The Timor Man (26 page)

After the next leg of their journey they rested for a day and, to Coleman's surprise, changed crews. The following two days saw the aircraft forced down onto an unkempt, unsealed, World War Two runway with engine problems. They had picked up contaminated Avgas during the last refuelling stop. The Captain radioed ahead requesting assistance as he decided against flying with the possibility of ongoing fuel problems. When help finally arrived, it was in the form of a fishing boat dispatched from a coastal village nearby. The seas were unseasonably rough and Coleman stoically faced the turbulent conditions. Towards the end of the first day he was horrified to discover that the wind had increased its intensity, the waves smashing over the ship's bow as the crew fought for control.

Then the Australian suffered the humiliation of seasickness. His body ached all over from the constant heaving. His rib cage felt bruised and his throat was tender. He prayed that the vessel would soon arrive at its destination. He did not believe that he could survive another few hours of the waves' pounding motion. The boat rocked from side to side almost in a corkscrew motion. One moment the bow would lift high into the air and the next it would go crashing down amongst the waves, dipping below the horizon forcing the bile to erupt as he struggled to control his stomach. The vessel was battered for two days by the severe conditions. Exhausted, he crawled into the foetal position and collapsed, his body tossed around the deck oblivious to the pain as his limbs were bruised and cut by the hardened timber.

A solitary figure viewed the limp body with disgust. He made no attempt to assist or relieve the young man's discomfort. He merely watched to ensure the foreigner did not die, at least not here, as it would not fit the plan he had been given. He spat over the side and continued to observe Coleman as he lay, curled up, occasionally moaning in his fatigue induced sleep. ‘
Pity we couldn't just dump him over the side here!
' the man considered, ‘
would be safer and not as complicated!
'

The dark Javanese considered his current mission. He had received his instructions directly from the General. He always did. No one else could be trusted with the tasks he carried out for the Timorese. He was provided with more than sufficient funds to carry out his orders. He discovered that, if he was careful, he could retain a considerable portion of these monies and did so, turning the cash into gold and burying the proceeds. Not that he needed money. He had no life other than that ordered by Seda. He merely obeyed. This was just another mission which he would complete and then report back to the General.

He started forward to grab the sick passenger who was in danger of falling overboard. The Australian somehow unconsciously managed to avoid this catastrophe and, satisfied that he was out of danger, the observer stepped away from the ship's rails. As the seas grew calm and the wind softened Stephen slept. The old fishing boat chugged along until reaching their destination late in the afternoon of their third day. The crew laughed quietly at the prostrate figure lying on the deck. They secured their fishing boat.

Some villagers were called and the foreigner was carried into the
lurah's
hut. As headman, he would be responsible should the stranger come to harm. There Stephen was examined by one of the women then left to sleep through the night. He awoke several times, thirsty, and was given water after which he drifted back into an exhausted sleep. The following morning he was awakened by the sounds of the village coming to life. He bathed and went in search of a familiar face as he had no appreciation of his whereabouts. He was advised that the crew had returned and that the village
lurah
was to escort him to the military post some twenty kilometres by road.

Upon checking his belongings, Coleman discovered that everything was intact. He was given food and then asked to accompany the village head to the next destination. Transport had been organized and he was relieved to see that the rest of his journey would be over dry land.

 

Towards noon, the jeep bumped along the track leading into the army post. As they moved into the clearing where the soldiers had established their base camp, Stephen estimated that there were about two hundred men stationed there. They were fully equipped. This, obviously, was not a training camp, and the look on the men's faces reminded him of the Blitar operation. He could tell that they had already experienced action. There were no smiles for the visitor, in fact, their arrival was almost ignored. A solid framed Javanese Major received them in his hut. “
Selamat datang
,” he welcomed them.

Formalities completed, the officer advised him that he had been in radio contact with his headquarters and informed Coleman that he would take him on an inspection of several tribal areas where patrols had encountered surprisingly hostile and well-armed groups of what he termed terrorists. They discussed the mission. He was shown a map of the target areas and was advised regarding procedures to be taken should they encounter hostile forces.

Coleman was instructed not under any circumstances was he to wear anything resembling a uniform as, they agreed, it would be unlikely that he would be targeted if the enemy identified him for what he actually was: a non-military observer. Hopefully, he would be mistaken for a United Nations representative although, to date, there had been none venture this far into the hinterland. The following day, accompanied by the Major, Stephen departed for the first contact zone. The object was to demonstrate to him from a distance, if possible, the considerable military hardware that these isolated tribes had been armed with, and had learned to use with a reasonable amount of success.

The small convoy progressed slowly. The drivers of both trucks engaged the four-wheel drive mode as the tracks were wet and slippery. Stephen estimated that they had travelled approximately forty miles before they rested. It was difficult going. They had commenced with fifty soldiers and, when they stopped the Major instructed a corporal and five others to stay behind with the vehicles as the remaining distance could only be covered on foot. Almost within minutes the landscape changed, from light undergrowth to bush, and then into jungle. Nettles stung Coleman's face, neck and hands while thorns tore at his clothing. The mosquitoes were unbearable!

He was wearing jeans, boots and an old light weight jacket which zipped all the way through. Anticipating identification problems Stephen had selected this particular apparel as it was bright orange in colour and was unmistakably non-military clothing. He did not wish to be shot by accident and hoped that these precautions would be sufficient to guarantee his safety.

They continued pushing along small tracks which the Australian assumed were recent as the foliage on both sides had been freshly cut back to permit the contingent passage. The ground was covered with leaves and grass indicating that these paths had been in frequent use. They walked in single file. Coleman had not yet removed his camera from its protective cover. He needed both free hands just to maintain his balance.

It started to rain. The Major beckoned for Stephen to keep pace a little closer to the soldiers in front, as he was falling behind. He obeyed. They progressed a few kilometres then rested again. The Major indicated that in another hour they would camp. The thought had not entered Stephen's head. Camp! Out here? He groaned with the thought of spending a night in the jungle being bitten by every insect known to man and the possibility of the tribes people slipping into their camp and removing a few heads, as they had been known to do!

These primitive people had accounted for many a famous explorer in the past. Coleman tried to remember if this was where the young Rockefeller was murdered.

 

When the time arrived, the soldiers moved swiftly establishing their perimeter defence, and protection from the never ending rain.

Coleman crawled into the small area which offered some respite from the elements. He was tired and felt that every muscle and joint in his body was calling out for him not to continue with the trek. Aching all over he tried to rest as best he could. They handed out
dendeng
, their version of beef jerky.

Coleman ate what he could. The
dendeng
was tasty but he had no appetite. Instead, following the soldiers actions, he rested, saving his strength for the following day. He slept. It seemed that he had only just closed his eyes when he felt the rough hands on his shoulder. The young Lieutenant was shaking him.

“
Tuan, tuan, bangun
,” he called, waking the foreigner. Startled, Stephen jumped to his feet and immediately felt the rigours of sleeping in the jungle. He attended to his ablutionary needs and finished the remaining dried beef.

They marched on for two hours until the tension began to grow amongst the men. Coleman noticed the change and decided that they were obviously approaching some known point of danger. He could almost feel the absence of wildlife. He remembered that only a short distance back the jungle was alive with sounds as the birds and other animals called to each other, warning of the possible dangers brought by man's presence. Suddenly they stopped. The point man waved silently to them, indicating that they should crouch and remain silent. They had arrived at the top of a rise and the Major beckoned for Coleman to follow him quietly. He did so, half crouched, half crawling, being guided by the experienced veteran.

They had left the main body of their troop some seventy metres behind. Coleman was instructed to copy the officer's movements. He lay beside the Major, accepting the field glassed offered to him.

“
What am I looking for?
” he asked.

The officer indicated a clearing below and roughly one-hundred metres away from their position. There was a group of perhaps twelve to fifteen men dressed in a mixture of khaki and tribal dress. They were armed. Coleman removed his camera and adjusted the telephoto lens. He shot the roll of twenty-four exposures, replaced the film and returned the camera to its case.

“
Okay, Pak, let's get the hell out of here,
” he pleaded.

The officer smiled, shook his head, gestured for the civilian to remain where he was and waved for the Lieutenant to advance.

“
You're not going to engage these men down there, Major?
” Stephen asked in disbelief knowing in his heart that this soldier was surely going to do just that!

“
Mas, kamu diam disini sajalah
,” he ordered, instructing him to remain there in a tone that Coleman could not argue against.

“Shit!” he muttered, surprised that he was, within minutes, to witness an attack on the guerrilla group he could practically touch from where he lay.

Minutes passed. The Commander had left two men with Coleman. The remainder followed him down the slope, crawling, until they had reached the point the Major had determined.

Suddenly, the air erupted with the ear shattering sounds of rapid fire. Bullets seemed to pass frighteningly close as he heard the air rupture when the small missiles passed by. Stephen wanted to bury his head in safety but was captured by the fire fight, observing the men running down towards their target, firing from the hip as they descended into the enemy's camp. The engagement continued for what seemed an eternity. Coleman lay as still as he could hoping it would all be over quickly. But it wasn't.

The attack continued for at least fifteen minutes, followed by sporadic fire. Angry voices could then be heard. These were followed by more shots and then the jungle became quiet, only the smell of the fierce exchange remaining. An hour passed. The soldiers accompanying the Australian directed him to follow their lead which he did, descending down the slope in a half-crouched position.

He was reminded of his early childhood, when Guy Fawkes celebrations were still permitted. On November the fifth, bonfires burned throughout the night. For days before and after, firecrackers could be heard exploding and the air held the same acrid pall of gunpowder smoke. Cautiously, he followed the soldiers.

Suddenly, he noticed a body. Then another.

Coleman was stunned. These were Indonesians! He had, for some reason, not anticipated any of his own group being injured, let alone killed! He was taken to the centre of the clearing. The Major was sitting close by, resting up against the trunk of a tree. He started to move towards the man, at the same time calling to the officer.

“
Pak Major
,” he began but did not complete the sentence as the young Lieutenant grasped his arm and turned him away. Bewildered, Coleman brushed the hand aside and once again addressed the Major.

“
Tuan
,” the Lieutenant called softly, “
tuan, dia sudah mati!
”

Stephen stared at the Major unwilling to accept what the Lieutenant had said. He approached the silent figure and looked more closely, moving around to face the now lifeless body of the Commander. Coleman stood in shock, unable to move. The bullet had struck the Major's head around the left eye socket, tearing through the flesh, ripping bone and muscle away then exploding through the back of his crown.