Merdeka Rising

by Rory Marron

  A single blast of a whistle brought the men back to regroup at the well. They had not spoken. Carefully they retraced their way through smouldering huts back towards the fence. As the last man crossed the open area he turned and tossed something near the entrance to one of the huts. A tiny flicker of movement back at the killing zone caught his eye. A survivor was crawling towards the water trough. The gunman watched with disinterest. Someone, after all, would need to find the British army hat and feed the fires for revenge….

  Chapter Five

  Hotel des Indes

  Mac took the keys to Meg’s jeep from the hotel valet and re-parked it in the shade of the covered entrance. It was only eight o’clock in the morning but the metal around the seats was already hot. There was hardly a breath of wind. He got out and flexed his shoulders to try to lift the clammy shirt off his back.

  Meg appeared in a calf-length, blue batik skirt and a loose, white long-sleeved blouse. She noticed his discomfort immediately. ‘Hey, it’s sticky today!’

  Mac looked her up and down. ‘You aren’t exactly dressed for the weather.’

  She laughed. ‘You should see the white women in the American south on days like this. It’s bonnets and long gloves all day. Anything to prevent a tan…’

  He smiled. ‘The only hats at home are wool! I can imagine my grandfather in this heat though. He’d be in his vest and long-johns but he’d never take his cap off!’

  Meg laughed. ‘Well, it’s not all day. The Doctor has given us till eleven.’

  She was to interview Jarisha later that morning, but before that he had offered to show Meg something of the old city. Since it was also an Islamic festival day, Meg did not want to embarrass Jarisha in public by wearing shorts. Mac thought she was worrying too much as many of the Javanese girls were wearing sarongs and short, mid-riff-exposing blouses.

  Meg held up a small canvas rucksack. ‘What about the swim at Krawang?’

  Mac grinned. ‘My things are in the back. And I’ve some sweets for the village kiddies.’

  They smiled at each other and this time it was Meg who looked away first. ‘I’m too old for you, soldier boy,’ she said only half-joking. ‘Let’s go!

  ‘This is the Penang Gate,’ Jarisha told them as they walked three abreast through a high but unimposing stone arch. ‘It’s all that’s left of the old city wall.’

  Meg walked between the two men. Jarisha’s two bodyguards followed a discreet but watchful ten yards away.

  ‘And this is the “Si Jagoer” gun,’ Jarisha continued. He was pointing to a bronze cannon about ten-feet long supported on a low cradle. The patina of the aged bronze was a deep, rich blue-black.

  Meg remembered the cannon from her guidebook and went for a closer look. Its rounded base was etched with a delicate floral motif and the cascable was fashioned into a large, clenched right hand with the thumb-tip protruding between the index and middle fingers. The metal hand glistened from constant touching by human fingers. A large patch on the top of the barrel just behind the swell of the muzzle was also burnished.

  Jarisha watched as both Meg and Mac were drawn to touch the fist. ‘No-one knows its history,’ he continued. ‘It is said to be Portuguese and to have come here in the 1640s as a war trophy. Other than that, it is a mystery.’

  Meg nodded. ‘But isn’t there an inscription somewhere?’ She bent over to look. ‘Yes, here it is! Ex me ipsa renata sum.’ She frowned. ‘Damn! I read it the other day but I’ve forgotten what it means…’

  ‘Out of myself I was reborn,’ Jarisha intoned. ‘Presumably it means it was recast out of another cannon.’

  ‘Like a phoenix,’ suggested Meg.

  ‘Or even a country from a colony!’ Jarisha joked. ‘There’s a superstition that this cannon is one of a pair, and that on the day it is joined by its mate, Dutch rule in Java will end.’

  ‘Where’s the other gun, Doctor?’ Mac asked interestedly.

  ‘There’s supposed to be one like it in Banten.’

  ‘But that’s not far away,’ said Meg. ‘You could go and get it!’

  Jarisha laughed. ‘I heard the Dutch are guarding it day and night!’

  High, happy voices sounded from under the arch. Three Javanese girls in their best festival sarongs and kemban tops were approaching with flowers and sticks of incense.

  ‘Ah-ha,’ Jarisha pointed. ‘I was not going to mention it but in Java a fist shaped like the one on the gun is considered an obscene gesture. Add the obvious symbolism of the barrel and you have a very powerful totem of fertility…for the less devout at least. Women make offerings here in the hope of becoming pregnant. “Si Jagoer” means—how can I put this delicately?—“Mr Sturdy”, I think is close.’ His eyes sparkled.

  They laughed.

  Jarisha greeted the three girls and they bowed back demurely. He moved aside and waved them towards the cannon to perform their ritual.

  Now a little self-conscious, the girls placed their flowers next to the barrel and threw a few precious grains of rice down the muzzle. Then they lit the incense and stood in quiet prayer. Suddenly inhibition left them as one after the other they lifted up their sarongs and sat astride the barrel, giggling hysterically.

  ‘Well, this wasn’t in my guidebook, Doctor,’ Meg said dryly. She saw Mac staring at the girls and she jabbed him with her elbow. ‘Glad you came now, Mr Sturdy? I suppose the girls in Glasgow wear underwear?’

  Mac blushed a furious red. ‘Well—I, er… Oh, God!’

  Jarisha and Meg chortled but Mac could only manage a sheepish grin as the girls waved goodbye.

  Horns and shouts admonished Mac as he weaved through the cars, becak trikes, bullock carts and military vehicles crowding the road. Jarisha’s red Chevrolet was leaving them behind. He swore in frustration. ‘Christ! I wish his bloody driver would slow down!’

  They were about to turn off the main Rijswijk shopping street towards the wide Koningsplein square and the State Railways Hotel where Jarisha was due to meet General Chrishaw.

  Meg was holding on to her seat and the dashboard handle. ‘If you were Jarisha, would you want to stop with all these trigger-happy Dutch on patrol?’

  Mac gave her a cautious look. ‘Aye, I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘What do you make of him?’ she asked suddenly.

  Ahead the road suddenly cleared and Mac made a quick gear change to get moving. The Chevrolet was fifty yards away, slowing to let a cart cross the road.

  He shrugged. ‘Seems like a decent bloke.’ He glanced at her quickly. ‘You like him don’t you?’

  She smiled. ‘Are you jealous?’

  He shook his head a little too quickly. ‘Me, why of course not!’

  ‘Good. Don’t be,’ she said gently, reaching across to place her fingers on top of his on the steering wheel.

  Mac grinned at her.

  A sudden, searing pain in her hand made her yelp. ‘Oowwh!’

  The jeep’s windscreen shattered. ‘Shit!’ Mac yelled in pain. Blood oozed from both their hands. Another burst of shots left a neat line of holes across the wing and bonnet. Meg ducked instinctively.

  ‘Hold on!’ Mac tried to swerve but they went into a spin and veered across the road into a cartload of mangos.

  ‘Keep down!’ Mac shouted, reaching for his Sten gun. Ahead there was a tremendous crash as a lorry rammed Jarisha’s car, sending it broadside across the road. Three gunmen in the back of the lorry began to fire into the stricken Chevrolet. Bystanders fled in panic.

  Mac opened fire at the lorry cab. Seconds later it sped away.

  He turned and saw Meg’s wound. ‘You’re hit!’

  ‘I’m OK,’ she yelled. ‘Help Jarisha!’

  As Mac started towards the battered, bullet-ridden Chevrolet, he was amazed to see the back door open and Jarisha, bloodied about the head, step out on to the road. There was no other movement in the car.

  Suddenly two Javanese hopped off a becak and ran towards the dazed Jarisha. One held a pistol. Mac was t
hirty-five yards away and the accurate range of the Sten was nearer twenty. He charged, shouting and firing short bursts into the air.

  The assassins threw Jarisha against the side of the car and thrust the pistol hard against his head. Miraculously nothing happened. Mac saw consternation on the face of the gunman as he repeatedly pulled the trigger. A blaring horn sent the two men running. A jeep screeched to a halt and a British officer jumped out, revolver in hand.

  Mac reached Jarisha just as his legs were giving way. He slid slowly down against the car until he was sitting on the road, gasping for breath.

  Meg ran up, a bloody handkerchief around her hand, and clutching the jeep’s first aid kit. ‘God, that was close!’

  Jarisha looked up at her and smiled weakly. His face was very pale. ‘Close indeed, even for my God!’

  Dutch Administration HQ, Governor’s Palace, Batavia

  Captain Peter Henssen saluted smartly, keeping his face expressionless even though he suspected he was to hear something to his advantage.

  Hurwitz wasted no time. ‘Sit down, Captain. Tell me, how does “Commander Henssen” sound to you?’

  ‘Sir?’ Henssen, an officer in the Naval Reserve, allowed his surprise to show. A promotion and full commission were worth both money and status.

  Hurwitz nodded. ‘Yes, indeed! Follow my instructions and the rank will be yours within six weeks.’ He saw he had Henssen’s full attention. ‘This is confidential, of course. You must mention it to no-one.’

  ‘I understand, Admiral,’ he nodded eagerly.

  Hurwitz pushed himself up from behind the desk and crossed the room to a large wall map of Southeast Asia. A large, orange-red swathe denoting pre-war Dutch possessions ran from the northern tip of Sumatra to half of New Guinea. His back was to Henssen as he spoke. ‘Did you know that so far not one Japanese sailor, soldier or airman in the Indies has surrendered to a Dutch officer?

  ‘No, Admiral, I didn’t.’

  Hurwitz turned round to face him. ‘Well, Potsdam Agreement or not, after what they did to us I think it’s a disgrace!’

  ‘I agree, Sir.’

  ‘Surabaya!’

  ‘Sir?’ Henssen interest quickened. Before the war he had lived in Surabaya. He was keen to get his house and possessions back.

  Hurwitz nodded. ‘Our contacts there report that the Japs are itching to be repatriated.’

  ‘That’s good news, Sir. We can bring in our own troops and—’

  ‘Ha!’ Hurwitz shook his head slowly. ‘The Jap commander in Surabaya, Admiral Shimizu, has informed Mountbatten directly that sending Dutch troops would be “inadvisable”. Can you believe the arrogance of the man!’ He began to pace up and down the room. ‘In a few days the British are going to deploy a brigade of Indian infantry in Surabaya!’ he added bitterly.

  Henssen could not tell whether Hurwitz objected more to Indians or to infantry.

  Scathing, Hurwitz went on. ‘Chrishaw says they are going in to evacuate internees!’ His voice rose. ‘Think of it, a bunch of chupatty-eaters taking the Jap surrender at our most important naval base! What are the natives going to make of that!’

  Since Henssen was not sure where his Admiral was leading he did not reply. The silence dragged. Finally, Hurwitz stopped pacing and turned to face him. His eyes were shining. ‘Well, if I have anything to do with it,’ he muttered, ‘Surabaya will be an exception to the Potsdam rules. We must be first in!’

  It occurred to Henssen that his promotion was not such a sure thing after all. ‘It’s strange to be trying to put one over on the British…’ he said guardedly.

  Hurwitz heard the doubt and stared at him hard. ‘Captain, Japan is beaten. At stake now is the trading wealth of the Indies. Once the British have even so much as a toe-hold in Surabaya they’ll be difficult to shake off. Have you forgotten our sacrifice at the Battle of the Java Sea?’

  Henssen was suddenly indignant. ‘Never, Sir! My brother was lost on the De Ruyter.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ Hurwitz lied smoothly. His tone became softer as if he had been humbled by the name of the sunken Dutch flagship. ‘If we are not careful, more humiliation awaits us. Never forget that it was Wavell and the British who deserted us on Java! And now they have the gall to deny us our own ships and men while they rush troops to reclaim their own colonies!’

  Henssen nodded his agreement, deciding that Hurwitz must have made detailed preparations. ‘You have a plan then, Admiral?’

  A prim, satisfied smile appeared on Hurwitz’s face. ‘Fortunately I have convinced the British to send a naval officer to inspect the yards in advance and make preparations for the arrival of the Allied troops. You know the city well, so you are the perfect choice. Your instructions and travel orders, signed by Admiral Patterson, are here. You are to be Chief Allied Representative in Surabaya. You’ll leave this afternoon by flying boat. Two junior officers will accompany you. Perhaps you could also take one or two of our reporters along? Just in case anything newsworthy should happen!’

  Henssen relaxed, his confidence now fully restored. He could scarcely believe his good fortune.

  Kemajoran Airport, Djakarta

  Despite the ache from his injured hand, Mac was in a good mood. His job as Meg’s driver was the envy of the Seaforths. It had not taken long for the wags in the Battalion to notice that his right hand was bandaged in much the same way as Meg’s left. He was relieved he was escaping Batavia and the ribbing about the danger of holding hands. A tour of the internee camps would be a breeze after the events of the last few days. Apart from the flying… It would be his first flight. He was both nervous and excited.

  Meg had caught him smiling. ‘Let me guess. You’re thinking of all those young damsels who haven’t seen a white man in years.’ She fluttered her eyes at him.

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ Mac smirked.

  ‘Well, let’s just say you’ve got a “sturdy” smile on your face.’

  They laughed. Meg became serious. ‘This isn’t going to be as pleasant as you think, Mac. Here the internees have had help from the Navy, and extra food and supplies for weeks. Wing Commander Ball says that at Semarang and Magelang they’ve had almost nothing. I think you are going to be in for a shock.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said softly.

  The Douglas C-47 Dakota dwarfed every other aircraft at the airfield, including the Mitsubishi Ki-213 Japanese bomber parked a few yards from it down the strip. Ball was supervising the loading of the last of the stores. He heard the jeep and turned with a wave.

  ‘Glad you could make it, Miss Graham.’

  ‘Thank you, Wing Commander.’

  MacDonald saluted Ball and Meg introduced him. ‘This is my driver, Mac—I mean Private MacDonald.’

  ‘Welcome to RAPWI,’ Ball said affably. ‘Once you get your stuff loaded, Frenton here will show you where to leave the jeep.’

  A wiry, ginger-haired RAF Flight Sergeant nodded a greeting.

  ‘Please don’t delay,’ Ball added. ‘I’d like us to be off soon to make the most of the daylight when we get there.’

  Mac and Frenton sat together at the back of the Dakota. Mac chose a window seat. Frenton sat in the aisle, one eye on the kettle in the galley, the other on an issue of SEAC News.

  ‘It must be exciting, flying around all over the place,’ Mac said trying to hide his anxiety.

  ‘The more they fly ’em,’ replied Frenton, ‘the more I ’av to service ’em.’ He grinned. ‘I prefer short flights and long stays. These last few weeks have been absolutely barmy.’

  ‘You’re not nervous about flying then?’ Mac asked uneasily.

  Frenton’s brow wrinkled. ‘Scares me to death! Nearly came a cropper over the Java Sea. Lost an engine, so we had to dump the cargo. It was touch and go. We were skimming the treetops at the end. When we landed six monkeys were sitting on the wheels!’

  Mac managed a weak smile. Meg turned, saw the alarm on Mac’s face and smiled gleefully.

  Frenton carried
on blithely. ‘From what I’ve heard, Semarang’s a bit dodgy. This morning that Jap bomber flew in loaded with body bags and wounded Gurkhas. Word is that Jap renegades are putting up a fight!’

  ‘Jesus…’ Mac said quietly to himself. Suddenly patrols in Batavia seemed much more attractive.

  Semarang

  The two-hour flight over central Java’s lush and contrasting mountainous landscape proved uneventful. Apart from handing out cups of tea and coffee Frenton dozed most of the journey, so Mac was left to his own thoughts. By the time they began the descent he had more or less convinced himself that he was flying into a war zone. The landing was bumpy but he kept looking out of the window. A glimpse of a line of twin-engine Japanese bombers complete with Japanese ground crew made his stomach twist.

  Frenton was up on his feet as the plane began to taxi. He looked out and also noticed the Japanese. ‘Blimey! I hope that lot know the war’s over!’

  Ball opened the door and Mac heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Wing Commander Ball? Good afternoon and welcome to Semarang. I’m Major John Miller, Tenth Gurkha Rifles.’

  Mac sat in silence with unpleasant memories of Burma. Somehow he wasn’t surprised Miller was now a major.

  Ball greeted Miller. The other passengers followed. Ball was introducing Meg to Miller when Mac came down the steps.

  ‘MacDonald!’ Miller exclaimed. ‘I wondered if you’d made it to Java with the Seaforths.’

  ‘Hello, Sir,’ Mac said quietly. He looked at Miller, who seemed older than he remembered.

  ‘You two know each other?’ Meg asked.

  ‘Yes, from Burma,’ Miller replied cheerfully. ‘We can have a chat later, eh, Mac?’ He turned back to Ball. ‘Your team will need to be on its guard, Wing Commander. There’s been heavy fighting between the Indos and the Japs over the last few days. Some of the internee camps were attacked and women and children have been killed.’

  ‘How awful!’ Meg grimaced.

  Miller nodded. ‘It's very sad, Miss Graham. Anyway, the Japs saved the day! The Jap unit here is armed, too, so the airfield’s reasonably secure.’