Monday, 25 August 1952
At dawn the guerillas ‘stood to’, not that any Security Force activity was remotely expected but routine was routine. After ‘stand down’ it was decided to have an early meal. The Political Commissar, unused to so much physical exertion, was feeling sorry for himself, legs stiff and shoulders sore. The previous day’s march had taxed him considerably. He was also still beside himself with fury at the slur on his character. Nor was his temper improved when, wanting a drink of Ovaltine, he found, in his haste to move, he had left the package behind.
As for Comrade Hinlea, he too was not as fresh as he presumed he’d be: he had sweated a lot and he felt uncomfortable in his dirty clothes, his leech bites were itchy almost beyond belief and he was kicking himself at having forgotten to pack his razor.
Jason and his men also woke at dawn and not only brewed up a mess-tin cover of tea but also cooked up half the normal amount of rice for later on. ‘If we do that now, heating up a tin of meat or fish will only take a short time and, being nearer the guerillas by then, also safer.’
At 8 o’clock Minbahadur opened his set and sent ‘Nan Tare Roger’, ‘Nothing to Report’. Control passed a message saying that the battalion was to move northeast later on in the day.
They put the by-then cooked rice into their mess tins, packed up and carefully moved off, having erased as many traces of their overnight stay as they could. ‘Kulé, with only nine men to track it’ll be harder, won’t it?’
‘Sahib, only after we’ve passed their last night’s camp.’
On they went, each man’s eyes ever vigilant. Kulbahadur sighted one bent leaf, picked it up and smelt it. Bidi and the fold fresh. Can’t be more than four hours ahead of us. At 10 o’clock, at a small stream, Jason ordered a halt for their meal. Yes. The tracks are fresher than yesterday afternoon’s. ‘Sahib, we’re much nearer the daku than I thought we would be. Once we’ve reached their overnight camp, I’ll have a detailed search.’
‘Sure we’ve not gone beyond it?’
‘Can’t have. Look, the foot prints of yesterday’s group that we met at the clearing are still visible.’
What wonderful eyesight.
After their meal they moved steadily northeast and, in the early afternoon, found the guerillas’ overnight camp. They briefly inspected it. Kulbahadur carefully examined the tracks they were following and, after crossing the first stream they came to, turned round and spoke to Jason. ‘Sahib. There’s something unusual about these tracks. Some of the prints are normal but others are more pronounced. I don’t know what to make of them. What do you think?’
What was it? A nag assailed him … Got it! ‘Kulé, that’s what we heard the daku saying yesterday. One group of eleven men had to move forward quickly to Titi. Those tracks will be theirs.’
They moved off in a heavy storm that made going slower and which either obliterated tracks or make them look much older than they actually were. But another bent leaf, smelling of bidi, confirmed they were still on track. What atrocious jungle discipline!
At midday the main guerilla group was sitting resting. Now that he had ordered some of his men to go forward and others back to the camp, the Political Commissar felt happier. I’ll make the traitor feel safe. He leant over to the Military Commander and said, ‘Yes, that was a wise move to make. I feel happier now. We’ve seen that no one has been this way and, if there was the remotest chance of Goo K’a soldiers coming the other way, those who’ve gone ahead can deal with them. And if there was a battle, I’m sure that a couple of men would come back and warn us. No, I feel that everything is going well though I do have to admit that so much sitting in our camp up in Bukit Beremban doesn’t make so much walking all that easy. What about you, Comrade?’
Wang Ming felt that by so unbending, the usually taciturn and caustic Lau Beng was getting as near an apology for his hasty behaviour as he was ever likely to make. ‘I agree with you, Comrade. None of us is getting any younger. And I’m sure you’re correct in thinking that we’re perfectly safe.’
Hinlea – Operation Janus can only be a success, however strangely it is working out – was having a chat with Ah Fat, asking him about reduced numbers and commenting on meeting his identical twin. It amused the Chinese, who felt a marked aversion to the Englishman – but, of course, he didn’t show it – and how he had been hoodwinked. ‘I’m finding walking pleasant exercise,’ he said, expansively, ‘because I don’t get out all that often. But I’m glad I’ve brought some stuff to keep these leeches away. I hope it’ll last.’
Ah Fat understood him perfectly but had to keep his excellent knowledge of English hidden both from the new comrade but also, more especially, from Lau Beng and Wang Ming. There was no valid tactical reason to reduce the number of men; was it a devious scheme of the Political Commissar’s because of ‘that’ secret report? Risible if so.
They heard an Auster not all that far off flying slowly in a wide circle. The others took no notice of it. Only Ah Fat knew that it was there on purpose but, as the Political Commissar had not switched his wireless on, the pilot would hear nothing. At least the system is in place but how can I tell if it actually works?
‘Time’s up. On our way, Comrade,’ said Lau Beng to Hinlea.
Back in Seremban the Auster pilot rang through to the battalion to say that he had not heard anything on his beacon. ‘I’ll try again at 1600 hours.’
‘Roger that,’ said the acting Acorn. ‘The battalion is just about to move off. I’ll let the CO know as soon as Tac HQ has been established.’
The rain cleared and at noon Jason’s group heard the Auster. At 4 o’clock they heard it again, circling only a short distance in front of them. They stopped. ‘It’s circling the daku’s position. We’ll make camp at the next water, open the set and give our sitrep.’
The nearest stream was not far off. ‘Before you start cooking Chakré and I will make a short recce. Lilé, put up your aerial but be prepared to send your message by key not voice.’
Jason and Chakré moved a couple of hundred yards down the faint track the guerillas had made but saw nothing else suspicious. ‘Sahib, that tree there,’ said Chakré pointing with his chin. ‘I’ll climb it and have a look.’
He was not up it for long. Once back on the ground he excitedly said, ‘I saw smoke from their cooking rising up above the trees about a half a map square ahead. Give me your compass and I’ll take a bearing.’ Up he went again and found the smoke was on a bearing of 37 degrees.
Back in camp Jason said ‘Start cooking and we can use voice not key. Chakré has seen the daku’s smoke about five hundred yards away.’
At about the same time the guerillas who had been sent back reached their old camp. ‘The first thing to do is to check the machine gun. After that we’ll have a good wash in the stream then go to the cave store and draw some clean clothes. Then we’ll relax and cook a decent meal. With no one to bother us, it’ll be more like a holiday.’
Up they went and the leader went over to where the machine gun was hidden. He made a strangled squawk to see it was not in its correct place. Could an animal have moved it? he wondered as he picked it up. He saw that it had been tampered with and that there was no breech block. Sweat broke out on his brow. They’ll blame us. They’ll never let on it was their fault. There was a loud shout of dismay from the direction of the cave, ‘Come here quickly.’ The senior man ran over and the guerilla who had shouted said, his voice hardly his own, ‘Look inside. Ruined. What could have happened?’
Inside, the senior man looked around, hardly believing his eyes. He sniffed. ‘Must have been a grenade and kerosene oil. Smells like it. Nothing else could have made this mess. But whose grenade? There weren’t any here. This and the damaged machine gun will cause so much trouble and could be the end of us.’ He sighed heavily, mind full of foreboding and the quiet thud of fear in his heart, his soul writhing like an eel on a hot plate.
‘How come?’ demanded another man.
‘Sabotaged, how else? Nothing we can do about it.’
‘I agree. Nothing at all but when the Political Commissar and the Military Commander return, we can at least say we thought of something … but what?’ asked the man who had first entered the cave. ‘I have an idea. Whoever did this cannot have come the way we’ve come back. We’d have seen them, they make more noise than we do and there were no jungle boot tracks. Once we’ve had a wash let’s go back down and see if we can find any footprints in Goo K’a jungle boots coming from the Seremban road.’
If someone else could be blamed, how much easier life would be!
Before take-off, a parcel of surrender leaflets had been delivered to 1911 Flight HQ, with a covering note saying that areas for dropping would be detailed when the battalion returned from its current operation but, if the pilot did know of anywhere a drop might be effective, he could use his initiative and drop them. The pilot for the evening search, the same man who did the midday run, took a bundle, undid it and set it on the seat beside him before taking off. He flew east-northeast with his beacon on and at 4 o’clock made a circuit in the area under suspicion. This time the guerilla wireless was switched on. The pilot was gratified to hear a ping on his headset. Got you, he said to himself, with a smile, looking at his map. He flew lower to try and get a more accurate fix than he had been able to at the height he had been flying before. As he finished his circuit the noise faded. He now had a good idea where the group was. He also saw some white near the top of some trees. It had been raining so was it smoke or mist? He wasn’t sure if it was policy to drop any leaflets over that part of the jungle but he knew where he could. He had been briefed on the main camp below Bukit Beremban so why not there? It was not an easy place to fly near, steep country with sudden down draughts and the day was cloudy but he’d have a shot at it. He had marked it on his map and flew as near as he dared and dropped half the bundle. The leaflets fluttered out of the cockpit before being taken by the wind. Back in base the pilot phoned the battalion with the news. ‘I’ve marked where you think the guerillas are on my map. I saw either smoke or mist. Have you got Jason Rance’s position?’
Acorn gave it. ‘He’s not far off now. His latest sitrep said he reckoned he was half a map square away from them.’
‘Thanks. I now have a much better idea of how accurate I was. I dropped some surrender leaflets as near the Regional Committee’s camp as I could safely get.’
The patrol from the main camp had only come across faint footprints of men wearing canvas shoes and, wrongly, presumed that the prints had been made by the outlying ambushes that had been recalled before setting off with the rest of them the day before, blurred by rain. On their way back they saw a one-engined plane flying low and leaflets being scattered. They had been warned never to pick up gwai lo propaganda but, being on their own, they decided to. Each man picked one up, had a quick read and felt, really, really inside and not for public discussion, that such might be an answer to their problem. ‘Shall we look for more for the others?’ asked one, not committing himself either way.
‘If we don’t they’ll only ask why we didn’t bring any in.’
They gathered enough for one each and went back to camp. Everyone read what was written but only their eyes spoke. In each mind was ‘singly or together?’
This time both the Political Commissar and the Military Commander commented on the Auster but as they had not heard the earlier one, neither was worried. Ah Fat saw that the wireless was switched on and the plane had made a circuit. Clever but not clever to try and cook with wet wood that causes smoke.
That same evening the guerillas sent forward to Titi were well over half way to crossing the main road. After making simple shelters and cooking their meal, they sat around gossiping. ‘What seems so strange to me,’ said one, ‘is our having to go forward so soon. The Comrade Military Commander was obviously unhappy about it. By my thinking they’re not “comrades” to each other. I don’t really understand the system although I suppose I ought to.’
‘Not nearly as strange as that dreadful noise Sai Daam Lo made when the new comrade gave him those papers. I do wonder what was in them to make him howl like that. Whatever it was, the way he looked at Hung Lo afterwards made me quite scared. What’s it all about, do you think, Comrade?’ asked another.
The senior comrade shook his head. ‘Can’t tell with that lot but the Sai Daam Lo and Hung Lo don’t seem to like each other at all, do they? Comrade P’ing Yee keeps to himself – a nice man – but Sai Daam Lo seems suspicious of him, looking at him with evil eyes, lips silently muttering. I wonder why?’
‘Comrade, comrades shouldn’t really talk like that but we’re on our own so there’s no harm. Fancy forgetting the machine gun! They’re sure to blame each other.’
‘Comrade. Something perturbs me,’ said the first speaker. ‘What do you think that aeroplane has been doing flying over us but circling behind as though it knows where the bosses are? Is it dangerous?’
‘I don’t see how it can be,’ replied the senior comrade. ‘No one can know about us. Probably the gwai lo pilot practising.’
They fell silent for a while then the senior man said, ‘We don’t have much food with us. Once we’ve crossed the Kuala Klawang-Jelebu road, let’s make for that Chinese-owned rubber estate and get a decent meal and some dry rations. I know this route well. We’ll reach just south of the road by dusk tomorrow then, in the small hours, make our crossing.’
The others agreed with him and they went to sleep.
Bloody Hell! I would do a whole lot of damage to an ice-cold bottle of beer right now, Hinlea thought as his group made their bivouac for the night, cold stream water having to do instead. His day had found him more wrapped up in himself as he had plodded silently along behind the Political Commissar. Getting himself moving through the jungle without getting entangled in thorny creepers or slipping over fallen logs and not minding when getting his feet wet walking across strong currents of streams had kept his mind off any deep thoughts but now it was evening, his strangeness caught up with him. Although he had often, if only for short spells, been the only English person when on detachment with his Indian gunners, now was really the first time he was the only European in a group of Asians. The other novel experience was that, unlike such people as shopkeepers and taxi-girls who were out for his money so knew when to smile and flatter, the people he was now with were completely different in their orientation and so in their regard towards him. It was turning out stranger than he had previously imagined. His personal pride in his achievement to date would have to be his bulwark against any diminution of endeavour. Yet, he mused just before he fell asleep, Janus in the abstract is my mental compass, almost my lifeblood but a protracted Janus without beer or woman will take a lot of getting used to …
Tuesday, 26 August 1952
It had been a most uncomfortable night for the guerillas, heavy rain and thunder had interrupted their sleep early on and the cascading water had flooded their bashas. In an unusual lapse of jungle lore, they had not taken notice of the trees nearby. The heavy rain over the previous weeks had made some of them so waterlogged that the extra weight of that night’s rain made them too heavy to stand alone. Around midnight they were woken by heavy creaking that heralded a fall. Everyone listened to it, every nerve tingling, knowing that a large tree was about to crash down, each man knowing that there was no chance of running away to safety. Monkeys started screaming and fall it did with a rending, tearing sound, followed by a sickening thud as it hit the ground and then stunned silence only broken by some of the smaller branches whipping down on their shelters. ‘Comrades, are you all right? Is anyone hurt?’ called the Military Commander. Great relief was felt when he found out that no one had been hit. It was an even worse night for Hinlea. Apart from nearly soiling himself with fear at the fallen tree, he had kept one tin of sardines in case he was still hungry after his inadequate evening meal. He had gone to sleep with one arm flung out and the empty tin hard by his hand. By midnight conditions had eased off but clothes were sodden. He woke up and one arm seemed numb. He rubbed it with his other hand and only felt rough skin. Not his own, which was itching. He was at a loss to know what to make of it and put it down to having slept on it. He tried to turn over but found he couldn’t. His torch was out of reach. He lay there till it was light enough to look and see what the trouble was. To his stupefying horror, the unblinking eyes of a large python glared at him from just below his shoulder. He screamed harshly: ‘Come and save me. A big snake.’ Drops of sweat formed on his hairline.
A couple of guerillas came to see what the trouble was and shrank back at what they saw. For one moment they thought that the gwai lo comrade would be totally swallowed but then realised that no, the snake was stuck. It could not go back nor could it move forward. ‘Kill it, kill it,’ moaned Hinlea, by now, almost in a faint. The three senior men came to see what the trouble was: they too recoiled. The man with the sharpest chopper was ordered to cut the snake in two – ‘but below the arm’ – so he measured Hinlea’s other arm, added a couple or so inches, and struck hard. The python squirmed with all its might and lashed its tail, but in vain. By the third stroke the body was severed. The next job was to slit the piece that was still round the arm. Hinlea looked away while it was done. He got up and staggered to the stream by which they had camped and washed his upper body. The guerillas sliced up the python to cook it for their morning meal. When Hinlea was offered a piece, he turned to one side and spewed.
The kindling they had gathered the evening before had become wet. ‘No early start,’ said the Political Commissar, who had found the going so hard he now wished he’d never set out. ‘I think we must have something inside us before we move. Nothing will dry with this heavy mist so wet clothes are the order of the day.’
One of the guerillas said, ‘Comrade Political Commissar, I heard a deer calling its mate earlier on. I’m a good hunter. As there’s no hurry, may I go and try and shoot one, or both of them? Although we’ll have a good meat meal of python, we can dry the deer meat to add to our rations tonight and tomorrow. Now is a good chance for something different and tasty.’
‘Don’t see why not. Yes, go along but try not to be more than an hour.’
The guerilla, a country boy who had lived in a squatters’ area in scrubby country, could make the noise of a deer so like the real animal that the deer would more often than not come up to him. ‘I’ll try my best, Comrade,’ he said as he set off.
Comrade Hinlea had already delved into his pack and put on dry clothes. There was a brown mark on his right arm which, although it did not hurt, offended him when he rolled up his sleeves so he rolled them down. He was not happy either, the diet was not as filling or as tasty as he was used to, his wet pack straps had rubbed his shoulders and his wet trousers had chafed his crotch. He had to walk with his legs apart, which slowed him up. In fact, having been brought up as a gunner – he hadn’t taken kindly to the jibes of his fellow officers when he joined the battalion as being a ‘nine-mile sniper’ – he was not as used to walking longish distances as were his peers, infantrymen from the start. His incipient beard was itchy. He was almost out of his bidis but, even so, he tried to appear as cheerful as he could. He sounded almost jovial when told of the hunting expedition. ‘Oh, I do hope he’s successful,’ he said, trying to regain some of the ‘face’ he felt he had lost by screaming so loudly at the discovery of the python.
Ah Fat was concerned that there were only being nine of them, with the Political Commissar not much use as a fighter although he was armed and Hinlea an unknown with his weapon, how would he react if anything untoward happened? If or when? He knew that all he had told Jason had certainly got back to the CO. Once the news of Hinlea’s defection broke, immense and immediate efforts would be made to recapture him. He thought it most probable that the battalion would move out to the area where he’d told Jason the guerillas would cross the main road and so was worried about their moving into an ambush: Will I be clobbered before I can identify myself? Would Jason be in the forefront of any battle to try and recognise me or would he have thought that I’d have already left? Imponderables. The Auster would report back their position but how accurately? Certainly accurately enough to confirm their line of advance.
As for the Military Commander, in the heart of his heart, he was glad that his skills would not be called upon. The Security Forces cannot know which way our new comrade has gone so won’t know where to start looking for him. But only nine of us …
While they were waiting for their meal, Lau Beng beckoned to Comrades Wang Ming and Ah Fat. ‘All in all I think we’re doing well. I now feel happy that our main camp is once more properly guarded and that our comrades who have gone off towards Titi will deal with any Goo K’a they might meet. One thing heavily in our favour is that only we know where we’re going. No one else does or can know. That makes us safe as well as being a small group making us safer still.’
The noise of an Auster was heard in the distance. ‘That damned aeroplane has come back again today. We heard it twice yesterday, the second time it circled quite near us. And now there it is again. What do you make of it?’ and he looked at Ah Fat for an answer.
‘I don’t think we need worry about that in any way, Comrade. When I was in Seremban that time I picked up a certain amount of gossip, some of which was so tenuous it wasn’t worth passing on. Now it does come back to me. The British have a new batch of pilots to train and have increased their aircraft by,’ and he pretended to think back, ‘one or two, was the rumour? As it didn’t affect me I really took no notice of it. It can be nothing more than those new pilots training.’
‘Now I come to think of it,’ said the Political Commissar looking wise, ‘That’s the only logical reason, don’t you think so, Comrade Hinlea?’ and put Ah Fat’s answer into English.
‘Probably, yes,’ was his tentative reply, feeling a worm of worry in his gut. He knew that 1914 Flight had handed over to 1911 flight the previous March, so a new batch of pilots was most unlikely nor would there have been any increase in aircraft.
Back in the battalion, an ‘O’ Group had been called for 1000 hours. The CO had decided that only elements of HQ Company should remain back and the Adjutant to be Rear Party commander and temporary Intelligence Officer, ‘Acorn’ in signal speak, and revert to ‘Seagull’ for normal business. OC Support Company was detailed as Tac Adjutant to be the CO’s staff officer on the spot.
‘Gentlemen, yesterday the Brigadier and I had a long and fruitful meeting,’ he began, ‘although he was not at all happy at the idea of Rance and his shadowing party. However, I calmed him down. He has decided 1/12 GR’s task is to ambush on the north side of the main Seremban-Jelebu road concentrating on the area between KK, that’s Kuala Klawang, and Jelebu. He has ordered a company of 2/6 GR from Kluang to ambush east of KK and a company of 2/7GR from their camp near Kuala Lumpur to ambush west of KK. All four rifle companies and Support Company, with support weapons less Anti-Tank guns, will load up with five days rations and be ready to move by 1230 hours today as ever is. MTO, if you think that extra transport is needed, get onto Brigade for more. I’ll detail the order of march later.
‘You will be interested to hear what Captain Rance has achieved,’ and he gave the gist of the last two sitreps. ‘He overheard why a group of guerillas had been sent back to their original base,’ and he gave the details to the intense interest of everybody. ‘I hope that none of them saw our men’s tracks. Yes Captain sahib?’ he asked as Rance’s Company 2 IC put his hand up. ‘Have you a point?’
The Gurkha Captain understood English better than he spoke it so he gave his answer in Gurkhali. ‘Sahib, I don’t know if you have been told that Captain Rance sahib’s group decided not to wear jungle books but to move out in canvas shoes. It was considered that, although the leeches might be worse, with so few numbers it would be much safer that way.’
‘Good thinking, indeed, Sahib. I guess that was your idea.’ He looked hard at the Gurkha Captain, who smiled and said it was. ‘Well done. It could well save some lives.’
There were no questions. All trooped away to give out orders to their subunits.
The guerillas back in the main camp were hungry. The spare rice and flour in the cave was mostly inedible and the main group had taken the remaining tins of sardines. ‘Comrades, gather round,’ said the eldest. ‘What shall we do? Go foraging in the nearest villages and risk running into the gwai lo looking for their missing man, go fishing or go hunting? Comrade Goh Ah Hok won’t bring us anything because he thinks the camp is empty. Let’s put our heads together and find a solution to this knotty problem.’
The youngest man asked permission to speak. He was given it. ‘Comrades, I have a feeling that something is badly wrong with our organisation. Our two senior leaders just don’t get on together, only calling each other “comrade” because they have to, not because it is a word of friendship. I ask myself why I’m here. My parents work in a small shop that sells food, fish hooks, needles, oh you know the type of place I’m talking about. I didn’t know anything about Communism or any politics before a man came to the shop one night and told my father that if I didn’t go back with him to the jungle, he’d find his daughter raped. So father had to send me. I don’t feel anything like a comrade or a guerilla,’ and his voice tailed off, tears pricking his eyes.
The others looked embarrassed. Then another man said, ‘the only reason I joined was that I was hungry and stole some food. I was so scared that I felt the only place I could hide from the police was in the jungle with the comrades. Politics and Marx and that lot still bore me stiff.’
And one by one, each told his own story. Only one man was a dedicated Communist. ‘So what’s your answer?’ he asked with all the enforced dignity of someone who finds himself the only odd man out, his tone of voice alive with malice.
As if pulled by the same string, each other produced a surrender leaflet. ‘I’ll get back to my shop and my sister will be safe.’ ‘The police won’t nab me for being a thief.’ And the others gave similar answers.
‘When will we go?’
‘Now. What else is there to do?’
‘How’ll we find where to go?’
‘Read the leaflet. With it in your hand, the nearest police station. Let’s go.’
As they left the youngest guerilla turned to the one man who said he was a Communist. ‘Goodbye Comrade. Have a nice time by yourself.’
Drawing his lips together like a turkey’s bottom, ‘Damn you all. I’m coming with you,’ he spluttered.
Jason and his men had been on the move for less than an hour when they were startled to hear a shot from somewhere to a flank, away from their line of movement. They froze and sank to the ground, taking up all-round firing positions. No more shots were heard and, five minutes later, they stood up. They looked enquiringly at each other. ‘What do you think it was, Sahib?’ Lalman asked Jason.
‘Either an accidental discharge from a patrol making sure the area is clear or, possibly, a hunting party looking for deer or pig.’
‘Deer probably,’ said Chakré. ‘I heard one calling earlier on.’
‘Yes,’ added Kulbahadur, ‘I’ve seen tiger tracks. No wonder the deer was frightened enough to make a noise.’
‘Then that’s probably why. If they’ve shot an animal, they’ll spend quite a time gutting it and cooking it,’ said Jason. ‘In that case, Kulbahadur and Lalman will go ahead to see if that is what did happen. If they are cooking meat, you’ll smell it before you actually reach them. Before you go, change your jungle shirt and hat for daku ones. Leave your big pack and equipment here. Don’t hurry as that will make too much noise and leave traces of movement. Try not to stay out longer than you need to.’
The two Gurkhas took their equipment off, changed and moved away. The others had seen some bamboo shoots and fern tops which they picked to add to their next meal. Some ninety minutes later the two men came back, smiling. Jason had had some water heated and, on seeing them, told Chakré to make a brew. Over their sipping, Kulbahadur told them what they had come across. ‘We moved most quietly for only twenty minutes and heard the daku before we saw them. We also smelt their cooking. It was a deer that had been shot, not an accidental discharge. We crawled up a short ridge that we reckoned overlooked them and, there they were, gathered around the cooking, talking and no sentries. The captain man was sitting on one side by himself. Two elder Cheena were sitting apart, not looking at each other nor talking. Another elder Cheena was sitting alone. If we made an attack now I’m sure we’d kill all nine of them with no difficulty.’
‘Probably could but that’s not our task. Anyway, you did well,’ congratulated Jason. ‘How many others are there and did they have any idea you were there?’
‘No, Sahib. We counted a total of nine men in all, five bodyguards for the four others. They didn’t see or hear us.’
Jason looked at his watch. ‘We’ll cook our meal here and open up, letting HQ know what we’ve found out. One man stay up there,’ he indicated a small rise in the ground to their front, ‘just in case someone comes along.’
At11 o’clock they opened up their set and gave Tac HQ their latest sitrep.
Lieutenant Colonel Robert Williams was busy with commanders of the 2/6 GR and 2/7 GR companies that had reported to him and were in the middle of getting their orders when Jason’s sitrep was given him. He read it straightaway. ‘This is exciting news,’ and he gave them the message to read. ‘How best to make those guerillas less complacent? Um ti um,’ drumming his fingers on his chair arms. ‘Got it.’ He called in the Tac Adjutant. ‘Put a call through to Seremban and tell the Auster flight OC to get some surrender leaflets and drop them …’ and he gave a six-figure map reference, ‘as near noon as possible.’
‘Right away, sir.’
At midday, as the guerillas were happily chewing some deer flesh, with the Political Commissar listening to his wireless, an Auster suddenly circled overhead, terrifyingly low above where they were sitting. Through a gap in the tree tops they saw the pilot. It came over again and they saw him release a bundle of papers. With the shattering noise still reverberating in their eardrums, away the plane flew as bits of paper floated down. Men rushed to pick them up before the Political Commissar could tell them not to.
‘Show me,’ he ordered a man who had brought a few back with him and was utterly appalled to see what they were. The first thought that came into his mind was that traitor Wang Ming. Then cold reality hit him. How could he have? But someone had. He did not see his Military Commander pick up a leaflet and put it in his pocket.
‘Finish your meal, Comrades, then gather around. We’ll go no farther today, it’s still safe here. This afternoon we’ll have a self-criticism session to determine exactly how the gwai lo could have sent an aeroplane here to drop these,’ and, nearly choking with frustration, the bile of hatred and enmity rose in his throat. Not long now. What is necessity but a man convinced of the need? If only I had some cold tea to clear my mind properly.
As the Auster made its two tight circuits, Jason’s men looked up and saw leaflets being dropped a little way over to their east. ‘Sahib, what do you think the daku’s reaction will be? asked Kulbahadur.
‘Can’t tell till we’ve been and had a look. Come on, Kulé, stay dressed as you are. I’ll put my daku shirt on and off we’ll go. If we see some arum leaves we’ll cut a couple off at the base of the stem. If there’s no cover at our hiding place, we’ll put one each over our head instead.’
They found some at the first stream they crossed. They each cut one and, carrying it carefully they walked with extreme caution to almost in sight of where the daku were, Kulbahadur in front. They wormed their way up the same short rise that the two men had used earlier, arum leaf in front and lay hidden from view, peering through a small hole torn in each leaf. The guerillas were about thirty yards in front of them. An obviously senior man was standing up and his men were sitting in a half circle in front of him. Jason saw Ah Fat and Hinlea sitting at one end and another man, older than the remaining guerillas, at the other. The man standing up started talking and Jason strained hard to hear what he was saying. ‘Until now we have been unheard and unseen by the Running Dogs. No one other than we ourselves and our comrades has any idea of where our camp was, has any idea of where our new comrade would find us, nor has any idea of where we are going or our route. Yet a gwai lo flying machine has been circling round the area more than once. Of course we thought it was the gwai lo pilots training …’ He paused, almost theatrically. ‘… until today. It came twice round us, dropping this vile propaganda, full of lies. We all know how harshly the puppet police treat any of our comrades they capture and here they are talking about “safe conduct” to traitors and “payment for arms delivered” and other nonsense. But that is not the main point: that is how did they find out where we are?’ His voice reached a scream-like crescendo and Jason saw Hinlea’s bewildered expression.
So did the man talking. By now Jason, remembering what Ah Fat had told him about personalities, guessed it was the Political Commissar, Lau Beng. He had also presumed that the other older man to a flank was the Military Commander, whose name he’d remembered as Wang Ming. In his not-often-used and stilted English he looked across at Hinlea and asked him, ‘How do you think the aeroplane knows we are here, Comrade?’
‘Comrade Lau Beng, I have no idea. It gave me a great shock.’
‘It means that someone has told the Running Dogs which way you have escaped. It is not you sent to trick us, is it?’
Hinlea’s face became a mask of horror. He violently shook his head. ‘Comrade, no, no, no. How can you think that when I myself did not know where your base was or by which route you would be taking me?’ My Operation Janus is sacrosanct.
After a moment’s thought, the speaker said, ‘I agree with you so it must be someone else. Who?’ and he resumed talking in Chinese. ‘There are only two people I can suspect but only one I actually do. Shall I point him out or will you sitting in front of me point him out?’
Ah Fat’s heart thumped. He had no idea of Jason’s follow-up, shadowing group. If I’m accused I’ll deny everything.
The Political Commissar asked each of the five guerillas whom they thought responsible for the aeroplane finding them. Each of them said they did not know, how could they? and what had been said previously had to be the explanation. One of the more thoughtful of them said that maybe the pilot’s task was to drop such leaflets wherever he saw smoke in the jungle and, because of their cooking the deer there was rather a lot of smoke, wasn’t there, it just happened that the pilot was suspicious so dropped them. Surely there was no case for ‘pointing out’ anyone.
‘And you, Comrade Ah Fat, what is your view?’
‘Comrade, I think that what the comrade said was entirely sensible. Of course the pilot could in no way know who we are or where we are. How could he? Any of our comrades opposing the gwai lo whose smoke had been seen would have had them dropped on them. There’s nothing to worry about in my view.’
‘And you, Comrade Military Commander?’ said with an implied sneer that was not lost on any of his listeners. See if you can wriggle out of this. You’re the chief suspect in my mind.
‘Eh? How many times have I had hostile planes over me which have had no proof of who was under them in the jungle. I fully agree with Comrade Ah Fat. All we need to do is to keep our smoke hidden as best we can and carry on with our task as ordered.’
And the Political Commissar decided not to take any further action. Not yet proof positive but if any more planes come over …
The group stood up, stretched their legs and Ah Fat said he had to have a pee. ‘So must I,’ said the Bear and both men wandered off to just short of where Jason and Kulbahadur were hiding, neither daring to move an inch and both thankful for their arum leaf cover. Both Chinese must have seen the arum leaves but neither seemed to realise that, on a small rise, they were unnaturally out of place – no water.
As he was pissing, the Bear turned to Ah Fat and said, almost in a whisper, ‘Our so-called leader, that Sai Daam Lo, is so unpredictable I’ve lost faith in him. What think you?’
Ah Fat, feeling that he could get the Bear thinking about ‘joining’ him, acquiesced in a neutral but positive manner.
‘I daren’t say anything otherwise I’m a dead man,’ said the Bear, buttoning up his flies, ‘but frankly, I’m disillusioned. We’ve never seen eye to eye: he can’t believe in feng shui.’
‘Keep it to yourself, Hung Lo, certainly for the present. Let’s get back before Sai Daam Lo starts getting ideas he shouldn’t,’ and, with that, both men moved back.
Before Jason and Kulbahadur oozed back down into the re-entrant that hid them from the guerillas, Jason whispered ‘Kulé, is that mess,’ and he pointed with his chin, ‘python skin?’ The Gurkha strained his eyes. ‘Yes, Sahib, I think it must be.’
Back with the others Lilbahadur was told to open the set on the next hour. ‘I’ll have to report what I’ve just heard,’ and he told the others what that was. He did not need to explain feng shui as all Gurkha villagers had the same theory.
‘Hello 1 Able. Fetch Sunray.’
‘Wilco. Wait out.’
‘Sunray on set. Send, over.’
Jason told the CO what the guerillas’ reaction to the drop of the surrender leaflets was: obviously worried but put down to too much smoke made while cooking. ‘They’re short of rations and the Military Commander is disillusioned. Their morale has been shaken. Let’s shake it a bit further. By 1600 hours tomorrow can you get a Voice Aircraft overhead? Talking in Chinese, telling them that their LMG had been found broken, their stores in the cave destroyed and, in English, some message to Hinlea, telling him that he had no hope of escape and that, on capture, he can expect the ultimate. You might like to make use of the fact that his private icon is Janus, I spell Jig, Able, Nan, Uncle, Sugar. Over.
‘Sunray, that last is a great idea. You seem to have worked the oracle. Well done. Leave it to me. Take care. Out.’