‘Yes, sir. It is,’ said Ah Fat. ‘Most probably the Emissary is not a jungle man, almost bound not to be but he is determined enough otherwise he’d never have reached Betong from China the way he did. But he will need escorting: there is only one man I know who is a canny jungle escort and a Chinese speaker of the standard needed.’
‘You don’t have to tell me who you have in mind, do you?’ asked with an innocent smile.
‘You know as well as I do, sir. There’s only man who can do the job, Captain Jason Rance.’
‘Yes, I agree with you on that but he is no longer a Captain,’ said the General. ‘I insisted on his promotion to Major after trying to persuade that Ten Foot Long to surrender and all the other outstanding jungle work he and his men have done,’ although, sadly, no bravery award was forthcoming.
At that very moment the Major under consideration was again doing something that, as far as others knew, had not been done before quite like he was doing it. A well-known Communist Terrorist was reported by some ‘friendly’ rubber tappers to be due to meet them for rations during a period covering four days. The rubber estate was extensive and the cover crop was almost nil so there was no place to hide. Any of the Security Forces who laid an ambush in the area would be doomed to failure and, indeed, any guerrilla could be seen were he to contact the tappers so only a chance patrol might be lucky in a contact. However, there was a small stream running though part of the estate and, as the ground there was marshy it had no trees in it but unkempt undergrowth. It had been decided that Major Rance would take five men and lie up in the undergrowth and, if successful in capturing the guerrilla, Rance’s language skills could speedily alert battalion HQ before any of the guerrilla’s compatriots knew he had been captured.
The approach march was long and tortuous to avoid three sets of labour lines. In order not to give his position away by smelling where they had defecated, all six of them had taken a double dose of medicine to make them constipated. Extra water bottles were carried and hard tack only taken to avoid cooking. The group settled in before dawn on Day 1 and, while it was still light and before any tappers arrived, made sure there were no signs of their entry into the undergrowth. It was presumed that the tappers would put their stuff in the scrub and the guerrilla, more than one most likely, would come along the stream early in the morning and leave, with their booty at dusk. Mosquitoes were in profusion and face veils rather than repellent were used to avoid the smell. It rained hard on the first three evenings to the men’s excruciating discomfort.
There was great relief among the ambush when they heard rustling at about nine o’clock on the fourth morning and they discerned a tapper furtively putting some stuff on the ground just inside the undergrowth. The tapper did not notice the Gurkhas who waited with the utmost expectancy all day. It was the sheerest bad luck that, although the guerrillas did come late on that last day, they had one ploy that no one had previously considered. A couple of dogs roamed ahead of them and, on finding the Gurkhas hiding in the undergrowth, set up such a aggressive barking that the guerrillas knew that it had to be someone hostile hiding there so long after tapping hours so they turn back unseen by the ambush.
‘We nearly had them, didn’t we,’ said Jason. ‘You did wonderfully well to stay so quiet in such unpleasant circumstances and I am proud of you. Time to go back. Pack up and on our way. Without any radio contact the vehicle should have come to pick us up by 1600 hours at the labour lines, a mile down the road.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’ll be there already.’
‘Saheb, what she we do with the stuff the tapper has left lying around?’ asked one of the men.
‘I have a wicked idea. Finish any water in your water bottles and get rid of it naturally as you pass the stuff. That’s the best way to relieve our frustration.’
The CO of 1/12 Gurkha Rifles, Lieutenant Colonel Eustace Vaughan, had served in 3/12 GR during the war. He was one of many Indian Army British officers transferred to the Royal Artillery after Partition before making his escape to command 1/12 GR, so he knew nobody. He was a small, barrel-chested, bouncy man, round-faced, bushy-browed and clean-shaven, with a deep voice. He handled Gurkhas well but his handling of British officers was apt to be clumsy. He had been CO since 31 July of the previous year.
The out-going CO had written the all-important annual confidential reports for the officers, brought forward because of the change in command. The then Captain Rance was graded ‘C’, average: with a ‘C’ grading no officer could expect to rise above the rank of major. Remarks on Rance’s operational ability were cattily clouded because of the fiasco during one operation which was in no way his fault and a difficult interview with the Royal Air Force’s top brass over bombing or not bombing guerrilla camps. ‘Yes, he can be good but I advise you to watch him. He would not have been commissioned pre-war.’
It was less than a month ago that the Director of Intelligence had rung him about Captain Rance being ‘needed’[2] – he did not know what for – so he was not best pleased to get yet another unexpected phone call from Kuala Lumpur, this time from the Director of Operations himself. ‘Eustace, you are a patient man aren’t you?’ was the strange opening remark.
‘Well, sir, one has to be in any army job if one does not want a gastric ulcer, doesn’t one?’
‘Surely so. I have the unusual task of having to steal an officer of yours once again and I am ringing in person for two reasons. The first is that I overcame your Brigadier’s categorically telling you not to promote Captain Rance and made a personal request with the Military Secretary’s branch in the MOD. Rather stepping on your toes but needs be et cetera.’
‘Understood, sir. I can’t really cavil at that can I?’
‘No good if you did, Eustace. Now listen. Hush-hush. I have just learnt, today as ever is, that there is an intelligence plum, a ripe and juicy one, that has fallen off its tree but has yet to be picked up by us. If we don’t get hold of it soon we’ll lose it and that would be a great pity. Whatever your thoughts of Major Rance happen to be, and I can guess both pros and cons, you may not yet realise his Chinese linguistic ability. I doubt there is another European his equal, certainly at sounding like a Chinese, in the country. I personally need him as he is the only man who fits the bill. He will require a small group of men, say four or five, one of whom is to be a radio operator. I cannot give you more details now but please do your best to lend him to me.’
He’s got me by the short and curlies, hasn’t he? ‘Sir, there is no real difficulty. He is due home leave very soon and I have to appoint another officer to take over his company. While he is away I’ll get his Company 2 ic to concentrate on getting the administration shipshape before the new man takes over. Any idea of how long Rance will be needed?’
‘I’d like to think not more than a week or ten days at the outside. What I want is him up here pronto to be briefed, go back, prepare himself than to disappear over the horizon.’
‘What shall I tell people this end, sir?’
‘Oh, let’s see. A general operational and intelligence briefing about his methods for the updated pamphlet of jungle warfare we are writing for the Federation Armed Forces when we finally hand over to them. He’s done enough for a personal debriefing in depth.’
‘I’ll ensure he does what you want, sir. Have you anything more for me?’ The question went unanswered as the General had already put his phone back on its cradle.
Colonel Vaughan had been influenced against Rance by his predecessor’s report. He had also taken a dislike to him. The reason that no one could guess was that the Colonel’s dead younger brother, whom he had idolised as being a better all-rounder than he himself had been, was not only the same age as Jason Rance but also somehow resembled him, was killed in the war whereas Rance had survived. The wrong man died was a recurring and secret mantra, acting as a recurring grudge in the senior’s approach to the junior. In Gurkha regiments numbers of officers were too few for the junior in a personality clash to avoid discrimination without leaving the regiment. Rance had no intention of so doing.
10 February
So what do you think of all that, Major Rance?’ Colonel Mason asked after giving him the whole story, Ah Fat having already told him his side of affairs, about the Bear standing in for him. It was a week after the two Chinese had left Betong. ‘It really does look as if this whole business hangs on you personally. You can’t say “no” can you?’ There were in his office, which was wired off from the others. ‘So far, so good?’
‘Sir, being on a short list of one brooks so argument,’ Jason said with a wry smile. ‘So far so good, sir, as far as taking the job on and dealing with this Emissary man is concerned. On the reverse of the coin there is guerrilla activity to be considered as well. Without a very much larger force, I mean were we to meet all thirty of the notional guerrillas still on the Wanted List, I would need a minimum of two platoons. But for this task I don’t want to be cluttered with all the administrative complications of having so many men to look after. In my mind’s eye I was thinking of at least two escorts, gunmen if you like, and a radio operator.’ He broke off and pursed his lips in thought. He turned to his boyhood friend.
‘How long can the Bear and his few men be out of camp without raising suspicion of any unauthorised activity, shall I call it?’ He spoke in English.
‘Yes, I see what you mean and why you ask. I think the longest he can be away safely is the time it takes to meet up with you, hand the Emissary over and return.’
The implications of that were not lost on any of the listeners.
‘So I’ll be on my own in hostile territory. The map reading won’t be hard, both ways just go along the course of the river. But meeting any hostiles puts another slant on matters. I can manage the language side of meeting them but that is not enough. I need to calm any initial suspicions if we do happen to meet head on. I think I can manage that but I may break military etiquette if I do.’
‘You intrigue me. Explain please.’
‘Sir, of course you will remember how we managed the follow-up of the killers of Colonel Ridings that was named Operation Red Tidings.’
‘No need to ask. I most certainly do.’
‘So you will also remember that four of Ten Foot Long’s people came over to my side, one of whom was the man detailed to look after his personal radio, the one eventually that led to his demise. I will take two of them, put them in CT uniform if I can, otherwise merely to wear a starred cap, and they will be my screen and liaison with any hostile.’ He did not say that he and his Gurkha gunman and radio operator would also were similar headgear. Something about some Geneva Convention will be flung in my face if I suggest it.
‘Are you sure they won’t turn?’ the Colonel asked, doubt evident in his tone of voice.
‘Sure as I can be, sir. They will be fully dependent on me for a return to their families. They’ll be lost in north Malaya.’
‘I’ll go along with that. Call them a “Q” Party.’ He broke off, obviously in some distress. ‘Sir, I must ask to go to a lavatory. I have just come back for four days of enforced constipation hiding in the middle of a rubber estate where such an operation would be given away by any smell of human ordure. I had to take a laxative on my return, all of my small group did, and only now is it working.’
He was shown where to go and came back, looking much more comfortable. ‘And where you successful?’ the Colonel asked.
‘Sir, we would have been had the guerrillas not had a dog to go in front of them as a sentry. As soon as it smelt us it barked so gave us away. After such an effort by my men, yes, it was disappointing.’
He never mentions himself, does he?
‘Now back to the “Q” Party: I’ll fix it when I get back to Seremban.’ Seeing a map on the wall Jason went over to look at it. He found the Sungei Perak and traced it up to the Thai border, noting Gunong Gadong. ‘No crossing the border for me and my men, that’s correct, isn’t it?’
Before the Colonel could answer Ah Fat broke in with ‘there’s a border stone marked with a hammer and sickle in its stem. We put it there as we passed through on our way to Thailand. It is a good reference point and easy to find. That could be a good RV as the Bear knows where it is.’
‘Useful,’ said Colonel Mason and continued, ‘No crossing the border whatsoever. This venture is hairy enough already without anymore whiskers being added. Unwanted whiskers could well be meeting up with the opposing group.’
To the Colonel’s surprise Jason grinned and said something in Chinese to Ah Fat who grinned back. ‘Sorry sir, that was rude of me. What I started to say was that I can make jungle noises that Ah Fat can tell the Bear to listen out for.’ He smiled delightfully as though enjoying a joke. ‘He’s bound to recognise one noise I make as it is unique.’
‘I don’t get you,’ said the Colonel, a tad gruffly, not fully understanding what Jason was trying to say.
‘Listen, sir,’ and he cupped his hands and made some startlingly realistic cuckoo noises. ‘Why is that unique?’ the Colonel queried.
‘Because there are no cuckoos in Malaya or rather, to be accurate, members of the cuckoo family that are in Malaya don’t “cuck”. When I used it to keep distance with my people the guerrillas heard it, knew it was not a Malayan bird and quickly left. In fact I was the only cuckoo there was,’ and he gave a burst of laughter. ‘I can also coo like a dove but that doesn’t carry so far,’ and he gave a lifelike call with his cupped hands,
Colonel Mason asked how such esoteric pieces of jungle lore had come his way and Jason explained, ‘I learnt how to make the noise when a cadet at the Indian Military Academy to use as a recognition signal on patrol exercises in the Tons Valley. I “cuckoo-ed” to such good effect that a real bird answered and the patrol I wanted to call in to me went the other way towards the bird. By the time I had made several calls the poor fellows were going round in circles. Were they mad when they met up with me!’
‘What other noises can you make?’
Jason answered by belling like a deer, first the male then the female, followed by the call of the ‘dawn-and-dusk’ bird, the burong tetabu, the great-eared nightjar. ‘Ah Fat will tell his Bear to listen out for any one of those noises, each set to be three longs, two shorts followed by three longs.’
