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.
Selected as one team were Sergeant Parker, Corporals Welsh and Laughton, Private Malkin, all of D Squadron, and A Squadron’s Corporal Sanderson, who would be their general guide and adviser, both in the jungle and regarding their relationship with the Dyaks.
After their day of rest, which took the form of a lengthy booze-up in the NAAFI, they arose at first light to shower, shave, dress, have a hearty breakfast, then get kitted out with proper jungle wear. This included ‘olive-greens’; a soft, peaked hat with sweat-band and a yellow marker inside for identification; and rubber-and-canvas jungle boots with a metal plate inserted in the sole to prevent sharp objects, such as vicious punji stakes, going through the sole and into the foot. The kit consisted of ammunition pouches; two external water bottles; and the usual bergen rucksack including, in this instance, a useful bamboo carrier, two spare water bottles, a rolled-up sleeping bag, canvas sheeting and camouflaged hessian for setting up a temporary ‘basha’, and an escape belt holding high-calorie rations, hexamine fuel blocks, a fishing line and hooks, a small knife, waterproofed matches, a button-compass and a small-scale map.
Private Malkin was given a standard-issue Armalite M16 5.56mm assault rifle with 20-round box magazine, Corporal Sanderson opted for the generally less popular 7.62mm SLR, which he insisted he was used to, and the rest selected the 7.62mm Armalite assault rifle, which was light and compact, and therefore ideally suited to the jungle. Each man was also given a good supply of ‘36’ hand-grenades and ‘80’ white-phosphorus incendiary grenades, which were clipped to the webbed belts around their chests and waist. All of them were also given a standard-issue 9mm Browning High Power handgun with 13-round magazines and a Len Dixon holster. They were also given two knives, a Fairburn-Sykes commando knife and a parang.
‘Shit,’ Terry said, swinging the Malay jungle knife experimentally from left to right, ‘this thing looks pretty dangerous.’
‘We first had these in Malaya,’ Alf told him, ‘and a lot of us badly cut ourselves while learning to use them. It isn’t as easy as it looks, so handle that item with care, kid.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Terry clipped the sheathed parang to his belt, beside the commando knife. ‘I feel as heavy as an elephant with all this gear.’
‘You’ll soon get used to it, Trooper.’
Though every member of the four-man patrol had been trained in signals, demolition and medicine, and was presently undergoing training in the local language, each individual had to specialize in one of these skills. Trained to Regimental Signaller standard in Morse code and ciphers, the team’s specialist signaller was responsible for calling in aerial resup (resupply) missions, casualty evacuations and keeping contact with base. While all had been trained in demolition work, the team’s specialist in this field was responsible for either supervising, or carrying out, major sabotage operations. The job of the language specialist was to converse with the locals, to both gain their trust as part of the hearts-and-minds campaign and gather any information he could glean from them. Last but not least, the specialist in medicine would not only look after the other members of his patrol but also attempt to win the trust of the locals by treating them for any illnesses, real or imagined, that they might complain of.
As the team’s demolition expert, Pete Welsh was placed in charge of their single crate of mixed explosives, mostly of the plastic type such as RDX and PETN, along with both kinds of initiator: electrical and non-electrical, with the relevant firing caps and time fuses. As signaller, Terry was not asked to depend on his Celtic clairvoyance but instead was given an A41 British Army tactical radio set, which weighed 11lb excluding the battery and was carried in a backpack. Each of the men was supplied with a SARBE (surface-to-air rescue beacon) lightweight radio beacon to enable them to link up with CasEvac helicopters should the need arise.
Having been trained in first-aid and basic medicine, each man in the patrol was obliged to carry an individual medical pack that included codeine tablets and syrettes of morphine; mild and strong antiseptics (gentian violet and neomycin sulphate); chalk and opium for diarrhoea and other intestinal disorders; the antibiotic tetracycline; and an assortment of dressings and plasters. However, as the team’s medical specialist, more extensively trained with the US Army’s special forces at Fort Sam, Houston, Texas, and Fort Bragg, North Carolina, Alf was in charge of a comprehensive medical pack that included all the above items, but also a greater selection of drugs and dressings, as well as surgical equipment and a dental repair kit.
‘I wouldn’t let that butcher near my mouth,’ Pete said, ‘if my teeth were hanging out by the roots. I’d rather pull ’em myself.’
‘Any more sarcastic remarks,’ Alf retorted, ‘and I’ll practise my surgery on your balls instead of your teeth. I’m pretty good when it comes to the cut and thrust, so don’t cross me, mate.’
‘Another mad doctor,’ Pete replied. ‘We should call you Sukarno.’
As the team’s linguist, Dead-eye carried the lightest load. But once in the jungle, which was usually known by the native word ulu, he would compensate for this by being out front on ‘point’, as scout – the most dangerous and demanding job of them all.
Sanderson, as their guest, or rather guide, carried only his personal weapons and kit.
Kitted out just after breakfast, the men were then compelled to spend the rest of the long, hot morning on the firing range, testing the weapons and honing their skills. This was not as easy as it sounds, for the heat soon became suffocating, sweat ran constantly down their foreheads and into their eyes when they took aim, and they often choked on the dust kicked up by the backblast of the weapons. On top of all this, they were tormented by the usual swarms of flies and mosquitoes.
‘I give up,’ Alf said. ‘I can’t even see along the sights with these clouds of bloody insects everywhere. Let’s just call it a day.’
‘Get back on your belly on the ground,’ Dead-eye said. ‘And don’t get up till I say so.’
‘Yes, Sarge!’ Alf snapped.
They came off the firing range covered in a fine slime composed of their own sweat and the dust. After a refreshing shower, they washed the clothes they had used on the firing range, hung them up to drip dry in the still-rising heat, dressed in their spare set of olive-greens, then hurried to the mess for lunch. This was followed by an afternoon of lessons about the history, geography and culture of Borneo, with particular emphasis on the border between Sarawak and Kalimantan, where most of their operations would take place.
By the time the lessons had ended, in the late afternoon, the men’s clothes had dried and could be ironed (which they did themselves), then packed away in the bergens. When their packing was completed, they had dinner in the mess, followed by precisely one hour in the bar, which ensured that they could not drink too much.
Back in the spider, or sleeping quarters, each man had to take his place beside his bed, while Dead-eye inspected
