Merdeka Rising

by Rory Marron

  Henssen replied that he did.

  ‘I am Superintendent Shafan. The Chief of Police sent me. He did not think the demonstrators would allow a Japanese military vehicle to pass.’

  ‘I see,’ said Henssen carefully. ‘How did the demonstration start?’

  Shafan’s hand lifted casually. ‘Ha! It doesn’t take much to start a riot in Surabaya these days. But the people don’t like seeing the Japanese still in charge.’

  Henssen bristled slightly. ‘The Japanese are not in charge. They are just following orders until Allied troops arrive.’

  ‘I know that, of course,’ Shafan nodded diplomatically. ‘But the people don’t understand what’s going on. They just want all foreigners to leave.’

  Henssen let the inference pass and they travelled in silence. At the base guard posts were unmanned and the gate was wide open. Two cars blocked the entrance. Around it milled hundreds of young Javanese, many armed with staves or swords.

  Forced to slow down, the police driver began pounding his horn. To Henssen’s surprise the crowds parted.

  ‘How did they get inside?’ Henssen asked sarcastically.

  Shafan kept his eyes on the demonstrators. ‘I’ve no idea. Captain, please sit back. It’s better that they don’t see you.’

  Once they were through the gates, the crowds thinned out and the car headed for the administration buildings. There were a few civilians outside but they were keeping their distance from a line of Japanese marines drawn up with fixed bayonets across the steps to the main entrance. A small group of armed police stood to one side. Thunderous chants emanated from near the armoury.

  Henssen was ushered quickly into a meeting room. Inside, seated at a round conference table were Shimizu, a Japanese interpreter, and four Indonesians. Henssen had met Tabarano, the Chief of Police and Suwosa, the recently appointed republican mayor. The police were at best ambivalent about Allied authority but generally co-operative. Henssen felt insulted by Suwosa’s presence. The other two Indonesians were militiamen, barely in their twenties but wearing the rank badges of a major and a colonel. Flushed with self-righteous revolutionary fervour, the young Colonel was haranguing Shimizu.

  ‘If you refuse, we shall be forced to attack. Why risk your men’s lives over a few guns?’

  ‘But the guns are not yours,’ replied Shimizu evenly, evidently not for the first time.

  The Colonel began to shout. ‘They must be given to the Republic. How can you deny us?’

  Shimizu looked weary and seemed relieved to see Henssen. ‘Thank you for coming, Captain,’ he said politely. ‘You have met Mayor Suwosa and Chief Tabarano. Let me introduce Colonel Barata and Major Malik.’

  Henssen gave the two men a curt nod. They stared back balefully. Shimizu continued. ‘As you see, we face a dilemma.’

  ‘Yes, you do, Admiral.’ Henssen said quietly, letting the words hang. ‘How do you intend to resolve it?’

  ‘Somehow I hope to calm the Indonesians. They hold several dozens of my men hostage around the base. I have some armed men guarding the armoury itself but they are exhausted, surrounded and greatly outnumbered.’

  The two militiamen, who did not speak English, looked suspiciously at Henssen who ignored them.

  ‘Admiral, will you give the order to open fire?’

  Shimizu’s expression hardened. He shook his head. ‘No. I am concerned that to do so might constitute a breach of the agreement made at Rangoon between General Browning and General Numata on behalf of Field Marshal Terauchi. Until I have confirmation from Tokyo—’

  ‘Tokyo?’ Henssen interrupted frostily. ‘Admiral, I am the senior Allied representative in Surabaya. As you well know, Lord Mountbatten has ordered your forces to maintain law and order and that the use of force is permitted. If you fail to—’

  ‘Captain, Admiral, please…’ Suwosa said standing up with a smile and gesturing to an empty chair at the table. ‘Sit with us. No-one wants bloodshed, either Indonesian or Japanese.’ He switched to Javanese. ‘We are here to search for a peaceful solution. I am confident we can find one.’

  Henssen shot a glance at the middle-aged police chief, wondering if he would dare challenge the mob. He turned and replied in Javanese. ‘Chief Tabarano, do you intend to restore order here? Civilians should not be on this base.’

  The young militia colonel slammed his fist on the table. ‘The Peoples’ Defence Force are not civilians!’

  Tabarano ran his fingers nervously over his thin moustache. ‘The powers of civilian authorities are limited in an unusual situation like this, Captain.’

  Suwosa cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere. It seems to me that the dispute is over the nominal ownership of the weapons in the armoury. Colonel Barata, understandably, objects to the Japanese keeping them. What if the ownership changed and they became the property of the Allies?’

  Henssen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Of the Allies?’

  ‘Yes,’ Suwosa smiled. ‘The Admiral could sign them over to you.’

  Henssen’s thoughts began to race. Was this his chance? Could he present the British with a fait accompli? A surrender to Dutch forces—to him! ‘That could only happen after Admiral Shimizu’s formal surrender of the base,’ he said in measured tones. ‘That depends on the Admiral. If he were to refuse a direct Allied order then I would be forced to insist on his immediate surrender, and that of his men. They would become prisoners-of-war. At that point the base and armoury would pass to Allied control under my authority.’

  Shimizu’s interpreter was racing to keep up. The Admiral sat bolt upright in his chair and scoffed. ‘What! Me? Surrender to a Reserve Captain? Ridiculous!’

  Henssen reddened but ignored him. ‘If it is acceptable to Chief Tabarano, I am prepared to agree to he and I having joint custody of the weapons until Allied troops arrive.’

  Shimizu glared but the Javanese began to debate. The Colonel and Major seemed reluctant but Suwosa pressed them until they acquiesced. All eyes were on Henssen and Shimizu.

  The Dutchman stood. ‘For the last time, Admiral, as the senior Allied officer in Surabaya I order you to disperse the demonstrators by force. Will you carry out the order, yes or no?’

  Shimizu stared down at the table. ‘No.’

  ‘Very well, you leave me no choice,’ Henssen said stiffly. ‘You and your men must now consider yourselves my prisoners.’

  Shimizu stood slowly. ‘Very well, Captain, I accept.’ He reached down for the blue-black, polished shagreen scabbard of his sword.

  Henssen shook his head. ‘Not here, Admiral. This must be done publicly.’

  Thirty minutes later two hundred armed Japanese marines had formed ranks in the middle of the parade ground. Henssen, Suwosa and Tabarano flanked by about thirty policemen stood beside the table upon which Shimizu would sign the surrender. Vlek and Croeuf who had finally arrived in another police car were smiling in quiet satisfaction.

  Suwosa had calmed the demonstrators by summoning the leaders to Shimizu’s office. News spread quickly and the crowd around the parade ground was chanting jubilantly.

  Henssen was feeling increasingly confident. His most anxious moment had been when a police contingent took over from the marines at the armoury. Yet nothing happened. The atmosphere even became relaxed and good-humoured.

  Slowly, Henssen started to enjoy himself. He straightened as a Javanese reporter came forward to take a photograph with Vlek’s camera.

  ‘This will look good published in Trouw, eh, Captain,’ Croeuf joked.

  Henssen allowed himself a smile at the thought of his photograph in the newspaper, and of his reward.

  Shimizu appeared at the head of a group of junior officers. The Japanese marines snapped to attention. Shimizu alone had changed into a dark blue, full-dress uniform. Henssen thought he looked suitably tired and weak, his assurance lost in defeat. A quiet settled over the crowd as Shimizu stopped in front of Henssen and saluted.

  Henssen read his speech. ‘…And now I cal
l upon Rear-Admiral Shimizu, Commander-in-chief of the Second Expeditionary Force, Southern Regions, to come forward and sign the instrument of surrender.’

  Shimizu approached and bowed, then signed. Slowly and deliberately he unclipped his sword and laid it down across the table then backed away. One by one, his officers did the same. On command, the Japanese marines marched smartly off the parade ground, stacking their weapons neatly in front of the armoury.

  Beside Henssen, Suwosa and Tabarano applauded.

  Henssen was giving an impromptu press conference to some Surabaya journalists when the ‘Merdeka!’ chanting started again. He ignored it until Vlek’s shout.

  ‘Captain! They are taking the guns! The police have gone!’

  Henssen whirled on Suwosa and Tabarano. ‘The weapons are Allied property,’ he gasped. ‘You witnessed the surrender. We agreed!’

  Tabarano looked uncomfortable but Suwosa gave him a condescending smile. ‘Yes, we agreed. But apparently the citizens of Surabaya did not.’

  Speechless and suddenly pale, Henssen walked towards the armoury. A long, winding line of young men and youths brandishing rifles and boxes of ammunition passed him, heading out of the base. He watched helplessly with Vlek and Croeuf as the armoury emptied before his eyes.

  Rage gripped him. Shimizu! At least he would have the Admiral in custody. He stormed back to the parade ground to find Suwosa talking with Colonel Barata and Shimizu. Henssen could not help noticing Shimizu’s suddenly relaxed attitude or that Barata held the Admiral’s sword. The three men paused as Henssen approached.

  ‘Admiral Shimizu, you will come with me,’ Henssen said firmly.

  Shimizu looked at him almost pityingly. ‘Captain, surely you realise now that the Allies were never in authority here?’

  Barata smiled. ‘Admiral Shimizu is my prisoner, Captain. As are you and your men.’ He raised a hand and half-a-dozen militia levelled their weapons at the stunned Dutchmen. They were quickly seized.

  ‘Your sword, Admiral,’ said Barata casually, handing back the weapon. ‘Indonesia does not require such trinkets… For the time being, please confine yourself to your house and garden.’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel.’ Shimizu bowed to him then faced Henssen. ‘Thank you for resolving my dilemma, Captain. My duty was and still is to my men. The personal consequences for me are of no significance whatsoever.’ He turned and walked to his waiting limousine.

  The full realisation of how he had been duped finally hit Henssen. ‘Colonel Barata’, he raged, ‘this is disgraceful! Release me immediately! Allied soldiers are due here any day!’

  Barata shrugged. ‘Insh Alla!’—As God wills! ‘Surabaya is ready!’

  NICA HQ, Djakarta

  Hurwitz was standing next to the wall map. He was fuming. ‘Those British bastards want us to lose the Indies!’

  Van Zanten seemed unconcerned. ‘Of course they do! So do the Americans, the Australians, the Malays, the Indians, even the Chinese. We are not very popular.’

  ‘How can you be so calm when Mountbatten and that biased swine Chrishaw are denying us our own troops?’

  Van Zanten smiled. ‘Just a few companies of young, inexperienced troops—conscripts for the most part—who have never seen combat. What use would they be?’

  ‘But the British refuse to take action!’

  ‘Patience, Jurgen, policies can change. They have just lost over twenty men at Bekassi. In retaliation they razed the kampong. Understandable but rash. Now more natives will suspect them, even hate them… There will be reprisals and the British will lose more men. They will retaliate and so it will go on.’ Van Zanten leaned back in his seat, satisfaction playing on his face. ‘Slowly but surely the British are becoming involved. The longer they stay the deeper they dig. It’s only a matter of time before they are forced to launch an offensive. It will get very messy, so why risk our men when we have experienced British, Indian and Japanese troops here to fight for us?’

  Understanding dawned slowly on Hurwitz’s face. ‘Then you aren’t worried about the delay?’

  ‘For those few companies, no. They are a diversion, just like the internees. We ask for troops to be brought in and for our internees to be evacuated. Delays with both are to our advantage.’ Van Zanten’s eyes shone. ‘Think about it, Jurgen. Those camps are all over Java. The British must try to reach them and protect them. Of course, when they leave we must be ready immediately with our own troops but with divisions not companies. That’s why we must encourage the British to move into and hold Surabaya. We need them caught firmly in the Java web. Talking of which, what has Henssen reported?’

  Hurwitz shifted uncomfortably. ‘Erm, it’s been some days since he last reported.’

  Van Zanten fixed him with a stare. ‘How many days?

  Chapter Eight

  Surabaya

  Two landing craft left the troopships Princess Beatrix and Pulaxi at anchor in the bottleneck of the Surabaya Strait. They moved steadily across the estuary of the Kali Mas, the main river of Surabaya. In their wake the ocean churned brown with sediment and waste.

  To the right of the river mouth, the imposing concrete wharfs of Tandjong Perak harbour, once the centre of Java’s great sugar and coffee trade, stood bare and disused. A Japanese minesweeper was the only large vessel in sight, its flags and guns lowered in deference to the victors.

  It was a hazardous journey in to the wharfs. The helmsmen’s faces were tense as they threaded the ungainly, noisy craft through the graveyard of mastheads, rusting wires and funnel tops of the sunken ships that clogged their approach. Surabaya itself was hidden from view, lost behind the high roofs of the dockyard sheds and warehouses.

  Crammed in the boats, the soldiers of the 4th and 6th battalions of the 5th Mahratta Light Infantry, part of 49th Infantry Brigade, looked beyond the rooftops to the massive, cloud-topped Mount Ardjeono and, in the far distance, the dark, smoking cone of Mount Smeroe. Only when they drew much nearer to the wharfs did they notice the thousands of silent spectators strung out in a blur of red and white.

  The Indians sat uneasily, watching their observer pan left and right with his field glasses. His news was not good. ‘Two o’clock! HMG on warehouse roof!’

  Fifty heads swivelled to look for the heavy machine gun. At that distance it was not visible to the naked eye, yet every one of them knew they would soon be within killing range.

  ‘Steady now, Mahrattas!’ Subedar Dada Jadhav’s calming voice carried over the chug of the diesels. The men were still, if not reassured.

  ‘Listen to the Sub, Laxi!’ Sepoy Ankul Nakish whispered under his breath to the man next to him, Laximan Salunke. ‘The sod’s only happy when there’s a gun pointed at us.’

  Salunke nodded grimly. ‘I just hope it’s not a “warm” welcome.’

  With small Union Jacks fluttering at their sterns, the two landing craft continued towards the mass of colour on the wharfs. At one hundred and fifty yards the observer no longer needed his field glasses and he let them hang against his chest. The distinctive silhouette of the machine-gun and its hunched two-man crew was now in full view. The wide, cylindrical barrel panned slowly, following every turn of the leading craft.

  Once the boats entered the inner harbour they were less than a hundred yards from the projecting wharf and the soldiers could make out English slogans daubed on the walls of the warehouses:

  A Government of the People, for the People, by the People! — Indonesia Free! — President Truman, see the Nation State of Indonesia exists!

  To the majority of the Indians they were meaningless. Their British officers did not translate.

  Jadhav began readying the men. ‘Third and second platoons to disembark first. Check your gear and don’t leave any presents for the Rajrifs. You’ll only have to buy them back!’

  Strained laughter answered him. The 5th Battalion of the Sixth Rajpurtana Rifle Regiment—or Rajrifs—was waiting on the troopships. It would be next to disembark, provided the Mahrattas landed withou
t opposition.

  Nervous fingers tugged at clips and webbing. They were close enough now to count the staves, bamboo spears, rifles and swords carried by many in the still-quiet crowd. Sullen, suspicious faces stared down at the boats. One nervous, twitchy finger, one shot, and a slaughter would begin….

  A dull, metallic clang echoed as the bow of the craft scraped against the wharf. Two sailors leapt ashore with bow- and stern-ropes. The Surabayans maintained their silence watching the Mahrattas form ranks on the quay. Within minutes the two landing craft had cast off and begun to retrace their winding course back to the transports.

  49th Indian Infantry Brigade HQ, Hotel Michiels, Surabaya

  ‘My name is Moestopo. As mayor and representative of the people of Free Surabaya, I welcome you to our city.’

  Moestopo was in his mid-forties, wearing a casual, open-necked white shirt and trousers that contrasted with the militia uniforms of the four youths who had insisted on accompanying him into the hotel. They stood, glaring defiantly, with pistols thrust in their belts

  ‘Thank you very much. I’m Brigadier Allenby.’ The British officer was a head taller than the Javanese with aquiline features and a slim, athletic build. He offered his hand.

  ‘The people of Surabaya are not happy to see your men here, Brigadier,’ Moestopo said bluntly. ‘You were allowed to land only because you are a British force, not Dutch, and because we understand you intend only to evacuate the internees.’

  ‘That is our priority,’ Allenby replied crisply. ‘I hope you will be able to offer us assistance with transportation from the Darmo camps to the docks.’

  Moestopo broke into a smile. ‘Of course! I shall give instructions immediately. Tomorrow I will bring a list of the vehicles available.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Allenby answered politely. ‘In the meantime our medical and ambulance staff will be deploying south of the Ferwerda drawbridge to the Darmo hospital. I assure you our intentions are purely humanitarian.’

  ‘Naturally we are delighted to hear that,’ Moestopo nodded eagerly. ‘You will understand that our militia will be observing your movements.’