Operation Blowpipe, page 21
Jason’s time as OC of the Gurkha Independent Parachute Company, the job that gave him the most satisfaction in his long career, like all good things, came to an end in the May of 1968. Two days before he was given a farewell that was emotive in the extreme, he had as yet no idea what, if any, his next job would be or if he’d be sent on redundancy. On his last day in office a personal letter was given him by his Chief Clerk, ‘to be opened by you yourself, Saheb,’ he said.
To his utter delight, amazement and relief it was his posting order for promotion and command of the Jungle Warfare School. He saw he was wanted to take over on 1 July. That meant he had a month with nothing to do. He decided to motor down to Singapore to meet old friends. He went to Tanglin Barracks to doss down in a friend’s room. It was on his second day there a uniformed Malay policeman came looking for him, in the evening, just before going to the mess for his meal. ‘Tuan, I have a message for you. Here it is.’
Jason thanked him for it and asked him to wait until he opened it to see if it needed a reply. Inside the envelope was another envelope, marked secret. It came from Special Branch in Kuala Lumpur and was signed by the evergreen Mr C C Too. He wrote that no one had visited the Temiar since he, Jason, had left them those five years before ‘when you produced your famous report’. There was no news of any sort, of guerrillas, or Temiar thoughts of the government. ‘I want you to go there and find out. If you are willing. As an individual. If the Malaysian government and military authorities or the British Army were to know about this you will, I know, be severely punished, even to the extent of not being allowed to stay in the country. And yet you are the only person I know whom the Temiar trust and can speak fluent Temiar. Will you please go, secretly? Take one man, a Gurkha. A pistol each will be lent to you by the police at Grik. I know you have a car. Use that. Report to Grik Police Station and the Bear’s son will arrange for a boat to take you up the Sungei Perak, then the Sungei Temenggor to the Sungei Klian to Kerinching’s ladang. I am calling this Operation Blowpipe. Phone this number and say yes or no the day after you get this at ten a.m. Tell no one, not even your escort, where you’re going till you get there. The Bear’s son will meet you at Grik Police Station and stay with you.’
Jason thanked the constable and said no, there was no answer to take back.
His room boy, Tan Yee Faat, came in and asked him if he wanted his bed tea at the same time tomorrow and Jason, with the letter still in his hand, answered in Chinese only using his first name so calling him Ah Tan, no, half an hour earlier if possible. The room boy said yes, he’d do it, expecting a substantial tip for it.
Jason put the letter on his table and went to the mess. Ah Tan went to look at the letter. As one of the Tan family, he was related to Tan Wing Bun and had heard about a Chinese-speaking English officer. I’ll let him know as soon as I leave here. I know his Penang phone number and the news can be forwarded. In order to keep this secret I’ll tell him to know it as Operation Blowpipe.
Next morning at daybreak Jason drove hack to the Parachute Company in Kluang and spoke to the new OC. He told him he was bored with Singapore and had decided to spend the rest of his leave going places that had been too dangerous in the Emergency. I’d like company and, just in case I do meet any baddy or need help in a breakdown, please let me have my batman, Chakrabahadur Rai, to go with me. We’ve worked together well in the past and who knows we may need each other again.’
‘Of course, old boy. Sorry, can’t say that now to a colonel, can I? Yes, sir, of course you can.’
Jason laughed. ‘I’m still a major till the 1st of July.’
The Bear’s son had been posted to two other places and had hurriedly been sent back to Grik by C C Too a week before he had alerted Jason so he not seen the noodle-seller since the day he had been slashed, way back in 1963. The police report had ‘lapsed’. He was, therefore, surprised and suspicious to see him yet again outside the Police Station. He was even more suspicious when he saw the man who sometimes called himself Tan Wing Bun and sometimes Tan Wing Hoong draw up in a car, lean out of the window and speak to the noodle-seller before driving off. Could it, he asked himself, just be a coincidence or is it linked to Operation Blowpipe? If the latter there must have been a leak – but, if so, how?
He called two of his men and from his office window pointed out the noodle-seller. He gave them the background of yesteryear but forbade to mention Jason’s impending visit. ‘When the man leaves here follow him. Find out where he lives and, without rousing any suspicion, bring him back here after dark.
‘If he asks why?’
‘Tell him his papers need to be looked at and not to lose face with people who know him it is better to check them after dark.’
They brought him in at ten o’clock and led him to Wang Liang’s office. He was told to show his permit to trade. This he did. ‘It is in order,’ he said, looking at the three men who glared at him ferociously.
‘Take off your pants and show me your bottom,’ commanded Wang Liang.
‘No. I’m not one of those. Why should I?’
A nod from Wang Liang and the other two gagged him, tied his hands and stripped off his pants. The man wriggled, twisted and turned in desperation, spluttering the while. Once his rump was bare, Wong Liang said, ‘I see you have a scar. If you promise not to make a noise I’ll take the gag out of your mouth and you’ll tell me how you got it. If you do not keep your promise,’ and he picked up a nasty-looking parang, ‘I’ll make another scar on the other buttock.’
The man’s eyes bulged. ‘No, no,’ he tried to shriek but merely spluttered in his spittle.
Wang Liang put the parang away. ‘Will you talk?’
The man nodded his head, relief in his eyes. ‘Ungag him but keep his hands tied,’ Wang Liang commanded.
He was ungagged and tried to wipe his mouth.
‘How did you get that scar?’ the Inspector asked him. ‘Answer truthfully.’
‘I, er, I slipped when I was about to decapitate a sheep for us to eat and the knife cut me,’ he stammered.
‘Liar,’ and his face was slapped, not hard but hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. ‘If you don’t tell me the truth be ready for the other buttock to be cut even though there are no sheep here.’
The man was no coward but, in the end, he admitted he had thrown a rock at a military vehicle hoping to cause an accident.’
‘Why? What made you do that?’
It took a long time to unwind two reasons, one was about a photograph that had been given him to try and find the man in the picture and to report it to his next senior and one was ‘I was told by the man who employs me to do it.’
‘And who is he?’
Nothing would get the man to say. He was obviously terrified. ‘You know we could put you in jail for throwing that rock if you don’t tell us.’
The man was desperate. ‘He’ll kill me if he knows I’ve told you,’ he gasped.
‘What, since so long ago?’
‘No, now.’
‘I’ll give you one minute to tell me. If you tell me the truth you can choose to be tried by a magistrate and go to jail for a few months so you can hide from him or not to be charged for your offence and with a thousand ringgit go elsewhere.’
What a choice! Either way was a way out. ‘I’ll tell you if you hide me in jail.’
‘As soon as you’ve told me I’ll arrange for a magistrate, not here but in Kuala Lumpur.’
Relief spread over the man’s features and out came the story: something about wanting to kill a gwai lo using a chui cheen toong hang dung. He knew ‘blow-arrow-tube’ but the ‘operation’ bit had stumped him so he had just nodded as though he had understood it. The man he knew as Ah Tan would follow the Englishman into the jungle and, once he was engaged with the Temiar, get him shot by a blowpipe.’
‘He told you all that?’
‘Yes, he and I were drinking brandy and he was talkative.’
‘When?’ asked sharply
‘Oh, very recently. He also told me always to stay in sight of the Police Station so I would see the man he was waiting for and let him know when he had come. He’ll see me tomorrow morning.’
Wang Liang shook his head in amazement at the stupidity of over confident and careless people and told his men to take him outside while he made a phone call. He phoned C C Too’s private number, as he had been told to and related the story to him. He heard a deep, deep sigh as his boss tried to fathom where a leak could have happened.
‘Well done, Son of a Bear. Send the man down to me tomorrow, escorted, in the station’s lock-up vehicle but first look up the details of the case, if there are any, that is.’
‘And what shall I tell the Siu Gaau Sinsaang?’
There was no answer for a while as Mr Too considered his options. ‘Say nothing at first. Go with him in the police boat and once you are at Kerinching’s ladang, get all his men and warn them to keep watch and ward.’
‘And how, sir, do you think that Tan Wing Bun by whichever name he’ll be going by will get news to the Temiar?’
‘I don’t know, sadly, but I’m sure he’s worked it all out.’
And he thought he had! The morning after telling the noodle-seller about his plans he drove towards the Police Station, bewildered at not seeing anyone there. Should be there by now he thought but it is on the early side so I’ll come back later. On his return he was glad to see the barrow but the person with it was not the same, merely a lad. Tan Wing Hoong stopped his car just short of the barrow, leant out of the window and asked who the person was and where was the normal vendor?
‘He was taken away by police last night. They came to fetch him after dark.’
Tan Wing Hoong was shocked. ‘Why? And who are you?’
‘Why? How should I know why. Who am I? His fifth cousin and helper. I’ll look after the barrow now until he comes back.’ A thought struck him. ‘If he comes back,’ he added.
Tan Wing Hoong was not sure what to do. He could hardly go to the police and ask them because, as far as they were concerned, it was nothing to do with him. He had not mentioned the fact to the man he had spoken to outside the Police Station – what was his name? – but if he were to go and ask, claiming that the missing vendor was, in fact, one of his men, he might be implicated in his arrest so be under suspicion himself. No, he would have to arrange matters and act on his own. My name Wing Hoong means ‘forever heroic’ so it will all come right in the end. Before he left he asked the lad if he had seen any military vehicle. No, he had not so that meant the man who was his target had not yet come. At least that is one plus factor, he thought as he drove off.
Jason and Chakré left Kluang at midday and reached KL late in the evening, having stopped on the way for leg-stretches and a snack. In KL they stayed the night with the Bear’s widow. Although they hardly knew each other, she was glad to see him as she associated him with much of her husband’s life. She missed him badly and Jason kept her amused with his reminiscences. She was especially glad to think he would be working with her son. She had a phone and, knowing C C Too’s number, Jason rang him to say he was on his way. C C Too thanked him, wished him good luck and passed the message on to Wang Liang in Grik.
They left early the next morning and on the way Jason briefed Chakré on their task. ‘Chakré, I must tell you why I have asked for you to come with me. I have been contacted by the senior Chinese in Special Branch to go into Temiar country for him and I need you as an escort. On the face of it, it is not a difficult task, merely to try and find out how the Temiar are managing without any troops on their ladangs and are there any guerrillas. No contact has been made with these people by Government, police or army for five years. The senior Chinese thinks I am the one man they trust and who can speak to them in their own language. You’ve seen me with them, haven’t you?’
Chakré grinned. Yes he had.
‘Now, there is so much jealousy between the Federation Army and the police neither must know about this journey of ours. Once we get to Grik we’ll be armed. But if the British sarkar were to find out what we are doing it could be serious, even a court-martial with lots of inter-government embarrassment. So we can only hope and pray nothing unusual happens and, if it does, you Chakré must have eyes in the back of your head to prevent any repercussion.’
‘Saheb, of course you can rely on me. But how strange the people in this country don’t have their own men for such a job.’
By evening had arrived in Grik where there was a company of 6 GR, commanded by an old friend. There was plenty of room for them both as one of the platoons was out on a local patrol. Jason rang the Police Station for Wang Liang, got the number of his lodging and told him he had arrived with one gunman.
‘Good. I’ll come and pick you up at seven o’clock. We’ll all wear plain clothes but I’ll have a couple of .38 pistols, ten rounds of ammo and some cleaning kit for you both. I’ll also bring some basic rations. You will give the Temiar much pleasure by letting them feed you on their tapioca but that won’t be enough for a growing lad,’ and he giggled at his own feeble joke.
‘That’s good,’ Jason rejoined, ‘as we’ve nothing with us. How long do you think this jaunt will take us?’
‘Let me see. A day up to Kerinching’s ladang, a day to get news around that it’s you who’ve arrived, that’s two and a day down. At least another day for talking so let’s say four days.’
‘That’s no problem. I’m on leave for the rest of the month.’
‘You do realise, don’t you, that no one has visited them since you persuaded the government not to station any troops on ladangs so, although they don’t want gossip about the wider world, they’ll feel they are not neglected so will want to talk.’
‘My Temiar may be a tad rusty by now as I’ve had no practice.’
‘Don’t worry, it’ll all come back quickly enough. Quite why we are behaving this way is a bit of a mystery. You may not know this, the police and army are hardly on speaking terms so this is the only way Mr Too can find out if there is anything he should know about.’
‘Okay Ah Wang, see you tomorrow,’ and Jason rang off while the Bear’s son rang ‘uncle’ to confirm the Major sahib’s arrival.
The police vehicle left the police lines before the new vendor reached his post and went to the camp to pick up Jason and Chakré, who were waiting at the camp entrance for it.. There was only one road to the boat point but Wang Liang did not drive back by way of the Police Station but by another road to collect the Malay boatmen. They reached the boat point, at exactly the same place on the Sungei Perak where work with the Temiar had started for Jason so many years before. He found it almost unreal and felt it acutely as, this time, he was returning, not starting out. Now he knew what to expect, what it was all about. The boat was ready, having had its tank filled the previous day and spare cans were brought from the stores. In they got and moved off into the river, where the main current was strong.
He was once more thrilled by the skill of the boatman as he steered his way up the rapids, happy to count over a hundred hornbills and to see the large monitor lizards sunning themselves on the sandy slopes. As he was travelling as a civilian he had brought an umbrella to keep the sun off but, as the day slowly passed, the inactivity and the hardness of the bench were the same as before: hard to take. Both he and Chakré were glad of the shade as the sun rose. Jason’s was big enough for Wang Liang to sit under. They reached the dilapidated Halting Bungalow an hour before sunset and got out, delighted to stretch their legs. Wang Liang told the boatman he wanted them back in three days’ time.
‘In that case we’ll go and stay in the nearest Malay village, which we have done before. It is much nearer than going all the way to Grik and back,’ said the driver.
Jason thanked them for bringing them safely and waved them goodbye before moving off on the path he remembered so well, now more overgrown. Some distance along he met a young Temiar lad whom he asked where Tata Kerinching’s ladang was. He was told he had moved his house and directed them towards it. They got there just as the sun was setting. They found Kerinching, with five others Jason knew and he remembered the names of four of them, his Temiar language skills instantly returning. All showed the greatest joy at his unexpected appearance. ‘I knew you would came back one day,’ said an ageing Kerinching. ‘You are the only one who ever cared for us. You make your mouth look like a chicken’s arse, but you have a kind heart.’ He smiled the old smile and the others nodded their agreement. By then Jason had introduced the other two.
Being unexpected, nothing was ready to eat so Kerinching told a younger wife to prepare some tapioca. She fetched a bamboo cylinder full of water to wash it. She put the cylinder of water between her knees, having first lifted her sarong up. She then tilted it up to her mouth, took a swig, replaced it between her knees and picked up the piece of tapioca, holding it a little away from her. She then squirted the water out of her mouth, jet-like, on to the tapioca, deftly cleaning it before her supply ran dry. It was then put into the ashes to roast, with a slight dowsing of the flame until it dried off.
Jason was told that Senagit had died a couple of years before, probably of tuberculosis, he thought, what with the dry cough he had. The others who gathered around were now much more confident than he had seen them before, with no military or guerrillas to come and bother them. They carried themselves more proudly with a superior almost disdainful look in their eyes. They were soon laughing as they talked of old times. When the tapioca was ready it was given to them. After their meal Kerinching said it was too late for a dance but maybe the next night … or the night after that … or the one after that also. But now it was bedtime. Space was made for them in part of Kerinching’s house and they slept well, except for Chakré who had a bad dream. In fact, three bad dreams he remembered when he woke, one was when he spilt some milk, one was when his ploughing oxen broke loose and one was when he saw his village house and went inside. All were bad omens with this last one really bad and he knew bad luck would be his before the end of the day. Almost unthinkingly he loaded his pistol, covering it, in its holster, under his shirt. It never occurred to him to make any mention of it: dreams were not to be spoken aloud about. He had been worried ever since Jason’s briefing.
