest link in Siam's defenses, had fought beyond all expectations. The air force, said one taxpayer, "had proved well worth the cost of its maintenance."
As a final gesture of solidarity with an ally, the navy officially apologized to the U.S. for spoiling its party. "We did not intend to insult much-appreciated goodwill to Siam," said the navy, "but we were compelled by patriotic motives."