大象传媒

'The Tamarind Crucifixion' PART 1
by Idwal Isaac
Formally of The Sommerset Light Infantry based in India and Burma. 1943 - 1945

The hot canopy of a bleached, tropical sky provided a sharp contrast to the lush, deep green of the Arakan hills. It was near noon, the fierce sun almost directly overhead.

Cpl. Meredith Lewis felt that he was under constant observation - one false move could be his last. Despite the heat, he felt an involuntary shiver run through his limbs as he lay prone in a tangle of bamboo undergrowth. Fresh eruptions of sweat threaded erratic lines down his face and his eyes began to sting with its salt. His olive green denims had become a patchwork of dark stains as the sweat dried, almost instantly, in the hot searing sun.

He listened, concentrating to catch an alien sound. Abruptly, from somewhere below, a peafowl gave a piercing scream - a harsh, abrasive noise that set his teeth on edge. He shifted his position cautiously to lay flat on his stomach. Listening he identified the constant drone of insects and the chatter of monkeys, while far below he heard the intermittent barking of a troop of baboons. But no alien sound nor movement disturbed the natural jungle pattern.

Carefully parting a cluster of bamboo leaves ~ Lewis saw a narrow ravine below which separated the two hills. Waves of heat danced across his vision making him blink rapidly to adjust his sight. Methodically he began to scan the opposite hill; his eyes moving from left to right traversing foreground, middle distance, and then background, seeking an unusual movement. Not one piece in the mosaic of jungle colour or movement appeared out of place.

A fly buzzed, scavenging the dirt and sweat on his face. It settled on his nose, and then crawled down to brush his lips. He spat at it in disgust and brushed a hand impatiently across his face.

Patiently he waited looking for a glint of sunshine on a rifle barrel or any metal object that the Jap may have left uncovered. The minutes crawled away while he continued to criss-cross the hill with his eyes. It was peaceful - deceptively peaceful.

A dry hot breeze ruffled the bamboo in a surfing whisper. For a brief moment his attention wandered as he thought of the mountains back home sloping to the sea; the waves hissing over the yellow sands. He shook his head to renew his concentration, then slowly squirmed forward to pull himself into a crouching position. Through a gap in the leaves he saw a game-path snake downhill; it was a yellow strip of worn, baked earth roughly five yards to his left. Beyond, slightly to the left, a stunted tree threw a low circle of gnarled branches. He saw it provided good cover.

He crouched, immobile, calculating, weighing up the odds. Exposure would last three or four seconds if he threw himself across the path and rolled under the tree. That was time enough for an experienced sniper to aim and fire. He waited, his legs beginning to ache under the strain, preparing himself to leap then roll under cover. He breathed deep to steady the pounding of his heart, feeling the adrenalin surging through his limbs. Silently, slowly, he counted - when he came to ten he would move鈥ove fast.

Lewis flung himself across the game-path. While his body hurdled across a bullet ricocheted off a small stone with the high-pitched buzz of an angry wasp, then sped off into the bamboo undergrowth with a series of sharp clicking sounds. Barely a split second later the sharp crack of a rifle shot echoed across the ravine. He flung himself sideways, his elbows digging into the brown earth, with his feet kicking to propel himself forward into a roll which carried him under the stunted tree.

There was no pain. Puzzled he felt with a finger the warm trickle of blood that moved down his face. It moved up to the bridge of his nose and felt a jagged furrow of broken flesh. Then realizing that it was only a cut, his breath expelled itself sharply in relief. 鈥淭he sly, yellow bastard鈥�, he said softly. All the same, he felt some admiration for the sniper鈥檚 skill; he must have eyes as sharp as a hawk鈥檚 to pick out movement and aim and fire within seconds.

Lewis peered through the low branches, scrutinizing the opposite hill. He saw nothing to suggest where the sniper waited. But he was there strapped to a tree with a telescopic - sight attached to his rifle. But where? Which tree? The bastard, hanging like a monkey, camouflaged like a chameleon - changing colour with every movement.

He became aware of a sharp prod of a broken piece of bamboo-cane into his side, and he moved cautiously not daring to shake a low-hanging branch. A peafowl screamed again. He felt his legs involuntary twitch as the scream rasped hard on his nerves. Across the ravine another peafowl screamed in reply. The sweat on his body increased, if felt as if it were pumping out through his pores. He took his brush-hat off to wipe his brow 鈥� his hair was plastered wet upon his head. The hat was soggy, its brim curling shapeless. 鈥淐hrist鈥�, he swore, 鈥淲here the hell are the others:鈥�

The sun blazed down, a molten ball of fire throwing its heat through the branches above his head. He felt as he was baking. He wanted to move. But there was nowhere to go until the rest of the sniper patrol came to plan the next move. Tojo on the hill had already killed two and wounded three in the last two days. He was too dangerous to be allowed to live.

He heard a low whistle repeated three times higher up behind him. He whistled twice in reply. Minutes passed before he heard the movement of someone moving down towards where he waited. As a precaution he slid the rifle bolt home on a bullet - never trust a Jap was good advice to stay alive.

The scraping and rustling of movement stopped. He waited, his 鈥榖ody completely still, eyes and ears alert. A voice close to him whispered urgently: 鈥淭urn that rifle away, Lewis. It鈥檚 blood dangerous to point.鈥�

The stubbled face of Sgt. Ron Barnes thrust itself through the foliage. Cpl. Lewis of the 5th Brigade, the 7th Indian Division, the 14th Army, relaxed squirming downwards and breathing heavy, the sergeant came under the low tree. Leaning back on one elbow, he wiped his face with a piece of sweat rag.
鈥淎re you O.K.?鈥�
鈥淵es. I鈥檓 alright, sarge.鈥�
He saw Barnes staring at his bloodied face.
鈥淚t鈥檚 just a scratch, a stone chip from a ricochet.鈥�
鈥淗ell. I thought the N*p had got you.鈥�
Lewis gave a shaky laugh, touching a finger across the furrowed flesh.
鈥淚 thought the bugger had, too at first.鈥�
Lewis plucked a piece of grass to chew.
鈥淗e鈥檚 good though, sarge鈥loody good.鈥�
鈥淒id you see where he was?鈥�
鈥淣o. The cunning bastard must have been dipped in green paint.鈥�
Sgt. Barnes grunted in reply and turned to look uphill. He cupped his hands around his mouth and whistled four times. A long whistle came back. Down in the ravine a bird called; like a curlew鈥檚 call, it was lonely and plaintive.

The sharp crack of breaking bamboo marked the progress downhill of the rest of the patrol. Barnes scowled. 鈥淟isten to those stupid blighters - like bloody elephants on the rampage.鈥� Shortly, Jones, Wilkins and Deakin pushed their sweating bodies under the tree.
鈥淲hat鈥檚 wrong鈥�, the sergeant asked, 鈥渇orgotten your damned training?鈥�
They didn鈥檛 answer, accepting that they had been careless.
鈥淒o you want to come out of this little party alive?鈥�
Deakin answered. Looking at the sergeant direct, he said: 鈥淎lright, sarge. We鈥檝e got the message.鈥�
The sergeant felt contrite. Perhaps, he thought, with the heat and the tension he was getting short-tempered.
鈥淥.K.鈥�, he said, 鈥淟et鈥檚 forget it. Lesson learnt.鈥�

The sniper had been making life extremely uncomfortable for B Company of the Brigade, dug in on the slope of a hill sixty miles to the south of the port of Akyab. The Company cookhouse, situated in a hollow on the top of the hill, had attracted the sniper. He knew the exact times that meals were collected in dixie-cans to distribute to the various sections dug-in on the hillside. As soon as the silhouette of a soldier appeared on the skyline above the hollow a rifle cracked from the opposite hill. At first it had been a game that had relieved the tedium of the trenches rimming the hillside. Then, he had become too accurate, killing and wounding. Sgt. Barnes section had the task to locate the sniper and put him out of action.

Sgt. Barnes knew he led a good section. Jones a Welsh miner, was as tough and durable as a chunk of his native rock, and steady under fire. He was thin and wiry. Wilkins was even thinner, his facial skin drawn tight to give his face a gaunt, starved appearance. A Cockney, he considered himself a 鈥榳ide-boy鈥�, knowing all the answers in civvy-street. Deakin was a Geordie, broad-chested, strong, with a quiet, self-assured manner. Like Jones, he had been a miner. Lewis, the youngest in the patrol, looked no more than a boy straight from school. He had earned his stripes by his natural ability in field-craft; he could hug the ground under fire, using the slightest depression in the ground, and he planned each move carefully. His favourite saying was: 鈥淚t鈥檚 better to eat dirt than catch a bullet.鈥� Sgt. Barnes was a good leader. A Bristol .man he had worked on the GWR, and felt more of an affinity with Welsh soldiers than with those from the Home Counties. He relied on personal example and detested bullshit. The patrol respected him.

Barnes looked at Lewis. 鈥淪orry our ploy didn鈥檛 work, Lewis.鈥� The Corporal shrugged. The sergeant scratched his stubble, thinking out the next move. They waited, enjoying the rest.

Finally, the sergeant said: 鈥淚t鈥檚 got to be tried again, another decoy.鈥� He looked at each in turn.
鈥淚鈥檒l draw his fire again,鈥� Lewis volunteered.
鈥淣o. I鈥檒l do it this time, sarge鈥�, said Jones.
Barnes nodded. 鈥淟et Jones have a go.鈥� He turned to Jones. 鈥淢ake your way above us. Show yourself above the skyline鈥p and down fast, no slow motion stuff. This N***o is fast and accurate.鈥�
Jones nodded. 鈥淒on鈥檛 worry - I鈥檒l be careful.鈥�
Jones turned, preparing to crawl away. 鈥淲ait,鈥� Barnes said, 鈥淗ave you got a watch?鈥�
鈥淵es,鈥� Jones replied.
鈥淩ight. Set it by mine. It鈥檚 now ten minutes pat noon. Check? At twenty past, show yourself. Then at two minutes interval after that until you draw his fire.鈥� Jones nodded. 鈥淩ight, off you go - and be bloody careful.鈥� Jones grinned and disappeared.

The sergeant cleared a rough circle in the moss and dead leaves. In the centre he stuck a broken piece of bamboo. Then another in the left hand side, and one to the right. He turned to Lewis and pointed to the centre stick.
鈥淭his is you, corporal, the middle of the clock, under this tree. Wilkins. Left of the centre at ten o鈥檆lock.鈥� He turned to Deakin. 鈥淩ight, sarge鈥�, he anticipated, 鈥淔ive yards at 2 o鈥檆lock.鈥�
鈥淥.K. When you take up positions, keep your eyes peeled. Anything unusual, fire. 鈥淵ou won鈥檛 get a second chance.鈥�

The air had become sultry. The light, the hard, dazzling light of the hot sun, had begun to diminish in intensity. Giant hammer-headed clouds had built up in what now appeared a bruised, blue and black sky that had the texture of heated steel. A strong wind blew up coming from the south-west; coming in over the hills from the Bay of Bengal.

Continued in PART 2

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