‘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,