During the years since World War II, guerrilla warfare in many areas of the world has challenged the power of the Western nations. The Malayan “emergency,” which began ten years ago last June, provides a valuable case study in this type of conflict. Its primary significance consists in the fact that the British in Malaya finally devised a successful strategy against a formidable Communist guerrilla force. By employing a combination of counter-techniques—political, social, economic, psychological, and military—the British prevented the Malayan Races’ Liberation Army (MRLA) from achieving its major objectives. Today, when the NATO powers face the threat of spreading guerrilla wars, a reexamination of the Malayan experience may prove instructive. This is not to imply that the strategy applied by the British in Malaya should or could be applied in other areas, where the political problems and environmental factors involved are dissimilar. But a review of the Malayan war can cast light on the nature of the struggle which arises in the “Grey Areas” when guerrillas, fighting for “national independence,” pit themselves against the regular military arm of a Western industrial state.
To understand the Malayan guerrilla war in its full context, one must know something about the background of Communism in that peninsular country and about the country itself. When Communist organizers from Indonesia, following Lenin’s mandate to penetrate the West’s colonial territories, moved into British Malaya in the 1920’s, they got a cool reception from the Malays. The rural Malayans, most of them devout Moslems, were satisfied with their simple pattern of village life. Those who migrated into the urban areas for an education usually entered the army, the service industries, the police force, or the government and enjoyed friendly relations with the British. The Indian Tamils, who comprised somewhat less than ten percent of the population, were also hard to stir with Marxist doctrine, since they already benefited from welfare programs arranged jointly by the Indian and Malayan governments. But there was one large and influential ethnic minority in Malaya which felt sufficiently “rootless” to be attracted by Communist preachments. This was the “overseas Chinese” community, which constituted two-fifths of the total population in 1931, the year in which the Malayan Communist Party (MCP) was founded. Most of these Chinese, although they enjoyed a strong position in the commercial life of Malaya, looked to China as their homeland. Hence it is hardly surprising that Communism, when it finally came to Malaya, was imported not from Russia but from China.
Until 1939, the British Protectorate of Malaya had seemed so securely guarded by the naval bases at Singapore and Hongkong that no sizeable native army had been trained to defend it. The Japanese seized Singapore and overran Malaya within three months after Pearl Harbor. At that point the MCP seized its golden opportunity to become the chief vehicle of national resistance sentiment. The party withdrew to the jungle and organized a guerrilla opposition. The British, while fighting a delaying action against the invader, felt constrained to adopt in Malaya (as they have so often elsewhere) a wartime policy which contained the seeds of serious postwar problems. The British authorities recognized frankly that the Communists were the only ones in the country who could be counted upon to remain enemies of the Japanese. The Communists had no other choice, since the Japanese had put a price on their heads. The British, therefore, hurriedly set up a special training school and taught the Communists guerrilla tactics and sabotage methods.
Beginning with about 200 hand-picked and well disciplined Chinese Communists, the guerrilla force undertook harassing activities behind the Japanese lines. Initially, it armed itself by searching the battlefield for abandoned weapons. By the time Force 136, headed by British officers from the Southeast Asia Command, landed from a submarine in May, 1943, to contact the so-called Malayan People’s Anti-Japanese Army (MPAJA), the latter boasted some 3,000 men. Early in 1945, Lord Mountbatten’s Command reached an agreement with the guerrillas under which the British supplied them with food, clothing, and weapons and parachuted training officers into them preparatory to a planned joint invasion against the Japanese. In view of Japan’s sudden collapse late that summer, the projected invasion proved unnecessary. That was a turn of good fortune for the British. Their postwar troubles in Malaya would no doubt have been greatly compounded if the Communists had played an actual role in the liberation of the country.
Even as matters stood, the MPAJA emerged from the war with a grossly inflated sense of its own contribution to the defeat of the Japanese. As a matter of fact, the guerrillas had engaged much more in propaganda, training, indoctrination, and morale-building than in fighting the enemy. When the war ended, about 7,000 guerrillas came out from their jungle campsites and took over control of the countryside, establishing their own government in many towns. They were extremely reluctant in September, 1945, to relinquish their power to the incoming British Military Administration. To facilitate the disbanding of the potentially revolutionary MPAJA, the British offered $350 to every man who would turn in his arms. More than 6,000 responded to the offer, but the Communists made certain that several caches of arms and ammunition, both British and Japanese, remained hidden in the jungle.
After the war, the British were anxious to re-establish their position in Malaya, for that colony was potentially, by virtue of its rubber and tin resources, the biggest earner of American dollars in the sterling area. But all through South and Southeast Asia, the historical tide seemed to be going against the prewar colonial empires as new nationalist forces arose to demand independence. The French were having trouble in Indochina, as were the Dutch in Indonesia. India and Ceylon were about to achieve status as Commonwealth members, and Burma was ready to separate completely from Great Britain. If Malaya had been ethnically homogeneous, the British would probably have encountered a great deal more difficulty than they did in that area. But the Malays, now outnumbered by the Chinese in the Malayan Federation and Singapore, were for the most part content to see the British come back.
The years 1945-1948 witnessed unsteady attempts by the British to institute some sort of federal self-rule system in the face of considerable dissatisfaction from the Chinese, the Indians, and a small minority of Malays who desired union with Indonesia. The MCP resorted to strikes as a means of prolonging the country’s economic disorganization and thereby embarrassing the British, both politically and financially. Besides infiltrating the labor unions, the Communists founded Youth Corps, Women’s Associations, and numerous other front organizations and schools. After the announcement of the Marshall Plan, the party newspapers urged sabotage of the national productive effort to hinder the “imperialist” Marshall Plan. Nevertheless, the Malays, the Indians, and even a majority of the Chinese refused to shift their allegiance.
Throughout Europe and Asia, as it became apparent that the Communists were not yet able to ride into power by peaceful political means, the party line hardened. Just as Czechoslovakia was falling victim to a coup in February, 1948, a revised strategy for the Communists in Asia, especially Southeast Asia, was laid down in a series of meetings in Calcutta. These meetings were followed by a noticeable increase in agitational activities in India, Burma, Indonesia, and Malaya. Following a period of labor unrest, demonstrations, and sporadic sabotage, the MCP retreated into the jungles once again and began to engage in full-scale violence. Not all the party members were eager to return to the rigors of guerrilla life, but they were warned that if they stayed behind they would be identified as party members and punished as traitors.
Approximately half of the “old timers” answered the party summons and joined the guerrilla force, which finally became known as the Malayan Races’ Liberation Army (MRLA). New recruits, including thugs and criminals, brought the army up to a strength of 5,000 or 6,000. Against them, the British and Malayan authorities were ultimately compelled to mobilize a total of 40,000 regular troops, 60,000 police, and about a quarter of a million home guards.
The Communists embarked upon a variety of offensive activities after June 20, 1948. Armed gangs carried out payroll robberies to obtain operating funds for the movement. Other gangs, to intimidate the population with a show of strength, slashed or burned thousands of rubber trees and bombed installations at the tin mines. Railroad tracks were ripped up and telephone lines cut. Well-to-do Europeans, Chinese, and Malays were kidnaped for ransom or murdered for reasons of sheer terrorism.
The MRLA, upon taking up its abode in the jungle, reactivated and extended its wartime network of campsites, which were ingeniously camouflaged against air attacks and carefully defended against ground approach. Generally speaking, the military position of the MRLA in the early phases of the conflict was quite good. The wartime weapons caches provided sufficient strength for the initial terroristic operations, and the guerrilla leaders undoubtedly hoped that in due time additional arms could be obtained from external sources. There was some doubt at the time as to whether the MCP was under the immediate direction of Moscow or whether it was taking orders from the Chinese Communists. The British were mainly concerned over the possibility of Chinese Communist attempts to support the MCP. But as the Malayan rebellion broke out, the Chinese Communists, then mounting their final offensive against the Nationalists, were scarcely in a position to divert sizeable quantities of equipment to the MCP—assuming that they could have overcome the formidable transport difficulties of sending aid to the east coast of the peninsula or down through Thailand.
One of the most pressing problems confronting every guerrilla organization is that of maintaining a steady flow of food and other necessary supplies. The Malayan Communists found a solution ready at hand in the presence of some 500,000 Chinese squatters who lived along the edge of the jungle. These people, mostly illiterate, had little political consciousness, and whatever vague convictions they did hold were usually anti-government. Back in the days of the resistance against the Japanese, they had played a major role in provisioning the guerrillas. Now they were hardly surprised to be visited regularly once again and assessed by the Min Yuen, the MRLA’s supporting arm. The Min Yuen, numbering perhaps 10,000, served as a link between the guerrillas and the native community. It performed courier, food-gathering, propaganda, intelligence, and recruiting service in the external zone of operations. Most of its members, as might be expected, were Chinese. Not a few of them led a double life, carrying out missions for the guerrillas by night and blending into the civil occupational pattern by day. The operations of this community support organization, half above- and half under-ground, often made it difficult for the British to distinguish between friendly and enemy territory.
During the first two years of the war, the British relied almost exclusively on conventional military measures to put down the rebellion. But they gradually realized that the orthodox modes of warfare taught at Sandhurst were not applicable against an elusive jungle foe who was bent on protracting the conflict as long as possible. The British offensive strategy was simply not geared to the Malayan jungle. In Malaya, the jungle covers four-fifths of the country, furnishes a covered approach to worthwhile targets in many areas, and contains so many unfamiliar, mysterious obstacles as to prove virtually impervious to Western combat forces trained for a very different type of ground action.
There was, first of all, the problem of reconnoitering the enemy. Foot reconnaissance was out of the question for regular troops that had not been trained to distinguish native from guerrilla trails. Jungle aborigines helped the British in some instances, but they had different names for every place plotted on the military maps and this gave rise to considerable confusion. Sometimes the jungle-dwelling aborigines would start out on a guidance mission for government units, only to end by leading the troops on a wild goose chase rather than run the risk of enemy reprisals. The British next tried reconnaissance by helicopter, but whenever the guerrillas suspected that their camouflage had been penetrated and a revealing photograph produced, they abandoned the campsite for a few weeks. Army groups found that as they moved into the jungle in squad files, the word that they were coming moved faster than they did. If they avoided the main trails, they ran into brush so thick that they could advance no faster than 100 feet per hour. As they approached a guerrilla campsite, a sentry fired a warning shot and a small rear guard held the track for a few minutes while most of the fighters made their getaway to another campsite, perhaps one which they had abandoned weeks or months previously. The pursuers rarely caught up with the guerrillas before having to return to their base for supplies. Small wonder, under such conditions, that it took some crack British battalions from three to six months of combing operations before they were able to report any guerrilla casualties or prisoners.
The British became painfully aware that they were unable to turn against the guerrilla his own prime tactic—surprise. Through 1948 and 1949 the MRLA remained the master of surprise, retaining its freedom to strike at any selected point near the jungle which happened to be poorly protected. The British, on the other hand, even when apparently undertaking an offensive penetration into the jungle, invariably labored under a defensive mentality and were seldom able to seize the initiative. They possessed one instrument of surprise—the RAF—but its sudden attacks proved less efficient than those of the guerrillas, who were able to inflict telling damage in almost every mission they undertook.
By early 1950, the British had recognized the fact that they were making little or no headway against the MRLA. They began to devise new approaches, which required a fuller strategic perspective of the situation. In April of that year, General Sir Harold Briggs was appointed Director of Operations for the Emergency. The British were beginning to see that the key to success consisted in isolating the guerrilla force from the civilian community while at the same time developing more adequate techniques to deal with the guerrillas inside the jungle. There was a grave danger that, as time went on, the Chinese component of the Malayan population would become increasingly sympathetic with the political objectives of the Communists, particularly in view of the Communist triumph on the Chinese mainland. The British, consequently, were faced with a subtle dilemma. The fact that the guerrilla army was almost entirely Chinese made it relatively easy to enlist the support of the Malays for counter-operations. But the British were reluctant to emphasize the ethnic character of the conflict, for this might have driven many Chinese from involuntary to voluntary cooperation with the MRLA. If the British were to minimize the chances of full scale civil war, it was necessary for them to drive a wedge between the Communists and the great majority of the Chinese.
General Briggs realized that military measures alone were not sufficient to solve the problem. He worked out a plan to sever the logistical link between the terrorists and the Chinese farmers who lived along the edge of the jungle in villages that were highly vulnerable to guerrilla pressure and almost impossible to protect. Between June, 1950, and the end of 1953, more than a half million Chinese were resettled in new villages removed from the jungle and easier to guard. Altogether, more than 600 new communities were constructed at a considerable cost to the government. Those which were located in rural areas closest to the jungle were enclosed by barbed wire and their perimeters were lighted at night. All of them were kept under constant police surveillance. This resettlement program, which moved the poorest tenth of Malaya’s population into more viable areas with good roads, sewage, water, and electricity, helped to solve one of the country’s most serious social problems. It gave large numbers of Chinese peasants security in land title for the first time and brought them into a friendlier relationship with the government. Politically, the transfer program contributed toward a reorientation of thinking among the people who had hitherto comprised the most unstable and least reliable element of the civilian population.
The resettlement program undoubtedly hurt the Communist guerrillas, for it disrupted their chief source of supply and forced them to rely more heavily on the jungle aborigines. The degree of physical, psychological, and political proximity which the guerrillas had enjoyed vis-á-vis the local Chinese community declined perceptibly. Lines of communication between the guerrillas and the party cells in the villages were strained almost to the breaking point, at least for a time. The extension of their supply lines rendered the members of the MRLA and the Min Yuen more vulnerable than ever to ambush as they moved in and out of the jungle. The number of terrorist attacks fell off by more than half. Meanwhile, Federation authorities were able to mount their own ideological offensive to offset the effect of the “liberation” propaganda which had gone practically uncontested for several years.
The hard-core Communists did not allow adversity to dampen their ardor. The guerrillas attempted to maintain flagging morale by boldly risking dangerous expeditions into the new government-built villages. Occasional murders and other acts of terror continued to occur, giving rise among the Chinese to some resentment against the government for its inability to guarantee absolute security. In that type of war, of course, it is practically impossible to secure the native population completely against terroristic attacks, so long as large numbers of guerrillas can live undetected within the civilian community. *
Gradually, civilian morale improved. Normal railway and road communications were restored and private property, especially the rubber plantations and the tin mines, became less susceptible to destructive raids. The popularity of the Communists declined steadily as greater blame was laid to the party for prolonging the troublesome situation. Consequently, the MCP felt constrained to switch its strategy. A party directive dated October 1, 1951, ordered all members to desist from the following practices: seizing identity and ration cards, burning new villages, attacking post offices, reservoirs, and other public facilities, derailing civilian trains, burning religious buildings and Red Cross vehicles, and committing sabotage against the major industries, thereby causing workers to lose their jobs. Communists were urged to emphasize the indoctrination of the masses, propaganda against conscription, the obstruction of government policies by non-violent means, and penetration of the trade unions. Violence, however, was not ruled out completely. It was still quite proper to kill British and Gurkha troops, senior civil servants and police officers, members of the Kuomintang and the Malayan Chinese Association, “stubborn reactionaries,” and British industrial managers, but not British health officers or engineers. Perhaps the party directive was a face-saving device, designed to convey the impression that the change in the Communists’ policy was freely chosen rather than forced upon them. The resettlement program had significantly altered the relationship between the guerrillas and the local Chinese community upon which they had depended for support. Such a change invariably compels a guerrilla army to modify its tactics drastically.
Meanwhile, the British stepped up their pressure against the guerrillas in the jungle. To do this, they had to obtain a better grasp of the enemy’s modus operandi. Although the British possessed a superior “map knowledge” of the Malayan terrain, they initially lacked an understanding of the manner in which Communist activities were adapted to the language, customs, and thought patterns of the indigenous population. A “ferret force” was formed, comprising hand-picked British, Malayan, Gurkha, and Chinese personnel. This ferret force went to live in the recesses of the jungle for six months, carrying out patrolling activities and observing the Communist organization in action. The personnel of this force were then distributed among other military units to spread the benefits of their experience. Efforts were made to win over the aborigines who furnished the Communist fighters with rice, acted as scouts for them, and warned them of the approach of hostile troops. But this turned out to be an extremely difficult task, since the aborigines had known some of the veteran guerrillas for upwards of a dozen years, whereas they had previously come into only superficial contact with the British and Malayan officials.
After carefully assessing the military problem, the British adopted new methods of carrying the offensive to the guerrillas. Head-on penetration and attack by battalion-sized units based outside the jungle was abandoned. Smaller units, such as squads or platoons, were sent into the jungle under a screen of deception to thwart the Communist scouts. These units lived like guerrillas for a month or more at a time, shifting their location frequently and solving their own supply problems. The Gurkhas showed themselves especially adept in this phase of the campaign. Whereas under the earlier operational plans, marching units became tired out in fruitless tracking only to find themselves in the end an easy target for ambush, the new counter-guerrilla groups developed their own initiative and skill in ambush techniques. Improved ground-air radio communications enabled the RAF to increase the demoralizing effect of its sudden strafing and bombing missions. The guerrillas were further beleaguered when their food plots in jungle clearings were sprayed with poison.
The more intensive techniques raised the average number of guerrilla fatal casualties from about 600 per year in the 1949-1950 period to more than 1,000 per year from 1951 onward. Despite the fact that new recruits kept the Communist strength from falling much below its normal level of 5,000 to 6,000, British intelligence indicated that enemy morale was crumbling. The Malayan Communist Party had not succeeded in gaining either international political support or external arms aid to sustain its struggle. To exploit the psychological factors implicit in the decline of dynamism within a guerrilla army, the British worked out an ingenious propaganda campaign which relied heavily on the use of “voice aircraft”—helicopters equipped with loudspeakers to broadcast at night over Communist locations. The general theme stressed was that the guerrillas, caught in a hopeless military situation, were free to choose: a rotten jungle existence probably culminating in death, or a rehabilitated life in urban Malaya following their surrender. Messages from MRLA men who gave themselves up one night were tape-recorded for “pinpoint delivery” over the campsites of their erstwhile cohorts the very next night. Thousands of leaflets urging defection were dropped over the jungle each week. Since one of the main hindrances to the would-be deserter was finding his way out of the thick brush at night, the British furnished colored search-lights and soundtrucks as guides to the nearest army or police post. During 1953, more than 350 individual surrenders were reported.
The Communists’ military victory in Indochina and their diplomatic successes at Geneva sent the MRLA’s stock climbing for a while in 1954. By and large, however, it was obvious that the war was going against the Communists in Malaya. The guerrillas were gradually being forced deeper into the jungle to more decentralized positions, from which their operations became necessarily less efficient. Their morale and logistics problems were compounded in proportion to their increasing isolation from the civilian community. Outside the jungle, the “white areas,” where security was sufficiently established to permit the lifting of curfew and other restrictions, were being steadily extended.
The MCP finally convinced the international leadership of the party that, if additional military support was not forthcoming, a shift would have to be made to political maneuvers to reduce the Federation’s pressure and to halt the defections. In September, 1954, Communist delegates to the British Trades Unions Congress sounded the call for a cease-fire in Malaya. No doubt they hoped that truce proposals in Malaya would prove just as successful as they had in Korea and Indochina. Native political leaders in Malaya, notably Tengku Abdul Rahman and Sir Cheng-lock Tan, suggested an amnesty and negotiations with the Communists. But British authorities were willing neither to grant a general amnesty nor to discuss negotiations in any form with the terrorists. The British felt, quite rightly, that their existing policy of offering attractive terms to individual defectors was already the most generous one possible.
The Tengku and Sir Cheng-lock Tan, influenced by the wave of Asian neutralist sentiment which reached its peak in 1955, favored granting lawful status to the Malayan Communist Party. They were left unmoved by British arguments that such concessions would not restore the country to normalcy but would merely guarantee the Communists a foothold in the soon-to-be-established parliamentary regime of an independent Federation. The coalition led by the Tengku and Tan won the country’s first constitutional elections in the summer of 1955. After that, the British decided not to hold out any longer against negotiations, but they did quash a suggestion to have the insurrection arbitrated by a neutral power and they also managed to talk down the proposal to legalize the MCP. A formal amnesty was finally announced on September 9, 1955. Actually, it did not go much beyond the surrender policy already in effect. The Communists were told bluntly that they would be required to prove their loyalty to Malaya alone, to respect constitutional authority, and to abstain from any political activity proscribed by the government. Irreconcilables were to be deported, just as in the past. There was no chance that the leaders who had for years plotted and supervised the most grotesque acts of terrorism would be classified as mere “political criminals” and pardoned.
The MCP, probably fearing that it had been outmaneuvered on the amnesty issue—for the raising and the dashing of the guerrillas’ hopes no doubt had a harmful effect on morale—stepped up its political offensive. The party made a new proposal for an immediate conference with the Tengku and Tan to discuss a total cease-fire, a satisfactory solution of the “emergency,” and the creation of a peaceful, free Malaya once tensions had been relaxed. The Tengku, by then the Chief Minister of the Federation, agreed to meet Chin Peng, leader of the MCP, at Baling. Chin Peng asked for an international commission to implement the peace terms, as well as an alteration of the amnesty provisions. The Chief Minister bluntly refused to internationalize the peace arrangements. He was willing, however, to discuss the amnesty terms.
During the course of the Baling talks, the Communists tried to drive a wedge between the native leaders of the Federation and their British mentors by promising to halt the war just as soon as the native government should obtain complete control over internal security and local armed forces. But this tactic got the Communists nowhere. The Tengku made it perfectly clear that he had no intention whatsoever of sharing power in Malaya with Chin Peng, and after a few days the talks broke down. The Federation leaders, convinced that their amnesty offer had served little useful purpose except perhaps to placate neutralist opinion temporarily, began to speak of intensifying the anti-Communist drive. While the Federation mission was in London early in 1956 smoothing the way for Malaya’s full independence within the Commonwealth, bombing attacks on terrorist hideouts were resumed. Once the country’s independence seemed assured, national mobilization plans for the quick defeat of the MRLA appeared to disintegrate, and a “tacit truce” came to prevail. The guerrilla leaders, reckoning time to be on their side, settled back and waited for the day when they could return to the Malayan political scene and open the “constitutional phase” of their strategy.
The British moved to prevent a Communist victory by default. Upon becoming an independent Commonwealth dominion on August 31, 1957, Malaya concluded a defense agreement which provided that air, naval, and land forces of Great Britain, Australia, and New Zealand would remain in the country after it became free. Then the Federation made a final offer of. amnesty to the some 2,000 terrorists still holding out in the jungle. Terrorists who surrendered before January 1, 1958, and renounced Communism were to be guaranteed freedom from prosecution for offenses committed under Communist orders prior to the date of independence. Those desiring “repatriation” to China—the term “deportation” was avoided—were promised free passage. The fortunes of the MCP guerrillas entered a period of eclipse, at least for the time being, when the new independent Federation of Malaya was recognized by both Moscow and Peking.
Several valuable lessons can be drawn from the British experience in Malaya. The policy adopted in the “emergency” showed what can be accomplished when Western and local native forces are meshed for close co-operation against Communist threats in the “Grey Areas.” It also demonstrated the need for well-conceived measures to supplement military operations against guerrillas. Logistic ties between the guerrillas and the local community must be severed, and nowhere has this been achieved in the last decade as effectively and as humanely as in Malaya. Moreover, guerrilla armies in the underdeveloped areas of the world are doomed to ultimate defeat at the hands of technically superior Western powers unless they can succeed in gaining substantial political or military assistance from abroad. The British, controlling the sea approaches to Malaya, made it impossible for the MRLA to import arms aid. The chance of securing Chinese Communist help through Thailand faded when the latter country joined SEATO. The Communists’ efforts to internationalize the guerrilla war were turned back. For the last eight of the ten years since the “emergency” began, the British have successfully thwarted the Communist guerrillas by conceiving the conflict in larger dimensions and by using a wider variety of weapons. The question for the future is: Which side possesses the greater reserves of strategic patience, or the will to wait for victory?
Mr. Dougherty is a Research Fellow, Foreign Policy Research Institute, University of Pennsylvania, and an assistant professor of political science at Saint Joseph’s College, Philadelphia. He is a co-author of the book, American-Asian Tensions (Praeger, 1956).
★
ONE FOR YOU AND ONE FOR ME
Contributed by Lieutenant Commander Jack W. Campbell, USNR
On an Atlantic convoy, an accompanying destroyer cut across the bow of the USS Brooklyn closely enough to cause an emergency astern bell. Because the vessel was stopped expeditiously, Captain F. C. Denebrink relayed to the engine room a copy of the message he sent to the destroyer,
“I am now an advocate of a two-ocean Navy—you in one and me in the other.”
★ ★ ★
JUST DRUDGIN’ ALONG
Contributed by Lieutenant Albert D. Wood, USNR
During the early days of NATO, differences in equipment and operating concepts occasionally caused some difficulties. Such was the case of a small anti-submarine task group made up of an American carrier screened by British, Canadian, and American escorts. The Canadian vessel was capable of only 18 knots and was hard pressed when maneuvering with her 30-knot sisters.
The CICs of the group soon became familiar with the Canadian’s call—Drudge. Again and again the Admiral exhorted Drudge to make knots and move more sharply. As the days went by his patience wore thin. Finally during one reorientation, his exasperated voice was heard over the radio calling on the Canadian for white water and black smoke.
Silence, and then came the mournful reply, “Drudge is me name and drudge I am.”
(The Naval Institute will pay $5.00 for each anecdote accepted for publication in the Proceedings.)
* From the start of the Emergency until the end of 1952, some 30,000 persons were arrested for known or suspected acts of terrorism, and during the same period nearly 15,000 Chinese were deported.