I was 15 when it happened. A series of nuclear blasts, turning major cities around the world into mounds of radioactive slag and rubble, heralding the start of World War III. The culprits? Not the US of A. Not Iraq. Not India. Not the Tamil Tigers. Not the IRA. Not Moslem Militants. The persons responsible for this merciless attack were a multi-national gangster-and-criminals-and-drug traffickers-and terrorists all-in-one conglomerate. Their motivation? Profits, of course.
We can be proud that we finally achieved the dream of putting Kuala Lumpur on the world map. The Commonwealth Games were drawing plenty of attention at that time. Athletes, coaches, officials, world leaders, Queen Elizabeth, tourists and a suicide bomber came all the way to be part of the Games, Then, during the opening ceremony, the mad terrorists ran out onto the Bukit Jalil Stadium track and detonated his nuclear bomb. So Kuala Lumpur made it into history books as the third city to be nuked (Bronze medal for third). Seconds later, almost every capital in the world disappeared amidst huge mushroom clouds.
That very hour, the armies of criminals began surfacing after infiltrating strategic areas. They overran cities, broke open prisons, killed police forces and put themselves in control of 30% of the world in just 24 hours. In the absence of central government control, resistance was sparse. Kuching immediately took over total control of Sarawak and the Chief Minister declared a state of war. Other states followed suit.
As the defence forces were hurriedly gathered, it was clear that there weren't enough troops everywhere. Every able-bodied adult man was called up for military service. Not enough. Then they called up the women. Still not enough. They roped in university and college students. We were still outnumbered. Then they began drafting secondary school students.
International rules say that only those 15 years and above are eligible for conscription. That meant that anyone in Form 3 and above was eligible, as well as some Form 2 students. Usually some military PR officer would come into the classroom, give a lecture about being patriotic, sacrificing for the nation and all, than ask for voluntary enrollment. When that didn't work, they began selecting students for compulsory drafting. Less and less students attended school. Attendance charts were full of MT's which stood for 'Masuk Tentera'. Certain names were crossed out and some 'blanco' marks bore witness to the increasing number who would never ever attend school again. The columns of Form 3 students during assembly got shorter and shorter. Form 4, 5 and 6 columns had already been shortened till zero weeks ago. Even the girls had been enlisted. We should have felt proud to being able to defend our country. At least, that's what we learned in Moral Education since Primary 1. But, in reality, no one was very enthusiastic about it. One of the few exceptions was my friend Sylvia who enrolled immediately, but she was rejected because of an eyesight problem. There were also the cowards, who would go to 'heroic' lengths to escape the dreaded draft. Another pal of mine, Gordon, showed his 'prowess' as a commando, leaping off the balcony of our 3-storey classroom block when he saw the PR officer coming up the stairs. A really inspirational act for a chicken-hearted kuyad.
My class of 41 pupils were not drafted because we were all unfit. However, in the end, the military were forced to draft us all when they ran out of recruits. Instead of splitting the class and allowing us to "disrupt other units with weaknesses"(to quote our drill sergeant), we were kept together to form what they called a 'Special Platoon'. The idea was that we would operate independently instead of depending on the Semboyan members to provide communication, or Markas companies to provide other logistical support. We would do our own fighting, communicating, cooking and laundry. So my class, 3A, became Special Platoon No.1. I personally felt that this 'Special Platoon' business had more to do with sidelining us.
So there I was with my classmates, being patriotic and joining the army. We were given crash-course training. Stuff like "You are soldiers This is your gun! It is an extension of your mind, body and soul With it you will make your living and do your killing!". Or "You will do 100 push-ups now!! Yes, YOU!!" and "When you shoot, you will shoot to kill!" etc. The frequent use of that future tense was particularly impressive. You will do this, you will do that, everyday. ' Is this what patriotism is all about?' was a frequently asked question among us. Then Sylvia would start chiding the one who asked and start blabbing about being loyal and making some sacrifices.
Then we were transferred to Kedah Darul Aman, the state of paddy fields and the Terusan Wan Mat Saman. We only had one week of training prior to that. We all felt that we had just been written off. They probably had us there to increase their numbers, not to fight. Still, we were sent off on patrol the very next day. No time to rest, we were told. We asked the base commander who would lead us. He attached what looked like two pieces of shortbread pastry on Dunstan's shoulders and another similar pair on Sylvia, yet another on mine and two more on Gordon and Mong Heng. He fixed three stripes on Mabel, Melissa and Irene and Ahmad, 41 M-16's, full combat gear and a radio set were given to us. We still didn't know who our leader was. At that, the base commander blew his top and yell Ed at us that the two pieces of 'pastry' on Dunstan's uniform signified the rank of captain, and the other 'pastry pieces showed lieutenant, and the three stripes showed sargeant, and that the chain of command was captain>lieutenantsargeant>no rank, and that we were to get the h*** out of his base and go patrolling and never come back till we got ourselves on of the enemy, or else. I'm sure not one of us felt like a patriot as we fled from the base.
So Dunstan led us into the jungle bordering some paddy fields. Dunstan, who has only captained a football team and nothing else, out leader? That did not go down well with the girls who did not trust him. ***** complained the most. She was nicknamed 'duck' because of her noisy habits in class, and she lives up to that name at all times. She even talks in her sleep. That we found out just last week, sleeping in the same barracks with her.
We proceed in single file as we walked on. It occurred to me that we had not been told where to go. "No big deal," said Dunst… I meant the Captain. "Heikal, take the point!". That meant that Heikal would go in front as a sort of scout. Heikal was the luckiest of us. His grandmother owned a gun store, and she gave him a M-51 to accompany him to war. The M-51 is like six machine guns tied in a bundle that rotates and fires hundreds of rounds a minute, also called a chaingun or a Gatling) Me? I only had my M-16, just an ordinary assault rifle. It felt heavy in my hands. None of use had ever fired a gun before, and only three or four know how to operate one.
Dunstan walked behind Heikal, I behind him, Thong Cheng with the radio set behind me, and so on down the line. Lieutenant Gordon was hiding somewhere at the back. No sign of him. We stopped 8 times for toilet breaks. For the girls, the process was incredibly laborious. They took up to 5 minutes each time. Sergeant Ahmad made some joke comment concerning menstrual problems. If the girls had known how to use an M-16, they would have shot him then and there, Sergeant or not.
About an hour later, we happened upon someone else taking a toilet break. There he was, an enemy soldier, dressed in black with a ski mask on and a Kalashinikov AK slung on his shoulder. The worst part was that he was facing Gordon ( that's how we knew it was a 'he'). Some of the manly GUYS screamed an ear piercing scream, and our foe got away, despite the hundreds of rounds Heikal blasted at him. We hunted in vain for him and him comrades, but found only a puddle of urine. Still, we felt like heroes already.
Then Captain Dunstan started getting all pompous, stuck up and snobbish, making us all address him as 'the captain, sir!' and talking a lot about having to make a report back to base blah blah blah…(as if he knew how to get started in the first place) How ever, Thong Cheng couldn't get the radio to work. The only thing he managed to do was to receive CATS Radio FM. In the end, we used Irene's cellphone, but then we realized that no one knew that base's telephone number. Several random numbers connected us with the Sepan Pub in Bintulu, el-al-Jaafar's house in Afghanistan and Buckingham Palace. Then Irene began to fuss about her phone bill and after some arguments, she used her new-found authority as a Sergeant to order poor Thong Cheng to pay for the calls. A real brat she was. Such were the great defenders for Malaysian democracy.
As it was getting late, we decided to head back. After three hours, the sun sank below the horizon. We were still walking around in the jungle. It was clear then that the awful truth hit us. We were lost, totally lost. As we groped around with only our torches to guide us, our morale dropped to zero. This was humiliating. We were sure to be ridiculed when we got back.
The girls began to grumble, being rather unused to jungle-night combat. They were getting sleepy, and hungrier too. We had already skipped lunch on the Captain's orders to save food. Suddenly, Ahmad saw some lights in the distance. His excited calls prompted us to run all the way to our base. Boy, home at last!
Ten seconds later, all 41 of us, were running the other way with bullets flying all around us It was an enemy camp! 15 of us did not survive that hail of bullets and fell. Melissa, Mabel and Mong Heng were wounded. Another two got left behind. God knows what happened to them.
I don't know how long we ran. It must have been for quite a while. As far as I knew, no one had returned fire. We finally stopped in a paddy field. We couldn' t go further (though some of us could have gone another mile, we had to try to stick together). More bullets flew overhead. The Captain gave us orders to dig foxholes, small little pits that each soldier digs with a portable shove to provide a hiding place. I slid into my foxhole as soon as I had finished. I then aimed my M-16 and pulled the trigger, and the silent gun reminded me that I did not know how to use it. 'Where's Heikal?! He knows how to use it,' I thought in panic. There he was, to my right, giving a lesson in gunnery right in the heart of battle. Following his lead, I pulled this, pushed that, took aim and fired. The satisfying recoil and muzzle flash showed that I had passed my practical test. Mong Heng couldn't get his to work, and had to take the lesson again. The others blazed (happily) away.
The gunfire died down after 2200 hours. We sat there in the paddy field, all miserable and dirty. The harsh reality of war was dawning upon us. In battle, patriotism and country mean little. All that matters is to survive, and 15 of us had failed to do that. As Boon Tat, our medic treated the three injured, hw worked in darkness. Any light immediately attracted hot blazing lead from the enemy. *original portion censored due to high degree of politically incorrectness*
As we crouched in our foxholes in the dark, some of us began to talk a bit. Naturally, the main topic was how we got ourselves in this mess.
Melissa, still in some pain, said," Damn this stupid soldier stuff! Why can't we just go home?"
This time, Sylvia did not respond. Even she was beginning to question her loyalty for the country. When one is talking around freely, one can easily say anything about patriotism, but in the line of fire, it gets difficult to repeat that. I was also very low on my morale, and so was everyone else. War is not the glamorous thing its been made out to be. If I ever see a boy playing with toy soldiers or guns after this, I promised myself, I would tell him the true story about war. In real war, people die and get maimed.
Mabel asked the big question, "Is it worth it, fighting for the country?" No one answered. I was too scared to answer it. If I said yes, I would have to eat my words as I continued to hang around out there. If I said no, I would be a sniveling coward like Gordon. I was a dilemma. So I dealt with it swiftly by going to sleep. I don't like dilemmas.
The next morning, I woke up fresh and energized. As I stretched my hands high above my head, a burst of gunfire from afar reminded me where I was. I hurriedly pulled my arms down. The others also seemed much better mentally than there were last night. There was no more crying or complaining or grumbling. Last night's deaths and injuries seemed far off already. I saw Captain Dunstan to my left. He had a thoughtful look on his face. I think he was trying to decide whether to retreat or to stay. We still had plenty of food, water and ammunition, so there seemed no reason to retreat. Thong Cheng was still trying to use the radio set, but with no success.
Then Sergeant Ahmad yelled a warning to the other 23 of us. "Incoming!" Those who understood ducked even lower into their foxholes. Then the first shell cmae whistling through the air. It blew up just behind me in a deafening explosion of mud and water. I looked and could just see a mortar quiet far off. That short little tube pointed to the sky meant trouble for us. A second shell was dropped by its crewman into the tube. It flew out with a bang, then came down just like the first. This time, the pieces of somebody flew up into the air as it exploded. I didn't want to know whose.
The Captain knew that we did not stand a chance against mortar fire. He gave the order to retreat, and it was a welcome command. But as I tried to get out, I found myself stuck! During the night, the soft sticky soil in the paddy field had filled up my foxhole, leaving me half buried in the mud. The same was true for the others. Everyone couldn't get out. Captain Dunstan had to issue a new command; "Should we surrender?" *Gee, we should have fed him to the enemy there and then, the lack of devotion and love this so-called captain showed to our beloved country*
The answer was an emphatic 'no' from everyone. A third shell landed in the midst of us. Doubt began to creep in. a fourth shell exploding and killing another one of my comrades changed our minds altogether. Patriotism is OK, but what about life?
The Captain yelled, "We surrender!" The mortar bombardment ceased for awhile. Then a fifth shell was fired. Obviously they did not accept a surrender. Well, at least they were the ones who forced us to fight on till death, though we couldn't do much about that distant mortar.
Then Lieutenant Gordon the coward did something totally incredible. He just stood up. For that short instant, he had a clear shot at the mortar and its crew. The other enemy troops fired ar him and missed. Then the most incredible thing happened. His M-16 jammed as he aimed at the mortar. What a letdown. No shots.
However, he had already diverted the enemy's attention. Heikal's 'senjata pusaka dari moyang' destroyed the mortar and its crew. The accursed little tube disintegrated into a thousand pieces, and its crew dropped like insects sprayed with Ridsect.
Without the mortar bombardment to harass us, we hastily dug ourselves free. Gordon was looking a bit pale and shocked. Heikal was celebrating like he had scored a World Cup goal. The enemy soldiers were now advancing upon us. With two groups splitting off n each side, trying to surround us.
Despite us victory over the mortar, things were still quite bad. We were almost surrounded, and retreating would expose us to enemy fire. There was no way out.
At that point, Sergeant Irene got the brightest idea of her life: call 999. That she did, and she managed to get through on her cellphone. The operator promised to call our base, but Irene's cellphone ran out of power after that and communications was lost. Man, Gordon was so overjoyed that he felt like hugging her on the spot! Help would be coming! All thanks to her!
Our numbers had dwindled to 21 troops with 3 minor injuries. But knowing that help would arrive in mere hours gave us hope. I fired away with gusto.
Despite our stubborn resistance, the enemy managed to step up their attack. We soon found our situation untenable. Captain Dunstan ordered a charge on the right side. As we rushed out, Srgeant Wilfred saw that Gordon was still in shock and in danger of being shot. He pulled Gordon and guided the Leutenant just behind the platoon as we barged through seven or eight enemy soldiers in front, scattering them. The enemy now realised that they were losing. There was only about a dozen of them left, and this time they were outnumbered. They beat a hasty retreat, bringing their wounded with them. We let them go. We were just too euphoric to bother with them again.
Two hours later, another platoon found us and guided us back. All of us recovered from that experience. Those who dies were replaced, and those who survived learned something new. Dunstan now knows what's it like to lead a platoon, Ahmad has learned to identify lights more carefully, Mong Heng, Melissa and Mabel have learned what getting injured means and Thong Cheng now knows that CATS Radio FM offers good entertainment. What did I learn from my first patrol? I learned that you don't have to be a patriot to serve your nation well. A patriotic girl served her country by just reminding others of their loyalties, a coward did it his way by just standing up, an urban brat did it with a cellphone, a sergeant did it by saving his lieutenant, and a Heikal with an M-51 served his country by just pulling the trigger. This goes to prove that you don't need to die to show your loyalty. You can do it YOUR way, no matter how young or old.
*sniff* touching, ain't this?
