The fire-fight continued for another half hour. The Indonesian losses were distressingly high. It was as if the enemy had known of the assault in advance and had been just waiting. In ambush.
The Captain called for his men one final time to retreat as he could see that their numbers had been reduced to but a few by the enemy's incredibly accurate fire. As he led the handful of survivors away he screamed as a bullet pierced his lungs, throwing his body to the ground. Reports of the number of dead, more than seventy men, were radioed by the wounded signals operator after they retreated. His Commander had been killed, shot in the back as they fled with the remnants of what had been a proud force of soldiers just hours before.
The village of Balibo experienced its second attack in less than five hours as another two companies entered the area anticipating the same fierce resistance that their comrades had encountered and paid for dearly. To their disappointment the enemy had already fled the area and it was assumed that they had headed towards the coast. The Company Commanders regrouped and were preparing to follow when, to their surprise, a number of foreigners suddenly appeared.
Across the mountain and less than sixty kilometres away and still at sea, the second team of raiders prepared to board the small motorized dinghies which had been tied alongside after the ship's guns became silent. Some had experienced the nausea of sea sickness as they were unaccustomed to the ship's motion. They were part of a the two-pronged attack, and although the task of storming beaches was normally left to the
Korp Komando,
the responsibility for the operation had been given to them. The officers understood the necessity for maintaining the small task force as a regimental operation. The two forces had planned to meet up on the coast at Babau, not so far from where they now prepared to leave their ship. The Navy had been softening up this area for several days.
This raiding party was also of Company strength, one hundred men and, as they stood on the deck holding the wire ropes to steady themselves as the ship moved under the slight swell, news of the incredible losses suffered by their comrades was passed to them by their officers. The fleet's radio operators had been responsible for relaying the information they'd picked out of the air waves to the contingent's Commander. The officer in charge was aware that this devastating news would otherwise only have been passed on hours after their own assault and deemed it necessary that his men be informed.
The soldiers reacted with dismay. Many of their friends were in the fateful operation and they now would have to wait for days before they would know who had survived and who had not. They were told that it had been an ambush. These young and inexperienced men felt bitter and angry. Bitter because the enemy obviously knew in advance and had waited for their comrades to walk into their trap.
The Commander knew only too well just how compromised their communication traffic had become. Even during the preceding days while searching for the Radio Indonesia broadcasts his Communications sergeant had picked up an Indonesian language broadcast and, thinking it was their own, listened to the news program on the short wave band. He remembered the looks of concern which passed over the Colonel's face when, to their complete surprise, as part of the news bulletin the commentator made explicit reference to the Indonesian troop buildup and actually identified the Divisions, their strengths and movements.
As they continued to listen, the broadcast language medium changed to English as the station identification was announced closing off the news broadcast and, to their astonishment, they believed they heard the voice advise that it had been a broadcast service from Radio Australia! They knew immediately that the information on the air waves could just as easily be picked up by the enemy. Almost every village in the region had at least one short wave radio and a large number were tuned into the Australian broadcasts. Still, they had wondered, how could the information be passed from the active front across thousand of kilometres to the distant city of Melbourne? With this information resting heavily on their minds they boarded the twenty dinghies and headed ashore.
It was still three hours before dawn. They too were dressed in an assortment of apparel made to appear as if their number originated from the East Timorese sympathetic to the Indonesians. They expected to arrive on the outskirts of Babau village just before dawn in preparation for their attack.
The small flotilla of Zenith rubber dinghies moved quickly towards the shore. None of the soldiers spoke as the small craft, each carrying up to six men and their supplies, moved like a swarm of large bees towards the shoreline, pushed efficiently by the Evinrude outboards. Foremost in their minds was the tragic loss of life suffered by their Battalion. They were convinced the foreign broadcasts had alerted the FRETILIN forces. As they moved closer to the shoreline the Commander checked his watch. The luminous hands and numerals glowed brightly in the moonless dark of the pre-dawn day. It was almost 0430. On 16 October 1975.
He couldn't see the expressions on his men's faces but he knew what was in their hearts. Their fear had now been displaced by hate.
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Umar Suharjo had carried out his instructions exactly as directed. FRETILIN had been substantially supported with regular arms shipments and access to the hidden caches in the hills. The results were greater than the General had anticipated and, in turn, he was pleased with the Major's efforts rewarding him accordingly.
Umar was confident that the Jakarta Armed Forces Chiefs had no idea whatsoever as to the immense amount of weaponry they had prepared in anticipation and support of the armed revolt the Separatist Forces continued to organize. They had appealed for international understanding of their cause but, it seemed, only Fidel Castro was prepared to listen. Although there were others who continued to watch, observing the accelerated changes in the small town's defences through the advanced technology of Satellite Imagery Enhancement.
Umar was suspicious of the bearded men who, to him, appeared to be Italian. He wasn't too comfortable with the presence of the Cubans. He guessed that out of the original two hundred men transported via Macau, no more than half a dozen had been killed in the action to date.
They were very good. Experienced and extremely cruel. He was pleased that they had no wish to mix. Often they would spit at their Timorese comrades and then break into laughter while babbling in a tongue only they could understand. He thought they were like monkeys. But, he acknowledged, they were very good soldiers. Their tactics were clever. Umar admired their patience and cunning. They would lay traps for the unsuspecting Indonesian soldiers and just wait.
Although the Indonesian fire-power was superior in numbers, their troops were far from home and poorly trained. And they had never been in combat before whereas these hardened veterans had accounted for more heads than one could imagine during their tour in Angola.
The Cubans scared him.
It was because he had not yet learned their ways, and when he did, he smiled with the thought, they would then be scared of him! They were intelligent and seemed to understand many languages. Each day at least two of their number would sit in front of their radios listening and writing furiously for hours.
Umar's lips curled, the closest he could bring himself to smiling. And then, of course, there was the free intelligence offered by the Australian news broadcasts. Although these created considerable bewilderment at first, the reports were now considered an integral part of each morning's briefing as they had proved to be totally accurate and dependable.
Umar was not convinced that the FRETILIN forces could withstand a full frontal surprise attack should these reports cease, and that was the question at hand. He was often confused by the commands he'd received and had long ago given up all attempts to understand the man to whom he had become an important extension.
His executive executioner!
Again Umar curled one lip as he enjoyed his own definition of his relationship with one of Jakarta's most powerful figures. The General had decided that time had come to increase international pressure on his own government. Umar was annoyed at not being able to second guess the man, although he rarely could. This latest directive appeared to contradict the basic plan. Or at least, as Umar Suharjo understood it to be.
It was not until Umar later fully appreciated the strategy that he agreed that it was, in fact, brilliant. And it would not be difficult to achieve. It was just a pity that it would bring an end to the much needed information they enjoyed from those daily broadcasts. He prepared to move into Kupang.
As he had crossed the border so frequently, Umar scoffed at the ridiculous ease with which it could be achieved. There were few border gates and signposts to speak of and he selected almost any path he wished to take, just walking from one country into the other. It really was ridiculous, he felt. Maybe the island should be one country and not divided as it had been by the foreigners hundreds of years before, Umar thought.
He had read enough history to understand how the colonists worked. The
bulé
would occupy a country and then split it into two. As in Korea, Vietnam, Ireland and New Guinea. Even Malaya had been split away from its Motherland, Indonesia, by the British! He pondered these thoughts and, realizing that they achieved nothing, admonished himself for permitting his concentration to stray.
The experienced Javanese Major decided to do something constructive. He was restless and disliked not being occupied. It wasn't in his make-up to just sit around and wait. He would check on the FRETILIN troops latest movement activity to avoid contact with their guerrilla bands. Umar had no wish to bump into those Cuban animals. During his reconnaissance patrols he had come across their handiwork on more than one occasion.
They had left hundreds of bodies in varying states of dismemberment throughout the territory, and even he was disgusted with the way they had butchered the women and children. He had known of one incident when the Cubans had hidden the severed heads of their victims in jute bags, and rolled them into a village school yard, laughing at the screams of terror as children discovered that the mud caked objects they had run to recover, were not coconuts at all. The Cubans didn't really care who they slaughtered. They killed indiscriminately, whenever it pleased them to do so. Often they killed the Free Timorese just out of boredom.
This, and other grotesque mistakes almost cost FRETILIN the international support it so desperately needed. Seda was angry and demanded that Fidel's butchers be expelled by the separatist groups. The Timorese were scared. They did not want to incur the wrath of the Cubans by suggesting they were no longer welcome.
Seda was disgusted when he read the report which described one drunken spree when the Cubans had taken more than fifteen teenage girls from the surrounding towns and locked them in a makeshift bamboo cage on the beach. They had insisted that their FRETILIN comrades-in-arms join them in drinking rum, a commodity they seemed to have in abundance.
The day had progressed slowly into the early afternoon when one of Fidel's finest had opened the temporary cage and dragged the closest girl out onto the sand by her long black hair. He held her with one hand while unzipping his trousers.
“
No! No!
” the fifteen-year-old had cried, choking on her screams at the thought of being publicly raped.
He laughed and, holding himself with his other hand, urinated on the girl's face. She accepted the hot steaming and foul smelling fluid, fighting to keep her mouth closed as the soldier brutally kicked her in the stomach to force her to cry out. She fell to the sand, sobbing. Moments passed and the crowd of villagers stood silently under the coconut palms, transfixed with the spectacle. The young girl's body convulsed with the wracking sobs of fear as she remained face down not daring to look upon the bearded man.
He withdrew his revolver and placed it behind her head as the disbelieving child attempted to turn towards her attacker, and pulled the trigger once. Her body jerked forwards then backwards as the impact removed the full facial section of her head. Laughing loudly while brandishing the weapon threateningly, the soldier turned again to the other caged girls.
There was a hushed silence as he lurched drunkenly towards the bamboo prison. He opened the flimsy gate and pointed his finger at the smallest girl in the group. She stood there, shaking her head, unable to cry, the tears streaming down her face as the other girls behind pushed her forward hoping that this would distract his attention from them.
“
Mama!
” she screamed, as he pulled her by the shoulder, “
Mama!
”
A shot pierced the air and the girl's torso buckled violently, the bullet entering her chest with such tremendous velocity she died before hitting the sandy beach.
Immediately the other girls screamed, exploding with fear and terror as they tore at each other in desperation, while attempting to scramble over the makeshift bamboo fencing which enclosed them. The other soldiers, thinking that their
Komandant
had expressed his wish to eliminate these peasant women, withdrew their revolvers and started shooting into the confined space. The young girls fell executed by the drunken soldiers and the villagers numbly looked on as the slaughter continued. It was all over in less than a few minutes.