Читать книгу Headhunters of Borneo - Shaun Clarke, Shaun Clarke - Страница 6

The briefing took place in the new SAS headquarters, a large house lent to them by the Sultan of Brunei and known as the ‘Haunted House’ because during the days of the Japanese occupation, when it had been used as an interrogation centre, a young British woman had been tortured to death there and was now said to haunt the place. Even so, it was a great improvement on the makeshift headquarters the SAS Squadrons had been using previously, containing as it did a communications centre (COMMCEN), sleeping quarters, showers, recreation room, and other rooms such as the lecture hall where the briefing was given.

Leading the session was the Squadron Commander, Major Patrick ‘Paddy’ Callaghan, who felt completely at home in Borneo after having served his stint in Malaya during the Emergency. Also, though many SAS officers felt ill at ease when first confronting their notoriously critical troopers – it was the SAS NCOs, after all, who picked the officers during Initial Selection and thereafter judged them sternly – Callaghan felt comfortable because of his lengthy experience with the SAS since its inception in World War Two.

In fact, Callaghan had been one of the very first officers to work with the regiment’s founder, Captain David Stirling, alongside the Long Range Desert Group in North Africa. After a few years back with his original regiment, 3 Commando, he had been one of the first chosen to take part in the regiment’s re-formation during the Emergency in Malaya. From there he had returned to Bradbury Lines, then still located at Merebrook Camp, Malvern, where he had worked with his former Malayan Squadron Commander, Major Pryce-Jones, on the structuring of the rigorous new Selection and Training programme for the regiment, based mostly on ideas devised and thoroughly tested in Malaya. Promoted to the rank of Major in 1962, shortly after the SAS had transferred to Bradbury Lines, Hereford, Callaghan had been pleased to be offered the leadership of D Squadron just before its assignment to the Borneo campaign in 1964.

It is possible, therefore, that he felt even more at peace with the world because some of his former troopers, including the so-called ‘troublemakers’ Pete Welsh and Alf Laughton, both since promoted to corporal, and Corporal (now Sergeant) Richard Parker, were here with him, impatiently waiting for the briefing while wiping sweat from their faces and swatting away swarms of flies and mosquitoes.

‘Piggin’ fucking flies and mosquitoes,’ Alf Laughton said. ‘They only send me to countries filled with the bastards. It’s their way of tormenting me and driving me loopy.’

‘You buzz like a fly and whine like a mosquito,’ his good mate, Pete Welsh, replied sardonically. ‘That’s why they send you to places like this. They think they’re sending you home.’

‘Fuck you an’ all,’ Alf grunted.

‘All right,’ Callaghan said firmly, picking up a pointer, tapping it noisily on his lectern, then pulling the cloth covering off the blackboard behind him to reveal a large map of Borneo. ‘Pay attention now. This,’ he continued when the men had settled down, ‘is what we’re protecting.’ He tapped the word ‘Sarawak’ with his pointer, then ‘Kuching’ and ‘Brunei’ and finally ran the pointer along the red-dotted line marking the border. ‘Regarding the required background…’

He was interrupted by the customary moans and groans, since this was always the least popular part of an initial briefing, when the men had to listen, rather than taking part in the SAS custom of the ‘Chinese parliament’, or free exchange of ideas between officers and men.

‘I know you all find this boring,’ Callaghan said, grinning, ‘but it’s necessary, so kindly be quiet.’ When they had settled down again, he continued: ‘Brunei is one of three British dependencies in Borneo; the others are the colonies of North Borneo, now known as Sabah, and Sarawak. These territories, though extensive, represent only a quarter of the island. The rest belongs to Indonesia, whose head of state, President Sukarno…’

‘The Mad Doctor!’ Alf bellowed, winning a few laughs. With flaming red hair and a face pitted by acne, the corporal looked like a wild man. He had served twice in Malaya. The first time was in 1953 with the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry – when he had spent most of his time having a good time in Penang, rather than fighting. The second was in 1958, when, as a recently badged SAS trooper, he had been forced to stop fooling around and, instead, faced the horrors of the Telok Anson swamp alongside Sergeant Parker, Corporal Pete Welsh and a good many other, now dead, friends. Once considered a troublemaker and almost thrown out of the SAS, Alf had been saved by his exemplary behaviour in that dreadful swamp and went on to become a ruthlessly efficient member of the Directing Staff at 22 SAS Training Wing, Hereford. Now considered an ‘old Malayan hand’, he was indisputably a good man to have in Borneo.

‘Yes,’ Callaghan agreed, acknowledging the nickname bestowed by British troops on Indonesia’s ambitious leader. ‘The Mad Doctor…Anyway, on 8 December 1962 an internal rebellion in Brunei was organized and led by a young sheikh named Azahart, who wanted to unite the three dependencies. This he did by launching simultaneous guerrilla attacks against police stations, government buildings and other strategically important targets. Obliged to put this revolt down, the British quickly sent in troops stationed in Singapore, including the Queen’s Own Highlanders, the Royal Marine Commandos and the Gurkhas. Eight days later the rebellion was over and most of the rebels had fled into the jungle.’

‘Where they remain to this day,’ Pete Welsh said.

‘More or less,’ answered Callaghan.

Another old Malayan hand, Londoner Pete Welsh was an explosives expert who had been trained at No 101 Special Training School Singapore during World War Two, transferred as a sapper to 3rd Corps, with whom he had fought the Japanese during the occupation, then finally became an SAS trooper with D Squadron, returning to Malaya to take part in the Emergency with Alf Laughton, as well as some other good friends, who were killed in the Telok Anson swamp. Like Alf, regarded at that time as troublesome, he had, just like his mate, been matured by his experiences in the swamp and emerged to become an exemplary member of the Directing Staff at 22 SAS Training Wing. He was glad to be in Borneo, back in the thick of things.

‘Which brings us to the Mad Doctor,’ Alf said.

‘Correct,’ Callaghan replied. ‘President Sukarno, a great fan of the Japanese, is now driven by the dream of unifying south-east Asia under a single leadership – naturally, in this case, his own – and has cast his greedy gaze on Borneo. For this reason, when Britain backed the proposed formation of a new political entity in the region, comprising Malaya, Singapore, Sabah, Sarawak and Brunei, Sukarno opposed it, did everything in his power to wreck the plan and, in December 1962, just after the Brunei Revolt had been put down, infiltrated insurgents from Kalimantan into Borneo. When, in September 1963, Sabah and Sarawak were officially incorporated into the new Malaysian Federation, Sukarno’s forces dramatically increased their activities, with more attacks along the border. The British response was, again, immediate: to fly a force of Malaysian, British and Commonwealth troops in to contain the insurgents. You men are a further part of that force.’

The last comment was followed by a round of applause, handshaking, mutual backslapping and mutual congratulation. Callaghan let the hubbub die down before continuing: ‘The jungle war, or so-called “Confrontation”, between Britain and Indonesia is being fought on our part with a mixed force of Gurkhas, Australians and New Zealanders, totalling about 28,000 men. It’s being fought in an area as intractable as Vietnam or – for those old hands present – Malaya.’

‘If we did it in Malaya,’ Pete Welsh said, ‘we can do it here.’

‘Hear, hear!’ a few of the men chimed.

Callaghan grinned and nodded, acknowledging what they were saying, before adding a more cautious note. ‘Let’s hope so. However, please bear in mind that just as the CTs [communist terrorists] in Malaya were wizards in the jungle, so President Sukarno’s Indonesian troops are seasoned experts in this largely unexplored jungle region.’

‘Not as expert as us,’ Pete said stubbornly. ‘We can match anyone in the ulu.’

‘Right,’ Alf agreed.

Callaghan grinned, then continued: ‘The original purpose of Sukarno’s troops was to destabilize the fledgling Federation of Malaysia through clandestine guerrilla warfare and terrorism. However, when that failed, Sukarno’s generals turned to all-out invasion and blatant warfare, including air attacks on the Malay Peninsula and incursions along the border between Indonesian-held Kalimantan and Sarawak. Our job is to stop that.’

‘How?’ Sergeant Richard Parker asked in his chillingly quiet manner. Glancing down from the dais, Callaghan saw the grey eyes of Parker gazing up at him, unblinking and, to some, unnerving.

Parker was universally known as ‘Dead-eye Dick’ or simply ‘Dead-eye’ because of his exceptional marksmanship – displayed not only during his three years with the 2nd Battalion, Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, but also on the firing range of the SAS base at Merebrook Camp, Malvern, and then, most notably, during the Malayan Emergency of 1958. As Callaghan knew only too well, Dead-eye had gone into that campaign a rather quiet, serious young man who desperately wanted to be a good SAS trooper and had emerged, after some dreadful experiences in the Telok Anson swamp, an even quieter, emotionally withdrawn man but a superlative soldier.

Promoted to corporal as a reward for the bravery and skill he had displayed in Malaya, particularly in the swamp, Dead-eye had moved with the Regiment from Malvern to Hereford, where he acted as a somewhat restless member of the Directing Staff, clearly yearning for another war to fight. Bored with the peace-time fighting force, he had married a girl he met in Hereford, but separated from her three years later. By 1963, when he had been posted with the squadron to Borneo, the marriage was over.

Callaghan thought he knew why. For a long time after returning from Malaya, Dead-eye had been haunted by his appalling experiences in the Telok Anson swamp, in particular the death of the man he had most respected and tried to emulate, Sergeant Lorrimer, whose head had been guillotined by a female CT wielding a parang, a machete-like jungle knife. This gruesome scene had taken place right in front of Dead-eye.

Subsequently, back in Malvern, then in Hereford, Dead-eye had suffered repeated nightmares about the severed head of Lorrimer, whose eyes (so Dead-eye reported to the SAS psychiatrist) had kept moving frantically left and right in his head for some time after it had been severed. This bizarre phenomenon had been caused by a final, perfectly natural, nervous spasm of the muscles controlling the eyeballs, but to Dead-eye it had seemed that Lorrimer was still alive in some way and desperate to know what had happened to him – or, worse still, pleading for release from his nightmare.

More than anything else, it was the recollection of that severed head and its desperately swivelling eyes that had haunted Dead-eye for years afterwards and probably made him impossible to live with. It could not have helped the marriage; in fact, it had almost certainly ended it.

‘The main problem facing Major-General W. Walker, the British commander in Borneo,’ Callaghan replied, speaking directly to Dead-eye, ‘is that he has only five battalions to cover more than 1000 miles of jungle-covered border. Also, in addition to Sukarno’s Indonesian insurgents, he has to contend with an internal threat in the shape of the Clandestine Communist Organization, composed mainly of Chinese settlers from Sarawak. Initially, General Walker wanted us to act as a kind of mobile reserve, dropping onto the jungle canopy by parachute, as we did in Malaya, but this was deemed too dangerous and unlikely to produce worthwhile results. Instead, we’ll be operating in small patrols along the border, not engaging with the enemy unless absolutely necessary, but providing early warning of any Indonesian or CCO incursions.’

As most of the men hated R & I, as distinct from direct engagement, this announcement received the expected moans and groans, eventually silenced by a question from Pete Welsh.

‘We’ve virtually just arrived here,’ he said, ‘so know little about what’s going on. Who else is involved in this conflict? Sorry, boss, confrontation!’

Callaghan grinned at Pete’s mockery of the official term, then became serious again. ‘As Malaysia is a member of the South-East Asia Treaty Organization, the Aussie and Kiwi SAS have each sent us a squadron. The Kiwis, in particular – perhaps because of the large number of Maoris in their ranks – are the best jungle trackers we’ve got. I would ask you men of D Squadron – fresh as you are from training in West Germany and Norway and, in many cases, experienced as you are from your excellent work during the Emergency in Malaya – to be on your best behaviour with them.’

This was greeted with hoots of derisive laughter, which Callaghan deliberately ignored.

‘Also, having arrived here a few months before us, A Squadron has renewed old friendships with veterans of the Sarawak Rangers, Iban tribal trackers and headhunters brought to the Malay Peninsula in the 1950s as teachers and pupils of the SAS during the campaign.’

One of the new men, Private Terry Malkin, nervously put his hand up, cleared his throat and said, ‘’Scuse me, boss!’

‘Yes?’

‘What did you mean when you said that the natives were teachers and pupils?’

Malkin, only recently badged and still nervous with the old hands, was a Signaller. As he came from Northern Ireland, the other troopers often joked that he should be particularly good as a radio operator, blessed as he surely was with Celtic intuition and ‘second sight’. A lot of jokes bounced off Malkin’s hide on those spurious grounds.

‘We taught them about modern firearms and soldiering; they taught us about tracking in the jungle. Since coming here, A Squadron has been using them as a paramilitary force, the Sarawak Rangers, later known as the Border Scouts, but that’s being changed. From now on they’ll be used solely as trackers and support units to SAS-led Gurkha teams.’

‘Why?’ Dead-eye asked.

‘Last September our Scout post at Long Jawi, located near the border of Sarawak, was attacked and destroyed by over a hundred Indonesian soldiers who’d crossed the border from Kalimantan. Most of those men approached the post by boat, but according to the sole survivor of the attack, Corporal Ralph Sanderson, some of them emerged from the kampong itself, which they must have infiltrated days before.’

At the mention of Sanderson’s name, practically everyone in the room glanced automatically at the lean-faced soldier sitting in the back row, ignoring the flies and mosquitoes swarming around him. He was obviously used to them.

‘Though he came to Borneo with A Squadron,’ Callaghan explained, ‘Corporal Sanderson has been transferred to D Squadron to give us the benefit of his experience. If any of you men have any questions to put to him at any time over the next few months, don’t hesitate. For the moment, however, please limit yourselves to any questions you might have for me regarding the briefing so far.’

‘How did we react to the attack against Long Jawi?’ Dead-eye asked.

‘Swiftly and effectively,’ Callaghan replied without hesitation. ‘We flew Gurkhas to cut-off points on the Indonesians’ line of retreat, where most of the enemy were killed in ambushes. Nevertheless, the fact that the Dyaks had not mentioned their presence, and that the Border Scouts failed to lend adequate support to the few Gurkhas in the post, made it perfectly clear that we can’t depend on the former for anything other than tracking and intelligence gathering. Their training has therefore been taken over by the Gurkha Independent Parachute Company. Also, they no longer wear uniforms, which makes them less obviously members of the Security Forces. Naturally, we’ll still use them as porters or to fell trees to clear helicopter LZs, as they’re expert at both those tasks.’

‘What about us?’ Alf asked.

‘Since the Indonesian forces are making more frequent incursions into Sarawak and Sabah, we’ll be living almost entirely in the jungle, this time relying on our Border Scouts only for local information or when visiting a longhouse for a brief stay. Once we’ve settled in among the indigenous population, our function will be to patrol the areas where the Indonesians are most likely to cross the border. These include the comparatively flat plains along Sarawak’s western border; the valley tracks leading through Stass, about 30 miles from Kuching, the capital of Sarawak; the previously mentioned Long Jawi in the 3rd Division; the valleys south of Pensiamgan; and the waterways of eastern Sabah.’

Dead-eye turned his flat, grey gaze on Corporal Sanderson. ‘Speaking from experience, what’s your judgement on the Indo incursions?’

Sanderson smiled slightly, recognizing a kindred soul. ‘It’s my belief,’ he replied with confidence, ‘that small Indonesian patrols also infiltrate by other, less visible routes, particularly in the unexplored stretch of jungle known as “the Gap”, lying east of the Pensiamgan valleys of Sabah.’

‘Precisely,’ Callaghan interjected. ‘The Gap! Though largely unexplored territory, therefore particularly dangerous, that area will become your main battle zone.’

‘I thought we weren’t engaging the enemy,’ Alf said sarcastically.

‘You know what I mean, Trooper. If engagement is unavoidable, you engage; otherwise these are R & I patrols.’

‘How do we insert?’ Terry Malkin asked.

‘A good question from our most recently badged member!’ Callaghan responded, only half joking and going on to give a serious explanation. ‘We insert in small groups by chopper to an LZ within yomping distance of the respective target kampongs. From there we march the rest of the way. Once at their selected kampong, the individual small groups will ingratiate themselves slowly but surely, adopting a hearts-and-minds approach, as we did in Malaya. Finally, when the trust of the aboriginals has been gained, you will persuade them to let us bring more troops in by helicopter – the regular Army, Royal Marine Commandos and Gurkhas – to turn the kampongs into fortified camps. Once that’s done, we start sending SAS-led R & I patrols out into the surrounding jungle – either with or without the help of the natives.’

‘What are the hazards of this particular jungle?’ Terry asked, obviously taking this, his first campaign, very seriously.

Callaghan simply glanced at Sanderson, who said without a trace of irony: ‘Snakes, lizards, leeches, wild pigs, aggressive boar and primitive peoples: Land and Sea Dyaks, Muruts and Punans. Some of them are headhunters and don’t take too kindly to strangers.’

‘And we’re using them as trackers?’ the trooper asked doubtfully.

Sanderson grinned. ‘Only the ones we know and have personally trained. Others, when not actually headhunting, work for the Indos or CCO, so you have to be careful.’

‘When do we insert?’ Dead-eye asked.

‘The day after tomorrow,’ Major Callaghan replied. ‘Today you rest; tomorrow you prepare; the next day you leave. The flight is only twenty minutes. When you reach your LZ, an NCO from A Squadron will be there to take you in to the selected kampong and guide you through the hearts-and-minds requirements for this particular area. Any more questions?’

‘Yes,’ Pete Welsh said. ‘I’m told that the natives often offer their bare-breasted daughters as gifts. Are we allowed to accept?’

‘The elders are genuine when they offer,’ Sanderson replied from the last row, ‘but if you accept the offer, you’re liable to offend the young men of the kampong. The short answer, then, is a categorical no!’

A loud chorus of exaggerated groans filled the room, followed by Alf’s melodramatic: ‘War is hell!’

‘You should know,’ Callaghan responded. ‘That’s it. Class dismissed!’

The men gratefully pushed back their chairs and hurried out of the briefing room, determined to enjoy their last day of rest before the hard work began.