Coasts of Cape York (7 page)

‘The officers knowing that we are friends won't matter if we die,' he thought.

Then he made a conscious effort to act calm and to help the others. It made his face feel like it was made of plastic and it felt very stiff and unfeeling but he managed to pretend he was interested and enjoying the adventure. The ‘Catalina' began to bump and smack into the waves as it picked up speed and Willy began to try to remember what he had read about flying boats and safe sea states for take off and landing.

Spray began showering back over the entire hull as the bow pounded harder and harder into each wave. From his vantage point Willy could see forward along the side of the hull and that was no help to his peace of mind. He watched with alarm as the bow drove hard into a big wave, sending a huge shower of water back over the aircraft. A lot of this was sucked into the engines or caught by the whirling propellers and then blasted back past him in a roaring mist which all but blotted out visibility for a few seconds.

‘Will all that water cause the engines to fail?' he wondered. He was very aware that the failure of even one engine in the middle of a take-off could have catastrophic effects on the aircraft's performance. As the bow slammed into yet another wave, causing the entire machine to buck and shudder, an icy clutch of real fear gripped Willy's heart.

The plane powered into an even bigger wave and seemed to lose all forward momentum to an alarming degree. ‘We will never get flying speed,' Willy thought. Now his face was a frozen mask, a grin fixed on it. But inside his heart was hammering and he knew he was afraid. ‘I will keep pretending I'm not so that Marjorie isn't too scared,' he rationalized.

The ‘Catalina' bounced and hammered across more waves, its progress all but hidden by the flying spray. Willy saw the starboard float dig deeply into a wave crest, causing the aircraft to yaw noticeably. Then the float dragged itself free and the engines kept bellowing. His sight of the propellers was lost in the sheer volume of spray and foam they lashed up and Willy could only hope that Mr Southall had a better view forward than he did.

As the bow dipped and the tail gave a sickening upwards swoop Willy feared that they were about to drive right under. Then the aircraft shuddered, shook, then powered on. ‘We aren't going to make this,' he told himself. ‘The waves are too big for us to build up any real speed.'

But then Willy noted that the waves seemed to be getting smaller and as the spray thinned a bit he noted a huge area of churned up water a few hundred metres to starboard. That puzzled him for a second, even as his brain calculated that the maelstrom was getting closer with every second. Then he gasped. ‘That is waves breaking on the reef! We are trying to take off in its lee,' he reasoned. He now understood that Mr Southall had taken the ‘Catalina' out into the rougher water to start the take-off run and that they were now coming in to the relatively smoother water as they picked up speed.

Even as this realization came to him he worked out that the take-off course was diagonal to the edge of the reef. With every passing second the aircraft's course was converging with that welter of foam. ‘If we don't get off in the next few seconds we will run onto the coral!' Willy thought.

Now the aircraft was hammering along rapidly over the smaller waves. Willy began to will Mr Southall to pull back, to try to take off. ‘Do it! Do it now!' he thought, gripping Marjorie tightly.

He noted that the spray was now coming from underneath in a solid curving wave. That told him that the ‘Catalina' had ridden up on its chine and was now aquaplaning on its ‘First Step', the cut-away section of the hull. Clenching his teeth and staring anxiously out Willy saw that the starboard float was now almost over the breaking waves which marked the edge of the coral reef. He even got glimpses of dark objects in the white foam. ‘They are lumps of coral,' he thought. ‘If the float hits one of them we will rip a wing off!'

Suddenly the nose went up and the tail dipped so fast that the narrow fuselage under Willy kissed the waves, sending up more spray. The water was so close that Willy let out a gasp of pure fright. But before his scared mind could articulate thoughts about crashing the waves suddenly dropped away and he felt the zooming, soaring sensation of a take-off.

‘We are off!' he thought as he saw the churning sea drop rapidly below. Mr Southall held the angle of attack as steep as he dared for a few seconds to ensure that they were well clear of the biggest waves. Then he levelled out in a way that sent Willy's stomach up into his chest. The ‘Catalina' settled, bumped, then resumed rising.

‘Safe!' thought Willy as the view opened up and he was able to see right across the reef and out to the far horizon. Only then did he realize he was gripping the seat and Marjorie so tightly that his knuckles were white and hurting.

Hoping that nobody had noticed Willy released his grip and gave a quiet sigh of relief. The ‘Catalina' went into a wide, sweeping bank to starboard and then continued to climb. As it did Willy noted the distant coastline and a group of large islands ahead. The huge curve in the coast he recognized as the shore of Princess Charlotte Bay.

“We are going south,” he said to Marjorie.

She gave him an anxious smile and nodded. “We are alright now aren't we?” she replied.

Willy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and then shook his head as Cadet Bull, who sat opposite, called back, “Unless a wing comes off.”

As the aircraft settled into a steady climb Flying Officer Turnbull made his way aft, checking on each cadet in turn. Satisfied that no-one was hurt he said, “We are heading back to Cairns.”

“So we aren't going to Thursday Island Sir?” Stick asked.

Flying Officer Turnbull shook his head. “Sorry. We need to get this fellow to hospital and there's a body to hand over to the police.”

“So he really was shot sir?” CUO Mathieson asked.

That caused Willy to experience a sickening flashback to the torn corpse and he almost vomited again, except that his stomach was empty and felt very sore. He also felt a twinge of regret. Thursday Island was a place he had never been to and wanted to visit. It had an aura of mystique about it, one of those legendary places that are far away and exotic.

To distract himself from his horrible thoughts Willy looked down. Just below him were a group of large rocky islands which he remembered were the Flinders Group. To help take his mind off death and horror he tried to remember the names of the islands but he had left his chart in the wardroom and knew it would not be wise to try to retrieve it at that moment.

A few minutes later the aircraft flew across the coast in Bathurst Bay and all Willy could see below were vast tracts of bush and rough hills. These seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see before they were lost in the haze. Only a couple of tiny, wriggly scars indicated the route of dirt roads. There were no farms, no fields and no other signs of civilization for quite some time.

Later they flew directly over the small town of Cooktown. Looking down Willy could clearly see the grid pattern of streets and a number of tiny vessels moored in the Endeavour River. From then on the ‘Catalina' flew just off the coast, allowing Willy a grandstand view of the beaches and jungle-covered mountains that lined that part of the Coral Sea. He was able to identify Cape Tribulation and the Daintree Rainforest. The Daintree River was very obvious to him and from then on he was in home territory and could recognize most of the large coastal features: Low Isles off Port Douglas, Wangetti Beach, Buchans Point and Double Island, then the beaches just north of Cairns.

By then the ‘Catalina' was descending on its landing approach in to Cairns and, as always, Willy stared down with fascination at the all the tiny houses, roads and cars. ‘Just like a model,' he told himself, knowing that he said that every time he took off or landed. Seeing what looked like a tiny person on a tiny bicycle just added to the pleasure.

‘Going to land at the airport,' he thought as the whirr of machinery made him look forward. The starboard landing wheel appeared in view, folding out and down.  That did not surprise him. The ‘Catalina' was an amphibian. ‘Be easier to get an ambulance to the sick man,' he thought. Then he shuddered as he tried to suppress the next idea. But it came anyway. ‘Or a hearse.'

Sugar cane fields and mangrove swamps slid by below them, coming closer by the second. The road to Machans Beach swept underneath and then the Barron River and the mangroves along its banks. ‘We seem to be too low,' Willy worried, staring ahead at the long stretch of bitumen with its white painted ‘piano key' markings. The flaps were fully extended and the aircraft rocked and wobbled as it encountered ground turbulence. Mr Southall quickly corrected and they slid down to an almost faultless touch down.

As the wheels touched Marjorie hugged Willy's arm and said, “Down! Thank heavens for that.”

“Don't you like flying?” Willy asked, trying to pretend that he wasn't secretly relieved himself.

“Yeah, it's alright,” Marjorie replied, “But I just wanted this trip over, you know, with the dead body on board and all that.”

Willy could only agree. For once he was glad the flight was over. But he kept on acting as though nothing unusual was happening. As the ‘Catalina' taxied in off the main runway to the General Aviation side of the airport he looked around and took in all the sights. This included noting all the types of aircraft parked there. That all helped to keep his thoughts off death.

Once the ‘Catalina' was parked and the engines switched off the cadets were told to disembark, those in the tail section first. That meant that Willy was among the first off. As he climbed through the door and down the short flight of steps onto the tarmac he was dimly conscious of the wave of tropical heat which engulfed him. But as he was a Cairns lad, born and bred, he barely noticed the 32 degree summer temperature. It was the last day of October and he thought it perfectly normal. What he was very conscious of was the group of people waiting and the four vehicles parked nearby. Among them were the ambulance that he had expected, and a dark panel van which he suspected was an undertaker's vehicle to collect the body.

There were police, both State and Federal and both uniformed and plain clothes, plus several aviation officials and the paramedics. Mr Southall was there already, shaking hands and speaking to them. Flying Officer Turnbull directed the cadets to a nearby hangar to wait in the shade. Flying Officer Lowe led them across. Willy was reluctant to go with them. He badly wanted to learn more about what had happened to Jacob and why; and he also wanted his chart back.

However he judged that now was not the moment so he walked with the others across the tarmac to the hangar. The sun was now almost overhead and was blazing down with tropical intensity, causing a heat shimmer off the bitumen so he was glad to reach the relative cool and shade of the hangar. The hangar contained a Cessna 172 undergoing maintenance and the cadets were cautioned not to touch anything.

For the next few minutes they stood or sat and watched. Sweat trickled and Willy felt quite thirsty. But even though there was a toilet and washbasin in the back corner of the hangar he remained near the front. He was rewarded by seeing Jacob helped down from the ‘Catalina' by two paramedics. Jacob was then placed in the back of an ambulance, along with a uniformed police officer. Several other police then stood at the open rear door and appeared to be asking questions.

One of the policemen then detached himself from the group and came walking over towards the cadets. ‘I wonder what he wants?' Willy thought. He soon found out. The policeman went to the officers and spoke to them and Willy saw them turn to look at him and then point. The policeman then came over to him.

“Cadet Williams? The survivor, Mr van…er.. Mr van.”

“Van der Heyden,” Willy said.

“Yes. He would like to speak to you. Come with me please,” the policeman said.

Willy was pleased at that. He walked back with the policeman, Flying Officer Turnbull joining them unbidden.  As they walked across the tarmac Willy saw two paramedics lift a stretcher out of the aircraft. On it was what he was sure was a body bag. The sight made him feel very sick and anxious. The stretcher was immediately placed in the rear of the dark van. The two paramedics climbed into the vehicle and it drove off as Willy reached the ambulance and the semi-circle of adult faces.

Jacob was lying on a stretcher in the rear of the ambulance. A drip was stuck in his arm and he was all wrapped up. On seeing Willy he struggled into a sitting position and held out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for saving my life,” he said.

That both pleased and embarrassed Willy. He had to climb into the back of the ambulance to reach Jacob's hand. He took it and they shook hands. “It was nothing,” Willy mumbled. “I just hope they catch the men who murdered your friend.”

“So do I,” Jacob said, his voice hoarse with passion and dehydration.

“And I hope you find whatever it is you are looking for,” Willy added, letting go of Jacob's hand.

Jacob nodded. Willy went to move back and found his way blocked by more men who had just arrived. He turned and found himself staring into a TV camera. A man whom he recognized as one of the local TV news presenters thrust a microphone close to Jacob's face and asked, “And just what is it that you are searching for sir?”

Willy was both offended and amazed. He frowned and wondered why the police had not stopped the media people from pushing in. He was more annoyed to have his movements blocked. “Excuse me,” he said irritably as he went to climb back out.

Not at all fazed the TV man turned to him, “And you are the cadet who spotted them down in the sea?”

“Yes, excuse me,” Willy answered. To his relief Flying Officer Turnbull pushed forward and said firmly, “Please save your questions until the cadets have had a chance to refresh themselves.”