Tuesday, 26 August 1952
No sooner had the CO taken off his head set did the Tac Adjutant, who had heard the exchange between him and Jason, excitedly call him, ‘Sir, before you do anything else you are wanted urgently on the phone. The OCPD has some red hot news.’
The Colonel moved over to the phone and took it. ‘Colonel Williams here Mr Clark. What have you for me that’s so important? – that is before I tell you something of importance from my end.’
‘Sir, in the past few minutes a group of guerillas from the Regional Committee camp we thought Hinlea would go to have surrendered. They had leaflets dropped on them yesterday and have decided they’ve had enough. What made them decide to surrender is that the camp was left empty with their one machine gun hidden. The Political Commissar ordered them back to look after the camp. They found the gun disabled by someone unknown and this someone had found their store in a cave where they kept dry rations and clothes. It was wrecked. They are hungry and most dispirited, and one of them has so split the seams of his trousers he looks like a scarecrow. Great, isn’t it? It really shows that these leaflets can work wonders,’ and he gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Moby will start fully debriefing them directly.’
The CO’s eyes had opened wide and his face had lit up, leaning forward in his chair as he listened to what the OCPD had to say. ‘Clark, this is truly wonderful news but we must, at all costs, keep it from the press and Radio Malaya, certainly for the time being. From my end Rance has eavesdropped on a meeting held by the guerillas after the Auster dropped leaflets on them. Each guerilla was asked how it was that their position was discovered. Although they were frightened and suspicious from having heard the Auster fly over and around them, the agreed answer is that they were showing too much smoke when cooking a deer they’d shot and the pilot had merely chanced on them and dropped his leaflets, not knowing who they were so there was no need to worry. They were to press on as planned and try not to show so much smoke when cooking in future.’
‘How can we pressure them even more, sir?’
‘That’s what Rance has also asked me. I’m about to ring Brigade to try and get a Voice Aircraft for between noon and 1600 hours tomorrow. I’ll tell them to include those details you’ve given me as well as a warning to Hinlea that we know where he is and that traitors get short shrift when caught.’
The CO then got onto Brigade HQ and asked for the Commander. ‘Brigadier, this is an open line so I’ll have to be careful in what I say,’ and he went into as little detail as necessary for Brigadier Honker to understand the situation. The Brigadier was hesitant and it was only the CO’s most urgent pleading that now was the time to take advantage of such a golden opportunity that he gave way. ‘William, as you know the details, get onto HQ Malaya Command yourself and tell them I’ve given you the green light to do so.’
‘Thank you, Brigadier,’ and the CO rang off. ‘Get the GSO 1 at HQ Malaya Command for me as soon as you can,’ he told his Tac Adjutant.
The call came through quickly. ‘It’s CO 1/12 GR here, calling from my Tac HQ. I know you’re busy but I must take up some of your time with an important request,’ he said almost brusquely.
‘Go ahead, Robert. We’ve read your sitreps and understand the background perfectly. We’ve also had news of the surrender of some of the group you’re tracking.’
‘Yes, before my news, please ensure that nothing is given to the press or Radio Malaya. We must keep it to ourselves until it’s all over bar the shouting. Now my news is about the dropping of the surrender leaflets earlier on today. Captain Rance managed to overhear how the guerillas have reacted to them. He has told me that they are definitely “windy”. They are only guessing at how they were found as they’d presumed they were undetected. They had a self-criticism session and came to the conclusion that their cooking a deer they had shot on damp wood had caused too much smoke which the pilot had seen as he happened to be passing overhead, rather than having any pre-knowledge of their position. Rance saw the look on the face of the commander and said that, although he appeared to agree with that conclusion, he is most uneasy.’
‘Extremely interesting but how incredible. Don’t tell me the guerillas were speaking in English.’
‘No, in Chinese. Rance is bilingual.’
‘How extraordinarily fortunate. So what are you leading to?’
‘Rance wants a Voice Aircraft over the area, telling the guerillas about the surrenders, their plans are known about, they are virtually surrounded, their LMG is useless and the stores in the cave store destroyed. He says their morale has been shaken but it needs to be broken. Also, Rance tells me that Hinlea has “Janus” as a personal icon which happens to be the name I have given to the operation. Hinlea won’t know that so, if possible, he needs to be told something to the effect ‘Icon Janus broken”.’
‘I like your idea and that tidbit about Janus, but my boss may have reservations,’ Colonel Kenny said. ‘Your operation has been put out as a training exercise for damage limitation purposes. I don’t think that the Crabs’ – he was referring to the RAF whose nickname came from the colour of their uniform, crab-fat grey – ‘are too keen on helping an exercise. Also, a tape has to be made and that ensures publicity and it takes time. Inter-service bumbledom, I’m afraid, old chap.’
‘Richard. Great shame if the opportunity is allowed to slip. I’ve heard that there’s a brilliant Chinese propagandist in Special Branch HQ, I don’t know his name but you’ll know who I mean. Couldn’t he hold the microphone and talk out of the aeroplane as it makes a circuit without the tape business – and you then, in English, tell turncoat Hinlea that his time’s up?’
‘Of course I’ll try but I can’t promise. It’ll be up to the GOC.’
‘He was my instructor at the Quetta Staff College in ’44 …’ but the line was dead.
The guerillas bound for Titi reached the jungle edge below the Seremban-Kuala Klawang road an hour before dusk. Although tired and hungry, they were pleased with their progress. The leader said, ‘You two, go out to the rubber estate between us and the main road, just in case there are any indications of gwai lo or Goo K’a troops. We won’t prepare for the night until
you return.’
Off they went and half an hour later came back. ‘Anything of interest?’ asked the senior man.
‘Not really, Comrade. The only tracks we found were for a couple of grown-up elephants and a baby one. We went forward and found them grazing. In case they smelt our cooking or we bumped into them later on we shooed them across the road. By the time we get near the coolie lines, they’ll be a long way ahead of us.’
‘Well done. Now, listen. We’ll move off at midnight.’ Boastfully he looked at his watch with the luminous hands – he was one of the few ’rank and file’ men to own one and he was inordinately proud of it. ‘That’ll give us good time for a rest and to get food from that estate we always try to stop at. There’s not much else between there and Titi.’
On the north of the main road 1/12 GR, plus the other two companies, were in ambush positions, mostly facing south. It was a moonlit night without many clouds. The three platoons of Jason’s company were stretched along a laterite road that led to the coolie lines where, it was rumoured, guerillas got rations.
They had taken up their positions at dusk and, shortly after 10 o’clock, one of the riflemen, Ganeshbahadur Rai, felt breathing in his ear. He thought maybe it was his Section Commander come to see if he was asleep. Another breath. He moved his hand up and, instead of feeling a face, he felt the end of an elephant’s trunk. He looked up and there an elephant loomed over him, behind him his mate and behind her a calf. Brahma, Shiva, Vishnu, come to my aid, he breathed silently. ‘Ustad, Ustad,’ he whispered hoarsely to the Corporal a few yards to his flank, ‘Help me, help me.’
The NCO was as much at a loss of how to help the man at the elephant’s feet as was the man himself. He saw the elephant wave his trunk then gently and quietly step over the prostrate rifleman, one leg at a time, his mate and his calf moving round, not over, his body. After they had gone some way towards the jungle, the NCO went over to the rifleman, by now emulating rigor mortis in his fright, and tried to cheer him up. ‘I don’t know if elephants normally move by night,’ he said, ‘but I do know that they hate treading on anything like a body. In fact,’ appearing to be wise after the event, ‘you were in no danger.’
The rifleman didn’t, couldn’t, reply.
The Corporal continued, ‘I expect they’d come from the thick jungle to the south of the road because of man-made movement there. It could be the daku, the ones that the Commanding sahib said that Rance sahib had earlier on sent a message about. Some of them crossing the road here and moving north to Titi.’ Still no reaction. ‘Oh wake up. The elephants have gone. Ganesh is the elephant god; you are Ganeshbahadur. You could never be hurt by another Ganesh,’ he extemporised. ‘That is a good omen. Now, before very long, I expect the daku will come. Be ready,’ and with that encouragement, he crawled back to his position and waited expectantly.
Wednesday, 27 August 1952
And, at 1 o’clock in the morning, some eleven armed and uniformed men were seen moving along the road, towards the coolie lines. The Gurkha Captain, with the middle platoon, had given strict orders not to open fire until either he gave a fire order or opened fire himself. As the eleven men drew along side, he shouted, ‘Fire.’ LMGs and rifles immediately blazed.
The gun group got four of them, three more were killed by rifle fire and four managed to escape.
‘Cease fire!’ shouted the Gurkha Captain. ‘Close on me.’
As they gathered round the NCO who had watched the elephant step over Rifleman Ganeshbahadur Rai called him over. ‘Told you so, didn’t I?’
Rather shamefacedly the soldier nodded but didn’t reply. The Gurkha Captain ordered the corpses to be gathered and laid together by the side of the road.
Battalion HQ had heard the firing and ten minutes later headlights were seen approaching. The Gurkha Captain stepped into the middle of the road and waved the vehicle down. Out got the CO and saw seven corpses lit up by the headlights.
‘Well done, Sahib,’ he said as he got out. ‘How many came?’
‘Sahib, we only counted eleven. There may have been more behind but we killed seven of them. The other four ran away. I’m sorry we didn’t kill them all.’
‘No worry, Sahib, no worry at all. The other four ran into our next lot of men in ambush and were caught. I’ve got the Cheena Police Inspector from Kuala Klawang police station debriefing them now. They are the group that left the party that is with Captain Hinlea on their way to Titi to prepare for the next part of his journey.’
‘Sahib. What wonderful news. And is our Rance sahib safe?’
‘Oh, I hope so. We all hope so. Stay here till the police come for the corpses then go back to your bivouacs and have a brew up.’
The CO went back to Battalion HQ. Police vehicles came to take the corpses away and the company moved back, rejoicing greatly.
As soon as the CO knew that the GSO 1 would be in his office, he spoke to him about the night’s success. ‘We must include that in the Voice Aircraft’s broadcast, Richard. We can’t let such a golden opportunity pass.’
‘No, we simply cannot allow that. This and the surrender are Aces on Kings. I’ll fix it. G’bye.’
‘Mr Too. Good morning. Thank you for coming to see me so quickly and at such short notice. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience to you.’ Colonel Kenny got up from his desk and went to shake hands with a man for whom he had the greatest respect.
‘Not at all, Colonel. It is a pleasure to be of use now and again,’ said with a huge grin.
‘Sit you down. We have a most unusual, intriguing and sensitive problem to deal with and, quite frankly, we’ll be lost without your advice.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ replied Mr Too, sitting down with a chuckle. He was a short, balding, bespectacled Malayan Chinese of thirty, with quick, decisive gestures, a perfect command of English and a round face perpetually creased in smiles. His flair for understanding Communist words and activities was of the greatest use in battling the guerillas. He knew that some of them were genuine, others were in the movement to hide from the civil authority and others forced into it by threats and which ones needed which approach for success.
‘Interesting to a degree not normally come across in our work. I’ll brief you,’ and Colonel Kenny, as succinctly as possible, told him everything to do with ‘Operation Janus’.
‘So to recapitulate: a largish party set out from Bukit Beremban to take this strange British officer on the first stage of his journey to the Central Committee, it is being shadowed by a Chinese-speaking British officer who has reported that the group has split into three with only nine men left in the Command group. There seems to be bad blood between the two senior men. Morale is uncertain. Ah Fat’s position is, or could be, on a knife edge, especially if that beacon is discovered. And you want me to tell how best to put the wind up them so that they’ll surrender. Is that it? And to think up what is the best message to give them for that from a Voice Aircraft.’
‘Yes, Mr Too. That’s about the sum of it.’
‘I suppose it’s best that they be urged to go forward towards the Kuala Klawang-Jelebu road with their leaflets otherwise they’ll be dead men. And, in case the Political Commissar has made them destroy the leaflets, another drop is required.’
‘Yes. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’
‘What will Hinleas’s penalty be if and when caught?”
‘The answer to that is way above my pay scale, Mr Too. At my level the last thing we want is to get the press involved. It has to be hushed up it’s such a sensitive issue. I expect that, if captured alive, he will be held incommunicado under the tightest supervision, flown to Britain where the authorities in the War Office will have to decide.’
‘So back to the present. It’s not for me to decide what to say to the renegade Hinlea but I’m more than happy to make up something to broadcast to the guerillas.’
‘And I hope you won’t mind; I’d like you to go up in the Voice Aircraft and, when the pilot signals you’re over the area, talk into the loud speaker. I plan to be with you and talk to Hinlea myself. I’ll ask the RAF to go round thrice so you can have your spiel at least twice.’
‘Now, that’s something I’ve always wanted to do, go up in one those planes. Can you give me official transport to get to the airfield?’
‘Sure. I’ll fix it. I’ve asked the RAF to be over the target at 1400 hours so take off will be shortly after 1330. Have an early lunch and come back here by 1230, please but first ring Mr Mubarak in Seremban for names. I gather the Regional Committee Political Commissar and the Military Commander are there.’
‘No problem for the time or for the names which I know already.’
After he had returned to his office an idea struck him. He reached for his telephone directory and found the number he was looking for. He dialed. ‘Ismail Mubarak speaking.’
‘Moby. It’s Too Chee Chew calling. A quicky. Can you give me the nicknames of your nearest Regional Commissar and Military Commander?
‘Of course,’ and knowing them off by heart, he gave them. ‘You know that they disagree on feng shui? The Regional Commander thinks it’s nonsense and the other believes in it. I hope your question in a good cause, Too Chee Chew.’
‘Couldn’t be better. Thanks a lot,’ and he rang off. Now, what’s that all about? Moby wondered.
Earlier that same morning the Political Commissar felt he had to encourage his small group so, after they had packed up and were ready to go, he said, ‘We came a good long way yesterday and I reckon we’ll be able to cross the main road sometime late tomorrow. By now our forward group will have made contact with the Min Yuen comrades in the coolie lines so we’ll be able to have a good meal and put some dry rations in our packs.’
‘Yes, Comrade Lau Beng,’ said the Military Commander. ‘I’ve come to that conclusion also.’
‘And you, Comrade Ah Fat, what ideas have you?’
None that I can tell you. ‘I agree with you,’ he said, lamely, rubbing his hands together as he spoke.
That put the Political Commissar in a good mood. ‘I’ll check the news before we set off,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘in five minutes’ time.’
He opened his set on the correct wave band for the Chinese news. The 8 o’clock time signal chimed and the broadcast started. ‘This is Radio Malaya. Here are the headlines …’ There was nothing of local interest so Lau Beng closed the set and had just stared to give the order to move when words were obliterated by the arrival of another Auster dropping more leaflets on their position before zooming off. ‘Leave that muck where it is,’ Lau Beng screamed, ‘or you’ll be severely punished.’
Only Ah Fat seemed to realise that there had been no smoke to guide it in.
‘Let’s move off now,’ said the Political Commissar, deeply worried but keeping it to himself. ‘The quicker we start the better.’
Hinlea’s mind was in a whirl. Another worm, this time of fear, turned in his gut.
The Wing Commander answered the phone. ‘Staff Officer to the Air Officer Commanding speaking.’
‘I’m the GSO 1, Lieutenant Colonel Kenny, calling from HQ Malay Command. We spoke yesterday about a possible sortie with a Voice Aircraft. I think it was you I spoke to.’
‘Yes, it was,’ said scowling at the mouthpiece. ‘The Air Vice Marshal needs a bit more convincing as to the need to have people in the plane, rather than a tape.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is unusual. If it weren’t so vitally important, from our point of view, we’d never have broached the subject.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ The Wing Commander was not a brown-job fan.
‘My GOC has asked if I can have a word with the AVM. We don’t have much time to waste. May I come over now, please?’
‘I can’t stop you, can I?’ said in an ungracious tone of voice.
‘I hope you can’t. If it’s not me, I’ll have to ask the General to go himself.’
‘No, come round yourself. I’ll warn my Lord and Master.’
The RAF was under a great strain to meet every army requirement and it was galling to the airmen that most of their tasks were in support of what was an infantryman’s war with no dashing piloting needed. The GSO 1 was ushered into the AVM’s opulent office and saluted. ‘Good morning, sir. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance but needs be and all that.’
The AVM didn’t get up but indicated a chair, frowning. ‘Have a seat and tell me exactly why a normal mission is needed at such short notice and without the customary tape. If you can convince me, I’ll authorise it.’
‘The situation is one that has never happened before, sir. A British officer has joined the guerillas and is being escorted up north to join the Politburo,’ he saw the AVM’s eyes narrow to mere slits and heard his intake of unbelieving breath, ‘and we desperately need to enforce a surrender before bloodshed: this is not, in fact, an exercise but for real. We have a Chinese-speaking British officer shadowing the group and he has overheard what the guerillas have said about the dropping of leaflets. He raided their main base, which they’d left temporarily unoccupied, and wrecked enough havoc there that when part of the main group went back they were so dismayed that, with the aid of surrender leaflets, they surrendered yesterday.’ The AVM was, by now, intensely interested. ‘Part of the group that was sent forward to arrange onward transmission and rations was obliterated in the early hours of this morning. With a Voice Aircraft overhead, we can try and persuade the remainder to surrender, with the Regional Committee Political Commissar, Military Commander and the renegade British officer. I’m sure they won’t know of the fate of their other two groups as we have not released any details to Radio Malaya or the press. Once they’ve been apprised of the real situation by the only quick and sure way possible, a Voice Aircraft, our hope is that they will surrender. And the target in the jungle is so remote no one else will hear it.’
‘My dear Colonel, what an extraordinary story. Why was this not spelled out yesterday?’
‘The killings and captures had not taken place so the urgency was not quite as pressing but, in particular, the fewer people, especially the local press, who know that a British officer is trying to become a guerilla, the better. It would be a massive victory for Communist propaganda were this to be made public.’
‘Point taken. I’ll certainly authorise it. When and where do you see it actually taking place?
‘This afternoon, around here,’ and he stood up and showed the AVM on the map on the wall, ‘I hope the aircraft will circle overhead three times. Mr C C Too, the man behind all our positive thinking towards how to combat Communist propaganda, will talk to the guerillas and I, personally, will have a message for the traitorous officer.’
The AVM called in his Wing Commander and told him that authorisation was given for a civilian – ‘yes, he’ll sign the blood chit’ – and the GSO 1 to go up in a Dakota Voice Aircraft and each make a personal broadcast at 1400 hours. ‘Got it?’
Yes, the Wing Commander got it. ‘Last minute addition to normal crew briefing will be at 1315 hours and take off at 1345.’
The GSO 1 thanked the AVM most sincerely. ‘That this should ever have happened is unbelievable. But happen it has and now we’ll be able to put an end to it before anything worse can eventuate.’
The nine men were totally overwhelmed when a Dakota aircraft suddenly started circling round them and their hopes irreversibly shattered when a voice started talking: ‘Comrade Lau Beng, Comrade Wang Ming, Comrade Ah Fat and other comrades, listen well. All those of your men who returned to your camp on Bukit Beremban have surrendered. They found the machine gun made useless and all the kit and the rations in the cave store destroyed. Bad feng shui. The guerillas you sent forward to Titi have all been killed or captured. You are surrounded. You have been followed all the way and strong ambushes are in position to eliminate you once you reach the main road in front. Listen well. We’ll send you more surrender leaflets in case you ordered the others to be torn up. Surrender and live. Ignore this warning and die … like dogs.’
The listeners were dizzy with red-hazed rage. Only Hinlea, not understanding the words, was unsure of the actual message although he felt that now nothing made sense. He was soon put out of his ignorance when the Dakota came round again. An English voice this time: ‘Captain Hinlea, your plans were fully known about before you turned traitor. You have been followed ever since you left Seremban. Those sent back by your new leader have all surrendered and those sent forward have either been killed or captured. Come out and surrender. Don’t pretend that you can do otherwise. Listen well. Otherwise you’ll die … but what a way to go! Farewell Icon Judas.’ Hinlea explosively fulminated against his unseen tormentor then, head madly in a whirl, sat down in a near catatonic state, mind buzzing like a fretsaw.
Jason also heard it: Icon Judas, almost good as dead.
The message in Chinese was said twice and Hinlea’s once before the Dakota flew off leaving behind a frightened and bewildered group of tired and hungry men. The guerilla soldiers had sat down, looking dismally at Comrade Lau Beng who was now emotionally drained. That last bit so infuriated Hinlea that he started shrieking obscenities in stomach-churning rage. The others looked at him and he realised he’d made a fool of himself. When finally he had calmed down, ‘What do we do now?’ he asked Ah Fat who merely shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Surrender or die.’
The senior guerilla soldier, a squat affable man, saw how utterly lacking the Political Commissar looked and plucked up enough courage to say, ‘Comrade, you got us into the situation, you now get us out of it. You told us nobody else knew about our task but you were wrong. How did others know? Please tell us?’
Something is so wrong. Something does not add up. Not even that traitorous Hung Lo could have arranged all that, could he? I can’t put my finger on it. What or who is it? the Political Commissar cursed to himself. ‘Comrades, I can’t tell you. For once I’m in the dark. We’ll continue until this evening by when I hope to have an answer. Move,’ he snarled.
With heads bowed and with no spark, the group ambled off, all of them gut-churningly worried, Hinlea especially so. He felt lonelier than he had for ages, a superb example of someone who had the impossible combination of incurable stupidity harnessed to unattainable visions, with too wide a cultural fault line.
All that time Jason and his team were never more than two hundred yards behind. When they heard the Dakota Voice Aircraft they did not stop but continued forward. Jason reckoned correctly that the noise of the aeroplane would drown any excess noise they made. After the first Chinese message had been delivered he briefly translated it to his men and he also put the English bit aimed at Hinlea into Gurkhali for them. ‘So they know about us now,’ said Rifleman Chakrabahadur, solemnly. ‘We’ll have to be even more careful.’
No one contradicted him.
They came to a small rise and there below them they saw the guerillas. Crestfallen and crushed went through Jason’s mind. ‘Listen lads. We’re not quite equal in numbers but we’re more than equal in spirit. Someone, either Hinlea or the daku chief may, at long last, realise that the Auster has only swooped low when the wireless set has been switched on. From the look on their faces each is wondering which of them has arranged for that to happen. It could well be that this evening someone will have the bright idea of looking into the wireless set, finding the secret, what do you call it? beacon thing, and then my friend Ah Fat will be in big trouble. Let’s stay close until this evening, just in case. Too close to cook so biscuits and chocolate for our meal.’
The Voice Aircraft landed at the aerodrome and taxied to a halt. The two passengers moved up to the cockpit and thanked the pilot. ‘A great job. Just what we wanted. Thank you very much,’ said the GSO 1, putting his hand out to shake the pilot’s.
The pilot took off his gloves and gave a lop-sided grin. ‘You’re welcome, sir, but please don’t ask me to do it again, unless it is as important as today’s seems to have been.’
‘I’ll try not to. I expect once is enough. Was it all that tricky?’
‘Yes, the down draft from the mountain side as we were circling at near to stalling speed was a shade too hairy. At times there was nothing on the clock but the maker’s name.’
‘Anyway, many, many thanks,’ and the two of them walked down the steps and made their way to the dispersal area where Colonel Kenny’s driver was waiting for them. ‘Get in Mr Too, I’ll drive you home.’ Once settled in the car, Kenny asked him exactly what he’d said and, on being told, nodded his head appreciatively. ‘Neither of us wants a bloodbath.’
Back in his office the GSO 1 put a call through to CO 1/12 GR. ‘Robert, just to let you know that, from our side at least, the mission was successful. A well thought-out message was delivered to the guerillas telling them that they were surrounded, their people either surrendered or dead or captured, and that they too had better surrender. As for Hinlea, wait, I’ve got a copy of it in my pocket. Ah, here it is …’ and he read it out. ‘… “Farewell Icon Judas.” That last was a bit melodramatic but I felt it wouldn’t do any harm.’
‘Thank you, Richard. I think we’ll soon know, one way or the other, if your efforts will have paid dividends.’
Dividends and penalties would be the order of the day – and night.
The dispirited guerillas found a place to doss down for the night. They now only had rice and a sprinkling of dried fish to eat. ‘’Right, gather around comrades,’ ordered Lau Beng, trying to sound as if he was in charge of the situation. ‘We’ve got to thrash this out.’ He turned to Hinlea and said in his careful English, ‘Comrade, first I’ll talk in Chinese to my men then to you.’
‘Yes, Comrade, I’m as worried as you are.’
‘Right, let’s start. Comrade Wang Ming, I am deeply suspicious of you. Quite how you have manipulated your influence with the police of the Running Dogs is, at the moment, beyond my comprehension,’ said in a silkily threatening tone of voice.
The Bear looked at his political boss in uncomprehending astonishment. ‘Comrade, are you out of your mind? Have you no notion of what nonsense you are uttering. Me a police spy? Ludicrous.’
‘No, Comrade, not ludicrous. Look at this. I’ve been keeping it for such a moment as this,’ and, so saying, he pulled the secret list out of his pocket. ‘This is the list of police sleepers that our new comrade brought me from the police Special Branch secret files. It has your name on it. Look,’ and he thrust the list under the Military Commander’s nose.
The Bear read it, deliberately tore it up and threw the pieces on the fire that had been kept alight to keep off mosquitoes. ‘That’s what that nonsense deserves and that’s what it’s got.’
The response outraged the Political Commissar.
Hinlea, recognising the list, was appalled even though he did not know that the Military Commander’s name was on it.
The Bear, looking dangerous now that he was thoroughly roused, turned to Ah Fat for support. ‘Comrade Ah Fat, doesn’t such an accusation strike you as absurd and obscene?’
‘Why, yes, Comrade Wang Ming. It’s obviously nonsense …’
‘Then who’s to blame?’ queried the Political Commissar, butting in.
No one spoke. The quarrel and the query were far above the heads of the guerilla soldiers.
‘Comrade Hinlea, who do you think is responsible for the leaflets being dropped on us, for the Voice Aircraft telling us the dreadful news which, if true, means the death, capture and surrender of our comrades? Who can it be?’
And then the answer came to Hinlea. ‘I think I have the answer, Comrade Lau Beng. Did you notice that the Auster only circled us when you were trying to listen to the news?’
‘No, yes, oh,’ muttered Lau Beng is confusion. ‘Ye … yes, now it does occur to me. But why?’
‘Comrade, give me your wireless set, please.’
Uncomprehendingly he did. Hinlea took the back off and looked inside. It was still light enough for him to make out a small silver-coloured fixture hidden behind the valve. ‘Comrade, look at this. This is the answer, surely.’
The Political Commissar squinted at it. ‘What is it and why are you showing me?’ he asked diffidently, not being technically-minded.
‘Because, in the aeroplane there must be a similar device that acts when your wireless is switched on and gives it our position. There can be no other answer.’
Voices were raised loudly enough for Jason to hear and, from his hidden position, to see the two senior comrades and Hinlea turn as one man and accusingly look at Ah Fat.
In as menacing a tone of voice as he could muster, the Political Commissar hissed, ‘Comrade P’ing Yee … .’ He was interrupted by Hinlea. ‘Are you calling me? My name’s Hinlea, not Pinlea.’
‘No, P’ing Yee.’
‘Pinlea or Hinlea to me. Which do you mean? Don’t you know me bleeding name after all this time?’ What the devil’s wrong?
The Political Commissar took a huge breath. ‘No, not you. Keep quiet.’ He started again, ‘Comrade P’ing Yee,’ and was interrupted by a loud snort from an abrasive Hinlea. He was ignored and the Political Commissar continued, ‘You changed the wireless, you must be responsible for the leak of information. Explain yourself.’
Jason had to give his old friend his due. With nonchalance bordering on boredom – tradecraft – he said, ‘I brought it back as it was sold to me. Rather than your being worried about Comrade Wang Meng being a traitor, I should start asking whether the comrade in the wireless workshop is the traitor.’
The thought obviously had not struck Lau Beng. ‘So you didn’t check it?’ he snarled.
Ah Fat was enough of an actor to be able to laugh out loud. ‘Comrade, be reasonable. Is checking the inside of a new wireless set something that a normal buyer would even think of doing?’
Stalemate. Silence. I’ve won through!
It was Hinlea who queried Ah Fat’s pitch. ‘I don’t know why you use a name that sounds like mine but I don’t believe that the man who helped me in Special Branch, an obvious friend of the OCPD, is Comrade Ah Fat’s twin. No, no, no. It could’ve only been your bleeding self.’ In his excitement his north-country accent made his English difficult to understand. ‘Comrade Lau Beng, he’s the bloke responsible. You must punish him, here and now. Kill him.’
As the respected military advisor of the Central Committee, it was no easy matter for the Political Commissar to give the order. Despite being told surrender was the only option for their safety, even survival, he still felt somehow he simply had to hand this gwai lo comrade over to the people at Titi.
‘No, I can’t.’
Hinlea’s pent-up frustration broke under the strain. Dirty, tired, hungry and seeing his carefully nurtured high hopes and years of careful planning not just in jeopardy but totally ruined, without further thought he reverted to prototype. ‘Then I’ll flatten the bastard and make him talk,’ he shouted, jumping at Ah Fat and giving him such a punch in the face, kick in the stomach and another kick into his testicles, that the wretched man collapsed writhing on the ground, screaming in agony. The enraged man was pulled off his presumed opponent.
Jason had one thought. He doesn’t know I’m here. I’ve got to let him know and, to the surprise of his men, threw back his head and crew loudly, three times. I hope he gets the message. His Gurkhas lay as low as they could and Jason heard one of the guerillas say, ‘Not often a jungle fowl comes as near as that.’
‘Comrade Ah Fat. Were you responsible for that list? I’ll get the truth from you if it’s the last time you’ll ever utter a word,’ snarled Lau Beng, almost beside himself in primordial frenzy and pent-up frustration. ‘Who’s got some twine for putting a fish hook on?’ He was given a long piece. ‘Cut it in two and tie the traitor’s hands and feet around the back of that thin tree there,’ and he pointed it out. ‘Let him spend the night contemplating the future after he has confessed. We can do nothing without a confession – and tomorrow morning we’ll get one. He has to know what was written in that secret report.’
Comrade Lau Beng ordered his men to pick Ah Fat up. They half carried, half dragged the stricken man to the tree, stood him against it and tied his hands and feet at the back. He was only just conscious and in excruciating pain. Hinlea went up to him and knocked his head hard against the tree trunk. The battered man passed out.
‘Get settled in,’ the Political Commissar ordered everyone. ‘We all need sleep.’
Jason pin-pointed where the Political Commissar lay down.
That night, as he turned first on one side and then on the other trying to get to sleep, Lau Beng heard Comrade Ah Fat moaning deliriously. He cocked his ears and distinctly heard Shandung P’aau, Shandung P’aau. You speak Chinese so well. It will save your life as you saved mine when you killed that deadly poisonous krait snake I hadn’t seen. A childhood echo stirred uneasily in his mind. That English boy at Kuala Lumpur station all those years ago with his Chinese friend seeing him off. And the obscure, never-quite-justified nag that had irked him like a loose tooth for so long suddenly leapt clear. Got it, at long, long last! That’s why I’ve never trusted him. That’s who the traitor is. Only he could know what was written on that thrice-cursed secret report so he’ll be the one who arranged that doctored list that impugned me so vilely, without any doubt. I’ll get my own back trebly tomorrow morning. Only then did sleep come, deep and sweet.
None of Jason’s men stirred for an hour then, speaking very softly, he said, ‘Listen well. I’ve got a plan. I don’t like leaving my friend like that. At midnight Kulé, Chakré and I will go and untie him. I’ll talk to him and the two with me will, quietly, quietly, bring him back here. The jungle night noises will cover any sound we may make. I will then have a word with the Political Commissar before coming back here. With me so far?’
A collective whispered ‘yes’.
‘Tomorrow morning, at dawn, Kulé will put on my noise machine, shouting orders to 1, 2 and 3 platoons to move left or right. The other three, with me, all wearing daku kit as we’ve got on now but mouths covered with our camouflage veil, will run up to the camp, I shouting “beware” in Chinese, and we’ll kill the guerilla soldiers. Lilé, you leave your wireless set behind a tree. I’ll want you as one of my killers. By the time that’s done, I’ll have disarmed the other two and tried to overcome Hinlea. Only if I can’t, will one of you shoot him, preferably first in the legs so he can’t run away then in the arm so he can’t fire. Make sure your magazines are full and carry spare ones in your pouches. Think it over and ask any questions you may have.’
There were none.
Jason picked a leaf from a vine, unscrewed the cap of his torch and put the leaf behind the glass. Just in case.
Thursday, 28 August 1952
At midnight Jason and his two men moved to a flank and approached Ah Fat’s tree from behind, so cautiously that no one heard. There was enough residual starlight as well as the phosphorescent glow of decomposing vegetation to guide them. Ah Fat was leaning forward, hands, arms and shoulders a blaze of pain, knees buckled, feet numb but delirious no longer. ‘P’ing Yee, P’ing Yee, Shandung P’aau here. Come to rescue you. Don’t make a noise.’
Ah Fat gulped and looked up. Not dreaming. ‘I knew you’d come, Shandung P’aau, I knew you would. I heard the cock crow. Thank you.’
Two Gurkhas came to hold him up, one switching on the torch which he held cupped in one hand the better for Jason to see while he carefully cut the cord holding the bound man’s wrists and feet with his kukri. The Chinese lurched forward and was saved from hitting the ground. ‘P’ing Yee, these two men will help you hide. I’ll join you in a few minutes. I’ve something else to do first. Try and make as little noise as possible otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety – or mine. Oh, by the way, what’s the nickname of Comrade Lau Beng?’
‘Sai Daam Lo Ch’e Daai P’aau. Small gall-bladder bloke, big cannon.’
‘Got it,’ and repeated it.
They let his circulation restore movement, Ah Fat grimacing silently at the pain, before helping him away.
Jason cut some leaves and crept away to the Political Commissar’s shelter, skirting the others. Holding the leaves in front of him, he softly said, ‘Sai Daam Lo Ch’e Daai P’aau. Wake up. Ch’uan jia chan – May your entire clan be wiped out’ – making it sound as though the voice came from in front of the sleeping man, not behind him. Lau Beng groaned to semi-awareness. He saw nobody. ‘Sai Daam Lo Ch’e Daai P’aau. Ch’uan jia chan.’ It came again. He fully woke up and looked around. ‘Who are you? I can’t see you,’ he croaked, wondering whether he was awake or suffering from a bad nightmare.
‘I am the ghost of Ah Fat. He has disappeared from the tree you so wrongly tied him to. I will guide him to get his revenge in the morning. You will die with your eyes open for what you’ve done to me.’ Jason knew that to die like that meant to carry one’s regrets of doing wrong to the grave. He was also playing on the fear many Chinese have of devils and ghosts, nor was he wrong. ‘Go and look for me. Ha, ha, ha. I won’t be there. Ha, ha, ha. Too much bad feng shui in your old camp catching up with you. Ha, ha, ha.’
Thoroughly awake and in mortal dread – despite all Communists repudiating anything of the spirit, primordial beliefs and fears still lay dormant till roused – the Political Commissar got up and moved towards the tree where Ah Fat still should have been. When he was gone Jason felt for his pistol, found and, wrapping his handkerchief around it – better not have my fingerprints on it – unloaded it, putting the bullets into his pocket. He slipped away unseen and joined his men. Ah Fat was lying on a groundsheet and Lilbahadur was massaging his wrists with rifle oil. ‘Shandung P’aau, this is the second time you’ve saved my life. How can I say thank you,’ he said so softly it was almost inaudible.
‘I know no one whose life I’d rather save than yours, P’ing Yee. Listen, don’t worry about the noise in the morning. Go to sleep now.’
Back in the camp a frightened and bewildered man returned and lay down trembling. How could a man so tightly and securely tied have disappeared?
At a quarter to six, Jason nudged Kulbahadur. ‘Kulé, get the noise machine out of your pack. Exactly at 6 o’clock start firing.’
‘I’ll be ready, Sahib.’
‘You others, ready?’ Yes. ‘Move as quietly as ghosts, following me.’
On the hour heavy firing broke out, waking the sleeping men. Shouted orders for platoons to move were heard. Pandemonium! Before the guerillas knew what was what, Jason and his men charged towards the camp, running on the upper side. ‘Escape or you’re dead. We’re being attacked. Hurry, hurry. Help, help.’
The still sleepy guerillas got up and, groping for their rifles, were shot down, all five of them, four dead, one badly wounded in the leg. The Political Commissar was completely flummoxed when his pistol did not fire. ‘Drop your weapon or you’re dead,’ Jason shouted to the Military Commander in Chinese and in English to Hinlea,’ then, at the top of his voice in Gurkhali, ‘Cease fire. Close on me.’
Wang Ming, seeing he was completely overwhelmed, dropped his weapon, took his surrender leaflet out of his pocket and, holding it in one hand with his arms above his head in surrender, stood still.
Hinlea recognised Jason’s voice. ‘Jason, you filthy bastard. You … you, I’ll kill you,’ and, moving with the intense speed of a pouncing cat, he raised his pistol. As he was about to shoot, Jason dropped to a crouch and Chakré knocked Hinlea’s arm to one side as he fired. The Political Commissar, hit in the foot, added to the noise by screaming. Jason, for once, lost control of himself. He threw his weapon on to the ground and leaped at Hinlea, eyes fixed on the barrel of his pistol. He grabbed it with his left hand, his fingers gripping the warm steel, hand and wrist twisting counter-clockwise, pulling downward to inflict the greatest pain. He threw his right hand – fingers curled and rigid – into Hinlea’s stomach, tearing at the muscles, feeling the protrusion of the rib cage. He yanked up with all his strength. Hinlea screamed and fell, thrashing about in agony. Jason heard him mutter, ‘Janus, Janus, you did look the wrong way.’
Jason came back to his senses and saw his men staring at him. ‘Get those two Cheena still alive and see they don’t run away. Lilé, go back and get the rope from my big pack, bring it back then open your set.’ And to the Military Commander, ‘As you have surrendered go and stand with Comrade Ah Fat.’
Hinlea recovering a little, checked his pistol, took aim and again fired at Jason who, just in time, dodged. The bullet pinged harmlessly overhead. Kulbahadur, his weapon at the ready, emerged from having had his ‘battle’, took aim at Hinlea and, without another thought, shot him through the head. A death spasm caused the fingers to close and, with the safety catch already off, his finger pulled the trigger hard enough to fire the weapon. The bullet somehow hit the wounded guerilla in his right eye, killing him instantly.
Lilbahadur brought back the rope and Jason ordered Chakré and Lalman to tie Lau Beng by his wrists and ankles. ‘Bandage that foot as best you can, Chakré,’ and, wiping the sweat off his face, he called to Ah Fat. ‘P’ing Yee, if you can walk, please come over here. Take Lau Beng’s pistol, using a cloth so not to touch it with your hands, note its serial number. I’ll witness it. We’ll need it for his prosecution.’
At Ah Fat’s appearance Lau Beng was dumbstruck in amazement: a man or a man of a ghost? Ah Fat looked at the bound man: ‘Lau Beng, comrade no more: in due course I’ll have to let the Central Committee know just how badly you committed yourself. You were always too stupid for your own good.’
Lau Beng spat his disgust, almost apoplectic and hardly able to mouth anything coherently. ‘I blame you, not Wang Ming, for this tragedy. If it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, it’ll be to track you down and kill you,’ voice trembling both with fury and pain in his foot. ‘Ch’uan jia chan’ – May your entire clan be wiped out.
‘You never really meant anything you said unless it was for your personal benefit, not the Party’s. I discount your oath as I have inwardly discounted almost everything I have heard you say. Anyway, for your possible interest, I am, in fact, a Christian so your oath has no power over me. And, for the record, you were never nearly as good as you thought you were. Let’s hope the feng shui of your prison cell is appropriate. Keep quiet.’
Ah Fat’s cold reply stayed with Lau Beng until the hangman’s rope was tied round his neck a few months later.
Lilbahadur called out to Jason, ‘Sahib, I’ve netted the wireless.’
Having put the headset on, Jason said, ‘Hello One Able. Fetch Sunray.’
‘One Able, wilco. Wait out,’ crooned the operator.
‘One Able, Sunray on set.’
‘Sunray 1 Able. I have had an unexpected but successful contact with the daku. My men have killed figures six, including Able How. Roger so far? Over.’
‘Roger over.’
‘I have captured the Regional Committee Political Commissar who was shot in the foot by Able How whose death antics shot and killed the one wounded guerilla. My childhood friend suffered some battering but is safe. We have no casualties. Over.’
‘Roger. Extraordinarily well done. What next?’
Jason had by that time worked out his position and gave the map reference. ‘I will stack and cover the corpses and suggest that a Sugar Baker [Special Branch] rep comes ready to photograph and finger-print them if policy is to bury and not carry out, otherwise please detail carrying party. I have rations only for today. Request a pick-up party to me Able Sugar Peter with a bottle of rum. There should be no more hostiles so movement can be fast. All details later. Over.’
‘Sunray. Wilco out.’
Jason called to his men, ‘Change out of daku clothing before anyone from Battalion HQ reaches us. You probably know that such a tactic is not allowed and what the eye does not see the heart does not grieve. Let’s have a brew.’
What an ending! That misfit Hinlea caused more trouble to more people in a shorter time than most people can manage in a lifetime but, in the end, he was about as successful as a blank file on leave, Jason thought while the water for their tea was being boiled. They gave a mess cover half full to each prisoner – Lau Beng refused his – then sat down, drank theirs and relaxed, supremely content.
As they waited, Jason had an idea. After the Military Commander had drunk his tea, Jason beckoned to him. He cautiously moved over. ‘Sit down beside me. P’ing Yee also come here.’ Cautiously, so that Lau Beng could not hear, Jason said, ‘Officially you have surrendered. I also heard you say that you were disillusioned …’
Against his better judgement, the Bear interrupted, ‘Sinsaang, how could you have done? Impossible!’
‘No, not at all. You had a pee near two arum lilies. I was hiding behind one of them and heard you say so.’
The Bear’s startled expression should have been captured on film. It never occurred to me that those two arum lily leaves were out of place!
‘May I suggest that, once we get to Seremban, you ask Special Branch and the OCPD if you can join the staff and work for the Government? I’ll recommend you.’
After a long silence, an ungrudging ‘Yes’ was the answer.
Monday, 1 September 1952
Excitement in Special Branch had been intense at the arrival of Lau Beng and Wang Ming on the previous Friday, brought in by Ah Fat – whose appearance had been explained to as few people as necessary that he was in his Special Branch mode – and Ian Clark had gone into a huddle with Moby. ‘Shall we let Wang Ming see those who served under him and see the reaction?’ Ian had asked.
Moby thought that one over. ‘I have an idea, Ian, that might work better if we let him kick his heels for a couple of days.’
‘What’s that, Moby?’
‘I’d like to get him into a frame of mind forming a ‘Q’ Group composed of the men who surrendered with Jason Rance as his leader.’ He paused, looked at Ian and said, ‘If you think there’s any mileage in it I’ll give C C Too a bell and ask him to come down here on Monday and talk to them about it.’
‘Moby, I’ve been so busy what with one thing and another and you have with debriefing the people who recently surrendered that I forgot to mention that Jason Rance phoned me after he came back and told me that he had already spoken to Wang Ming, whom he also called the Bear, just on that subject and that, of his own accord, the idea has been accepted.’
‘Even better but I’d still like C C Too with us. We don’t have a secure phone but I’ll put our point to him in such a way that he’ll be more than intrigued to come down.’
‘Yes, and I’ll get Jason in as well. He’ll have some good ideas, I expect, being such a shrewd operator.’
And so it was, that Monday, most secretly, under C C Too’s supervision, that the Bear and the surrendered guerillas entered into a pact, having sworn the most solemn oath a Chinese can swear, that the group would be forgiven any previous bad behaviour, promised pay on a regular basis at the rate of a Special Constable with new names and supporting documentation at the end of their ‘service’.
The final outcome was that Ah Fat was to be the ‘political commander’, using the ‘Q’ Group where it was thought best while the Bear would be the tactical commander. The Bear had one request: if ever the Shandung P’aau had any special operation to consider, he, the Bear, would be only too pleased to be under his or P’ing Yee’s command.
Jason had two points: one that he could not guarantee being allowed to or even be available to undertake any such operation; his other was that if such were allowed, it should have its own code name. After much thought, he suggested Operation ‘Blind Spot’. Ah Fat suggested that it were better to use the physical Maan Tim rather than ‘blind in the mind’, Sam Lei Maan Tim, which was too cumbersome. C C Too fully agreed with this. Eventually approval was given but only as a ‘last resort’ if all other methods were seen as either useless or unacceptable. But first of all, it was decided that Ah Fat would go back to Central Committee, give a doctored report of what had happened and volunteer to go back and re-establish the Negri Sembilan Regional Committee. All military operations in the Kuala Klawang-Titi area were discreetly suspended while Ah Fat and three of his ‘Q’ Team made contact with the Regional Committee there. That done, the ‘Q’ Team men were to return and Ah Fat go on up to the Central Committee as it was normal for such people.
Saturday, 13 September 1952
The sentries around the camp of the Central Committee were surprised to see five figures coming up the hill towards their camp. They recognised only one of them, Comrade Ah Fat, not the others with him. They let them pass into the camp. Ah Fat reported to the General Secretary, Chin Peng, who expressed surprise at not seeing the expected gwai lo.
‘Where’s the new comrade, the Lustful Wolf as we’ve been calling him? We were all expecting him around now? Why is he not with you?’ he asked, almost churlishly.
Ah Fat looked straight at his questioner, feigning sadness and dismay – tradecraft: Operation Blind Spot! – and shook his head. ‘Oh Comrade, let me give you the bad news, the bad, bad news straightaway: something went so very wrong. All our group, except me, were ambushed and killed. The gwai lo comrade was killed as were many other comrades, less Comrade Lau Beng who was wounded and captured. It was only by the grace of Lenin that I was saved by having surprisingly contacted another comradely group when I went to shoot deer with a comrade. I took them to one side so that the group with the Lustful Wolf could continue without their knowledge. It was then that the disaster occurred. I stayed back only long enough to find out details of any casualties then moved on to Titi with my own escort. So thankful to be alive and back with you, can hardly be said forcibly enough. When I’ve changed and had a rest I’ll go into details of what happened.’
‘Well, that is indeed a grave disappointment and completely unexpected. I hope the Running Dogs have been acutely embarrassed even without their captain not joining us. There has been nothing on the wireless about a British officer being killed or any other casualties. If there was anyone to blame, tell me now who he was.’
Remembering the golden rule of all Communists: blame the absent or, better still, the dead, Ah Fat said, ‘It was Lau Beng – hard to believe, isn’t it?’
‘We’ll have a plenum tomorrow when you can explain it all. I’m only so pleased about one aspect,’ and Chin Peng looked at Ah Fat straight between the eyes, ‘At least you weren’t involved in any way.’
My tradecraft has let me win through.
Saturday, 13 September 1952
Re-training was over and on the Monday rifle companies would once more be deployed away from Battalion HQ. Lieutenant Colonel Robert Williams had asked Captain Rance and his four men round to his house for a drink and to say a private and personal thank you for their outstanding military prowess. No one mentioned that Hinlea’s death had, in fact, solved a lot of unpleasant problems. ‘A much misguided man, Jason,’ the CO said. ‘I had never thought he’d get killed. He never should have been commissioned. Your final summing up of him?’
Jason had a flash of inspiration. ‘I remember my first head master when I went to England telling me that it takes three generations to make a gentleman and the hapless Hinlea wasn’t really even the first generation.’ He paused and had another flash: knowing how the CO’s mind worked, he felt a biblical quotation would satisfy him. ‘Sir, I forget the exact words I read in St. Matthew’s gospel but I’ll paraphrase them: “One cannot expect grapes from thorns and figs from thistles”.’
The CO bowed his head slightly in reverence to a gospel being mentioned. Before they left, he led Jason out onto the verandah. ‘Listen, Jason. You have saved the army and the regiment from a great and soul-searing disgrace. You have incurred danger beyond the dictates of duty but under no circumstances can this become public knowledge. No bravery awards can be made. A thick, dark, heavy curtain has to be drawn over these recent events, never to be pulled back. I hope you understand.’ He paused, as though making up his mind. ‘I shouldn’t really tell you what my senior officer told me but I will: I asked the Brigadier if he’d support bravery awards for all five of you but,’ and here he faltered slightly, ‘he refused, point blank. Rather pompously, I thought, he said “The Army, like the Royal Academy, desires docility in her children and even originality has to be stereotyped”.’ Jason thought the CO looked rather forlorn as he said that.
The Colonel cleared his throat and continued, ‘Your empathy with the men is as irrefutable as the shorthand of the Recording Angel. You have the indispensable virtues of humour, humility and honesty but sadly, in this instance, the only record will be on your confidential Record of Service. Apart from wearing enemy uniform which is strictly forbidden under one of the Geneva Conventions, the only law you have broken is the Law of Averages.’
It was Jason’s turn to bow his head, if only to hide his facial expression. ‘Thank you, sir, for those kind words. I share your feelings. I could never have done what was done without my Gurkhas. I merely guided them. They have already come to terms with what is good for the regiment. Their proverb says it all.’
‘Which proverb? I can’t call one to mind.’
‘Pure gold needs no touchstone, nor a good man any adornment.’