‘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.
After some time all were ready but, pitch dark under the trees the extraneous people, less the two aborigines, wandered away so got lost. The already tired soldiers were growing frustrated having to search for those missing. Jason decided to cut his losses and only move off in the light, if only to ensure all his ‘foreigners’ were with him.
At day break off they went. Not having recced the ground from the jungle edge to the pick-up point, he did not go to the place the guerrillas had left the jungle. The leading scout, therefore, could see no tracks. After several hours of very, very slow, stop and start movement the guide told Jason that he had no idea where he was. Hoping to be fighting a battle by 8 o’clock, it was cold comfort to finding an empty camp at half past one. After patrolling for a further four hours, Jason’s report on the radio was, sadly, negative.[2]
Down in Battalion HQ, the CO, impatient at hearing no news all day, roundly and unfairly castigated Jason personally for the delay and not killing any enemy. ‘It can only be because of your lack of drive and leadership,’ he fumed during his long radio call. There was no point in any other answer except ‘Roger, out.’
It was evening by the time the Company cooked a meal and the soldiers were very tired and hungry. The photographer was nearly out on his feet having had to be pulled up the steeper inclines, his pack being carried for him, neither were the rest of the followers-on in any fit state for further movement. Even the dog had had enough. They were sent back the next day, as thankful to go as were the Gurkhas to be rid of them.
After five days of more fruitless patrolling they returned to their base.
Same time, various places: Plans for a possible amnesty were being thought out in various places. In London, the problem with UK still being in debt as a result of the war would be eased by giving Malaya self-government with a lessening of British support. Politically it would remove the main political plank of the MCP that Malaya was a British colony. The main Malay political party won a landslide victory and asked for an amnesty as early as January 1955, hoping a ceasefire and reversion to a ‘normal’ situation would follow. In south Thailand, the MCP, with their radio contact with the Chinese Communists in Beijing, were advised to request, nay demand, being accepted as a legitimate political party or go on fighting. In Singapore, still of vestigial interest to the MCP rather than a moribund Singapore Communist party, intense interest and suspicion, and a need to show solidarity were behind its Chief Minister being invited by the Prime Minister of Malaya to attend any peace talks in the event of any occurring.
The current situation could not be maintained indefinitely by either the MCP or the legitimate governments. It had to change, but how and when?
3 March 1955, Kuala Lumpur: Mr C C Too was re-reading one of his files, the one that contained the capture of Ah Chong. He had only suffered flesh wounds and had said that he was glad to be a civilian once more but he thought Moby still had him under wraps. I wonder if he could be my answer to my getting into contact with Ah Fat again. Can either I or Moby persuade him to go back to Ha La once more? He picked up his phone and rang Moby. ‘Moby, I’m told that in wartime Britain there were notices near telephones that read “Walls have ears”. I’d like to have a short change of scenery and come and pay you a visit.’
‘Welcome any time, sir, as you very well know. You probably don’t want me to be empty-handed: anything on my menu that you’d like to sample?’
‘Yes, a Bekok sandwich.’
‘You must be feeling hungry. That will be no problem. When can I expect you?’
‘How about the day after tomorrow? I’ll motor down as the roads are safe enough these days. I’ll start early and arrive around mid-morning.’
‘And your sandwich?’
‘I’m always hungry,’ and C C Too rang off with a giggle.
I wonderwhat the old fox is onto now. Soon find out. He called one of his helpers. ‘Go and see Ah Chong. Ask him if he’d like a walk with you. Get him moving and watch his legs.’
‘Watch his legs?’ asked his helper, slightly bewildered. Who will ever understand officers?
‘Yes. You know he was wounded. See if he limps or drags his injured his leg or makes any comment.’
‘Okay sir,’ and the man went out.
When he returned he said ‘all he said was how pleasant it was to walk when it didn’t hurt and he was lucky that that kind gwai lo bandaged him up so quickly.’
5 March 1955, Seremban: ‘Moby, I’ll come clean with you …’
