Indonesian Gold (67 page)

His orders had been explicit; the men who had commandeered
Stewart's powerboat were instructed to wait for nightfall before entering the mining camp. They
were not to engage the
Kostrad
troops, but send a signal to the Javanese soldiers that the
Dayaks could slip in and out of their camp, unimpeded. The
Penehing
advance team's orders
were to kill and decapitate perimeter guards, then move downstream to the main target. From
experience, Jonathan understood the value of leaving headless bodies for the enemy to find, the
gruesome sight never failing to unnerve, particularly at night. As for the Madurese laborers, for
the moment they would remain unharmed, the chief expecting they would flee, once word of the
Dayak attacks on other settlements reached their ears.

Perched high in the
meranti's
crown a hornbill
cawed, Jonathan disturbed by its timing. He peered back from the solitude of his candle-lit
surrounds towards the grayish, silhouetted Longhouse outline wondering how many mothers remained
awake, fearful for their sons, and how many of the village wives would be widowed, before the day
was done.

****

Jonathan raised a smile for Angela when she drifted into
his line of sight, Yuh-Yuh at her side.
‘Can't sleep?'

‘
No. Haven't even tried. Thought I'd find you out
here.
'

‘You learned to recite your first prayers in this
grotto.'

Angela glanced around the sacred place then knelt down
beside her father, the furrows across his face exaggerated by the flickering light.
‘How much
longer?'
she asked, placing her hand on his.

The chief looked up at the starless sky.
‘When dawn
breaks.'

‘And the mining camp?'
She had harbored concerns that her father's stubborn streak and fierce pride might have
tempted an attack, in spite of the enemy's superior numbers.

‘
We've sent them a message. They're safe…for the time
being.
'
‘I'm sorry,
Papa,'
she offered, inwardly relieved. And then,
‘Poor Stewart, all that tuak, when it wasn't necessary!'

‘He'll live. But that doesn't mean that you should return
to the mining site – at least not yet. If the settlers don't abandon the camp within the week,
we'll burn them out.'

‘What about the soldiers? We're not equipped to take the
fight to them.'

‘Many will be ordered downriver to protect whatever's left
of the settlements there. The scale of the exodus from transmigrant sites will keep the army
preoccupied for weeks, if not months. Don't worry, Angela, our men will not have to face the
army's firepower. If there's to be any slaughter, it won't be Penehing blood that is
spilt.'

‘What if there're reprisals?'

‘Every Longhouse community has contingency plans, in
the event they send their troops. But, we feel that this is unlikely. The Javanese have no taste
for the jungle. Besides, their lines of supply would be difficult to maintain to such isolated
outposts. They can't bring ships or landing barges this far up the river, and only helicopters
can land. That severely restricts their capacity to mount any sustained operation against us.
Don't worry. We've thought this all through, very thoroughly.
'

‘I know you have, Papa,'
she repeated,
‘I know you have.'

‘Come, I need coffee,'
Jonathan rose to his feet,
‘and it might be an idea to check on your
man.'

****

Madurese Migrant Settlement

When dawn revisited the corrugated-roofed, shantytown
settlement, buildings were already ablaze, the
Penehing
warriors moving to each dwelling
armed with thirsty blades, slicing the air with deadly accuracy as families spilled into the
open, confused that their village was under attack. Heads rolled from wheeling bodies, men, women
and children alike, others lost hands or arms as they held these out in defence. A terrified
migrant exited his home with such speed, his legs carried a headless torso well out into the
street, before collapsing under a fountain of blood. None were spared, the indiscriminate
slaughter continuing without resistance as the sword-wielding raiders slashed their way through
the Madurese community, massacring hundreds within the first minutes. Children, lost in the
confusion or abandoned by fleeing parents died where they stood, their screams cut short by the
edge of cold blade, the carnage building as years of persecution drove the
Penehing
into
an unimaginable, killing frenzy. The death toll climbed, the air filled with cries of
Hawawa…hu! Hawawa…hu!,
the traditional call used to further inflame the young warriors,
all now convinced that they were possessed by
Nayau,
their ancestral spirits. One
Penehing
youth, a lad of no more than sixteen, sliced his victim across the chest and
stomach with vicious blows, then followed the body as it fell to the ground spilling entrails
onto the ground. He ripped out the man's heart, cupping one hand inside the gaping hole, then
drank the Madurese migrant's blood. And, as the inflammatory cries of
Hawawa…hu! Hawaw…hu!
grew in crescendo, decapitated heads were taken and placed on sharp, bamboo poles and paraded
through the burning village.

****

Kopassus – Special Forces

 

‘Keep it quiet!'
the
major hissed savagely. The raiding party glided through the forest channel, silently propelled by
paddles when one of the forward oarsmen mistimed his stroke, drawing curses from others in the
team. Crouched, the officer looked back over his shoulder at the shadowy line of rubber
inflatables following closely behind, concerned that the currents had cost them time. They had
covered the first twenty kilometers under tow, then paddled the remaining distance as quietly as
their passage would permit, the mini-armada arriving within sight of the Longhouse with only
minutes to spare. The major moved forward and whispered instructions to the Sergeant.
‘We'll
tie up over there.'
The men steered towards the riverbank, those behind acknowledging the
officer's signal to follow. The covert warfare force landed alongside the grotto, secured all
twenty dinghies, gathered their weapons and then split into designated teams for the final
attack.

The major urged his troops to hurry as first light was
imminent, and the element of surprise would soon be lost. Although
Kopassus
troops had a
fearful reputation and the mere mention of their command sufficient to bring most to heel, he
knew that the Dayak was not so easily intimidated, and only a fool would underestimate their
determination and capacity to fight. It was therefore imperative to the success of this mission
that his men strike before the alarm could be sounded and, this objective might have been
achieved, had the village hounds not detected their scent.

****

Hours had passed, and Stewart Campbell remained violently
ill; the
tuak
and the spicy food had made for a dangerous cocktail. Stripped to his
underpants, he staggered back from the primitive ablutions with water lapping across his unclad
feet – knees threatening to collapse under his seriously weakened body, suffering the
helplessness of the infirmed. His head continued to spin, his throat wretchedly dry – the nausea
overwhelming and he convulsed, yet again. Another fierce, searing pain ripped into his gut and he
winced with the hot, tearing signal, sweat leaking from every pour as he propped himself,
preparing for the attack, the slippery, wooden boardwalk threatening to cast him into the
river.

The pain came and went – his body bent in racked disorder
as he gripped for a non-existent handrail and fell, his knees relaying messages of immeasurable
pain to an already numbed brain. Campbell remained doubled in humble pose, a hand rescuing him
from his predicament and he mustered remaining reserves, to drag himself upright.

‘Here, let me help you,'
Jonathan's voice seemed distant, Campbell accepting the strong hand dragging him to his
feet. With tottering gait, and supported by the chief's arm wrapped around his waist, the
American climbed back up into the Longhouse, and into Angela's care. Returning from the grotto,
she had peeked into his cell-size accommodations, and discovered him missing. It was Jonathan who
had found Campbell in this debilitated state.

‘Do you have anything… I can take?'
He ground the words, the very thought of placing anything more in his mouth,
threatened with rising bile.

‘Why didn't you call for me earlier?'
Angela admonished
.
‘It's not exactly something…I wanted to share.'
They
maneuvered
him onto a bunk.

‘Papa?'
Angela looked
to her father.

‘I'll get something for him.'
Jonathan then disappeared, to prepare a cure.

The room continued to spin, for Campbell – Angela waiting
helplessly, at his side. When the chief reappeared, he carried a bowl mixed with ground
Salak,
and traditional herbs, surrendering the remedy to Angela who spoon-fed the
concoction into Campbell's unwilling mouth, the patient grimacing with each swallow.

‘You'll be all right, with some rest,'
Jonathan assured, then returned to his own quarters, mindful of the hour.
Throughout the Longhouse, families began to stir in preparation for the day, children left to
sleep while mothers lit kerosene stoves and washed, before they would pray. Outside, village dogs
began to bay – Jonathan Dau senses raised in alert, the possibility of wild game inadvertently
wandering into the area, coming to mind. Then, with the distinctive squeal of an animal in pain
reaching his ears, the chief's hand snapped a loaded weapon from the gun rack, checking the
magazine as he moved cautiously outside.

Jonathan's eyes scanned the gray, early morning scene,
lifting his chin and breathing deeply to test the air, a hand instinctively sliding along the
weapon's stock as he sensed the presence of others – the howling,
kampung
dogs a sure sign
that something was seriously amiss. He stood at the top of the wooden stairway and slowly panned
the area with the muzzle of his rifle, his eyes narrowing when there was suggestion of movement –
a finger curling inside the trigger guard, when he was certain. He called out,
‘Who's out
there?'
And then,
‘Show yourself, I am armed!'
which was greeted with a hail of
automatic fire, Jonathan throwing his body backwards as bullets ruptured the air, shattering
timbers within centimeters of his head.

He returned fire; his rifle kicking as he shot into the
area below, Jonathan shocked at the size of the attacking force. He heard someone scream out a
command, and another hail of bullets punctured the longhouse structure forcing him to the floor.
He rolled, quickly, rising on one knee and aiming directly at a point above and behind where he
sighted muzzle fire. Jonathan squeezed the trigger, his aim true as the soldier in his sights
spun in the air, the man's Steyr machinegun spraying deadly fire in all directions as he fell to
the ground. Again, the attackers concentrated on Jonathan's position, a grenade falling short
provided the chief with the opportunity to reposition. Something ripped through his leg and he
knew he'd been hit. Instinctively, his hand fell to the wound but he could feel nothing. Another
barked command brought momentary silence, but Jonathan knew that the soldiers would only be
regrouping. Then, out of the corner of one eye he caught a glimpse of flaming torches twisting
overhead as these were hurled through the air, and he cursed, emptying his magazine in the
direction of those responsible. The troops returned his fire, and Jonathan knew he had to
withdraw.

Somehow, he managed to drag himself upright and back
inside the Longhouse where screaming women and children ran helplessly around, terrified, as
Kopassus,
9 mm bullets tore through wooden walls and flesh. Villagers fell to the timber
floors, wounded and dying, the unrelenting onslaught accounting for more than one hundred within
the first minutes – all victims of the soldiers' Steyr Assault, machinegun fire.

Almost half of the remaining
Penehing
elders had
managed to offer some resistance with their antiquated, conventional rifles, whilst others had
bravely stood their ground, warding off their attackers with more primitive weaponry. Spears and
arrows found their marks, the aging warriors' valiant efforts providing the opportunity for many
of the women and children to escape.

This unexpected resistance and the mounting number of
casualties stunned the
Kopassus
soldiers, their commander ordering his men to advance when
the senior NCO fell dead at his feet. Moments later, a look of surprise spread across the Major's
disbelieving face when a blowpipe found its mark, the poisonous tipped dart depriving him of life
as he, too, slumped to the ground. At his side, a soldier struggling desperately to dislodge an
arrow which had struck a comrade in the thigh, died standing, the accuracy of the spear cutting
into his heart. And, whilst the greatly outnumbered, elderly group of
Penehing
continued
to fight for time, more than half of the Longhouse families escaped along the river boardwalk,
across the dangerously overladen suspension bridge, and into the jungle.