east of woodley - preview
PROLOGUE
A venomous blue-black and white banded krait reared inches from her face, its glinting fangs and flicking forked tongue huge in her sight. It struck. Simultaneously, thunderous booms pierced her ears.
In the Johore jungle, Jane jolted awake in pure terror and yelped, snapping into a seated position instantly, banging her head on the bamboo frame of the low thatched shelter. ‘Confound it!’ she cursed as her heart and skull pounded. Bizarre for her, it was a nightmare.
Daybreak was creeping over Malaya.
Unbeknownst to her….
Seventy miles away, the natives of her adored home of Singapore jarred from sleep at the same instant. Allied commandos just drove daggers into the foe.
Operation Jaywick, a bold strike on Japanese freighters, was underway.
Led by Major Ivan Lyon of the Gordon Highlanders, the raiders had sailed to the target area on a fishing boat they renamed the Krait, after the deadly Asian snake. The old, modest wooden craft, called the Kofuku Maru, had worked the seas around Malaya in the 1930s. It was the perfect cloak.
After debarking, the saboteurs from the covert ‘Z’ Special Unit paddled their furtive folbots through the Riau Archipelago to the islet of Pulau Subar, their forward staging point. On the prior night - 26 September 1943 - they crept through the port defences and, veiled by shadows, attached limpets to the ships. The mines had begun their ruin.
By early morning, the devices would damage or sink six or seven vessels, along with 39,000 tons of stores plundered from the land. Beyond the losses, it was a psychological blow to the enemy. It believed it was immune to attack this far back in its rear.
In sailing from Exmouth, the foray would prove one of the deepest surface incursions into hostile territory in history. Their 5,000-mile sea voyage was striking, with the sabotage an utter coup. Notably, the craft and men returned to their base in Australia safe and sound.
By any measure, it was a rare and exceptional feat of arms.
While we know ample about Jaywick, little has emerged on its concurrent mission. It kicked off from the Krait after the first group slipped from it.
The UK and Australian governments had long declassified their dossiers on the shipping blitz.
But the file for its adjunct sortie remains hidden.
Was it a secret buried? Or forgotten?
This is that story….
PART I
APRIL 1941
ONE
The Raffles, Singapore
Jane sashayed through the lofty lobby, with its grand chandelier hovering aloft, past the reception desk for the doors. At that moment, a handsome, well-groomed stranger arrived and doffed his wool felt fedora. She stole a veiled peek at him. He caught her gaze.
‘Hullo, pardon me,’ said the visitor, gripping the hat with his fingers. ‘Are you Miss Jane Glenys Woodley?’
She halted. ‘Indeed. And who might you be?’
‘The name’s Bradshaw, Tom Bradshaw.’ With politeness, he tilted his crown and offered a palm. ‘Delighted….’
Jane shook his hand, tickled to find his clasp firm, associating a sturdy grip with strength of character. She saw men with limp handshakes as lesser. ‘How do you do?’
Stunned silent, he couldn’t help but ogle at the gorgeous brunette. She’s an unqualified belle!
Jane’s soft oval face, with her delicate cheeks and mouth, widened to smiles and laughter with ease. Her long lashes and hazel irises glittered bright and captivating, and they moved with a grace and spirit, suggesting a keen intelligence and decency. Her medium complexion glowed and was flawless. Of average height, her figure was well-proportioned with slender arms and legs. In sum, the young lass was ravishing. Strikingly beautiful.
‘May I have a word?’ he asked with a gentle smile, having recovered. He pondered her background and tried to reconcile between the woman in person and the profile within her dossier. It was a record compiled with the most recherché detail.
‘Rather ill-timed. In an awful rush, you see. No time for idle chitchat!’ Jane asserted pompously, studying the newcomer. ‘And I don’t make it a habit of nattering with strangers!’
Not put off, Tom said, ‘I do apologise for the intrusion, Miss Woodley. I promise not to occupy any more of your day than necessary.’ He lowered his voice and pressed, ‘I assure you what I wish to discuss is of grave importance.’
Jane studied the man before her. He presented with a neat chevron moustache, distinctly British and military, genteel and confident, and older than her own age, but not a huge disparity. Twenty-four perhaps. What he’d said piqued her curiosity, and she found him quite appealing.
But the Tanglin Club, Singapore’s oldest and most prestigious leisure establishment, enticed. What’s this concern?Is it worth foregoing lunch with Pip? Jane wondered, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Why not? Though I shan’t go easy on him. Chance for a pinch or two of harmless fun.…
‘I have makan and an afternoon’s shopping with an old friend. I’ve missed the poor dear, and we’d arranged our outing ages ago!’ It was untrue, but she figured stretching the truth won’t hurt.
‘Makan?’ The recent arrival raised an eyebrow, unsure what the term meant.
‘Tiffin … light lunch … you know…? Munchies.’
‘Ahh……,’ he breathed in comprehension. ‘You must mean with Miss Patricia Ashton, the nurse, and a distant relation of Lady Thomas and the noble house of Montgomery. You’d both attended St Nicholas in Victoria Street, I gather?’ With a knowing grin, Tom quipped, ‘The nuns would have given you hell. Or was it the reverse?’
‘Why…,’ she uttered with genuine surprise. ‘Are you acquainted with Patti? I don’t recall ever hearing your name mentioned.’
‘With regret, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Miss Ashton, but I am familiar with her brother. Guy and I were both Oxford Blues. Rugger, of course,’ he said, as though the illustrious varsity award existed solely for rugby.
Before Jane could react, Tom offered, ‘I could have my driver convey our apologies and ferry her home or elsewhere. Won’t do having a member of the élite sitting around waiting. Would that be satisfactory?’
‘It is the least you can do! Please inform Patti I’ll have tiffin with her at the club tomorrow, 11 am. Thank you.’
‘Splendid! That’s settled then.’ Tom excused himself, retreated outside, reappearing in a jiffy before taking her by the arm. ‘Care for a drink? Mite early, I realise, but could I tempt you with a Singapore Sling or gin pahit in the Long Bar?’ he jabbered brightly, referring to the fashionable local gin cocktails. ‘After all, we are in the celebrated Raffles.’
‘Yes, a Sling would be wonderful. Ta.’ Jane said, seizing the opportunity to enjoy the island’s most famed alcoholic beverage. They entered the lounge where the hotel’s head bartender, Ngiam Tong Boon, had shaped the cocktail in 1915.
He guided her to a cushioned rattan easy chair at a vacant, quiet, far corner of the room. Then placed their drink orders with the barman and returned.
Before he could plant his rump, Jane blurted, ‘I sense this isn’t social. Thus, you must know I’m employed as the hotel’s accounts secretary. What else, pray, do you have on me?’
He beamed at her, ignoring her words, and sank into his seat, issuing a satisfied sigh. ‘I say, comfy chairs, aren’t they? Luxurious, wot?’ He made a show of moulding his body into the padding, testing the armrests, then scanned about, lauding the lounge’s decor and ambience.
‘Mr Bradshaw, would you….’
‘Please call me Tom.’
‘Mr Bradshaw!’ said Jane with feigned petulance. ‘Until I learn what you need of moi, I have no intention of fostering familiarity! Observe formality, please! Thank you!’
‘As you desire, Miss Woodley.’ While her manner may have offended others, he appreciated her spunk and vivacity. He went on wise authority - Guy Ashton - and surmised she was larking at his expense.
The prattle soon wore down Jane’s patience. Her curiousness peaked, and she tried anew to draw an explanation for his interest in her, gaining nought. She verged on annoyance.
In contrast, Tom was anything but imprudent. He could be as cool and deliberate as she was ardent. Rational and calculated, he persisted by chatting about life and the culture in British Malaya. He queried her history and links and extracted her views on the conflicts in Europe and China. The entire while - to Jane’s chagrin - he appraised her. With surreptitious scrutiny.
He considered her lineage and societal prominence and whether he should exclude her from choice, then dismissed the thought. They could always post her to an Allied base away from danger.
The Englishman ordered a second round of beverages after they’d drained the first. He resisted the urge to rush while interviewing Jane, for that was what it was, a job interview. She, the potential employee, albeit unwitting. While he represented the employer. The barkeep refreshed their drinks and departed.
Tom made his call. He admired Jane’s characteristics - she was savvy and nobody’s fool. Her confidence and wilfulness were obvious, and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. And he reflected: She has an inner light that glows! Somewhat headstrong or assertive, perhaps, but they could channel that into a positive attribute. Tom’s tone shifted businesslike.
‘Righty-ho, Miss Woodley. First, as you might have guessed, I serve with His Majesty’s forces. I’m a Lieutenant-Commander in the Royal Navy, but my rank and official service arm are of little consequence.’ Tom held his military credential low, masked by the coffee table.
He’s twenty-four! I’m right, she noted with hidden glee. Their four-year age gap pleased her, for reasons she couldn’t explain.
‘Second, you shan’t repeat what I say. Nor divulge your activities to anybody if you join our organisation. Not even to your kin. Not without authorisation. Flout the Official Secrets Act and we will incarcerate you. Or worse. Clear?’
‘Quite! Crystal! Cross my heart!’ she chirped, gratified the enigmatic stranger was getting to the point.
Jane hadn’t flinched, Tom noticed. And she’d stared into his eyes when she responded.
He inhaled and started plain. ‘There’s no smarter motto than that of the Boy Scouts: “Be Prepared.” Given the Japanese menace, we’re recruiting people with specific skills to counter the threat … to give the enemy an uncomfortable time if they should land on our shores. We aim to prepare for war.’
‘Bugger me!’ Jane ejected, somewhat unladylike. ‘Hell, someone taking our predicament seriously at last! The Governor and the GOC have their heads buried in the sand!’ She pressed, ‘And their underlings aren’t better. They fare daft, content to do the littlest! Apathy is their order of the day! Don’t you think?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He guessed her source was her dad.
Jane continued with fervour. ‘If you ask me, the ballyhoo painting the idea the Jipun are short-sighted and can’t shoot or fly at night is sheer poppycock! They’ve invaded and taken whole countries! If only those nincompoops in London, and here at Government House, besides Flagstaff, would grasp the dire reality?!’
‘Our own assessment, indeed,’ Tom admitted, pleased with her response, relieved she shared their outlook.
They had vetted her clan and researched her character and abilities, and he felt confident Jane would prove an asset to the unit. Her skill in languages, and her aptitude in technical subjects, were potent. He thought she possessed a mental toughness to match.
‘I won’t sugar-coat it,’ the officer said. ‘Training will be arduous, downright taxing, and there’d be nobody to mollycoddle you. If you make the grade, the endeavour will be hazardous. Damned risky.’
Tom pressed on, ‘If a war with Japan befalls, and we believe it’s likely, your chances of survival could be, shall we say, less than even. Further, your involvement could put your family at added risk.’
For the first time, Jane frowned, but her glare remained with his.
‘Any person in their proper mind would decline, but we meet troubled times. It is voluntary, and I’d understand if you refuse. Your decision.’ Tom rested.
The prospect contemplated her options: Give nothing or be proactive. Either way, she concluded, British Subjects and those with Chinese blood, like herself, would be at peril in Japanese hands.
Her ancestry was eclectic.
Jane was ‘British’ de jure - by right - by her birthright. The government had classified her as such, given her father was British and her birth had taken place in the Straits Settlements. In Singapore.
Her mother was Eurasian, a mingle of Portuguese, Indian and Peranakan. But her parent’s race was irrelevant in the matter of Jane’s category.
That Jane had never set foot in Britain, and her loyalty sat with Malaya, would mean little to the Nipponese. She’d read they treated the subdued with deep hatred, abusing and slaying them by the thousands.
The fresh-faced woman took scant seconds to decide.
‘When do I start?’
‘Brilliant! Good lass! I was hoping you’d agree because we have much in store for you.’ Tom cheered, thrilled. Then he tempered his demeanour and warned, ‘I repeat, not a squeak to anyone.’
‘Assuredly, Tuan Besar!’ she bleated, ribbing in tone, calling him ‘sir’, ‘master’ or ‘boss’ in Malay. ‘Tender my resignation right this instant, shall I?’
‘Ah yes, ahem… no need. Evans, the GM, is a trusted friend, and I had enlisted his help. For appearances, your position here forms your cover. Where it concerns others, you work at the Raffles. Beyond knowing the forces want your service, Teddy is unbriefed, but as a former army officer, he’d realise better than to pry.’
In her enthusiasm, Tom’s presumption had escaped Jane’s attention.
‘Thursday, 1 May at 8.30 am? I’ll fetch you from your home and take you to the school. Your father and brothers would have departed for work. Can’t have them heeding ... hush-hush and all that. Although I dare suggest they’d be proud of you.’
‘Fine. Rather exciting, is it not? Like starting an adventure or quest!’
‘Hmm, wouldn’t label it that. Be careful what you yearn for.’
‘Who’s “we”, tuan? Or is your tongue numb?’
Tom fixed his eyes on hers and responded in sombre tones, ‘The Orient Mission of the Special Operations Executive. The OM and SOE for short.’ He stated with emphasis, ‘And you, Miss Woodley, shall be in the maiden intake to undergo intensive training at a secret location.’
Jane went clueless about what the entities were, but they mattered none to her. The whole bargain promised to be more stimulating than tallying old Dr Pocklington’s countless bar chits every month.
The covert agent rose, bringing the talk to an end. With a tilt of his head, he shook her palm and said, ‘Well, Miss Woodley, it has been a pleasure.’
‘Oh, “Admiral” Tom...,’ she gushed with a wide, fetching, teeth-flourished smile, ‘... it’s no longer “Miss Woodley” to you. It’s Jane!’