Ah Fat had to admit he was lost.
‘Their origin is as early as about 2700 BC. The ancestor of the Chinese nation, the Yellow Emperor, sent Da Rao Shi to create a calendar system. Da Rao Shi explored the rule of changes between sky and earth, as well as that of the four seasons. Then he created ten heavenly stems and twelve earthly branches to make combinations representing a sexagenary cycle, sixty years. A year can be represented by the composition of two characters, one from the heavenly set, and one from the earthly one. That is believed to be the start of the stem-branch calendar. Thus came a way of counting time which has been passed down since then.’
‘That’s one large mouthful,’ Ah Fat said, smiling wryly at his elder’s erudition.
‘I know it is but if you put something like that in your first number, and this year’s zodiac, 马, ma, a horse,’ although there was no need to write the character, he did so automatically, ‘you will be looked on as a scholar so your articles will be accepted.’ He took a cigarette from a box in a drawer and lit it. ‘I seldom smoke but I have to have one when such exciting ideas get hold of me.’
Ah Fat looked at his watch. Time enough. ‘Anything to say about any ceasefire, amnesty or meeting?’
‘Nothing definite at this stage although you can tell your boss that the Security Forces will be told to stop all operations a fortnight before any meeting can take place.’ He inhaled a large gout of smoke and coughed. ‘Excuse me. I’ve been thinking how we can best keep in touch. Either Chan Man Yee can be secretly used to send you something by her own couriers or I could leave a phone message … no that is too risky. I have someone who can feed Chan Man Yee with a message for you …’ He broke off. ‘Your nicknames. How about only using yours adulterated for downward traffic and Jason Rance’s for upward, my, traffic. I can use the four-character system that way.’
Ah Fat considered it. ‘With respect, sir, I think that is too intricate to remember so why not merely use them together indiscriminately? Also, wouldn’t it be kinder to let Jason know?’
‘Okay, I won’t tamper with it and I’ll see that Jason gets to know about it if you really think it matters. Have you thought of putting any surrender leaflets in the issues of Red Tidings going south?’
‘No, I hadn’t,’ Ah Fat admitted. ‘That is an extremely good idea. If you have any in your office, please give me about fifty or so.’
‘This is easily done.’ He went to a cupboard and brought out a handful. ‘Here you are.’
Ah Fat took them and packed them in his case. Armed with the surrender leaflets, the cover for Red Tidings and the watermarked paper, he stood up and thanked C C Too. ‘It won’t be easy to phone you from Thailand. Too many stool pigeons in the exchanges for safety. Have you got a simple code, asking for various articles for instance, that I can use? Also, if you had an unlisted number I could call, it could just make my life that bit easier.’
Yes, always ready for the unexpected, C C Too did have a book code, ‘but I don’t want to use this method as I think it unsafe for you. Let us try another simpler ruse, say the opposite of what we mean. I’ll give you an unlisted number. We’ll talk in Chinese. I don’t speak Thai and either Malay or English would make the operator suspicious.’
Ah Fat thanked him. They shook hands and said their farewells, not knowing if or when they would meet again.
21 September 1954, south Thailand: Chin Peng welcomed Ah Fat and his Bear warmly, suspecting nothing untoward in what had happened during his non-voting Politburo’s member’s time away. ‘Let’s have a session tomorrow midday, with just my Military Commander and the propaganda representative. There’s no need for a plenum yet.’
And so, on the following day, Ah Fat told his story, how he had met Chan Man Yee, who sent her loyal greetings to all … He was interrupted with ‘Does she feel lonely, do you think?’
‘No, Comrade Secretary General, she is fully accepted by all in Bluff Road and is regarded as a bit of a star performer,’ and butter won’t melt in my mouth, a phrase Jason once taught me, he said to himself.
‘Good, Comrade, proceed’ and Ah Fat produced both types of watermarked sheets of paper, explaining how Chan Man Yee had arranged both with the idea of using one or the other for pro-MCP and the other as anti-Government.’
‘Yes, she does sound like a star performer.’
Ah Fat allowed himself a small joke, ‘No, Comrade Secretary General, a red star performer,’ which made Chin Peng laugh.
Ah Fat went on to say how watermarks were not usually thought of, even if known about, so how he hoped to use the Heavenly Stems and the Earthly Branches background in the first issue of Red Tidings. ‘If that doesn’t draw their attention to the perspicacity and erudition of you, Comrade, not much else will.’
Chin Peng allowed himself to simper.
‘I have also been thinking logistically, Comrade,’ and Ah Fat went on to talk about the disadvantages of producing the new newspaper in the MCP camp area, so far from couriers, but ‘better by far would be to set up a small base in Ha La. Couriers already stop there to relax.’
He stopped talking to let Chin Peng catch up with that new thought.
‘You mean you go to Ha La and work matters from there, leaving me to arrange the other periodicals with my own staff?’
‘Comrade, under the circumstances, that is what will have to happen. When you asked me to look after this idea of a new periodical and go to Kuala Lumpur to work out the details, I took it to mean that that was over and above any other periodical work that was already in place. I doubt I can give my full attention, at least not to start with, to this new venture if I can’t concentrate on it.’
A long silence ensured. ‘I’ll have to talk this over with the Central Committee as it is such a new venture’ and thanking Ah Fat, dismissed him.
A plenum session of the Politburo was called for the morrow and Ah Fat was invited to give a full account of what he had done. Po-faced and solemn, he gave as one-sided a statement as was necessary. He was asked if Special Branch had any idea of Chan Men Yee’s commitment to the party and he said that, as far as she knew, none at all. She was in Registry and managed to see sll documents that were not kept in office safes. ‘I have instructed her to use the name Ng Heng and she certainly will do that.’
‘What about our new journal, Red Tidings?’ asked the Director of Psyops.
‘I am coming on to that. Not only have I managed to get our agent to give me some government watermarked paper, I have also managed to get her to do the same with MCP watermarked paper.’
That elicited a gasp of surprise and ‘how do you propose to use both at once?’
Ah Fat had his answer off pat. He explained about Heavenly Stems and the Earthly Branches, and that elicited another gasp. Reaction was positive, even the Psyops Director and the Political Commissar saw no harm in that, so Ah Fat explained how he foresaw how he would produce his newspaper, ‘… and so I propose to form my printing base in Ha La, making it much easier for couriers to collect the material. If, after a couple of issues, I find it too far, I propose crossing the border and using the t’o yan, all of whom are on our side, both as storekeepers and an early warning system, just in case any enemy does come that way.’
They debated the issue and took a vote: a base in Ha La was the verdict, using his own squad, commanded by the Bear, as security and also using them to send copies of the newspaper back up to the main MCP camp in Betong. ‘How will you prepare the cover?’ someone asked.
Ah Fat had a copy of it in his pocket. He took it out and showed it to the members. Hands were clapped in appreciation and the Secretary General came to as near blushing as he ever had. The only other question for Ah Fat was how could he get any urgent news from ‘our agent in Bluff Road’ to the Central Committee?
‘She seems to have her own method of making contact,’ he said, adlibbing skilfully, ‘but, for security reasons, I did not ask for details.’
‘That was wise,’ opined Chin Peng, ‘but now you have made contact, what are your plans, just in case the agent’ – not letting on that it was a female – ‘can’t get through.’
‘I can make arrangements with the couriers once they know where I’m working. We have arranged our own secret contact details,’ he said, unblushingly.
‘I congratulate you,’ said the Secretary General and dismissed the meeting.
As Ah Fat went back to his own quarters in deep thought, remembering the games of tennis he and Jason Rance had played as schoolboys, ‘40 15, my serve.’
21 September 1954, central Malaya: The guerrillas’ other two platoons had moved north of Bahau and, in deep jungle, established themselves near cultivations which the local t’o yan had made for themselves. The crops already sown were chiefly tapioca and yams but, with the seeds that the guerrillas already had with them, work on enlargement of the cultivations was not a large problem. Tan Fook Leong called his Deputy to him and told him to take a select few to go and search for the third platoon, those in the white map area. To their satisfaction they found A Company’s tracks as no large a group of men can move without leaving any.
They were still a couple of days behind them when the air raid occurred and, luckily finding a nearby t’o yan settlement, took refuge there. A Company’s position was pinpointed by their airdrop. Leaving the ladang they cast about. ‘We are not far from them, now,’ said the guerrilla commander. ‘They seem to be going southwest to the main road. Once we are within contact, I’ll make my plans.’
None of A Company had any idea that other guerrillas had found their tracks and had been shadowing them since their airdrop. The euphoric soldiers were, somewhat naturally, less keyed-up than they normal. It was early afternoon and Jason saw that his men were tired. ‘Captain saheb, let’s have an earlier halt today. Once we have made our night-stop, the men can relax just that little bit.’
The Company 2ic’s lit up. ‘Saheb, that is a good idea. Anywhere around here will do as the stream we have been following is good water and a pleasure to drink. I’ll arrange it.’
A ‘clearing’ patrol was sent out on a circuitous route about two hundred yards from the overnight base to see if there were any traces of movement. The guerrillas, maybe three hundred yards from the Gurkhas, saw the two ‘clearing’ patrol men moving to their front. ‘Lie low. Do nothing,’ the leader said. They then saw a sentry move out to a flank, about fifty paces distant and take up a position not in their line of sight. ‘We’ll wait till it is dusk, the sentry is recalled and then, by the light of the fires they are sure to have, we will select the most juicy target, their running-dog leader. Till then we’ll wait here.’ They nibbled some almost tasteless dried tapioca, mouths watering as they smelt the cooking just beyond them.
Jason suddenly felt the urge to defecate. ‘Chakré, I have to move out and hide behind a tree for a few minutes. No need to escort me. I have my rifle. You tell the 2ic and I’ll warn the platoon as I walk through it.’
Off he went with his water bottle (no green toilet paper had been issued since Burma) and was seen by the Deputy. ‘Got you, you blasted imperialist capitalist,’ he mouthed quietly. ‘Get ready to kill him as he squats.’
His men tensed expectantly. Here, at last, was wonderful revenge.
‘Chakré,’ the 2ic said. ‘Follow your saheb at a distance that doesn’t embarrass him and escort him back.’
Unseen by the guerrillas, Chakré moved to a flank and took up a position behind a tree. As Jason squatted, a bird flew past him. He didn’t notice it. Then another. Notice it he did. He heard monkeys screeching, beating branches with sticks. Unusual in the evening, he mused. A tiny mouse deer rustled past, unworried by Jason’s immobility. Bear, tiger or men on the move? If so, not ours.
Fully relieved he lay forward to do up his buttons and picked up his rifle but he stayed bent over, as though he were still relieving himself. A few feet to his front was a stick of wood. He reached for it, took his jungle hat off his head and put it on the stick. Slowly he raised it as though he were standing up, arranging his clothes.
Chakré, too, jungle-wise, had fully understood the signs of men. Still standing by the tree he peered in the direction of the monkeys’ noise. Men moving towards my saheb? He left his tree and something moving caught his eye. He stopped and peered into the gloom. His sharp ears caught the sound of a foot hitting a fallen log. Men! As though pulled by some invisible magnet, he moved wraith-like towards the noise. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his saheb’s hat moving slightly, as though its wearer were about to stand up. He switched his sight to the noise, saw three men stand up and aim – at the hat! At my saheb! Chakré aimed at the middle of the three and fired just before the man stalking Jason did. A bullet went high over Chakré’s head as the shot had startled the firer and disturbed his aim. Simultaneously another daku shot Jason’s hat off the stick. Chakré again fired and heard a loud cry. Firing stopped and he heard a rustling as the two unwounded guerrillas pulled their wounded comrade away.
