Coasts of Cape York (41 page)

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 things. 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.

It was a long, depressing evening. When it was bed time Willy lay under his mosquito net but was quite unable to sleep. For hours he lay awake, brooding and feeling bitter. He found it a relief to be out on guard duty (‘Watch' as Andrew and Carmen called it.). From 0100 to 0300 he stood out on the beach with a big torch, turning it on occasionally to check that no red eyes were gleaming from the water. For the first hour he shared with Andrew and for the second with Norman.

But nothing happened. The sea was calm, with only a faint breeze blowing offshore so that there was no surf, just a gentle lapping. The lights of the
Wewak
shone brightly, reflected on the water. The moon was almost full so there was plenty of light. When Andrew walked off along the beach to do a pee Willy could still see him clearly at a hundred metres. Apart from the occasional squark of some night bird and a few splashes from the ocean there was no sign of life.

When Willy lay down after being relieved by Stick he again fidgeted and sweated. But this time he dropped into a restless sleep.

It was so hot and humid that Willy slept only fitfully and woke feeling drained out and grimy. Even in the grey before the sun came up he found he was perspiring. He hoped there might be a breeze when the sun rose but there wasn't. The camp came slowly to life. Marjorie sat up and Willy thought she looked a real wreck. Her face was puffy and her hair had its usual morning ‘rat's nest' appearance. Seeing him she said, “I am not enjoying this. I want to go home.”

That was how Willy felt. ‘All that effort for nothing!' he thought bitterly.

Breakfast was eaten almost in silence.  Mr Beck looked pale and ill and shook his head. “I'm getting too old for this sort of caper,” he grumbled.

“Do we go home?” Willy asked.

“Nothing else to do,” his father replied. “No point in hanging around another three days.”

“Can we go on the
Wewak
?” Stick asked. “I thought it was contracted to do some other job for a couple of days.”

“We can ask,” Willy's father answered.

Andrew pointed. “There's a boat coming ashore now,” he said.

Willy looked and saw a small dinghy leave the side of the LCT. “It's not heading for us,” he observed.

“No. It's making for Mr Jemmerling's landing place,” Carmen said.

Norman raised binoculars and studied the small boat. It had three people in it. “Capt Kirk is in that boat.”

Willy's father stood up. “Let's go and talk to him then,” he said.

Willy stood up with the others, even though he did not feel like seeing Mr Jemmerling again. Just the thought of the previous day made him feel bitter and angry.

Marjorie sensed his mood and slipped her arm through his. “Cheer up Willy. It will be alright,” she said.

But Willy wasn't in the mood. Knowing that he was being difficult made him feel even more sulky. He wished Marjorie would let go but she kept on walking with him. As they walked along the beach his mood got rapidly worse. The catalyst was the appearance on the beach of the big truck carrying the ‘Kittyhawk' wreck. It came out of the dunes and stopped half way down the beach. A white 4WD followed it. Several men got out and stood on the water's edge waiting for the small boat.

As he got closer to the vehicles Willy saw that Mr Jemmerling was one of the men. Another was Mr Jenkins. By the time Willy and the others arrived the men had finished talking and stood watching the new arrivals. Mr Beck and Norman came from behind on one of the ‘Four Wheelers'. They arrived almost at the same time.

Capt Kirk called to Mr Beck as he dismounted. “Hello Mr Beck. How are things going?”

“No good Captain. Mr Jemmerling here has beaten us to the aeroplane. We have come to ask if you can take us back to Cooktown or Cairns today.”

Capt Kirk nodded. “Yes, he was just telling me that and organizing to load the plane on the
Wewak
.”