It was a Friday the 13th. He had heard the myth that it was supposed to be one of those unlucky days. He never found out why, though, but today, that superstition couldn’t be any truer. He had been in the mosquito-infested rubber plantation on the ridge for a few days now, and hope is running out. The bombardment had been non-stop; punctuating the sound of buzzing insects in his ear were mortar explosions that made his ear ring. In all his years of military training, he has never been more shaken. It was neither the insects nor the explosions that shook him to the core; it was the threat of death, a sudden, unforeseen death. His regiment was severely outnumbered by the unrelenting enemy, who had taken the western part of the island by storm. They had captured Reformatory Road with ease, wiping out the troops that were stationed there, and he was next. He could not run away, his stand is the all that remains between the enemy lines and the city. If the ridge falls, the city would be defenceless, and that would be a disaster beyond his, or even his superiors’ imaginations. So, he will hold the fort...
It was 0213 hours, and the enemy was advancing onto the ridge. He and his regiment had retreated to Point 270, which he had been ordered to hold at all costs. It was a strategic location for it was the highest point in the area. There is an outpost there, built a couple of decades before the war. He and his men chose to shelter here as the bombardment continued. Deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew that they could not hold their lines for much longer, but he still maintained a veneer of confidence, lest his uncertainty further lower the morale of his men who he knew were as afraid as he was. So, he would continue to hold the fort...
He reached into his pocket and took out his most prized possession. It wasn’t worth much, but it meant the world to him. It was a gift from his mother, who must certainly be worried sick for him. It was his duty to defend his family. However, he knew he will not last long. The enemy were said to be particularly cruel and from the tales he heard, they will kill every last person who fought against them, regardless of rank or race. He had to hide it away, or it would be lost forever in the hands of the enemy. He scribbled the location of the cache containing in a coded letter, stashed it in a water bottle and hoisted it up into a nearby tree, to ensure that the cache will never fall into the enemy’s hand. With the cache and letter safely hidden, he returned to his watch. With a heavy heart, he would hold the fort to the last drop of his blood...
The letter was well hidden in the secondary forest on the ridge until recently, when some construction work caused a tree to collapse, revealing the location of the letter. There were two scraps of paper in the bottle. The first was the coded letter, and second was an odd scribbled set of alphabets. The latter, however, was written on poorer quality paper, had become quite degraded from the decades that had passed. Is it still possible to find the cache? Well, I am sure the geocachers in Singapore are up for the challenge...
Good luck and enjoy the GZ!
Note: The characters, cache, letter and its subsequent discovery in this story are fictional, but the ongoing war, date and locations (including Point 270) are very real. In fact, the cache will bring you to a little-known place where you could almost imagine the events in the story come alive.
