State of Siege

“I think Colonel Roda made its contents clear.”

“Then we understand one another. All I have to offer them, in fact, is a small saving of effort. The rest is pretence, and, of course, they will know that.”

“What do you want me to do, Colonel?”

He shrugged. “Is it of interest to you what happens to us?”

“If there is any prospect of a cease-fire, naturally I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“Then I will make only one request to you, Mr. Fraser.”

“Yes?”

“General Ishak is a military man. If you should have to refer to Roda, please do not call him Colonel Roda. In General Ishak’s army he was a captain.”

“And General Sanusi?”

“Colonel Sanusi would be more discreet.”

“What about you, Colonel?”

He smiled slightly. “I received no promotion. But I do not think that General Ishak will regard that as a point in my favour. We shall, of course, speak Malay.”

He looked at his watch again, then turned and walked towards the jeep.

The staff captain came forward and, when Aroff nodded, he took the white flag of truce out of its cardboard wrapping and fixed it on to the windscreen of the jeep.

I saw the gunners staring at it incredulously. Then, the lieutenant shouted an order and they scrambled to their feet. Another order, and they rolled the gun back clear of the barricade. The machine-gunners helped them to swing one of the cars aside a foot or two, so that there was space for the jeep to go through.

Aroff took no notice of these preparations. He had got into the jeep and was sitting there woodenly under the flag. I went and sat beside him in the driving seat while the staff captain clambered into the back. We sat there for a moment or two, then Aroff looked at his watch again and nodded to me.

I drove through the gap in the barricade on to the road ahead.

“Slowly, Mr. Fraser,” Aroff said; “and keep to the centre.”

I needed no telling. The moment we were clear of the barricade I felt horribly exposed; I was almost sure that the tank was going to open fire on us. The white flag drooping on its stick above us seemed a totally inadequate protection. It only wanted one trigger-happy idiot to start, I thought, and every gun in Selampang would be firing at us. I had no hat and was already far too warm. As I drove, sweat began to trickle into my eyes.

The first hundred yards was the worst. After that, although I could see the muzzle of the tank’s gun dropping gradually as the gunner kept us in his sights, I knew that unless we suddenly drove straight at him brandishing anti-tank grenades, he was not going to fire. Also I could see a group of officers standing in the shade by the gate of the police barracks, waiting.

When we were within ten yards of the tank, a lieutenant in the Government uniform stepped out from behind it and held up his hand. I stopped with a jerk that made the staff captain lurch against the back of my seat.

Aroff got out stiffly and stood beside the jeep. When the staff captain and I had joined him, the lieutenant advanced and stopped in front of us.

“Follow me, please,” he said curtly.

He turned then, and we followed him past the tank and over to the gateway. The group of officers was no longer there, only two sentries who stared at us curiously. The lieutenant led the way through into the courtyard of the barracks and the two sentries closed in behind us.

There was a big sago palm in the centre, and a table and chair had been placed in the shade of it. General Ishak sat at the table. Standing behind him were four officers and a civilian. I had never seen Ishak before. He was a thin, bitter-looking man with angry eyes and one of those wispy Sundanese moustaches that look as if they have just been stuck on with spirit gum. More interesting to me at that moment, however, was the fact that just behind him, still haggard but crisp and clean in his proper uniform, stood Major Suparto. As we came up to the table, I saw his eyes flicker towards me, but he gave no sign of recognition.

Aroff stopped and saluted the General.

Ishak did not return the salute. For a moment the two men stared at one another in silence. I was standing a little behind Aroff and I could see the muscles of his jaw twitching. Ishak looked at me.

“Who is this?” I recognised the voice. It was light and ugly, and sounded as if he were trying to speak and swallow at the same time. I had heard it once before that week.

“Mr. Fraser, an engineer from the Tangga Valley project, General. He is here by agreement as an observer.”

“Very well.” He glanced at the civilian who stood next to Suparto. “This is Mr. Petersen of the Malayan Rubber Agency.”

“Dutch?” Aroff demanded sharply.

“Danish,” said Mr. Petersen. He was a stout, fleshy-faced man in the late fifties, wearing a suit as well as a tie and looking as if he might at any moment collapse from the heat. I nodded to him and he smiled nervously.