Merdeka Rising

by Rory Marron

They made their choices. Kate and Anna drew the shortest straws.

  ‘Gwen, there are no soldiers at the convent,’ said Kate softly.

  ‘Oh, you’ll be quite safe!’ Gwen said lightly. ‘It’s a holy place and a hospital.’

  Kate was at the convent when she heard explosions in the town. In the nearby kampongs drums began a frenzied beat. With Anna and two of the younger nuns she rushed to the top of the bell tower. From their vantage point they watched anxiously as the human tide swept towards them. Kate held her breath as the revolutionaries reached the path that led to the convent. Miraculously the horde swept on.

  ‘Praise be to God,’ whispered one of the nuns.

  At the edge of the swathe of grassland the pemuda halted and fanned out, surrounding the school buildings. Their defiant jeers echoed over the valley. Then they began shooting.

  Hotel Michiels, Surabaya

  Mac was helping to carry Chavan’s stretcher when he heard the shouts.

  ‘Mac! Mac!’

  Meg was waving, pushing through the hotel’s crowded reception. She kissed him on the mouth. ‘Wing Commander Ball told me you were safe but it’s good to see for myself.’

  ‘Same here’, Mac grinned.

  Chavan and the Indian stretcher-bearer were smiling at them.

  ‘Excuse us, fellas,’ Meg laughed. ‘It’s just a demonstration of Anglo-American friendship!’

  Mac and Meg left Chavan with some of his fellow wounded and found themselves a quiet corner. They held each other for a long time.

  ‘Hey,’ Mac said suddenly, running his fingers through her hair. ‘This is a hotel! Do you think we could get a room?’

  ‘One day, maybe,’ she laughed. ‘But it won’t be at wartime rates!’

  He looked at her carefully and changed the subject. ‘That run down the street must have been scary.’

  Meg put her cheek against his chest and hugged him tightly. ‘Yeah…shitty. And for you too in that stinky river! I can smell it on you!’

  He became pensive. ‘I really thought I’d had it.’

  Meg sighed. ‘I liked Brigadier Allenby. It’s always the nice guys who get it. Tell me about it sometime. We were both lucky.’ She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Damn! I’m crying again! It’s not like me.’ She forced a smile. ‘Still a few more articles left in this body, soldier!’

  Mac kissed her forehead. ‘That’s the way! What are you going to do?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m at a loose end. General Chrishaw’s playing hard to get and the Dutch and Aussie correspondents have already skedaddled! They were besieged in the Tourist Office the whole time. They had a nasty surprise!’

  ‘I wish we could leave,’ he said tiredly. ‘I mean the British leave Java.’

  She nodded. ‘Well, war is never fair. Java’s yours whether you like it or not.’

  He sighed. ‘Aye, like it or not. Let’s hope we can at least go back to Batavia.’

  She was suddenly uneasy and shook her head. ‘Uh uh, the Wing-Co said that if the evacuation here goes smoothly we’d be flying to Semarang early tomorrow. There’s been trouble there, too.’

  Mac frowned. ‘Semarang again? I suppose it’s better than here…’

  ‘Some worrying news, Mac,’ she said softly. She pulled back from him and gripped his arms. ‘The Wing-Co told me there’s heavy fighting at Magelang.’

  Mac’s smile vanished. ‘Rai’s lot?’

  She nodded. ‘They’re cut off.’

  ‘They can take care of themselves,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Mac, listen to me,’ she said softly. ‘There are only three-hundred Gurkhas against ten thousand or more. I’m so sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I had to tell you.’

  Semarang

  ‘Suzuki, that’s the one!’ Ota hissed, pointing with his pistol to a closed, glass-panelled front door of a house. He was across the street from Suzuki, sheltering in a shallow doorway. Semarang’s electricity supply was out again but the moonlight cast long, deceptive shadows down the street.

  Ota yawned. It had been a tense and gruelling day. The British had assigned them the task of flushing out hundreds of militants from the northeast section of the town. Night had fallen with three streets still in the hands of the pemuda. The battalion had already lost six more men.

  Suzuki nodded back to Ota, then bobbed underneath a window and across the doorway to stand flat against the wall beside the door. A quick backward jab with the stock of his sub-machine carbine smashed a glass panel. Shots from within shattered the others. Suzuki ignored them and calmly struck the tip of a grenade against the wall. Sparks spluttered from the lit fuse. He began a silent count then flung the grenade inside and pressed back against the wall. Two seconds later, a loud bang echoed. Suzuki went in low, firing from the hip, followed by two other soldiers. There were two more bursts of gunfire before Suzuki appeared in the doorway and signalled the house was cleared.

  Just as Ota moved out of the doorway he glimpsed a brief blue muzzle flash. Instinctively he jerked backwards and the bullet struck a drainpipe a foot from his head. He crouched down and darted across the street.

  Suzuki grinned and offered Ota his canteen. ‘That was a close one, Lieutenant!’

  ‘I think Harada trained their snipers too damn well!’ Ota replied, his breath heavy with relief. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ll lead the next one.’ It was going to be a long night.

  ‘Well, it’s…awful,’ Sgt-Major Tazaki, complained four hours later. ‘I always thought our rations were tasteless,’ No wonder we took Singapore so easily if they were fed on this shit!’

  Kudo, Captain Seguchi and Ota laughed. The sweep through the suburbs had finished just before dawn and they were resting in an abandoned house. Their early, cold breakfast consisted of tinned potato and soya sausages donated by a grateful British HQ.

  A runner scurried through the charred doorway with a note for Kudo. He read it, noticed their inquisitive faces and shrugged. ‘It looks like the Brits haven’t finished with us yet. I’m to report to their Brigadier.’

  ‘More “house clearances”, Major?’ Tazaki asked casually.

  ‘Probably,’ replied Kudo sounding weary.

  ‘Where are all their troops? That’s what I want to know,’ Seguchi complained.

  Kudo shrugged. ‘Get some sleep if you can.’

  When Kudo entered the Operations Room at the British HQ he recognised only the tall, lean British area commander, Brigadier Bentham. He was studying a wall map of central Java with some British and Indian officers. John Miller was among them.

  Kudo saluted. To his surprise Bentham returned it immediately, in contradiction of standing orders. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly, Major,’ Bentham said. There was a slight tension in his voice.

  All eyes in the room turned to Kudo as Bentham continued. ‘Splendid job last night—much appreciated.’

  Kudo glanced around and saw the looks of genuine gratitude. He also noticed red eyes and stubble and realised that, like him, no-one in the room had slept much the night before.

  Miller came forward with a cup of coffee. ‘You look like you could use this, Major.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kudo replied gratefully.

  Bentham let him take a sip then sighed. ‘To be honest, Major, we face another crisis. Reports of the uprising at Surabaya have encouraged every would-be revolutionary to attack us. Thanks to your men, we’ve managed to contain the trouble here. Elsewhere it’s a different story. We need your help again.’

  To Kudo the sombre faces spoke volumes. ‘What kind of help, Brigadier?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘You must know the Ambarawa area well,’ Bentham said stepping back over to the map.

  ‘Yes, quite well,’ Kudo replied cautiously. ‘It was within my command area.’

  Some of the officers moved away from the wall map and he saw the single, blue ‘friendly’ pin-flags at Magelang and Ambarawa, Semarang and Surabaya. He was stunned to see no other blue flags except far to the west at Djakarta
and Bandung. In contrast, red ‘enemy’ flags were clustered beside the British ones. Kudo could not believe his eyes. The British had less than a division in the whole of Java!

  Bentham pointed at the map. ‘At Ambarawa three hundred Gurkhas and the fifty of your men seconded as a work party are defending over eight thousand women and children. They are massively outnumbered and surrounded by mobs and some militia units. Late last night, a couple of infantry platoons managed to get through from here. Since then, roadblocks have been set up. My men are getting low on ammunition and this morning they radioed requesting reinforcements.’ Bentham paused to look keenly at Kudo. ‘Major, I have insufficient troops to keep Semarang secure and send aid to Ambarawa. You, on the other hand, command a company…’

  Kudo stared at him.

  ‘Of course,’ Bentham added quickly, ‘I realise this is outside the terms of the agreement on the use of Japanese forces. I have already involved your men in costly operations. I will fully understand if you feel that you cannot—’

  ‘Can they hold out for another few hours?’ Kudo asked quickly, stepping closer to the map table.

  Relieved smiles appeared around the table and some of the tension left Bentham’s face. ‘Thank you, Major! Your men could make all the difference.’

  ‘It’s only twenty-five miles,’ interjected Miller. ‘Will it take hours?’

  Kudo pointed to the mountain passes. ‘The road is narrow and easily defended. Some of the bridges might have been re-mined.’

  Bentham nodded. ‘Two Gurkha companies are pinned down in Magelang, twenty miles away. Your approach from the east should ease the pressure sufficiently to allow them to march on Ambarawa.’

  ‘Yes,’ Miller agreed. ‘Is there any way we can swing round to the west and link up?’

  Kudo bent over the map. ‘We can take the main road through Oengaran as far as the Sikoenin junction, then turn west to Bodjong and Bedono. If there are no roadblocks it will add an hour, perhaps less, to the journey. It’s an easier route into Ambarawa, and the Bedono summit overlooks the town.’

  ‘Good,’ Bentham said impressed. ‘We’ll rendezvous with the Gurkhas at Bedono.’

  Kudo scratched his chin. ‘We have only two armoured cars…’

  ‘The Gurkhas have armour with them: four Stuarts,’ said Miller. ‘They should be enough.’

  ‘For God’s sake let’s hope so,’ Bentham added sombrely. ‘Major Kudo, let me introduce Major Miller who’s just flown in from Ambarawa…. He’ll be in overall command of the relief column.’

  Kudo tensed and looked carefully at Miller, trying to gauge the man who would hold the fate of his men in his hands.

  ‘I understand how you feel, Major,’ Bentham interjected. ‘But your men are officially under British command. The column must be led by a British officer.’

  Kudo nodded. ‘Of course, Brigadier.’

  ‘Right,’ continued Bentham, ‘leave as soon as possible. In the meantime I’ll get on to the RAF.’

  Miller stepped forward, extending his hand. ‘I never expected to say this to a Japanese, Major Kudo,’ he said sincerely, ‘but thank you. I dare say you never expected to be helping the British army…’

  Kudo shook Miller’s hand, still watching the younger man keenly. ‘No, Major,’ he said calmly. ‘These are strange times.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Hotel van Rheeden, Ambarawa

  Some small but rapidly growing black dots appeared in Major Duncan’s field glasses. ‘Right on cue!’ he exclaimed. He was pressed against a large rectangular, brick chimney stack. A Gurkha rifleman lay next to him. They had just finished arranging several linen table-cloths into a large X across the flat roof of the hotel.

  Five, single-engine RAF P-47 Thunderbolt fighter-bombers roared over their heads. The leading pilot rocked his wings, acknowledging the roof-top signal.

  ‘Welcome to Ambarawa!’ Duncan added with obvious relief. The rifleman grinned then trotted back down the stairwell to rejoin the fight.

  The day was not going well for the Gurkhas. They had played a tiring game of cat and mouse with the nationalists, hunting them in the houses and kampongs to the north, while units in the south had shepherded the internees into the more easily defended hotel, hospital and high school. Eventually sheer weight of pemuda numbers and lack of ammunition had forced them to give ground.

  Two wild, suicidal charges against the hotel had left the main street littered with dead but they had succeeded in splitting the Gurkha forces. At ten that morning, Edmunds had been forced to inform his HQ that they could hold out for two hours no more. Chrishaw had not hesitated to order the air-strike.

  Three Thunderbolts came in from the south towards the approaching Indonesian reinforcements on the Magelang Road. Muffled explosions and palls of black smoke rose in their wake. Two more aircraft came in low over the town centre. A hundred yards from the hotel they dropped their two 1,000lb and one 500lb high-explosive bombs. Blasts shook the entire hotel.

  Duncan peered over the parapet and saw militia and pemuda fleeing. Several barricades and buildings had been destroyed. Before the dust began to settle, the Thunderbolts swooped in again twice with their eight, wing-mounted .50 calibre wing-guns strafing the roads and ruins. As quickly as they had come, the planes climbed away quickly into the east.

  Another, deeper engine pitch sounded overhead. Duncan craned his neck looking for the transport and saw a chain of white parachutes dotting the blue sky. He watched anxiously. Two chutes drifted over nationalist-held areas of the town but others were landing around the hotel. Delighted Gurkhas rushed out for the ammunition, food and water. Duncan grunted in satisfaction but as he left the roof he could not help wondering if the air-drop had only prolonged the inevitable.

  Back in Edmunds’s office, he found his commanding officer looking bemused. ‘You aren’t going to believe this, Tim,’ said Edmunds, ‘but John’s on his way with a bloody Jap company in tow!

  Semarang

  The C-47 carrying Ball, Mac and Meg arrived in Semarang from Surabaya at first light. Ball’s intention had been to drive straight to Ambarawa to check on the internees. His plans changed when Captain North, one of Brigadier Bentham’s aides, met them at the airfield with a staff car. As they sped through almost deserted streets and crossroads manned by Indian soldiers, North explained what was happening.

  ‘Wing Commander, The only way for you to get to Ambarawa is to accompany the relief column. Every available car and lorry has been requisitioned, as well as every able-bodied man. That applies to you, too, MacDonald, North added apologetically. ‘Major Miller asked that you report to him. I could drop you off if you like? It’s on the way.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir,’ said Mac. Meg, was sitting next to him, now looking worried.

  Ball turned round in the front passenger seat. ‘Sorry, Mac. Bad timing again.’

  Mac shook his head. ‘I’m up for this one, Sir.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, MacDonald!’ North said a little too cheerfully. Mac glanced at Meg but said nothing.

  North went on obliviously. ‘Major Miller has taken over command of a local Jap battalion. They’re helping us out. God knows how it’ll go down in Blighty!’

  Ball turned again. ‘Well, here’s a story for you, Meg!’

  ‘Hmm, maybe,’ she said without enthusiasm. ‘I usually write about what fighting does to people. Captain North, what are my chances of going on to Ambarawa with the column?’

  ‘Between you, me and the 23rd Indian Division, Miss Graham, absolutely none,’ North replied. ‘General Chrishaw’s banned all correspondents from Magelang and Ambarawa until further notice. It’s not safe.’

  Two six-wheeled Sumida M-93 armoured cars and several Isuzu troop carriers almost blocked the approach to the Djatingaleh barracks. North weaved through them to set Mac down outside the gates in front of two sentries. No British or Indian soldiers were in sight.

  Mac patted Meg’s thigh and got out of the car. North passed him a note. ‘Yo
u’re to ask for a Lieutenant “Otter”. He speaks some English. Off you go, best of British!’

  Meg waved at him through the back window and he watched until the car turned a corner.

  A horn blared and he jumped aside as a Toyota KC flat-bed missed him by inches. The Japanese sentries were watching him curiously. Behind them, through the open gates Mac glimpsed well-armed Japanese milling around, the rising sun flag atop the parade ground pole. He tensed. ‘Jesus!’ His throat felt dry. He opened the note. It was hand-written and said simply ‘Lt Otta.’ Below it was a line in Japanese.

  As nonchalantly as possible he hoisted his kit bag over his shoulder and approached the sentries. ‘Lt Otter?’ he asked hopefully.

  Blank stares greeted him. He gave up and handed them the note. Suddenly the Japanese were nodding. One of them pointed to the paper. ‘Oo–tah chu-ii desu yo! Oo-tah!’ He beckoned Mac to follow him. Mac took a deep breath and went through the gates. He was crossing the courtyard when he heard a shout.

  ‘Mac! MacDonald!’

  Relieved, he turned to see Miller standing in a doorway with a Japanese officer. He went over and saluted.

  ‘This is Major Kudo,’ Miller said politely, returning the salute, as did Kudo.

  ‘Sir!’ Mac said firmly.

  ‘I thought you might want to come along with us,’ said Miller.

  ‘Absolutely, Sir.’

  ‘Good man, we need everyone we can get. The Major’s going to hold a short meeting for the officers, and then address his men. We’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes. Someone will get you fixed up with a weapon.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t be charging you for the one you left in Surabaya! I’ve heard about your swim. Wait by my jeep.’

  Miller and Kudo left. Mac watched the Japanese loading food, water and ammunition. To his surprise they completely ignored him. His thoughts had taken him back to Burma and Archie Ferguson when he realised someone was speaking to him.

  ‘I am Lieutenant Ota.’

  Mac straightened quickly and saluted. ‘MacDonald, Sir.’