Men screamed with pain. Others screamed just from the fear of dying. Bambang turned in time to see his sergeant's face twist and contort as a bullet passed through one side and then out the other, throwing him with such force his body spun through the air as if it were some rag doll. He grabbed clumsily for the M-60 but it was pinned under the dead man's body. He screamed for his men to hold their fire but they ignored his command.
Fear had taken control and they emptied their magazines shooting blindly through the trees, as they panicked and died. As the deadly fire continued Bambang responded shooting in the direction of the enemy's position without seeing any of their soldiers. He screamed at his men to retreat but he couldn't be heard over the fierce noise of the battle.
Suddenly the shooting stopped. The Javanese officer called out softly for his men to report but there was no response. Someone groaned aloud nearby. He crawled over and found the corporal doubled up in pain. He had been shot in the stomach.
Bambang assessed the situation quickly. He was not sure just how many of his thirty soldiers had survived. He crawled through the muddy grass and discovered another body. The radio operator lay face down half his torso blown away where he had been hit by automatic fire.
He called out again, softly. There was still no response. He heard movement on his flank and immediately froze.
A voice called out. Someone screamed and was quickly silenced by small arms fire. Bambang waited. He counted off the seconds as he had learned during basic training. He could practically visualize his instructor standing over him during that day when he had lifted his head far too soon, only to have the angry Sergeant-Major yell abuse for him to get his head back down and to count. He crawled forward and could now see directly across the clearing and his heart skipped a beat. There were hundreds of them!
He froze instantly, holding his breath for as long as his lungs would permit. Slowly he eased his body back down a small slope and lay perfectly still in the mud, half hidden by the long grass.
Suddenly he could hear the voice of a man in extreme pain. He dared not lift his head. The soldier cried out loudly, his screams piercing the almost otherwise silent air.
“
Help
!” he cried. “
Please help me!
”
The screams continued until suddenly these too ceased simultaneously with the report of a gun being fired. Bambang understood. There would be no prisoners! Fear now gripped his very being and he felt ashamed. He couldn't will his body to move. His fear of death was too great. His limbs would not obey.
Bambang remained where he was hidden from the enemy. He had heard more screams and more shots silencing the soldiers under his command. Until there was no one left. And then there was the terrifying empty sound of silence.
He lay on the ground for what seemed to be an eternity, listening for sounds, the sounds of the enemy moving through the long grass, slowly, carefully, knowing that they had not yet discovered the body of the platoon's Commander. He lay still, willing his heart to slow, praying that they would not find him. He sobbed, his face smothered in his arms as he lay in the muddy undergrowth, silently weeping with shame. He cried, for he was weak and now all of his men had been killed. He knew that he too should be dead, as they were, accepting that only his cowardice had saved his life.
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As the darkness descended he forced himself to his feet. Like a man in a daze he wandered slowly around the battle scene, staring numbly at the carnage which lay before him. His platoon. Shattered. He moved slowly, checking the bodies, startled with every noise the trees and wind made. He started to shake as the fear once again took charge of his body abd he fell down to his knees and held his chest tightly, the racking sobs of despair choking in his throat. Finally, exhausted, he crawled back into the thick grass and slept, only to awaken by the cold soggy clothing stuck to his filthy body.
He remained crouched, his arms locked under his knees, shivering with the biting rain and fierce wind until morning finally came, bringing with it the horrors of the day before.
The bodies lay as they had fallen. Except for those who had only been wounded. Soldiers who had not died during the engagement had eventually paid the price of capture. Some had their faces mutilated similarly to the victims of the previous massacre. Hollow skeleton-like eyeless heads made even more terrifying with the wide open mouths holding frozen screams, evidenced the extreme cruelty of the guerrilla band. Others had their testicles severed and their organs stuffed into their mouths.
Bambang retched, but there was nothing in his empty stomach to help him. He ran his hands over his face and screamed out loudly in anguish. He called for
Allah
to save him from the hell in which he now found himself. He cried out again and again but none listened. He panicked and ran. He ran wildly through the jungle until exhaustion overcame him, collapsing beside a small stream.
He woke to the silence of the early morning and discovered that he had slept for almost an entire day.
Bambang realized that he had no choice. He had to go back to his men. He would collect their dog tags and search for the radio. He experienced the sudden return of his shame and knew that it would almost be impossible for him to face the other men in his regiment as the only survivor of the ambush.
They would think he was a coward, he knew.
And so he returned to the battle scene. There, slowly but carefully, he dragged his fallen comrades bodies to a small clearing. He had located all but one, the wounded corporal.
He placed the dead in a row. Bambang then removed their identification tags and tied them together placing these in the top of his battle tunic. All the weapons had been collected by the guerrillas. There was no radio. He was completely alone but he knew what he must do. He was still a soldier and he would follow the large band until he discovered their base camp. Then he would return to his own unit and bring adequate reinforcements.
Bambang peered back up in the general direction of the trail which had led them into peril. He looked back over his shoulder at the dead, then turned and addressed the task before him. Slowly he commenced his climb, forcing his aching body to obey his mind's commands. Within moments the clearing covered in mutilated bodies was hidden from view and he marched on.
Less than two hundred metres from where he had remembered the wounded corporal had fallen he was astonished to discover the man sitting up against a coconut tree.
Caught by surprise, Bambang hurried forward to ascertain whether he was still alive. The soldier's eyes were closed and the blood had dried. The young Javanese Captain bent down and placed his hand gently on the still body, gently prodding, to waken the soldier.
Bambang heard the noise and admitted to himself that he really hadn't deserved the second chance to live. In the passing of one brief moment and as his hands moved slowly over the fallen soldier Bambang understood that the corporal was dead. And in that instant, as he heard the thunderous click of the trigger mechanism activated when he tried to remove the man's dog tag, Bambang knew that he too was a dead man. The moment created between life and death was infinitesimal in time as his body was separated from his soul.
The blast hurled both soldiers through the air, ripping the uniforms from their shattered remains. The broken Seiko lay smashed, the inscription still clear. “
Selamat selalu, Bambang, dari Wanti
.”
Days later the watch was exchanged by the old headman for a carton of
kretek
cigarettes. The hill people had collected whatever remained on the bodies of the unfortunate platoon and returned to the security of their enclosed compound. There they would remain until yet another Indonesian group of soldiers came by.
When a further detachment of the unwanted soldiers came in search of their fallen comrades the headman watched them also slowly disappear down the same trail which had led Bambang's soldiers to their deaths. The wise old man just shook his head. When these intruders were finally out of sight he dispatched a runner to report the presence of these soldiers to the FRETILIN post.
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“I'm really sorry about the reports. Have you been in contact lately with your family?”
Hart sympathized with Albert. The Timorese was heartbroken, having heard the morning report on the international news bulletin. It seemed that everyone in Indonesia these days now listened to the foreign broadcasts on a regular basis as there was little information filtering down from the government. The news had indicated that fighting had been stepped up with considerable casualties on both sides. Even the villages were being burned.
“Only by letter,” he replied, “and that was some months ago.”
“I'm sure they're okay. Just wait. Probably find some news waiting when you return home to Melbourne.”
It felt strange to both of them that he had referred to that city as his home when, in fact, he'd been born in this country he now visited.
They discussed the broadcasts and both agreed that it was quite incredible how the Australian broadcasting station was disclosing Indonesian troop positions in such a blatant fashion. The Indonesians had no choice but to assume that it was a deliberate attempt by the Australian Government to prevent the success of the annexation. The Indonesian hierarchy was completely confused.
On one hand, the Australians had virtually given them
carte blanche
to assume control over the former Portuguese colony while on the other, the country's deliberate disclosure of Indonesian troop positions and other relevant military information, via their official radio station, had them totally bewildered. In Indonesia, such action would not be tolerated. The offenders would be dealt with quickly and the matter resolved within hours. Why was the Australian Government so weak, even timid, when it came to dealing with its media? They just couldn't understand why their old friends had let them down so badly.
Thousands of Indonesian troops had died by simply walking into traps laid easily by the FRETILIN as they too had listened to the broadcasts. At first the separatists had been highly suspicious of the information but, when they discovered the accuracy of the reports, they laughed at the relative ease with which they had dispatched so many of Indonesia's finest soldiers.
The windfall didn't continue, of course. It seemed that the flow of information ceased almost as quickly as it had started. All sides involved in the conflict had suddenly made a point of listening to the foreign radio broadcasts. Reportedly these had become unreliable over the previous days and appeared to contain more misinformation than real substance.
“Have you heard from Stephen?” Albert was disappointed that Stephen had left so suddenly without further discussing their future arrangements. He had difficulty obtaining return bookings and speculated that Coleman's secretary wasn't really trying as hard as he suspected she could.
“Nothing for a few days I'm afraid, perhaps we'll get something today.” Greg Hart had taken breakfast with Albert. He didn't believe for one moment that Coleman would be in contact until he suddenly reappeared without notice in his office-cum-home. Hart had not entirely been happy when the company's other offices started appearing all over the city and neither was he pleased with Stephen's insistence that the bulk of the administration be moved out of his personal office to the company's main location down on Jalan Thamrin.
They discussed the events in Timor and Hart had assured the soft-spoken man he was certain that fighting was only occurring on the eastern side of the island. This was a complete off-the-cuff fabrication as he had no more knowledge of the real circumstances than the man sitting opposite him but felt that it wouldn't hurt to offer Albert some reassurance. Albert was not convinced. He was tempted to make contact with his step-brother and ask for his assistance but he knew this effort would be fruitless, if not dangerous.
General Nathan Seda had been adamant concerning this point. He did not want Albert to make direct contact under any circumstances and, as he had insisted, Albert would obey the General's wishes. Thinking about the man made him nervous. He swallowed too quickly, causing himself to cough. Embarrassed, he reached for a glass of water.
“What's Wanti doing today then?” Hart asked, changing the subject as he could see that the other man was uncomfortable discussing the hostilities in his former home country. Albert replied briefly, his thoughts still clouded with the prospect of further delays due to Stephen's untimely absence. The conversation then drifted to more mundane matters.
Wanti had enjoyed the shopping as clothing was considerably cheaper in Jakarta than Melbourne. Already she had selected an array of fine lengths of material and these were being tailored for her in a shop off Blok M. All three had dined together at the beautiful Oasis restaurant in Cikini.
It was strange at the time that both men recognized the change in her mood. During the course of the evening Wanti continuously looked out through the magnificent gardens, admiring the landscape and yet, from time to time, a sadness became evident, just a shadow in her eyes; she seemed uncertain, and lost. Albert could detect that there was something different about her demeanour that evening but decided that she was just tired. As they sat together in the second and larger of the dining sections, the Batak singers entertained singing their melodious traditional songs from Sumatra.