He’s got it wrong, Jason thought. I must have looked gloomy when my wife-to-be ran away but that was only temporarily. He continued reading:
‘He is an excellent company commander in the jungle. His appreciations are sound and he works methodically and tirelessly in his efforts to obtain success. He is also not afraid to take personal risks. His men have the highest regard for him and he is a fluent linguist.
‘That is all to the good: his main weaknesses seem to be a lack of tact with senior officers he does not agree with. There are people like him in every army – a brilliant Roman ‘Centurion’ leading his hundred men, fiercely defending their interests but unable to adapt to the hierarchical structure which an army must have if it is going to win wars. Men like Rance win battles but they cannot conceal their contempt for their more conventional superior officers. It is a major weakness.
His military background and knowledge of staff matters are too unbalanced in the peacetime army for me to recommend his promotion to major.’
He was graded ‘Average’, a grading never likely to get him above the rank of major.
Jason signed it, not to show he agreed with it but to show he had read it. He stood up, placed it on the CO’s table, saluted and left without saying anything. It was on the tip of the CO’s tongue to say that, after being promoted for command of a Territorial battalion in England, he had only stayed on to command 1/12 GR until the designated CO, indisposed for several months, was fit to resume military duties and who was coming to take over command at the end of July. It was Captain Rance’s unintended brusqueness that stopped him. I won’t forget to make a special note of him for my relief he slightly maliciously told himself.
The Honours and Awards’ committee held its final meeting for recommendations to be sent to the War Office in time to be officially announced for Queen‘s Birthday. Citations were read by each member. There were only six awards allocated for the Military Cross, MC, for officers and Warrant Officers, and the same for the Military Medal, MM, for the lower ranks. Other awards had their own ‘ration’.
The Major General chairing meeting in GHQ FARELF looked at his list and made a cogent remark, ‘All these citations are subjective. I know of a case of a man with no imagination winning two MMs and not realising that he had been brave and another man who peed himself with fright on night operations but removed a land mine with great bravery in Korea and was awarded nothing.’ The others nodded. They had heard that at the last session. ‘We have another problem,’ the Major General continued, ‘two British battalions left the theatre of operations during the last six months and one will leave next autumn. None will probably have another chance of earning a decoration. Now, this citation,’ he picked it up, ‘for an MC for Captain Rance of 1/12 GR. It is a good citation but Gurkha battalions are permanently here so he’ll have another chance. I suggest we give our allotment of MCs to the British battalions and let the Gurkhas, including this one, a Distinguished Conduct Medal, DCM, for a Corporal Kulbahadur Limbu of 1/12 GR, have another chance later.’
This was agreed. ‘Now for the m.i.ds. The Gurkhas must have something so …’ and the result was, for 1/12 GR a Gurkha Captain of A Company and Corporal Kulbahadur Limbu a ‘mention’. At the end, one of the members said, ‘General, 1/12 GR has had a good record. How about a DSO for the CO? When he was 2ic none of us thought all that much of him but, as a CO, he seems to have shone.’
So that was also agreed.
The list was eagerly awaited and scrutinised eagerly by many hopefuls. To his peers, Captain Jason Rance seemed set for an award but when nothing came doubts were raised. Was his unusual temperament seen so tactless in front of senior officers that no citation was put forward? Of course, no one could say and no one could ask.
Jason held a party for the two recipients of the m.i.d. and had them in shrieks of laughter with his ventriloquist dummy, this time with no krait but bombs that didn’t explode when dropped. He seemed in no way upset that his name had not been on the list.
His Company 2ic smiled when he said, ‘Saheb, you are an unlucky man. In 1954 you lost a wife and a bahaduri. But we have a proverb, “Pure gold needs no touchstone or a good man any adornment”.’
Jason gave him his brilliant smile and thanked him for the compliment, adding: ‘Saheb, until the CO takes me away, I still have A Company.’
1 March 1955, central Malaya: Vinod Vellu was briefed to make another visit to Lavender Estate. Hunger was setting in. ‘We can’t eat almost anything but leaves for much longer,’ said the Military Commander. He detailed his Deputy and a bodyguard of two to go with the Tamil and, if the coast was clear, personally to see if Vellu’s talk had been successful and the estate labourers had, in fact, reacted as they had promised to.
They went down from their jungle base cautiously, not realising that the area was purposely being kept clear of any Security Forces during the plan’s ‘incubation’ period. Leaving a guerrilla section at the jungle edge, the four men approached the labour lines. Inside the comprador’s house his dog whined, warning its master that something unusual was afoot. The comprador felt he should go and tell his manager as he had been warned to. Without telling his wife, who was in the kitchen getting supper ready, he stole off for the ten minutes’ walk up to the manager’s bungalow. Jones was single, his wife, not liking Malaya, had gone home.
The comprador tapped on the manager’s window, got his attention and told him that there was probably another meeting in his labour lines. Evan Jones thanked him, said he himself would stay where he was but that the comprador was to return to the lines, remain out of sight and if, just if, a Tamil, even in CT uniform, wanted to speak to him, bring him along.
The comprador said he understood and went back to spy on what was happening. By then Vellu had gathered the labourers who told him that they were ready to go on strike for their demands but wanted the comrades to put such pressure on the manager that they would be sure he would do what was wanted. ‘Accepted or not, we will not be here,’ the spokesman told Vellu who told the Deputy CT Commander in Malay, he not understanding Tamil.
Delighted at the outcome of comrade Vellu’s efforts, the deputy said, ‘we will be off now but first we’ll visit the manager. You, comrade, stay with these people and check that they were not saying what they did just because we Chinese are here. We will not wait for you at the jungle edge but the section will be there to escort you back.’
Vinod Vellu acknowledged that and a guide led the three guerrillas to the manager’s bungalow There they dismissed him then cautiously went around the place, saw the French window of the study was open and stepped inside. Jones, pretending to be reading, heard them and put his book down. In Malay they said, ‘if you do what we say, we will spare your life. If not, we will have to kill you by disembowelling you.’
Jones was no coward and answered. ‘Tell me what you want and, if possible, I’ll do it.’
‘How can we trust you?’
‘Because, secretly, I have been a card-carrying member of the Communist Party since I was twenty years old.’
The deputy proceeded to ask questions which Jones, remembering how he had interviewed Indian Communists during the war, answered with accuracy. His credentials were accepted.
‘We want to use your lines for a food lift ready on the 7th, the day before the full moon. The labourers will complain to you about bad quarters, low pay and poor rations and say they’ll go on strike it their conditions are not met. We want you to get the accommodation nearest the jungle empty and to provide at least twenty sacks of rice for us to collect. Are you willing?’
Evan Jones played up admirably. ‘Of course. I thought we’d already decided I’d do what you want me to do. I will have the accommodation you mention searched for white ants and move the coolies, even if they are still negotiating a walk-out. I will let my work force pilfer my rice stocks and, for the time you want to come, I will not be here’ … and I’ll make certain sure the Government repays me what’s taken.
Hands were shaken, ‘red salute’ with arms raised were carried out and the three guerrillas left.
Vinod Vellu sat and talked with the excited labourers for half an hour then stepped outside. ‘Hist, hist,’ he heard. ‘Son, come here. Mr Jones, the manager, wants to speak with you. Let me take you up to his bungalow.’
So my note was found and I am almost safe. ‘I’ll come with you but can’t stay long. I’m not one of them really but busy planning my revenge,’ he answered, embracing his father as they met after so long.
‘I am so glad to hear that,’ said Vellu’s father as they went up to the bungalow. Evan Jones was ready. ‘Come in, come in,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to put the lights on. Would you like a brandy?’
‘I’d love one but my breath will smell so I daren’t.’
‘Good man. Listen, I have been visited by your escort, pretended I’m one of them, have told them I’ll ensure rice will be ready for pick-up and that the lines will be empty.’
‘Really, all that?’
‘Yes, you know I’m on your side. I’ll also go and tell Mr Ismail Mubarak that the place will be ready, that is rice ready and lines empty by the 7th, the day before the full moon.’
‘That’s a great weight off my mind,’ said Vellu, happy to find a European speaking fluent Tamil. ‘Better not mention me to mother,’ he told his father as he left. ‘She might talk about it.’
The deputy made a full report to the Political Commissar and to the Military Commander saying that he felt all was safe to go to the empty lines and fetch the rice. To make matters speedy up to thirty people – a sack each if lucky – could go.
The Military Commander at first agreed with that suggestion but he was woken up in the small hours of the 7th night by Vinod Vellu sleep talking. In his excitement the Tamil had forgotten to bind his head and was dreaming of meeting Moby again and had called his name. The Military Commander heard words that sounded like the English ‘maybe, maybe’ – or was it ‘Moby, Moby? He knew the name. Flash! He remembered reading that strange message in the recent edition of Red Tidings, ‘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.’ Such anti-Party rot had upset him and he had not counted on any of his men being affected but … Can this Tamil be a friend of the writer so a spy trying to affect my men? The new newspaper had also given him the idea that not all was well up in the north – it is written as if a secret message is in it I don’t fully understand; it could mean that our men should not be made expendable. Cancel the lift? No, we desperately need food. Before he went to sleep again, he compromised, take thirty men to the jungle edge and twenty to go the lines to pick up as much rice as possible but to keep the Tamil ignorant of his secret knowledge he’d take thirty men as far as the jungle edge. There he would divide his force, twenty to collect the rations and the others as a reaction force if there were any tricks.
Vinod Vellu had told Evan Jones that it would be on the 8th of March, the night of the full moon, so that was the date for which the operation was planned. 1/12 GR was the battalion ear-marked for the operation and the other Special Branch ‘plant’ was to lead A Company back to the guerrilla camp to surround and attack it. No Smash-Hit! Such was the absurd optimism of complete success had been envisaged and the Government’s superiority was to be shown nation-wide. With this in view follow-up company was to be accompanied by two Chinese Special Branch men to escort the ‘plant’, a police Inspector, two aborigine trackers, a British soldier dog handler and his dog, and a Malay Film Unit photographer to witness the guerrillas’ closing moments.
When the CO gave his orders he saw such a savage look on Captain Rance’s face that boded no good. ‘Captain Rance, this is an order so no argument.’
‘Sir, I understand but,’ not helping himself now or later, unwisely added ‘a circus and a zoo never won battles.’
Vellu never knew that by forgetting to bind his head, he had ruined his chances of a full revenge for the killing of his wife and daughter. He and Moby’s Malay, who had purposely kept his real identity from the Tamil until then, would put on white shirts at the last moment before slipping away from the guerrillas to join up with the Security Forces during the food lift. Both were to be taken away, unhurt and later Vellu to be announced as dead for public consumption. The Malay ‘plant’ would guide A Company back to the guerrilla camp despite A Company’s proven tracking ability. But no, somewhere near the top of the military tree
There were three tracks in front of the manager’s bungalow, one of which went to the labourers’ lines where the rice was, the killing ground. B Company crawled into it two hours before dusk. Meanwhile C and D Companies had moved up to ambush positions on possible guerrilla escape routes. A Company was the follow-up company and had been told to collect its ‘supernumeraries’ from the nearest police station on their way down. The company had to stay in a holding area until firing was heard and move to near the rubber near the manager’s bungalow on hearing the firing.
When Jason looked at the motley bunch who, except for the trackers (who were not needed) did not look fit enough to go uphill even without packs on, let alone with, so robbing him of an possibility of his company’s normal rate of advance. He felt sorry for the photographer, hapless man, who told him he had just returned from his honeymoon and was obviously in no fit state for any type of jungle operation. Operation Dover or Damp Squib?
When firing broke out it was not as heavy as expected. Those in ambush had been told not to open fire until they saw two men in white shirts pass. The men they did see were in uniform. The two wearers had been sent to the back of the carrying party so appeared last. Not only that: alas, for all the intricate planning, high hopes, bravery shown, calculations made and time spent, no one had checked that the sacks of rice were also white. The guerrillas started carrying the white sacks on their backs before the two ‘white shirts’ managed to slip away to the bungalow to meet Moby, CO 1/12 GR and the rest of the reception committee by when most of the rice had been carried away. Only one guerrilla was killed and another wounded and captured.
Out of sight from the jungle edge, the Military Commander ordered that the sacks of rice be broken down into twenty-eight loads before moving back to their camp, even at night, as soon as that was done. He had taken the trouble to hack a rough path so, he gambled, they would be well away before any follow-up. ‘I was not wrong, I was not wrong,’ he cursed under his breath, furious with himself to have been fooled all the time the ‘south Indian traitor’ had been with them. It was a gamble to have let him go and lecture those men and it failed, failed. However, there was no need to report it any higher up his own chain of command. But now we have food.
What he had not told Vellu was that he had ordered the men not involved in the food lift to move elsewhere while those on the food lift would also not return to their camp but split up before joining them.
By 2 o’clock in the morning when Jason was sent for moonlight was no more. He shook hands with Vellu who was having a meal and a glass of brandy and congratulated him on having done so well and still being alive+ before being introduced to his Malay guide. Reaction had started to set in and both men seemed dazed. Yet, despite the obvious dangers, the Malay said he was willing to guide the Gurkhas to the camp. When he was ready to move the CO asked Jason if he had met up with the rest of the people he was to take.
Jason stared dumbly at his senior. I’ll try again. ‘Yes sir, I have. Are they really necessary?’
‘I’ve told you before, it is an order from high up. Obey it and keep quiet,’ the CO angrily snapped.
Jason, completely underwhelmed, took the Malay to his Company and handed him over to the platoon commander who was to move in front.
