SAS: Secret War in South East Asia

by Dickens, Peter;

  On 9 May the patrol made their last-minute preparations, test-firing their SLRs and returning them to the armoury at headquarters where a final briefing was held. Then they packed their bergens with meticulous, unhurried concentration and returned to their house in the Kuching suburbs for a large meal and sleep, or at least rest. Large was tense; of course he was; had he not been, he would have stood little chance of reaching the Koemba.

  Early the next morning a Land Rover and trailer arrived with the weapons and bergens and took them to the airport for onward passage to Lundu in a Twin Pioneer. But as soon as Pete Scholey was handed an SLR, he knew it was not his own, and from being the life and soul of the team with a never-ending flow of good-humoured chat, he started, as Large puts it, ‘to honk a good deal’. After all, his weapon was part of himself, his very lifeline on which he had lavished the tender care of a mother, noticing and striving to eradicate the least blemish. It was useless to tell him that this one was identical and that the armoury would never issue an imperfect weapon. His deep instinct rejected the alien, ill-omened foundling; and remembering that he had been offered a fortnight’s rest, after spending longer on patrol than anyone in the Squadron except Large, and being distinctly skinny, and having responded classically, ‘Not bloody likely’, he now regretted his too hasty zeal.

  Scholey’s honking was directed to hurtling back to Kuching in the Land Rover; but the aircraft could not wait so he jumped in and stripped the offending rifle to its smallest component, found nothing wrong and reassembled it, the 20-minute flight providing ample time for one so expert. Large told him he could test-fire it at Lundu, but that was not to be either; the Pioneer taxied to a helicopter whose rotor was already turning and whose schedule was so tight that no delay was permissible, inevitably because although more aircraft were now available there were still barely enough. After another short flight they were put down at the border landing-point, where honking was unavailing and distracting since the only firing from now on would be in earnest. Marching through enemy-held jungle would demand all Scholey’s attention, so he forgot his anxiety and got on with the job.

  Scholey was number two in the patrol after Large, his normal position when they were in the first degree of readiness. Behind him, in the safest place, marched the signaller, Paddy Millikin. He was a true son of the elfin bogs, none too tidy about the basha, and his mien was strange to the Englishmen for he seemed to live in four dimensions, the last of which they could not share. A growing religious conviction played a part in this, but he was fey too. He knew for certain that he would die young and said so without emotion, though only in the haunted isolation and intimacy of jungle nights on patrol when spirits demanded that truth be spoken. But Millikin was an outstanding signaller, and it was perhaps his having a foot in the other world that enabled him to conjure messages from beyond when others could twiddle knobs indefinitely and be vouchsafed only wails and groans. Large prized him for this skill, which he could not match.

  Kevin Walsh was a reassuring rearguard; tough, down to earth, extremely proficient after six years in the Parachute Regiment before his SAS training, and possessing a sense of duty that was highly developed though well hidden until it mattered. To liken him or Scholey to Dopey of the Seven Dwarfs would be impertinent, were it not that a puckish fate was to let fly with a succession of mischievous side-swipes which one or other of them, more sinned against than sinning, invariably stopped. Off to work they went; not with a heigh-ho but settling quickly into the operational regime of total, dogged vigilance and concentration, up and down the low hills in helpful primary forest.

  On the second day Large heard that most distinct and revealing jungle sound, chopping. His arm went up in a smoothly deliberate but commanding gesture and all froze. Then he slipped off his bergen and went forward to investigate, a huge man yet he vanished with less rustle than a snake. At twenty yards from his objective Large saw what he needed to know, soldiers building bashas. There were only a few in his field of vision, but his ears indicated many more, perhaps a whole platoon. It was a disturbing discovery though not so much for the immediate present; rejoining the others he led them on a detour, avoiding easy walking places where visibility was good, though where the undergrowth was thick they risked making noise or leaving tracks so their utmost skill was called into play. They were undetected so far as they could tell, but it was a troubling feature of jungle warfare that one never knew if one was being followed or headed off. Whatever happened from now on, the enemy platoon would be a lurking factor in Large’s mind.

  The next day they crossed a well-marked track, probably the main route between Poeri and Achan. On the fourth day they came to another, which ran parallel to the river and was so straight that Large was sure it had been cut specially for shooting along, as well as for rapid deployment of cut-off forces against intruders such as themselves. They slipped across, again apparently unnoticed, and headed into the loop of the river to test Large’s gamble that there they would hit the tail of the spur and walk dry-shod to the bank. They hit swamp.

  It seemed limitless in every direction except the north whence they had come. At first the swamp was knee-deep, then up to their waists and finally to Large’s chest and Walsh’s and Scholey’s necks; the latter observing with a naturalists’s interest, slimy things crawling with legs upon the slimy sea and being greatly magnified by their extreme closeness to his eye. When even greater depths were reached, they turned back to probe elsewhere. The disappointment called for a conscious effort of resolution, which they made. But, as with many obstacles that seem insuperable, the swamp revealed weaknesses that they learned to exploit; every now and then they came to an island strewn with palm leaves that looked sodden but cracked like pistol-shots if trodden on, but at least they offered somewhere to rest or spend a night. Large used them as bases for his next probe, which he did in light order with one man. The other two – one of whom was always Millikin with his precious radio – were left to look after the bergens.

  The direction of search was west for they had always been to the east of the spur, if there was a spur. Large was frightened, and not ashamed to admit it afterwards; movement could not but be noisy what with the difficulty of maintaining balance, the swishing of the water as they moved, and these ubiquitous leaves which even when floating crackled as they were pushed aside however gently; the danger of breaking an ankle in a submerged root was ever-present; and their trail was involuntarily blazed by persistent lines in the surface scum.

  ‘I got this feeling that just in front there was somebody with a damn great machine-gun saying, “Let him come another five yards and I’ll blow his belt buckle through his backbone.” It was quite an experience making a blasted noise like that and not being able to help it.’

  Scholey’s thoughts ran on similar lines and once when it was his turn to follow he whispered,

  ‘I hope we’re the goodies.’

  ‘Huh?’ Large could not hear the words and was in any case preoccupied with feeling each footstep, watching his map and compass, mentally calculating time and distance, peering into the threatening shadows, and being scared. Scholey was lying well back, correctly, so Large beckoned him to close and deliver his no doubt pressing message.

  ‘I hope we’re the goodies.’

  Large had managed to switch barely half his consciousness to his companion and that half was both bemused and displeased;

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Goodies always get away with it, but if we’re the baddies we’re going to finish floating arse up on top of this lot.’

  Large stared for a moment yet, then shook with noiseless laughter. His tension dissolved, and he learnt as every good leader does that having imbued his followers with strength they can return it to him in fuller measure than he gave it out, often when he has little left and needs it most.

  ‘Worth his weight in gold just for that, Pete was’, says Large gratefully.

  Night came and they bedded down on a mu
d island. Each patrol commander had his own tenets; Large was a no-hammock, low-profile man so, wet through already, they lay cocooned in moisture beneath their ponchos and hoped for better things tomorrow. The next day they continued to flounder westwards, sinuously as the varying depth of water dictated, but not a suspicion of high ground did they find. Every now and again they were tantalized by the noise of boat-engines – heavy diesels, not just outboards – but the nearer they drew to the river, the deeper became the swamp.

  After another night in the slough of despond, Large led northeast out of the swamp in the off-chance of finding a trace of the spur, but there was none. The air photos had indicated that it petered out long before reaching the river, and peter out it evidently did. What then to do, where now to go? Over breakfast on dry ground they held a Chinese Parliament.

  Some said this and some said that, arguing their cases forcefully as was their SAS privilege. But none said – though being ordinary men, as they are always at pains to emphasize, each thought what ordinary men would think in the circumstances – that they would be fully justified in returning to base with its hot showers, dry clothes, plentiful food, ambrosial beer, slumberous nights and blessed relief from stress. Had not everyone from the Brigadier downwards already anticipated their failure and condoned it?

  Scholey came to terms with the SAS that day. No one had asked him to join but he had overcome all the hurdles and done so; perhaps for adventure, perhaps to prove something to himself, perhaps for other half-stated reasons. But here he was in it: an outfit that prided itself on daring, winning and going a little further: entrusted with a task which demanded all those – except that as they could already hear the diesels there was very little further to go and he thought their precept should be to keep going a little longer. So what was the use of him, and what would he prove other than that he was a big-time humbug, if he chucked in at any stage short of absolute impossibility? It was good to get that off his chest for his interest revived, while fear and fatigue retreated.

  Resolved, nem. con., to press on downstream in the hope of finding a causeway to the river. Back they went into the swamp, heartened by the diesels drawing ever closer, and by the water through which they waded rising and falling gently with the boats’ washes. Large took them as close to the mainstream as he dared; where the water-level came above his waist after which he would be ineffective as a soldier, knowing full well – though Walsh and Scholey thought he forgot – that those two shorties were incapacitated already. Just then a big boat passed, maddeningly close but still invisible, her slow-revving engine chugging throatily and the water hissing past her sides. The wash reached them first as a low trough, warning of a considerable crest to come which surged up to Large’s chest, Millikin’s neck and Scholey’s mouth; while Walsh took a deep breath and vanished, only his rifle being visible above the mere like King Arthur’s sword Excalibur. Re-exposed, he barely had time to splutter, ‘Bloody hell!’ before again being engulfed, and finally surfacing after the third wave swore a dreadful oath that the Indonesians should smart for this.

  They found their holy grail when they least expected it, indeed they had taken a tack away from the river. Not only was the land dry, it rose a good 30 feet above the swamp, the spur beyond a doubt. Large merely thanked his lucky stars, but his young followers revered him as a walking miracle. They passed through a narrow belt of jungle, and were then amazed for the second time to find themselves standing on the edge of a rubber plantation gazing through regular rows of straight, spindly tree-trunks at a broad and sunlit bend of the Koemba. It was a case of setting out to do something, doing it, and then being astonished at having done it.

  After concentrating for so long on just getting there, Large took a moment to remind himself that this was just the first rung of the ladder and they must now step smoothly onto the next. A quick inspection of the rubber showed that the plantation was being rested, but fresh tracks were also evident and Large felt that the sooner they got into an observation post the better for their safety and the execution of their task. Where? To their right was rubber and little cover near the bank. The obvious place was to the left, where the tip of the jungle-covered spur nudged the river-bend; so obvious, however, that if the enemy had but an inkling of their presence, it was just where he would search. One place he would surely never look lay right in front. A single spreading forest tree stood on the ten-foot high river-bank which tumbled down on the near side into a wide ditch. There was scrub enough here to give cover both to lookouts on the bank and those off watch below. The snag lay in this small haven being quite isolated, so that to leave it in a hurry would mean crossing completely open ground and then negotiating the rubber whose cover was little better. If the enemy appeared on the land behind them, they would have to take to the river, and Scholey could not swim. Nevertheless, that is where Large took them, trusting that if the enemy considered it at all he would not be able to imagine anyone being so stupid.

  As a picnic-place it was ideal; shady, comfortable, picturesque and dry. Dry! Water in millions of gallons lay before them, yet not a drop could they drink; Walsh, who had cursed it only hours before, now prayed for it, and more positively but just as ineffectively tried lowering a bottle on a string. As an observation post far inside enemy territory, however, the position was not relaxing. The river was 40 yards wide, fast-flowing towards them from in front and curving downstream to their right. One man could see everything on the water with just his eyes above the parapet so the rest stayed hidden in the ditch at instant readiness; but one of them had always to watch the land behind, and it was that threat which made their adrenalin run cold.

  More pleasantly exciting was their first visible launch, which came down river from Poeri during the afternoon. At least 40 feet long with two uniformed soldiers in charge and a crew of six locals, she carried a large cargo amidships hidden under a tarpaulin. She made an ideal target, painful for the enemy to lose and defenceless after the soldiers had been killed. Large, fidgetty about the patrol’s insecurity, would have liked to sink her and go while the going was still good, but duty easily restrained him. Firstly, he had not asked permission to engage; secondly, they had come primarily to reconnoitre and one boat did not make a pattern of movement; and thirdly, the attack must be faultlessly executed, which meant taking time for observation, planning and rehearsal.

  The launch swung into the bend, revealing the Indonesian ensign at her stern though the patrol recorded it as just a red and white flag; they had been fighting the Indonesians for two years but not in places where colours flew. Watching her, Large gave thought to his plan. His strategic aim was to make the enemy fear for his line of communication, and his tactical option was either to kill as many soldiers as possible or to destroy a boat with her cargo. He preferred the second, which might well discourage the civilian boating community, owners and crews, from lending their support to the enemy, and hurt the latter’s morale as well. Another consideration, not mentioned but transparent just the same, was that he would just as soon not kill a lot of people if there was another way to do the job.

  Having established a maritime strategy that would have been warmly endorsed by Their Lordships of the Admiralty, Large turned his attention to tactics and adopted a well-tried principle from the time of Trafalgar: that ‘raking’ the enemy from astern was far more effective than engaging his ‘broadside’. In the latter case, if the target were full of soldiers the first volley would bring all the survivors to the gunwale in a row and the patrol would instantly be outnumbered; while bullets aimed at the hull would go in one side and out the other with no sinking effect, hitting vital parts like the engine only by chance. But to make use of the river-bend and wait until the stern was exposed would reverse these drawbacks and add advantages: soldiers would by no means rush to the narrow transom for that would be suicidal; each bullet plunging downwards along the length of the craft could well strike a disabling component, and if not would punch a hole in the bottom; shooting would be very
accurate with no crossing movement; the enemy would be surprised by an attack from astern; the civilian crew would be less at risk; and if a boat heading upstream were stopped she would drift back and stay within decisive range.

  Large explained his plan to the men, inviting questions and ensuring that they understood. Then he practised them at closing up to their firing positions, which he would order only after the target had passed and begun to turn so there must be no question of muddle: from left to right Walsh, Millikin, Scholey, three yards apart. Large would stand on the lower ground at their feet to direct the battle if necessary and add his own fire-power as events dictated. He would also watch up and down river for other enemy boats coming within range, and, most important of all, for interference from behind. At the order ‘Stop’ Millikin and Walsh would go first, snatch their bergens, and race twenty yards back into the rubber while being covered by Large and Scholey; then vice versa. That they did not practise.

  Towards evening they ate their main meal of meat-blocks, raw and horrible because Large allowed no cooking. After dark he filled his water-bag, a brand-new one which he cherished and had not been easy to acquire. He allowed two bashas to be rigged in the ditch and the four men rested undisturbed, soothed a little by the powerful lap and gurgle of the river.