The next morning, he smelled smoke. It was some distance away but he drew his party’s attention to the sign. Soon he could discern the lingering smell of cooking. If this was a communist overnight camp, they were feeling fairly secure.
He followed his nose and soon they came to a small clearing, in the centre of which was a kicked-out campfire. This had been rather inadequately dealt with and wisps of smoke still came from the blackened circle.
The major knew he was not of the calibre of any native tracker, but it was impossible for men to use the jungle without leaving signs. He was sure he was on the track of the right group of communists. The very nature of their careless camp, and the haphazard way they had lain during the night, told of thugs on the make rather than campaigners for a cause.
The tracks he followed became confused as they traversed and sometimes followed better-defined tracks. Before dark overtook them again, they could all smell smoke and cooking odours, and soon they began to see traces of the smoke trapped beneath the dripping, dense canopy. John realised this was no meagre campfire; this much smoke must be from several fires — a largish Sakai settlement or even a Malay kampong near the river.
He called a halt and discussed with Sergeant Mackenzie and the doctor the way they would deal with it. ‘We’ll assume there are communists in the houses, perhaps even holding some of the villagers hostage. So cautious approach with men keeping ambush positions on the main paths.’
The sergeant nodded his approval. ‘Want me to take a couple of men and circle to the far side?’
‘We’ll move off as soon as we can see, then, when we approach, you two men, and you, doc?’ He questioned the other officer with a nod. The doctor nodded briskly back. ‘You lot hare around to cover the far side. Shoot for their legs if they don’t stop when challenged. Meantime we’ll have grub up early and then move in a little closer tonight.’
They ate quickly, the men ravenous but quickly satisfied with the hard tack biscuits and chunks of corned beef, washed down with sterilised water from their canteens. They were tired, eager to move those last few hundred yards so they could rest up for the night.
As Sturgess led the way to what must be a good-sized jungle kampong, a worm of apprehension stirred deep in his stomach. This smoke was neither cooking fire nor bonfire, though it might be both. He found Mackenzie at his elbow, and they exchanged glances. ‘Tell the men to stay here. We’ll go forwards and look.’
They waited to see the men well concealed by the pathway, then moved cautiously forwards on their own. They had walked some hundred yards farther when both men froze. Someone was coming towards them along the same path. Instantly they stepped out of sight, watching and waiting.
A desolate-looking yellowy-brown village dog came hesitantly towards them, his nose pointing first to one, then the other. They waited a moment or two more, then, sure the dog was alone, stepped cautiously out.
‘Come on, old chap,’ John said softly. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find your master.’ The dog very companionably fell in behind the two men, though when they reached the bank of the Sungei Woh where the village must lie, for they could see a row of fishing stakes in the river, it refused to follow them farther. Mackenzie urged it on with a wave of his hand but it lay down and put its head flat on its paws. It was at that moment Sturgess became sure they were going to find disaster ahead.
Walking farther along the river path, they could see what looked like an extension of the fishing stakes, but these poles were black. ‘Bugger!’ Sturgess breathed.
‘Poor bastards.’ Mackenzie echoed the sentiment as they went slowly forwards to the burned-out village where only the uprights of the houses had survived.
They looked all around. Some possessions the terrorists had no use for were scattered beyond the range of the fire, while in the ashes of the largest hut were burnt corpses. ‘Five, perhaps six,’ Mackenzie said, then corrected, ‘Five and a child.’
They reconnoitred the area thoroughly.
‘There’ll be other villages farther along this river,’ Sturgess mused, wondering about their fate. ‘We’ll move upriver quickly tomorrow, see if we can forestall the bastards.’
The sergeant took off his pack and extended the entrenching tool, half spade, half pick. It was part of the personal choice of equipment he carried, whereas Sturgess always brought along a Sten gun as well as his revolver. The sergeant began to dig at the edge of the clearing. ‘You want to fetch the others up, sir?’ he suggested, adding, ‘Pity this is their first bit of action. Some of ‘em are just wee bairns.’
The major ordered a brew up and an extra meal of bully-beef stew when the job was done. ‘A bit more smoke’s not going to make any difference,’ he said as he handed his tin of cigarettes around.
It was a sober group of men who finally settled for that night. Sturgess rigged tripwires at both ends of the place he chose just beyond the village. Some of the young guardsmen had now seen the grotesque attitudes of violent death for the first time. The dog came slinking in and lay with its back against Sturgess’s boot. He let it stay.
At first light they again moved forwards, Sturgess pushing them at speed for some four miles. Then he ordered caution; the riverbank was beginning to be more trodden, beluka rather than jungle edging the path. He went ahead and before long could see a Malay kampong. Its houses had been established a long time with platform and toilets built out over the river.
He moved away from the track and bellied forwards so he could see the centre of the houses. Pulling out his binoculars, he examined each house in detail.
Crossing the doorway of the largest hut he was sure he saw the shadowy figures of men who were not somehow right for this jungle village. He concentrated hard and at last caught the image he had half registered the first time: men with rifles on their shoulders, eating from plates as they strode about indoors.
‘Got you, you buggers,’ he mouthed, wishing he could glimpse that burly, square Chinese, just pin down exactly where Heng Hou was, but his style would be sitting down being waited on.
Nothing, Sturgess promised himself, would be allowed to go wrong on this operation. ‘You or me,’ he vowed.
He withdrew to his group, excitement and urgency in his voice as he detailed his plans. He would take four men and the sergeant and go to the far side of the village; the doctor would take charge of the remaining men.
‘Allow us half an hour to be round the other side.’ He paused and glanced at his watch. ‘It is now eight forty-nine. We all move in at nine-thirty precisely. The largest hut in the middle, its facilities backing right over the river, is the main target. Shoot anyone with a rifle who doesn’t surrender immediately. Don’t let any of the bastards get away.’
Sturgess stationed himself nearest the village, two men strung out to left and right, with Mackenzie keeping watch at the rear so they would not be surprised by any CTs wandering into the kampong from their side. As he pushed his sleeve back to watch the final seconds — nine twenty-nine and — there was a noise behind him. He turned to see his sergeant standing in the middle of the path signalling to him. The signal was a cupped fist to the mouth and a bend forwards as if using a blowpipe. It meant Sakais were coming from their side. He signalled back, using the flat of his hand in a stopping motion. He glanced again at his watch; nine thirty. Nothing more he could do. Turning back to the sergeant, he stabbed a finger at his watch, then waved Mackenzie forwards.
They moved in towards the village and Sturgess was only too aware that he had deliberately placed the doctor and his men nearer the village so that the communists would be alarmed first from that side and run into him and his men’s fire. Now he had one or more Sakais at his back.
He let his sergeant move ahead of him, wondering if he might warn this native arriving at the worst possible moment. Then, emerging from the jungle, he saw not just a Sakai but behind him a tall red-bearded figure. ‘Christ! Cresswell!’ he hissed — and the women must be with them. He fairly danced on the spot for one totally disconcerted moment, then, knowing his sergeant would go on and do his job, he ran towards the party, shouting, ‘Cresswell, bandits ahead. Take cover, and stay down!’