“Has to be,” Norman agreed.
“It is going almost the way we want,” Carmen added, lining her compass up with the track.
Willy looked both ways and saw that the clearing ran diagonally from his right rear to his left front. A sharp sense of unease suddenly gripped him. ‘It is heading for the plane,’ he thought. He said, “Those mining people might find the wreck.”
With that he pushed past Andrew and set off along the track as fast as he could stride it out in the soft sand. In the cleared lane the air was stifling and the sun reflected up off the white sand with a cruel glare. A heat haze shimmered along it. Willy ignored all this and pushed himself to go as fast as he could, ignoring the dripping sweat and hot, rasping breath. The others followed at their best speed, the group quickly stringing out.
After 200 metres of walking Willy came to the edge of the large salt pan. It was at least a kilometre long and half that wide. Here the heat haze shimmered with a regular mirage effect. The vehicle track curved left along the edge of the sand. Willy paused, chest heaving, to take stock.
For a few seconds his eyes misted and went blurry and he saw black dots. Then he shook his head and wiped sweat from his eyes. ‘Heat exhaustion,’ he thought. Then he gasped in shock as he realized what he was looking at. About a hundred metres away was a cluster of vehicles and men. A big, yellow bulldozer and two trucks were clearly visible. One of the trucks had a side mounted, folding crane and at that very moment it was using it to hoist aboard the wrecked fuselage of a ‘Kittyhawk’!
As the full realization of what he was seeing burst into Willy’s consciousness he experienced a wave of intense anger. ‘That’s our plane!’ he thought. With his emotions boiling he ran towards the truck. But he didn’t run very far. He was too winded and hot and his speed dropped to stumbling trot.
While he ran towards the trucks Willy saw that the fuselage was being settled into a timber cradle on the back of the truck. The men were so intent on what they were doing that they did not notice him until he was only about ten paces from them. Then one man glanced around and jumped in surprise. He was big man, wearing grey overalls and a white plastic ‘hard hat’.
“What the..? Who the bloody hell are you?” the man cried.
“That’s our plane,” Willy croaked, his breath now coming in hot gasps.
The man laughed. Willy came to a tumbling standstill and was aware that at least four other men were watching. He gulped and tried to recover his breath. Then another person moved from behind the truck, a man dressed all in white, and Willy gasped again.
“Mr Jemmerling!”
Mr Jemmerling frowned and then said, “Hello young Willy. You look a bit hot.”
Boiling anger seethed in Willy. He panted and then shouted, “That’s our plane!”
“I think not,” Mr Jemmerling replied coolly, his gaze shifting to the others who were now hurrying to join Willy. “Finders-keepers covers it I think.”
“But we came all this way to get it!” Willy cried in furious dismay.
“So did I,” Mr Jemmerling replied. He then said, “Hello Mr Beck. Hello young Norman. And hello to you two also.”
Mr Jemmerling’s cool manner further infuriated Willy. “You can’t take the plane without a permit.”
Mr Jemmerling shook his head and flicked open a plastic folder he was carrying. “I have a permit. I think it is a case of ‘The early bird catches the worm’.”
“You are the worm!” cried Willy. “You have cheated us.”
Mr Jemmerling pursed his lips. “There is no need to descend to personal abuse,” he said. “I haven’t cheated anyone. It was a fair race and I won.”
“You deceived us and tricked us, taking us on that flight,” Willy retorted. He was so upset he felt tears prickle in his eyes and he blinked to avoid the humiliation.
“Be careful what you say young Willy,” Mr Jemmerling replied calmly. “You knew I was after the information and you joined us with your eyes open. And you are being a bit ungrateful.”
Willy knew he was and that spurred his emotions into a seething mixture. “You spied on us and you robbed us to get the maps,” he accused.
Mr Jemmerling’s eyes narrowed and he said, “I don’t like being accused of being a cheat or a thief. I have done none of those things. The only information I was ever lucky enough to get from you people was when your friend put his finger on the map one night at your Air Cadet depot.”
‘Bloody Stick and Noddy!’ Willy thought angrily. He was aware that the other members of the group were now standing next to him. The men in Mr Jemmerling’s work team were all standing on the truck or beside him. They looked ready to support their employer. Willy said, “You had that man break into Mr Beck’s and steal his notes and charts.”
A flush of anger showed on Mr Jemmerling’s face and he snapped. “I haven’t paid anyone to burgle anyone. Be careful young man. If you continue to make unfounded allegations I will take you to court for slander.”
Andrew gripped Willy’s arm and muttered, “Steady on Willy. We have no proof.”
Willy was still very upset so he said, “We saw the same man in Cooktown. He was spying on us and then he got in a boat and headed out into the river towards your flying boat.”
Mr Jemmerling frowned. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Now stop making accusations or back them up in court.” He then turned to Mr Beck. “Sorry Mr Beck but we were here first. This is my plane now.”
But Willy wasn’t ready to give up. “So how could you possibly find this plane without using Mr Beck’s notes and map?” he challenged.
“By doing some research in the historical records, by doing a lot of flying at low altitude and taking hundreds of aerial photographs, and by using all the expertise and equipment of my mineral exploration team,” Mr Jemmerling replied, for the first time showing a glint of real anger.
“Mineral exploration!” spat Willy. “You must have lied to Capt Kirk to hire his ship to transport you.”
One of the men took a step forward, fists clenched but Mr Jemmerling restrained him. “I will handle this thanks Mr Jenkins. Now listen here Williams, I don’t like being called a liar, particularly by an ignorant and ungrateful boy. You underestimate me. This is a real mineral exploration team. Mine. I own the firm and I employ these men. When this little task is done they will survey our whole lease here. So I haven’t lied to anyone.”
The retort really stung Willy, particularly the accusation of being ungrateful. Looking at the tough looking men of the work crew doubt entered his mind and he flushed with embarrassment at possibly having made a real fool of himself.
“Oh but!” Willy cried, frustration, suspicion and doubt swirling in his mind. He glanced at Mr Beck and was appalled at what he saw. Mr Beck looked very red in the face and his disappointment was plain on his face. Norman had a bitter twist to his lips and both Andrew and Carmen looked both puzzled and angry.
Norman said, “That’s enough Willy. We have no proof.”
“No, you can’t have any,” Mr Jemmerling said, “Because I haven’t done any of those things. Now please move off our work site and let us get on with our work.”
Reluctantly Willy allowed himself to be led a few paces to one side. Intense feelings of bitter disappointment and defeat surged through him. He looked around and noted that both wings of the wreck were lying under the trees. They were badly corroded and buckled but were still real wings. Timber packing frames lay nearby. Realizing how thirsty and how close to heat exhaustion he was he took out his water bottle and drank.
Andrew also drank, then held his water bottle upside down to indicate he was out of water. Mr Jemmerling, glancing around, saw this and said, “Would you like some water?”
“Not from you!” Willy cried. He knew he was being bad-mannered and churlish and that only fuelled his unreasonable anger. Knowing that he was reacting that way did not help much, just made him more angry at himself. Mr Jemmerling glanced at him and turned his back, mak
ing Willy feel even worse.
Norman now took charge. He took a couple of photographs and then said, “There is nothing more we can do here. We had better go back to the beach to tell the others. Come on.”
He and Mr Beck turned and sadly walk away. Carmen took Willy’s sleeve and urged him to follow. Andrew came last. As he plodded along the scorching vehicle track Willy felt the bitter taste of defeat. ‘Beaten!’ he thought. ‘Too late!’
CHAPTER 26
HARSH WORDS
As he walked away Willy was on the verge of tears. He was so disappointed that he felt like lashing out. Seething with bitter resentment he looked back, noting the vehicles, the men working busily, the bulldozed bush, and the aircraft wreck. The sight of Mr Jemmerling watching them go added to his anger.
“It’s not fair!” Willy cried.
Norman nodded. “It’s a real disappointment, that is for sure,” he replied.
Willy started to go over all of the angry thoughts that swirled in his head. “How could Jemmerling possibly have a permit when you already have one Mr Beck?” he asked.
Mr Beck, who was puffing along at the rear and looking quite worn out gave a wry smile and replied, “It’s called money. He obviously paid the government the required fee and they issued him with one.”
“But how could they issue two permits for the one plane?” Willy persisted.
Mr Beck shrugged. “I’ve had mine for a few years. Maybe they thought I was no longer interested. I should have checked with them.”
By then the group had reached the place where the bulldozed track went into the scrub. After one last, bitter look at the aircraft, now being crated up on the back of the truck, Willy followed Andrew and Carmen along it. “I still say it is unfair,” he grumbled.
Norman grunted and then said, “It is, but life is sometimes like that. Anyway, the ‘Kittyhawk’ doesn’t look like it is in very good condition. All the bottom of the fuselage and half the wings have corroded and rotted away and the engine just looks like a ball of rust.”
Mr Beck agreed. “All those years in that salty environment can’t have done it much good.”
The group trudged along in the blazing heat, each step now seeming to be an effort in the soft sand. When they came to the point where they had entered the track Carmen stopped. “Do we go back through the scrub on a compass course?” she asked.
“This track goes back to the beach,” Norman said.
“Yes, but it will be shorter to walk in a straight line,” Andrew suggested.
“And a lot cooler. At least in the bush there is some shade,” Carmen added.
Willy drained the last of his water and held the bottle up. “I’m out of water. I vote we stay in the shade.”
Mr Beck agreed. To Willy he looked utterly worn out. A twinge of concern that the old man might collapse in the heat made him bite his lip. He saw Norman giving his father anxious glances as well. “The track might be easier to follow,” he suggested.
Willy glared along the bulldozed lane and to him it looked as raw as the hurt he was feeling. “I’m not walking along Jemmerling’s track,” he said.
Carmen aimed her compass into the scrub and said, “Bush it is. Let’s go.”
That ended the argument. The group plunged back into the scrub, walking quickly. It was still very hot but Willy was sure that the small amount of shade more than compensated for the effort of weaving around the trees. It only took them a few minutes to reach the smaller salt pan. Carmen walked straight across it.
As they reached the bush on the other side Norman called from behind, “Slow down a bit please. Dad’s not as young as he used to be.”
Carmen slowed down but kept steadily on. Willy blinked perspiration from his eyes but then licked dry lips. His tongue and mouth felt dry and he had a headache. That warned him he was entering the first stages of heat stress. ‘When I stop sweating is the real danger point,’ he reminded himself, remembering First Aid lessons at cadets.
Norman again called out, “Carmen, aren’t you using your compass?”
Carmen shook her head but it was Andrew who answered. “We are just following our footprints,” he explained.
Willy looked down and felt silly. ‘I didn’t think of that,’ he berated himself.
They plodded on, weaving and pushing through the cottonwoods, eyes alert for snakes and other ‘beasties’. Ten minutes sweaty walking brought them to the Tea-tree swamp. Here the footprints were not as obvious but Willy recognized the place and they crossed easily at the narrowest point. They pushed on into the scrub beyond, again following their tracks from the outward journey. By then Willy was no longer worried. ‘The sea is only a few hundred metres to the north,’ he thought.
At 13:20 the group burst through the last line of the thicket and emerged on top pf the beach dune. Ahead of them the blue tropical ocean filled half the horizon. Willy sighed with relief as a faint breeze cooled his heated skin. Then he eyed the Wewak. The LCT was anchored about half a kilometre offshore and lay side on to the beach. At that distance the rust and grime weren’t visible so her black hull and white superstructure looked quite impressive. The old phrase: ‘A painted ship on a painted ocean’ flitted through Willy’s mind.
Then what he thought of as ‘the betrayal’ took over as the main thoughts, fuelling very mixed emotions. Did Capt Kirk know? Was he a party to any deception? Willy found it hurtful even to think such thoughts as he really liked Graham and his father and they had been very well treated on the ship. ‘But I need to know,’ he told himself.
Carmen and Andrew slid down the face of the dune and began walking to the right along the beach. Willy followed, then looked back to check that Mr Beck and Norman were following. They were but Mr Beck looked awful. ‘Haggard’ was the word that flitted across Willy’s mind. ‘We only walked about five kilometres at most,’ he calculated, ‘and it took us about three hours.’ He knew from listening to Graham and Peter that a fit soldier could have covered that distance in one hour. ‘We aren’t really ready for this sort of thing,’ he thought.
A hundred metres away, under the casuarinas that lined that part of the beach, Willy saw the others waiting. The sight of his parents made him feel simultaneously relieved and depressed. ‘We failed,’ he thought.
That was the theme of the conversation for the next few hours. Seated under a tarpaulin stretched between four trees the group sat around and discussed the situation, and what to do next. It felt particularly bitter to Willy. The holiday adventure of discovery and exploration that he had looked forward to for weeks had ended within hours; and ended in a horrible shock.
“Should we go and watch what Mr Jemmerling is doing?” Stick suggested.
Willy’s father shook his head. “No point. We know what they are doing. Besides, it is much too hot now.”
Willy could only agree with that. They had shade and there was a faint breeze coming off the land, and he was full of water again, but the heat was fierce. Waves of it could be seen shimmering along the beach. When the mosquitoes, march flies and irritating high-pitched whine of the cicadas were added to that it was distinctly unpleasant. “It might at least rain,” Willy grumbled, eyeing the distant clouds lining the horizon.
“That’s why the tourists come to this part of the world in winter,” his mother replied.
“But what will we do now?” Willy cried in exasperation.
“Go home and then try again after Christmas,” his mother replied calmly.
Willy pouted. “But Jemmerling might beat us to the other wreck as well,” he said.
“He might,” his father agreed. “Presuming he knows there is a second wreck and where to look.”
“Does he know if there is a second wreck?” Carmen asked.
Willy wasn’t sure. He re-ran in his head all the conversations and incidents he could remember, but was left feeling unsure and uneasy.
The group talked themselves out eventually and then lay around in the shade resting or talking about other thi
ngs. To ward off the attacks of the sandflies, mosquitoes and March flies Willy’s mother insisted they put up mosquito nets. These were ex-army ones that were tied up by four corner strings. Willy lay under his, feeling hot and depressed. From time to time he got up and looked along the beach to the west to see if Mr Jemmerling’s party had reached the sea.
On one occasion Andrew joined him. There was no sign of life further along the beach. Andrew gestured at the exposed sand bars and shoals. “It is low water. They can’t load the landing craft until high water.”
“When is that?” Willy asked, irritated that he hadn’t thought of such an obvious fact.
Andrew looked thoughtful for a moment then said, “Be about twenty two hundred tonight, but I don’t think Capt Kirk will try to beach the Wewak in the dark. More likely tomorrow morning at about eleven.”
That answer irritated Willy too, condemning them to a long night of waiting. He blinked in the glare of the setting sun and muttered irritably, “Bloody Hell, it’s hot!”
It was too. The dry sand of the upper beach felt as though it was scorching the skin. As both Willy and Andrew had removed their boots and socks to cool down they had to run back up the beach to the shade.
The sun seemed to hang in the sky forever, blazing down, causing sweat to trickle and tempers to flay. At last it slid downwards, going down behind the trees to the West South West. As it went down the evening meal was prepared and eaten. Willy did not have any appetite but his mother insisted he eat something. A corned beef sandwich was the best he could manage. Marjorie was no help. She just sat and grumbled, plucking at her sweat soaked shirt and pushing sticky straggles of hair away from her face.
The temperature dropped a few degrees to give relative coolness as the sun went down in a magnificent blaze of red sky. A different species of mosquito began to swarm and bite, causing much application of repellent. Lanterns were lit and Willy’s father insisted that they organize a sentry roster. “We aren’t nearly far enough from the sea and there is a swamp inland of us. We need guards awake in case a croc decides it is Christmas,” he explained.
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