13 September 1954, central Malaya: At dawn Jason and his three men set off to go as far as the small stream where the cutting was heard to fill the canvas bucket, followed by 2 Platoon. One man filled the bucket to the brim and brought it back. Jason felt that any surging by the chemicals would waste them so emptied about a quarter of the water. ‘Get the balloon out, unroll it and lay it flat. Open the end and be ready to hold it over the bucket as soon as I’ve put the powder in. Hold your noses, it’ll stink,’ he said softly as he undid the tin and poured the granulated chemical into the water. It hissed loudly and smelt vilely. Quickly two men held the end of the balloon over the bucket and gradually, gradually it filled with the gassy effervescence the chemicals had generated and lifted itself upright.

Once it had started tugging one of the men held on to it to keep it steady. Jason saw the bubbling in the bucket had ceased. ‘Grasp the balloon’s neck before you double the end back to cut it so no gas escapes, then tie the end as tightly as you can, let the balloon rise to the end of the string and tie it to the lowest branch of that small tree,’ he pointed out with his chin.

The water was poured into the stream to try and get rid of the smell and away they went, back to their overnight camp.

Looking at his white map and trying to work out how much ground they had covered, at what speed and what his previously reported grid references were, Jason sent a message to Battalion HQ telling them where he thought it was most likely he had put the marker balloon up.

At midday the set was opened again and a priority message was sent from base. ‘Move back four thousand yards now. Bombing will come in early tomorrow. Then advance with all speed to assess damage.’

They packed up and almost untactically fast, back they went.

As there were no guerrillas in the area and it had rained heavily at dusk, Jason told his platoon commanders to gather logs and let the men dry their clothes before bedding down. The RMO had always wondered why A Company’s sick rate was less than the other three companies’: this was the reason.

In the guerrilla camp it was time to cook their morning meal which was normally around 10 o’clock. Down to the water point the fatigue party went to fill their pots. One man sniffed. ‘Has the water gone bad?’ he asked.

Another man put his nose near the water and sniffed. ‘Yes, it smells of chemical.’

‘Go back and tell the Comrade Political Commissar and the Comrade Military Commander to come and see if they agree with us.’

He did but both senior comrades were scathingly recalcitrant but, after insistence, went to the stream. ‘Yes, you are right. The enemy is trying to poison us. Go back and bring the Duty Section.’

Off he trotted and brought the Duty Section back. ‘Follow the stream for as long as you can smell the strange odour. If you find anything come back and tell us. Go very carefully, it could be an enemy ambush. They are capable of many dirty tricks.’

The comrades moved off, snail-slow, noses stream-wards, eyes jungle-wards. ‘Comrade, look at that in the water, ‘the man in front turned to the senior comrade. ‘Is it a tortoise or what?’

‘Three men take a prone position where you are and don’t move until I tell you. I’ll take the others back to camp and get a force to search the jungle either side to see if there is an ambush.’

The Political Commissar stayed back and the Military Commander took a section to the right and a senior comrade a section to the left. Nothing was found and as they went to see what was in the water, a bright young comrade saw the string of the marker balloon jerk as the balloon was pulled by the wind.

‘Comrade, look at this string. What is it?’

The Military Commander went over to it, pulled it and felt a weight. He looked up and saw a large red balloon on the end. ‘The cunning swine,’ he ejaculated viciously. ‘That can only mean they will come and bomb us. Cut the string, go back to camp, get ready to evacuate it then we’ll move out, AT TOP SPEED.’

Away they scuttled and by dusk they were several thousand yards away.

A Company spent an expectant night, trying to visualise the bombing. The men said that the aircraft would kill all the guerrillas and how clever it was for the OC Saheb to do what had been done. The radio was opened for the morning call and the message was the same as before, ‘Move back fastest and search the bombed area.’

‘Wilco, out.’

Before the five Lincoln bombers of the Royal Australian Air Force reached their target, an Auster flew over the suspected area. ‘No balloon,’ the pilot reported. ‘I’ll put a smoke marker where I believe the balloon should have been then leave the area to you.’

The message was acknowledged and the bombers dropped their bombs where they saw the smoke. In A Company’s position the earth shook as though there was an earthquake.

The pilots then overflew the bombed area and heavily machine-gunned it, ‘that’ll keep the bastards’ heads down, Mate, won’t it?’ one said.

‘Sure will,’ he answered, unaware that as A Company was getting ready to move out several empties from the machine gunning were being scattered near where they were.

No movement through the jungle had ever been quicker than A Company’s approach march. At the scene of the bombing flattened trees were everywhere … except near where the balloon had been flown, which was still pristine jungle. ‘Saheb, look there,’ one man excitedly called out, pointing.

Jason could hardly believe his eyes: an unexploded bomb! ‘All searching stop,’ he called out. ‘Go back to the nearest stream. Put out sentries and cook your morning meal.’

As he turned to go he saw that he was where the daku had been in their camp and noticed a patch of white on the ground. Ash! He bent down to feel it. Cold. That meant they could not have left when the Auster flew over before the bombers came but yesterday. A thought struck him: did they find the balloon string, cut it and leave then? Looks like it. There’ll be no point in searching locally. In bitter disappointment he went back and joined his men.

The operator called Battalion HQ and Jason was immediately asked for a report by Sunray. ‘My personal camp recce was text book. However the bombers had to be sent for, an exercise in optimism over reality. I quote “some are wise and some are otherwise” unquote. The area where we recced the camp and put up the marker balloon is untouched and where we heard the Charlie Tango is an unexploded bomb. I found some ash in their camp site which is cold so it looks as if they found the balloon and left yesterday. They will be a long way from here now. We are keeping well away from the bomb in case it goes off. Roger so far, over.

‘1, roger, but you must control your bitter language, over.’

‘I strongly recommend that I leave the immediate area now and search for tracks a day’s walk distant. I suggest move north-easterly. Your views, please, over.’

‘Open this evening for further orders, out.’

The CO spoke to the Brigadier by phone. ‘Henry, you won’t believe it but I have been told by the RAAF that one of its bombers had an unfused bomb. If Rance finds that near the guerrilla camp it will show that that is why there are no casualties.’

‘He has already found it and is keeping well away from it.’

‘I’ll have to send in a bomb disposal team by chopper but I’ll wait a day or two for that. Any live guerrillas will have, by now, left the area. Top up your men’s rations and let them go, I suggest move a map square northeast, and start another search for them.’

‘Okay, sir. I’ll pass that on.’

Jason’s soldiers were flabbergasted by what had happened … after successfully tracking the enemy, after so nearly getting them after seeing those trousers hanging up to dry, after the OC saheb and his group had made such a good recce of the enemy camp, then putting up that balloon, all difficult and skilful to do really well … who would have thought it would turn out like this? As they were cooking their meal, the radio operator was told to ‘fetch Sunray’ so called Jason to the set.

‘Submit an airdrop demand for five more days this evening. Prepare a DZ. Your task is to move northeast by minimum one map square. Continue patrolling to pick up any tracks there may be.’

‘Wilco out,’ was Jason’s weary reply.

‘Saheb, you didn’t try and persuade the CO not to bomb, did you?’ his Company 2ic asked, almost unwilling to broach the subject.

‘No, Saheb, I didn’t. If I had argued you would have had a new OC A Company.’

13 September 1954, Police HQ, Kuala Lumpur: ‘We’ve hit gold dust. How can we make it into platinum?’ C C Too asked Ah Fat. They were closeted in the former’s office.

Ah Fat considered the question. ‘The Secretary General has told me he wants me to be the editor of this new paper, Red Tidings. The paper we normally use doesn’t have watermarks and that is one reason for sending me here. In any case, the rank and file of the MCP are not the type who know what a watermark is, let alone how to look for one or even recognise one. Leave it or what?’

‘Before I answer that, where will you do your compilation and printing? In your base camp in Thailand?’

‘That certainly seems to be the idea but I don’t like it. It’s too out-of-the-way for easy access for the couriers from Malaya. I suppose you know that there are two types of courier, a main one or two for long-distance work and local ones who know the terrain like their own back garden. I would prefer to move to somewhere like Ha La village^[1], which is just inside Thailand and has no Customs or police to worry us, nor any propaganda merchants looking over my shoulder. Couriers would also find it easier or I could even set up a place over the border and use t’o yan – the orang asli or indigenous people – as storekeepers and to give advanced warning were any Security Forces to be in the area. Unlikely, though possible.’

‘Do you think the Secretary General will allow that?’

‘Difficult to say off-hand. He might if I make periodical visits to him for copy.’

A gleam came into C C Too’s eyes. ‘Tell you what. Let me make you some paper like what we have with a government watermark with an MCP watermark. You, in an editorial, can warn the readers to look and see which watermark is on the paper. The MCP one will be touted as genuine government propaganda. You then adapt the version for the Politburo on government watermarked sheets as and how you like, making sure that you keep the two lots completely separate.’

‘Have you the funds?’

‘Have you the ink?’ and both men laughed.

16 September 1954, central Malaya: The daku commander felt smug in foretelling that the marker balloon was indicative of a bombing attack. He had ordered an immediate evacuation, initially carrying the wounded man on a comrade’s back with another comrade carrying two packs for speed. They had moved well over a mile before dark and had been thoroughly shaken by the bombing. His men looked at him with admiration, knowing he had saved their lives. ‘What we’ll do now is what we have practised in the past. Two groups will move off on different axes leaving tracks, while our HQ group will move with the utmost caution in between. Our comrade here,’ and he pointed to a young man, ‘will make noises like a tiger roaring with this other comrade,’ indicating an older man, ‘moving at the back, will make the tiger’s pug marks. Nobody will ever guess that the tiger is moving backwards, even if they do see the tracks. After all this time no one is better than us,’ and he laughed. The others joined in, feeling that they could escape from even the most observant trackers following them. Even so, we will carry out our concealment drill by walking backwards into a stream before making ourselves comfortable for the night, or maybe even longer.’