*
Soon I was heading for the port at Tanjung Perak along with my Security Services detachment and F Company of the Marine Brigade’s second infantry battalion. At Firefly and Willemsoord barracks we boarded the local shuttle service nicknamed the Tapeworm Express and were waved off to the familiar strains of Vera Lynn’s ‘We’ll Meet Again’. The burning sun beat down on our weary heads as we arrived at Ujung naval base to find the quayside swarming with people and a large colonial navy troop ship baking in the heat. Uniform soaked with sweat and shouldering my heavy transport pack, I walked up the gangway and headed straight for the cabins. I dumped my pack and weapons on a bunk that was to my liking, stripped to the waist and stepped out into the gentle breeze to pace the deck and inhale deep draughts of warm sea air.
Half an hour later we were lining up at the galley for food. Everyone was given a two-pound tin of cabbage, mash and sausage, a mug of orange squash and a portion of plantain. Cabbage and mash tasted foul in the heat, and the air turned blue with complaints and obscenities – a time-honoured Marine tradition. With a couple of other lads, I found a shady spot in one of the lifeboats beside the funnel. I opened the tin with my bayonet, fished out the sausage and gobbled it down. After a couple of mouthfuls of mash I chucked the rest overboard, tin and all. The waters around the ship were teeming with sharks and, in a fraction of a second, I saw the jaws of a greedy tiger shark close on the tin. My Dutch comrades did the same and gazed in awe at the creatures chomping on their tinned cabbage and mash.
The ship’s horn sounded three times and our old tub sailed slowly out of the port. We were waved off and whistled at by the men who stayed behind and others on the quayside. The sound of Glenn Miller came over the speakers, chipper as ever.
Evening fell as we sailed through the Madura Strait. A stiff breeze got up and as the old tub began to buck and shudder, I felt a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach: my first ever bout of seasickness. Many a marine was already hanging over the railing. I stood among them and puked my guts up.
By morning, the sea was calm and the sickness had passed. We were sailing through the Bali Strait. Off the starboard side I could see the city of Banyuwangi in the distance, and on the port side the vague contours of Bali itself. I took in the magnificent view. We docked at Denpasar harbour early in the afternoon. Everyone grabbed their transport pack and their weapons, and we disembarked in an orderly fashion. Everywhere I looked, I saw soldiers from the Red Elephant Brigade of the East Indies Army. Since their release from the POW camps in Burma, they had been clearing Bali of extremist and subversive elements. I also saw servicemen with a White Elephant emblem on their sleeve.
When I disembarked, a corporal from the White Elephant Brigade came up to me. ‘A warm welcome to you, my brown-skinned marine.’ He smiled. I returned his greeting.
‘Listen,’ he continued, ‘as an Indo like me, I expect you’re not as cocksure as those Dutch lads when it comes to the ladies. So let me warn you about the women of easy virtue here on Bali. Most have “gone sour”, if you know what I mean, so watch out! Avoid them! If you have to bed a woman, make sure she is from a remote mountain kampong, or stick to girls of fifteen if need be. That will mean a marriage of convenience but it’s only for the sex. Those women are still pure. Only women from good families demand a serious marriage proposal, otherwise you will never get them into bed. By the way, those women are mad about Indos. You will be barracked in Klungkung but to have some fun on shore leave, Denpasar and the other big towns are the places to be. Steer clear of the brothels! The Lion’s Den here in Denpasar has the worst reputation. The White House is another one. There is a serious lack of doctors and medicine for the islanders. In short, enjoy your leave but be careful! So long, marine!’
I thanked him for his warnings. We jumped aboard the waiting army trucks and set off for Klungkung. On the way, I finally found the peace of mind to enjoy my glorious surroundings and the beauty of the landscape. We were given a warm welcome at the White Elephant barracks and everyone wished us a good time on leave. The men there already knew about the preparations for the First Police Action.
*
There were excursions almost every day, with a few lads from the KNIL as our guides. We enjoyed the natural surroundings and the beautiful, shapely women. It was the custom among Balinese women to walk around with their breasts bared. For us marines that was something extraordinary. We gazed around hungrily.
One evening I was strolling across the busy marketplace in the centre of Denpasar with a couple of Dutch pals. I knew to keep my hands to myself or risk ending up at the sharp end of a parang, and I warned my pals accordingly. But of course one pig-headed chump had to play the big man. With a smirk on his face, he went up to one of those shapely Balinese women and pawed her breasts. Within seconds, her protector appeared, parang at the ready. In a flash, I kicked the long blade from his hand, then punched and kicked till he lay on the ground more dead than alive. More Balinese bore down on us, spoiling for a fight. The Dutchmen backed me up and we formed a circle so as not to be jumped from behind. I pulled out the fighting knife strapped to my right leg and lashed out at the first Balinese man who went for me, leaving a deep gash across his chest and stomach. Another man came at me with parang raised. I parried the blade and stabbed him till he fell. Two of my mates sustained knife wounds, but nothing serious.
Before long, the KNIL Military Police came to our aid. They spoke to the crowd in Balinese and tried to calm things down. The local police then turned up to arrest us but at the sight of our drawn bayonets, they soon backed off. They had never encountered marines before, but by the look on their faces they had heard all about us. Just as well firearms were not permitted on shore leave or someone would have been killed.
The fight over, my two wounded pals accompanied the Military Police to hospital for treatment. The rest of us went on our way as if nothing had happened. Many of the market-goers gawped at me, not least because I was the only brown soldier and was armed with a bayonet and a fighting knife. I also received many admiring looks from Balinese beauties but was wise enough to pay them no heed. A little further on, I sat down on a wooden bench by a satay vendor with two of my pals. In Malay I asked him what kind of meat he was roasting.
‘Dog meat, tuan, and very tasty too!’
It did smell good. Each of us ordered around thirty of those little sticks with sauce and sambal, and beer to wash it all down. That dog meat was delicious. But one stall along, a vendor was roasting dog heads, complete with grinning teeth and lolling tongues. He dunked them in soy sauce over and over. A few Balinese locals were sitting by his stall, gnawing the meat off the bones and savouring every bite. I was nearly sick at the sight. I nudged my pals and pointed. It turned their stomachs too, and we took our satay and beer elsewhere.
The next morning I joined an excursion to Sanur, where there was a beautiful beach. A Belgian painter by the name of Adrien-Jean Le Mayeur lived nearby with his lovely Balinese wife. That afternoon, he invited a bunch of marines to his home. First, he showed us his work and I was greatly impressed by his talent as a painter. Close to sunset, a couple of gamelan players came to give a recital. The painter’s wife retired to her room and changed into a dancer’s costume. She emerged as a picture of elegance in a beautiful sarong, naked from the waist up. We stared speechless at her shapely breasts and hips. Embarrassed and aroused in equal measure, my pals and I exchanged glances. Our cheeks were burning. The Belgian painter’s wife danced the legong, a courtly Balinese dance, to the strains of the gamelan music. It was a sight to behold.
*
We returned to Sanur beach the next day for a refreshing dip in the sea. There on the sand I got into a fight with a sergeant named Bitter. He mocked my brown skin and inferior background to the point where I lost control and beat him up. Sergeant Cornelissen – an Indo himself, though white and raised in the Netherlands – separated us and clearly took Sergeant Bitter’s side. Both NCOs made no secret of their feelings
of superiority and their hatred of coloureds. In my rage, I turned on Sergeant Cornelissen too. Other lads waded in to break up the fight. They advised me to forget all about it and settle the matter with a friendly handshake. Instead, I spat in the officers’ faces. That was my answer to their delusions of grandeur and their Dutch brand of racial hatred. No wonder their breed of Dutchman was so reviled by the native population.
*
Almost every day brought another excursion with the KNIL boys, who showed us the most beautiful parts of the island. I enjoyed those three weeks on Bali intensely, soaking up the glorious and exotic natural surroundings. I even had a fling with a Balinese beauty or two.
*
Our holiday at an end, we once again had to board a waiting troop ship. As evening fell, the old tub sailed slowly out of Denpasar harbour and back through the Straits of Bali and Madura, with the port of Tanjung Perak as our final destination.
*
Early the next morning, we were piped up on deck for the mandatory prick parade. After leave on Bali, every marine had to strip down to his green vest and underpants and line up for a rubber-gloved medical officer followed by four orderlies bearing large trays of 606 syringes to combat venereal disease. They were followed by an admin sergeant major clutching a register and a fountain pen. Each man in turn was required to present his member to the doctor for inspection. As soon as the doctor uttered the word ‘positive’, the sergeant major took down name, rank, registration number and unit as the poor sod steeled himself for a painful jab in the buttock. Every man serving with a naval unit was required to report to the medical department for disinfection within twenty-four hours of sex with a woman of easy virtue. ‘Paying their dues’ we called it, as the cost of any such treatment was duly noted and deducted from the sailor’s wages.
Late that afternoon, the ship sailed into port and was moored at Ujung docks. On disembarking, we lined up on the quayside and the transport commander ordered all those booked by the medics to step forward. A good forty per cent did just that. For them it was quick march to the waiting Tapeworm Express and a costly trip to the navy hospital at Karang Menjangan in Surabaya. The rest of us were driven to our respective barracks: Firefly Barracks on Porongstraat for us Marine Brigade Security lads and Willemsoord Barracks on Jambistraat for F Company. The holiday was over, the prelude to a tough assignment ahead.
First Police Action
17 July 1947. Shouts and whistles at six in the morning. Cries of ‘Wakey-wakey! Marching orders!’ from the corporals on duty rang through every dorm in the barracks. Still half asleep, I dragged myself out of my camp bed, folded down the mosquito net and staggered to the washrooms, towel and sponge bag in hand. The cold water did me good. I dressed in my utility uniform and headed for the mess. All through breakfast, the place was buzzing. At seven came the order: ‘Fall in!’
Almost every man in the barracks was lined up. Captain Groeneveld and Lieutenant Brink took turns reading out the routine orders and then Captain Groeneveld addressed us. ‘Men, in a matter of days a major campaign will get under way. Many of you have already had your own baptism of fire, so for you this will present few difficulties. But let me assure those of you fresh off the boat from Holland that all will be well provided you heed the guidance of your experienced fellow soldiers. As of this moment you are off duty. Go and say farewell to your family and friends. I expect to see you all back here tomorrow at noon, which will give you ample time to check your equipment and your weapons. Ask the quartermaster for extra ammunition and grenades. Look for your names on the notice boards tomorrow to find out which division you have been assigned to. Now go and enjoy this short spell of leave. Dismissed!’
Our brigade was to be divided into four columns charged with occupying Java’s wild Eastern Salient and purging it of every last trace of terrorism. Our intelligence team, referred to simply as ‘the interpreters’, were spread across diverse battalions, companies and platoons. I was assigned to 3-INBAT: the 3rd infantry battalion, with orders to penetrate as far as Malang and the surrounding area. Back in the dorm, I thought of my sisters Ella and Ina, both of whom were being held in women’s camps near Malang. I neatly made up my camp bed, folded away my mosquito net and checked through my equipment. Having grabbed my empty knapsack, I signed out with the NCO on duty. I ducked under the barrier, walked to Darmo Boulevard, and took a becak home.
My mother looked troubled. ‘When I see you like this,’ she said, ‘I can’t help feeling that your life is in grave danger.’
‘Mama,’ I answered, ‘in a few days’ time I am going on a major campaign. I do not know whether I will come back alive. But perhaps I will be able to liberate Ina and Ella from Malang.’
My mother took me to her bedroom and sat down on a chair. I kneeled before her and laid my head in her lap. Mama prayed over me, pleading with God to stand by me in all things. I felt her tears fall on my head as I prayed with her. When she was finished, Mama stood up. ‘God will bless you, Arto,’ she said. ‘My blessing and my prayers will be with you.’
With a sense of relief, I went to my bedroom and filled my knapsack with extra clothing, underwear and socks.
*
At eight thirty in the evening, Babu Tenie served dinner and we took our places at the table. Uncle Soen and Karel were there too. After dinner, I took Karel aside and told him, ‘If you have not heard from me six weeks from today, you must assume that I have been killed.’
Karel turned pale, but nodded and said nothing.
Around ten, I took my leave of Mama, Uncle Soen, Karel, Poppy, Babu Tenie and Kokkie Tas. I walked to Undaan Kulon and took a becak back to barracks.
The next morning, I was told to report to Captain Groeneveld in the operations room. I entered, stood to attention, saluted and gave my name and rank. Other officers were also present.
‘Nolan,’ Captain Groeneveld said, ‘there has been a change of assignment. I know you to be a bold soldier, always ready to show initiative. I therefore think it best to assign you to Lieutenant Colonel Aberson. You will join Blue Column and march with E Company under the command of Captain Willems. His men have suffered the heaviest losses to date and have need of experienced soldiers. He and Lieutenant Havik of the assault platoon will give you further orders and instructions. Following my address tomorrow, prepare to embark on LST-4, the Pelican. Captain Willems will send a jeep to pick you up at ten. Nolan, I wish you every success!’
I closed the door of the ops room behind me and swore bitterly. The reassignment had dashed my hopes of liberating Ina and Ella from the women’s camps in Malang.
Early the next morning, fall-in was sounded. Every member of the Marine Brigade Security Service was present and correct. Captain Groeneveld, flanked by Lieutenant Brink and a number of other officers, gave a speech to end all speeches. ‘Men, as you know, a major campaign awaits us. I assume that you have all now said farewell to family and friends. Our mission is to recapture the entire Eastern Salient of Java from Indonesia’s armed forces. Be prepared to face huge resistance, so strong that half of you may not make it back alive. Give them hell! Shoot anyone who is carrying a weapon. I don’t give a damn if it’s a blade or a firearm – shoot, damn you! And shoot to kill! Remember, those bastards take no prisoners among marines who surrender… so make sure you are not taken. Save your last bullet for yourself! Never abandon a fallen comrade! Stand your ground till help arrives! Gather all the documentation you can and pass it on to the heads of Departments III and IV. Take as much ammo, as many grenades with you as possible. Now prepare for transport to your unit. You will find your names listed on the notice boards. Any questions, report to Sergeant Major Vestdijk. I wish you every success!’
As soon as we were dismissed, I returned to the dorm to check my weapons and equipment one last time. I folded up my camp bed and mosquito net, fastened my duffel bag and carried my things outside. I got my marching pack in order, strapping a long blanket roll around the knapsack, which contained spare socks, handkerchief
s, a belt and my K rations. I hung six slings around my neck, each with eight clips of eight cartridges for my M1 Garand rifle. My ammo included all kinds of cartridges and four hand grenades. The pack weighed a ton. My trusty friend the fighting knife was tucked in my right legging as ever. The barracks was a hive of disciplined activity. I saw troubled faces all around. The news that half of us might not be returning had hit home.
I lugged my belongings to the gate and waited to be picked up. The barrier was raised and a staff jeep came barrelling towards me. The driver got out. ‘Are you Nolan of the Marine Brigade Security Service, awaiting pick-up under orders from Lieutenant Colonel Aberson?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, and hopped aboard.
‘Smid’s the name, driver, rookie 1st class.’ The introductions over, I shook his hand. He went on talking as we drove. ‘Heard a lot about you over at the Big Shit. You’re in Colonel Roelofs’ good books, and that’s saying something. One wrong word from him and everyone’s shitting themselves. Tiger of Gubeng barracks they used to call him.’
We rode to Coen Boulevard, where Captain Willems was waiting. He jumped into his jeep and we followed him to Willemsoord Barracks, on the other side of Darmo Boulevard. The roads along the way were lined with tanks, armoured vehicles and mobile artillery.
The Interpreter from Java Page 31