Jason saluted and left.
1 October 1954, Ha La, south Thailand: The difference in the tempo in Ha La and Kuala Lumpur always struck Ah Fat as needing mentally to change gear from ‘mod cons’ to basic. The courier system was uncontrollably slow and unreliable but, amazingly, seemed to work more often than not. How much the recipients understood when they got their propaganda sheets was an unknown but they were probably the only reading material they managed to get sight of so should merit at least a cursory glance if nothing else. By now so many comrades were disillusioned they probably didn’t believe what they read even though ‘lip service’ would be paid to any senior comrade who asked about the contents. Ah Fat was no academic but had a lively brain. How best can I write something in the 4-letter code that will play into our hands, not theirs? haunted him.
In Ha La there were no frontier posts and no police in the small village and supplies were limited. The villagers were used to seeing such people as him and his group and were not worried. In fact, they were mostly Muslims, speaking Malay as well as Thai, who had little time for the government in Bangkok and, thinking that those strange visitors were also anti-government – though quite how they were not sure and they never asked – were not worried by their presence. The nearest towns were Betong to the northwest and Songkhla farther away to the north. The road to Songkhla was the better.
Ah Fat settled down to work. Operation Red Tidings, you are about to be launched. He found that the best method of arranging the four-letter code was to write out the main message in the simplest way possible and then filling in the gaps afterwards. At times that meant his original made little or no sense so that it had to be re-written. After several days’ hectic work he had his first draft, ‘from a “deep throat” in the MCP itself telling the truth’ for comrades in Malaya ready for printing on MCP-watermarked paper. Will it really work? he constantly asked himself, ‘yessing and noing’ like a weathercock in a stiff breeze. His message then, and later, was ‘so many people are now fed up with the incompetence of the leadership and the hard and hungry life in the jungle that they want to go home and are willing to receive a reward for surrendering, so trust no one but yourself.’
That done he laboriously re-wrote the sensitive sections in a way to please the Politburo, this time to be printed with government-watermarked paper, telling them that the other, all similar, copies were being despatched by courier to take south. ‘So far no courier has come but I am sure one or two will arrive shortly,’ he wrote. He made arrangements always to have someone ready to tell him if anyone from the MCP camp came to visit him. If they do, they can take their copies back with them and I will have hidden mine.
Two couriers arrived the following week, both from the Bekok area of north Johor; one said his name was Ah Chong; the other refused to give his name and glowered like an eagle when spoken to. A man impossible to break, Ah Fat summed him up.
‘Here are twenty copies for each of you of the new newspaper, Red Tidings,’ Ah Fat told them. ‘I don’t want to give you any more as, what with all the other stuff you will be asked to carry, your loads will make you too slow.’
Ah Chong thanked him but ‘Nameless’ said nothing as he put the copies in his pack. Off they went and it was only long afterwards that Ah Fat learnt that his childhood friend, Jason Rance, had met them.
After Ah Fat had started to compose his second edition, he sent the Bear with one man to Songkhla to look around and to buy a few goodies. He already knew that there was a telephone exchange there. He gave the Bear a piece of paper with C C Too’s unlisted number on it and a message, ‘My son has had his school report. It is not a good one. He doesn’t want his friends who live to our south to see it. I’ll just have to wait and see what happens. Tell my school friend there’s no need to go to the Bekok area as there won’t be any mail.’
‘Don’t tell the called party who you are as the number you are ringing is only ever used by expected people. Once you have given the message, burn it and the phone number,’ Ah Fat cautioned.
2 October 1954, Director of Operation’s Office, Kuala Lumpur: The Director of Operations, a Major General, was a tall, bluff man, well decorated and who had had a ‘good war’ as a battalion commander of British troops in Africa, followed by a brigade in Italy, France and Germany. Senior ranks in the British army go where there is a vacancy, not necessarily where their previous knowledge is a bonus, so now in Malaya, the Director relied more on other people’s advice than he instinctively preferred but, being a wise man, he knew such was best. He was intrigued by and relied on Mr C C Too’s knowledge of how his Communist-minded compatriots’ minds worked, to say nothing of his subtle sense of humour. He had been in a quandary when first asked if a Captain Rance of 1/12 Gurkha Rifles should go into the jungle with a small group of SEP on some hare-brained mission of giving the Commander of the MRLA’s 2 Regiment a new radio: it was such an unusual, so unheard of suggestion it had to have some merit somewhere in it but quite where to look for it was lost on him. He had therefore called Mr Too into his office and asked him for his frank advice and had been surprised to learn that Captain Rance’s linguistic abilities, especially in Chinese, put him in a category of his own. ‘General, if he is ready to risk his life in what, basically, is a simple operation that can pay great dividends, my advice is to let him go, especially if the senior SEP refuses to go without him.’
Final permission would only be given if the Director of Operations personally was fully satisfied that that was the best option and, if only to satisfy his curiosity, he had called both Mr Ismail Mubarak and Captain Rance to help him make up his mind one way or the other. There was a quiet knock on his door. ‘Come on in,’ the General called and his Military Adviser said, ‘Sir, your three visitors have arrived. Are you ready for them?’
‘Yes, and arrange for coffee and biscuits to be brought in after a few minutes.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the MA said and, opening the door wider, showed his three guests in. The General stood up to welcome them. ‘Mr Too, I know. You must be Mr Mubarak, Moby they call you, and you,’ he looked at the tall man with a taut, lean body and the indefinable air of a natural commander, standing to attention in front of him, ‘you must be Captain Rance.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Rance answered, his clear blue eyes and almost hawk-like features making a good impression on the elder man.
‘I notice you are wearing the Burma Star. I never got there. Also you are wearing a General Service Medal. What was that for?’
‘Sir, and a bar “Southeast Asia 1945” for when my battalion went to Cochin-China to disarm the Japanese. The surrender terms were such that I found myself commanding, in name anyway, a battalion of the Imperial Army against the Vietminh.’
The General raised his eyebrows in astonishment. ‘Now, that’s something I’ve never heard about. Do you like the jungle?’
Jason answered after dwelling on the question. ‘I think, sir, we all like the place we grew up nearest to, jungle, mountains, wherever.’
That answer pleased the General. ‘And you like the jungle, uncomfortable, sweaty and all the rest of it?’
‘Sir, my mind changes gear when I am under the canopy. It’s a, what shall I call it, a parallel life, a challenge and yes,’ with a smile, ‘I can cope with it.’
‘I mustn’t bang on. Sit you down.’ He indicated some comfortable chairs around a small circular table. ‘I wanted to make your acquaintance not only to pick your brains but also to meet someone who is said to have a capability for the unusual.’
He broke off as coffee and biscuits were brought in. The guests sipped and munched dutifully.
‘I will open the discussion by asking how it was that you, Moby, thought of such a trick, if I may call it that, of putting a bug into a small radio that an aircraft can zone in on and drop bombs on?’
Moby swallowed his mouthful of biscuit and said ‘Sir, I will go back to 1952 when Captain Rance went on an operation we knew as Janus. It concerned an officer of 1/12 GR who tried to defect to the Communists. We managed to put a bug into a radio and an Auster picked up the absconding group’s position that was being tracked by Captain Rance and a few Gurkhas and relayed it back to them. As it was successful I thought why not do it again but this time with a bomber?’
The General looked at Jason and asked if he had anything to add. ‘No, sir. That is what happened and to go into chapter and verse would only be otiose.’
Mr Too broke in. ‘General, there is an added dimension here that I must tell you about but before I do, may I have your permission, Jason?’
With a wonderful open smile Jason said, ‘provided it won’t result in my court-martial, feel free.’
C C Too grinned back and continued, ‘Captain Rance’s background is unusual in that he was born and bred in pre-war Malaya and his boon companion, almost like a brother, was a Chinese boy of the same age, one Ah Fat who is now a non-voting member of the MCP Politburo and one of our most trusted moles.’ He looked at the General whose face was a study of incredulity.
‘Captain Rance reads and writes Chinese and was, through a trick of ventriloquism, able to rescue Ah Fat when he was shortly to be killed by the group taking the renegade officer to the MCP HQ. In other words, he can “read” the Chinese mind to such an extent that they think he has an almost magic power …’
‘Mr Too, please,’ interrupted Jason, embarrassed, a blush showing on his sunburnt features.
C C Too took no notice and blithely continued ‘… he was responsible for making four of the CT belonging to the group that killed Lieutenant Colonel Ridings surrender to him but,’ and he paused almost theatrically, ‘what he said then and how he did it, only he, and the guerrillas, know.’
The General looked at Jason with a respect that was not there before. ‘That is most uncanny,’ he said, ‘can you enlarge on that?’
‘Sir, I first of all frightened them out of their wits by cursing them with the most savage Chinese curse that there is, after which I frightened them even more with a dummy krait. There was, after that, only the need to let them know they would not be tortured in any way if they worked for us.’
The General called the MA and told him to bring a fresh pot of coffee. ‘And, Rance, where is your friend Ah Fat now?’
Before he could answer, C C Too said, ‘Sir, I briefed him only recently here in KL. He is now in south Thailand editing a new newspaper that the Central Committee wants to impress their comrades with and is even now trying to edit them in such a way that the copies that the Central Committee get say one thing and the copies that the couriers are in the process of distributing another, with anti-Communist articles designed to get them to surrender.’
‘You never told me that,’ said the General accusingly.
‘I had it in my diary to tell you today, General, after your return from visiting units,’ was the soothing reply.
The General nodded but said nothing.
C C Too continued. ‘I have just had a thought, one to keep inside this room. I am sure that peace talks will be on the menu next year. There are no details yet but just suppose we can get Captain Rance, in some guise that does not offend political protocol, to be at them or near them when he can contact Ah Fat who will know what Chin Peng et al won’t say at any meeting so get the actual low-down on what the Central Committee is really thinking.’
‘I like it, I like it,’ beamed the General, ‘you have sown a tiny seed in my mind. That is for the future, nothing this year but, hopefully, sometime next year. We must continue to squeeze them so the accent stays on food denial and leaflets for surrender.’ He looked at Jason questioningly as he clearly had something on his mind. ‘Rance, you are now in your early thirties. I presume you have passed your Captain to Major Promotion Examination.’
‘Yes, sir. I took it when I was in UK early this year when on my long leave.’
‘And how about the Staff College Entrance exam?’
Jason gave a rueful smile. ‘Sir, I am told that to be staff officer is the only way to climb the promotion ladder. Quite frankly, the tempo of operations has prevented me from studying for it. In any case, so many take it and pass, so few get to the top. Even twins have an elder and a younger.’
The General blenched at such an unexpected reply. Rance’s answer doesn’t as sound though he’s sorry about that. ‘And how about marriage?’
‘General, my Gurkhas tell me that marriage is an unsolvable mystery. Everyone should marry but after marriage there is always trouble.’
The General looked at Rance in blank amazement, made as though to say something but held his tongue. His own marriage neatly fitted that unexpected definition and he thought of his wife as ‘my little whiff of grapeshot’.
Rance continued, ‘I got engaged on my last long leave. My wife to be, who had come out to Malaya for marriage, was so frightened by Colonel Ridings’ death, sir, she secretly left. The ceremony would have been the following week.’
‘And, if I may ask, what was your reaction?’
‘Sir, deeply hurt and bitterly angry so decided that the best tonic to get back to normal and get my marital snub out of my system was by physically tiring myself out after a hard day in the jungle for a good night’s sleep. To achieve that I take my company out myself and I go on more patrols than my section commanders do. It has become a habit! On consideration, if she was uncertain, better before than after. I read somewhere that “a good wife is a harbour in a storm but a bad one is a storm in a harbour”.’
