Chapter 3 - Banquet with Welly Chin
Somewhere in Punggol Estate
Weibin lifted the couch and pushed the vacuum underneath the sofa. He immediately heard a sharp crack as a piece of plastic hit the inner tube of the vacuum.
Weibin: For GodÂ’s sake, PaulineÂ… can you pick up all your Legos?! They are all over the place.
Weibin stopped the device and emptied out several Lego bricks. He was on cleaning duty because his wife was down with the flu and had a slight temperature going on. His daughter was rejected by the childcare centre due to a cough, and he had no choice but to take urgent leave from work to care for his family.
He took a quick look at his laptop, pausing to reply an urgent email with the vacuum leaned against his waist. Pauline, his daughter, came and asked for a cup of water. Weibin handed the cup on the table to her without even looking. He heard the spilling of water on the floor and his daughterÂ’s voice telling him that the floor was wet. With one hand on the mouse, the other reached for a napkin and handed it over to the little girl, who promptly got down on her knees to wipe up the spilled liquid.
Weibin hit the ‘send’ button on his laptop while he reached for his phone to reply to yet another urgent message. Even as his fingers moved to compose his message, his freehand started vacuuming the floor again, giving a whole new meaning to the term multi-tasking.
Pauline, his four-year-old daughter was emulating her father too. While wiping up the mess with one hand, her other played with a doll of a Disney character, her eyes darting between her favourite cartoon showing on TV and her task on hand. It didnÂ’t matter that the sound of the vacuum was drowning out the jingle of the cartoon characters dancing on screen, Pauline began to sway along with a smile.
Pauline: Papa? My favourite cartoonÂ…
Weibin: Yes, dear, yesÂ…
Seeing that her father was busy, Pauline turned her attention back to the screen. While the lack of an audible soundtrack did not bother her as much, the sudden flashing of a series of text that appeared on the screen immediately put a frown on her face.
The flashing green text appeared first at the top of the screen in a single row, then another row appeared, and another. Within seconds, half the screen was filled with flashing green words accompanied by the picture of a soldier.
Pauline: PapaÂ…
Weibin frowned when he saw the email from his boss. He was being thrown a task that should have been done by a colleague who had gone on holiday. That prick had the gall to leave it undone, and now it looked like it was going to land in his lap.
Pauline: PapaÂ… something is wrong with the TVÂ…
Weibin: Dear, IÂ’m busyÂ… Not nowÂ…
As Weibin started typing away on his laptop, Pauline tried to change the channel. However, every single channel had the same flashing text.
Pauline: PapaÂ…
Weibin: PaulineÂ…NOT now!
Without realising it, Weibin had raised his voice. A wave of guilt immediately blanketed over him when his daughter started crying. Weibin stopped what he was doing and picked up his only child.
Weibin: SorryÂ… IÂ’m sorry babyÂ… Papa is tired from taking care of mummy. I still have urgent work to do. IÂ’m also thinking of what to get for your lunch, and what time is your next medicationÂ…
Pauline bawled and clung onto her father tightly while Weibin tried to calm her down. He felt horrible for raising his voice at his only child. Life in Singapore was comparable to living in a pressure cooker; there was simply so much to juggle on your plate just to keep up.
Weibin petted his daughter and gave her a kiss on her forehead. She was everything to him. Ever since he had become a father, he had been pushing himself harder in terms of work, just to make sure he could give the best of the world to Pauline.
Weibin: ShhhhhÂ… shhhh… itÂ’s okay. Papa is here. Okay? IÂ’m sorry for raising my voice at youÂ…
Weibin carried his daughter to the kitchen and asked if she would like some grapes. Pauline nodded and he stared washing the fruits with one hand while he held her with the other. After his daughter stared munching on the grapes and had calmed down a notch, Weibin asked her what was wrong with the TV.
Weibin: Has the show ended? You want to watch another on Netflix? But you have to promise to take a nap later, okay?
Pauline stuffed another grape into her mouth and shook her head.
Pauline: There are words on the TV. And a picture of a soldierÂ…
Weibin: What?
When Weibin looked up at the screen in the living room, he felt a chill creeping up his spine. He put his daughter down and walked closer to the 55-inch TV. Blinking twice, Weibin took a few seconds to digest what was flashing on the screen. As he came to terms with what was in front of his eyes, his phone started ringing and the notification on a group chat buzzed angrily away.
Pauline: PapaÂ… this word is same as your stickerÂ…
Pauline pointed to the two lines of text on a small green sticker that was plastered on the internet router. She smiled and felt proud that she could recognise the same word.
Weibin could not believe what he was seeing. He picked up his phone and saw that the group chat was going nuts. It was a chat group which was only active once a year during his in-camp training. Messages were flooding the group chat. He barely had time to read what was on his screen before it became replaced by newer messages.
Weibin: ImpossibleÂ…
As he muttered under his breath, he heard the rhythmic thumping of helicopters rotors. Weibin rushed to the kitchen and looked out from the window of his four room flat. He saw a Chinook escorted by two Apache helicopters flying past the neighbourhood. One of the Apache helicopters had smoke coming out of itÂ’s rotors and itÂ’s veering heavily to the right, the Chinook appears to be descending right in the middle of the neighbourhood as well.
Barely a minute later, two out of the three birds landed in the middle of a school field in Punggol, not to fulfil any mission, but because they were no longer air-worthy due to sabotage. The lone Apache continued itÂ’s flight towards itÂ’s intended destination.
Social media was blowing up, and all the news channels were reporting a full-scale mobilisation of both active and standby units. Weibin turned on an old radio in the kitchen, and there too, the DJs were talking about a mobilisation for both military troops and civil resources.
WeibinÂ’s phone rang. His eyes widened when he saw it was the commanding officer of his reservist unit.
Weibin: Hello? Sir, what is going on? Is this a drill? They are using the wrong codeword!
Commanding Officer: Captain, itÂ’s not a drill.
Weibin felt a lump forming in his throat. His thoughts flashed back to the terrorist attack at the community centre a few days ago.
Weibin: ItÂ’s real?
Commanding Officer: You have four hours to settle your affairs. Get your wife and kids over to your in-lawsÂ… IÂ’ll see you in the ops room.
Weibin’s mind was blank when he put down his phone. He was struggling to process the impending reality. He stood there in stunned silence as a thousand thoughts flew through his mind. Work emergencies faded away into insignificance as three words formed in his head, ‘We are fucked’.
Every Singaporean male who was in an active unit was given two codewords. One was used for the usual mobilisation drills throughout their service cycle. The other one was a codeword everyone hoped never to see in their lifetime.
Pauline: Papa, everything okay?
Weibin picked up his daughter and gave her a kiss.
Weibin: Yes. Everything will be okay.
He settled his daughter down in front of the TV. Going into the bedroom where his sick wife was resting, Weibin gently tapped her awake. Barely five minutes later, WeibinÂ’s wife was sobbing quietly and holding tightly onto her husband. Despite her illness, she pulled herself out of bed and started packing for herself and Pauline.
Enroute to her grandparentsÂ’ place, Pauline asked her dad for the fourth time, why he was wearing his military uniform.
Pauline: Papa. Why are you wearing your soldier uniform?
Weibin smiled at his daughter through the rearview mirror. He could not bring himself to speak as he pulled into the carpark where his in-laws were already waiting by the drop off point. Weibin unloaded a few suitcases, then he turned and embraced his wife. His daughter squeezed into the hug, and he held both of them together. His wife broke into tears, the bitter emotion spreading to Pauline, and she too started crying.
Such a sight would normally attract a lot of attention, perhaps even the cameras of a few nosey internet warriors, eager for content to feed their social media, but not that day. All around the island, the same bitter goodbyes were being shared by countless other families.
Pauline: When will you come back Papa?
Weibin wiped the tears from his daughterÂ’s cheek with his thumb.
Weibin: As soon as I canÂ…
Pauline: You promise?
Weibin: I promiseÂ…
Weibin continued waving as his in lawÂ’s vehicle disappeared around the bend. Turning away, he was confronted by the same sight happening all along the neighbourhood. Fathers, Husbands, Sons, all of them reassuring their family that everything will be ok as they said their goodbyes.
*
Jurong Rock Caverns
DemingÂ’s eyes widened when the lift door opened. In front of him lay a large underground cavern that had been converted into a banquet hall. Sixty tables, each set up for ten people, were lined up in ten rows that stretched out across the length of the vast cavern. The chamber was illuminated by strings of lights that hung supported by metal poles, the ends of the latter disappearing into the blackness above the man-made cave. The lights made it look like the tables were set under a starry night sky. Deming could hardly imagine that he was a hundred metres underground.
He walked past ventilation fans that lined up the sides of the banquet hall. The fans were as tall as he was and the temperature read a comfortable 22.5 degrees Celsius. As he approached the tables, he started seeing familiar faces and he waved to them as he made his way to a table in front of the stage.
Deming joined this unit only six months ago, but he already knew this was where he belonged. The camaraderie, the things they did, the absurd missions they were sent on, no one would ever believe what he and his friends had done for the country. Deming decided on a career in the army because he became the sole breadwinner for his family when his father passed on early. He was only sixteen and had just completed his ‘O’ Levels, so he took on the only option available to him at that time; an army sponsored diploma which came with a monthly allowance that was enough him to put his siblings through school, and to tide the family over while his frail old mother took care of the household.
The path he chose had been nothing short of incredible. From joining the Signal Corps, to being selected for the Ranger course, he trained overseas and had jumped out of airplanes. He collected numerous badges and honours in his years of service, only to have it all stripped away when he joined this particular unit. This unit had no name, no badge, and no insignia. They had no fancy flags and participated in no competitions.
In the eyes of the world, they simply did not exist, and yet they were one of the best equipped contingents in the country. Most of the men were former Special Forces, although the unit did take in men from all fields, regardless of race, language or religion - as long as you were proficient in what you did, they would come for you. There were no application forms to fill in and no interviews to go through. Every day of your life from the moment you stepped into the service was your resume. To his former colleagues, Deming appeared to have terminated his contract with the armed forces and chosen to continue the next part of his career in the private sector. They would never know what he did or what he had done together with his new found family.
Syed: Hey rookie…!
Deming took his seat and showed Syed the finger.
Deming: Fuck off SyedÂ… IÂ’m not the rookie anymoreÂ…
Syed laughed and he nudged Weisheng, who was seated to his right.
Syed: No more rookie, eh? Says the guy who nearly ran into the room before the grenade went offÂ…
Deming shook his head and laughed at the jibe Syed threw at him. Syed was the shit-talker in his platoon. He was straight with his words and did not mince them one bit. If he felt that there was something wrong, he would give it to you straight up. It might appear that Syed was picking on Deming because he was the new guy or he was trying to enforce his seniority.
However, that could not be further from the truth. Syed might appear to be shit-talking him down at the table, but in fact, he was the one who saved Deming from that grenade. It was DemingÂ’s first mission and he was too nervous. He had popped the explosive device into the room and then dashed in before it went off.
Syed ran in after him, grabbed him by the waist and pulled him to the ground just before the grenade went off. Thankfully, both of them only suffered minor injuries. Upon inspecting their body armour after the mission, Syed discovered a large chunk of shrapnel embedded into an armoured plate on his back. If Syed had not blocked that piece of metal, it might have well sliced through DemingÂ’s thigh.
Deming: Admit it Syed, you just love hugging meÂ… By the way, you only joined two months before meÂ…
The table roared with laughter and teasing as more middle fingers shot up when they teasing Syed about his butt-rubbing hug.
Weisheng: WhereÂ’s Colonel James?
Syed: No ideaÂ… He left camp at the same time as us. I saw him getting into his carÂ…
Vince and Yogi appeared from out of nowhere and they sat down at the table.
Weisheng: Vince, Yogi, you both served the longest with Colonel James.
ManÂ… is he always this cold and distant? He seems to have a lot on his mind all the time.
Vince took a few nuts from the appetiser tray and popped them into his mouth before he spoke.
Vince: The Colonel isnÂ’t the same after his wife diedÂ… He…
Yogi nudged Vince on his arm. It was a clear sign that Vince should not reveal too much to the men.
Yogi: Stop talking about the ColonelÂ… or IÂ’m going to bend you all over and start smacking your assesÂ…
The table again erupted in jeers and laughs as the men poked fun at their sergeant.
Syed: Eh Yogi, what is with you and ass-smacking, bro? I know youÂ’re the doc in our platoon, but your obsession with our ass is starting to get us worried.
That got the men laughing again. Yogi turned to Syed and threatened to chemically castrate him without him even realising it.
Yogi: Syed, I will draw blood for the next blood test from the vein in your penisÂ…
Syed: Oh fuck, now you are targeting my penisÂ…
Everyone roared with laughter when Yogi gestured for Syed to stand up and remove his pants. Syed pretended to squirm while he undid his buttons.
Vince: Alright, alright come on, you can piss anyone off but just donÂ’t piss off the only guy that is capable of saving your life out in the fieldÂ…
At that, there were chuckles and nods all around the table. Deming added that he had no intention of getting shot.
Deming: We are the best there is. Are we not…? We are the one that do the shootingÂ…
That got the table all riled up again and shouts from his platoonmates echoed across the table.
“Yeah…”
“You got that right!”
“Who’s your daddy? Huh?”
Syed stood up and flashed his large biceps while Weisheng turned around and started shaking his ass in front of everyone. It was a typical scene of career soldiers enjoying their downtime. As the merry men joked and laughed at their table, a man dressed in an impeccable suit walked towards them.
Doctor Kamal approached the table and politely asked that the men vacate their seats.
Kamal: Gentlemen, IÂ’m afraid these seats are reservedÂ…
Deming: Reserved? Yeah, I know… itÂ’s reserved for usÂ… The Prime Minister is throwing us a banquetÂ…
Kamal: Yes, he is, but these are not your seats.
Weisheng snorted and he eyeballed the well-dressed man from head to toe.
Weisheng: Why? Uncouth men like us donÂ’t deserve to sit at the front tables, is it?
Kamal: The tables up front are for our VIPs. I hope you understand.
Weisheng: We should be the VIPs. DoesnÂ’t the Prime Minister know how much we have gone through over the past year? All the shit we pulled and the things weÂ’ve doneÂ…
Syed: Aiyah, brother, forget it laÂ… Front seats are for important people, Members of Parliament, grass-fucking-root volunteers and all the cocksuckers that pander to politicians. You want to sit here ah? You want to carry the balls of politicians, is it?
The men laughed but Kamal kept his calm façade and gestured towards the seats at the back of the hall.
Kamal: As I said, the seats up front are for the VIPs. Please gentlemen, I assure you, the food and drinks we serve are the sameÂ…
Deming: Move lah, move lah. We are not high-class enough to sit up frontÂ… Seats up front for important people onlyÂ…
Weisheng: Ya, boyÂ… IÂ’m not important enough to rub off WellyÂ’s Prime Minister auraÂ…
Syed: For a moment, I wondered which part of Welly you were thinking of rubbingÂ…
That got the guys slapping the table in laughter. Vince got up and herded the ground back towards the rear.
Vince: Shut the fuck up and move on backÂ… Move!
The men grumbled as they vacated their seats.
Syed: What the fuck is this man? Welly Chin confirm fail his mathÂ…
Deming: What do you mean?
Syed pointed to the number of tables in the hall. Sixty tables meant six hundred guests, but their unit had only two hundred and fifty men. Throw in a couple of cock-sucking politicians here for the photo opportunity and sixty tables were still far too many.
Weisheng: Come on la. Use your brain can or not…? IsnÂ’t it obvious that this banquet is not for us even though it says it isÂ…? We are just gruntsÂ… Banquet like thisÂ… itÂ’s for showÂ… They invite us just to fill up the empty tables, then make it seem as if they are nice enough to organise this for us… hahaÂ…
The shift in seating might seem like a trivial matter, but it was enough to remind the men where they belonged in the pecking order.
Deming: So much for willing to die for the country, ehÂ…?
Syed: IÂ’m not dying for some shit banquetÂ… They better make sure my pay and my CPF contribution arrives on timeÂ… orÂ…
Boon: Or what?
BoonÂ’s low voice silenced the table and the men got onto their feet to acknowledge him.
“Sir…”
“Captain…”
“Hi Sir…”
“Evening Captain…”
Boon: Sit the fuck downÂ… the Colonel is hereÂ…
The mere mention of their chiefÂ’s arrival was enough to whip the men into line. The shit-talking, the banter, the complaints, everything stopped. The soldiers settled into their seats and all eyes glanced around looking for their chief.
James walked out from a side door. He folded a document and kept it in his coat pocket. Not all his men had seen him in a suit before. He was always dressed in his military garb. James looked at the dress watch given to him by Lynn, his deceased wife, before he walked towards his men who were seated at the back half of the hall.
All of them were on their feet and at attention. He gestured for them to take a seat as he walked over to the table where Boon was at. He took the seat beside Boon and then turned and spoke softly to the man who was his buddy since their army days.
Boon: Good news, I hope?
James: Ravinder and half the fleet are stuck in the Straits of Melaka… They need to wrap up their tour before coming back. The piracy issue there is bad and not to forget the mass orgy that is going on in the Andaman Sea…They may also miss their resupply dock in Malaysia if shit goes south.
Boon: That sucks… Is Welly here?
James: He’s on his way…
*
Welly Chin sat deep in thought at the backseat of his vehicle as he stared out the window. A man was walking diagonally towards the convoy, his approach cutting directly through the security detail set up around the leader of the country. The security personal appeared to be invisible to him as he walked past them with a swagger fit for a mob boss. Jackson puffed on his cigar while he approached the door of the armoured limousine. The car door opened and Welly Chin, the Prime Minister of Singapore stepped out.
Jackson: For a second, I thought you were expecting me to open the car door for you…
Welly Chin: Is that too much to ask from the best paid man in the civil service?
Jackson : I’m not in the civil service Sir, but I believe I pay the most taxes among citizens.
Welly Chin : Well I believe if we go through your books, those taxes might go up substantially.
Jackson : no need for that Sir, I’ll open your car door anytime.
Jackson laughed. He stepped up to the Prime Minister and offered him a cigar. Welly promptly declined.
Welly Chin: Jackson, is it done?
Jackson nodded.
Jackson: It was a logistical nightmare though. But nothing is impossible for La Bella Vita…
Welly Chin: Thank you… And the new Lion’s Den?
Jackson: Impregnable… It’s a fortress now…
Welly nodded and Jackson extended his hand towards the large lift that would take him down to the banquet venue.
Jackson: I shall go see to the arrival of the VIPs.
Welly Chin: Very well…
Welly stepped into the lift and descended down to the underground banquet hall. The moment the lift doors opened, the murmurs of conversation died away and he was greeted by an unearthly silence, a silence broken only by the humming of the ventilation fans. His gaze drifted across the gathered guests before settling upon James and his men who were seated at the back half of the hall. He acknowledged them with a nod and then walked out towards his table at the front.
Deming mumbled softly to Syed.
Deming: There’s one of your VIP right there… Remember to rub the right spot for your promotion…
Syed and Weisheng sniggered, but a glare by Boon was all it took to shut them up.
Welly took a seat up front alongside his advisers and security detail. He had cancelled every dinner engagement for the month, including those with his family. However, tonight, this was where he would dine. As much as he wished to meet every man and woman in the service before things went to shit, he knew it was near impossible. Still, he had tasked Jackson to make the arrangements. If he could not meet with every one of them in person, he still wanted to meet as many of them as possible, starting from this very first banquet.
Weisheng mumbled to his friends, repeating a familiar line that everyone who had served the nation would know of.
Weisheng: Here we go again, rush to wait… wait to rush… just waiting and more waiting…
A few minutes later, Kamal took the microphone on the stage and made an announcement. His voice was as calm as the captain of a flight announcing their arrival at the airport.
Kamal: Thank you everyone, for taking time off your busy schedule to attend this banquet. It gives me great pleasure to invite the VIPs who despite all the challenges, still decide to join us for tonight’s banquet. Please, come on in…
Weisheng could not resist sneaking in another sarcastic remark.
Weisheng: I bet that irritating grassroots leader who lost the last election will be…
Before Weisheng could finish speaking, he gasped and almost fell off his chair. A door had opened and a nurse was pushed in an old lady on a wheelchair complete with a catheter bag into the banquet hall. Weisheng felt as if his heart had dropped out of his chest as he stood up in disbelief from his seat. The old woman in the wheelchair was none other than his grandmother.
Weisheng: AH MA!
Weisheng ran forward to his grandmother who was bedridden in a nursing home for years. Tears filled the eyes of the buff warrior as he got down on his knees and took up the old wrinkled hands of the woman who had raised him after his parents passed away.
Weisheng: Ah Ma! Why are you here?
He alternated looks between the strongest woman he had ever known and the dedicated nurse taking care of her.
Weisheng’s grandma: The Prime Minister says he’s throwing a banquet for you… and I am the VIP…
Weisheng looked in amazement at his grandmother who smiled back at him and gently patted his hands. It had been years since she requested to stay at the nursing home. She did not want to be a burden on Weisheng. He still visited her every week whenever possible, but the time he had to spend with her was never enough for him.
Weisheng’s grandma: You must have done well in your work to deserve this… I’m so proud of you Ah Boy… I’m so proud of you…
Weisheng pressed his forehead against the pair of aged hands that made it possible for him to have what he had today. He took a deep breath, stood up, and told the nurse that he would take over the wheelchair. Hong, a large man with multiple tattoos and a gold chain round his neck directed Weisheng and his grandmother to their seats right up at the front of the stage.
As more VIPs filed into the banquet hall, Syed was the next to stand up in disbelief.
Syed: Ayah… Ibu… (Father… Mother…)
He ran up to them and then went down on his knees as he took their hands of his adoptive parents in his and kissed them in turn. Syed was an orphan. He had drifted from foster home to foster home until he finally met one household that was patient enough to take care of him. Syed knew he was a difficult child to bring up. He was involved in street gangs, drugs and petty crime. He only changed for the better after he was taken in by Siti and Rizwan. Siti and Rizwan had their own kids but they always treated Syed as their own. They helped him renewed his faith and pulled him back onto the right path. Still on his knees, Syed embraced his adoptive parents. They might not be related to him by blood, but to him, the bond between them was stronger than one formed merely by genetics. He had not seen them for almost a whole year and he was overwhelmed by the unexpected reunion.
Siti: I’m so proud of you, Syed…
Syed tried to hold back his emotions, but even the strongest men could not resist such a plucking of their emotional heartstrings. It took a strong man to hold back his tears, but an ever stronger one to admit that sometimes, tears were a necessity to cleanse the soul.
Deming looked on as more and more of his friends got up from their seats and ran forward to embrace their loved ones. It was a magical scene as the line of elderly appeared through the doorway and walked into the embrace of their loved ones. Deming’s head snapped up and he stared hard in amazement before slowly rising to his feet when he saw a familiar figure standing at the back of the line.
Deming: No way… That is impossible…
His mother was retired and had left to stay with an old aunt in Malaysia. There was no way they would go all the way there just to bring her back to Singapore for a dinner. And yet there she was, carrying an old recyclable bag, a tiffin carrier and a bag of fruits she brought from the kampung. Deming pushed his chair back a little too hard and it toppled over. He ran towards his mother and hugged her.
Deming: Ma…! Why did you come all the way here?
Deming’s mother: A banquet in your honour… by the Prime Minister…? How can I possibly miss this…?
Deming held onto her tightly. It had been close to a year since he last saw her.
Deming’s mother: They sent a very big comfortable car. It’s like sitting in a plane you know…
Deming was not interested in hearing about his mother’s journey over, or her warning about not spilling the soup and home-cooked food she had brought all this way. He could not even be bothered about her comment of finishing her home-cooked food first so she could use the empty containers to pack some food back. Tears began rolling down his cheeks and he tightened his embrace.
Deming’s mother: Banquet always have leftovers you know!
Deming: Yes, I do… yes, I do…
Deming held on to his mother and she scolded him for his tight embrace.
Deming’s mother: You crazy ah! Why you cry? You’re a soldier… Soldiers don’t cry…
Deming just laughed as he took his mother’s arm and led her to the VIP seats. Everywhere he turned, there were tears of joy and grateful laughter. It was a reunion between families, but above all, it was a gesture to show gratitude to the men and women who served the nation.
*
Boon turned to James and asked if he was aware about this.
Boon: You knew Welly planned this?
James: No, I didn’t. I knew Jackson was up to something… but I didn’t know it was this…
Boon: Holy fuck…
Boon stood frozen in place when he saw his wife carrying their two-month-old newborn into the banquet hall. She had not come alone; walking in behind her was a confinement nanny.
James: Go on bro… don’t keep her waiting…
Boon walked briskly over to his wife. He enveloped both her and the baby girl she was carrying within the embrace of his massive arms.
Boon: Why didn’t you say anything?
Huiyi: It was supposed to be a surprise…
Boon kissed his wife before he picked up his daughter from her arms. The infant looked even smaller when he held her in his large hands. The sight of his daughter sound asleep within the cradle of his arm was one the best things that Boon had ever seen.
Huiyi: We got a confinement nanny for the next two months…
Boon: How? All of them are fully booked… It’s near impossible to get a stay-in nanny these days…
Huiyi: The man that came to give me the invite took care of it.
Huiyi looked over Boon’s shoulders at Jackson who was walking towards them.
Boon: Get that fucking cigar away from my daughter…
Huiyi smacked Boon’s arm and warned him about his language.
Huiyi: Thank you Jackson…
The confinement nanny offered to watch over the baby at the dedicated family room set up in a section of the banquet hall while Boon and his wife enjoyed their dinner.
Huiyi: Thank you Auntie Wen. I will come check on her in a while…
Boon turned to Jackson who was in the process of snuffing out his cigar.
Boon: So, which confinement agency does La Bella Vita own in Singapore…?
Jackson smiled. He gave a casual wave of his hand while he looked up into the air as if he were trying to calculate his shareholdings in such an essential service.
Jackson: Actually… I just remembered… I own every one of them… hahaha…
Boon booming laugh echoed across the cavern as Jackson directed him and Huiyi towards the VIP seats up front of the stage.
As more and more VIPs came in, more and more of the men and women who had initially taken up the seats at the back, filled up the VIP tables at the front. James sat alone at his table, drinking his whisky while he nodded at his men who come over to say ‘hi’. He stood up to greet their parents, he shook hand with their wives. These are they people he will be facing if anything happened to their husbands or sons when they serve with him. His own parents have passed on, the woman he loved was dead, and his unborn child too, died in the womb of his wife when she was killed. James wasn’t expecting anyone to join him for the banquet that evening. The seats soon filled up and the VIP arrivals stopped. And James was left sitting alone at the back of the hall.
*
Jackson approached Welly’s table to inform him that all the guests had arrived and it was time for him to give his speech.
Welly: Okay…
Welly got up and walked slowly to the stage. As he walked, he looked at the faces of the men and women gathered in front of him. He wanted to etch each and every one of their faces into his memory. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that contained a speech his secretary had prepared for his address.
The paper felt heavy in his hand. His heart had never felt unease like this before. You could sugar-coat it all you want, but there was no denying the fact that war was coming. And every decision he made was going to affect the lives of hundreds and thousands of people who called this small island we lived on, home. The men and women present in the hall were not ignorant of that fact either. The writing was already on the wall and they all knew what was coming; it was just that no one, especially the politicians, wanted to admit it yet. No one would benefit when mass panic and hysteria hit the country.
The LFO had swept up large territories in the south of Thailand and the north of Malaysia. Along with separatists in Thailand, and several divisions of military men caught up in the coup in Myanmar, they were sweeping their way down Southeast Asia. The LFO and their supporters had pillaged army camps along the way, and they now have a well-equipped army that is bent on conquest. Trade was already rerouted away from the Andaman Sea and ships avoided the Straits of Melaka. No one wanted to pass through a conflict zone if they could help it.
The chatter on the banquet floor tapered down into silence when Welly got on the stage. The humming from the ventilation fans could be heard over the crowd once more. A child started crying but was quickly pacified by his parents. An occasional cough from one of the elderlies clearing their throats punctuated the silence that greeted Welly when he stood in front of the podium. Some words were harder to say; especially when you knew the men and women you would be saying those words to might not be there in a few months’ time. They would be remembered, yes, but physically, they would have ceased to exist. They would be gone. Such was the cruel fact of war. Welly looked at the men and women seated together with their loved ones, he looked at each of them in their eyes, and then he spoke.
Welly: Mic test…
There was no need for a microphone test and Welly knew it. Despite the prepared speech, he simply did not know how to start. Perhaps in the subsequent banquets he might, but for the very first one, it was challenging for him to think of the right words and terms to use, not because he was a politician, he was also the prime minister of the country. The hall before him was filled not just by some of the best soldiers this country had produced - it was also filled with families. It was also filled with fathers, mothers, wives, husbands and loved ones.
James stood up abruptly and Welly turned to him. The dragging sound his chair made when it was pushed back across the floor caught the attention of his men. Many of them turned around to see their chief up on his feet with his glass raised. Boon stood up too and the rest started to follow. Men, women, commanders and soldiers, all got on their feet with their glasses raised up in the air towards Welly. Welly nodded at the men and he knew everyone understood. He knew everyone was aware of what was going on. He knew everyone understood the significance of that banquet. Welly kept his prepared speech and he raised up the wineglass in his right hand while his left hand pulled the microphone towards his lips.
Welly: I… have absolutely no doubt that every one of you here will discharge your duties… with utmost dedication and professionalism…
Welly’s voice echoed throughout the hollows of the cavern where the banquet was set.
Welly: Those who seek to impose their hostility on…
Before Welly could finish, he was cut off in mid-sentence by a shout from Deming.
Deming: Sir!
Welly paused and the audience turned their eyes to the rookie who dared to interrupt the speech of the Prime Minister. Vince was about to head over to pull Deming out of the limelight when his next words sparked a roar from the men and guests that shook the very foundations of the large carven. Childish as it might sound, but it’s exactly what the soldiers have to do. Men of power seeking to take what they can, should not expect anything less from the men and women dedicated enough to defend it.
Deming: We’ll kill them all!
Welly stood silently on the stage as he met the eyes of the cheering men and women. Even family members, those who were able, had gotten up on their feet with their glasses raised. He acknowledged Deming with a nod and a smile, not taking any offence at the brash words of a young man.
Welly: Remember… we do this… so the next generation doesn’t have to…
Welly drained his glass in a single gulp and the rest of the hall followed, emptying their glasses as they returned the toast from their Prime Minister. The order for food to be served was given and the banquet went into full swing as the air filled with happy chatter amongst families and loved ones.
*
James drained his glass of whisky when he saw Jackson walking towards him with a brand-new bottle. Jackson gestured to the empty glass and James held it out to be refilled from the bottle of 30-year-old Hibiki.
James: I hope that’s not from taxpayer’s money…
Jackson laughed and he asked if James was aware of how much tax he paid each year.
Jackson: I am… a taxpayer…By the way, Someone is looking for you…
James: Who…?
Jackson refilled James’s glass and then directed his attention to a little girl who was poking her head out from behind a door as she tried to search the floor for the Colonel. When she finally found him, she left the door and ran towards James. James put down his whisky glass and started walking towards the little girl. His walk soon turned into a run, and he dashed forward and picked Lynette up from the ground.
Lynette: Uncle James!
James: What are you doing here? Where are your parents?
Lynette: I’m here to have dinner with you!
A smile finally broke out on James’s face. He turned to look at Jackson who was walking away as he waves with the back of his hand.
James: Your parents just left you here? Alone? What were they thinking?
Lynette giggled as James put her down.
Lynette: They say I’ll be safe here. You’ll protect me, won’t you?
She chirped happily as she reached into the small backpack she carried and pulled out a card she drew for James. It was designed like a picture frame with a drawing of a family of three in the middle.
Lynette: My mummy told me your wife and baby has gone to a place very far away… I drew a picture for you so you won’t miss them…
James looked at the crayon scribbled drawing filled with small text bubbles and he smiled.
Lynette: Actually, Uncle James, I know they passed away. I’m sorry to hear that… Adults always like to lie to us kids, thinking that we don’t know anything. I think I’m quite matured for my age. hahaha
James was surprised by the hug Lynette gave him. He looked up towards the fairy lights that dotting the roof of the cave and he wondered if Lynn was seeing this right now.
Lynette: I know it happened a long time ago. I hope you won’t be sad anymore…
James chuckled and he gently ruffled Lynette’s hair.
James: Come… let’s eat… You must be hungry…
Lynette: I am!
*
From his table, Welly watched as James filled Lynette’s plate with food and then cut it into smaller pieces. He turned back to his table and the men seated around it. Their plates were full but none of them had touched their food. They were all waiting for him.
Welly: We can’t fight on an empty stomach, can we? Come on… let’s eat…
Everyone reached for their cutlery when Welly started digging into his noodles. He barely took two bites before his phone rang. He answered it and ended the call within seconds.
Welly: Alright guys, I need to step away for a moment. Enjoy the dinner…
Welly got up and accompanied by two of his personal security detail, he headed for the exit.
*
At a corner of the banquet hall where the shadows were the darkest, a man retreated deeper into the recesses of the surrounding corridors carved out from the bedrock. Jeff made a few turns before he saw Xia waiting for him by an elevator.
Xia: So… we don’t get a banquet? Not even catered lunchbox?
Jeff: I’m afraid not… Food at the Castle not good enough for you?
Xia: Hahaha…
The two of them walked past the elevator and towards another wing of the underground bunker. Xia handed Jeff the uniform for a waiter from his backpack and the both of them changed as they continued walking, concealing the bayonet in their backs before throwing a coat over. They entered a smaller hall, where in it a smaller banquet was taking place. The hall held three tables with 10 guests each. The men in there were laughing merrily and stuffing their mouths with food. Inside that hall, sat 30 businessmen and tycoons, all of them eager to meet Welly Chin. They came from a myriad of trades, everything from banking to shipping.
All of them had one thing in common.
*
Welly Chin approached the door and he asked his personal guard to excuse themselves despite their insistence that they stayed by his side.
Welly: I need to have a private word with some of these men…. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay…
The guards reluctantly allowed Welly to enter the hall alone while they stood waiting outside. The merry-making men cheered when Welly entered. Several of them whipped out their phones, eager to take photos and to be seen with the man of the hour, Prime Minister Welly Chin.
What they did not know was that Welly had singled them out specifically for that banquet. All of them were guilty of treason. They had been supplying information and funds to the LFO. Some of them even offered their properties to the terrorist group. And all of them thought that no one would ever find out. But Welly did. He had all the overwhelming evidence he needed to convict these men. However, these men did not deserve a lengthy trial in court to secure their convictions. Not when there was the risk of them escaping. The crimes they committed were enough a death sentence several times over.
While Welly entertained the special guests with photo opportunities and toasts, Jeff and his colleagues got ready for work. Body bags had been prepared in the room adjacent to the small banquet hall. After the preparation was done, Jeff and his colleagues adjusted their uniforms and picked up the serving trays of food and drinks. They entered the banquet hall, taking over the duties of the waiters and waitresses in the room. No one paid them any attention - service staff like them remained invisible at functions like these. No one bothered to ask why there was a server for every two guests present. They just assumed they were important enough to warrant extra attention.
Welly walked over to a table and he flashed a smile at Liu, a businessman who was guilty of trafficking kids out of the country for the sex trade. His operation was supplying funds to the LFO.
Liu had the cheek to ask Welly for a joint photo and he actually put his arm around the Prime Minister’s shoulders like they were buddies. Liu immediately sent the photo to his secretary with instructions to print the photo and display it in the company’s lobby. Everyone knew what a photo with the prime minister of the country could do for boosting a company’s image. He hit the send button on his phone, not knowing that all communication devices had been disabled the moment Welly Chin stepped into the hall.
Welly excused himself from the floor and took the podium like he did in the earlier banquet.
Welly: Thank you everyone for gracing this humble banquet. I apologise for the security as I’m sure you can see we are in a top-secret facility with access granted to only a select few.
This time round, the words came easily to Welly.
Welly: You are all here because you are important business leaders in the community… The country values your contribution… and in difficult times like these, we need your support more than ever…
Liu: We will always support you, Welly! Hahaha…
Liu stood up and raised his glass at the podium.
Welly: Well, I have a small request to make tonight…
Liu: Just say it! We’ll do what we can… hahaha…
Welly: I need all of you to help keep a secret…
Liu: What secret?
Several other businessmen in the room voiced out the same question.
Welly: A secret that involves prominent business owners supplying information and funds to terrorist organisations… a secret where billions of dollars are laundered through the country and ultimately used against us.
The moment those words left Welly’s lips, the room took on a grave-like silence. Everyone stared at Welly and there was not a hint of a smile left on the faces in the room. Only Welly remained smiling.
Welly: A secret like this should never leave this room…
Liu awkwardly interrupted Welly before he could elaborate on his last sentence.
Liu: I’m not sure we get what you are trying to say…
Welly: Liu, you do understand what I mean… I know you do…
Liu stared at Welly for a long moment before he threw his glass of wine at the Prime Minister. Welly did not attempt to avoid the incoming contents of the glass of red wine. The lights in the room went out the same time the wine splashed all over Welly’s suit, staining patches of his shirt a deep Burgundy.
Welly heard the commotion, he heard the screams, the panic, and the desperate croaking of slit throats as they lay gasping for air on the ground. He remained still at the podium while he took in the sound of trash being taken care of in his country.
He could have left the room but he was the one who gave the order for the men to be taken care of outside a courtroom. He wanted to be there to hear their screams, for he alone would bear the burden of his decision to act outside of the constitution he swore to uphold. The country could ill afford the resources to hold these men who were already proven guilty. Not when a war was coming.
When the sounds finally died off, he walked to the door and left the banquet hall as if nothing had happened. The team lead of his security detail glanced at the wine stain on Welly’s shirt and he asked if everything went okay. If they looked closer, they would notice some blood too on the dark of his coat.
Welly: I’m okay… it’s just a little stain from taking out the trash.
….
Istana Bukit Serene, Johor, Malaysia
Istana Bukit Serene was known for its grandeur and opulence. The palace’s design featured a mix of traditional Malay architecture and modern amenities, creating a luxurious and comfortable living space. Upon entering the palace, visitors would be greeted by a grand foyer adorned with intricate carvings and decorations. The walls were painted in soft, warm colours, and large windows allowed natural light to flood the space. Polished marble covered the floors, adding to the palace’s elegance. The palace’s reception rooms were similarly ornate, with high ceilings, elaborate chandeliers, and richly patterned carpets. The furniture was both luxurious and comfortable; draped in rich fabrics, plush armchairs and sofas lined the rooms, artwork and tapestries adorned the walls, a reminder of the royal family’s flair for opulence.
Aadil, the Crown Prince of Johor, was busy gathering up the family. Their bags were packed and they were about to head to the private airfield. His children were asking, why was their father not coming with them to the airport? Aadil just smiled and kissed his family goodbye. He paused and then added that he would join them soon. He looked at the ready-to-depart car, then he gave the commander in charge of the security escort a curt nod to send them off.
Politics was a minefield in this nation; with those in charge doing everything they could to hold onto power, while others went to extreme lengths in order to overthrow them. It was a battle of wills and a test of who had the most loyal followers. Aadil just never expected things to go south this fast. Regardless of how this would end, Prime Minister Razak was going to have trouble holding onto his position after this was over; his failure was what had allowed it to happen in the first place.
Ismail, the Sultan of Johor, was on his phone, demanding for federal troops to be sent down to his state to beef up defences for key installations. The situation was dire; two schools on opposite ends of the state had been attacked, with more than a dozen children killed and many more injured. The news had been replaying the tragedy the whole morning. Sultan Ismail wanted to shut all the schools in the state, but things were not moving as fast as he wanted them to. Instructions and information were trickling back and forth at a snail’s pace.
Aadil: Ayah (father), the car is ready. You should go to the airport now. I will take care of the rest.
Ismail: I’m not leaving.
Aadil: Ayah… you need to go now!
Ismail ignored his son’s wishes. He continued marching towards the entrance of the palace where his servants and workers were running in through a side door.
Ismail: What is happening?
Ismail demanded to know what was going on as frantic shouts and screams echoed along the opulent hallways. One of his personal guard rushed in through the door, informing him that the gates had been stormed.
Ismail: What?
Guard: A jeep crashed into the security booth. The driver tried to shoot at the guards but they got him first. There were explosives in the jeep, so we evacuated the guard house. A second vehicle tried to come in from the rear, but the guards got him before he came near.
Ismail: HOW DARE THEY!
Aadil: Ayah! You need to leave now!
Ismail: I’m not leaving my people behind!
Aadil grabbed his father’s arm and pulled him towards the car.
Aadil: Think of the consequences if they get you! Think of the demands they will be able to make to force Razak’s hand!
Ismail resisted at first, then he finally relented and rushed towards the exit. An explosion shook the grounds of the palace; the bomb detonated and the jeep by the front was ripped into shreds of mangled metal. A façade of stained-glass windows shattered and crystals from hanging chandeliers twinkled to the ground. Shrapnel and debris from the explosion were thrown in every direction as the palace was blanketed in billowing smoke. The people panicked and started running away from the scene in terror, desperately looking for shelter and safety. Ismail looked in horror at the ruins of the front of his palace. The security booth was gone, collapsed onto the manicured garden.
Strong headlights pierced the dark smoke that blanketed Bukit Serene. Three vehicles roared into the grounds of the palace; the men in the vehicles opening fire at the Sultan and his guards even before they alighted. The guards quickly returned fire, but it did nothing to stop their advance. A dozen men exited the vehicles and immediately engaged in a fierce firefight with the Sultan’s security team. A hail of bullets ripped through the air as the men advanced on the Sultan’s position with a ferocious energy, raining down death and destruction with relentless fury. The guards’ pistols were easily out gunned by the attackers’ assault rifles.
The sound of bullets slamming into walls and into flesh, was accompanied by the symphony of screeching metal as the vehicles forced their way through the mangled guard post. It sounded like a hailstorm of destruction, a relentless wall of terror that grew in intensity as it came closer. A crescendo of shouts from the Sultan’s security team, mixed with the death rattles from the dying men, created a curtain of terror that blanketed the scene which played out in front of the Sultan.
One of Ismail’s personal guards collapsed to the ground, a chunk of his face lost to a well-placed round. Just beside the fallen guard, his eyes wide and bloodshot in horror, Aadil grabbed onto his father’s bulletproof vest, and together with the guards, dragged him back into the palace.
Ismail: How dare they… How dare they!
The air cracked with miniature sonic booms as the bullets broke the sound barrier, slicing through the air like lightning bolts and embedding themselves into the walls. The deafening roar of the gunfire filled the palace grounds, joined by the sound of shattering glass and screams of terror from the people fleeing the chaos. Ismail shouted above the din to a number of staff and servants who were cowering in a corner of the palace. He shouted at them to run, to leave by the back of the palace.
Ismail: Leave! Leave the palace! RUN!
The sultan directed a quarter of his guards to evacuate the rooms on the upper levels.
Ismail: Get everyone out of the palace!
More guards joined the fight from within, putting out a blanket of lead across the grand entrance to keep the attackers at bay. Police sirens could be heard in the distance, growing ever louder as they make their way towards Istana Bukit Serene.
*
Poh Koon observed the attack from the back of a truck. Things were going better than expected. He squinted into the lens of the binoculars, watching the platoon of soldiers streaming into the palace. He heard the whoosh of two RPG rounds streaking towards the palace entrance and the explosion when it punched a car-sized hole into the facade wall. He had expected a more impactful result though. Of the two rockets fired, one exploded and the other was a dud. A third round was fired, and shards of steel and concrete flew when a second gaping hole into the palace was ripped open. Poh Koon smiled as he watched the flames leaping into the sky and the smoke billowing out from within. His soldiers kept advancing, firing indiscriminately, not caring who they hit while they closed in on Ismail and his security team.
Aadil: BACK! Back away from the entrance!
The palace guards closed protectively around the Sultan and the Crown Prince as they shuffled through the royal kitchen and out the back door into the Hibiscus Garden. They barely made a dozen steps out when bullets flew towards them from another breach in the back gates. The Sultan’s guards took up positions, fanning out and using whatever cover they could find to draw enemy fire away from the Sultan and his son.
The oncoming bullets ripped through the air with ear-splitting cracks, the sights of the guns that fired them trained on the slightest hint of movement, with the intent to deliver nothing less than death. The air reverberated in the wake of their relentless energy, their impact was both fearsome and violent - each round was a beat on the drums of war. Each pulse, an echo of darkness that brought about incurable destruction. The onslaught of bullets was merciless, and the Sultan’s security team was no match for it.
Ismail: Give me a gun! Give me a GUN!
Ismail snatched the offered handgun and began firing over his head at the section of soldiers advancing on their position. Aadil stole a quick peep and barely pulled his head back in time before a chunk of concrete was chipped off the wall where his head was at just a moment ago.
Ismail: The stables… Go to the stables. We can reach the armoury from there.
Ismail gave the order for his men to regroup. They had to get to the armoury.
*
The 7.62-millimetre rounds tore through the engine of the police car approaching the palace. The bodies within danced like a broken marionette dolls as they painted the interiors with splatters of red. The first car was stopped in its tracks by automatic fire, the two cars behind ploughing head on into the rear of the one in front. The platoon of soldiers waiting in standby at the rear of the palace opened fire, making sure that no help would come for the Sultan.
Poh Koon gestured to the commander of his battle-hardened soldiers, urging him to press the attack and end it. They were too exposed and would take heavy casualties if more reinforcements arrived. The commander gave the order through the radio, and the Burmese soldiers spread out in a pincer maneuverer towards the position where the Sultan and his men were boxed in. More than a dozen laid dead on the palace grounds as the soldiers took care of the retreating guards.
Poh Koon’s attention was suddenly distracted by a flash of headlights. He turned and saw an SUV cutting across the hedges of the road and heading directly towards the perimeter of the palace grounds. Before the SUV crashed into the wall, several men exited the vehicle, diving low and taking cover on the ground.
Commander Hakim of the palace guard had his weapon out the moment he landed on the bed of manicured lawn. His vehicle crashed through the grille fence, bringing down an entire section of it as it rolled to a stop. Hakim had picked that particular section because he knew a water pipe that went under that section of fence had burst a couple of weeks ago. The soil beneath it had loosened and the footing of the fence was compromised. Contractors were due to come in to replace the fence; he never expected the delay to be a blessing in disguise.
Hakim knew the Crown Prince was going to be angry with him for leaving the royal convoy unescorted to the airport, but upon hearing the explosion, he was compelled by duty to turn back to the palace.
Hakim raised his pistol and put three rounds into the chest of a soldier. The body fell to the ground, its life extinguished in an instant. He then motioned to his men to move forward, knowing that the distraction they caused would not cover them for long. This was their chance to get inside the palace and save the Sultan, if they could make it in time.
Hakim: To the armoury… head to the armoury!
The soldiers were already converging towards the armoury, one half of the pincer breaking off to engage Hakim and his men. Bullets flew past them, many impacting against walls and some streaking off into the night sky. Commander Hakim put himself at risk multiple times, drawing attention to himself so that his men could make it safely across the open ground. Hakim and his team shot and fought their way across the lawn, thankful for the first time that the Sultan had plenty of marble sculptures scattered at regular intervals for them to use as cover.
Aadil caught sight of Hakim and his men approaching from the sculpture garden. He emptied his magazine while he shouted at the guards to cover their approach.
Aadil: Hakim… HAKIM! Get some cover for Hakim!
The guards fired at the same time, keeping the soldiers pinned down to buy Hakim and his men some time. With their commander returning to organise the defence, the guards on the upper levels took up prime firing position from the high ground, picking out the unsuspecting soldiers. While most of the staff evacuated, several male staff who were capable of fighting, decided to stay and help. They armed themselves with whatever they could find in the palace, from knives to gardening tools.
Hakim’s men unleashed a barrage of bullets upon the pinned down soldiers. Each shot found its mark, blasting through flesh and bone like a relentless hammer, spewing sheets of crimson mist into the still evening air. The men were so close that Hakim could almost feel their agony with each pull of the trigger, his shots shredding muscle and sinew until the wretched remains lay in an unrecognisable heaps. For the soldiers eager to box the Sultan in and claim the glory for ending the reign of a monarch, they never expected Hakim and his men to approach from their side.
Buying themselves a brief reprieve, Hakim re-deployed the available men. The men on the upper levels would cover the Sultan’s retreat, while the rest formed a defensive shield to cover their monarch. As the Burmese soldiers regrouped, Hakim and his men retreated with the Sultan and the remainder of the palace guard into the stables. Hakim immediately took control of the remaining guards and reorganised them.
One of Hakim’s men suddenly fell face first onto the ground while clutching his stomach. He was shot earlier but forced himself to press on. The horses in the stables were in a frenzied state from the sound of gunfire. Several of them were striking the wooden barriers with their hooves, trying to escape. The sight of their owner panicking and shouting did nothing to calm them down either.
The armoury was an adjoining building located at the back of the stables. Hakim opened the door and the group quickly took what they needed. Ismail took his Winchester SX4 and a box of shells. He cursed as he loaded the weapon and stuffed fistfuls of shells into his pocket. The palace armoury contained only small arms and rifles that were used mostly for ceremonial purposes. Along with the Sultan’s hunting equipment and some small explosive charges that they used for clearing trees in the Sultan’s private hunting ground, it didn’t carry the military grade arms that the group now needed.
Aadil was on his phone, trying to reach the local police commander. Unknown to him, the man he was trying to reach was already dead, shot in the back by his lieutenant who worked for Chan. The local police force was spread thin responding to the terror attacks, and the bulk of the Royal Johor Military Force, the Sultan’s private army, had been sent to the far corners of the state by corrupted officials. All that was left was the remainder of the palace guard that was held up in the small armoury.
Ismail: Aadil! Whoever is coming better come soon!
Ismail stuck his weapon out of a small window and sent four continuous bursts of slugs towards the approaching soldiers. Though they were all off mark and flew above their target, the reorganised enemy quickly shifted their focus on him, returning fire as they readied themselves for another assault on the Sultan’s position. The Sultan was quickly pulled back into cover by his men. He looked towards his palace and felt himself being consumed by the fury rising within him.
Through the dozens of windows in the palace, flashes of gunfire could be seen as the platoon of soldiers cleared each room, killing everyone in sight and engaging the guards on upper levels. Despite being out-gunned and outnumbered, the palace guards and staff still fought on.
A soldier screamed as his face was punctured by a gardening rack and his body sent flying down from the third floor. The staff who hoisted the soldier over, barely had time to turn around before his body was ripped into by automatic rifle fire
The Sultan heard the screams from his staff and servants as more of them fell. One of his staff took several rifle rounds to the chest, falling backwards out of a window and landing with a sickening thud below. Another had a bayonet buried in his ribs while he threw himself and another soldier with him from the fourth-floor window. Both landed on the side of their necks, with their bodies lying in a contorted position on the ground. More bodies were thrown from the windows as the soldiers made sure everyone in the palace was taken care of.
Hakim shouted into his earpiece, asking the last guard left in the building to run and regroup. Instead, the young man, who had just become a father, emptied his weapon before making a grab for one of the grenades in a soldier’s pouch. A thick cloud of grey ash followed a sickening thud as shattered window panels tinkled down onto the ground floor.
Faced by the carnage, one thought echoed through the sultan’s mind, how could this happen in this time and age? How?’
Ismail: ARGHHHHH!
Ismail reloaded his weapon and fired through the armoury window, his rage overtaking his sense of self-preservation. He turned towards the door and attempted to charge out into the fray, while his panicked men tried to pull him back under cover.
In less than a minute, the soldiers had completely surrounded the armoury and were laying down a blanket of fire, so fierce, that everyone within was hugging the floor.
Hakim: Get him back! Do not let him go out there!
It took two guards everything they had to stop the enraged sultan from shooting his way out. The gunfire stopped momentarily, and the brief reprieve gave Ismail the precious few seconds he needed to calm down.
Aadil went down his phone list, calling everyone from police commanders to the fire chief, but none yielded any results. He dropped his phone and reloaded his pistol with a fresh clip. He looked at his dad and shook his head. Ismail shook the guards off him and picked up his shotgun.
*
Poh Koon: They’re boxed in? Good… Take the Sultan and the Prince, kill everyone else.
Poh Koon spoke into the walkie talkie that gave him a direct line to the captain leading the attack. Outside the armoury, Captain Htet used a loud hailer and told everyone inside to lay down their arms.
Htet: You will not be harmed if you walk out with your hands up!
Hakim: Everyone stay where you are!
The Sultan panted breathlessly as he looked at the men in the armoury. Ismail turned to his son, then to Hakim, the commander of his guards. In that instant, Hakim knew what his Sultan wanted him to do. Hakim shook his head, but the order was given - one that he had sworn to obey from the day he took up his position with the royal family. Ismail held Hakim’s face with both hands and smiled warmly at him. He had always treated Hakim like a son.
Hakim: No… Sir, no, please…
Ismail: You swore an oath to me and my family…
Hakim’s lips trembled and he bit down hard on his teeth to control his emotions. Ismail turned and addressed every man in the armoury still fighting along his side.
Ismail: All of you, took that oath…
With a heavy heart, Ismail gave the order for ‘Operasi Mengekalkan Keturunan’, loosely translated to ‘Operation Continued Lineage’. It meant that the royal bloodline had to be protected at all costs. Hakim grunted in frustration and picked three of his youngest men to grab Aadil, who, finally realising what his father was up to, started to protest violently, but was immediately held down by the guards.
Aadil: Ayah NO! NO! AYAH! NO!
From outside, another warning was issued for the Sultan and his men to lay down their arms. Ismail desperately longed to embrace his son, to feel the warmth of his love around him, but the anguish in his heart was too much to bear. It felt like a vice, clamped tightly around his chest. In that moment, his love for his son had to be expressed through action, not mere words - he needed to buy time and create a distraction for his son to leave. He would not cower under shelter and wait for the enemy to take him.
Ismail: Aadil, take care of the family…
Aadil: NO! AYAH! NO… let me go… This is an order! Let me go!
Captain Htet, hearing the commotion in the armoury, signalled for his men to stay alert.
Captain Htet: I will give you three more minutes to make up your mind. Failing which, we will launch an assault. No more men need to die. Why struggle and waste more lives?
Hakim had his men set up the charges on the back wall of the stables. Ismail went to his horse and patted the side of its neck, his touch calming it down significantly. The Sultan mounted his horse and nodded to his men. Two dozen magnificent steeds neighed in excitement as the Sultan’s men mounted their rides.
Aadil was struggling too much and Hakim had no choice but to calm him down. A quick jab to the side of his neck, delivered by the accompanying doctor who served in the palace guard, caused Aadil to go limp within seconds. He was then quickly loaded onto a horse.
Ismail looked at the dozen men spread out on his left and right, and then behind him, to Hakim, who was on the horse with his son, accompanied by three others.
The Sultan took a deep breath and nudged the horse forward when two guards opened the large stable door that could allow three riders to ride abreast. Ismail’s eyes took in the burning palace and his ears could still hear the echoes of screams. He had failed in his duty to protect his people - he only hoped his son would be able to accomplish what he could not.
When the door opened, Captain Htet was expecting the Sultan and his men to walk out with their hands up. He never expected the Sultan to come riding out on such a massive and beautiful steed. While the soldiers shouted to their commanders for instructions, the riders exited the stables, forming a horizontal line of cavalry. Htet was about to speak again into his loud hailer when Ismail gave the order for his men to charge. Ismail led his men on a heroic but suicidal charge towards the soldiers. As he fired his weapon, Ismail knew there was no way he could win this - all he was doing was to buy time for his son to escape.
Hakim blew the charges, creating an opening at the back of the stables. He, along with the unconscious Aadil and his three men, rode out towards the forested area behind the palace, shooting down a couple of shocked soldiers in the process. At his rear, the sound of automatic gunfire reverberated through his skull, drowning out the screams and cries of his men and the sultan charging to their deaths. Hakim wanted nothing more than to be at Ismail’s side, but he had a duty to fulfil. The group of horses galloped across the palace lawn with the hounds of hell at their heels, each hoofbeat thundering like cannon fire in his chest. They rode straight into the private forest, disappearing into the shadowy depths.
Ismail and his men were easily gunned down by the soldiers and their assaults rifles - a calvary charge, no matter how chivalrous, was no use against modern weapons. They managed to get close enough to the soldiers to frighten them and picked a few unlucky ones off, but hooves and all the chivalrous intent in the world meant nothing against 5.56-millimetre rounds fired from M16 assault rifles. All that was left was a few horses struggling and neighing on their sides, blood spilling from their gut and bodies, among the unmoving bodies of fallen men. Ismail gasped for breath as his lungs filled with blood. His vision was fading and all he saw was crimson. He felt numbness quickly radiating through his body until he could no longer feel his legs.
Captain Htet pulled his pistol from his side holster as he walked up to the sultan, immobilised and pinned down under his lifeless steed. He calmly put one round into Ismail’s head, while the rest of his men went around to make sure the rest of the guards were taken care off. The soldiers searched the armoury and stables, but upon seeing the opening blown up the back, they knew the Crown Prince was gone.
*
Poh Koon was annoyed that the Crown Prince managed to get away. However, he did not want to waste any more time at the palace. He had a schedule to meet. He took a picture of the palace and sent it to Chan, before giving the order to raze the palace to the ground.
Poh Koon: Take what you want from the palace… then burn it down after you are done. We will rally at the oil palm plantation in 12 hours.
Captain Htet gave his men the order to help themselves to the spoils of war. To the shouts and cheers of his men, paintings were removed, gold-plated sculptures carted off, and silver cutlery emptied from the kitchen. Documents were taken, antiques and artefacts were emptied from shelves and displays. The men loaded up the luxury vehicles in the garage with the loot that had liberated from the palace, laughing as they drove their new rides to form a new convoy. In less than an hour, the palace was set ablaze. A palace that was once proud and majestic, was now reduced to a pile of burning rubble after the soldiers carried out their orders.
When the rest of Royal Johor Military Force returned from their duties at other corners of the state, their faces were pale and still, aghast at the sight of the flaming palace and their fallen sultan beneath it. For a moment, no one breathed, then the air was filled with anguished cries as they clenched their fists in sorrowful mourning for their dead monarch and brothers in arms.
*
Pengerang, Malaysia
Jim jolted from his seat when he saw the number on his screen. He answered the call immediately. It was Jackson.
Jackson: There’re five men heading your way. One of them is the Crown Prince of Johor. My yacht is on the way over to the ferry terminal. Your team will evacuate together with the prince and his men in five hours.
The call went dead after the message was delivered.
When Jim updated Soh and the rest of the guys on the latest instructions, he realised their attentions were on the TV in their resort room. It showed reporters on site a burning palace. The reporters were wearing body armour and almost all of them were from foreign news bodies. The ticker text at the bottom of the screen announced the passing of the Sultan.
The men in the room stood solemnly as their eyes silently took in the destruction on screen. Besides the burning palace, footage of displaced residents, burning villages, and crumbled schools continued to play on the television.
Then came the censored footage of bodies lying on the ground, a stark reminder to the guys of what they went through several years ago.
Seeing the lifeless bodies on the ground, struck a raw nerve with every one of them. The air in the room grew thick with an oppressive weight, it became suffocating just to breathe. The silence was deafening, like the calm before a storm. Dread and anger intermingled like poison in a vat, until it was impossible to tell which emotion was more intense. The feeling became so palpable that it seemed to have a physical presence, as if it could reach out and strangle you at any moment.
Soh: It’s… it’s happening again…
Soh broke the silence and asked everyone to start packing. Jim’s mobile received periodic text updates from Jackson, updating him on the status of the prince.
Jim and Rizwan made their way to the reception counter of the resort and were surprised to see the staff gesturing at them.
Staff: Oh, good, I was about to go to your room.
Jim: Oh? Why?
Staff: The resort is closed now. You need to leave.
Rizwan: What? Now? In the middle of the night?
Staff: I’m sorry, there is a national emergency going on now. Word is, they are going to declare a curfew soon… You need to check out and leave now… All guests must leave!
Jim: But…
Staff: Just send in an email for the refund. I will let the management know…
The staff was already busy packing his stuff. He gave them an hour to evacuate the rooms. Along their way back to the room, Jim joked that at least they didn’t need to explain their sudden checkout.
Jim: I was afraid he would ask unnecessary questions.
Rizwan: He’s scared… I could see it in his eyes…
Jim: Everyone is terrified, Rizwan…
The group packed up and informed Jackson about the latest development. Moments later, he replied that he would take care of their ride to the ferry terminal. All they needed to do was to make sure that the prince crossed safely into Singapore.
Looking out of the window in their room, Jim saw other guests leaving in taxis and their own vehicles. Two creaky passenger vans were moving in the opposite direction. They pulled into the resort carpark, followed by two motorbikes. The drivers switched off the vehicle engines and left the keys in the ignition, before they hopped onto the motorbikes and sped off. Almost immediately, Jim received a message from Jackson, informing him that their rides were ready.
When Soh and his team loaded up onto the two vehicles, he found three pistols with five rounds each in the glove compartment of the first ride.
“Do what you must to protect the prince. Officially, the guns must not enter Singapore waters. Get rid of them when done.”
That was the message Jackson had sent after Soh asked him about the weapons. Soh followed the instructions and left the resort. The team soon reached the spot they were supposed to rally with the prince and his guards.
Soh: Hide the vehicles behind those trees. Get off the road.
He handed a pistol to Mohan and the another to Jim.
Soh: Mohan, cover the rear with Jim, Derrick and Nelson. Rizwan, Tommy and I will take the front and wait for the prince’s arrival.
The team blended into the sides of the quiet road and lowered themselves into the shadows. Thirty minutes into the wait, a vehicle approached. Its headlights were off and it moved at a slow pace. Heavy metal music blasted out from the vehicle, and the burning tips of cigarettes could be seen hanging out along the sides of the doors. The vehicle rolled along the road slowly, like it had no definite destination.
Soh reached for the pistol around his waist and removed the safety when he spotted a weapon inside the vehicle.
Soh: Gun…
Soh whispered to Tommy, who relayed the message to Rizwan, who in turn sent a text message to the rest of the team.
The men in the vehicle were one of Chan’s many roaming patrols in the area. They cruised along the quiet roads, making sure the area was clear for the arrival of the main force from other parts of the country. The patrol vehicle stopped right in front of Soh’s position. One of the men got out from the vehicle with his rifle slung on his left shoulder. His friends shouted at him to hurry up as he unzipped his pants, standing barely three meters away in front of Soh and Rizwan.
Mohan signalled to Jim that he would head up to Soh just in case. He crawled on his hands and knees, the rustling of leaves and cracking of branches masked by the loud music coming from the vehicle. Mohan positioned himself opposite Soh’s spot, on the other side of the road, waiting as he watched the man shaking his butt while he relieved himself. Raising his pistol, Mohan levelled it at the other three men in the vehicle.
In the darkness of the forest in front of him, unknown to the man taking a piss, a finger was curled around the trigger of a Glock 45 that was pointed right at him. The pissing man shook his tool a couple of times before he wiped his hands on the sides of his jeans. He lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke into the evening sky. He was about to get back into his ride when Rizwan sneezed, not once, but twice. The man stopped moving and turned towards the forest. He unslung the rifle from his shoulder and signalled for his friends to switch off the radio.
Soh knew he needed to act and he squeezed the trigger. It took the bullet a fraction of a second to travel the 10 meters between them, into the nose of the peeing man and out the back of his head. The moment the first gunshot rang out, Mohan emerged from his position and fired into the vehicle. Before the men could react, Soh and Mohan had emptied their magazines into them. When the last shell casing had hit the ground, all that could be seen in the vehicle was a splatter of blood and brain matter on the windscreen.
With his weapon raised as he got out from his position, Jim did not fire a single shot - by the time he got to the vehicle, the men inside were all dead. He lowered the gun and looked at Soh, the unspoken question was evident on his and everyone else’s faces – what next?
Soh’s heart was racing and it took a couple of seconds for him to give the next order. His hands were trembling; it was the first time he killed a man. However, before he had time to dwell on his actions and question his decision, the opening of the vehicle’s trunk told him he had made the right move. Lying within were the bodies of a mother and her toddler, dead with their hands and feet bound. Soh shook with raw fury as he looked at the tiny hands and feet of the pre-schooler.
Soh: Take their guns… Get the car off the road…
*
A car sped along the narrow two-way road. It was dark but the driver chose not to use the headlights. He was travelling way faster than he knew he should, especially given the condition of the Malaysia’s small rural roads. His mission was urgent and haste was necessary.
Hakim glanced at the body strapped into the seat next to him, its face lit only by the dim glow of the lights from the instrument panel. The prince was not going to be happy when he wakes up, even more so when he found out that his father was dead. Hakim saw the sign for the turn off towards Pengerang. He made the turn towards the resort located at the edge of a privately owned oil palm plantation. He slowed down just before reaching the planned meeting point.
When the first gunshot rang out, he swerved the car to the side of the road, his left hand on the steering wheel and his pistol held at the ready in his right. He kept the engine running as squinted at the faint muzzle flashes ahead of him. There was no way to tell who fired those weapons, and if they were hostile or friendly. It was better to err on the side of caution. His vision still focused ahead, his ears straining for the slightest sound of movement, Hakim’s eyes flicked to his phone for updates. Nothing.
He put the car into gear and was about to back away from the meeting point, when a notification came in from his contact in Singapore. The gunfire he heard came from the men he was about to meet. They would escort him and the prince into Singapore. Hakim almost gave a sigh of relief. His gun still firmly grasped in his hand, he turned back onto the road and drove slowly towards the meeting point. He flashed his headlights once into the darkness and a reply immediately flashed back.
Soh signalled to his men. Their contact was approaching. Soh waited till the car came to a halt, then he stepped out in view of its occupants. His men came out from both sides of the road to flank the vehicle, and were immediately greeted by the muzzles of the guns held by Hakim and his men.
Soh: Calm down, we’re your escort to the yacht and into Singapore.
Hakim: I need water…
Derrick immediately handed over some bottled water and snacks. Hakim distributed it to his men; they had not had anything to eat or drink since escaping the palace.
Soh: We’re heading to the terminal now… Follow our car.
With Hakim’s car in the middle, the three-vehicle convoy drove along the quiet road that led to the ferry terminal. The terminal was closed but Soh knew the yacht would be there. Jackson had to be one of the most resourceful men he had ever met. That man could pull anything off with his network of associates. Everyone owed La bella Vita favours, and Jackson, being the head of La Bella Vita, never hesitated to call those favours in.
The lights in the ferry terminal were all switched off, even the road lamps were not working. The entire area was blanketed in darkness. Jim’s phone rang.
It was Jackson.
Jackson: Ditch the cars and go to berth three.
The two groups of men, with the unconscious prince in tow, scaled the low gates and headed towards the berth on the sleepy jetty. Their footsteps echoed along the loose boardwalk as they made their way across the rows of boats parked in the darkness. Tommy and Derrick covered the rear with the rifles they had scavenged.
Tommy: There’s some chipped bone or flesh on this one… Very slimy…
Derrick: Shut up la… mine is the same…
Tommy: It’s rather unhygienic, don’t you think?
Derrick: What? You’re worried about getting Covid?
Tommy: Just feels a little yucky…
The duo heard Soh’s whistle and knew it was their signal to continue falling back. They ran down to the berth, turning back again to cover the evacuation, the muzzle of their rifles pointed at the pathway that led down to the jetty. Behind them, the yacht came into view, motoring quietly through the calm waters.
Several columns of head beams from approaching vehicles pierced the tranquillity of the night.
Hakim: Hurry!
The yacht did not dock, the captain simply swung it around, angling the stern of the boat towards the berth for the men to jump on board.
Two figures appeared at the top of the steps leading to the docks, and upon seeing the men trying to get on the yacht, they started shooting.
Tommy: They’re shooting… they’re fucking shooting…
Derrick: Then shoot back!
Tommy and Derrick fired together, but with the darkness and the nervous squeezing of their triggers, neither of them hit anything. However, it drew the attention of the pursuers and they started shooting at their position instead of those getting on the yacht.
Tommy: Fuck… fuck… fuck!
Derrick: Oh, fuck!
Soh, upon seeing Tommy and Derrick in trouble, yelled to Nelson and Rizwan, who were holding the other two rifles they scavenged, to provide the covering fire their friends needed to retreat. Nelson and Rizwan conducted very precise volleys of fire, sending a mix of regular and tracer rounds towards the pursuers. The tracers drew bright streaks of light in the night sky, making it easier for them to adjust their aim and keep their attackers suppressed.
The duo kept up their covering fire until Tommy and Derrick were safely on board the yacht. The moment the last foot left the berth, the main engine roared to life. The men on board, never stopped firing until they emptied their magazines at the men in pursuit.
Light beams from handheld searchlights cut wildly across the ferry terminal as a group of men ran down to the berths. Hakim, his knuckles clenched tight with rage, watched as they stared at the yacht. He ducked down when he saw muzzle flashes and shouted for everyone to stay low. The sound of gunfire erupted, bullets rang off the boat’s metal hull, ricocheting off into the blackness. Tracers streaked across the night sky and orange sparks were flung up from the yacht as bullets struck it from behind. Everyone kept their heads down until the firing stopped.
Just when they thought it was all over, Soh caught a glimpse of a small fishing boat hot on their tail.
Soh: Over there!
After making sure the prince was safe below deck, Hakim took up a firing position with his pistol. The speeding yacht and the bumpy waves made it impossible to get a clear aim at the boat in pursuit.
Jim: Brace! Brace! Brace! BOAT!
Jim shouted his warning and Hakim turned to see the bow of a Malaysian patrol boat cutting right in front of them, barely missing the stern of the yacht. The smaller fishing boat however, was not so lucky. It buried itself into the side of the patrol boat.
Hakim: What the fuck…!
The patrol craft attempted to turn and go after them, but weighed down by the fishing boat and quickly taking on water, two men on board took up arms and started firing at the yacht. The group was in for another surprise, when another Malaysian patrol craft appeared from the dark seas and it rammed into the first vessel, smashing its bow into the side of the vessel taken over by Chan’s soldiers. Flashes of gunfire lit up both crafts as the yacht continued its way out of Malaysian waters.
The yacht, named after the organisation, La Bella Vita, slowed down when it reached Singapore water and came alongside a coastguard vessel. As they approached, Soh and his men disposed of their weapons into the water. Hakim and his men were asked to disarm themselves before getting onto the patrol boat. Hakim was reluctant to give up his weapons, until Jackson notified him that he would make sure he and his men would be properly equipped when they arrived at the royal residence the family kept in Singapore.
Soh: We have somewhere else to be. All of you will be taken to the prince’s private residence on the Island.
Hakim: Thank you.
Soh and his men helped Hakim transferred the prince on a stretcher over to the coastguard. The vessel sped towards the naval base at Changi, while the yacht made a sharp turn and headed in the other direction.
Jim: Where are we going?
Nelson: That island ahead looks damn familiar, Soh… Too familiar…
Mohan: Is that what I think is it?
Soh: I’m afraid so…
Derrick: What the hell do they want us there for?
Soh: They are evacuating all the trainees on the island tonight. Everyone is going home.
Jim: Everyone?
Soh: Active and reservist units will be coming over tomorrow…
Jim: What?
Soh: Command thinks Chan is going to take Tekong. From there, he will be close enough to launch attacks on the airport.
Nelson: You’re fucking kidding me…
Soh: I wish…
Jim: Why Tekong? Everyone knows it’s a place where we just train recruits…
Soh: It’s not just the place, it’s the significance of it… It’s a slap on our face when they take it. Chan’s men are better at fighting in the forest and jungles than in urban areas… They could dig in and launch attacks from there.
As the Tekong ferry terminal came into view, the men went quiet, lost in their thoughts as they stared at the island where they, and generations of other soldiers trained on.
Soh was the first to step onto the island, and he was greeted by an old friend, RSM Quek.
Quek: It’s been a while Soh… Welcome home…
Soh and his men inhaled the salty air coming off the sea, taking a moment to look at the training camp they had left decades ago. Nostalgia rushed through them as memories of their days as 18-year-old recruits, fumbling around during their National Service, recurred and resurfaced.
Soh turned to his men and smiled.
Soh: We’re home, boys… we’re home…
…
Wang waved to the guards as he strolled past the gates of the military camp. He had been cooking there for the past twenty years. The operator for the central kitchen had changed a few times, but Wang always chose to stick with the camp when the opportunity was offered for him to stay. He came to Singapore to work as a cook when he was 20 years old. Two decades later, he had built a whole new life for himself in Singapore - he met a woman he loved, he started a family, and his kids were now in secondary school.
Wang had a secret: he was, in fact, a double agent, trained and emplaced long ago by Chan. His job was simple - just serve as a humble servant, and provide delicious food for the soldiers in the camp. He had never been activated before and was content to spend the rest of his life as a cook, while collecting the monthly 2,500-dollar stipend that Chan had been wiring to an overseas account for the past two decades.
The message came like a bolt of lightning on a clear morning sky. One morning, Wang saw the envelope with Chan’s mark and emblem sitting on his motorcycle. He took it, well aware that there were eyes watching. He opened the envelope and saw the accompanying packet of unidentified powder. He knew what he was expected to do - he was to poison the food for the soldiers that day, and then, he was to immediately disappear. That was the deal he signed up for.
Wang was dumbstruck. He was shocked to be called into action after so many years. He had long thought that this past was far behind him. He felt a wave of emotions - fear, shock, and sadness. He knew he could not refuse the task, but he also felt tremendous guilt. The soldiers who ate his meals each day knew nothing of his true identity, and he now had to betray them in the most terrible of ways. He also thought about his family - once he did this, they would never get to see him again. He stuffed the packet of powder in his pocket and put on his helmet, the closing visor hiding the tears that welled up in his eyes. The money he had set aside would be helpful, but it would never be enough to make up for his disappearance. He had no choice, for if he refused the order, his entire family would be killed.
Wang rode his bike into camp and waved to the guards by the gate. He knew the longer he waited, the higher the chances were that he would waver. Changing into his gear, he marched right into the kitchen where a large pot of soup was being boiled. When no one was looking, Wang tipped the entire bag of powder into the industrial-sized cooker. He slipped the empty bag back into his pocket and went right back to his bike. One of his colleagues called out and asked where he was going.
Wang: I’m not feeling well. I need to go to a doctor.
Wang quickly rode out of the base and headed back home to pick up his passport. His wife was at work and his sons were in school. He would not even be able to say his last goodbyes in person. He shouted and punched the wall several times before he broke down in the living room. With tears rolling down his cheeks and his eyes red with anger, Wang picked up a family photo and left his wife a note by the dresser.
Within minutes, he disappeared into rush hour traffic and soon joined the line of bikers making their way into Malaysia.
*
Edmund carried his breakfast tray from the line to join his fellow soldiers at the tables. The group of them laughed as they dined, sharing stories about their route march the night before, which was cut short due to the rain. It was a welcome break from the gruelling training. He was looking forward to booking out the coming weekend. There was turmoil in the country, and tensions were high after the attacks at public spaces, but life still went on. Edmund was looking forward to meeting up with his girlfriend for a movie, maybe grabbing a nice dinner before heading over to her place to spend the night.
After breakfast, the soldiers were scheduled to head to the firing range. Edmund was walking to the armskote when he felt an agonising burning, searing its way down his throat, as if a river of molten metal was coursing down his gullet. The poison’s malevolent tendrils snaked through his body, turning each breath into a tormenting struggle. The air he drew into his lungs grew thick with a sickly metallic taste, and breathing hurt like snorting in shards of broken glass.
Edmund groaned and clutched on to a wall for support. Looking up, he saw his friends and other soldiers in the vicinity on the ground. Many of them had blood pouring out from their mouths and nostrils. His vision blurred and his muscles weakened as he felt a crimson tide rising from within him. A violent convulsion wracked his body and a torrent of blood erupted from his lips, staining the grey concrete floor of the training shed. Each convulsive retch tore at his insides, intensifying the excruciating pain that radiated from the core of his being.
Edmund: Arghhhhhhhhh!
He started tearing up when he collapsed onto his knees. As life’s fragile thread slipped from his grasp, Edmund thought about his family, his siblings, and his girlfriend. Moments later, he stopped breathing and succumbed to the consuming poison.
The mass poisoning did not just happen in Edmund’s camp. It was happening all over the country, striking a crippling blow to the island nation’s already compromised armed forces.
*
50 hours before invasion.
Perdana Putra, Putrajaya
Razak stared at the sheets of reports coming in from his advisors and generals in the war room. The situation was more dire than he dared imagine. Chan and his men were organised than they expected. As of this point, they had effectively disabled all the military airfields. There was also the issue of a missing squadron which intel placed at a private airfield somewhere in the south of Thailand. In addition to that, several military camps of active soldiers were dealing with mass food poisoning. The entire civil service and all their resources had been activated to try and maintain order and prevent looting.
Kahjeer moved some tokens on a map of the peninsular, updating the room that a platoon of commandoes and a company of soldiers had been deployed to Johor.
Kahjeer: The Sultan of Johor is dead and the crown prince is missing. The other sultans are enraged.
He carried on with his update of the soldiers deployed in Johor, confirming that they last checked in an hour ago after deployment.
Kahjeer: They are spread thin, but they took back the ferry terminal and cleared out a few dens. There’s just too much ground to cover. We have some surveillance drones up and have spotted a huge convoy of troops heading towards their position.
Razak: Then stop them before they get there!
The room suddenly went silent. No one spoke until a general reminded Razak that they had nothing to stop them with.
Razak: What about our helicopters?
Kahjeer: Sabotaged… None are not air-worthy…
Razak: Then send the commandoes to take out the convoy before they arrive!
Kahjeer responded by laying out a series of photographs in front of Razak. The line of vehicles in the convoy stretched for almost a kilometre along the road, a blatant disregard to the country’s sovereignty.
Kahjeer: We are looking at an estimated 1500 men there, Razak… That’s like a fully equipped regiment with two full battalion of fighting men.
Razak: How… how could this happen under our noses and we do not know anything about it?! What are our options? Someone say something! What about our navy?
Kahjeer: Chan chose the right time to strike. Part of the fleet are on joint piracy duties in the Andaman Sea. The few docked frigates we have were sabotaged, and there are severe poisoning cases in all naval bases. Singapore is hit the same way too.
Razak: Are you saying that we should sit here and watch Chan destroy this country?!
General Dato Seri’ Panglima Ahmed, the Chief of Army said something that silenced the entire room.
Ahmed: Sir… it’s obvious that Chan is headed for Singapore… I suggest we… let him pass, and use the time to regroup, reorganise, and plan for a counterattack…
Razak gazed at Ahmed and a feeling of dread overcame him. He knew his general was right - it was the strategic move to make. Chan had crippled his military and was headed straight for Singapore. It was futile to try and stop him now, when his own country was in turmoil.
Ahmed: Look at the number of men he is mobilising, sir. He is throwing almost everything at them. It’s like he is determined to crush them.
Ahmed gestured to the map, adding that with Chan bringing his forces down south, it would give them a good opportunity to block off their retreat from the north.
Ahmed: We will regroup our forces and start hitting them from the rear. The have no resupply routes, no escape routes, no way of retreat. They are going to be like ISIS, hitting and scavenging along the way until they flatten that whole fucking island. It’s a concrete jungle, there’s nowhere to hide.
Kahjeer: As much as I hate to admit it, Ahmed is right. We need to regroup our men on the ground, secure our key installations, then we can start fighting back.
Ahmed: We need a decision soon, sir…
Razak looked at his room of advisers, not believing that it had come to this. His duty and his oath to his country could not be clearer - his duty was to the citizens of his country, his faith and allegiance were to Malaysia, and not to any of her neighbours.
Razak: Okay, do it… Let them pass through, then start hitting them from the back. It’s the only thing we can do now.
As the men in the room scattered to get their country back, Razak picked up his phone and wondered whether he should text or call his old classmate across the causeway. In the end, he decided that some words were just too hard to say over the phone. He dropped Welly Chin a text.
“I’m sorry Welly. They’re headed your way.”
*
48 hours before invasion
Prime Minister’s Convoy
Daryl: Every sultan has landed with the exception of Johor. He…
Welly: I know what happened… What about the crown prince?
Daryl: In his residence recuperating. Jackson’s men are taking care of security.
Welly glanced at his phone and saw the message sent to him by his former classmate.
Daryl: Are you sure it’s a good idea to be out and about in this situation? You can address the grassroots and members via video call.
Welly: Then our enemies would have won. Their terror will have paralysed this country.
Daryl: I get your point, sir, but this…
Welly: My decision is final. It’s just a short one-hour engagement. It’s been planned months ahead and a lot of old folks are looking forward to seeing me in person.
The convoy pulled up into a holding area three blocks away from Bishan Park. Once the security team gave the all clear, Welly and his entourage would make their way to the event space.
The stage at the park had been set at the event space backdropped by a manmade river that meandered behind it. It was a simple affair, the standard for stages in Singapore, a red platform with a large white backdrop usually plastered with the face of the politician that would be visiting - in this instance, that of the Prime Minister, Welly Chin. The stage itself was elevated to ensure clear visibility for the audience, and set three metres away from the stage, were 10 rows of chairs, with each row spaced one and a half metres apart. Flanking the podium were large LED panels that would display live footage of the speaker, close-ups, and visuals relevant to the event. Crowd control barriers were kept to a minimum, in line with Welly’s stance to be closer to the residents. This was something his security team frowned upon, but were unable to talk him out of.
Around the event space, Bishan Park could be described as a vibrant tapestry of activities that unfolded throughout the day. The wide, open space brought together retirees, joggers, and people of all ages seeking solace, exercise, and enjoyment in the park’s picturesque surroundings.
At the park, everything appeared tranquil and peaceful. The elderly strolling around had no idea of the clandestine struggles that were occurring close by.
*
Colonel James stood in the middle of a five roomed flat on the top floor. His location gave him an unblocked view of the whole event space. The cozy seating arrangement of the flat had been replaced by ergonomic tactical chairs, strategically positioned around a large, centrally located command centre. Massive display screens adorned the walls, showcasing real-time intelligence feeds, mission progress, and satellite imagery.
Tactically placed whiteboards and corkboards displayed maps, target profiles, and intricate diagrams outlining operation details. The ambiance crackled with intensity as operatives analysed data and exchanged critical information. In the bedrooms, multiple computer workstations lined the room, each manned by highly trained personnel. Cutting-edge encrypted communication devices and secure video conferencing systems facilitated real-time communications with operatives in the field. Mobile ops centres like this had been setup in every town on the island.
When chaos his, they would be able to function independently, and yet, work as a team when required to.
James checked in with his snipers positioned around the event space. No suspicious personnel had been spotted so far. They had received more than a dozen leads regarding enemy activity in the area, and his team was following up on every one of them. They were not leaving anything to chance. It was obvious that Chan’s men would attempt a hit on the prime minister - it was too good a chance to miss. From the hundreds of people turning up at the event, any one of them could be Chan’s soldier. They looked no different than an average person on the street - they had no uniform, no distinct skin colour or markings – there was nothing that could tell them apart.
The airwaves suddenly crackled to life as reports began coming in.
“Male suspect in his twenties, white top, blue jeans, first row, appears to be holding an anemometer.”
James: Charlie One, say again.
“Male suspect, white top, blue jeans, holding black tripod moving east along first row towards potted plants. Confirmed sighting of anemometer.”
“This is Charlie Two, confirm sighting of anemometer from my position.”
James spoke into the comms, asking the closest operative to grab the man.
James: He is taking the windspeed and direction for someone else. Grab him first. Charlie Five, take him. Charlie One and Two, find me the shooter.
Within seconds of James giving the order, a man in running gear jumped onto the poor sod carrying the tripod and anemometer disguised as a camera. Several curious onlookers tried to see what was happening, but more men appeared and bundled the suspect into a waiting van.
Deming punched the struggling suspect in his face, while Syed searched and removed everything from his pockets. The suspect laughed and laughed, like he was high on drugs. He had nothing on him, not even a phone.
Deming: This is Charlie Five, he’s a decoy…
James: Get him out of there. Charlie Five and Six, you are exposed. Regroup with Charlie One and Two. Echo Five and Six, take up Charlie’s position.
A lady in slick yoga leggings and a lululemon sports bra slowed down her jog the same time another man walking a German Shepard converged at the event space, taking over Deming and Syed like pieces of puzzle locking into place.
*
Nadir peeped through the window blinds and laughed.
Nadir: So predictable. Haha… so easy to lure out… haha. Chan was right. They are stupid… haha…
Nadir turned to the rest of his cell members. The group of them had made their way to the safehouse setup by Chan upon disembarking from the tour buses. Their role was to create chaos within the community. The radio he held onto buzzed once.
“Class 1B, this is Teacher. Check in.”
Nadir: 1B, all good.
Nadir adjusted the volume when the radio continued to crackle. He listened to the rest of the cells deployed within the neighbourhood. All four ‘Classes’ checked in, meaning that they had not been discovered. The other ‘Classes’ had their own task set out for them. To keep things compartmentalised, no one outside their cell knew what they needed to do. Only their handler, their ‘Teacher’ knew the whole plan for their sector.
Nadir checked his phone and there were no new messages. His role was simple - help identify the plainclothes hidden within the crowd. That would allow other members who are watching to steer clear of them. Their secondary objective was to create a distraction and waste their enemy’s time and resources.
He watched as Zara powered up the drones, the electronic buzzing of the propellers sending bits of paper and wrappers off the table. At the other end of the table, Cassius was pouring a mix of kerosene and petroleum into a large bottle before he filled it with sawdust. He capped it up and attached the electronic detonator he made from household electronic parts. He set it aside with the dozen others he already prepared.
Nadir: Careful… careful!
Once the prime minister arrived, they would send the petrol bombs out with the drones. No one would see it coming, and even if they failed, they would have stoked fear deep into the hearts of the country.
Nadir had already planned his escape route. After they dropped the petrol bombs, they would set the ones in the house to go off five minutes after they departed. That would divert everyone’s attention to the fire, while they regrouped two blocks away with another cell of terrorists. From there, they would start sabotaging public facilities and sowing chaos wherever they could. The news was already reporting mass poisoning of soldiers, more than 50 had died, with many more in serious condition. At this rate, the country would be brought down on their knees even before Chan’s army marched in.
Everyone in the room tensed up when a notification beeped on Nadir’s phone. Nadir looked at the message, it was just from the food delivery app to inform him that his rider was nearby.
Nadir: Haha… relax la… just food delivery… haha…
Moments later, there was a knock on the door.
“Hello. Food delivery.”
Nadir waved for his team to cover the array of drones and tools on the table. He kept his pistol concealed behind him. He would have preferred for his entire team to be armed, but it was difficult enough to get one gun into the country. Chan’s trust, giving them the drones and one weapon, was generous enough. He opened the door a crack and saw the delivery guy in a sweaty top, carrying a large backpack. In his hands, he held eight boxes of fried noodles and two bottles of coke.
“Hi, your delivery… Paying in cash, yah?”
Nadir looked out at the corridor and gestured for the guy to bring the food into the house. He tucked his weapon into the back of his pants and looked at the guy setting the food down on the table.
“Okay… ermm… it’s $67.50, bro. And here’s some voucher for your next order.”
Nadir pulled out two fifties and handed it to the delivery guy. He could not help but make fun of the poor dude with some sarcastic small talk.
Nadir: How’s business? Good?
The delivery guy dug inside his pocket for change, pulling out a bundle before he glanced at Nadir
“Could be better.”
Nadir: Tell me brother… where do you get… ermm… hahaha… your job satisfaction from? Haha… tips?
The delivery guy managed to count out the exact change and he handed it over to Nadir.
“When I complete an order?”
The men in the room laughed, amused by the fact that the man who looked to be in his early forties was sending food to people half his age for a pittance.
Nadir: This is sad… hahaha… it’s just sad.
Nadir handed him a 10-dollar tip and gestured to Zara to slit his throat from behind. Zara got up and pulled out his knife just as the delivery guy walked to the door. Before he could raise his arm, he heard two muffled shots followed by a series of shots that came out of nowhere. By the time he realised the delivery guy was shooting at them, it was all too late.
*
Jeff ripped off his fanny pack, and with one quick motion, lowered himself to a crouch and aimed the gun concealed within at Zara. With the gun still inside the bag, he squeezed twice as Zara’s shadow loomed over him. Jeff did not release his grip on the trigger, aiming the entire fanny pack towards Nadir and unloading another round into the centre of his forehead. He then swung counterclockwise, with the buckle of the bag swinging in the air, he fired mercilessly at each and every man in the room, until coming full circle to Zara, who stood frozen in shock.
The sound of the shots, although suppressed, still reverberated through the room while hot, sticky blood oozed from Zara’s chest. He helplessly watched each of his friends falling like ragdolls to the ground. His stomach lurched as streams of warm liquid ran down his legs. Before he could process anything, he was staring at the end of a fanny pack with a smoking barrel hidden within.
Jeff squeezed the trigger, sending Zara’s brain matter splattering onto the canvas that covered the petrol bombs. He removed the canvas and took a photo for the ops centre. His colleagues were sending in their contributions as well. Spread out among the various blocks of flats, were three other cells of terrorists. One with the same drones and petrol bombs, while the other two had a variety of weapons ranging from machetes to guns, and keys that gave them access to cement trucks.
The radio still clasped in Nadir’s rapidly cooling hand crackled again.
“This is Teacher, Class 1B, check in.”
Jeff cleared his throat and tried to mimic Nadir’s voice. The cell’s airwaves had been compromised for a while now. Nadir and his friends had no idea that Jeff and his men were listening in to everything they had said for the past six hours.
Jeff: 1B, all good.
As the Teacher checked in with the other teams, Jeff waited to hear his colleagues checking in with the ‘Teacher’.
“Class 1A, all good.”
“Class 1C, all good.”
“Class 1D, check in.”
Jeff was about to reach for a packet of noodles when he heard the delay for ‘Class 1D’. The Butcher was supposed to take care of that cell and the check in.
“Class 1D, check in.”
“Class 1D, check in. Can you hear me?”
The Teacher called out with a little more urgency this time. Jeff was about to reach out for his radio to ask Barry the Butcher what was going on, when the unmistakable, gruff, rough voice came on the airwaves.
Barry: Class 1D… All dead… hahaha…
Jeff cursed under his breath as the airwaves were clogged up by Barry’s sinister laughter. Despite the Butcher’s disturbing sense of humour, Jeff opened a packet of fried noodles. He hadn’t eaten anything the whole day.
Jeff: Fucking Butcher… I swear I’m going to strangle him one day…
When the Teacher remained silent, Barry let out an uncontrollable cackle, like a mischievous clown with a devious plan up his sleeve. He checked in again.
Barry: Class 1D… All dead… hahaha… Teacher… Teacher, you there? Hahaha…
Jeff slurped up a mouthful of noodles and took a swig of coke. Too bad for Chan’s men he thought, they were told to expect half-baked conscripts, not maniacs.
*
The Teacher removed the battery from the walkie talkie and disposed the device into a bin. He walked to his vehicle and removed the SIM card from his phone, snapping it into two, and tossing it onto a grass patch. He lost four classes of ‘Students’. Chan would not be pleased. However, those batches of students were the juniors - the dispensable ones. The good ones were still safely hidden away. He would not be using them yet.
The Teacher left the Bishan and headed over to the town of Yishun. When he was within range of his next team, he initiated another check in.
Teacher: Class 2A, check in…
The replies came promptly as the Teacher reversed his ride into an empty parking lot. The Teacher took a deep breath and calmed himself down. They could stop them 99 times, but he just needed to succeed once to win. The Teacher eyed the stream of students walking out from the primary school and gave the green light to his ‘Students.’
Teacher: Class 2A, Class 2B, Class 2C, Class 2D… make me proud…
Twenty-five men, all dressed in black tops and hoods, charged into the school compound. Their faces were hidden in the shadows of their hoods as the men started hacking away at anything that moved. Some of them were armed with guns which they used to fire indiscriminately into the crowd. The men seemed to be possessed by some demonic force as they hacked away ruthlessly without any remorse. Screams of terror from children, teachers, and parents accompanied their trail of destruction and carnage, as they cut through anyone that dared stand in their way.
Some brave teachers ran forward to protect their students, but untrained bare fists would never stand a chance against blades and guns. Parents rushed up to try and protect their children, but they were met with cold disdain from the attackers, who showed no mercy for anyone young or old. In less than five minutes, over one hundred people lay dead or injured amidst pools of blood.
Before the police sirens began echoing in the neighbourhood, the attackers disappeared into the surrounding block of flats. They did not stop with the attack on the school, they punched into the residential areas, hitting and slashing anyone they could find. The leader of each ‘Class’ had supplied the group with a good dose of methamphetamine. High on drugs, euphoric and charged with energy, the group of men were unstoppable.
At the sound of the first gunshots, the Teacher put his car into drive. There was no need to check in with these ‘Students’ anymore - their job was done - this was their graduation. The roads had become a river of tears, choked with the sobbing of parents and mournful relatives of those who perished in the senseless attack. Their haunting wails of grief echoed through the streets, a chorus of heartbreak that reverberates across the surrounding blocks. A tormented mother beat her chest over and over again as she cradled the lifeless body of not only her daughter, but also that of her mother - both lives lost at the same time. Parents tore their hair in agony, tormented by the cruel fate that had robbed their children of their future.
The air resonated with their anguish, as if the country itself was mourning with them.
The arriving police officers gave chase as best they could, while paramedics flooded onto the scene. It was a devastating picture of chaos and loss. New media soon descended on the neighbourhood, backdropped by the steady stream of coming and going ambulances.
*
Chan followed the news update with glee. He wanted to watch the country burn, and burn it did. The attacks had sown chaos in the country, the tension was at its highest since the first wave of attacks. His children had done well. Their sacrifice was worth the result. The ‘Teacher’ had updated Chan on the progress, passing on information that was not shared on mainstream media. Of the two busloads of impressionable teens, less than a dozen remained. They were scattered throughout the country and would continue to sow chaos wherever they could.
Rafi and Poh Koon had massed along the borders at Iskandar Puteri, Pasir Gudang, and Pengarang. Chan expected the governments of both countries to close the land checkpoints soon. There was practically no one left to defend the checkpoint on the Malaysian side. The immigration officers would probably flee their posts the moment his army arrived at the checkpoint. Most of the residents at the south of Johor were fleeing north, the city of Johor Bahru was expected to empty out within 24 hours.
Aware that the Malaysian army was attempting to regroup before rallying to hit them from behind, Chan had his men destroy key installations along their march down. They had destroyed and disabled all the powerplants and communications towers along the way. Chan’s army had commandeered several watercraft transports, but it was not enough to transport his entire army across the water. He would still need to use the land crossing for the bulk of his forces.
The time for whack-a-mole type of attacks on Singapore was over. The hospitals were overwhelmed with victims of the attacks he had unleashed so far, and the emergency services were running on fumes. Chan got into an inconspicuous car and started his journey towards Melaka.
*
Welly had his engagement in Bishan Park cut short when news of the terrible attack reached his ears. He was evacuated from the event and it took everything he had to hold his emotions in and keep his temper in check. Safely back in his vehicle, Welly unleashed the emotions he tried so hard to keep suppressed. He shouted and punched the back of the passenger seat, screaming his throat hoarse with his fists tightly clenched.
Daryl remained silent. This was one of the few occasions he saw the prime minister in such a state. Soon, Welly took a few deep breathes and calmed himself down. He had to be calm, no one should see him like this. Welly accepted a bottle of water from Daryl, taking a deep gulp from it before giving him a curt nod - a subtle sign to his assistant that he was ready to carry out his duties, whatever they might be.
Welly: What are the latest updates?
Daryl: We cleared out four cells of terrorist around the Bishan Park vicinity. We were able to tap into their airwaves. The ones in Yishun were non-existent until the attack started. By the time we caught wind of them, it was too late.
Welly clung to the car’s armrest, his fingers digging into it so hard that his knuckles turned pale. He forced himself to take slow breaths in an attempt to keep his nerves at bay - a calming technique he learned from his therapist.
Daryl: We got about half of the attackers, some arrested, some shot dead on scene. The rest have disappeared within the neighbourhood, but we will get them. The advisers are recommending you declare a curfew. It will make it easier for the boys to do their job.
Welly Chin sighed as he looked at the streets with still some semblance of normalcy. There were taxis picking passengers up from taxi stands, shoppers pushing trolley filled with groceries, even kids playing at the playground. He knew that all that was about to change.
Welly: It’s my fault. I should have shut the schools earlier.
Daryl: It’s not your fault, Welly, no one can anticipate what they will do next.
Welly: It is… I shouldn’t have waited.
Daryl: Sir…
Welly: Martial law will go into effect in 12 hours. Do what is necessary. Get the advisers and chiefs in the office at seven p.m. this evening. How is the mobilisation?
Daryl: We have a reporting rate of only 75 percent.
Welly: That’s low.
Daryl: People are scared. The stock market is in the dumps, everyone is worried about their jobs and…
Welly: …jobs should be the last thing they are worried about…
Daryl: Anyway, those who are prepared to fight are already in camp. The ranges are running 24/7 for them to zero their weapons.
Welly: What do we have in the air?
Daryl: ISR drones monitoring the borders. Chan is massing his troops. We expect him to make his move in 48 hours.
*
24 hours before invasion
Jane perched herself against the railing of a primary school as she looked at the lifeless streets. Martial law has been declared and the schools were all shut down. It was like the end of the world had come for Singapore. She watched as a cat walked along the pavement beside the empty road before it suddenly disappeared into a bush.
The once bustling streets had lost their vitality. Curfews had been imposed, confining citizens to their homes during specific hours. The absence of human activity was palpable - shuttered windows and locked doors became a stark reminder of the curtailed freedom that now prevailed.
The neon signs that once illuminated the city’s nightlife had been extinguished prematurely, leaving the streets draped in a shadowy darkness. Roadblocks and checkpoints had sprouted at strategic locations, manned by tired yet determined soldiers. Each passerby was subjected to meticulous scrutiny, their identification carefully inspected and authenticated - if you didn’t have a good reason to be out in the streets, you would be in an awful lot of trouble.
Jane backed away from the railings and into the shadows. Her eyes followed the dark figures of two men who had just stepped into the school compound. The two figures quickly broke into one of the empty classrooms, unaware that their every move was being observed by Jane.
Jane: This is Jane… I have the Teacher.
Jane shared her location with her colleagues. They all had been out hunting in the night. They were prowling the streets for signs of the Teacher since the attack. By declaring martial law, it forced the Teacher to show himself. He could no longer move about in the day, nor would he risk using his radio in a fixed location for too long. The last reported location was just three streets away from where Jane was hiding. It was her lucky day, she thought.
Like a stealthy cat, Jane made her way to the classroom the two figures were in. As she got closer, she could hear them using their radio.
“This is Teacher, Class 3C, check in…”
Jane took a quick peep and saw one man on the radio, and the other plugging in equipment into the charging sockets.
“This is Teacher, Class 4A, check in.”
Jane opened the door of the classroom, surprising the two men. The teacher turned around and saw the shapely figure of a woman clad in black. He could not see her face, but he knew she was not one of them. He noticed that she was not carrying a gun. The Teacher put down the radio and rose to his full height of 1.85 metres. He removed his jacket, revealing his chiselled arms and toned chest. Instead of panicking, the other man in the room stopped what he was doing. He looked at the pistol that was placed on top of a backpack just three meters away - the backpack was closer to Jane than he was.
Jane’s attention was split between the two strangely calm men. She knew these were not the average grunts.
The teacher pulled out a krambit and adopted a fighting posture, while the other man, Chia, produced a knife from his side pocket. Jane reached for her twin hudiedao, spinning the two perfectly balanced blades across her palms before grabbing the hilts.
Teacher: Who the fuck are you?
Jane: You’re the Teacher…
Teacher: Hahaha… and?
Jane: Do you know what scares teachers the most?
Teacher: Hahaha… what?
Jane: Mothers like me…
*
The classroom was set up in an orderly fashion, with tables and chairs arranged in a grid pattern typical of all secondary schools. The whiteboard bore signs of notes and assignments from the teacher who last used it. The wastepaper basket was full, and there were still some books and belongings left under the desks. Everyone left in a hurry, assuming that the curfew and lockdown would be over in a matter of days.
This night, the classroom would be transformed from a place of learning, to a battleground between three determined individuals - two of them striving to fulfil their mission, while the sole female sought to quell her anger. As a mother, Jane could well relate to the loss faced by the parents whose children had perished in the senseless attack orchestrated in part by the two men in front of her. Jane not only wanted them dead; she wanted them to feel the pain of dying.
Dressed in sleek, formfitting black, her lithe frame exuded a lethal grace. A custom mask covered her entire head - a demon-like visage designed to strike terror in those that gazed upon it. Her eyelids appeared to be stitched shut by glowing green threads, two short, black metal horns protruded from the sides of her forehead, and firmly securing the mask to her head, was a black spiked collar around her neck.
Jane advanced and sidestep to her left, cutting off Chia’s access to the pistol. In front of her, both men moved at the same time; Chia took a step to the right, then hesitated, his eyes darted between Janes and the pistol. The Teacher circled around from the left, blocking off Jane’s access to the door. He suddenly rushed her, driving her towards the centre of the classroom and creating an opening for Chia to go for the gun. It would mean a great tactical loss on their part, should Jane gain access to the weapon.
Jane kicked off from a table, driving it backwards and bowling over the table that the gun was placed on. Leading with her right leg, she skipped off a row of tables, spinning a clockwise 180 in mid-air, and delivered a well-placed heel kick to the centre of Chia’s chest. Chia was sent crashing back first onto the row of tables behind him. With perfect balance, Jane sprang off her right foot, her left blade outstretched towards the Teacher, its sister blade following close behind. She delivered a series of lightning quick strikes at the him, aiming to overpower her larger opponent.
The teacher swung his karambit wildly in front of himself while trying to maintain balance. He was surprised by Jane’s speed; she was so fast that he could barely reacted to her strikes. He was at a disadvantage, having a shorter, mostly offensive blade. He knew he needed to get in close, past the longer reach of her twin blades, before he could even attempt to do any damage. His greater size and strength were useless if he could not get past Jane’s guard.
In barely the blink of an eye, the Teacher was driven back, taking two cuts to his torso and only just avoiding a slice that was close enough to shave the hairs off his cheek. An off-balanced swing of his karambit was caught between the extended rear crossguard of a hudiedao, driving his arm wide and rendering him defenceless. But instead of the cold kiss of a hardened steel blade severing the arteries in his exposed neck, the Teacher saw sparks when the blunt edge the other hudiedao rapped him sharply across the centre of his forehead. This was followed up by the handguard ramming into his nose, forcing him back against a wall, knocking over tables and chairs along the way.
There were no pauses in a fight like this. Chia was up on his feet before the Teacher’s back touched the wall. He charged at Jane with his knife raised. Without missing a beat in her violent dance of death, Jane spun on her feet, trapping Chia’s outstretched arm in her left armpit, moving in so close to him that it appeared as if she were embracing him. She continued her spin, leveraging on Chia’s momentum and releasing her hold when he was in line with the Teacher. Chia stumbled into the Teacher, but both men regained their balance and raised their blades in a defensive stance. They glanced at each other, the Teacher signalling for Chia to go first.
Chia went low, ducking below Jane’s spinning twin blades, trying to get within her guard. Jane responded by nimbly skipping backwards and up onto a table. She executed an unnecessary but spectacular spinning flip over Chia’s head, again leveraging on her momentum to deliver a backward elbow towards his left cheek. Chia anticipated the elbow strike and he blocked it with his raised left arm. But while the pain from the elbow strike was mitigated, he failed to account for the incoming blade in Jane’s right hand.
Chia’s knife fell onto the classroom floor, along with a forceful spray of blood from the severed artery in his wrist. Leaving Chia to stem his bleeding with his uninjured hand, Jane continued her spin on the ground, dropping to one knee like a whirling devilish, revolving with her pair of outstretched hudiedao like a rotating saw towards the Teacher.
With his back to the wall, and knowing that his chance of defending against such a strike was slim, the Teacher took a wild dive to his left, breaking into a roll to distance himself from Jane, and quickly regained his feet.
Jane got up from her crouch, and in the same movement, lifted a chair with her right foot, flinging it at the Teacher. The Teacher effortlessly grabbed the chair, but before he could toss it out from his line of sight, the blade from a thrown hudiedao embedded itself into its hard plastic backing. If he were one moment faster, the blade would have connected with his face.
Leaving the teacher to digest the shock of nearly getting seriously injured, Jane did a backflip over a toppled table, rotating in the air to face Chia, striking low and slicing through the tendon behind his left knee. Chia buckled forward, instinctively raising his arms to protect his head. He felt the immediately sharp pain under his left arm when Jane opened up a new spot for blood to leave his body before he even hit the floor.
Chia: Arghhh!
Using Chia’s back as a springboard, Jane bounced off him and faced off with the Teacher. Well aware that he was grossly outmatched, the Teacher chose to keep a distance from her. He kicked tables and threw chairs at Jane, buying time for Chia to recover.
With his left leg hamstrung and his right hand useless, Chia crawled towards his knife and picked it up with his left hand. He cursed out loud when searing pain shot into his body. He was practically disabled by Jane’s precise cuts, useless in a close quarter fight. Chia dropped the knife and decided to go the pistol instead.
The Teacher backed away from Jane, using a raised table to jab and block Jane’s approach. All he could see was the glowing green threads that stitched shut the eyes of her strange mask. He made his way towards the exit of the classroom, think that he would stand a better chance if they slugged it out in a more open space. He was informed that one of his associates was coming to his location before he was discovered by Jane - help was just two blocks away.
The Teacher was sent stumbling backwards out of the classroom when Jane delivered a forceful front kick to the underside of the raised table. She turned her attention to Chia, nimbly jumping up and skipping across the fallen tables, retrieving her thrown blade along the way, as she made her way towards his position.
Chia’s fingers had just found the grip of the pistol, but before he could raise it, he felt the cold blade of Jane’s hudiedao severing his hand.
Chia: ARGNHHHHH!
Jane’s knee rammed into his nose when she knelt down to retrieve the pistol. Chia would have wanted to fight to the end, but he was already deemed unworthy of Jane’s attention the moment she landed the first strike on him.
Jane sheathed her twin blades and picked up the gun - a QSZ-92, Chinese-made pistol. She felt the weight of it in her hand - it felt too light to be fully loaded, but heavy enough for her to know there were rounds inside. She slid out the back door of the classroom to see the Teacher trying to escape via the stairs at the end of the corridor. She chambered a round into the pistol and fired.
The Teacher just happened to turn around when Jane chambered a round. He drove his body to the left and rammed his frame against the door leading into the classroom right beside the stair core, just milliseconds before the loud report of gunfire echoed around the school compound. He took a gamble and burst out from the other exit of the two-door classroom, and as luck would have it, he crashing into Jane’s pistol holding arm.
As the gun clattered across the floor, the Teacher grappled with Jane, using the advantage of his larger size to overpower her with close up strikes. Jane unflinching took the blows, until she found an opportunity and drove one of the horns on her mask into his face. He immediately pushed her away and Jane retreated into the stairwell. She went low, putting herself beyond the Teacher’s striking range unless he bent down. The Teacher tried to stomp on her, but she gripped onto his outstretched leg and pivoted, rotating her body and forcing the Teacher down on his knees.
The Teacher grabbed onto the handrails and levered himself upright. He aimed a kick at Jane’s face and she dropped his other leg, scrambling up the stairs and rotated her nimble frame to pushed herself off the ground like an agile panther recovering from a failed pounce. Jane was about to move in again when she saw a second figure appearing from the stair core behind the Teacher.
*
Lynette wandered about the castle grounds, walking towards a lush garden beside a small shed. Pushing the door open, she was surprised to see it cosily furnished. She had expected to see a shed filled with tools, not a living space that even included a bed. She stepped in and ran her hand across the wall. Its plastered surface was smooth, but marred by bits of peeling paint. On it, hung several framed pictures at different heights.
The door behind Lynette opened and a sharp whisper rang out.
Brad: Lynette! We are not supposed to wander about!
Lynette: Shhhhh!
Another head popped into view, it was Xavier, the youngest among them. At only four years only, Xavier was the baby of the group.
Xavier: Lynette?
Lynette rolled her eyes and chided Brad for bringing Xavier over.
Brad: What was I to do? He looks for you at every turn!
Lynette: He was having his nap…
Xavier: No. I wake up already.
Lynette asked the two of them to lower their volume and get into the shed.
Xavier: I’m scared.
Brad: What is this place?
Lynette: I don’t know. I thought it was just a garden shed, but there’s a bed and even a toilet in here.
Brad: Looks like a cool hiding place…
The door opened again, this time a sigh ringing out from outside. Riona stood with her hands on her hips and glared at the children.
Riona: All of you… back to the room now!
Lynette: See! She must have followed you here.
Riona rounded up the kids and marched them straight back to their assigned room.
Riona: You have been given strict instructions to stay in the room. Do I have to tell your parents about this?
Brad: NO. No. There’s no need to!
Lynette: But it’s so boring.
Xavier went over and took hold of Lynette’s hand. Riona’s stern expression and slightly raised voice terrified him.
Riona: It’s for your own safety. There are plenty of books for you all to read.
Lynette: The books are pretty boring.
With the three children in tow, Riona marched them back to their shared bedroom. As with all children, walking quietly from one point to another was an impossibility. The commotion they caused while trooping down the corridor to their room had woken up the sole occupant within.
Dylan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peeped out from behind the door. He ran over to the group with his messy hair and saliva stains by the side of his lips. It was obvious that he was having a very nice sleep until he was disturbed.
Dylan: Psst! Why you all never wake me up?
Brad: SHHHH!
Riona felt her phone vibrating. When she read the message, her expression hardened.
Lynette: What is it? Did they find the culprit who attacked the schools already?
She nudged all the kids back inside the room and shut the door.
Riona: Go to bed.
Riona quickened her pace towards the temporary ops room setup in the castle. At 17 years old, she was unlike your typical teenager. While many her age would be occupied with social media, games, and school - Riona was a skilled athlete, having started training with the ‘yumi’, a traditional Japanese asymmetrical bow, since she was four. Riona had the strength to draw the bow with as much power as an adult by the time she was 13. By 15, She had mastered the skill of shooting in rapid succession and still hitting her target accurately. Now, Riona could shoot and hit her targets with deadly accuracy even when she was not stationary.
She had seen others shoot, and not many are as good as her. When she was younger, she often wondered why she was not sent to participate in competitions. She could have easily competed and won in international tournaments. But now that she was older, she knew her skills were not meant for winning medals. Riona was aware of what her mother did for a living - vaguely at least.
While her mother tried her best to keep things from her, Riona was sensitive enough to know that some things were best left unsaid.
Stepping into the busy room filled with stern-faced adults, she saw Jackson, the owner of the ‘castle’ as they called it, on the phone and gesturing to one of his colleagues on the opposite side of the room. Half a dozen monitors lined the walls and two men monitored three screens which streamed live footage of the castle grounds from various angles. Every single road and pedestrian path leading to the castle was being monitored.
Riona went to the side of the room and looked at a map of the ops area her mother was currently at. She found the beep with her mother’s callsign and it showed her making her way towards a school where Lynette’s mother was. All available operatives in that area were being directed to the school - Riona’s mother was the closest.
Riona bit onto her fist and tried to calm her nerves. As worried as she was for Lynette’s mother, she could not help but pray for her own mother’s safety.
*