The Last Journey of Ranger Awang

During the seven months I spent on 'active service' with the 2nd Battalion Malaysia Rangers in Sabah we had only one fatality, and that was caused by our own mortar fire.
Our operational area was the island of Sebatik (Pulau Sebatik) which was three miles from Tawau where main headquarters of 2/RANGERS was based. The island was about thirty miles long and ten miles wide at its widest point; the northern part belonged to Malaysia and the southern part to Indonesia. The border on our side was marked by a barbed wire fence, then came a stretch of 'no-man's-land' beyond which was Indonesia; the distance between the two sides was no more than a hundred yards. On our side, spaced at varying distances where peaks of high ground afforded the best view, were huge sandbag and timber fortifications known as 'sangars'. They were in communication with each other and, wherever possible, supported each other with interlocking fields of fire.
One of the advantages of the 'confrontation' campaign was the ability to practise live firing without having to conform to normal peace time restrictions. This was alright as long as one did not get too blasé about the danger of dealing with high explosives.
Once a week, our medium mortars with base plates about two miles behind the border, would bring down defensive fire (DF) into 'no-man's-land'. The aim was to practise drills and to make sure that destruction of the enemy would occur if the signal to shoot was given. The first time soldiers experienced mortar bombs exploding a hundred yards away from them was a frightening experience. But the mortar-men, two miles away knew what they were doing - and nothing ever went wrong!
Such a rehearsal took place one day after the occupants of one of the sangars had taken all necessary safety precautions. Mortar bombs rained down and the ground shook with the force of explosions. Suddenly, a soldier - Ranger Awang, slumped against one of his friends and then slid slowly to the ground. When the bombardment ceased, it was found that Ranger Awang had been killed by a piece of shrapnel that had gone through his head. It must have been a million to one chance because the jagged piece of metal had entered the sangar through one of the firing slits, ricocheted off a timber support and bounced back under the parapet where Ranger Awang was sheltering.
The body was taken to Tawau on the mainland where the usual formalities were carried out. A coffin, with a metal liner, was delivered to the medical centre and the deceased was placed inside and sealed down. It was found that his parents lived on a small island called Pulau Chantek, a few miles from Jesselton (Kota Kinabalu). They were informed of their son's death and that the body would be delivered for burial the following day.
The composition of the funeral party was myself, the Regimental Sergeant Major, the Pipe Major (Malay), the Tuan Guru (Malay padre) and six soldiers from Ranger Awang's company. We made an early start by boarding an aircraft of the Malaysian Air Force which took us over dense jungle to Jesselton, the capital of Sabah, where transport was waiting to take us to the waterfront. One of the soldiers pointed towards a small island a few miles from the shore and told me it was Pulau Chantek.
As soon as I saw the motor boat that was to take us to the island, I knew we were in for a dangerous ride. Not only was it a hazardous operation getting the coffin down a rickety stairway, but when we moved off with eleven live people (including the driver) and one dead man aboard, the water lapped less than six inches from the top of the gunwale.
As we drew near to Pulau Chantek, I could see that waves were breaking on the shore, and there was no sign of a jetty. The skipper confirmed there were no landing facilities but said he would try and get as close as he could to Ranger Awang's parents' house which nestled under some coconut palms a few yards from the shore. I had not reckoned with having to wade ashore through the surf in our smartly pressed jungle green uniforms, but I ordered the soldiers to remove their footwear and roll up their trousers. The Regimental Sergeant Major had not thought about this either. Had he done so, he would have ensured that he wore a pair of socks that did not end abruptly at his toes like a pair of mittens.
We struggled in the water to get the coffin on dry land but were hampered by the under-tow of the waves. It was like a bad dream and I prayed I would wake up and find myself comfortably ensconced under my mosquito net in Tawau. The reality was that the Tuan Guru told me that I and the Regimental Sergeant Major had been invited to go into the house and take part in certain rituals with the family before the burial could take place. I was concerned about how we would manage to get the coffin, which grew heavier every time we moved it, up a flimsy ladder to an atap house built on stilts ten feet above the ground. But this time, willing hands from Ranger Awang's family carried the coffin and placed it in the centre of the main room.
The RSM did not want to accompany me as he would have had to remove his boots again. I insisted, and for the next half hour he sat like a ram-rod with his hands covering his bare toes. He and I sat on the floor and were given cool coconut milk and rice cakes (the RSM could not accept these delicious offerings as he did not have a spare hand).
Ranger Awang's parents and friends listened as I told them (in Malay) how he had been killed. I had not attended a Malay funeral before and, although I was impressed with the dignity they showed in their sorrow, I was horrified when the Tuan Guru told me that the coffin would have to be opened. I knew that the metal liner had been welded down and I advised him that it should be left alone. The family, however, were determined to see Awang before he was buried, so an 'orang besi' (blacksmith) was summoned. The womenfolk went through the distressing business of saying their farewells to the accompaniment of much wailing, beating of breasts and tearing of hair. At last their devotions came to an end and the orang besi was able to close the coffin again.
Another false assumption of mine was that the burial would take place near the house but, in fact, it meant another sea trip to the other side of the island. Once again, the coffin had to be carried through the surf to the boat before being transported another couple of miles to the burial place.
Before interment took place, it was necessary for the Tuan Guru to read from the Koran inside the grave. While he was doing this, I took the Pipe Major along the shore for about a hundred yards to a place where he could see me wave my handkerchief - this being the signal for him to play his 'lament' when the Tuan Guru had finished his part of the burial service I also positioned the six soldiers where they could fire two volleys when the coffin was placed in the grave.
This ritual is commonplace among soldiers and it would have been unthinkable to have deprived Ranger Awang of a proper farewell. For his family and friends though, who had never heard bagpipes and two volleys of gunfire at close quarters, it must have come as a shock. But there it was, we did our best for Ranger Awang who was the first soldier from Pulau Chantek to die in the course of military duty. I was proud to be one of those who brought him home.

Postscript : As with so many of my stories, I have concealed the real names of those involved. Pulau Chantek (Pretty Island - it certainly was) is also an invention of mine.