‘2 Regiment,’ he gasped, sobbing. So these are Ten Foot Long’s men. Taking his First Field Dressing out of his front pocket, Jason opened the daku’s shirt. The death rattle ‘gargled’ in his throat as Jason’s hands were on the man’s skin, about to cover the wound. Jason stood up and put the dressing back into his pocket, not realising that as the man had died his soul had entered him. He would not find that out for a little while.

The Platoon Commander at the far end of the ambush had waited until the leading daku were opposite him and, shouting ‘fire’, opened up. Immediately everyone else also did, except in the case of, it so happened, the company’s Goalkeeper who, in the dim light, thought the man in front of him was a gora, so pale

was he.

Instinctively he held his fire. There had been rumours of a gora among the daku but no one had taken it seriously but, hard to believe, there he was. Is he there because he can’t escape or what? flashed through the Goalkeeper’s mind as he stood up in a mistaken attempt to call him over.

The gora turned and, in one skilful shot, wounded the Gurkha with a bullet in the side of his neck. He fell, bleeding severely, unconscious. Men to his right and left felled the firer before quickly patching up the wounded man with their First Field Dressings.

In five minutes there was no more daku movement and the order to cease fire was shouted down the line.

‘Is it safe for us to move forward?’ Jason bellowed loudly when the firing from in front had ceased.

‘Yes, we’re checking enemy casualties. Our Goalkeeper is badly wounded.’

Even so, that’s a great relief. Phew, and what a gamble. Jason felt elated. His venture had paid off thanks to Corporal Kulbahadur’s superb tracking. I’ll most certainly put him in for a decoration. I’ve said that before and I’ll say it again. I must go and see the wounded man.

There were ten daku bodies, no wounded and no captives. Three of the bodies were of a much paler skin colour than the rest. They don’t look Chinese, thought the searchers. The first man to have fallen was the lame man, the one who had shot at Jason. Jason looked at him. He’s only a kid, poor fellow. ‘But you joined the wrong side, didn’t you,’ he said aloud. He saw each corpse had a mattock or an axe. So they left the Jelebu area to go deep into the jungle, shielded by the white map, to make a garden.

The unconscious Gurkha was being tenderly looked after

The bodies were centrally dumped and searched for any documents. Several ‘rolled slips’ were found on one body, presumably the Political Commissar’s. These were documents written in tiny characters on diaphanously flimsy paper and rolled up like a mini-sized cigarette for ease of concealment. Jason thought it better not to open them as no tactical benefit would accrue.

When the radio operator had his set ready and contact was made with Battalion HQ, Jason said, ‘Sunray call sign 1 on set. Fetch Acorn, over.’

He was answered with ‘Wilco. Wait out.’

While waiting Jason took out his note book and to see what he thought was the grid reference of their night-stop before the action.

‘Hullo 1. Acorn on set. Send, over.’

‘1. We have ambushed and killed ten Charlie Tangos part of figures two regiment, I say again, we have ambushed and killed ten Charlie Tangos. Three do not look like Chinese, too pale. Several rolled slips found. No other docus. Own troops, one wounded in the neck. Casevac heli needed.’ He gave the grid reference. ‘Heli can land, no need to hover. Over.’

‘1. Jolly good show about the CT but bad news about your man. How will you dispose of bodies? Over.’

‘1. I have a camera, can take photos and bury. If you want bodies out send heli and bring body bags or equivalent.’

Acorn told him to wait out while he fetched Sunray, who came on set a quarter of an hour later, full of congratulations but concern for the wounded man. ‘Casevac heli already asked for. Take wounded man to LP soonest. Keep on listening watch for ETA. How did you manage such an extensive kill?

Over.’

‘1. Good patrolling and good marksmanship. Details later.’

‘1. Have you camera and sufficient film?’

Yes, he had. ‘I particularly want photos of the three non-Chinese corpses^[2], then bury them. Bring out any papers and identification material. How long will it take you to walk out?’

‘1. With patrolling, about a week. I’ll send an airdrop demand within figures one hour. Over.’

‘1. I have been asked by Big Sunray to confirm that you did not attack camp. If you did, he will be angry and you will have to answer.’

Jason grinned. ‘1. The daku were flushed from a camp site that was too difficult to surround and attack. They thought they were to be attacked, tried to escape and were ambushed as they fled. If this is not good enough, sorry. Too late to undo damage already caused. Over.’

‘1. Roger. Careful with your language. Big Sunray says this phase of Operation Red Tidings is over but will wait for news of Ten Foot Long’s death before terminating it. Send resup details when required and report when bodies buried. Wait out.’

Half a minute later, Sunray was back on the set. ‘1, how will you manage to dig a communal grave? It will be too difficult with khukris. Over.’

‘1. The aim of the group must have been to make a garden for there were many mattocks and axes left for us to pick up and use, over.’

‘1 Roger, out.’

Jason sent his Company 2ic and one section to take the wounded man to where they had waited the day before to make the place suitable for a heli touchdown rather than a hover. ‘Saheb, get your men to light a fire and be ready to make smoke when you hear the noise of the heli engine and also put out panels to make an H, pinning them firmly into the ground. Detail a couple of men to go with the Goalkeeper.’ The casevac chopper had a medic plus life-saving equipment so, to everyone’s relief, the Goalkeeper did not die – and saved what would have been a winning goal six months later!

After their meal the digging of a communal grave started. With eight mattocks eight men took it in turns to work on it and, three hours later, the grisly business of interring started, after photoing the dead men’s faces. Jason had to hold the eyes of one man open with two fingers as he took the photo with the other hand. I’ll bet any money they will think I was torturing him before killing him, he mused – which they did! The soldiers did not like the lifting of the corpses and throwing them in the large hole and everyone was glad when it had been re-covered by soil. As the last eight men returned to the overnight base, one rifleman vented his disgust on the trouble the daku had given him by pissing on the grave. It so happened that the Company 2ic saw him and, being of a religious bent, was afraid that, as the corpses had not been interred with any customary religious marks, something might happen to the man who pissed on it. He remembered a story his grandfather had told him about a pre-war column on the North-West Frontier of India when a soldier of 1/4 GR had, during a ten-minute break, not looked where his jet was aimed and had, accidentally, wetted an unconsecrated Muslim grave. The man had become unconscious and, when revived, only spoke Pashtu, a language he did not know, nor did he answer to Nepali. The battalion’s Indian doctor did know Pashtu, had managed to talk him out of his temporary insanity. Only then did he return to normal, not knowing a word of Pashtu and speaking Nepali again. I’ll have to watch that lad, he thought.

And indeed, that night, the soldiers were woken up by screams of Chinese invective. ‘Stand to,’ yelled the sentry, although he had heard no movement from outside the camp area. The 2ic went to where the screams were and saw they came from the man who had pissed on the grave earlier on in the day. He shook him and spoke to him in Nepali, only to get a Chinese answer. The Company 2ic knew that there was one man, a shaman in fact, who could put matters right, Corporal Kulbahadur Limbu. He called him over – by that time there was no security in the camp because of the noise but, luckily, there were no enemy around to hear it – and explained what had happened and why.

‘Saheb, there’s only one thing to do. We need a Chinese speaker to talk the spirit out of him. That will have to be the OC saheb.’ By then Jason was with them and Kulbahadur explained what had to be done. ‘I’ll tell you what to say, then let him sleep. Tomorrow morning it will be my turn to exorcise the Chinese element and he will return to normality.’ It was a bizarre session that followed and it was too dark for anyone to see the strange look on Jason Rance’s face.

Next morning Corporal Kulbahadur, acting as a shaman, exorcised the Chinese spirit out of the soldier who, once the effect of the ‘magic’ words had taken place, was back to normal, only speaking Nepali and knowing no Chinese.^[3] Meanwhile the company moved to the site of the casevac and prepared more smoke for their airdrop. When it came around noon, Jason stood stock still, staring at the parachutes dropping, Chakré at his side. Chakré sensed something was wrong and asked Jason if he was feeling queer? ‘I am cold, Chakré, cold. Something in my stomach is trying to get out. I can’t breathe properly.’

The batman, who had never left Jason’s side during the attack on the camp, remembered the saheb having his hands on the daku’s body at the time of the death rattle. It’s a syañ, the dead man’s soul must have got into the saheb when he had his hands on the body. It’s trying to get out but can’t. ‘Sit down on that log. I’ll fetch help,’ he said, helping Jason settle down, noting he had started shivering with cold although the sun was hot. Jason lent forward and held his head with his hands.

The Company 2ic went to see what was wrong and said, ‘Go and fetch Corporal Kulbahadur Limbu and bring him to me. I’ll arrange a place for the saheb to lie down.’

Kulbahadur came and saw Jason lying on a poncho cape, looking pale and breathing roughly. ‘What’s the matter with our Saheb?’ he asked.

‘I think he has a syañ but surely a syañ doesn’t go into one who goes to church?’

‘Captain saheb, our saheb has been with us so long that the church is no protection for him. I can fix it,’ he said. Sitting by Jason’s side he started muttering then put a finger tip on one of Jason’s jungle boots and scratched a small piece of mud off. Blowing on it he smeared a piece on Jason’s forehead. ‘Put out your tongue, Saheb,’ and daubed some mud on it, then on the back of Jason’s hands. ‘Chakré,’ he called. ‘Sit next to your Saheb and if he tries to catch hold of you, let him.’

The two men sat together and, with a groan, Jason put his arms round Chakré, moaning, ‘I’m cold, I’m cold,’ shuddering as if, he explained later, a hand inside him was pushing something up and up from the bottom of his stomach and out through his throat. Jason let go of Chakré and tried to stand up. He fell down. ‘I’m weak, I’m weak,’ he muttered.

Kulbahadur looked at him. ‘The syañ has left him. He’ll be new-baby weak for several hours. I’ll tell the Captain saheb we can only move on tomorrow.’

The Company 2ic said, ‘Saheb, shall I ask for a heli to take you back?’

Jason looked at him with a crooked grin and whispered, ‘Saheb, if you do that I’ll demote you,’ and fell back into a deep, deep sleep.

On the morrow he was his usual self and the company started off back to the main road for a motor pick up. If it had been any other battalion British saheb we would have had a major panic but with our Rance saheb, matters are easy to put right were the thoughts of most of the company, but even so, two ‘near misses’ because of the dead men!

When Special Branch perused the slips, they found a name they already knew, Ng Heng, a Representative of the Malayan Races Liberation Army. When the rolls of paper had wended their way up to the top, to C C Too’s office, he stood up and gave a little jump of joy. We’re ahead of you and you don’t know it, he gloated.

17 September 1954, Kuala Lumpur: Ah Fat went to Mr C C Too’s office hoping that the MCP-watermarked sheets of paper were ready. ‘Sit down and listen to an idea I have,’ he was told. ‘The sheets are ready. In order to get your new paper looked on as something special you must appeal to our countrymen’s historical leanings. After all, Chinese culture is more than three thousand years old.’

Ah Fat looked on quizzically, wondering where this was leading to.

‘What do you know of the Heavenly Stems and the Earthly Branches?’ and he wrote out the characters as he spoke and showed them, ‮$‬ر‮$‬z and ‮&‬a‮$‬ل.