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
