just want us to win, no matter how we do it. They always want it both ways.’
Pryce-Jones sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He sipped his steaming tea and licked his upper lip. ‘But are we winning?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Callaghan replied without hesitation. ‘The war in the jungle’s definitely turned in our favour. The CT groups have become more fragmented. An awful lot of their leaders have been captured or killed. Food’s scarce outside the protected kampongs and the CT are therefore finding it more difficult to find recruits among the aboriginals, most of whom are now siding with us and clinging to the protection of our secured villages and forts. Unfortunately, now that the CT propaganda has failed, they’re turning to terror and committing an increasing number of atrocities.’
‘You’re talking about Ah Hoi.’
‘Yes. Only recently that bastard disembowelled an informer’s pregnant wife in front of the whole damned village. He left the villagers terrified. Now he’s rumoured to be somewhere south-west of Ipoh and we’ll soon have to pursue him. What shape are the men in?’
‘Better than the first bunch,’ Pryce-Jones replied.
Callaghan knew just what he meant. After Pryce-Jones had submitted his recommendations regarding the war, Lieutenant-Colonel ‘Mad Mike’ Calvert, veteran of the Chindit campaigns in Burma and commander of the World War Two SAS (Special Air Service) Brigade, had been asked to create a special military force that could live permanently in the jungle, to deny the guerrillas sanctuary or rest. That special force, based on the original World War Two SAS, was known as the Malayan Scouts.
Some of those who volunteered for the new unit were useful veterans of the SOE (Special Operations Executive), the SAS and the Ferret Force, the latter being a paramilitary unit drawn from Army volunteers, and former members of SOE’s Force 136. The ‘Ferret’ scouts had led fighting patrols from regular infantry battalions, making the first offensive sweeps into the jungle, aided by forty-seven Dyak trackers, the first of many such Iban tribesmen from Borneo. Though doing enough to prove that the British did not have to take a purely defensive position, the Force was disbanded when many of its best men had to return to their civilian or more conventional military posts.
Unfortunately, too many of the men recruited in a hurry were either simply bored or were persistent troublemakers whose units were happy to see them go elsewhere. One group had even consisted of ten deserters from the French Foreign Legion who had escaped by swimming ashore from a troop-ship conveying them to the war in Indo-China. To make matters worse, due to the speed with which the Malayan Emergency built up, there was little time to properly select or train them.
Shortly after the arrival of that first batch, there were official complaints about too much drunkenness and the reckless use of firearms on the base. According to Pryce-Jones, such charges had been exaggerated because of the nature of the training, which was done under dangerously realistic conditions. Nevertheless, if not as bad as described, the first recruits were certainly rowdy and undisciplined.
Some of the wilder men had eventually been knocked into shape, but others had proved to be totally unsuitable for the special forces and were gradually weeded out. Seeking a better class of soldier, ‘Mad Mike’ Calvert had travelled 22,000 miles in twenty-one days, including a trip to Rhodesia which led to the creation of C Squadron from volunteers in that country. From Hong Kong he brought Chinese interpreters and counter-guerrillas, who had served with him in Burma, to join his Intelligence staff. Another source was a squadron of SAS Reservists and Territorials (many of whom had served under David Stirling), which had formed up in 1947 as 21 SAS Regiment. Most of those men had been of much better calibre and proved a worthy catch when, in 1952, the Malayan Scouts were renamed as the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment (22 SAS).
The original three squadrons, A, B, and C, that had formed 22 SAS, had been augmented by a fourth, D Squadron, before Calvert left for the UK. By 1956 a further squadron, the Parachute Regiment Squadron, was raised from volunteers drawn from the Paras. That same year, C Squadron returned to Rhodesia to become the Rhodesian SAS and was replaced by a New Zealand squadron. This Kiwi connection meant that a number of Fijians joined the Regiment.
‘Do you still have problems controlling them?’ Callaghan asked. ‘If you do, they’ll be no good in the jungle. The CT will just eat them up.’
‘There’s still a lot of hard drinking and the occasional fragging of officers,’ Pryce-Jones replied, ‘but the lack of discipline has been corrected and replaced with excellent soldiering. Unfortunately, it’ll be a long time yet before we live down the reputation we acquired during those early years. Not that it bothers me. We’re supposed to be different from the greens, so let’s keep it that way.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Callaghan said, mockingly clapping his hands together. ‘The question is, can we actually use them or are they still being used for policing duties?’
‘Things have greatly improved on that front,’ Pryce-Jones told him. ‘Due to the recent expansion of the Federation of Malaya Police and the creation of Home Guard units and a Special Constabulary, the Army is increasingly being released from its policing obligations and given more time and means to fight the CT. The men are all yours now.’
‘They’ll need to be separated from the greens,’ Callaghan said, referring to the green-uniformed regular Army, ‘and preferably trained in isolation.’
‘I’ve anticipated that. A new Intelligence section has been opened in Johore. It’s filled with men experienced in jungle operations from the time they worked with me in Burma. I’ve included Hong Kong Chinese to act as interpreters. The head of the section is Major John M. Woodhouse, Dorset Regiment. As so much of the SAS work involves a hearts-and-minds campaign, which requires Intelligence gathering of all kinds, and since we’ll need Chinese speakers, the Regiment will be flown to Johore, where a special training camp is already in the process of completion. The men can complete their preliminary training here, then move on to Johore a week from now.’
‘Excellent,’ Callaghan said. Restless already, even though exhausted, he stood up and went to the window behind the major’s desk. Looking out, he saw a Sikh foreman supervising some Malay coolies in the building of a sangar at the edge of the runway containing rows of Beverley transports and F-28 jets. The sun was rising quickly in the sky, flooding the distant landscape of green hills and forest with brilliant light.
‘I want to get that bastard Ah Hoi,’ he said.
‘You will in due course,’ Pryce-Jones replied. ‘Right now, you need a good meal, a hot shower and a decent sleep. And I need to work. So get out of here, Paddy.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Captain Callaghan said. He picked up his soaked, heavy bergen and camouflaged sub-machine-gun, then, with a blinking of weary eyes, walked out of the office.
‘You can smell him from here,’ Mary said, when Callaghan had left.
‘A rich aroma,’ Pryce-Jones replied.
As Captain ‘Paddy’ Callaghan was having a good sleep after showering three months of jungle filth off his emaciated body, the latest influx of recently badged troopers to 22 SAS were settling in for a week of initial training in Minden Barracks, before being flown on to Johore. Though just off the Hercules C-130 transport aircraft which had flown them all the way from Bradbury Lines, Merebrook Camp, Worcestershire, via RAF Lyneham, Wiltshire, the men were in a good mood as they adjusted
