‘Sir Donald, in one: Ng Heng is Chin Peng’s secret code word. With that on the letter it has to be true.’

‘Are you one hundred percent sure?’

‘No, sir, two hundred percent,’ and the High Commissioner smiled as he heard the chuckle at the other end on the line.

‘Why now do you think, Mr Too?’

‘Because he realises the collapse of the MCP’s armed struggle. The CPM is acknowledging that the backbone of its guerrilla forces has been so badly broken that it would have to disband them and adopt the underground or subversion method of struggle if a political settlement, on their terms, is not achieved.’

‘It’s really as crucial as that, is it?’

‘Yes, sir, it is. Is there anything else you want to ask me?’

‘No. Many thanks indeed. Good day,’ and, mind racing, put the phone back on its cradle.

From then on until an amnesty was declared on the 9th of September, the political machine went into high gear.

31 July1955, Seremban: Since April there had been no contacts, despite much weary, dreary patrolling. The Queen’s Birthday Honours had seen an MC and two MMs for people in B and D Companies but there was nothing for anyone in A and C Companies. Apart from congratulating the recipients, nothing was said about those whose work was expected to be awarded, as nothing ever is. What was of interest was what was the new CO going to be like?

He was Lieutenant Colonel Eustace Vaughan who had served in 3/12 GR during the war before being seconded to the Gilgit Scouts. He was one of many Indian Army British officers transferred to the Royal Artillery after Partition before making his escape to command 1/12 GR, so he knew nobody. When his name appeared in Part I Orders, the Gurkhas, who have no ‘v’ sound and find ‘gh’ in names especially difficult, immediately knew him as ‘Bhagwan’ saheb: with a name like that, he had to be good!

He was a small, barrel-chested, bouncy man, round-faced, bushy-browed and clean-shaven, with a deep voice. He had represented the Indian Army Rugger XV as scrum-half in the last pre-war competition. He handled Gurkhas well but his handling of British officers was apt to be clumsy.

Before the old CO was dined out and the new one dined in, on the same night as operations were still in force, they had a week’s hand- and take-over. The out-going man had written the all-important annual confidential reports for the officers, brought forward because of the change in command. Captain Rance was graded ‘C’, average. Henry Gibson knew that with a ‘C’ grading no officer could expect to rise above the rank of major.

Remarks on Rance’s operational ability were cattily clouded because of the fiasco during Operation Dover. ‘Yes, he can be good but I advise you to watch him. He would not have been commissioned pre-war.’

9 September 1955, Kuala Lumpur: On 9 September an amnesty, during which surrendering CT’s would not be prosecuted and given the option to be repatriated to China, was declared by the newly elected Alliance Government which felt the need to take some new initiative over ending the Emergency. The thought was that, with the British no longer part of the political scene for much longer, Malaya’s own politicians would be able to solve the remaining problems politically now that militarily no major threat was posed. The Security Forces felt that the conditions the Government granted were too lenient; virtually a free pardon to all CTs who had committed offences before that date or in ignorance of the amnesty declaration. Many millions of surrender leaflets were dropped over the jungle, their texts exploiting human weaknesses by playing on the lures of monetary rewards for surrendering, for inducing fellow CT’s to surrender and weapons handed in, medical help and a better life. The leaflets also exploited homesickness and grievances against superiors, some of these seeking to create internal disharmony.

At ground level, however, the conditions were seen as futile being lenient, too lenient, and having a touch of ingenuousness and complacency about them.

Voice aircraft also played a large part in promulgating the news. Certain ‘surrender areas’ were declared in which there would be a ceasefire and no troops were to be sent to the jungle until further notice. They would have been withdrawn from those areas two days earlier.

Rules were that in other areas patrolling could continue but fire was bit to be opened by the Security Forces without first challenging any CT met and if they did not open fire, the Security Forces were forbidden to. Sure enough the Communists, with an eye for the main chance, utterly ignored the Government’s initiative and took the situation as being a golden opportunity to build up their supplies and in many places to increase their own offensive.

Mid-October 1955, central Malaya: Comrade Yeong Kwoh was the second most senior comrade in the Politburo and still operated as hitherto. On hearing the broadcast about the amnesty and the conditions pertaining to it, he sent small groups of the quite large force he commanded to the other commanders in the general area to tell them to foregather for an important meeting. It was to take place somewhere in the high jungle-covered mountains to the east of the same area in the west of which the CO of 1/12 GR had been killed. They took much less time than normal, relying on any soldiers they met not firing on them with their not opening fire in the first place. The orders each sub-commander received were plain: they themselves with their escorts to attend the meeting whilst their deputies arranged for food to be scavenged, it being much easier to get than before.

After seven years of operations, the more recent ones being more of an exercise in not being discovered and keeping alive, the standard of every man’s fieldcraft was such a high calibre that they were almost impossible to track. Their eventual destination was about two days’ walk from the Bahau-Simpang Pertang road, hidden in some caves up a mountain side.

Once all participants had arrived and appropriate fraternal greetings given, Yeong Kwoh officially welcomed them. In his speech he stressed that although the density and duration of operations were less than they had been and that he had had no communication with the Secretary General for more than a year – ‘and I don’t even know where he is’ – the armed struggle would continue, taking advantage of the amnesty to collect stores and making reconnaissances of danger spots they normally were unable to reach. ‘I have no news of any ceasefire or peace talks other than details given over Radio Malaya. Before we start our discussions you’ll be pleased to learn that no one knows we are here.’

But he was wrong and Special Branch had found out that, somewhere in the thick jungle to the west of the Bahau-Simpang Pertang axis, a large-scale meeting was due to take place, safe in the knowledge that the amnesty protected the guerrillas from any Security Force action. However, by that time the new Government realised it was not achieving the results it had so naïvely expected as surrenders were far fewer than had been anticipated and rumours of the CT stocking up were found out to be true. Orders were therefore given to find out where this meeting was taking place but to take no action against it, in accordance with amnesty rules that the Government itself had devised, until an official warning had been given over the radio that action was forthcoming if the CT were not going to surrender. The military planners were told to set up a large scale operation to scour the jungle to pinpoint them. 1/12 GR was only one of the many Gurkha battalions involved.

So secret was it deemed to be that the only order – sent by hand – from Battalion HQ to ‘out’ companies was to motor to a given RV area ‘when operational orders will be given. You will only tell the local Police that you must leave at night and warn them to have the village gates unlocked at your given time. You must not be late,’ Jason read. He personally went to tell the Police who faithfully acknowledged the order yet, at the appointed time, the gates were not open but heavily locked and there was no policeman present to open them. In retrospect wrongly, he wasted twenty minutes waiting for someone to come with the key to open the gate before, in frustration, he told his driver to smash the lock with a heavy wrench from the vehicle’s tool box. Away they went, got to the RV late so were in the wrong place in the long line of vehicles and the new CO was bitterly furious at Jason’s obvious inefficiency. Jason learnt later that nearly two thousand troops were being deployed so no traffic snarl-up was ever more unpopular.

‘You are late. Why can’t you obey simple orders,’ snarled the CO, coming up and shining his torch in Jason’s face. ‘You have jeopardised the Brigade Order of March and now the battalion is late. You will hear about this. Get ready to move now,’ and he stomped off in a towering temper.

At the debussing area A Company was given a large area of mountainous jungle to search. For two weeks they plodded their way through 44-map miles of jungle, painstakingly searching everywhere. Much evidence of fresh and stale guerrilla movement was found but no contacts were made. On the fourteenth day Jason was called to the set and told to move to a point no more than a mere quarter of a mile from the main Bahau-Simpang Pertang road. We could have motored here in half an hour and saved ourselves a long walk more than one soldier concluded.

After re-rationing and getting new kit they were sent on another ten days of ‘more of the same’ until all troops were called to assemble at Bahau where they were given fresh orders and, at long last, told why the operation had been mounted.

After three weeks searching for the suspected guerrillas and finding nothing, Radio Malaya broadcast a message to Yeong Kwoh: ‘Come out and surrender or you will be bombed in three days’ time.’

There was an ‘O’ Group before the bombing and company commanders were given orders to ambush swathes of jungle considered likely as approach axes prior to the CT crossing the main road to escape east, the ‘inner ring’. At the same time the main road was to be swamped with searchlights and armoured cars watching known or likely crossing places, the ‘outer ring’. Artillery and mortars were also to be used in areas the troops could not cover. To the planners it was foolproof.

‘Comrades, our survival is of the highest importance. We will leave this place in two groups, both of which will make their own efforts to cross the Bahau-Simpang Pertang road and go east’ and Yeong Kwoh told them where to aim for. ‘I recommend both groups try during the small hours by first sending over a couple of men to test any enemy reaction. My view is that the gwai lo will be so bored by that time of night many will be dozing so our escape will be easy.’

The night they planned to cross the road they saw the silhouette of a British soldier standing in the cupola of his scout car. They watched him for some time and thought he might be asleep. So they sent a few men across the road to see what would happen. Nothing did. The soldier was asleep and the rest of the group with all the high-ranking Communists thereby got away. This emerged when one of the guerrillas, the vice chief propaganda, gave himself up soon afterwards.

For three nights and two days the RAF employed ‘maximum effort’ to eradicate all the baddies thought stupid enough to have stayed in the area. A Company, 1/12 GR, was sent to search where the bombs had been dropped. It was really tiring work, climbing over or under the fallen trees, poking around looking for corpses. After intense searching three dead monkeys and a dead pig were the only casualties found – and three mangled copies of Red Tidings.

‘Saheb,’ head tilting to one side, ‘what sort of war is this?’ a Gurkha soldier asked Jason. ‘Did they bomb empty jungle because they wanted to get rid of their old bombs or do they want to give new pilots live training? Otherwise what was the point of bombing?’ The question was not meant to be sarcastic and many asked it.

The company returned to Rompin and had a few days to relax in after such a long, tedious and fruitless time. Catching up on the office work the Adjutant phoned. ‘Jason, the Brigadier has been invited by the Air Officer Commanding, an Air Vice Marshal, to go to KL to discuss the Smash-Hit procedure. He has only been AOC for a mere six weeks but is mustard keen on using his bombers. The Brigadier considers you have had the most experience of the process and method on the ground. He has told the CO that the AVM is not expecting you as such but, even so, believes you can add to the discussion. He has gone so far as to give the impression that as you are a convert to bombing’s efficacy …’

Jason broke in. ‘Peter, don’t make me laugh.’

‘Jason, I know you are a hard one to please,’ the Adjutant countered, ‘be at Brigade HQ by noon tomorrow. You will fly up to KL and back by Auster with the Brigadier.’

‘Peter, orders is orders so “Wilco, out”.’

Jason presented himself at Brigade HQ and, for the short ride to the airstrip, the Brigadier chose to drive, telling the Gurkha driver to sit in the back. His Land Rover had a star, back and front, and a flag in front. Jason sat next to the Brigadier. They passed a group of Chinese who were laughing. With ill-judged levity Jason said, ‘Sir, do you know why those Chinese are laughing?’

A ‘no’ was grunted back, then, ‘tell me.’

Unwisely Jason answered, ‘Because they think I’m the Brigadier and you are my driver.’

Silence.

The air-conditioned office of the impeccably dressed AVM had the walls covered in trophies of one sort or another. The airman stood up as the Brigadier and Captain Rance were ushered in by the PA. The AVM shook hands with the Brigadier but before Jason was introduced the phone rang and, reaching forward in a hurry, his arm moved a photo that had been facing him and now faced the visitors. Jason saw it was a wedding of … he dare not stare at it … his one-time fiancée and a swarthy looking almost dwarf of a man. Behind the couple stood the AVM and a woman, presumably his wife, both faultlessly attired. Almost pole-axed with surprise, Jason tried not to show he’d seen it as the once-dead resentment welled up inside him, making him catch his breath, with thoughts pounding in his head.

The AVM put the receiver down, glanced at his watch and without any more ado, stood up and said, ‘Let’s move out to the Conference Room’ where an Air Commodore and a few Squadron Leaders, all equally impeccably dressed and looking most serious, were already waiting. The RAF contingent sat facing the two Army officers.

To exorcise his rekindled marital snub Jason had physically tired himself out by hard days in the jungle as the best tonic and so had made the jungle almost the realm of the recluse. In the air-conditioned Conference Room all the ‘near misses’ and frustrations came whelmingly to the forefront of his mind. Subconsciously acknowledging that the ‘kill-to-contact’ ratio was not impressive, knowing that the ‘Smash-Hit’ theory was also less than all that efficient, he felt his gorge rise inexorably as the AVM started to castigate the infantry generally and Gurkhas in particular, lambasting British officers’ inability to explain matters to their men. Jason’s normally buoyant spirit deflated like a pricked balloon: the comparison between where he was now and in the jungle crushed him – the very nature of primary jungle, its close-horizoned, all-pervading, never-ending green of trees, vines, creepers and undergrowth that prevented the eyes from seeing as far as the ears can hear, so voices have to be kept low and noise kept to a minimum. It is a litany of sounds and a living lexicon of lore for those who understand it. It is a state of permanent semi-twilight, gloomy even when sunshine does dapple the jungle floor with shadows, and dark in creeks and narrow valleys at noon. It is a state of permanent dampness, rain or sweat, of stifling, windless heat, of dirty clothes, of smelly bodies, of heavy loads, of loaded and cocked weapons, of tensed reflexes, of inaccurate maps, of constant vigilance, of tired limbs, of sore shoulders where equipment straps have bitten in, of a chafed crutch, of the craving for a cigarette and a cold beer for some and a brew of tea for others. At night it is darkness, when fireflies prick the gloom with flickering lights and rotting leaves shine eerily. It is a state of mind that has to be stronger than mere physical robustness. It is a challenge. It can never be taken for granted. It is hated by hundreds. And yet, for those who have the jungle as their first love, no other type of terrain can ever measure up to it for its infinite variety and the subtle beauty of its primordial nature. The comparison with there and here …

His thoughts were brought to the here and now when, to his unmitigated horror, he heard the Brigadier say, ‘I have brought my most recalcitrant company commander to meet you, sir, as I have converted him to accepting Smash-Hit as the answer to killing the CT … haven’t I?’ as he turned to Jason sitting beside him.

Still dazed by his mixed emotions, Jason fixed his eyes on the AVM – the blighter’s looking into me not at me – and, decidedly, defiantly and deadpan, said, ‘No, sir. The first time I had to ask for Smash-Hit was where we had found a CT camp. I personally surrounded it without their knowing, discovering sentry posts and the water point. I was forbidden to attack it and one of the five Lincoln bombers dropped one of its bombs unfused on the by-then empty camp. As for the two nights and three days of bombing after Radio Malaya’s warning the guerrillas they were doomed if they didn’t surrender, I was told to search for corpses. My company searched the bombed area for three days, a most difficult task, moving under and climbing over fallen trees. We found three dead monkeys and a dead pig.’ The atmosphere turned more frigid than the air-conditioning and Jason, still fixing the AVM with the stare of a basilisk, said, ‘In my view, sir, that was a waste of taxpayers’ money.’ Had he known the dictum ‘stand up and be counted’ this was the one time in his life he truly, truly obeyed it.

There was a deathly hush before the AVM rose, looked at Jason and the Brigadier as though they were too reprehensible to carry on a conversation with and, wordless, swept out of the room. His underlings did likewise, a silent chorus without a hero.

Also in silence the Brigadier stood up and left the room, Jason perforce following him. Still wordless they went to the car the Brigadier had been given and in silence were driven to the airfield where the Auster was waiting to fly them back. They got out of the car and at last the Brigadier spoke. ‘I am not taking you back. The car will take you to the station and you will go back by the night train,’ the first words spoken since the Land Rover drive.

There were no sleeping berths vacant so Jason sat in his chair until he arrived at Rompin station at 0200 hours. It was cold and he had to wait on the platform for four hours until dawn when the curfew was lifted and the village gates opened. Sitting, staring into the dark, only seeing ‘that’ face in ‘that’ picture, the bile of bitterness unslaked … until, with a glorious smile nobody could see, he said to himself with a father-in-law like that I’m now glad she left me.

The mile walk to his camp warmed him up and sitting in his room drinking a large mug of tea, he sadly told himself that talking like he had to such senior RAF officers was indeed a black mark – but those people have no idea what it’s like on the ground – and he ‘kicked himself’ for forgetting his military manners. He shrugged and grinned, but I’ve got it, including her, off my chest. I’m now safe from everything except tomorrow!

As the AVM and his wife sat over dinner he gave her his views of the unsuccessful meeting he had set so much store on. ‘The young officer who so blatantly disregarded my ideas is a hard case. I wonder if our daughter ever met him when she came to Malaya. Even if she did, he’s not the sort of man she could ever fall in love with, that’s for sure. I was so angry with him I never bothered to ask what the blighter’s name was.’