Sunday, 1 June 1952
The guerilla camp, base of the Negri Sembilan Regional Committee, the political wing of the Malayan Communist Party (MCP), was situated in a flat space surrounded by thick jungle not far from the summit of Bukit Beremban, 3293 feet high, itself overshadowed by the even higher feature, Gunong Telapak, at 3914 feet, both easily seen from Seremban. It was guarded by elements of the Malayan Races Liberation Army (MRLA). 1/12 GR’s camp could be seen from there.
The camp was always cool by day and chilly at nights, especially after it had been raining. At that height the noise from the cicadas in the surrounding jungle was, at times, so loud it was difficult to hear what a person said in a normal voice. It was a murderously hard place to attack. Out of sight from below, the only entrance was up an almost sheer slope, with two lots of steps, one for ‘up’ and the other for ‘down’, cleverly cut and cunningly camouflaged, invisible to those who did not know they were there. Tell-tale signs of movement were always carefully erased. Ropes of plaited vines reached every sentry who only had to tug their rope to give the alarm: one pull, known visitor; two pulls, high alert; three, stand-to. At the top was a strong defence post where the one Bren light machine gun was permanently sited, neatly hidden, with rifle positions around the perimeter. Camp sentries alerted their seniors by low whistles.
Water was never a difficulty as there was a spring at the back of the camp and a stream flowed along one edge of it. Rations, though, were a constant problem. Fresh meat was sometimes available – routine patrols were not allowed to shoot for food but traps were set for deer, porcupine and jungle pig. When possible, rice was smuggled in from Seremban, otherwise guerillas ‘borrowed’ it from villagers on the jungle edge, farther to the east. Cooking, always strictly controlled because of smoke problems, was done in a confined area near the spring, any excess smoke drifting away with the stream. On one side was a cave for stores, rice, flour, a few clothes and sleeping material for any important visitor, as well as a small workshop where arms could be mended. There was enough space for a rudimentary game of volleyball to be played of an evening. Limbs grew stiff sitting around camp all day. Outside patrols were kept to a minimum to avoid leaving tell-tale signs. An evacuation plan was practiced once a month. It had yet to be used.
The guerillas’ huts, made of waterproof palm thatch, were almost invisible from the air: orders had been strictly given, and as strictly carried out, for fresh leaves to be put on the roofs as soon as the old ones became the slightest difference in colour. Always tidy and clean, they were built on low bamboo-slatted platforms six inches above the ground as protection both against insects and any possible flash flooding. The two senior men, the Political Commissar and the Military Commander, both in their late thirties, slept in hammocks. Strung on poles, they too had leafy camouflage on top. It rained heavily almost every afternoon, so near twenty past four that a watch could be set by it, that is, if you had a watch to set. Fronds were laid to sleep on. Men had light-weight blankets. There were no mosquitoes or midges. In front of each guerilla’s sleeping place was his pack, always ready with what was needed if an immediate evacuation were ever ordered. Personal weapons were carried at all times: at night they were closer to the owner’s body than would a wife have been. Guerillas wore khaki shirt and trousers, puttees and canvas shoes – so easy for leeches to cluster round each ankle – and a round, small-peaked khaki hat with a red star, cloth or enamel, in front.
Some distance off, on the flatter ground, were several guerilla outposts responsible for the safety of the Regional Committee camp by patrolling and ambushing any Security Forces, in order to draw any attacker away from the main camp rather than to engage them decisively. They and the camp’s rank-and-file ‘defence’ guerillas were part of 2 Regiment, MRLA, the regiment assigned for the struggle in Negri Sembilan, attached for the Regional Committee’s defence.
Although tactically the camp was easy to defend and in a delightful spot, it did not have good feng shui, ‘wind and water’. Correct alignment with nature had been disrupted as the stream had been diverted from its natural alignment and the latrines had not been built in the most propitious place. Both were bones of contention between the two senior men in the camp, the political man who overrode the military commander even in military situations, despite when the latter’s tactical knowledge was obviously the better but not ‘politically sound’. The Regional Commissar, named Lau Beng, was a one-time schoolmaster from Seremban, a veteran activist from pre-war days. Sullen and uncommunicative, with a deeply pockmarked face set above a neck that looked as if it had been screwed on, he had jet-black eyes that sparkled like malevolent jewels and were as venomous as a Black Widow spider’s, with lips thin and cruel as a well-healed knife wound. His mouthful of a nickname was Sai Daam Lo Ch’e Dai P’aau, ‘Small gall bladder bloke carrying a big cannon’, though normally only the first three words were used. Chinese ‘guts’ lie in the gall bladder and ‘big cannon’ in this context signifies a ‘loud-mouth’. Everybody knew that but woe betide anyone being overheard using it: its owner was ultra sensitive about it. Being of a vicious, irrational, cruel and stupid nature, he punished offenders soundly. He was, in fact, shallow, cowardly and a bully, not as tough physically or mentally as he liked to make out. He did not believe in feng shui.
On the other hand, Wang Ming – the military man – trustworthy, stolid and slow-thinking, with limited imagination and who had no hope of promotion, was a proponent of it. He was a short, almost square man, and powerfully built – he looked like a bear and his nickname was Hung Lo, Bear – at low level he was tactically astute. He was liked by the rank-and-file guerillas because he looked after them to the best of his ability. He was patient when training them and would go out on operations with them. A veteran from the Second World War, he had met up with those few British officers and men who had moved into the jungle after the Japanese had conquered both Malaya and Singapore, helping them to fight the invaders. From 1944 onwards, Liberator aircraft, able to fly from Ceylon and back, started parachuting men and stores to augment those sent ashore from submarines, for what was by then known as Force 136. He had helped prepare dropping zones. If the drops were at night it meant preparing fires to be lit when the throb of the aeroplane’s engines was heard. On one occasion he was detailed as escort to a British officer who had arranged a meeting with Chin Peng, a senior Politburo member then and now Chairman of the MCP.
Apart from the Political Commissar and his military counterpart neither liking nor trusting one another, normal among any Communist fraternity where didactic diatribes mattered more than the ‘cut and thrust’ of normal conversation, the mental disparity of belief in feng shui acted as an unspoken but rasping grudge between the two men. By now there was an unspoken truce not to mention it.
The camp boasted a wireless set, an old one that needed repair. It picked up the Chinese service of Radio Malaya but only the two senior men were allowed to listen to it. When members of the Min Yuen, officials of the Masses Movement who were the ‘eyes and ears’ of the guerillas, reported to the camp, current rumour was passed on. The only reading material allowed were copies of The Beacon, produced in Johore, and Battle News from Pahang, which couriers left in known ‘letter box’ drops, such as boles in dead trees and clefts in rocks, and which guerillas fetched at odd intervals.
The thirty guerillas in the main camp were divided into a defence section and a political group. Days were filled by lessons in Marxism and meetings of self-criticism: at the last session one man was told he was ‘not hygienic enough’, another was praised for ‘having the friendly group spirit’ and a third was castigated for being ‘a little lazy, slipshod in his studies’, ‘not too agreeable’ and, worst of all, ‘fearful of the situation’ so ‘regarded by his comrades as rather immature’. There was no suggestion of friendliness about the Chinese word for ‘comrade’, ‘t’ung chi’. It merely meant ‘of like purpose’, with even less friendly feeling towards each other than was found in any barrack room full of soldiers anywhere: obligatory, all the same. Nobody ever dared let on that these meetings were so mind-numbingly boring it was hard to keep awake. In fact, boredom was their biggest bane.
However, all remembered one discussion on a subject that the Central Committee considered obligatory for dissemination. There had been some trouble with women guerillas and, as the circular had put it: ‘We do not prohibit anybody making love. But such love must be proper. Once love is established, one should report it and its exact circumstances to the organisation. The matter will have to undergo investigation, then both parties will be informed in accordance with the resolution.’ Even though the camp had no women members, several questions had to be answered:
It caused a certain amount of ribaldry at ‘soldier’ level but anything ‘touchy-feely’ was even more circumspect than before.
This particular day the camp was on high alert, with sentries placed around the bottom of the camp entrance. A high-powered conference was taking place: four men, sitting on spliced bamboo benches around a table made of thin wood, were discussing the latest directive, brought in from the Central Committee of the MCP only the day before by the Deputy Chairman, a bright–looking man named Yong Kwoh. With him had come another Politburo member named Ah Fat. Originally a Kuala Lumpur man, he had made a reputation for himself in the war: by pretending to be a guerilla deserter; he had infiltrated a Japanese camp, promising to lead them to attack some Chinese guerillas who were harassing them, only to lead them into a guerilla ambush. The Japanese had all been killed but frightful revenge had been taken against the residents of the nearest village to where the ambush had taken place. Later Ah Fat had worked with elements of Force 136. Neither the Political Commissar nor the Military Commander had previously met him when he was introduced to them as the Military Consultant to the Central Committee, a non-voting member, but both of them had heard about his exploits.
Ah Fat was well built and solid but his movements were fluid. His eyes were always alert, never missing a trick, even though his peripheral gaze was not easy to follow. He looked a tad glum, was round of face, with high cheek bones and flat ears. He stood about five and a half feet high. He had a habit of rubbing the palms of his hands together when thinking. His ears, close to his head, had, in some circles, given him the nickname of P’ing Yee, Flat Ears. Normally taciturn, he could turn on the charm when needed. He was well educated and spoke excellent English. However, for safety’s sake, he kept that skill a closely guarded secret lest his ‘other’ role be jeopardised. Whenever he did speak English in front of other Chinese, it was only of middle-school standard.
This was the second occasion in the past six months that such senior men had been in that camp. The earlier visitors had come to explain the new policy that had been issued the previous October. A high-ranking Chinese Army officer had been infiltrated through Thailand and ‘suggested’ to the Politburo that the original campaign of unrelieved terrorism, from 1948 to the middle of 1949, had misfired. After the Japanese occupation people were tired of living in constant fear so the new policy was to exclude all unnecessary ‘inconvenience’ and that the Min Yuen, ‘Masses Movement’, would now control the masses ‘legally’.
The Political Commissar had been saddened by the change in strategy. He had been one of the two representatives of the MCP to go to Calcutta for the South Asian Youth Conference that took place in early February, 1948. It was a cover for the dissemination of the Zhdanov Doctrine that, in brief, was designed to wrest all colonial subjects in Asia from British, French and Dutch control to their own, Communist – of course – sovereignty.
Comrade Lau Beng found it difficult to understand some of the lectures and was disappointed in how little it could apply to Malaya: Surprise is the greatest factor in war. There are two kinds, tactical and strategic. Tactical surprise is an operational art. A skilled unit commander can generally achieve it. Strategic surprise is attained at the political level. Why quote Soviet doctrine when it was way above the heads of most delegates?
It was the other Malayan delegate who had asked about Mao Tse-tung and his guerilla war. Luckily copies of some of his writings were available for discussion. But they were dated. One was titled A Single Spark Can Start A Prairie Fire, published on 3 January 1930. There were some extensive notes on guerilla warfare, written in May 1938, but they were directed against Japan, not western imperialists. But did that matter? It was the Chinese doctrines that delegates could relate to and they certainly brought forth more discussion than had the heavy-handed Soviet stuff. It meant more to simple people. Such points as, for instance, Six Specific Problems in Guerilla War, Guerilla Zones and Base Areas and The Basic Principle of War is to Preserve Oneself and Destroy the Enemy brought a spark of interest where little or none had previously been observed. But, as ever, there was a negative side to it as much was made of democracy, ideology and education, heady stuff if one was a zealot but pretty meaningless when most of the delegation had no political vocabulary – democracy? fascist? feudal? what are they? – and ‘education’ merely meant a village school and boring homework. As for ‘ideology’ … Lau Beng’s education was not good enough to cover such points without more help because, although he had heard the words, he never properly understood what they meant.
The main point raised by a Padamsing Rai, representative from the Darjeeling Branch of the All-India Gorkha League, was about the retention of Gurkha soldiers serving under the British Crown in Malaya and Hong Kong even after the British had left India and his ideas for thwarting them. The conference chairman invited him to initiate them on his plans. Copying other delegates, he started off by thanking the chairman for allowing him the privilege of addressing fellow comrades. Then, ‘what I wholly and totally dislike and disagree with is the way the British have continued to make Gurkhas their mercenary slaves by taking them to guard their colonial interests in Malaya and Hong Kong. How can India allow transit facilities for such a colonial-inspired horror? Somehow this conference must bring moral pressure for this immoral project to be stopped.’
Much applause greeted this surprising remark but it was only after Comrade Lau Beng returned to Malaya did it make sense.
When it was the turn of the Australian Communist Party leader to speak, he had backed up Padamsing’s project about ‘mercenary Gurkha slaves’ and said that the Indian government was at fault for letting Gurkhas continue to serve the imperialist British by allowing them transit facilities. He ranted against British Army officers showing the worst side of the Anglo-Saxon character: greed, selfishness, arrogance, intolerance, conceit and chauvinism, ‘so teddibly Bwitish,’ he mincingly mimicked as though he had a potato in this mouth, working himself into such a frenzy that spit-bubbles hung at the corners of his lips and his cheeks, running to fat, wobbled in his intensity. He calmed down enough to insist that the MCP started an armed struggle against the British and finished off by wishing the Indian delegates a glorious red future.
That conference was followed by the Indian Communist Party Plenum, also in Calcutta, and one of the points discussed was the Zhdanov Doctrine. The Indian delegates were smug because India had got rid of the British without means described by the Doctrine.
On his return Lau Beng had briefed Chin Peng, now the Secretary General, about as much as he had been able to absorb on his return at the MCP’s 4th Plenary Session. It was then that active, rather than passive measures for a communist take-over, were discussed and, for these, final orders were given at the 5th Plenary Session, at which he was present, on 10th May 1948, at Saling Rubber Estate, 17½ Milestone, Johore Bahru-Kulai Road. Fancy still remembering those details … wrenching himself back to the present. I must have missed some of what the Politburo representative has been saying because I can’t quite place … ‘… military operations, however, have not turned out as well as had been anticipated’, he woke up to.
‘Comrades, the Central Committee is worried that there is a stool pigeon amongst our comrades who is secretly working for the long-nosed, red-haired, running dogs and their lackeys, the police,’ Yong Kwoh was saying. ‘We have been taking too many casualties recently, almost as though one of our number was giving the Security Forces details of our movements. The Politburo decided that I and Comrade Ah Fat make personal contact with all southern Regional Committees and you are our last place to visit. It now looks as if the leaks are coming from Negri Sembilan rather Selangor, which one might have expected because Kuala Lumpur has so many more government officials than anywhere else. Seremban is the place to concentrate on. Only the police will know who the spy is. We need two lists, one of any “sleepers” they may have and the other what the police have about us – their Wanted List, not the bland notices put up on police station notice boards for the general public to read, or not to read,’ this latter said with a derisory giggle, ‘but the confidential lists kept inside. The Central Committee wants to know how many of our higher ranks are still not known about and, if they are known about, a change of name and even a posting may be needed.’
The others nodded wisely. Lau Beng cleared his throat and asked rhetorically how such traitorous behaviour could be tolerated and that its counter needed the most careful planning. ‘The defences in Seremban are far too strong for any overt military attack so it’ll have to be by stealth, from the inside. Apart from a long-term sleeper, Lee Kheng, in Special Branch and his wife, Wang Tao, who works in the house of the English police officer in charge, is there anyone else trustworthy who can augment Lee Kheng’s efforts if the need arose?’
A low whistle from the sentry stopped their conversation. A runner was sent to find out the reason. Was a stand-to necessary? ‘No, Comrades,’ he said on his return, ‘Comrade Kwek Leng Joo has come with a group of Min Yuen with a piece of seriously important information and wishes to tell you about it personally.’
‘Bring him in, immediately,’ said Yong Kwoh, with a frisson of excitement, eager to find out matters at a lower level than usual.
‘Comrade, what important news do you bring us?’ he asked after fraternal compliments had been exchanged.
‘Comrade, as barman in the Yam Yam, a nightclub in Seremban that employs taxi-girls, I pick up news from talkative foreigners. Recently, I struck gold. My most important girl is the sister of one Comrade Goh Ah Hok, the contractor who supplies fresh rations to the Goo K’a’, as most Chinese pronounced Gurkha, ‘battalion in Seremban and to rifle companies in other areas on detachment. She has skilfully managed to attract a sympathetic English officer to whom, in order to further our cause, she is giving herself on what might be called “an unrestricted basis”.’
He paused and looked at his audience: undivided attention. ‘His name is Captain Alan Hinlea and he is the Intelligence Officer of the Goo K’a battalion,’ he continued, ‘and liaises with the police whenever he wants to. He has told her that he is a card-carrying Communist but is under the strictest orders not talk about it openly. He hates and despises his brother officers, thinking them clannish, arrogant and utterly worthless. He himself comes from humble parents, his father was also a dedicated member of the Party and, during the war, was locked up by the English police for his activities. Both this woman and her comrade manager, Comrade Yap Cheng Wu, believe in his sincerity in actively wanting to work for us. He has told me that he proposed that, if this officer really wants to help us, the best he can do is to obtain police records about us. The Comrade Manager wants your permission for this officer to be recruited onto our side. I, too, have often spoken to him and he certainly appears genuine, not only in his dislike for the gwai lo political system but also he is most favourable for ours. However, he is a promiscuous man,’ he added primly, ‘and the other workers in the Yam Yam have nicknamed him the Lustful Wolf, Sik Long.’ Here he looked away delicately. ‘I recommend that if and when we speak of him, we never use his real name and merely refer to him by his nickname or another if that one offends you.’
Four heads nodded and pin-drop silence reigned as they contemplated this timely, unreservedly unanticipated and fortuitous coincidence.
Yong Kwoh nodded thoughtfully. ‘Comrade Kwek Leng Joo, thank you for that. You are still serving us well. Wait with us a while.’
On hearing that an English officer wanted to defect from his own people, something at the back of Lau Beng’s mind stirred. What is it? He stared into the distance, mind delving back. Where was it? And then it came to him: Calcutta! At that meeting … And his mind drifted off to the talk at the meeting then on to the sights and sounds of that city that so offended his senses after the clean green Malaya he knew …
‘Comrade Lau Beng. You’re not really with us today. I’ve twice asked you your opinion but you were miles away,’ laughed Yong Kwoh. ‘Where were you?”
‘Forgive me Comrade. I was back in Calcutta, four years ago and I was recalling talk I heard there. An English officer was mentioned as wanting to join us. It was the Darjeeling delegate that brought the matter up: a dedicated English officer, a card-carrying member of the party who wanted to join the Goo K’a soldiers and try and prevent their continued imperial exploitation. If this man is the same man, and it is unlikely there’ll be two of them, then his past can vouch for him. Accepting that this Lustful Wolf is fully serious about what we’re going to ask him for, do you think it possible that he be introduced to our “sleeper”?’
During that discourse Ah Fat rubbed his hands together as he thought out the implications of this, to him, devastating news. So unlike anything the English would ever do. How can I prevent such a danger from happening? If only my English childhood friend whom I knew as Shandung P’aau could somehow help out. But where, oh where, is he?
Comrade Yong Kwoh listened with intense interest. ‘If that is really so, then we’re more than halfway there. Our Chairman will be delighted with the news.’
Silence reigned once more as this unorthodox and attractive idea was allowed to germinate. Yong Kwoh smiled then said, ‘What a stroke of luck! An original and novel idea, indeed! If the Englishman, as battalion Intelligence Officer, can get those police files copied and then get them to us personally, we will have scored a big victory over the gwai lo. ‘If,’ a pause while his brow puckered in concentration, ‘if this Lustful Wolf finds he can’t come over himself, then to give her the paperwork and she can give it to Yap or to Kwek.’ He turned to Kwek who was still standing to one side of the table. ‘Anything to say on that?’
‘In principle no reason at all, Comrade, but then the ultimate decision’s not mine. However, I must say that Comrade Goh Ah Hok is in a difficult position. We want him to continue his work as we can use him even after any documents are handed over – he speaks Gurkhali so can listen into the out-companies’ evening situation reports on his wireless as he has found out the frequencies the military set use in the jungle and keeps us informed and he dare not not feed us with information otherwise he’ll be dead. If he is blown we’ll be without a valuable source.’
Unusually, Hung Lo, the Bear, spoke up. ‘Initially I am reminded of our proverb “Hang out a sheep’s head but sell dog’s meat”, and by that I mean, is it a deep-laid, imperialist trick? However, it could be the other side of the coin, “Feigning to be pig he vanquishes tigers”. Depending on which way we look we either fall into a deep trap or find ourselves with a unique chance. We have recently had a directive about relations with women: now we have a ham sap kwai, a salty-wet devil, wanting to join us. Even though his credentials seem to be of the highest order, do we really know if his basic moral fibre is sufficiently strong to overcome his bourgeois tastes and allow him to become one of us? Apparently our comrades in the Yam Yam think so and have only been indulging him to ensnare him for us. Something as unusual and important as this can only be decided by the Central Committee. Let us vote on which one we think it is, trap or genuine.’
The Political Commissar was furious that he had not thought of making such points himself. He just managed a solemn affirmation in a neutral tone of voice: ‘I have taught you better than I had realised, Comrade.’ His lack of enthusiasm was noticed by the others.
Yong Kwoh looked serious. ‘This might just come off but it is most risky,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It most certainly will need Central Committee authority as, were it to happen, it will stir up such a hornets’ nest that life for us, never mind him, will become more than merely uncomfortable. You may have to abandon this camp.’
‘That would be a great pity,’ said Lau Beng pensively, ‘but … we’ll make our decision if and when this Sik Long joins us here.’
‘How do you see his onward movement if he actually does join us?’
‘As you will have seen from the map, we are in a large square of jungle-covered hilly country, enclosed by four main roads. We, on the northern fringe, are protected by a range of high hills running northeast to the top right square not far from which is a group of three small villages, Kuala Kluang, Jelebu and Titi. Your best bet is to plan to move towards the next Regional Committee at Titi, crossing the road somewhere between Jelebu and Kuala Klawang. If you cannot contact anyone at Titi, then make for the Committee at Durian Tipus, farther up to the northeast. That is the way you came.’
‘Yes, of course it is. Thank you, Comrade. It will need the most careful planning, a fool-proof cover plan and the closest monitoring,’ said Yong Kwoh after a long, long silence. ‘Comrade Ah Fat and I will go back and brief the Central Committee and its response will be brought back here by Comrade Ah Fat personally. The need-to-know principle is paramount.’
‘Before we set off, you, Comrade Political Commissar, will write two letters, one to the Chairman of the Yam Yam to keep a watching brief of our new recruit and a second to Comrade Goh Ah Hok to tell his sister to continue work on him.’
‘Yes, I will certainly do that but I must make the point that you try and get a decision from Central Committee with all possible speed. The Lustful Wolf’s impetuosity, his boldness even, should not be allowed to cool off. If there were any suspicion of what he is intending to achieve he will most surely be sent out of the country, so he’ll have to behave as the other officers do until the last moment. In my letter I’ll stress that the taxi-girl keeps him sweet and that all concerned keep their mouths shut as tight as never before. Speed is essential.’
‘Good thinking. Yes, we’ll have to work fast. I’ll try to get you an answer in a month’s time. Let us plan on Comrade Ah Fat being back here by 1 July to be ready for the planning you will have to do if there is an affirmative answer.’
‘Do you think it wise to tell the gwai lo that the Central Committee is being approached about his working for us?’
The verdict was ‘yes it is’. It would keep up his interest and excitement as well as allowing him to try and work out a plan on how to manage what may be expected of him.
‘But for the love of Lenin, tell him to keep his mouth most strongly guarded.’ Then, to the Min Yuen, ‘Comrade Kwek, please take some refreshment before returning to your place of work. We will get any further information to you in due course.’
After a brew of tea, the Min Yuen left them, happy that it was his good luck that two such senior party members happened to be in the camp on his reporting in.
The group from the Central Committee left early the next morning, the letters for delivery in Seremban awaiting the next visit of a Min Yuen representative. Comrade Lau Beng had asked Comrade Yong Kwoh to pass on to the Chairman his personal fraternal greetings. Never miss a chance! A personal bodyguard of two guerillas from the defence element of the camp was detailed to go with Ah Fat to guard him at all times and to help him find his way back once they had re-entered ‘home territory’. At least I’ll be nearer the problem back here if the remotest possibility of defusing it arises … Unconsciously he shook his head.
Saturday, 14 June 1952
The returning guerillas were glad to reach the Central Committee camp in the Cameron Highlands after an arduous and dangerous journey. Conditions there were much less austere than in other camps. The core Communist system was based on the vlasti, the elite. These were the cats that were fatter than any other – in a mocking distortion of Marx’s dreamed-of ‘classless society’. In truth, Communist society had become so densely layered and class-ridden, as only a bureaucratic hierarchy can be, that it always showed Ah Fat how fragile the whole Communist system would be without rigid discipline, enforced by overriding fear.
Chin Peng welcomed Yong Kwoh and Ah Fat back after their long and tiring journey. ‘Comrades, I really am glad to see you back. It cannot have been an easy journey either way. I hope you managed to do what you went for.’ The Secretary General had a large mouth, perfect even teeth and, when animated, his eyes grew round and his eyebrows rose about an inch and a half.
‘Comrade Secretary General, indeed we did.’ Chin Peng noticed the excitement in Yong Kwoh’s eyes. ‘We also have a unique subject to talk to you about. Give us time to get ready and we really must talk about it this very day. But, before I forget, I need to pass on the fraternal greetings of the Negri Sembilan Regional Committee Political Commissar, Comrade Lau Beng. He said that he and you had not met since the 5th Plenary Session in Kulai.’
‘Yes, I remember him. I’m glad he’s still alive.’ Chin Peng looked at his watch. ‘four o’clock suit you? I’ll order a special something to eat in your honour, “seven stars accompany moon”.’ Ah Fat was delighted, it was a long time since he’d had a meal of roast duck and dumplings.
After bathing, a change of clothes and a meal, the three senior men sat closeted together, exchanging views on how this new development would affect central planning. By 1952 Communist losses were causing considerable concern. Would this unprecedented development mark a change for the better?
They turned in at 10 o’clock, Comrades Yong Kwoh and Ah Fat almost asleep on their feet by then, the latter inwardly worried and the former happy that the Secretary General had not summarily turned down their tentative acceptance of the Lustful Wolf’s potential aid to the Party. He might have done had not Comrade Lau Beng’s testimony swung the balance of thought in favour of such a project.
Sunday, 15 June 1952
An emergency meeting of the full plenum gathered at 10 o’clock when Yong Kwoh was asked to give all details of his ‘discovery’. It caused a great stir, as he expected it would, and he asked if the Comrade Secretary General would call a vote to act on this gwai lo’s unique potential as a contribution to the Cause.
‘Before we go any further,’ said Chin Peng, ‘I feel I must correct you, Comrade, on the use of the word unique.’
Yong Kwoh did as near a ‘double take’ as Communist discipline allowed. ‘Com … Comrade, not unique?’
‘No, Comrade, strangely and almost unimaginably, a British sergeant from a well-known British regiment,’ and he paused as he tried to think of its name. ‘It sounded like “God’s Brigade” but that can’t be right yet I remember hearing that the officers behaved as though they were gods so it could be right. There was this gwai lo club in one of the towns and the officers applied to join it. They were told to appear before the committee to see if they were good enough. This so annoyed them, thinking that the person telling them to come before the committee was socially below them, that they refused to join,’ and Chin Peng laughed out loud. A fly flew into his open mouth, resulting in paroxysms of coughing. Who can thump the Secretary General on the back to cure him? passed through many a mind. Recovered at last, he continued, ‘This sergeant was caught entering the jungle with a whole load of his battalion’s intelligence files. The local Min Yuen saw him overpowered by a follow-up group at the very edge of a rubber estate and being led away as a prisoner so we never did get any benefit. That and now the gwai lo in Seremban both point to a most favourable development for our Cause. This time we must be much more careful in every detail of the planning so that we don’t have another disappointment.
‘But I’ll let you into another secret. You may not know just how wide the tentacles of our Party are in Asia and I have heard, by roundabout means, from as far away as Darjeeling in India, that the man you are telling me about is safe. He even has his Party membership card which he keeps more safely than his virginity,’ and the Secretary General, usually severely strict, laughed once more.
‘He stopped guarding that as soon as he found out his family jewels were gift-wrapped,’ quipped Ah Fat. Tradecraft, pretend to be one of the boys!
In the end a vote was called, asking for a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ to letting the gwai lo known as the Lustful Wolf help the Cause. It was carried unanimously, especially as it would be a political embarrassment to the Running Dogs and, as the Secretary General thought privately to himself, it won’t be difficult to get rid of him if he is found unsuitable. Details of the route to be taken after leaving the Bukit Beremban area were decided upon, at Ah Fat’s insistence, as he was detailed to be the new English Comrade’s mentor and minder, with local Regional Committee chairmen personally responsible for his safety between stages. Ah Fat asked if the decision could be put in writing, signed and have the ‘chop’ of authority affixed. He was given a copy, written in miniscule writing, the easier to hide, which he had stitched into a waterproof covering: no one knew when rain or river water might render it illegible. He hid it in the butt of an escort’s rifle.
After a couple of days’ rest, Ah Fat and his two bodyguards started back on their return journey. At each new stage they had a new escort and the old one returned to its base. This method meant that the escorts always knew where they were even though those being escorted did not. It was a well-tried method and the safest: the policy for senior guerillas being for them never to go unescorted. Apart from being a sensible precaution in its own right, it was thought necessary to prevent any of them from trying to make an escape to surrender as had happened once or twice. In any case, those leaders whose task it was to organise and control guerilla movement, operational policy, propaganda and finance had no need to go on jungle operations themselves. The MRLA had excellent foot soldiers whose senior men had learnt their trade against the Japanese during the recent war, not that the Japanese troops in Malaya were the best the Imperial Army had. They seldom went into deep jungle and they were noisy, so easy to keep away from when contact was not wanted. In early 1948 there had been only three British battalions in the country and, while brave even to recklessness, their jungle work was not of as high a standard as that of the guerillas. Like the Japanese, they too were noisy so easy to evade and easy to ambush. The arrival of Gurkha battalions later that year was not a source of anxiety to high-ranking guerillas: the initial appearance of Gurkha troops in Malaya in 1942 had not shown them to be any better than the run-of-the-mill British or Indian troops that fought the Japanese. This was because the three battalions had been milked, bled some said, of most of their good commissioned and NCOs in order to raise and train new battalions while recruit training had been truncated. In fact the three battalions had initially trained for desert warfare and only at the last moment were they sent to the Malayan jungle – the exact opposite. They were also short of much equipment even to start with, let alone the many losses sustained during the retreat down the peninsula. In 1948 six Gurkha battalions had been sent from India to Malaya, the two sent to Hong Kong joining them a year or so later. To start with many were ridiculously under strength, with only fifty all-Gurkha ranks. Training the many new recruits to make up numbers was a hard and slow job. However, by 1952, standards had risen considerably and the guerillas were taking heavier casualties than hitherto.
The guerilla foot soldiers were mostly a plucky and hard-living lot of men whose continuous life in the jungle had given them an almost animal sixth sense of danger and a seemingly telepathic ability to communicate between themselves which allowed them to stay alive where softer European-bred soldiers would have wilted harmlessly.
I am in good hands, Ah Fat said to himself as they started out.