‘I can’t let you go. You’ve sworn an oath of allegiance to the King. But I understand how you feel. When I’m in my tent at night, I sleep pretty soundly,’ he added quietly.
That night, the rain dripped off the trees and on to the canvas above Tom. Unable to sleep, and while listening nervously to the bombardment on the edge of town, he heard rustling, and through the thin canvas of his tent saw a few shadowy forms creep away from the camp and lose themselves among the rubber trees. In the morning they found that a few of the Chinese and Malay Volunteers had taken the Bull’s hint and abandoned their posts.
The section was now severely depleted. There were only about ten men left. As dawn broke they heard the sound of vehicles roaring towards them down the road, swerving to avoid the bodies and wrecked cars. The Volunteers drew their rifles and crouched in the storm drain, ready to fire. Tom’s nerves tingled; his finger felt taut on the trigger. The vehicles rounded the bend and came into view, and they saw that they were full of Australian troops withdrawing from the battle. As they belted past, the men were leaning out of the trucks and shouting, ‘Move boys. You want to move. You want to get out of here as quick as you can. The Japs are coming. Move!’
‘Take no notice of them,’ said the Bull firmly. ‘HQ has ordered us to stay at our posts and wait for the enemy.’
After that Tom’s nerves increased. Every sound on the road seemed to signal the forward march of the Japanese. The men around him became jumpy, too, ready to fire at anything.
It was about an hour later that they came. As he crouched in the storm drain, he watched, incredulous, as a convoy of hulking green tanks bore down on them, firing from the turrets. Tom had never seen a tank before. His mouth went dry, and he could not swallow. He tightened his finger on the trigger, but as he did so wondered what a rifle could do against the great guns on the tanks. The guns were blasting in every direction, at the buildings, into the rubber trees. They were soon upon them.
‘Fire for all you are worth, boys,’ yelled the Bull, and they all fired in unison at the first tank, but their bullets just pinged off the metal. The great gun swung round and faced them, blasting at them, round after round. The Japanese were also firing machine guns at them from inside the tank. The Bull went down with the first hit, then one by one the others were struck by bullets, screaming out in pain and falling back into the drain like rag dolls.
Tom felt his breath coming in uneven gulps. He gave up firing and crouched down low behind the Bull’s body, trying to hide himself from the enemy. A sob of fear rose in Tom’s throat. The tanks went rumbling past him on their great caterpillar tracks, churning up the tarmac, brushing obstacles aside, moving on relentlessly like great voracious insects. When the last of the tanks were gone, he could hear troops marching past. Wave after wave of feet pounded the road, only a few yards from his ear. He was shaking all over. It would take only one of them to notice he was alive.
A whole battalion must have gone by while he lay there stock still, trying to hold his breath. Even after the sound of their boots on the tarmac had long died away, he stayed there, immobile, afraid of being seen. Eventually he opened his eyes, and then lifted his head. All around him lay the bodies of his fellow Volunteers. They had fallen at odd angles, lying on top of one another. It chilled him to think that he was the only one alive in the whole area. He went to each one of the men in turn, slapped each face, put his ear to each chest and listened for a heartbeat. Blood stained their uniforms and trickled from their wounds. It was hard to think that only an hour before each of these men had been full of life.
They were all dead now. There was nothing he could do. He scrambled to his feet and looking about warily, began to run back through the rubber trees. He did not dare walk on the road, and he thought that there might be the possibility of meeting another British unit if he doubled back. He soon reached the other side of the deserted estate, crossed another storm drain and emerged onto a residential street. It had been bombed, too, and its houses were in ruins. He walked in the direction of the city centre, keeping close to the buildings, his breath coming out in rapid pants, unsure about what to do.
Emerging onto another street, he felt a wave of relief when he saw a group of British soldiers marching there. He jogged to the front of the column and spoke to the commanding officer.
‘Sir, I’m from the Straits Settlements Volunteer Force. My whole section was killed by tanks on the edge of the city. I’m the only one alive.’
The lieutenant gave him a grim look.
‘Don’t you know, Private? We’ve surrendered. We’ve been ordered to lay down our arms and march into the centre of the city. I suggest you put down your rifle before a Jap sees you.’
Tom
