by R. B. Shaw
‘The other operators are still angry about our chopper charter licence being granted,’ Jan remarked.
‘Sour grapes. I’m not worried. I clash with them a lot on charter quotes.’
Jan could sense the unstated tension in Dave’s responses. ‘Do you want to fly for a while?’
Dave was a lazy pilot. He enjoyed the simple freedom of fixed wing flying. ‘No, Fang’s right. The concentration needed to fly a chopper is as much fun as balancing a broomstick on a basketball.’
As they crossed the broad Ramu river, the sunrise backlit the clouds with gold. A vast fluorescent band spanned the horizon and reflected off the surface of the river. From the helicopter the two images merged. It resembled a colossal hourglass draining light from the eastern sky.
Dave studied the map as Jan descended the Angry Egg through the misty foothills of the Finisterre ranges. ‘Follow the headwaters of the Nankina River. Should lead us straight to Zawan.’
Jan flew low over the water through a steep ravine. She could not resist the thrill of speeding along the corridor of jungle. In places the foliage rushed by barely metres from the rotor blades. ‘According to the map, it’s around the next bend.’
Jake caught sight of Zawan village. ‘There it is. The mission airstrip should be close.’
Quake damage was evident. Mud slides and recently sheared cliffs had caused open clefts in the landscape. The airstrip lay like a torn baize carpet between the river and a limestone ridge.
‘There’s the Lead Sled, Dave,’ said Jan. ‘Upside down near the centre.’
‘The strip looks okay. Fly low over the wreck.’
The earthquake had left shear lines across the airstrip, forming ragged knee-high ledges. As Jan hovered the chopper, it sounded like a furious tormented insect. She landed and shut down the little jet engine. They stepped out into a silent primitive world.
Jake was first to the wreck of the inverted Cessna. ‘Nose strut and wheel torn off. Two prop blades are bent back against the fuselage.’
Dave also began assessing the damage. ‘Like a pair of skids, at least they prevented heavier damage to the nose.’
Jake walked to the tail. ‘The fin and rudder are crushed too, Dave. Looks like a location write-off.’
Dave smiled with satisfaction. ‘Yeah and that’s exactly what I want.’
Jan’s thoughts were elsewhere as she examined the bloodstains on the vinyl of the open doors. The churned earth was also spotted. ‘Dave, I wonder where the men who chartered the plane are?’
Dave turned to his foreman. ‘You start dismantling the wreck, Jake. We’ll try to find out what happened to the crew.’
Across the river, a huge craggy ridge was split, forming a dramatic half dome. The sheared face was streaked with white limestone. There was no sign of the Japanese, only a crowd of curious native bystanders. Then some wary villagers appeared from the bush, two assisting a Japanese man. He had a round face and his left temple was swollen and badly bruised.
Dave was still angry, despite his relief at finding one of the men alive. ‘What the hell happened pal? You weren’t supposed to be within fifty kilometres of here.’
The distressed man, Seiji Sugano, spoke perfect English. ‘The engine ran rough. We had to make an emergency landing somewhere.’ His speech was textbook precise and carried a slight American accent. But it lacked the colour and inflection bestowed and mellowed by countless generations.
‘Bullshit! I serviced the thing myself last week. It was running like a dream.’
Sugano hesitated. ‘We thought someone here could fix it.’
‘Who the hell d’ya think could fix it here? Most of these stone-age bushies are straight out of the trees. First time they saw a wheel was on a plane and then they all crawled under the tail to see what sex it was!’
Sugano was reluctant to respond.
‘Where’s your mate? He must’ve been injured. There’s bloodstains in the wreck?’
‘His arm was badly cut, but we bandaged it,’ Sugano explained evasively. ‘He got tired of waiting and walked downriver to the coast.’
‘He’s a bloody idiot. It’ll take him a week,’ Dave sneered, then joined Jan back at the wreck.
She was checking the ruptured airstrip. ‘No one can land here, Dave, the strip’s too torn up. It’ll take the villagers months to level this with picks and shovels.’
Dave was eager to leave. ‘Yeah, I’ll tell CAA to airlift a small bulldozer in with a big chopper.’
Jan nodded in agreement and turned back to the strange Japanese man. ‘Grab your pack, Mr Sugano. We’ll drop you back in Lae.’
Seiji Sugano ignored her offer as he rubbed a swollen bruise just below his spiky black crewcut. ‘No, I don’t want to leave!’
There was anger in Dave’s reply. ‘There’s nothing here mate. We can’t let you stay.’
‘Then I will follow Harada to the coast,’ Sugano insisted.
‘Sorry, pal. CAA has requested us to bring any survivors out. How long has your mate been gone?’
‘Maybe a day and I must follow. My father went missing in the war and this is the trail he used to reach the coast. We are on an important mission to find his remains.’
‘No can do, Sport,’ said Dave with finality. ‘You’re coming with us.’
‘I refuse to go. This search is very important, Mr Stark. There could be a big reward for you. I wanted to discuss it with you earlier. Can we talk now, in private?’
Dave glanced at Jan and winked. She smiled and began pre-flighting the helicopter.
‘Mr Stark, it is vitally important that I search this area. I need to follow this trail to the coast at Saidor.’ He paused a moment, sighed and nursed the bump on his head. ‘Circumstances in the last few hours have changed dramatically.’ He trembled with emotion. ‘I don’t know what to do. Your assistance is imperative and it may be extremely rewarding for you.’
Dave was intrigued. ‘Go on.’
Seiji realised he had run out of options. Reluctantly he turned back to Dave. ‘The other man is Kendo Harada. His father was a medical orderly in my father’s wartime company. Harada’s father kept a diary and survived the war. That limestone bluff across the river was mentioned in his diary. When we identified it from the air, Harada tried to land your plane here. We crashed, did some first aid, then searched the area before deciding our next move. The valuable diary went missing in the crash. Possibly Harada found it.’
Dave was suspicious. ‘Searching, in your condition?’
‘Please don’t interrupt, Mr Stark. I will tell you all. This is definitely the site of a wartime military conflict between my father’s company and Australian soldiers. It is also the beginning of his withdrawal trek to the coast.’ Seiji reached into his jacket pocket. He lifted out a grubby canvas bag. ‘This is some of what we found,’ he curled the lip of the bag open to reveal a handful of the purest gold dust.
Dave stood silent a moment then signalled to Jan. ‘You and I have just found a common language, Mr Sugano. I want my friend to hear what you have to say.’
As Jan joined them, Seiji continued. ‘We dug up some bags of gold dust. Suddenly, Harada attacked me and tossed me, dazed, into the lagoon. He knew I couldn’t swim.’
‘He tried to murder you?’ asked Jan.
‘It seems that way. Perhaps he thought I drowned. When I made it ashore, Harada was gone. Except for this small bag that was in my pocket, he has taken any gold we found. He also has some important old maps and possibly the diary. These were vital for the trek to the coast. We were hoping to find clues to the location of both my father and the bulk of the gold shipment.’
‘Where did the gold come from?’ said Dave. He estimated Seiji’s age at over fifty but his physique and dark hair made him look mid-forties.
‘One of the last gold shipments from Bulolo. The Australian escort was attempting to avoid the Japanese invasion at Lae and Salamaua and cross the Finisterre ranges from Kaiapit, in the Markham valley. My father’s
company cut off their escape and the Australians buried the gold here before being captured. The Australian prisoners later revealed the position of the gold and most of it was dug up. They were forced to carry the gold to the coast at Saidor.’
Dave glanced at Seiji sceptically. ‘And all this came from the diary?’
‘Harada’s diary, yes. He was very possessive with it. I only managed to browse through it once, on the flight from Japan.’
‘How much gold dust are we talking about?’ Jan enquired, a topaz sparkle in her brown eyes.
‘The exact amount in the convoy is uncertain. Harada and I found mention of at least sixty bags, each like this, capable of holding two kilos of gold dust.’
In the brief lull, Jan whistled with comprehension. ‘Quite a tidy sum at over three hundred dollars an ounce.’
There was a moment of silence before Seiji continued. ‘Harada has tried unsuccessfully to find the gold before. He has a basic understanding of Pidgin and a good knowledge of flying in New Guinea. Harada was formerly an officer in the Japanese equivalent of the commandos and is very dangerous.’
This intrigued Jan. ‘Why dangerous?’
‘He’s skilled in terrorism, but disgraced in the military and dishonourably discharged. They accused him of being connected with the disappearance of another Japanese war veteran on his previous mission to New Guinea. It was never proven. No body was found.’
Dave squinted at him suspiciously. ‘Why are you telling us all this?’
‘When Harada double-crossed me, he took everything. I’m now destitute Mr Stark. I have no money or clues to guide me.’ Seiji’s tone was a plea. ‘I need your help to follow the trail to the coast. I can then guarantee financial backing for our quest.’
‘Trouble is, none of us are legally allowed to stay, except in special circumstances. This is still a disaster area. How did you intend justifying our presence to the Authorities?’
‘We could say Harada was dazed from the crash and wandered off,’ Seiji offered.
‘That still wouldn’t justify a lengthy search in a disaster area. Anyway, why do you want us involved?’
‘We actually wanted the services of your partner Mr Mitchell. We had heard rumours of his activities and flights. We thought he was manager of Avmar.’
‘Fang’s away on a job,’ Dave said simply.
‘Mr Stark. You have the aircraft and equipment. I believe you are wise enough to recognise the opportunity. We researched options very carefully. We know some gold was buried enroute. Indications are that most of the gold dust eventually reached an offshore island. Before I continue, Mr Stark, would you and Mr Mitchell assist the search for my father’s remains and the lost gold dust? I am willing to share fifty fifty.’
‘Not good enough.’ Dave had already been scheming. ‘This is a total exclusion zone. There’s only one good reason for us trekking to the Coast. That, I hate to say, is to salvage this heap of shit.’ Dave nodded toward the Cessna, his mind in conflict. ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of it for years. If I went along with this salvage of convenience, I’d require an expensive labour line, at least fifty carriers and slashers from local villages.’
‘I can cover all costs once we reach finance facilities.’
‘They’re gonna be hard to recruit after the big ‘quake. They’ve got family and villages to attend to and an airstrip to rebuild. My planes and helicopters are expensive to operate. I’ll want eighty percent of the take; if it exists.’
Seiji looked affronted. ‘Mr Stark, I was warned you were a hard man to deal with, but that is outrageous.’
‘I’m the one taking the gamble here. The CAA will say that if I did have a good reason to resurrect this old thing, I’d only have to wait. Within a month, the disaster relief charters will be over. My chopper would be available full time to shuttle the wreck out in pieces. By then the strip would probably have been graded anyway. A few repairs and I could fly it out.’
Jan turned away from the two men. A gentle breeze teased her glossy brown hair. She stared downstream, as if examining the invisible trail to the coast. ‘Tell me Mr Sugano, what’s more important; finding your father’s remains, or the gold shipment?’
Seiji did not hesitate. ‘Most definitely, my father’s resting place.’
‘It’s settled then,’ said Jan. ‘You’ll get what you want, plus a twenty percent share as a bonus.’
‘It’s late, Mr Sugano,’ said Dave, deliberately pressuring him. ‘We still have time to fly you to Lae in the helicopter before last light. Remember, you’re still in danger here, you’re the only one who can positively identify Harada.’
Seiji was frustrated by the rapidly changing events. ‘All right Mr Stark, I agree, but only if we begin right now.’ He handed Dave the bag of gold dust. ‘A down payment and sign of goodwill. But there is something else of utmost importance. An Australian soldier endured the wartime trek and the ordeal beyond the coast. His name is Ted Frazer.’
‘What about him?’
‘He survived the war and became a patrol officer for this region. He’s in his seventies and retired recently to his small coffee estate. It’s only a few kilometres down river from here. We must contact him urgently and warn him of Harada’s threat. It is essential we recruit his assistance. He is the only surviving witness. Our only link with the past.’
Dave felt restless. He contemplated Seiji’s story, gave the plane wreck a look of contempt and led Jan away. ‘This’s too good to miss. I’ll stay overnight and get the plane dismantled. I need to question this guy more about details of the Bulolo gold shipment. After what he said, it’d be worth checking on the military background and involvement of Ted Frazer when you get back. It may help.’
‘Right, I’ve got enough fuel in the chopper to reach Madang. I’ll leave it there temporarily for disaster relief work. We’ll need it close by later anyway. I’ll take an Air Niugini flight from there back to Port Moresby.’
‘Good idea. I’ll give you an equipment list. I’ll need ropes, bush knives, patrol boxes and the like, in case I decide to carry this wreck to the coast. According to the locals, it’s three days walk from here. Apparently there’s a well-graded road following the river to Saidor.’
As they walked back to the helicopter, Jan stopped and looked into Dave’s eyes. ‘You’ll give me a call?’
‘Yeah. When you get my go-ahead, advise CAA of our intentions. Request chopper support flights in here and supply airdrops as required later on down the trail. Have a note ready to send to Collins at the Lakatoi Apartments with our request and enclose photocopies of the faxes. Put my name on it. I’m sure we’ll have no problems,’ Dave smirked.
Jan glanced at Jake, who nearly had the wings off the old Cessna. ‘What about Jake?’
‘He can stay here with me. I better let him in on what’s going on.’
‘You’re going to need Fang as interpreter. He speaks Pidgin and Motu like you but I’m sure he knows a few of the local dialects too. His Invader will be handy for quick transport to this side of the island. I’ll give Port Moresby another call.’ Jan used the radio in the helicopter to call Avmar’s head office. She spoke briefly, then turned back to Dave, a grave expression on her face.
‘What’s up, Jan? Something wrong?’
‘Fang’s missing. He last reported having an engine failure and losing height. There’s been no radio contact since yesterday.’
5
Skilful flying allowed Fang to evade further attack from the predatory Indonesian jet. Armour plate protected him and the vitals of the Invader from serious damage. His adversary had given up easily. Either the Indonesian fighter pilot was reluctant to cross the International border or simply assumed he had downed the gun-running intruder. Fang forced-landed at a primitive mission airstrip and temporarily repaired a damaged manifold. Bad weather grounded him for two days before he attempted a risky take-off from the short muddy strip.
He again took up a heading for Port Moresby; nervously surveying the b
ullet-damaged left engine while climbing through a turbulent cloud base. So far his temporary repairs held firm. The suspect right hand engine developed a vibration, the oil smear worse than ever. He burst out of the cloud into brilliant sunshine and smiled as he saw the Star Mountains. To the North lay the hazy green jungle of the Sepik plains.
Fang overflew Telefomin and recognised the Strickland River Gorge. Some of the most inhospitable terrain on Earth lay ahead, a lost world inhabited only by a few remote tribes yet to meet their first white men. This formidable limestone barrier had defied penetration by explorers until the mid twenties. They had called the treacherous terrain; ‘the broken bottle country’ and he realised a crash landing here would be fatal.
Fang glanced at the vibrating right engine then cautiously checked his instruments. Dark oil streaked back across the wing. He checked below for level ground. Nothing but razorback limestone ranges, torn by enormous chasms and flanked by vertical precipices. Any reasonably level forests were cratered with huge sinkholes.
He knew that underground rivers perforated the limestone ranges. With ten metres of rainfall annually, the soluble limestone crust was sculpted and eroded by these churning rivers, forming a weird and spectacular landscape. Some caverns off to port had collapsed, carrying vast tracts of jungle two hundred metres below the surface. These sunken forested microcosms looked remote and alien, surrounded by nearly unscaleable walls topped with rocky pinnacles like galleries of shark’s teeth.
He steered his thoughts back to Bianca. Despite their torrid lovemaking, things were not going well. His mysterious flights angered her and she assumed he was running drugs but Fang did have standards; he would never run drugs. His brother had fallen victim to the evil white powder and was now a snorting vegetable living only for his next hit. Fang sympathised with the West Papuan cause and could justify his gun-running. But this had to be his last trip. He would explain it all to Bianca as soon as he arrived back in Port Moresby. If he ever made it.
The right engine still leaked a smear of oil across the wing, running hotter and rougher. Fang smiled knowingly. Engines always seemed to go into ‘auto-rough’ over this sort of country or long stretches of water. His smug grin evaporated as the right engine suddenly began shaking badly. The oil pressure warning flashed. Fang swore, shut down the engine, then concentrated on negotiating the gap in the Owen Stanley ranges. Port Moresby lay tantalisingly visible in the distance, backed by the incredibly blue waters of the Coral Sea.