Discipline became superb, though its manifestations were esoteric rather than overt. ‘We might salute an officer once in the morning and that took care of him for the rest of the day’, was the men’s affectation; but they respected him none the less or he would not have been there at this stage. Even the young ones – Charlesworth, Saunt, Graham-Wigan, Pirie – had been awarded the subtle acknowledgement of acceptance ‘boss’ rather than ‘sir’. They in their turn had learnt that leadership in the SAS depended entirely on genuine esteem and that superficial forms counted for nothing. Badges of rank were not worn. The practice had started in the field for good operational reasons and then extended to base, both because there might still be stitch marks in an officer’s shirt if he was captured and, as ‘Tanky’ Smith pontificated, ‘If you need them you shouldn’t have them, and if you don’t need them don’t wear them’.
On the job, the commander commanded, without doubt though rarely without question. The only possible relationship between men who were chosen for their ability to think and act as individuals was easy familiarity within a framework of real if concealed discipline. High achievement though that was, it could look terrible. All ranks therefore put on an act to impress visitors, saluting and ‘siring’ with tongue-in-cheek gusto for the Regiment’s sake. With another of their mores, however, they did not dissemble; orders once given were remembered until the time came to act, however much later that might be. The sure and silent process often astonished those accustomed to NCOs haranguing squads at the last minute to drive home every detail.
The pace of training quickened, as Woodhouse and Watts would have ensured had they needed to. Reports were received from Borneo of increasing Indonesian aggression and SAS actions in which men had been killed. Finally, the sight of ‘D’ Squadron arriving home at last, exhausted, created a powerful incentive in ‘B’ to take its share and win its spurs. The restless atmosphere was just right for getting the most value from one of Woodhouse’s important innovations, the Map Exercise, a Staff College-type exercise that he himself conducted in a classroom. Woodhouse had not attended Staff College because he could never summon up enough application to pass the entrance exam, rank and career formed no part of his ambition which was wholly devoted to his beloved Regiment and the success of its activities. He wrote the settings and narratives of fictional operations and the students in turn had to say what they would do at each stage and why. There was no staff solution, but every answer was discussed and developed by the whole class.
Firm, positive and quick decision-making based on constructive reasoning was, of course, the main aim. The art of logical disputation was also acquired so that what was known as a ‘Chinese Parliament’ – implying a garrulous exchange of uncompromising assertions leading to flat contradictions and culminating in personal abuse – should be an informed debate from which the leader could select the substance, reassured that no option had been overlooked. Men learned how each others’ minds worked, which could make their actions predictable when out of touch. The veterans’ experience could be offered to the young; indeed, it could be imposed in the form of orders or Standard Operating Procedures, but now was the opportunity to question and analyse everything. Fresh thoughts from fresh minds were actively welcomed because the SAS was uncomfortably aware that even they could pursue an idea too far down one set of tramlines, so Woodhouse made his settings new and unexpected to encourage the habit of original as well as reasoned thought. Knowing they would soon be on active operations, the men of ‘B’ Squadron had no difficulty imagining themselves in the paper situations and responded realistically, with feeling as well as reason. Enthusiasm for action was the first essential for success in it, and that they had to the full; smoothly flowing adrenalin also had its part to play, but uncontrolled excitement allied to emotion, whether fear, bravado, hatred or anything else, absolutely not. They had to learn to be cool, calculating and, when need be, deadly.
The Squadron packed its bergens in early October and went to Brunei for final jungle training in patrols and troops. The pace became hotter yet in line with the climate. The instructors worked hardest of all, preparing exercises at night and taking part all day. ‘It really was a round of ceaseless toil’, says ‘Tanky’ Smith; and appreciate their dynamic commander though they did, they yearned to get away from him on operational patrol. They were to have their wish, and it would be a great deal harder.
Primary jungle in contrast to secondary jungle (belukar), a cleared area reverting to forest. Landing-points can be seen at right.
Hard going through belukar.
Expecting trouble, in light order with belt and weapon only; bergen cached.
Wrong. Bunched and exposed. One burst from near the camera could wipe out the whole patrol.
George Stainforth (left), who for many months commanded the isolated patrol at Long Jawai in the Third Division of Sarawak, and Eddie Lillico; 1953.
Right. The distance between them is constantly adjusted so that the man in front is only just visible.
A jungle village.
A medic at work. (Soldier).
Semi-nomadic Punans in the Third Division of Sarawak, with SAS boots and clothing hanging out to dry.
Major John Edwardes, GM, in characteristic pose. He commanded ‘A’ Squadron in 1963 and Cross-Border Scouts during 1964-66.
Part of 1 Troop, spruced up. Back row, left to right: ‘Mau Mau’ Williams, Bill Condie, ‘Lofty’ Winmill, George Shipley, Bob Zeeman and Alec Kilgour. Front row, left to right: ‘Geordie’ McGaun, ‘Gipsy’ Smith, Ray England, ‘Paddy’ Freaney and ‘Spike’ Hoe.
The Three Camps operation.
The second of the three camps discovered by Sergeant ‘Smokey’ Richardson, belonging to the TNKU guerrillas and showing signs of general sloppiness.
Probably the camp where Trooper James Condon was murdered.
Hole in the forest.
Any fool can be uncomfortable. Even in a swamp, it is possible to sleep dry and cosy, but these bashas are too complex for quick dismantling if an enemy is thought to be near.
This basha is rigged for a hammock, which is just visible. Few signs of occupation need be left in the morning if nothing is cut and care taken not to bruise leaves, snap twigs or make rope-marks on the trees. Finally, footprints would be obliterated and leaves spread naturally.
The vulnerability to enemy ambush of a helicopter and its passengers at a border landing-point may be imagined.
Sergeant ‘Gipsy’ Smith’s hydro-electric generator at Talinbakus, Sabah.
Construction.
Teething troubles.
On stream.
Breakfast in the Haunted House, Brunei, 1964. Majors de la Billière (left), commanding ‘A’ Squadron, and Johnny Watts, ‘B’.
Iban Border Scout. The tattooing is largely religious and the crucifix wholly so, signifying a double insurance against the hazards of jungle life. The high brow and fine features, however, give the lie to any assumption of primitiveness, other than by environment.
Trooper Billy White, ‘a harum-scarum lad’ (left), killed in action in the Long Pa Sia Bulge, 6 August 1964.
A slim George Shipley at the end of a Borneo tour; the result of 2,000 calories a day instead of 3,600.
Boating could be convenient and at times delightful, but Very, very untactical’ if an enemy were to be on the bank.
The other side of the picture. This boat on the River Siglayan in eastern Sabah is passing an SAS OP to deliver a load of stores to an enemy camp upriver. Two hours later when it returned, all six soldiers on board were killed; the civilian helmsman was spared, unhurt. The story is not told in the text.
Swamp (photograph taken in Malaya).
Special Air Service: the Army’s Borneo strategy depended entirely on the skill and daring of RAF and Navy helicopter crews, the SAS making particularly challenging demands of them.
Longhouse (with hot tin roof) in Indonesian Borneo.
George Shipley (left) and Bill Condie looking appre
hensive.
Joint planning session. SAS and Cross-Border Scouts on ‘The Island’.
Captain Malcolm McGillivray and Sergeant Nibau.
Corporal ‘Rob’ Roberts and Trooper Franks returning to ‘The Island’.
The wrong side of the river; looking back over the Bemban from Gunong Kalimantan.
How they crossed the Bemban.
The enemy camp on the River Bemban at which George Shipley in Bill Condie’s patrol found himself staring up a hillside completely cleared of undergrowth. Surrounded by a firing ditch and reinforced parapet with benches on which to keep watch in comfort were machine-gun dugouts, a mortar pit, a radio aerial ready for hoisting, basha frames needing only ponchos to keep out the rain and what could only have been a pair of parallel bars. ‘Keep-fit fanatics, the Indos’, says Shipley; curiously, the SAS themselves not being backward in that regard.
A fulfilled Cross-Border Scout (Iban).
CHAPTER 8
‘A LITTLE FURTHER’
‘A’ Squadron’s Third Tour June to October 1964
Major Peter de la Billière was not one of those who thought Lillico a bit of a nut, but, like him, enjoyed the job and put all his boundless energy into it with total dedication.
His thinking was free, imaginative and wide, yet under firm objective control so that he could encompass broad visions and small details simultaneously with each in its proper place. His decisions were thus quite likely to be right; and the calm assurance with which he reached them inspired confidence, both in his men for whatever he imposed on them, however hazardous, and in the unenlightened whom he sought to lead into the way of truth. He seldom raised his voice and became even quieter when thwarted, but his steely determination was none the less evident and could be disconcerting, especially to senior officers before they saw the point.
When de la Billière first joined the Regiment in Malaya, that independent cuss Lawrence Smith, upon whom the young tyro was foisted to command the Troop that Smith had hitherto led to his own entire satisfaction, astonished himself by accepting the reversion with equanimity, even enthusiasm:
‘We had this rapport; whatever he wanted to do – and he always wanted to do something – I’d suddenly find it was also what I wanted to do.’
Now, as Squadron commander and Sergeant-Major, that dynamic relationship continued and developed, for there was plenty to be done in Borneo; but since the next tour was months away and neither could tolerate idleness, de la Billière connived with Woodhouse for ‘A’ Squadron to go to Aden, ostensibly for training but really on the off-chance of action, which seemed ever more imminent there.
The outcome was intensive patrolling among the wild and hostile tribesmen of the wild and desolate Radfan Mountains, where the scorching, inescapable sun and waterless rock made the kindly tree canopy and gushing brooks of the Borneo ‘ulu’ a tantalizing memory. Contacts were frequent during the four-week tour, and its highlight, the Battle of Shi’b Taym, was significant in the Regiment’s history beyond the context of Aden.
Captain Robin Edwards and eight men of 3 Troop were caught in the open by a horde of at least fifty fanatical Arabs whose cherished aim was to kill them all at whatever cost to themselves. All day the attackers were kept at arm’s length with the crucial support of RAF fighter-bombers, but at nightfall the Arabs closed in and the SAS broke out. The ensuing hand-to-hand mêlée compared in savage exhilaration with Rorke’s Drift and a thousand last-ditch stands where only superb training and discipline give any hope of survival against teeming numbers. More than thirty Arabs died, but Edwards and Trooper Nick Warburton were killed too. The rest, with three of their number wounded and Arabs following them down the wadis, only survived a nightmare journey through the darkness by the skin of their teeth.
Was that just another day in the life of the SAS? At first sight yes, at least to Sergeant Alf Tasker who comments:
‘It was a good day; we were fighting for our lives, weren’t we?’ to which, observing his listener’s eyes to open wide and stare vacantly, he adds in explanation:
‘When you’re fighting for your life with a fifty-fifty chance you’ve got to enjoy it. Know what I mean?’
Not exactly, even yet; perhaps if given a little time.
Lance Corporal Paddy Baker, who was badly wounded in the leg and having dropped behind during the escape picked off several following Arabs and earned the Military Medal, strikes a faintly less enthusiastic note: ‘I much prefer fighting in the shade.’ But his preference was not consulted and the Regiment was to see a great deal more of South Arabia before Aden was finally abandoned.
de la Billière at base, however, was in no doubt that the day and night were the most agonizing of his life. Even his relief when seven exhausted figures limped into camp at dawn began to dissipate when he understood that they needed more than just a good breakfast to restore their well-being. Their strain was not eased by the Arabs exhibiting Edwards’s and Warburton’s heads in public, and their delayed shock was severe and prolonged, the memory of it becoming absorbed into ‘A’ Squadron’s corporate soul.
Borneo, however, was no place for introspection. In June 1964 the enemy was on the make with continuing company-sized raids into Western Sarawak as well as Sabah, aiming at best to establish bases in Malaysia and at least to unsettle the border tribes. That he could do the latter without achieving any military success had already been demonstrated and the implications were serious. Soekarno’s whole adventure was an exercise in influencing hearts and minds, not only of the natives but of the world, by any means of which military aggression was just one, and the imperial powers’ recent history had shown that it could succeed.
At yet another summit meeting, in Tokyo, Tunku Abdul Rahman asked bluntly when Indonesian forces would leave Malaysia so that discussion on what, ‘Maphilindo’ meant could begin. Soekarno replied that they had every right to be there because Malaysia did not exist. That was expected, but the Tunku’s previous moderation paid him well in world opinion while Britain’s resolve to support him was strengthened; though whether that support would survive the forthcoming general election which Labour was tipped to win remained uncertain, socialists tending not to be keen on colonial wars.
Life, however, is full of surprises; Denis Healey became Defence Secretary and prosecuted the war with, if anything, increased vigour. True, Labour’s policy was to withdraw from Britain’s residual empire east of Suez, but not dishonourably by abandoning allies in trouble; so the aim was best achieved by setting them straight quickly and then leaving them secure. Walker was delighted, the more so because Healey’s grasp of military affairs was outstanding for a politician. With Healey at the top, Lord Mountbatten as Chief of Defence Staff and Admiral Begg as Commander-in-Chief Far East, Walker felt well backed and got on with his job.
Diplomatic and other measures were taken to convince all concerned that the British cause was good, that they intended to stay as long as they were wanted, that they were wanted and that they could stay. Should the Indonesians launch a massive assault on land, the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force could isolate Borneo from the rest of Indonesia – as Lillico advocated, for whether or not private soldiers have field marshals’ batons in their knapsacks, SAS sergeants certainly do – and veiled threats were leaked as psychological warfare measures. But the essence of British policy was not to set Southeast Asia alight but the exact reverse; to contain the enemy’s aggression with the least possible fighting and publicity. If that could be done the fewest people would be upset and most could sympathize with the British; the cost in lives and money would be kept low; the British Left would be less inclined to put a spoke in the wheel; and the method would be essentially civilized. So low-key was the British government’s approach that today most Britons are either unaware or have forgotten that there was ever a war in Borneo. But in midsummer 1964, with a considerable and growing threat, that approach, however desirable, might or might not prove effective.
Soekarno too got on with his job,
the fulfilling of a boast that Malaysia would be crushed before the sun rose on 1 January 1965. From that master of circumlocutory inexactitude such precision was out of character, and the date was as near Christmas with all its pitfalls as made no odds, but predictions must sometimes be made to inspire followers and there is no knowing what one can get away with until one tries; some people are pushovers and the British have a tempting appearance of being so, until actually pushed.
de la Billière’s first aim was to restore morale along the border, where it had become dangerously low. The Muruts of Kabu and Saliliran were even found to be passively hostile. They were acting, at best, as double agents, so there was no certainty that incursions would be reported. SAS patrols themselves were in real danger. High intensity hearts and minds was therefore the order of the day, and it was arguable whether making friends in these circumstances was more or less perilous than fighting enemies.
The SAS must visit the villages personally for there to be any chance of success, whatever the risk. The latter could be mitigated by care and forethought, such as arriving unannounced, perhaps after walking in a stream to leave no tracks and sending one man tentatively ahead to check whether Indonesians were present. The usual chat would then follow, but it was sad to get a surly response and glean so little news. However, toothache and septic cuts compelled acceptance of relief and the medics were soon busy as of old. Work, such as cutting landing-points for payment, was put in hand; the village’s urgent needs were signalled to base and small presents handed over; and in the evening the patrol vanished, hoping that the seed would germinate. Nevertheless, they would walk for as long as possible through the gathering darkness when even the natives found tracking difficult, and would move on at very first light for the same reason. Within a week the patrol would quietly reappear to take the next step on the road to friendship, having visited other villages in the interval though never daring to spend a night in one.
SAS: Secret War in South East Asia Page 16