That old wartime code! ‘Flat Ears! I can’t believe it. How are you and how can I help you?’
‘Reggie, I’d like to call in on you in a day or two. At home is best. I have your number and I’ll give you a bell when I get to your part of the world.’
‘That’ll be great. Anything else?’
‘That’s all,’ and he rang off, not really liking to use the phone at all.
It was time for Ah Fat to leave and, thanking his host, was driven home in Mr Too’s car. On the morrow Ah Fat and his Bear moved on down to Singapore by rail.
***
Monday 6 October, Singapore, on board SS Kimanis: Xi Zhan Yang, the Communist courier, his passport marking him as Ah Ho, with a chosen comrade from the Singapore Communist Party, had boarded the vessel earlier that morning. It had all been a bit of a hurry and there had been no time for any detailed briefing. The SS Kimanis was bound for Labuan as was usual but, unusually, it would sail on as far as Kuching before turning back to Labuan and Singapore. It had taken the MCP, working under the guise of the shipping company that owned the boat, no time to order its voyage to be extended. The ship’s captain had no idea why but he had received the urgent order on the phone, using a code word for recognition. ‘I don’t know if you have had any message from your sick brother in Kuching but in case you have not he told me he had difficulty in tracing you and I said I’d pass the message on.’
‘No. I have heard nothing from him yet.’ It was policy never to ask who was speaking when he received any call like this one, concerning ‘a sick brother’.
***
The two men shared a cabin but, so suspicious were they, they could not be sure it was not bugged so, having put away what little luggage they had, they went to the bar and took two squashes outside onto the deck where there was no chance of their being overheard, always a risk. They sat down in deck chairs, keeping quiet when anyone passed by, and Ah Ho said, ‘Sorry about the rush but it happens sometimes. You and I have to get to Kuching and meet Sim Ting Ong, Secretary General of the Sarawak United People’s Party. Do you know him?’
No, his companion had never heard either the man’s name or of the party.
‘It’s like this. There is a most secret plot that has been put into action, but there is no need to say by whom but let’s just say the highest.’
His companion was thrilled at being involved in something this big and leant forward, eyes button-bright. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘We have to get the Sarawak United People’s Party, the SUPP, to start causing trouble around the country in such a way that the colonial government there becomes so scared it’ll ask for Gurkha troops to come and quell the disquiet.’
‘My! That really is something. But why Gurkhas?’
‘It seems that they are doing too well in Malaya and the party wants a chance to re-organise without being constantly nibbled at by losses caused by Gurkhas. And, yes, it really is something. Sarawak is a big place with high mountains, thick jungle, wide rivers and many native tribes, each with their own language. Even the Malay they speak is different from mainland Malay, so I have heard. I gather “we” in Borneo Malay is the same as “they” on the mainland and also round the other way. But there will be no need to speak anything but our Cantonese to Sim Ting Ong so we won’t get muddled up. I doubt the Malays here know that there is any difference,’ and he gave a mirthless chuckle.
The hooter sounded, tugs already roped to the boat started pulling it out into midstream. The boat gave a slight lurch. ‘Our journey has begun,’ Xi Zhan Yang said, with a sigh. ‘We can relax till we get to Kuching.’
‘How long will it take, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Less than ten days I expect. We’ll ask the captain when we meet him.’
***
Monday 6 October 1952, Seremban: The CSM brought the soldiers to attention and reported that the company was ready to move. Captain Rance thanked him, told him to stand everybody at ease, then stand easy. He called his Gurkha officers to take post with their platoon. His 2 ic stood next to him.
Jason looked around him then addressed his men: ‘I was called away by the Commanding saheb to be given new orders. We are not going with the rest of the battalion but have a separate task.’ He could see interest on every face. Our saheb is good enough to have special jobs to be given to us was what passed through most men’s mind. ‘We are going up to the northeast corner of Malaya to a place called Kota Bharu. No Gurkha troops have been there before. Normally it is where the Malay Regiment, based in Port Dickson, operates but their new recruits need more training so we have to fill the gap. This will be a challenge to show people who don’t know Gurkhas how good we are.
‘Apart from being given our operational orders by the local HQ the Commanding saheb has said that we may find some Gurkhas who tried to escape from the Japanese in 1942 and stayed with civilians rather than be taken as prisoners-of-war. If we do, we’ll see if they want to go back to Nepal or stay with whoever they have lived with in the last ten years.’
That caused a ripple of interest not normally seen during any OC’s briefing. ‘Now, we are to get there by rail from Gemas. Brigade are sending some transport here at 1200 hours, so we can relax till then. We will have to stay the night in Gemas because today’s train will have left by now,’ and unconsciously he glanced at his watch as he said that.
‘I don’t know how many of you have travelled by train recently as normally we move by road but, unlike the line that goes up the west of the country, this East Coast line goes through country that has many more places to ambush trains and blow them up than on the other line. I have learnt that’ and he searched best how to describe two ‘flats’, ‘open platforms on wheels are put in front of the engine so if the line has been mined they will blow up rather than the engine.’ He saw concentration on his men’s faces as they tried to visualise what had been described. ‘That means that the line will be broken so until it is repaired or another train comes down from the north, we’ll have to stay where we have been ambushed and can expect to be attacked.’ He turned and called out to the CQMS, ‘Quartermaster ustad there is no need to issue any more rations, is there, because we are carrying five days’ worth?’
‘Correct, Hajur,’ came the snappy reply.
‘Because of the risk of an ambush, no one will take off his skeleton equipment, all will have weapons ready with those carrying rifles having one up the spout. You will only load once you have entrained, and section commanders will ensure that safety catches are on. I know this is unusual but I regard the rail journey as a kind of offensive patrol: there are few troops in the area and the guerrillas have become bold.’ He looked round and noticed from the expressions of his men showed him his words were not wasted. ‘The immediate action drill if we are attacked is for 1 Platoon to move to a flank at the tail end of the train as the engine might explode. I will organise covering fire to keep the enemy’s heads down as much as possible. With the other platoons we will probably be in shouting range but only try to yell at me once you have been seen. The enemy will be on the upper slope and so will be able to bring down heavy fire on anyone attacking frontally so platoons will automatically get out on the opposite side from where the fire is coming. If this happens do not worry about any civilian passengers. Orders for the rest of the company will be given as soon as I see how the situation is developing. But never forget, here, or in Burma or anywhere else come to that, where there is an attack, those last few yards always seem the longest!’
He waited a while for the men to digest what he had said. They had been together long enough to know how to work almost effortlessly either in sub-units or as a company. ‘Fall in at 1145 hours and we’ll move to the main road to meet the Brigade transport. Officers, fall out, Major ba, dismiss the parade.’
The relatively short road journey to Gemas passed without incident. Men debussed outside the station. Rance thanked the British drivers and sent the transport back. He told the 2 ic to let the men relax in a corner of the station yard while he went to find the station master to confirm that space in the morrow’s train had been reserved for them and to ask for any nearby place to spend the night. He found him in his office, an elderly, rotund and pleasant-faced Tamil and introduced himself. Yes, there would be a separate carriage for his company tomorrow he was told, at the back end of the train. Rance then asked if there was anywhere nearby where his men could spend the night and cook up their rations. ‘I’ll get a porter to show you a nice place, isn’t it,’ the Station Master said. ‘An empty shed near the goods wagons. Toilets are nearby. Have you fuel, if not I can arrange firewood.’
‘Station master sahib, that is a most kind thought which we all appreciate as it is a long way to go to find and cut firewood for ourselves.’ Also it would mean that the men’s solid fuel cookers need not be used.
A porter was called, and Jason led him out to where his men were and handed him over to the CSM. Later on he went back to the station master for a chat. He asked him how long he had been working on the railway, how much guerrilla activity was there on the line and anything he should know when moving up?
‘Oh sir, how can I know what those dreadful men will do to our Blowpipe Express. They have ambushed it a few times but blowing up the line is not good. Luckily, since the first time, no engine has been badly damaged as the flats in front took the force of the explosion. Put your trust in God, sir, he is a most reliable fellow.’
Jason asked him about his family. Yes, he was a grandfather now with six little ones. ‘And you sir?’
‘Oh, Station master sahib. I am an army officer so could not operate in the jungle happily if I knew I had a family liable to be attacked. My job would suffer.’
‘Sir, you are thinking highly and deeply.’
Jason looked at the man quizzically. ‘Exactly how?’ he asked.
The Tamil tried to explain himself. ‘When I say “highly” I mean “highly” and when I say “deeply” I mean “deeply”, isn’t it’ he sagely observed.
‘It is,’ said Jason and asked him if there were any stops along the line long enough for his men to cook their morning meal and the Station Master shook his head. ‘No sir, at some of the stations it might be possible to buy a snack and a glass of tea but I don’t really know what happens in those stations up the line. I have never been to them. The only halt of more than a few minutes is in Kuala Lipis where the up and the down trains pass, otherwise it is a single line.’
Jason thanked him and went back to his men as it was time for his evening meal and to see where his batman had arranged for him to sleep having declined the station master’s kind invitation to spend the night with him and his family. Nobody told him, why should they? that a Chinese had entered into their sleeping space carrying a tray of mi and, in bazaar Malay, asked the Gurkhas if they wanted to buy a dish of the stuff. A few of them did. As they paid their money over he asked them where they were going and he was told that they were going up the line to Kota Bharu on the morrow. Having learnt that, he lost no time in leaving the building.
Jason called his ‘O’ Group and told them about the lack of time to cook during the train ride so it was decided to get up at four o’clock and cook the meal along with the morning tea. The meal would be carried in the men’s mess tins so, with full water bottles, there should be no difficulty about eating on the journey.
With that they settled down for the night as comfortably heads covered with towels against the mosquitoes that whined around their ears.
3
Monday 6 October 1952, Alipore Park Road, Calcutta: The Rezident’s private phone rang. He picked it up but before he could say anything the voice at the other end said, ‘Hello, this is your younger brother speaking.’ Leonid Pavlovich Sobolev instantly became alert – more than usual because he recognised the Chinese-accented English so knew it was an overseas call. No one who monitored such conversations secretly could ever guess any inner meaning from what was said. International calls were not common and were expensive; one that went on too long was suspicious.
‘Yes, I recognise your voice. Is all well with you and your family?’
‘Yes, all is well I am glad to say. I have a friend who has a relation not on the phone but can be contacted by you. I need to talk to him. It should not take too long for you to call him.’
‘Be more specific. I am not a mind reader,’ came the gruff reply.
‘He is a Mr Tangra and a Law Chu Hoi has a message for him about a’ – he coughed drily – ‘sick relative.’ The dry cough merely meant ‘don’t take this literally’.
The Rezident stiffened on hearing the first name. It was, in fact, not a man’s name but the code word for either of the two agents who worked in the one of the Chinatowns in Calcutta. These were peopled by Hakka Chinese who worked in tanneries and had done so for longer than anyone could remember. About three hundred and fifty tanneries had been built over many years on marshy and reclaimed low-lying land. Part of their output was made-to-order shoes. Either of them, a Wong Kek Fui or a Chen Kim Fung, was his link for information coming from any Hong Kong source and although Hak Wa speakers were a rarity in India they were common in Singapore and Hong Kong so it was not as secure a language as might be thought even for short messages to be passed.
As for the second name, the Rezident immediately recognised it as that of the purser of the SS Eastern Queen, one of his two secret contacts who kept him informed of any crucial Hong Kong or Singapore news.
‘Can you ring back in an hour’s time? No make it an hour and a half.’
