Four Fires (75 page)

stand. After Johore there's the straits separating the mainland from Singapore Island, at low tide you can practically spit across it. Judging from the way the Japs are moving, it ain't gunna take too long before we're tested.

'When we were first brought across from Singapore to the mainland, we know bugger-all about
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the jungle.'

'Wait on!' I say to Tommy. 'How'd you get to Singapore? I need to know everything. Can you start at the beginning?'

Tommy grins. 'You'll probably be one of them historians or something when you grow up, Mole. Never known nobody who has to have all the facts like you do. That's nice, that's an inquiring mind.' He pauses. 'Okay, let me see. Well, I'm in the permanent army, not long trained when it's known to one and all there's gunna be a war. I'm not yet attached to a battalion and me and a sergeant and a captain are sent up to Delegate on the New South Wales side of the border to help start a recruiting drive up through Goulburn, Bombala, Cooma and Queanbeyan.

'The drive works pretty good and eventually there's about one hundred and forty recruits, which become known as the Snowy Mountains contingent. I like these blokes so I put in for a transfer and join the 2/19th Battalion, which is a New South Wales unit and is known as The Riverina Battalion cause most of the blokes come from Griffith, Leeton, Wagga, Hay, Cootamundra and then there's us from the Snowy area. The 2/19th is one of three battalions in the 22nd Brigade, the other two are naturally the 2/18th and 2/20th.

'We done our training and on account of me being already trained I'm made a corporal, which don't mean a lot. I'm sort of the spokesman for the troops to the platoon sergeant and that's about it. Corporal aint a rank really, all it means is you're the senior shit-kicker among the troops and are equally despised by the sergeants and warrant officers.

'In February 1941 we board the Queen Mary for destinations unknown. Some of the blokes think we were going to Egypt, most think Europe.' Tommy shrugs. 'Why not? The Japs ain't in the war yet and we know bugger-all about Asia. I reckon you could have asked any bloke in the battalion to pick out Singapore Island in the atlas and he wouldn't have a clue. I know I didn't.

'We arrive in Singapore and entrain for Malaya and we're stationed first at Seremban and then at Port Dickson. That's where Bennett's good. He spends what time he's got training us in jungle warfare, so we're not completely raw and, besides, we're pretty well-disciplined troops before we leave home, so we can act like soldiers, or think we can. We're a cocky lot and by now we know the Japs are preparing for war. "Just wait till the Japs have to fight real soldiers, eh?" we tell ourselves.

'We're at Port Dickson from March to September and in May our platoon sergeant is killed by a truck while we're out on manoeuvres and we get a replacement, a bloke named Roger Rigby.

He's a big bugger with knife scars all over his arms and chest. I don't know how he got them, but about a week later he's got these truck springs, you know the steel blades used on a truck. He's got us all together and he points to the truck blades.

'"Righto, them's reinforced steel them blades, best metal there is to make a fighting knife." He looks around, "I'm willing to teach you stupid buggers how to fight with a knife because I reckon you're gunna need to know. But it ain't compulsory, you have to volunteer and there's a catch."

'Some bloke in the platoon says, "So what's the catch, Sarge?" 'Rigby picks up one of the springs,

"Make three fighting knives out of one of these, but it's gunna cost. I've got a mate in Malacca reckons he can make them according to my specifications for two quid each." He reaches into a knapsack at his feet and brings out this knife. It's a thing of beauty but dangerous-looking and I'd shit myself if someone pulled it on me. "This is a fighting knife, blade seven and a half inches long, handle, solid, tapered at the end, grip serrated, one inch at the widest point, copper crossguard slightly 's'-shaped, three inches long. Personally I think you can do without the heavy crossguard, we'll leave it off, leather sheath fourteen inches long." He flips the knife in the air and catches it by the handle. "That's the weight and size of this knife, but we'll make them tailor-made to fit the size of yer hand and the weight of your body." He points the knife at the steel springs at his feet. It began its life as one of those, high-tensile spring steel, so make up yer minds."

I look around at the faces of the men and I can see they're not too
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sure. Who is this bloke anyway? He's only just become our sergeant, we ain't done any real work with him. Seeing I'm the corporal, I guess I have to say something.

'"Sergeant, we've done our jungle training, there's no knives mentioned. Bayonet and grenade is for close-up work, no knives are issued as standard equipment."

'"Maloney, you ever fought in the jungle?"

'"No, Sarge."

'"You ever been in the jungle?"

'"Just around here, Sarge, also the bush at home."

'"Where's home, North Queensland?"

'"No, Sarge, Yankalillee, north-eastern Victoria."

'There's a bit of general laughter, most of the blokes are from the bush. "Must be tough goin'

hackin' through the blackberry and all," he says.

'I'm real embarrassed, "Yeah, tear yer to pieces soon as look at yer, Sarge."

'He grins, paying the reply. "Okay Corporal Maloney, fix bayonet." I do as he says. "Righto, try and kill me." He puts his knife back in the knapsack and he's standing in front of me empty-handed.

'The platoon laughs, thinking he doesn't mean it. I've got this stupid grin on me gob. "You for real, Sarge?"

'"Never more serious in me life, son, go ahead, kill me," he says again.

'I shake me head and look down at me boots. "Couldn't do that, Sarge." See, I fancy meself a bit with a bayonet and I've put in a lot of extra practice with some of the city blokes who don't come natural with a rifle.

'Sergeant Rigby is suddenly aggro, "Dammit, try and kill me, Maloney. Yer know yer fuckin'

bayonet drill, don'tcha?"

'I can see he's not fooling and I charge him in the regulation manner. Course I'm not gunna kill him. Next thing I know I'm on me back and he's got my own rifle and bayonet pointed at me chest. If he's the enemy, I'm dead meat.

'"Okay get to yer feet, Corporal. Don't mean to make a fool out of you in front of the men."

Then he turns to us all, "There ain't a Jap soldier don't know how to do that. A bayonet is a big knife at the end of a very clumsy stick named a rifle. You can jab it in the enemy's gut providing he gives you permission or ain't lookin', but that's about all. The only advantage is that, if you manage to do it, the enemy is three and a half feet away from you. But first you've got to stick him and he won't be standing there like a sack of sawdust waiting to be pricked."

Then Rigby picks up the knife again. "The human arm isn't as long as a rifle and bayonet, but even in a bloody midget like Maloney, it's two foot long. On your average Jap that's not much more than he can manage with a bayonet. Now some Japs have this thing called jujitsu and you better hope you don't meet one, because he'll disarm you before you even decide where you're gunna stick him. But, thank gawd, most don't have the skill, so if you know a bit about handling a knife you just may have the advantage in a close encounter. In the jungle you can be two feet away from the enemy and not see him. When you do, you just may have to be quicker than him and that's where the knife comes in." '"What's wrong with a bullet from your rifle?" some bloke asks. '"If you have time and see him coming, sure." He looks at us, "But I promise, you won't, he'll be behind the next branch you part, or jungle tree you pass, little yellow bastard comin' ter kill yer."

Tm still not entirely convinced, using a knife to kill, well ... it ain't Australian, is it? But I can see the rest of the platoon are now pretty keen even though two quid is a big ask, so I go along with the ploy and we all agree to take knife-fighting lessons.

'Next time we get town leave we take the springs and we're down to the native quarter in
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Malacca to see the smithy that's gunna make the knives. He's an evil-looking character, the colour of old tabacca leaf with a dirty turban and a big curled-up-at-the-ends moustache, his face is pretty scarred and he's only got one eye, there's this big scar runs from above his eyebrow across the left eye socket and right down so you can see it, a white line through his dark beard.

Sergeant Rigby and him embrace and they chat on in some lingo that ain't Malay, Hindi or something like that. It seems they're old mates, and they suit each other, a more evil-lookin' pair o' bastards would be bloody hard to find. 'Then after a while each of us has to stand in front of All Baba with the turban. First off we have to pay him the two quid. "How do we know we can trust him?" I ask, once again being the mouth for the troops.

'"With your flamin' life, Corporal," Rigby says. "He's been in the army himself, he's an Afghani and comes from generations of blade-makers." I can't help wondering to myself what Rigby's cut is, he's not the sort of bloke who would do things out of the kindness of his heart, or, I'd vouch, someone who'd step back if there was a dishonest quid to be made.

'Well, All Baba picks each bloke up, grabs him by the side of the arms and lifts him, sort of weighing him. Then he writes something in a dirty notebook and measures each bloke's knife-fighting arm with a tape measure and writes that down as well. He's got several short pieces of copper pipe, about four inches long, each one a different diameter. He makes us close our hand around them and when he thinks one of them fits our grip, he marks it in the spiral notepad. Last thing, he takes a spring and with white chalk carefully measures a bit of the spring and writes on it in this squiggly writing.

'"He's making your knife to order, the right fighting weight and grip for your size. If a knife's too heavy you can't get the most from it, too light and it don't cut right. It has to be properly balanced for your size and strength, grip must be perfect," Rigby explains.

'Couple of weeks later the knives are ready and, I have to admit, I pick mine up and take it out of its leather combat sheath and it's beautiful. Lethal and beautiful and, what's more, it feels like it belongs in me hand. We compare our knives and it's true, no two are exactly the same and everyone feels the same way I do.

'Next four months Sergeant Rigby, who is now known as "Blades" for the obvious reason and because everyone in the army has a nickname, trains us in how to use a fighting knife in combat.

I'm a reasonable good shot and I can use a bayonet as good as the next man, but I have to admit the knife gives you a lot of confidence. It's a very personal weapon, not like a rifle or a bayonet.

After a while you get to think of it as an extension of yourself, your hand don't end at the tips of yer fingers no more, it extends to the tip o' the blade.

'In September we move to Kluang and then in October to Jemaluang on the east coast. All of it is jungle training and with it, Sergeant Rigby's knife fighting. We've become a bit of a joke with the other platoons, but our lieutenant, who's also joined in the training, acts special permission from the colonel for us to carry our knives in combat as part of our personal kit.

'In December the Japs enter the war by bombing Pearl Harbor, but even before this they're already on their way to invade Malaya. We're pretty excited and then dead disappointed because we're not sent north to stem the invasion. We reckon it's unfair keeping us down south while the Poms and the Indians get all the glory.

'Well, it don't turn out that way. Like I told you, the Japs are no pushover and there's no stoppin'

them. The Brits and the Indians are retreating and eventually try to hold the rapidly advancing enemy at Kuala Lumpur, but can't. After this we get our chance.

'General Bennett sends us into new positions west of a place called Bakri, which is near the Muar River that is being defended by a battery from our 2/15th Field Artillery regiment and the Indian troops, who've taken a fair old battering. As I said, the Brits have withdrawn from Kuala Lumpur and are in no shape to carry on, so the Japs have got a free run to Muar River where the
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Indians waiting there are no match. Our 2/29th and an anti-tank mob are sent to shore them up.

Meanwhile we're ordered to Parit Sulong a little further east.

'So much for being cocky. The Poms are retreating and the Indians collapse, so now the 2/29th and the anti-tank go into battle. Soon they're taking a terrible hiding and we're told to go to their aid. So we leave a platoon to defend the bridge at Parit Sulong and move over to the west of Bakri to join in the fighting.

'We discover that we can't get to the 2/29th because the road is blocked by the Japs. We send the armoured cars in but the Japs drive them back. Then two platoons, ours is one of them, and a mortar detachment, have a go. This is what Blades has trained us for, I guess, and we're in among them. I've never seen a Jap before and now they're fuckin' everywhere you look, but they must have seen Blades coming at them with a knife because they're soon routed, though we corner them and I reckon it wasn't a day to take prisoners. We're on to the next group of Japs and to our surprise they up and scarper, abandoning their Positions and leaving behind a number of their wounded. When the smoke clears we have one bloke who's got a minor neck wound.

We say to ourselves, that weren't too bad, fuckers may be able to fight but then so can we. We've forced them back and are feeling quite pleased with ourselves.

Most of our platoon have blooded their knives and we're like a bunch of schoolboys who've won a footie game.

'In the meantime the 2/29th, the mob from Victoria, are in the thick of it, but they've also had their moments. The Japs send their tanks in against them and they fell trees and drop them between the ranks so the tanks are stuck. There's eight tanks and they're sitting ducks and the blokes in the 2/29th finish them off with anti-tank guns, rifles and grenades. The Japs try to infiltrate their positions that night but they're driven off with automatic fire. During the early part of the night there's a fair bit of shelling that's directed at our positions. Still an' all, as far as the 2/19th are concerned it ain't been a bad day's fighting.