State of Siege

7

The attack on the city began just before dawn.

I thought at first that it was the voices of the men in the living room that had awakened me. Some sort of argument was going on, and another man was speaking on the telephone. He kept repeating the word “impossible.” The argument seemed to be about someone named Dahman who had moved his troops without authority.

Then, I became aware of an irregular thudding that sounded as if, somewhere in the building below us, the wind was slamming a heavy padded door. Only there was no wind.

I opened my eyes and saw Rosalie standing by the window. There were lights flaring in the sky behind her. I sat up and gasped as I realised how sore my body was. She looked round. I got off the bed carefully and went over to the window.

Rosalie was looking over towards the bay. As I joined her, two cones of orange flame stabbed the darkness there. The sound took about three seconds to reach me, and, as it thudded against the windows, there were two more flashes. This time I caught a momentary glimpse of the shape behind them, and knew why the forts commanding the sea approaches to Selampang had not surrendered to Sanusi. The Sundanese navy consisted of only five ships: one lighthouse tender, three small patrol vessels and the flagship, an elderly destroyer which the Government had bought from the British and re-named Semangat. I had seen her in Port Kail. She had four 4.7-inch guns.

She was firing into an area to the left of the racecourse, and you could see the flashes of the bursts reflected on the smoke drifting away from earlier ones. Rosalie said that the barracks were in that direction.

“What should we do?” she added.

“There’s nothing we can do.”

She came back with me and we lay together on my bed, listening. Two men from the next room had gone out on the terrace now and were discussing the situation in low tones.

“What will happen?” Rosalie asked.

“I don’t know enough about it. I suppose these people have established some sort of defence line on the outskirts. If so, the other side, with their tanks and guns, will find the weakest spot and blast their way through. This naval bombardment is just the preliminary softening up. I suppose it’s meant to impress the civil population, too. But it’s the tanks and guns that will decide the thing. Unless Sanusi has tanks and guns to fight back with, there’s nothing he can do to stop them. I’m certain he has no tanks.”

“Has he guns?”

“There are a couple of anti-tank guns down in the square. I suppose he has a few more dotted about the city. I don’t know how old the Government tanks are, but unless they are very old indeed, the shot that those guns fire won’t even knock a dent in them. They might stop a light armoured car, but nothing heavier.”

“What will happen, then?”

“That depends on how hard these people fight.”

“But you said they cannot win.”

“I don’t think they can. It’s only a question of how long it takes to defeat them.”

She was silent for a moment, then she said: “To kill them all, you mean?”

“Most of them, anyway.”

“They might surrender.”

“They might, yes. Let’s hope they will.”

“Yes, let us hope.” She must have guessed from my tone that I did not think that there was much likelihood of it. The Government were certainly not going to let Sanusi get out of the trap once he was in it, and Sanusi would not be such a fool as to believe in any promises they might make. Besides, when street-fighting began and men began to kill at close range, it became difficult to surrender.

I was remembering a Fusilier sergeant I had met in Burma. It was some weeks before we went into Mandalay. My company had been clearing a forward airstrip and were waiting to be flown out to another job. This sergeant had come out from the Eighth Army in Italy, and because we had both been in the desert with Auchinleck, we had started talking. He had had experience of street-fighting against the Germans, and had later become an instructor on the subject. He had developed a passion for it that even he, I think, suspected to be a trifle unhealthy. All the same, he could not wait to get into Meiktila and try his skill on the Japanese.

“It’s an art, sir, rushing a building,” he had told me eagerly; “a bleeding art. They can’t stop you if you know how. You just have to get near enough first. That’s the dodgy bit. There’s usually plenty of cover, though, shell holes, ruins and that, but you’ve got to have patience. Crawl, dig your way there if you have to, but don’t start until you’re within thirty yards of a window. Then go mad. Put a four-second grenade in first and follow it. By the time you’re there they’ll be wetting themselves, if they’ve got anything left to wet with. Then, you go through the whole house. Quick as lightning. Every room. First a grenade, and then yourself. Doesn’t matter what’s there. Doesn’t matter who’s there. Then, comb it out with your machine pistol. If it’s a soft house, put a burst up through the ceiling and catch them bending. But don’t stop for a second. Be as quick as lightning. First a grenade, and then yourself with the old machine pistol, trigger happy. Don’t be afraid of anything. They’re more frightened of you than you are of them because you’re attacking. Blind ’em and then hit ’em with everything. And when you run out of ammo, still keep going while they’re dazed. Knife, shovel, the lot! Keep going and there’s nothing that can stop you, sir. I’ve seen it. I’ve done it. I know.”

I felt sure that he did know.

The sky lightened, and then the sun rose.

We went to the window again.

A pall of smoke hung over the area where the barracks were. The destroyer had ceased firing and was lying there innocently on the smooth, sparkling surface of the bay. There were some bursts of light automatic fire and one or two faint thuds that might have been two-pounders in action. The radio in the next room had been switched on. The station was transmitting a recording of Sanusi’s “foreign policy” speech of the previous night, translated into Hindustani. I realised that the station had probably been transmitting in various languages all through the night, and wondered vaguely what sort of output Osman was getting from the generator. Down in the square there was a sound of trucks being started and driven off.

“I am hungry,” Rosalie said.

“So am I.”

We divided the cold rice between us and then ate some fruit. While we were eating, the destroyer’s guns opened up again, but this time we took no notice. I thought that I could imagine what was going on. In the darkness their shooting had not been too good. As a result, when the tanks and infantry had moved in, they had met with more opposition than they had expected. The guns had been called upon to put down some properly observed fire before the attack was resumed. I told Rosalie this fiction as if it were fact.

She said: “How do you know?”

“That is how these things happen. Soon, the General will issue a communiqué. He will say that an enemy attack on the outer defence ring was beaten off with heavy losses to the enemy and at practically no cost to the defence. But he will also announce a tactical withdrawal to previously prepared positions of greater strength, in order to straighten the line.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is the language of retreat. We shall be having plenty of it soon, I think …”

We both heard the planes at the same moment. As we dived for the floor, one of the men on the terrace began shouting orders to the machine-gunners on the roof. I started to drag the rug over our heads and then, remembering that there was no glass left to worry about now, dropped the rug and pulled the curtains aside.

“There,” said Rosalie.

I saw them then. They were the three planes which had bombed us the previous day, but now they were flying at over six thousand feet. There was a noise like a pneumatic drill over our heads as the machine guns on the roof opened fire, and a few more bits of plaster fell from the ceiling. They had one of the things mounted almost directly above us. As the gunner traversed, a shower of ejected cartridge cases came tinkling down on to the terrace. The gunners must have known that, at that range, they could not have hit a house, but they went on firing just the same.

Something began dropping from the planes. It looked for a moment like a load of incendiaries. Then, the black dots in the sky seemed to split up and stop falling, and I realised that it was leaflets that were being dropped. The men in the next room realised it at the same moment and ran out on to the terrace, staring up and exclaiming excitedly.

The Sundanese Air Force may not have been very good at hitting its targets with bombs, but with leaflets it was superbly accurate. A minute after the drop, the sky above the Van Riebeeck Square was filled with them, evenly distributed and fluttering down in perfect formation. Suddenly, the men on the terrace began running about wildly, capering up and down, snatching at the air as the first of the leaflets came within reach. It was a fantastic spectacle. Two of them, intent on the same leaflet, cannoned into one another as the paper swooped capriciously over the edge of the balustrade. There were shrill cries of protest, and Rosalie began to giggle uncontrollably.

We were still on the floor and she hastily crawled away to the bed to smother her laughter. I stayed by the window, and, some seconds later, about a dozen leaflets fell on the terrace. One was within a yard of me and, when I saw that the men were not picking all of them up, I reached out and got it.

The same message was printed on both sides in Malay and English. Rosalie had recovered now and I took it over to show her.

It was not long. It was addressed: “To All Loyal Citizens of The Republic of Sunda.” It said:

“During the past thirty-six hours, a terrorist criminal organisation calling itself the People’s National Freedom Party, and led by a former officer named Kamarudin b. Sanusi, has taken advantage of the absence of the Republican Army on manoeuvres to occupy certain public buildings in Selampang and other towns in the Southern Provinces, including newspaper offices and premises used by Radio Sunda. Statements put out by the terrorists, both by radio and in certain newspapers, indicate that it is their intention to attempt, in contravention of the provisions of the Constitution of the Republic, to overthrow the elected Government of the Republic by force. By my lawful authority as President of the Republic, a State of Emergency has, therefore, been stated to exist, and the said Kamarudin b. Sanusi and his associates are declared to be enemies of the Republic.

“Under the Public Security Law of 1948, any person giving aid to a declared enemy of the Republic or permitting such aid to be given by others, may be punished by death. The Army of the Republic will now proceed to administer justice. The innocent, who have nothing to fear, will welcome their defenders. It is likely, too, that there are some persons who now regret their part in the disorders that have taken place. Providing that they surrender immediately to the advancing troops and give them all assistance, such persons will be treated leniently. This applies also to members of the so-called T.K.R., or People’s Army of Security. Failure to obey promptly all orders issued by, or in the name of, the Officer Commanding the Army of the Republic, General Ishak, will be an offence punishable by death. We fight for Freedom and the Constitution.”

There followed the printed signature of President Nasjah and the date. The ink smudged off on my fingers. Presumably, they had been printed in Meja during the past twelve hours; but someone had had the forethought to have stereos of the signature ready in advance. In dealing with its enemies, at least, the Government could be efficient.

I remarked on the fact to Rosalie. She shrugged.

“No doubt there are others like Major Suparto. It is said this swine Ishak is intelligent. What do you think that they will do to us before they kill us?” It was said quite evenly, but there was something in the tone of her voice that should have warned me to be careful. It did not, however; I was re-reading the leaflet.

“To us?” I said vaguely.

“Of course. It says that we are criminals now.”

“What do you mean?”

She pointed to the leaflet. “You have helped them with the radio. I am with you. We have taken part. We shall not be able to surrender. Perhaps it will be better if we are killed here.”

“Let’s hope we won’t be killed at all.”

“Hope? That is amusing, I think.”

“There’s not much else we can do.”

“We can kill ourselves.”

Two minutes earlier she had been laughing because some men were jumping about, making fools of themselves. The change was so fantastic that I smiled. The smile was a mistake.

“Are you afraid?” Suddenly, she was breathing quickly and her eyes were gleaming with hatred. “It would be quite simple. We could jump from the terrace. It would be quick and not painful. But if you are afraid, I will do it myself.”

She started up and I gripped her arm. “Rosalie, listen to me.”

“What does it matter if a filthy Indo dies?” Then, she broke into Dutch and I could not understand much of what she said.

“Rosalie, listen!”

She hit me in the face and tried again to get away. I grabbed her arms, swung her round and forced her down on to the bed.

“For God’s sake, stop it!” I said angrily.

She spat at me; then, for about a minute, she fought like a maniac; a maniac with closed eyes who cursed me savagely all the time in Dutch. When, at last, she went limp, I thought that she had fainted or that it was a trick to make me release my hold; but it was neither. After a moment, she caught her breath in a sob and began to cry helplessly. I took my hands away and sat down on the other bed to wait.

The leaflet lay crumpled on the bed beside me. After a bit, I picked it up and looked at it again. To me it had been no more than a smudgy proclamation of martial law; but to her it must have brought the smell of death. I tore it into small pieces, and wished that I could deal with my memory of the street-fighting sergeant in the same way.

She was quiet now. I fetched her a glass of water. She had pulled her hair down over her face so that I could not see her. When she had taken the glass from me, I turned away and began to pick up the fresh bits of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling.

The sounds of the battle had changed perceptibly. The attack was still coming from the west, but it had become possible to distinguish the firing of individual guns. At intervals there was the short, sharp crack of an eighty-eight. The destroyer was silent again. There was nothing new to be seen. Smoke from burning buildings had drifted across the whole area. I thought of the people in the crowded kampongs along the canal banks near the firing, and wondered what was happening to them. Were they swarming out, trying to get away towards the centre of the city, or were they huddled trembling inside their houses, waiting for the terror to pass them by? The latter, I hoped. The tanks and guns would stay on the metalled roads as much as they could, and the defenders would choose solid buildings from which to fight back rather than canal banks. Later, perhaps, when the defenders broke and the mopping-up process began, it might be wise to join in the killing and so demonstrate one’s loyalty to the victors; but, for the present, it would be safer to remain passive.

I heard Rosalie put the empty glass down and move over to the mirror. I finished picking up the plaster and glanced at her. She was brushing her hair. She saw me in the mirror, looking at her, and stopped brushing. I went over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. She turned to face me.

“You do not dislike me now?”

“No.”

“You are not pretending because you feel sorry for me?”

“No.”

“If you were angry and beat me for what I said, I should feel more certain.”

“Most of what you said I didn’t understand.”

“It was not polite.”

“I know. There was something about my skin.”

She flushed. “You understood that? I am sorry. I said it to humiliate myself.”

“Does a European skin disgust you?”

“Sometimes.” She looked up at me defiantly. “You see, I do not pretend with you. And sometimes, my own skin disgusts me because it is so dark. My father’s was light, much lighter than yours. You are nearly as brown as I am. I like to touch and smell your body and to feel the strength of it. I do not think: ‘He is a European, I am an Indo.’ I think: ‘It is good to be a woman with this man.’ ” She paused. “But sometimes it is different. You know how these men here can feel about me. That is how I can feel about myself. Part of me is European. Sometimes I hate it and want to kill it.”

“What made you feel like that just now? Was it the leaflets? They don’t really alter anything, you know.”

“Perhaps not. I do not know. But I laughed at those officers dancing about like little boys when someone is throwing them coins, and forgot to be frightened. Then, when you showed me what was on the paper, it was worse than it had been before. It was like waiting for the pemoedas to come, and I wanted us both to die.” She looked at me anxiously. “Do you understand?”

“Not altogether. Perhaps you have to be an Indo to understand completely.”

She nodded. “Yes, perhaps you do.” She hesitated. “It is curious to hear you use that word.”

“You used it.”

“And you do not dislike me for what I said?”

“No.”

“Put your arms round me.”

A few minutes later she said: “I do not really mind if I have to die, but I am afraid of being hurt.”

“I know. So am I. The men in the next room are. The men firing those guns are. Everyone is-Indos, Sundanese, Europeans-everyone. There’s nothing special about you.”

“That is not polite.”

“I don’t have to be polite to you. It was part of the arrangement.”

She smiled then. “You remember? That is very businesslike.”

“Certainly. And dying was no part of the arrangement. If one of us is to be killed or wounded because we happen to be here, that is another matter, but we are not going to kill ourselves.”

“It is not much to kill oneself.” She was still smiling.

“It is to me. Whatever happens, don’t get that idea again, will you?”

Her smile faded and she looked up at me curiously. “Does it truly matter to you?”

“Yes, it matters.”

After a moment she nodded. “Then as long as you are here, I will not think of it.” She gathered up her hair and began to twist it into a bun on top of her head. “There is still water left in the bathhouse,” she remarked; “perhaps we should use it while we can.”

It was such a determined change of subject that it made me laugh.

She raised her eyebrows. “It will not be amusing if we cannot wash.”

“You’re right. It won’t.”

“Do you wish to go first?” She was still uneasy because I had laughed at her.

“No, you go ahead. If you use too much water, I shall beat you.”

She smiled. I had made a feeble joke and she had regained face. All was well.

“May I wear your bathrobe?”

“Of course.”

When she had gone, I ate a slice of papaya, lit a cigarette and went out on to the terrace. The bow-legged officer was standing at the far end, looking out gloomily at the smoke haze. He nodded curtly when he caught sight of me, and I nodded back. We did not speak.

The firing had slackened off considerably and there were only occasional flurries of activity. It was as if both sides were weary of the argument, but could not quite make up their minds to abandon it. I found that a comforting notion. Unfortunately, I could not altogether conceal from myself the fact that what sounds there were seemed to come from very much nearer than they had an hour earlier.

Down in the leaflet-strewn square there was feverish activity. Fox-holes were being dug and the two-pounders were being manoeuvred into sandbagged pits so that they could cover the two western approaches to the square. One of the bomb craters was being used as a headquarters, another as an ammunition dump. Sounds from the Ministry of Public Health next door suggested that it, too, was being placed in a state of defence. Immediately below, beside the crater that had flooded the generator room, some men were unloading three-inch mortars from a truck. There were other men sitting on the ground fusing grenades. As far as I could see, there was only one small group of men in the entire square to whom a tank commander would have given a second thought. They were squatting under the trees, placidly scooping rice out of their bowls with their fingers. Laid out neatly on a groundsheet beside them were two American bazookas.

Someone came into the living room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bow-legged officer turn and then go in quickly. A moment later I recognised Suparto’s voice. There was a lot of firing going on just then and a truck down in the street below was spitting and back-firing as the driver revved it up, so I went back into the bedroom to see if I could hear what he was saying through the door.

It was not much better there. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was giving orders, but that was all. Then, there was a pause, and I heard steps on the terrace. I had just time to move away from the door before Suparto came in by the window.

He nodded to me and glanced quickly round the room.

“She’s bathing,” I said.

He nodded. “That is as well. I have not much time and what I have to say is private.”

“You might be heard in the next room.”

“For the present, there is no one in the next room. Sanusi is shortly transferring his headquarters there.” He sat down wearily and stretched his legs. His cheekbones stood out sharply and his skin was the colour of parchment. I realised that it was probably three days since he had slept. His uniform, however, was as neat as ever.

“May I know what’s happening out there?”

“There will be an official statement issued at the first opportunity. Colonel Roda is writing it at this very moment.”

“No jokes, Major, please.”

He smiled. “My apologies. I was indulging myself. The thought of Colonel Roda, whom I greatly dislike, trying bravely to misrepresent a situation which is already hopeless is very enjoyable.”

“Are you sure there’s nobody in there who can hear you?”

“I can see that you are nervous this morning, Mr. Fraser.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I admit that this waiting is disagreeable. As far as I know, the present situation is this. General Ishak’s troops broke through the outer defence positions without difficulty. Some rebel troops, however, were commanded with more skill than he expected. Instead of waiting to be swallowed up, they moved. As a result, General Ishak’s teeth met on nothing, and he will have to take another bite.”

“You said that the situation was already hopeless.”

“It is. The rebels have postponed defeat by a few hours, that is all. They cannot get out now.”

“Does General Sanusi know that?”

“Not yet.” He paused. “That is what I wanted to tell you about, Mr. Fraser. During the next few hours Sanusi is going to discover some very disagreeable facts, and there is going to be a moment when he realises what has happened. He is a misguided man, but not a fool. He will look at the faces of those about him and wonder whom he has to thank for his defeat. He will think back over the past two years and try to remember all that has been said and done, and relate it to the present situation. You understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“He is not, as I have said, a fool, and it may be that he will come to a correct conclusion. If he does and I am there, he will be looking into my face. In that case, I have no doubt that I could kill him before he killed me, but I would certainly be killed myself a moment later. Do you still understand?”

“I think so. You’ve done your job. You’re getting out.”

He eyed me carefully. For the first time, I felt sorry for him. He was a brave man who had taken nerve-racking risks to serve his country’s government; and although I knew nothing of his motives, I found it hard to believe that personal ambition figured very prominently among them. It was even possible that he was a patriot. But patriot or no, he was not sufficiently insensitive to enjoy that moment of success. It was understandable that he should suspect me of irony.

“You do not seem surprised, Mr. Fraser.”

“Why should I be? You’ve been risking your life because you felt it necessary. Why go on doing so when the need no longer exists?”

“These things cannot always be decided so logically. I ask you to believe me when I say that treachery does not come naturally to me.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t. I said that you were a humane man. But, forgive my asking, why did you take this risk? Supposing Sanusi had succeeded. Would it have been such a disaster? The present Government may have your loyalty, but I cannot believe that it has your approval.”

“Approval? Mr. Fraser, I dislike the Nasjah gang quite as much as I dislike Colonel Roda. Sanusi is right about some things. We did not win our independence from the Dutch. Force of circumstances delivered it into hands which were unfit to receive it. But we do not have hands that are fit. Revolution is therefore pointless. What this nation must have is time to learn about government. Meanwhile, we must choose between evils. The Nasjah Government is corrupt and incompetent, and foreigners laugh at us for it. But you have heard Sanusi. He is not himself an evil man. As a commander in the field he is excellent. As a Minister of Propaganda he might perform useful service. But what has he to offer as the leader of the nation? More mosques in Selampang? Excellent. But what else? Only the discipline of men like Roda, men hungry for power. I prefer the Nasjah gang. They are weak, but with them, at least, the machinery of representative government is preserved and gradual change is possible. In the end, if the Americans and you British do not interfere, there will be fresh, healthy growth. But we must have time and patience.”

“It may not be the Americans and British who do the interfering.”

“Communism? That is your bad dream, not ours. Ah yes, I know. You see the propaganda in the kampongs. But that is all you see, and all there is. If I could believe that among all the ordinary people of Sunda there were enough able and determined men to create one effective district political organisation of any kind, I should be happy.”

“Then I wish you luck, Major. How are you going?”

He stood up. “I shall decide to make a reconnaissance of the situation in the city. Sanusi’s troops are falling back to the centre here and there is a certain amount of confusion. It will not be difficult to walk through their lines. And I am expected.”

“I see. It’s good of you to come and tell me.”

“That was not the only reason I came. Of course, I shall inform the commander of the assaulting forces of your detention here, so that the troops may be warned that you are friendly.”

“Thank you.”

He looked embarrassed. “I cannot promise that it will help you.”

“No, I understand.”

“Also, I had some advice to offer you. This building will probably be shelled. Our naval gunners are not highly skilled, but it is possible that they will score some hits. Unless you are forced to do so, however, do not move down from this floor. You will be safer here in the end. I need not tell you to keep out of Roda’s way if you can. Desperate men are always dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“Have you enough food and water in here?”

“Enough for how long?”

“Until tonight.”

“We could do with some more drinking-water, I think.”

“Come with me.”

I followed him out on to the terrace and through the empty living room to the kitchen.

There were three bottles of water left in the refrigerator.

“Will one bottle be sufficient?”

“I think so.”

“Good. One other thing. It will be better if you dress as a European.”

“I’ve kept some clean clothes specially for the occasion, Major. But it’s a hot day. Do you think I need to wear a tie?”

He gave me a wintry smile. “A sense of humour is an excellent thing at times like these. It helps a man to be philosophical.” There were voices along the corridor outside. “Go back now, Mr. Fraser,” he added, and then turned and walked out quickly. As I went back through the living room, I could hear his voice in the corridor. “Everything is prepared, Boeng. Shall I give orders for coffee to be sent to you?”

Rosalie had just returned. She had heard us talking in the kitchen and was eager to know what was going on.

I told her briefly most of what I had learned.

“And it will be ended by tonight?” she asked.

“Apparently.”

We looked at one another in silence for a moment; then she drew a deep breath and nodded.

“So.”

“Yes.” I picked up my towel. “I think that it’s about time I went and shaved.”