His whole body was shaking as he fired the great gun. It was shaking with adrenalin though, not fear. His heart was pumping fast, and his mind was clear and fully focused. He glanced around at the other men at his station. They were all concentrating hard, sweat standing out on their brows, their eyes shining.
Soon all the wooden airbase buildings were on fire and some of the platoon were trying to douse the flames with a hose. The flames leapt up into the blue of the morning sky, black smoke billowing. Three aircraft on the ground had all been hit by incendiary bombs, their fuel tanks exploding in flames, their fabric burning in a bright yellow flourish until all that remained were the blackened metal frames.
Most of the enemy aircraft had disappeared by now, having inflicted maximum damage on the airfield in a matter of minutes, but there was still a dogfight going on in the sky above them. The lumbering RAF Buffalo seemed to be no match for the more manoeuvrable Japanese aircraft, but the British pilot was persistent, circling back repeatedly, looping around and firing round upon round at the other plane. Eventually the British plane was forced to come limping back onto land, its engine spluttering, its fuel pouring out from a hole on its side.
When the raid was over, the men were ordered to repair the airfield so that it could be used to land other aircraft. A wire came through that airfields further north were being evacuated and their aircraft relocated to Butterworth.
‘And that’s not the end of it,’ said the Bull. ‘I’ve just been informed that the Japs have landed in the north, in Kota Baharu. Our lads put up a fight but they got through anyway. They’ve taken the airfield there, and they are now on their way south. They bombed Singapore last night too. There was a lot of damage. There are rumours that they bombed the US base at Pearl Harbour. The Japs really mean business.’
The men exchanged looks. So this was it. No more boy-scout exercises.
They repaired the airfield as best they could. Soon after they had finished, they heard the drone of aircraft once again. This time, a fleet of British planes started to land, coming to a stop near the burned out buildings.
The next three days saw repeats of what had happened on the first day. The British planes were refuelled and took off each morning in search of enemy aircraft. This was closely followed by an attack by Japanese bombers on the airfield, bombing and strafing the field and the men on the ground. Some soldiers were hit, some killed. They were whisked away by lorry to a nearby field hospital.
On the fourth day, after their usual morning attack on the airfield, the Japanese aircraft turned on Georgetown. From his position behind the gun Tom watched in horror as swarms of aircraft flew in and dropped bombs onto the city. Some of the planes even dived in and flew low as if to fire on the ground. Smoke was soon billowing from some buildings, while others tottered and collapsed in clouds of white dust. Tom thought of Joy and her family. She had said they were going to Singapore. Had they already left? He hoped they had. He was stunned by the sight of the burning city, the city he had made his home and loved.
The next day they were ordered to abandon the airfield and were taken south by truck. The coast road took them through endless fields and plantations interspersed with patches of wild jungle. Through the trees they got occasional glimpses of the shimmering sea.
Morale was low on that journey south. The men hardly spoke, musing on the bad news that was delivered to them daily by the Bull. For the past few days, all they had heard from the north of Malaya was a litany of defeats, with the Japanese advancing virtually unchecked down the peninsula. They had taken Jitra and Penang. They had also sunk two seemingly invincible battleships, the Prince of Wales and the Repulse. It seemed scarcely believable to the Volunteers that this army of puny Asians was inflicting cruel defeats daily on the army of the great British Empire.
The men were dropped on the sandy banks of the Selangor Estuary and told to pitch their tents. It had been raining, and there was nowhere dry to do this, so they pitched them on the wet scrubby grass at the top of the sand.
They were here to support a battalion of Jats from the Indian Army, manning pillboxes and defences in case of invasion by the Japanese.
‘I thought the Japanese were coming down by land,’ Tom said to Henry.
‘Yes, by bicycle according to some accounts,’ said Henry. ‘But I don’t think that anyone knows exactly what they’re up to. Judging by our disastrous form against them so far, we’re probably here to be on the safe side.’
The banks of the estuary were well defended, though. The Jats had already installed lethal-looking coils of barbed wire along the beach, and concrete pill-boxes had been constructed every hundred yards or so. Tom’s section was detailed to defend one of these pill-boxes; twelve of them were needed to man it and its two Bren guns. They spent long hours watching the calm blue sea and the mouth of the river. It felt as though they had been consigned to a backwater. Occasionally a vessel would pass, usually a ferry or cargo boat bound for Singapore.
Tom spent his hours on watch in anguish, thinking about Joy and Penang. He had a recurring vision of her family fleeing
