Jason answered with a happy, ‘1 for 96 Foxtrot. Roger, roger. There was a young lady of Lod, who thought all good things came from God, it was not the Almighty who lifted her nighty, but Roger, the Lodger the sod. Out.’
The Auster flew over once more, flapped the wings in response and flew off. That’s a happy-go-lucky bloke if ever there was one smiled the pilot to himself.
They heard the heli droning in the distance earlier than they had expected. ‘Make more smoke and get ready to emplane as soon as the chopper pilot gives us the signal,’ Jason called out, first in Nepali and then in Chinese. ‘Also don’t forget to bend down as you run below the blades or you’ll leave your head behind.’
The four Chinese had a good laugh at that weak joke. Although they had not shown it, they had been on tenterhooks until the package had been handed over and now their relief was obvious so all small jokes were larger than they deserved to be.
The heli landed, the pilot gave them the thumbs up and, heads bent, they clambered into the back, helped by the crewman. Once in and the door shut, the crewman reached up and slapped the pilot’s leg to let him know they were ready for lift-off. It was too noisy for any conversation so they closed their eyes and, as best they could, dozed till touchdown on the football pitch outside the camp. As soon they were on the ground the heli continued on its journey to Kuala Lumpur.
A police vehicle, ready to pick up the SEP when the heli was heard, drove up, with Moby sitting in the front. He expansively welcomed their return and slapped his men on the back in appreciation. ‘Jason, great to have you back. We’ll have a long chinwag later.’
7 October 1954, Ha La, south Thailand: A couple of couriers came into the village looking for Ah Fat. ‘Comrade, we met two, Ah Chong and his nameless friend, the one who never talks and has a face like a bird, I don’t know its name but I once saw a picture of it. How long ago did they leave here?’
‘Comrade, only a couple of days ago, now I come to think of it.’
‘Ah Chong said how much easier it was to collect the material from here than having to go all the way to the main camp. That is a most depressing place. I’ve only been there twice but no one ever smiles there. At least here, as far as I have so far seen, life is more or less normal. I think I‘ll exercise my male human rights in the village tonight!’
Ah Fat let him rattle on while he collected some more copies of Red Tidings. ‘Here you are. Look at them. Classy, what, compared with the other rather drab stuff the Central Committee normally sends out.’
The courier examined the cover closely. ‘Yes, I like it but I’d like it much better when we can get back and lead a normal life.’
Ah Fat was always careful how to answer such remarks. Never know of any unfortunate rebound. ‘So, you’ll stay in Ha La a day or so for a rest then be on your way?’
‘Comrade, that’s right.’ He raised his right arm. ‘Red salute!’ and off the pair of them went.
The Bear came back soon afterwards and gave Ah Fat a smile and a nod. ‘We’ll talk after our meal,’ was all he said then. Later he said, ‘I made a phone call but it had to go through the exchange at Bangkok. I had an answer after the fifth, or was it the sixth? ring. The man who answered gave a name I didn’t know but I recognised the voice. I gave him your message. He thanked me and merely said he was disappointed and put the phone down. That was not much of a conversation was it?’
‘No, it wasn’t but it was exactly right,’ was the enigmatic answer the Bear had to be content with.
Same day, Central Committee, south Thailand: Chin Peng was looking at his copy of the new newspaper. His chief confidant and propaganda expert, Chien Tiang, was also reading his copy. After a while, he said, ‘Comrade Secretary General, Comrade Ah Fat has made a good job of this, hasn’t he?’
‘Comrade, yes. I approve. I am a little mystified by ٪-)y٪-)y and +K)y, also $s*F،٦ seems out of place but our comrade in Ha La is new to the game and the four-character method is not easy. But there is something I can’t quite understand about it.’
Again, the inherently suspicious psyops duo wondered if there was any secret meaning there that they had yet to understand.
‘Comrade Secretary General, you are trying to read sense into something that sometimes reads as nonsense. It is all right. Now, let’s get back to thinking about the amnesty we want to be announced.’
October 1954 to April 1955, central Malaya: Operation Red Tidings, now virtually finished, there was a change of policy from searching for guerrilla ‘gardens’ to food denial. This meant that companies were engaged on boring and routine tasks of stopping vehicles and people on the highways and, as the battalion diarist put it, ‘pre-dawn to locked and barbed village gates where arc lamps throw a sickly white light on the straggly groups of men and women, buckets and bicycles gathering to go and collect latex, the arrival of the police in an armoured vehicle, the search, of people by the police, of bicycles, tins and bottles by the soldiers, and finally the opening of the gates and the release of the flood, tins clanking, bicycles bounding over ruts in the road, coloured scarves flying in the pearl-grey half-light … and then the weary searching throughout the day of all who pass.’
People tried to hide rice in secret compartments at the bottom of buckets of night soil, into the handles of bicycles, in places of women’s bodies that certainly no Gurkha soldier could ever imagine or would ever look for. It was impossible to tell how much stuff was smuggled through road blocks and how much was kept back through fear of being discovered.
Life was so comparatively quiet that Jason Rance felt he ought to start studying for the dreaded Staff College Entrance Exam but, when he was true to himself, he knew that he was not interested in that type of soldiering. His seniors had warned him against such a short-sighted outlook. Dame Fortune will come up with something interesting instead he mused. I’m sure she won’t desert me.
And, in the immediate future, desert him she did not: towards the end of December the Director of Operations felt that Tan Fook Leong should be eliminated. He had asked Mr C C Too to do some homework about the man and had found out he had been in the Victory Parade in London after being of great value to the British stay-behind groups during the war. I wonder if we can save his life by getting him to surrender. It would be a real propaganda coup and the psyops boys would love it. That idea tickled him. But how to? Why not get the same group that went and put the radio in the cave to try and physically contact him? The more he thought about it, the more he liked it.
He called his Int and Psywar staff in and told them about his ides. Heads were scratched, throats were cleared and eyebrows raised till eventually ‘it’s worth a try’ was the accepted answer. ‘He won’t come over unless there is a more than good reason,’ declared C C Too, ‘but, General, I can tell you this that the SEP who went with Captain Rance to deliver the radio will not go with him on such an operation.’
‘And why not?’ asked the General abruptly, not wanting his brain child put to one side so easily.
‘Because were it to rebound against them, they would be dead men after a most painful death, eyes and testicles missing.’
‘Is it worthwhile trying to contact his wife or son, do you think?’
‘To do what, sir?’
‘Broadcast to him to surrender over Radio Malay?’
‘Sir, I somehow think they would rather have him dead than to be seen by other comrades as government lackeys.’
‘So what’s your answer?’
‘Do it secretly by sending Captain Rance and his Gurkhas with the rest of his company, or even another company behind them as backup. He’s up to his neck in all this and he’ll just have to go.’
‘Do you think he’d do it?’
‘And spoil his time for studying for the Staff College Entrance Exam?’ and he laughed at his own joke.
So it was decided that, Captain Rance being willing, that’s what would happen.
As everyone had expected, Captain Rance was willing. The first detail to ensure was, obviously, where was his target? So, for the next few days, two Austers flew over an area to the east and south, in one case, and the north and west in the other, of the cave area. Not to attract undue attention, planes only flew every alternate day and, after five days, the gizmo in the plane flying east and south of the cave picked up an answering ‘peep’. On the next day the same pilot flew towards where he had heard the ‘peep’ from the other direction and it was much louder, loud enough to pinpoint the position within one map square. It was three days’ foot journey from the road leading to the northeast from Bahau.
Jason remembered he had Ten Foot Long’s phone number, wife’s and son’s names. I’ll risk it and call Penang. A man’s voice answered, giving the phone number.
‘Wei, is that Tan Wing Bun, Tan Fook Leong’s son?’
‘Yes, who are you?’
‘Is your mother, Chen Yok Lan there?’
‘What is it to you? Who are you?’
‘Just someone telling you that I’ll be talking to your father and unless you tell me to tell him you want him back home alive, he’ll be dead within the week.’
As Tan Wing Bun put the phone down he told himself he’d never forget that voice but whose is it?
Rather than risk an airdrop, thereby jeopardising security, part of A Company would be used to carry more rations than usual. Once the target had been pinpointed, night movement would be necessary to get to within hailing distance of the daku camp. Then, with his close bodyguard around him and his face covered in case a light was shone his way, Jason would start calling out. He would make his next move depending on the answer. His back-up platoon would be far enough away not to spoil the ambience and near enough to take what counter-action might be needed.
Jason briefed his company. ‘This is a great honour for all of us. No other battalion is thought good enough …’ and he went on to give out details, finishing up with, ‘luckily it is the full moon period but, even so, fire discipline must be tighter than a miser’s clenched fist. My bodyguards will be Corporal Kulbahadur Limbu and my batman, Chakrabahadur Rai.’
They found the camp on a slight rise on the fourth day after entering the jungle. Three men of the close escort platoon made a recce of the position, cautiously, oh so cautiously, spotting where the sentry posts were as well as the general lie of the land. The water point was on the far side of their approach. Jason decided that forward movement was the only answer as that would mean the quickest withdrawal if the worst happened and they were attacked. ‘But they won’t move at night, I’m sure,’ he said.
They kept well hidden after the recce group returned and, as daylight ebbed, inched their way forward to a position between where two sentry posts had been detected. Jason hoped that if the daku thought they were completely safe, they would have a sing-song after their evening meal; it would cover any noise they might make going through the jungle at night as it hadn’t rained for three days so the undergrowth was liable to crackle. Once they were within earshot they heard a monotonous lecture so Jason and his two men moved as silently as they could until he could make out what was being said. At last all was quiet.
‘Cover your face and I’ll cover mine,’ he said softly then called out, ‘Comrade Tang, Comrade Tang, can you hear me?’
Nothing but stirring was heard as though the guerrillas were suspiciously alert.
‘Comrade Tang, it is Goh Ah Wah here, come to talk to you. I have brought comrade Kwek Leng Mong with me. Comrade Kwek, tell them you’re here.’ In another voice, ‘Comrade Tang, this is Kwek Leng Mong. There are four of us, the other two are comrades Yap Kheng and Sim Ting Hok.’ Another change of voice and twice came ‘Yes, Comrade Tang, here we are.’
