by Peter Watt
Karl looked at the young officer. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘That would be admitting we all knew. This is a need-to-know operation, so you don’t even tell your sergeant. From here on in, just you and I are responsible for knowing where we are on the map. I’m afraid the next airdrop we get will be our last until we are back across the border in our own area of operations.’
Lieutenant Gauden folded the map against the gentle raindrops that had started to fall, knowing that within seconds they would turn into a torrential downpour, making his soldiers’ lives miserable as it soaked them to the bone. The two-man hoochies were no real protection against fierce tropical storms. But, worse still, should things go pear-shaped in Thai territory, Lieutenant Gauden knew his military career was well and truly over. The Australian government would never sanction such an intrusion into an ally’s territory.
NINE
Huddled over the map, Lieutenant Gauden and Major Mann ascertained that they were a mere few hundred yards from the Thai border. It was just on midday and above them the thick canopy of intertwined branches cast an eerie light on the forest floor of decomposing vegetation.
‘What do we do now, sir?’ Lieutenant Gauden asked in a hushed voice.
For a moment Karl frowned. ‘I want your best section to go with me across the border on a recce,’ he said. ‘I gather Private Terituba Duffy is an excellent tracker, so I will require his services.’
‘He is in my best section,’ Lieutenant Gauden said. ‘Do I tell them they are going across the border?’
‘That will not be necessary,’ Karl said. ‘At this stage we need to locate Sam Po’s camp, and when that is done, bring up the rest of the platoon.’
‘Why not all of us go?’
‘Because if things go wrong there will be fewer of us to account for,’ Karl said grimly. ‘Not that I am expecting any appearance by the Thai army this far south.’
‘Okay.’ Lieutenant Gauden shrugged. ‘I will brief the section that they will be directly under your command for the recce.’
Patrick and Terituba listened as they were instructed to go with Major Mann on a scouting mission to locate the CT camp. There were no questions at the end of his briefing, and the infantrymen forced themselves to their feet. They were to leave their big packs behind and patrol with just their weapons. They followed Major Mann away from their platoon location deep into the forest. Each soldier moved slowly and silently as they had been trained. Terituba took the lead. His eyes constantly scanned the ground around them until about an hour into the patrol when he signalled a stop and requested Major Mann to move up to his position.
‘Tracks,’ Terituba whispered, pointing to the ground. ‘Fresh tracks of three men. They go that way.’ He pointed to the north.
Karl nodded and placed his hand on the soldier’s shoulder. ‘Well done, digger,’ he said and moved back to gather his section for a situation report. He could see that the men were exhausted and he called a short break so that they could drink water and recover before proceeding. They would have to be particularly alert as the enemy might have sentries out, although Karl was hoping that in their sanctuary in Thai territory they might be less alert.
Patrick squatted beside Terituba.
‘I could do with a fag,’ Terituba sighed. But they both knew this was impossible so close to their target.
‘You know,’ Patrick said, ‘I’ve been counting paces and, according to my calculations, we are no longer in Malaya. I saw the boss’s map just before we left, and from where we were last at camp to where we are now, puts us in Thailand. I always thought that one day I would go to Thailand as a tourist, not carrying a gun.’
‘Is that bad?’ Terituba asked.
‘It is if we get caught,’ Patrick said. ‘Baal.’
The signal was given to continue the patrol and it was late in the afternoon when Terituba smelled the first sign of human activity. He calculated it was a campfire and signalled to the rest of the section the direction the smell came from. Safety catches came off rifles and every man felt the adrenaline beginning to rise. So far they had the element of surprise as they crept forward, eyes and ears straining in the gloom.
Patrick saw the first CT. He was standing with a rice bowl in his hand, chatting to someone out of view behind the trunk of a large tree. He signalled to the rest of the section who slowly lowered themselves to the forest floor. The signal reached Major Mann and he indicated to Patrick and Ted, carrying the Bren, to flank the site. Terituba and another soldier were given field signals to go around the other flank.
Patrick and Ted had gone about fifty feet when a sudden burst of machine-gun fire tore into them. The enemy might have been surprised but they had reacted quickly. Patrick saw Ted fall and cursed. Just as Patrick hit the ground with his rifle pointed in the direction of the unseen machine gunner, he felt a searing pain along the length of his right arm. It was as if he had been electrocuted. Ignoring his wound, Patrick yelled out to Ted about ten yards from him.
‘Cobber, are you okay?’
At first the big man did not answer. ‘Caught one in the hip,’ he groaned. ‘The bastard hurts like hell.’
More bullets ripped up the forest floor inches from both men, and Patrick realised the unseen gunner had them pinned down. Patrick was sure, though, that the enemy could not see him because the trunk of an ancient forest giant lay beside him, concealing his position. Some instinct told him the shots on Ted were meant to lure him out. It was a ruse often used by snipers – wound a man and shoot those attempting to rescue him.
All around him Patrick could hear the constant crash of small-arms fire and even an exploding hand grenade. The fight was on with the rest of his section engaging the guerrillas. But for Patrick the only piece of the firefight that mattered was the few feet around him and Ted. This was their battleground and they were up against formidable firepower. From what Patrick could discern, they were being fired upon by a Bren gun. He realised that a bullet had grazed the length of his forearm and opened up a nasty wound that was bleeding profusely. He also felt a numbness in his fingers, along with the searing pain of his wounded arm. But Ted was worse off with a wound to the hip. If the bullet had pierced the femoral artery, the big man would probably die from blood loss before he could be retrieved.
Patrick did not hesitate. He left his rifle and wriggled forward to Ted. Within moments bullets sped towards him, spraying earth in his face. But the enemy gunner must have been forced to redirect his attention to a more immediate threat because the bullets stopped coming in their direction.
With all his strength, Patrick proceeded to drag Ted back to his position. Ted did not let go of the Bren, and suddenly the CT machine gunner redirected a burst in their direction, chipping chunks off the rotten tree trunk. Patrick swore under his breath.
‘Thanks, Pat,’ Ted said through gritted teeth.
Patrick examined Ted’s wound and applied a battle bandage to the bloody thigh. He was not a medic, but was relieved to observe that the femoral artery had not been severed.
‘Hey, cobber, it looks like you copped one too,’ Ted said when he noticed Patrick’s bloody forearm.
The gunfire stopped and the voice of Major Mann came to them from around fifty yards away.
‘Private Duffy, Private Morrow. Are you men okay?’
‘We copped a couple,’ Patrick replied. ‘We might need a couple of extra bandages.’
Within seconds the two wounded men were joined by Terituba and the section corporal. Patrick could see the relief in Terituba’s face when he saw that his best friend had not been mortally wounded.
‘How did it go?’ Patrick asked Terituba.
‘Two got away, we got the rest,’ Terituba answered. ‘Major Mann is looking to see if Sam Po is one of the dead. You want a fag?’
Patrick shook his head but Ted piped up, ‘I’ll have one, Tracker.’ Terituba rolled one for Ted and one for himself.
Ted’s face was grey but the bleeding had been stopped with bandage compressions. Patrick applied more bandages to his arm, peppered with antiseptic.
Major Mann brought Patrick a mug of hot tea and squatted beside him. ‘Private Morrow told me you exposed yourself to gunfire to rescue him,’ he said. ‘A brave act worthy of official recognition.’
‘But that won’t happen, will it, sir,’ Patrick said, taking a sip of the hot, sweet black tea. ‘We were in Thai territory, and I somehow reckon we were not supposed to be.’
‘Mr Gauden told me that you should be in officer training,’ Karl said with a grim smile.
‘Did we get Sam Po?’ asked Patrick.
‘I’m afraid not,’ sighed Major Mann. ‘Our intelligence was good, so I think he was one of the CTs who got away. But the papers we recovered from the bodies will possibly be of importance to people higher up. You should consider Mr Gauden’s recommendation that you apply for a commission. If you do, I will support your application. The army needs officers like you in this war.’ Major Mann placed his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and rose to walk away.
Patrick considered the major’s suggestion, but to apply for a commission meant leaving his best friend behind in the ranks, and he was not prepared to be separated from the man who was as close to him as any brother.
The platoon withdrew to an area that had been cleared by the CTs for a vegetable patch. The men carrying Ted’s litter groaned and stumbled under his weight, cheerfully cursing him for being so heavy. They knew he was in bad shape but kept up his spirits with their constant chiding.
They located the clearing and in a short time heard the whop-whop of an approaching helicopter.
Patrick looked up to see the dragonfly-shaped Sycamore chopper descending into the clearing. It was a tight fit but the skill of the pilot brought it to the ground safely. Ted was loaded aboard and Patrick was ordered to join him as walking wounded. Within minutes the chopper was in the air and Patrick was gazing down at a sea of rainforest trees.
*
The Eastern and Oriental Hotel in Penang was an elegant colonial-style building on the water. It was a place where those who could afford it went to dine or drink.
Major Karl Mann, wearing a civilian suit, sat opposite Sir Rupert Featherstone at a dining table covered with the finest linen cloth. Only days earlier Karl’s hands had been covered in blood from searching the bodies of the dead CTs. To the other diners he looked like any other businessman at a luncheon meeting.
‘Do you know, old chap,’ Featherstone said, ‘many famous and infamous people have dined here.’
‘Like who?’ Karl asked, sipping a gin and tonic.
‘Rudyard Kipling, Charlie Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks, Somerset Maugham. Now you and me.’
‘I hope your civil service salary is paying for lunch,’ Karl said.
‘Always for my favourite agent,’ Featherstone replied.
‘I am not a spy,’ Karl said. ‘I am a major in the Australian Army.’
‘Who broke one or two international laws crossing the border into Thailand,’ Featherstone said quietly. ‘Publicly, the British government would never have sanctioned that. Privately, we would have got around any repercussions to you and the men with you.’
‘I saw an opportunity to capture or kill Sam Po and I took it,’ Karl said.
‘From our intel sources in KL it seems you missed him by a day,’ said Featherstone.
‘Why is the British government so determined to catch up with Po?’ Karl asked.
‘Let us say that it is a matter of honour. One does not kill a high-ranking servant of Her Majesty and get away with it. Did any of the men you led across the border suspect they were in Thailand?’
‘One of the soldiers caught on,’ Karl said. ‘A very bright and brave digger. However, I reminded him of the Secrets Act. I am sure he will say nothing. We left the CTs’ bodies in situ for any tigers in the area.’
‘It is a damned pity that you were unable to settle the matter of Po. I have since been given intelligence that he is travelling to a meeting with one of the more important people in the insurgency. We have yet to learn where and when, but when that happens you will be on call to have another crack at him. I will be contacting the CO of the Aussie battalion to second a section of men to you. I want you to use the same section that you used to cross the border as you spoke very highly of their conduct in your report.’ Featherstone picked up the menu. ‘Now, I think it is time to order lunch. I hope I can afford it as a simple civil servant on my meagre stipend from Her Majesty.’
Karl broke into a broad smile. He knew that Sir Rupert Featherstone was no simple civil servant in the British administration but a ruthless, highly placed spymaster who also happened to have a substantial private income from old family estates.
*
Patrick was very bored sitting around the hospital in Penang. He had protested to doctors that he was fit to return to his unit, but they had countered that his arm needed to heal a little more so that infection was no longer a threat to his health, reminding him that the tropics were a breeding ground for all kinds of exotic bacteria and viruses.
At least he was not bed-bound, but the only other men he could talk to were British soldiers wounded in action up-country and he found little in common with them. Ted had been evacuated back to Australia and Patrick had to admit that he would miss the big boof-headed soldier.
At least he was able to sit out on the verandah and catch up with happenings from home in newspapers flown over. He was reading an article about eight firefighters burned to death in a bushfire in South Australia when he heard a voice behind him call his name.
Startled, Patrick turned to see Sally standing in the entrance to the verandah.
‘Sally,’ he said in surprise. ‘How did you find me here?’
She took a couple of steps towards him, and he rose from his cane chair, self-conscious that he was wearing hospital pyjamas.
‘Your name was in the local paper,’ she said, staring at his heavily bandaged arm. ‘It said that you and another Australian soldier had been wounded in a clash with CTs just south of the Thai border, and I thought I would come to check whether that Patrick Duffy was you. I decided to come and visit a soldier wounded in battle.’
‘I would hardly call it a battle,’ Patrick said. ‘More a brief moment of confusion when I was stupid enough to get in the way of a bullet.’
‘I suspect that you’re being modest,’ Sally said with a warm smile. ‘The newspaper article said that you rescued another soldier under fire.’
Patrick had been informed by Major Karl Mann that the newspapers would report the clash, although the location would be shifted back over the border into Malaya. It was important that the destruction of the Communist infrastructure be reported to reassure the Malayan population that Britain and its allies were winning the war.
‘You know the papers exaggerate,’ Patrick said with a smile. ‘Do I strike you as someone stupid enough to put himself in the line of fire?’
‘Yes, you do,’ Sally said. ‘I sense you’re not just a simple soldier serving his country. But I won’t say any more because you will get a swollen head. I can’t stay long as my father wants me at a business function. I am to act as the hostess and impress a local dignitary with my beauty and charm.’
‘Your father made a good choice for your role,’ Patrick said.
‘I was being facetious about the beauty and charm bit,’ Sally said, glancing at her expensive wristwatch. ‘We
ll, I must go. I only came to wish you all the best in your recovery, and to see for myself what a wounded warrior looks like.’
Sally turned and walked away, leaving Patrick’s thoughts in turmoil. It had been as if an angel had come to visit him and all he had left was the hint of her perfume lingering in the humid air of the tropical afternoon. It was a scent now burned into his brain. He had not even asked if he could see her when he was next granted leave. Patrick cursed himself. She was as elusive in his life as gossamer floating in the breeze.
TEN
Much to his surprise, Sally visited Patrick the next day, and the day after that. They talked about their lives, and Patrick told her that he had been reared by a distant relative, Sean Duffy, in Sydney and had done so well at school he could have applied for medicine, although he had opted to join the army with his best friend Terituba, instead. Sally tried to imagine Patrick’s holidays spent on a cattle station in central Queensland, mustering cattle on horseback and hunting wild animals with his Aboriginal friend. It was so far from her own life, she had difficulty picturing it.
Sally informed Patrick that she had been educated in a Swiss ladies’ college, and that her holidays had been spent between her father’s English mansion and various Asian countries where her father conducted his import-export business.
Patrick was finally cleared as fit for active service. The wound had healed well, leaving a long scar along his forearm. He applied for a day pass before returning to the battalion, and was granted his request.
He stepped into the warm sunlight to find Sally waiting for him by an expensive open-top MG sports car.
‘Does that belong to your father?’ he asked, impressed.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s mine. Hop in and we can go for a spin.’
Patrick settled into the car. Sally put her foot down and pulled into the traffic.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Somewhere nice,’ she said with a smile. ‘I think you have earned a reward for your brave service to the Queen.’