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It turned out that Exercise Gonzales turned into Operation Gonzales. I was assigned with a team to provide water supply to the Brigade Tactical Headquarters, located in a rubber estate on the fringe of a primary jungle in Jalong, it is located in the vicinity of the small town, Sungei Siput. Our secondary task was standby as the Booby Trap Clearing Team, in the event there was a shortage of manpower. The town was famed as a hotbed of communist activity.

Three of us were settled quite comfortably in a hundred and eighty pound tent, amazingly we had white sheets, a metal folding bed, mattresses and a mosquito net. This set up was authorized by our Squadron’s Officer Commanding, Major Lim Ong Hong. I met him again after many years had passed at 5th Mile Camp, in Mentakab. He was a Lieutenant Colonel then, he was meeting up with the late and iconic Lieutenant Colonel Zulkapli Abdul Rahman.

A team set up everything for us inclusive of the infrastructure in providing a clean water supply for the Brigade Hq. We were the only ones sleeping on mattresses apart from the Brigade Commander, made us lowly sappers feel special.

Our job was to pump up water from the river Jalong, twice a day using Alcon pumps, the river was a 150 meters away, into a canvas s-tank, for the water to sediment, once the sediments sink to the bottom we pump the water into another s-tank to sterilize the water. Once we assume the water is clean, a water test is conducted, if the water is found clean, the water is then pumped up into another s-tank placed on a tower built by Bailey cribs.

From the tower the water is distributed to the field kitchen directly by a pipe. There was also an outlet from this tower to fill up all towed water trailers for all units scattered over the operational area, all the water we produced was strictly for drinking. This water was only meant for static units. Mobile units were allowed to draw the water if they were deployed from the location. Normally they would come up to fill up before their deployment by helicopters, there were two LPs at the HQ.

The river Jalong for all the residents at the Brigade Tactical Hq was one big bathroom and also played the role of a communal toilet, I really felt sorry for the inhabitants downstream, but at that particular time it did not strike my mind. The river was a lazy, slow flowing river, it was clear.

When it rains it was surging, gushing, growling, brown and a dangerous river with the water reaching the heights of her banks, uprooting trees and collecting debris on it’s way downstream, that was when our job become quite difficult but we persevered and never did we fail in supplying good drinking water.

Apart from that we spent our days lazing, sleeping and doing sentry duty when it was our turn. Occasionally a NAAFI truck, dropped by, it was a day to look forward to. There were beers, ice cold beers sold from the truck, tidbits, toiletries and canned food to supplement the food we were getting. It was a cushy job indeed, life was good.

At this time when I was well stocked with beers, my eldest brother from the Recce Regiment choose to drop by to visit his “little” brother. He knew where we were encamped after all there were only 5 of us, Engineers. He came with his long strides and grabbed me, enveloping me with his body, I was the shortest male in my family.

The rest of the soldiers were staring at us. We asked each other how we were. He was asking me news about the family. The was no telephone those days in my house. Only “slow mail” kept the news flowing. Of course introduced him to my mates, one of them quickly fried 4 eggs, opening two cans of beer, His reaction was “wow, you guys are living it up”. We looked at each other with unspoken thoughts, me praying that he would be safe. The time passed quickly, maybe an hour or more.

One of his mates came down to call him as his convoy was about to move back to Ipoh and he was part of the escort. Told him to bottoms up and gave him another can of beer which I told him to do likewise. He did, I walked him to the Ferret Scout Car, he hugged me saying the good byes with unspoken words. He climbed abroad his scout car and took his place in the driver’s seat. I could see his face. The convoy slowly moved out, I waved to him until he was out of sight.

One day there was an announcement saying that 7 Communist terrorists were shot dead in a skirmish. On another day we heard, a tracker dog was shot dead in another firefight resulting in another 5 Communists shot dead. Another classic was an ambush party from the 7th Rangers, the ambush party was taking a break after 3 days in an ambush position, leaving behind a young soldier to sentry the ambush position and also to take care of the claymore mines left behind.

Claymore mines are like small transistor radios on stilts, they have 700 ball bearings on the front, backed by C-4 plastic explosives. They are normally laid in a series of six. They can be triggered by a switch, or for instance by a trip wire or a M-57 firing device. The direction to be placed is clear, raised bold letters in green say “FRONT TOWARDS ENEMY”.

When it is triggered, 700 ball bearings fly out, in this case, there were 4,200 bearings. Five armed communists, decided to have an orders group right in front of these claymores, the young sentry fired the M-57 (firing device) resulting in 5 dead enemies. Classic, meaning a classic case of a fluke. Great luck for the ambush party who were jubilant and elated over their fluke success. The end justifies the means.

One evening there was a buzz in the camp, that a dead Communist was carried by an infantry patrol into the Tactical Hq, my friends told me that they had seen the body. I had never seen a dead Communist terrorist, curiosity overcame me. I put on my webbing and took hold of my rifle and made my way to the HQ, the rest of the curious were there, not many though, it was actually morbid curiosity. There beside the dead body, leaning against a canvas screen was a Czechoslovakian .22 semi-automatic rifle along with a few hundred rounds, a cylindrical object which looked like an improvised hand grenade.

An aluminum container with a dried up and very hard tapioca, that’s all he had for food. The dead commie was identified as a seventeen-year-old by army intelligence. His arm was shattered above his elbow barely attached, hanging on to the rest of the body by slivers of flesh, where two rounds from the Heckler & Koch 33 rifle penetrated. He looked starved, which I believe he was, because of the relentless pressure by fighting patrols on our part to deny them rest or food.

I spoke to the patrol commander who downed this guy, he told me the following: They had received information from a native aborigine that a group of Communists had visited the village earlier and cleared out all food. This aboriginal settlement was on the fringes of the rubber plantation on the edge of a primary jungle.

The patrol saw this young Communist probably a straggler from the main group. It challenged him, from about 15 meters away, he swung his rifle around bringing it to bear towards them, the lead scout let loose a burst of fire hitting him above the elbows. The enemy fell on the ground, the patrol commander was upon him in a rush as he was groping for a hand grenade with his good arm, the patrol commander placed a neat round through his throat and another into his belly, killing him instantly, those were the gunshot wounds I was curious about. It was a gaping big hole and the exposed viscera.

It was a mistake for me to come and take a look, at the body, I felt funny, I knew I had to get away, I mumbled something unintelligible and quickly made my way to my tent. The truth was I was feeling nauseated, felt like throwing up or passing out on seeing the body. I made it and lay myself on the bed, I did not say anything to my companions. I was afraid of passing out in front of my mates.

I did not tell anyone about this incident as I would not have lived it down. Later on I did not go the way I did the first time, still I could never get used to the blood and gore, as it always troubled me thinking about life and death, I could be as cold blooded as the next guy, but it must be me doing it, then I would not feel squeamish at the end result. Normally when I need to see things like that, I prepare myself as I really would not like to repeat it like the first time.

One night an artillery unit had quietly moved into a position across the river, none of us lower ranks knew about this. This was just after stand to, that evening after a nice refreshing bath I had put on the best and cleanest combat dress. The area where my tent was located was a turn around area for all the many vehicles that came to collect water, mixed up with the constant churning of wheels it was a veritable sea of mud.

Everyone was caught unaware, there was this reverberating, thundering roar, the ground trembled. Hysterical cries of “stand to! Stand to! Were heard. I who loved life dearly flung myself on the ground, to sink in the quagmire of mud. I probably sank to about 6 inches of myself, as another explosion was heard. I started crawling towards the sentry post caked in mud, this was the post where I normally did my sentry duty and also this position was my stand to position.

I looked up and there was this familiar silhouette raised against the dark sky and treetops, a guy from another unit of bottle washers, the transport corps. We got to know each other quite well as we shared the same post day in day out. He knew it was me, I got up and crouched over the parapet of the sandbagged post, whispered to him whether he saw anything, I had already cocked my rifle on the crawl. I was now safe behind this heavily sandbagged position, wanted something or someone to shoot at.

At first there was the initial shock and fear, now cradling my rifle, that initial fear evaporated leaving me with a sense of confidence. Both of us were peering into the darkness, the whole camp was quiet. My companion suddenly said he saw something moving, he pointed in a direction, yes, it was something moving, only it was too high about ten feet above the ground, told him to cool it as they were leaves from a tree swinging gently in the breeze.

All too soon there were calls of “stand down” mingled with nervous breaks of laughs and expletives splashed out generously to placate themselves. The sergeant with the transport guy told us that there was an artillery unit across the river and the brass had just informed them. Nights were no longer quieter after that, every night the battery of guns assailed our senses, until daybreak. It was harassing fire provided on suspected enemy trails and locations.

Nights were no more something to look forward to. We awoke still feeling tired, awoke bleary eyed due to the lack of sleep. I used to think that the artillery wallahs did that on purpose. This sorry state of affairs lasted for around ten days.