by Rory Marron
Later the Japanese took him to the Return of Allied Prisoner of War and Internees office that had been set up a week earlier. To his astonishment there was just one Javanese policeman on duty outside and the door was wide open. British and Indonesian flags stood side by side at the entrance. Henssen fumed silently. Inside he found two junior British RAPWI officers discussing civilian evacuation plans with the town’s new republican mayor. There followed an awkward few minutes. Henssen’s resentment was plain and the mayor soon left. The British were polite but visibly uncomfortable over his presence. Henssen’s resentment soared.
For a second night there was gunfire and a much larger demonstration outside the hotel. The Dutchmen’s shutters were pelted with stones. None of them slept.
Japanese Naval HQ, Surabaya
‘I hear you have been busy, Captain Henssen,’ Admiral Shimizu said genially. He was a short, stocky man in his late fifties with cropped, grey hair, a rather bulbous nose and thin lips. His dark dress uniform had a Prussian collar that seemed too tight and which emphasised his round features.
Henssen had read the man’s file. Shimizu was a much-travelled, well-read and popular officer. He was also fluent in English after years of international liaison duties. As the Commander of the Second Southern Expeditionary Fleet and the senior Japanese naval officer in the Indies, he was the big fish for the Dutch navy. Two weeks earlier he had been flown to Singapore to witness the surrender of the Tenth Area Fleet and the Japanese Fifth Area Army to Lord Mountbatten. Hurwitz had wanted him in custody. Mountbatten had allowed him to return to Surabaya.
Shimizu introduced another officer. ‘This is Rear-Admiral Ishida, my representative in Djakarta.’
Henssen gave Ishida a firm look. ‘I think you mean Batavia’. Dutch Naval Intelligence were eager to question Ishida. If he could deliver him it would be another feather in his cap.
Maeda bowed but said nothing.
Shimizu gestured for Henssen to sit but he had prepared his speech and wasted no time. ‘Admiral, your absence was unexpected. I would appreciate it if you would keep me informed of your movements.’
‘Yes indeed, Captain Saito told me of the unfortunate miscommunication over my schedule.’
Henssen bristled slightly and went on. ‘There is considerable disorder in the town. Groups of armed Javans are roaming around at will, Dutch civilians are insulted and assaulted daily, rebel flags fly on municipal buildings, and rebel news-sheets are sold openly. This is not acceptable. SEAC instructions state—’
‘Two things, Captain…’ Shimizu sighed, sitting down heavily. ‘First, until two weeks ago there was no disorder because there were no Dutch here. Now there are over five thousand. I don’t know why they are coming here. They have put enormous pressure on limited food supplies and accommodation. Second, the day before yesterday, sixty of my men were murdered by nationalists in Denpasar.’
Henssen’s disturbed night suddenly took on a different perspective. He could scarcely believe his ears. ‘In Bali?’
‘Yes, in peaceful, gentle Bali…’ Shimizu said dryly. ‘The situation is extremely tense. Surabaya, in contrast, is fairly calm. Even so, last night I lost four men who tried to prevent a mob from taking their weapons. You will understand me when I say that minor assaults, flags and news-sheets are not my biggest problems.’
Henssen tried to recover his poise but knew that he was already at a disadvantage. Shimizu turned the screw.
‘Where I can assist you, Captain, I will, even with my limited resources. But I must remind you that as long as I am not a prisoner of war, I will continue to uphold the responsibilities of an admiral in the Imperial Japanese Navy and the associated responsibilities to my officers and men. No doubt, you see the situation in these islands differently to me. Surely, though, we can agree that it is not as it was in early 1942?’
Henssen nodded warily. ‘I agree there is some tension.’
‘Tension created by SEAC’s orders that we Japanese use force to prevent Indonesians obtaining weapons. Now that you have arrived and the arrival of Allied troops is imminent, I hope to reduce tension by removing most of my men some kilometres inland. This will also free some accommodation for Allied troops.’
‘That seems logical,’ Henssen replied carefully, aware that Shimizu was getting ahead of him. He took out a sheet of paper from his briefcase and handed it over the desk to Shimizu. ‘These are to be given priority.’
Shimizu read through the list quickly. Henssen was asking for a transport plane and crew to be put at his disposal twenty-four hours a day, daily minesweeping of the channels into Surabaya, that barracks be prepared for Allied troops, that Japanese troops serve as porters in the docks, and that weapons be confiscated from all Indonesian civilians.
Shimizu passed the list to Ishida then looked at Henssen. ‘A plane will be made ready immediately. Minesweeping will be difficult—’
‘I fail to see why,’ Henssen interrupted. ‘You have ships,’
‘But no captains! They have been kidnapped.’
Henssen did not mask his surprise. Shimizu continued with a hint of irritation in his voice. ‘The Indonesian commanders have not been idle, Captain. If sweeping begins the hostages will be killed.’
‘That is not my concern, Sir. The ships must go to work whatever the consequences. The risk to your men is unfortunate but unavoidable under the circumstances. You must draw a line.’
‘I understand.’ Shimizu said resignedly. Neither his nor Ishida’s face registered any emotion.
‘Please keep me informed of progress.’ Henssen saluted casually and left.
Shimizu shook his head. ‘Why didn’t the British send a Royal Navy officer after I reported the anti-Dutch feeling?’
Ishida shrugged. ‘Well, that one’s only interested in appearances.’
‘Yes, the sooner we are out of here the better.’
‘Your plan is working,’ Ishida added. ‘Our losses are unfortunate.’
Shimizu frowned. ‘Where was last night’s attack?’
‘Near the Marine School… The platoon requested permission to return fire three times. It was denied. The four men were dead by the time our reinforcements arrived.’
‘And the others?’
‘They were beaten and their rifles, ammunition and bayonets were taken. Later the Base Force’s armoury was besieged for a short time. There were no injuries there.’
Shimizu took a cigarette from a red and black lacquered box then pushed the box over to Ishida. The two men smoked in pensive silence until Shimizu stood and began pacing.
‘This cannot go on,’ he said wearily. ‘Henssen will have us mixed up in a civil war. If we use force the Indonesians will hate us for centuries! I will not be responsible for that, even though it means disobeying a direct order. Now I am merely a defeated commander. If I must lose what little honour I have left to preserve peace, then so be it. Our men ceased hostilities for the sake of the Emperor. I will not send them to fight on the whim of a Dutch naval reserve captain!’
‘It will mean imprisonment,’ Ishida said quietly.
Shimizu raised his eyebrows and half smiled. ‘I suspect the Dutch have more permanent plans for us both.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ laughed Ishida. ‘I sometimes forget we are already judged.’
‘Even so, you must return to Djakarta. There’s no need for you to be associated with what happens here. You have done more than enough.’
‘I expect to be arrested as soon as I return.’
Shimizu nodded and paused, thinking. ‘Turn yourself in to Admiral Patterson himself. If he sends you to Singapore then that might keep you out of Dutch hands…for a while at least.’
‘And you, Admiral?’
‘I must work on Henssen,’ Shimizu frowned. ‘He may yet solve our problem for us. If our men are no longer armed then the Indonesians will have no reason to attack them.’
‘But that would mean a formal surrender?’
‘Yes. Somehow I must force Henss
en to act.’
‘But surrender has to be to the British.’
‘That’s what’s chafing at him. Perhaps with a little encouragement….’
‘The British will be furious.’
Shimizu’s lips formed a thin smile. ‘Yes, they will. But that will not be our problem.’
Ishida stepped forward and bowed. ‘Admiral it has been an honour to serve on your staff.’
Shimizu stood and bowed back with equal formality. ‘Thank you, Ishida. I could not have asked for a more loyal officer. Good luck!’
As the door closed, Shimizu reached for another cigarette. After a while he rang for his aide.
Saito entered. ‘Admiral?’
‘Ask the Chief of Police, the Mayor and the militia commander if they can join me for dinner this evening,’ Shimizu’s voice was business-like once more.
Bekassi
Major Clive Roberts took a long drink from his canteen and looked around in frustration at the blackened shell of the Dakota. Clearly whoever had been here was long gone. The only trace of the missing crew and passengers were a few pages torn from army pay books. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and summoned his havildar. ‘Raina, that’s enough. We’ll rejoin the rest of the column and swing over to the kampong.’
‘Yes, Major,’ said Raina resignedly and went off to call in the still-searching soldiers.
Two days earlier a small search party had found the wreckage of the C-47 but they had been forced to withdraw by a large, hostile crowd. This time Roberts had brought with him a Stuart tank, two armoured cars and nearly two hundred troops. Their search took time and it was midday before the column reached the outskirts of the deserted kampong. Packs of aggressive, hungry dogs roamed the streets.
Roberts set up his HQ in the main square and was about to order a house-to-house search when news came that a patrol had found prisoners in the gaol.
‘There are six Chinese and four others, Major,’ said Singh, a captain in the Patalia Regiment. ‘One of the Javans speaks some Malay. She says she saw our men.’
‘Right,’ Roberts nodded. ‘Go and fetch Gupta to interpret. His Malay’s good after all that trading in Penang.’
In the gaol’s office, the girl sat fidgeting across a plain wooden table from Roberts and Gupta. Captain Singh stood to one side.
‘She’s Ambonese, Sir,’ explained Gupta. ‘Her father was a teacher here.’
‘Where is he?’
The girl’s head lowered as she replied.
‘She doesn’t know. The Japs sent him to Malaya as romusha, a labourer.’
‘What about our men?’
Gupta smiled at the girl to try and put her at ease. Eventually she began to speak, hesitantly at first and then at speed. Tears ran down her cheeks.
Roberts could see Gupta was shocked. ‘Well?’
‘They were all killed, murdered… “Black Buffaloes”—revolutionaries—chopped off their heads, arms and legs, then buried them along the river-bank. She says the soldiers were very brave…’
‘Did she witness it or just hear?’ Roberts’s face was grave. ‘I must know!’
Gupta questioned the girl again. ‘She went to get water. The Buffaloes saw her but she was too frightened to run. They made her watch and afterwards brought her here. They were going to kill her and the others today but fled when they heard we were approaching.’
Roberts looked carefully at the girl. ‘Ask her how many Black Buffaloes and youths?’
She replied very quickly.
Gupta eyebrows rose. ‘About two thousand!’
Roberts exchanged a concerned look with Captain Singh.
‘Can she show us where?’ Roberts asked quietly.
This time Gupta had difficulty in keeping up. ‘She says she will take us to the spot if we will take her to Batavia with us.’
‘Ask her if she’ll come out here with us tomorrow.’
The girl nodded and Roberts turned to Singh. ‘We’re sitting ducks for snipers here, so we’ll go back to Batavia. Free the other prisoners. They can come back with us if they wish. And Gupta, don’t take your eyes off this girl for a second.’
Ten minutes into the dig the Mahratta volunteers unearthed the first evidence of the slaughter. It was a severed arm. A head and a maggot-ridden torso soon followed. As the stench of rotting flesh rose up from the river bank Roberts indicated to the Ambonese girl that she could leave the scene. She walked back to the tanks, armoured cars and lorries that ringed the clearing.
The Mahrattas retched as they dug but they did not stop work. Other volunteers—Patalias, RAF, cavalry, engineers and ambulance crews—waited with petrol-soaked cloths over their noses and mouths to take a turn. No-one lasted very long.
‘Croc shot!’ At the alert they stopped digging and turned to the river. Every few minutes, RAF Regiment sentries fired at one of the large, lurking predators attracted by the odour of decay. Their death rolls churned the water red and sent other crocodiles into a frenzy.
After four and a half hours a gruesome display of exhumed heads, torsos and limbs was laid out along the top of the river- bank. Two army doctors and five medical orderlies struggled to piece together the puzzles of blackened flesh and bone.
A wan-faced Captain Singh climbed up the bank and went to report to Roberts who was standing amidst the bodies with Captain Patel, a doctor. ‘Excuse me, Major,’ Singh said quietly, ‘We’re down quite deep and wide now but we’ve found nothing for the last twenty minutes. I think this is all we’re going to get.’
Roberts nodded wearily, his own face pale and drawn. ‘Doc, what’s the tally now?’
Patel referred to his clip-board. ‘Twenty-two heads and nineteen torsos… The girl said that three or four Chinese had also been killed, so in fact we don’t know how many there were to start with, or even if they were buried here. At the moment we are missing roughly four heads, six torsos, eight arms and nine legs.’
‘The crocs and lizards will have had some of them,’ suggested Singh.
Roberts spat to try to clear the cloying smell of decay from his mouth. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of making an identification?’
Patel shook his head. ‘They’ve been dead for days. With the mutilation, the heat and the humidity, putrefaction is extremely quick. We can’t even tell the Indians from the Europeans. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise, Doc,’ Roberts replied heavily. ‘This is above and beyond the call… I’d intended to bury the British and cremate the Indians but now I think they should all be cremated together and the ashes collected.’
‘Fire it!’ Roberts shouted, his voice barely concealing his rage. Petrol torches burst into flame. Quickly and purposefully the teams dispersed outwards from the central square. They moved methodically, street by street, house by house. There was to be no looting. Only the Chinese Quarter was to be spared.
Darkness was falling before the column started on the short but hazardous return journey to Batavia. Behind them the night sky reflected an angry red. Bekassi was burning.
Surabaya
Henssen’s hotel-room phone rang just after six o’clock in the morning. He reached for it groggily but came sharply awake when he detected the tension in Saito’s voice.
‘Captain Henssen, Admiral Shimizu would like you to come to the base at once. There is a problem. The Mayor is also here and the chief of police. We have sent a car for you.’
‘What sort of problem?’ Henssen could hear drums and shouting in the background. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.
Saito hesitated. ‘Protestors have surrounded the armoury. They are demanding the weapons. We are trying to reason with them but there are too many!’
‘How many?’
‘Thousands….’
Henssen was alarmed. The armoury contained thousands of rifles, hundreds of machine guns, and well over a million rounds of ammunition. If it fell into nationalist it would be disastrous. Worse, he would fail in his mission… S
himizu was going to ruin everything! ‘The Admiral has his orders from SEAC’, Henssen barked. ‘Civilians must not be allowed to obtain weapons. If necessary, Japanese troops are to open fire,’ he barked.
There was silence at the other end of the line. Henssen’s patience snapped. ‘Saito, do you hear me? Where is Admiral Shimizu?’ Again there was no answer. Henssen swore under his breath. ‘Shit!’
‘This is Shimizu.’ The voice was calm.
‘Admiral, SEAC orders require you to—’
‘I know my orders, Captain. I am trying to follow them. The situation is extremely volatile. I have sent a car.’
‘You are authorised to open fire.’
Shimizu did not reply and seconds passed. ‘Admiral, I said you are authorised to open fire.’
‘Your authorisation is noted, Captain.’
Henssen’s knuckles showed white around the receiver. He was convinced Shimizu was toying with him. ‘Admiral, will you give the order to open fire or not?’
The line clicked once, then went dead.
Henssen rushed out of the hotel lobby with Vlek and Croeuf trailing in his wake. He saw the waiting car and driver and got straight in the back. Only when two uniformed Javanese sat on either side of him did he realise it was a police car. Before he could protest a third policeman jumped in the front passenger seat and the car drove off.
Henssen glanced behind to see Vlek and Croeuf standing dumbfounded on the hotel steps staring after him. There was no sign of the usual marine escort car. When he turned back he saw the red and white pennant at the front of the car. Idiot! he thought. You’ve let them kidnap you! Suddenly he was feeling very uncomfortable.
Eventually the policeman in the passenger seat shifted round to face him, resting his arm along the back of the seat. He was about thirty-five, with the typical light, wiry frame of the Javanese. No emotion showed on his thin face or in his eyes. His tone was terse. ‘Captain Henssen, I understand you speak Javanese fluently?’
