The Rose of Singapore (52 page)

Peter slid the revolver towards the fallen terrorist, exclaiming as he did so, “So you've a bullet in your guts and God knows where Rick shot you. Well, I'm about to blow your fucking head off, but I'm giving you a sporting chance. We'll see which one of us is the marksman.” Groaning with pain, he managed to haul himself to a sitting position facing Fong Fook. Slowly, he reached for his fallen rifle, laboriously lifted it and aimed it at the Fong Fook's nose. “Come on, bastard, pick up that gun,” he heard himself screaming.

Fong Fook did not reach for the revolver. Instead, he suddenly lashed out with his feet, sending a shower of dirt into Peter's face. He then grabbed the revolver. Blinded for the moment, Peter fired, then wiped his eyes enough to see that the man's face had disintegrated. “That one's for Rick, you bastard,” he cried out. He did not wait for the body to slump to the ground but instead continued a rapid fire at the same spot until the magazine was empty and there was only a click of the trigger. Fong Fook's headless body lay twitching convulsively where it had fallen, and all that remained of what had been his head were fragments of skin, pulpy bone, splattered brains and some bloodied hair spread over the soft mossy soil. The body finally became still. The rifle slipped from Peter's hands.

Li Li began to scream. With much effort and feeling great pain, Peter slowly got to his feet and began to stagger around, not knowing where he was going, losing blood all the while, and feeling as if a red-hot iron was being thrust into his thigh. He looked to where the body of his friend lay and tears came to his eyes. He turned away and looked to where the girl was standing among tall, broad-leaf creepers, watching him wide eyed and screaming all the while.

“That's right, girl, scream your bloody head off. Someone's bound to hear you,” he said.

He touched his shattered thigh and groaned with pain. The bullet in his chest did not hurt. That whole area had become numb. His whole body was covered in muck and blood.

His stomach retched again but he could not throw up, only spit blood. Blackness engulfed him. For moments he stood swaying slowly to and fro over the headless corpse, his strength ebbing fast. Swaying forward one more time, he crashed to the ground to sink into peaceful unconsciousness over the body of the dead terrorist. Now, he could not even hear the terrified screams coming from Ho Li Li, the little Chinese girl.

31

A platoon of the 11th Hussars was the first to reach the devastated convoy. The platoon, comprising twenty-six men in two six-wheel-drive, Alvis engine-powered Saracen 604 armoured personnel vehicles and five Daimler armoured cars, had that day already accomplished without incident their two missions. Their first was to escort a food convoy from Kuala Kubu Baru to an army outpost fifty miles to the north. This was called a food run. Their second, their prime duty, was to safely escort a number of VIPs, including the High Commissioner, through a thirty-mile ‘black area.' Their two missions accomplished, they were heading back to camp when, over their radio, they received news of the ambush at Fraser's Hill. The seven vehicles carrying the platoon of the 11th Hussars immediately raced to the scene.

They arrived at the rear of the convoy just as a burning army lorry loaded with boxes of small arms ammunition began to explode, sounding like a million fire crackers going off during Chinese New Year.

Among burning and abandoned vehicles the dead, the dying and the wounded lay scattered all over the road as far as the eye could see. The Saracens and armoured cars immediately began to rake the scrub-covered upper hillsides with their machine guns. However, after several minutes of ‘bank firing', as it was called, and receiving no return fire, the officer in charge gave orders to cease firing. The officer then ordered a number of his men to assist the wounded where possible and to place them in the shade of the hillside. The dead they placed at the drop-off side of the road.

Once the centre of the road was cleared of bodies, the leading Saracen moved forward and pushed the stalled, disabled and burning vehicles to one side to make way for the many ambulances and other emergency vehicles, which were already arriving.

The famed Royal West Kent Regiment was next on the scene. Within minutes of the signal coming through confirming the ambush at the Gap, Sergeant Jack Westcott, Lance-corporal Williams and Privates Bob Miles, Jim Alinton and Roy Mervin, plus thirty-five other soldiers of the Royal West Kent Regiment had set out from a British Army camp near Kuala Kubu Baru. They were accompanied by a platoon of veteran jungle-fighting Gurkhas and a dozen Dyaks, and all travelled in tanks and armoured cars to the Gap.

Their orders were to seal off the area surrounding the Gap, to assist in bringing in the wounded and dead, to get the convoy moving again, and to track, capture and bring to justice the ambushers. Those were their written orders, but most everyone knew that the Dyaks or the Gurkhas seldom brought in prisoners. A Dyak might very well bring in the heads and hands of those he had killed, to prove his kill and for identification purposes, but there would be very few, if any, prisoners taken.

The shooting was over when they arrived at the Gap. The terrorists who had survived the ambush had already fled. Charred and burned-out vehicles were still on fire or smouldering at the edge of the road, and an army lorry filled with detonating ammunition was well alight and burning a great black hole in the jungle many feet down the hillside. British army servicemen were positioned along the whole length of the convoy, guarding piles of ownerless firearms, equipment and luggage. The many dead that lay on the road were covered by sheets, blankets and articles of clothing. Medical officers and orderlies flown in by numerous helicopters began arriving and attending the wounded as best they could. However, there were not nearly enough medics to care for the scores of wounded. Blood flowed like red wine from a thousand ruptured barrels on the road to Fraser's Hill that day.

The whole length of the convoy was strangely quiet when Sergeant Westcott and his men arrived on the scene. Noting that the 11th Hussars had already taken charge of the dead and the caring for the wounded on the road, and assuming that there were still many more unaccounted for in the jungle, Sergeant Westcott detailed the majority of his men into small groups, their sole task to search the jungle and to bring the dead and wounded they found up to the road.

Lance Corporal Williams was ordered to form one such group. He chose Privates Bob Miles and Jim Alinton, plus two Gurkhas whom he had been on patrol with on previous occasions and a fierce-looking Dyak tracker. Once formed, the group immediately left the road and entered the jungle, the Royal West Kent soldiers armed with Sten guns, the two Gurkhas their knives, and the Dyak a machete. One of the Gurkhas also carried a fold-up stretcher.

First, the observant Dyak leading the way found the partially covered body of Airman Jock Campbell, who was immediately carried to the road. On returning to the jungle they found several dead soldiers, three airmen and several civilians, but no wounded. One at a time the bodies were placed upon the stretcher and carried up to the road, where the most badly mutilated and burned were covered by whatever could be found such as jackets, dresses, blankets and sheets. After each trip to the road the rescue party immediately returned to the jungle to their grisly task of searching for the wounded or more corpses secreted within the camouflaging undergrowth. So far, though, they still had found no wounded; only the dead.

An almost inaudible moan first drew the Dyak's attention to Ho Li Li. He stopped, listened for moments, and then cautiously approached the area where the sound was coming from. He found Li Li, exhausted and asleep in a patch of wet knee-high grass. Silently he beckoned the others.

Moaning in her sleep when they found her, she awoke screaming and trembling with fear at the sight of the new dangers that surrounded her; the machete-wielding, near-naked, fearsome-looking Dyak, the two sinister-looking Gurkhas, and the three Sten gun-carrying British soldiers. All were peering down at her—a little girl wrapped up in white silk covered with blood and dirt. A few feet from her lay the body of LAC Gerald Rickie, and close by, one on top of the other to form a grotesque cross, lay SAC Peter Saunders and the headless corpse of Fong Fook, the Communist terrorist leader.

“Blimey!” a wide-eyed Bob Miles gasped. “It's a little girl!” Then, looking at the bodies, he exclaimed, “Bloody ‘ell! What the fuck ‘appened ‘ere?”

Li Li, sobbing bitterly now, was momentarily forgotten as the mens' attention was riveted on the three bodies.

“Holy Moses!” gasped the lance corporal. “What a horrible sight.”

“'E ain't got no ‘ead,” said Private Bob Miles. “Got it blown right orf.”

“Do ya think I'm bloody well blind?” snapped the lance corporal.

Private Bob Miles didn't answer. Instead, he said, “'e's one of them, ain't ‘e?”

“He looks like one. Them's two RAF bods,” said Private Jim Aliston. “Looks like the Chinaman and this one's bin fightin' a bloody duel.”

“It looks that way,” agreed the lance corporal. “Funny! The only one left alive here is the kid. You better see to her, Bob.”

“OK. I'd rather look after ‘er than look at that bloody mess.”

The lance corporal nodded. “Jim, let's take the two RAF blokes up to the road. We can collect this other character later.”

“Look! The Dyak's cuttin off ‘is bleedin ‘ands already. It makes you sick ta watch, don' it?” said Private Bob Miles.

“Well, don't watch, Bob. They need the hands for fingerprints. Anyway, you're supposed to be looking after the kid. How is she?”

“Scared shitless.”

“S'pect she is. Wonder how she got here,” said Private Jim Alinton.

“Your guess is as good as mine. What is it, Haka?” the corporal suddenly asked one of the short but burly Gurkhas.

The Gurkha named Haka turned to him and pointed a finger at the backward-flying red eagle sewn on the shoulder of the KD tunic worn by the airman lying across the body of the dead Chinese terrorist. “RAF” he grunted.

“Yes, Haka, I know he's RAF.”

Haka's broad nose twitched as he bent over and gently lifted and cradled the body of the blood-soaked airman in his arms. “Bad business,” he said, his voice surprisingly full of compassion.

“It is, Haka,” agreed the lance corporal. “Very bad business.”

The brave Gurkha did not conceal the pity he felt for the young man he held so gently in his arms when suddenly he stiffened and stared intently at the young face. Had he seen an eyelid flicker? Had he imagined it, he wondered. Puzzled, he did not take his eyes from the pallid face. No, no life there, he told himself. It must have been his imagination. Sadly, he looked down over the blood-soaked khaki uniform, and was about to place the body on the stretcher when he saw a slight movement in the young airman's little finger.

“Corporal! Look! He moves!” cried out an astonished Haka. “Look, Corporal! Look! He moved!”

“You saw him move?” said the corporal questioningly. “That's just nerves. He's dead.”

“My old man had a pig once, and its nerves were still twitching hours after my old man killed it and split it in two,” volunteered Private Jim Alinton.

“Thank you for that marvelous bit of information,” said the corporal sarcastically. “Haka, put that fellow on the stretcher and let's take him up.”

“See!” Haka shouted again. “He moves!”

“Look! His finger is moving,” gasped Private Miles. “'e's still got a chance.”

“Hamen! Get the stretcher under him,” snapped the lance corporal. “Let's get him up onto the road, and fast! Haka, and you Hamen, can you manage him between you? We must get him to the road as quickly as possible. He'll have to be taken to Fraser's Hill. This is an airlift job.”

“OK, Corp, but what about her?” said Bob jerking a thumb towards the little girl who, still very frightened, but now not crying, was sitting on the damp ground watching wide-eyed their every move.

“Hell! I'd forgotten her.”

“We'll ‘ave to take ‘er along,” said Private Miles.

“Course we will,” said the lance corporal. “Look here, Jim, she'll have to be up front with us. You can look after her.”

“Huh! Trust Jimmy to be the bloody babysitter,” said Private Alinton.

“You'll have to carry her. If she gets too heavy, I'll take her.”

“Well, ain't that just too considerate of you, Corp.” Private Jim Alinton bent his huge body over the little girl. “Now take it easy, ducks. I ain't gonna hurt you.” He scooped her up into his arms. “That's a good little lass,” he was saying to her.

Scarred and full of holes, and with many vehicles missing from those that had set out earlier that day from Kuala Kubu Baru, the remainder of the convoy had by now arrived at the summit of Fraser's Hill. Numerically, though, the number had been made up again by the addition of military ambulances, patrol wagons, tanks and armoured cars that had rushed to the grim scene from various army outposts. Most of the vehicles were now parked upon a football field which also served as a cricket pitch, next to a nine-hole golf course, all of which had been carved out of the jungle, it was said, by the Sultan of Pahang. Adjoining the golf course and football field was the RAF camp consisting of a few wooden huts, radar equipment, and a small garden where those stationed at the camp could potter and attempt to grow flowers and vegetables if they so wished.

The football field and a part of the golf course were alive with movement. On stretchers, in two long rows, the many wounded, both military and civilian, lay awaiting their turn to be taken by helicopter to British Military Hospital Kinrara, located on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur.

Medical officers and orderlies of the three services, the Royal Navy, Army and the Royal Air Force, were tending the wounded. Every so often there would be a shake of the head, and yet another dead would join the forty or more covered by sheets in a tree-shaded far corner. More dead and wounded were being brought up from the jungle every few minutes.