The other reason was that he had, unusually, a secret worry. He had been disturbed by a recurrent dream, the meaning he could not fathom. Each time there was black left and right, white above and a grinning daku (a communist guerrilla) who aimed his weapon at him. Whenever Jason had tried to fire his weapon, a carbine, nothing happened, the daku shot at him and when he awoke, it was into another dream. Where oh where am I? Hospital, prison or lunatic asylum? Of course he told no one about it and behaved normally. Yet, worry him it did. I’ll take my krait with me, if only as a lucky mascot. It might even come in useful.
During his reverie other orders were given. The RMO was to get ready with body bags and whatever else was needed and the MTO to detail the ambulance, the Recovery Vehicle with the fitter, a 3-Tonner and another Scout Car for the platoon. The Signals Officer was to ensure communications were to stay open until night-time interference made contact impossible. ‘Open at first light tomorrow,’ were his orders.
‘I will have the sad duty of going and telling Mrs Ridings about her husband; something I’ll find particularly difficult, I fear,’ the 2ic added. He looked round and asked if there were any questions.
The IO asked if he or the 2ic who would inform Brigade HQ. ‘You’d better do it and tell their Duty Officer that I’m closeted with Mrs. Ridings. Any more?’ He looked round. ‘No. Right. Move.’
The buzz of the CO’s death had gone around the lines and men wanted to know why, how and what was to be done about it. Jason Rance wanted to brief his men collectively before any of them moved out so he ran down to his company lines and called to the CSM: ‘Major Ba, everybody fallen in immediately for orders,’ before going into his Company 2ic’s office where the Gurkha Captain, a pre-war warrior, was and told him the same thing. The CSM came in, saluted and told Jason the company had fallen in and was ready for orders.
Jason stood his men at ease and said, ‘The Commanding saheb, escort and driver have been killed by the daku. The battalion will mount a large operation to look for the killers but first, as soon as I have dismissed you, 3 Platoon will draw compo rations for one day, weapons and ammo and escort the recovery vehicle and the ambulance to bring back the corpses and damaged Land Rover. I will bring the rest of the company out to the same area early tomorrow morning with five days’ rations for 3 Platoon.
‘I will remind you of my standing orders for jungle movement: never cut what you can break naturally; never break naturally what you can bend; never bend what you can move; never move that which you can get through without moving; never tread on what you can step over; never step on soft ground when you can tread on something hard. Don’t forget that a footprint with the toes the same length is a bear’s, not a man’s; that cigarette smoke by water can be smelt for up to three hours afterwards and ours are different from theirs, and a dab of wet salt, never a lighted cigarette, is best for leeches. Why are we the best company in the battalion?’ He answered his own question, ‘because we never forget those points.’
His men accepted him and what he said because he never took any of them for granted.
Before Major Henry Gibson left the office he phoned his wife. ‘Jane, darling, drop everything and be ready to go to Ted’s bungalow and meet me there. He’s been killed in an ambush and we must tell Fiona. Also tell Jason’s fiancée. It will be a great shock for her, too.’
‘Oh, how terrible! I’ll wait until I see you and join you then,’ and rang off. With heavy heart, Henry Gibson joined his wife outside the CO’s bungalow, which was next door to his. ‘Darling, this is just too terrible,’ she said, with a sob in her voice. ‘Yes, I know,’ he answered with a choke in his.
He knocked on the door and called out, ‘Fiona, it’s Henry and Jane. May we come in?’
Fiona Ridings, a tall woman in her late thirties, had a determined, somewhat militant air with her almost masculine figure and bobbed hair, at once came to the door, saw the grave look on their faces and guessed why they had come to see her. ‘Henry,’ she burst out. ‘I just know why you’ve both come. It can’t be true, can it?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid to have to tell you it is. On his way back, Ted was ambushed just short of the Jelebu pass. The scout car driver says he was killed outright so that means he felt no pain.’
‘Wi … will you be bringing his body back?’ she asked, her voice quavering.
‘Yes, Jason Rance’s men are escorting the doctor to recover it at this very moment. The doctor will look after him and we’ll tell you when he has done all that needs doing.’
‘I’m superstitious, you know, my husband wasn’t. I just knew that Friday the 13th would be unlucky for him, I just knew …’ and she burst into floods of tears.
‘Let me get you a drink.’ He called the Malay house boy and told him to prepare a stiff brandy for the Mem. It was quickly brought and he gave it to the 2ic.
‘Drink this. Jane will stay with you for a while and help you tell the children when they come back from school. I must go back to the office and help sort things out. After you’ve had your drink, go and lie down on your bed and Jane will sit with you. I think you had all better spend tonight in our bungalow. It’ll be no trouble and we’d rather like you to be with us.’
Fiona made a great effort to calm down. ‘That would be a great help. Yes, please,’ she gulped.
As Henry tuned to go, she said, ‘You know I was in the Auxiliary Territorial Service during the war, even got to the rank of sergeant. My job was in Operational Planning in the War Office. Every operation the army mounted was given a code name. To feel I can get my own back on Ted’s loss, can the code word for the operation I know you will be planning to capture those terrible men who killed him somehow be related to him? Please, please,’ and she started crying once more. Jason’s fiancée, overhearing everything said, kept to herself in her bedroom, scared stiff.
Henry called out, ‘I’ll see what I can do. Please excuse me but I am very busy …’ and went back to the office to call the Brigade Commander, Brigadier James Stuart Bickers, who had a large, square face, red-veined by too much alcohol, a walrus moustache, bloodshot eyes, a strained marriage and a short temper. He mistrusted anyone he thought knew better than he and reacted badly to it: this made for unhappy relations with his company commanders, especially those serving with Gurkhas.
‘Yes, your Acorn has told me what you’ve put into motion. Good. I like it. How’s Fiona taking it?’
‘Badly, I fear, but how else could she? As you may know she was in the army during the war and has asked me to see if her husband’s name can somehow be associated with the code name for the impending operation against the guerrillas?’
‘Now that is a strange one, to be sure. I can’t authorise it myself but I can certainly put it to the Director of Operations. Have you any ideas? My mind’s a blank.’
In his quiet way, the 2ic was a wordsmith. ‘I can offer a suggestion, Brigadier, which may make even the opposition not associate it with us.’
‘Well, out with it.’
‘The man’s name is Ted Ridings. Do a spoonerism on him and call the operation Red Tidings. No one in the MCP would ever guess we’d use the word “red” in any of our code words.’
‘Um. Er. Something tells me that the army … yes, I was once in Staff Duties and the order was that no colour could be used in a code word, certainly not when naming an individual. For instance “Black Prince” was not allowed but “Brave Prince” was. I’ll see if I can’t swing it.’ He chuckled. ‘Sorry, not the time for levity but just suppose the opposition were to think it was one of their plans if they come to hear of it so take no notice. Now that could be a big bonus point.’
‘Thank you, Brigadier. In due course I’ll tell Fiona what we’re trying to do.’
‘What is your operational plan?’
‘Phase 1 is Jason Rance’s company to follow up, with my other three rifle companies in reserve. If anyone can track them it’ll be him and his men. As you will have seen from the map, the CO was killed on the western road of a large square of jungle that has roads on all the other three flanks. My guess is that the guerrillas will either go north or east into more remote country. They may even think they can hide in the area of the unsurveyed country farther north that shows white on the map sheet. I’ll find out if the RAF have managed to take any photos of the area. If so, they’ll be a great help though awkward to carry. I hope Rance can pinpoint them in the first five days. If he finds nothing during that time, I’ll call him to the road for re-rationing. I’d rather not use airdrops for security reasons. And, yes, I’ve told him to take a marker balloon and not to try and take out any camp he finds by surrounding it and attacking it.’
‘A wise move. The Director of Operations and the RAF are insistent on that. They say the kill-to-contact ratio in such operations couldn’t be worse. Their code name for bombing is Smash-Hit’[2] and with that he rang off.
The CO and the other two bodies were recovered and brought back by the RMO himself and taken to his MI Room. The doctor was a phlegmatic and level-headed man, ideal for a Gurkha unit. He called the Gurkha Major and told him that the CO’s memsaheb would want to see her husband’s body so he would work on that first. Afterwards he would prepare the other two bodies.
‘Saheb, let me and the Pandit look after them. Neither has their wife with them. I know that there are two close relatives of the driver’s in Battalion HQ and they can help me. I’ll get firewood and fuel from the QM and we will burn the corpses before dawn.’
‘GM Saheb, that sounds fine. Just tell the Medical Sergeant what you need from here.’
The GM saluted and marched off.
3 Platoon escorted the recovery convoy. One section took up all-round defensive positions at the jungle edge, facing the foliage, and another section helped on the recovery site. Rain slowed the work.
The Platoon Commander ordered the third section to track the daku: ‘Leave your big packs here and be back before last light.’ The section commander, Corporal Kulbahadur Limbu, a tall, paler than normal Gurkha, was an ace tracker. Initially the tracks were easy to follow as the daku had moved quickly to put distance between themselves and any follow-up party and the ground was damp. Stealthy movement would come later.
They moved down a steep slope, across a small stream and to where they saw from the footprints that the daku had stood still. ‘Being given orders,’ the corporal said. ‘Look around.’
‘Ustad,’ called one rifleman softly, ‘there are some tracks moving off aslant the slope,’ he looked at the sun, ‘northwards’.
