Fire Cult

by R. B. Shaw

  Jan pulled off power and spiralled down into a steep walled valley. They could see the Skymaster circling down overhead. The pilot was very skilled and determined not to let his quarry get away. Jan powered straight ahead up a blind canyon between steep walls of naked stone. A sheer rock face filled their entire forward vision. Suddenly she flared, hovered briefly, then pulled on collective pitch. The agile chopper climbed vertically at over 2,000 feet per minute. She levelled off abruptly at 13,000 feet causing a sudden negative G sensation that dislodged a cascade of loose items in the tiny cabin.

  ‘Great stuff!’ Dave shouted his encouragement.

  As the chopper stabilised, Jan deliberately tilted to port and accelerated. In less than five seconds they crossed the ridge top sideways at close to a hundred kilometres an hour.

  ‘That’s it! He’s overshot! He’d have to be a fool to try and out-manoeuvre that little stunt!’ Dave advised then picked up the microphone. ‘Fang, we’ve got company. Someone’s been following us in a Skymaster. We shook him off. Could be Harada.’

  ‘Right, I’ll watch for it,’ Fang swung the Invader around in a tight turn. As he levelled out heading in the opposite direction, he saw the other aircraft. The odd-shaped Skymaster took evasive action and headed for the coast.

  Fang continued his turn to give chase. The Invader could fly twice as fast as the little Skymaster. Suddenly the Invader’s port engine lost power. Fang corrected on the controls and swore loudly. His temporary manifold repair must have weakened. The elusive aircraft sped north and deliberately flew into the low cloud base, escaping from sight.

  He did not see the mysterious Skymaster again that day.

  26

  On returning to the Madang Hotel, Dave telephoned a friend at the airport and tried to identify the strange aircraft. He hung up disappointed.

  ‘What did you find out?’ Jan stifled her anger. ‘Are there many Skymasters in PNG?’

  ‘Plenty. They’re popular for long-range patrols spotting shoals of fish. Got the dual advantage of twin engine safety and high wing unlimited visibility. I’ve arranged to get a list of the registered owners.’

  ‘At least it wasn’t a wasted day,’ said Jan. ‘Even though we didn’t find the Ventura, we’ve eliminated a lot of wrecks from our search area. Pity the sites on the rough map aren’t more accurate.’

  ‘Most of these sightings are over thirty years old and unreliable.’ Dave studied the map. ‘In reality it could be anywhere in an area ten kilometres square.’

  Fang butted in, eager for results. ‘These last high altitude wreck-sites in the Finisterres are all close together. Save a lotta time if we camped overnight in the region.’

  Dave considered Fang’s suggestion. ‘Yeah. Jan could shuttle us between the wreck-sites in the Egg.’

  ‘I reckon we’d need two, maybe three days in all,’ Fang guessed. ‘We could check their details later against records held in Port Moresby.’

  Next day, Jan piloted the helicopter. She sat in the left seat, hemmed in by the bulk of Fang and Dave. The novelty of the expansive frontal views never wore off. Helicopters gave new meaning to the term ‘window seat’. Camping gear filled the rear cabin, along with a special low profile tent in case of high altitude winds.

  ‘Any map details on these wrecks?’ Fang enquired.

  Dave navigated. ‘Yeah, the first’s at 10,000 feet on the north side. It’s marked as possibly an RAAF DC-3. The second one is a badly damaged transport at 11,800 feet, suspected to be a Curtis C-46 Commando. There’s a note on the map stating that all crew were safely rescued in 1944.’

  They identified the DC-3 from the air and Jan flew on to the next site. As the helicopter hovered with difficulty in the thin high-altitude air, Dave scanned the wreckage. ‘Don’t bother landing. It’s definitely a Commando. We’ve only got one wreck left. It’s also the furthest away. It’s marked, “unidentified, partly burnt, above 11,000 feet”. Has the weather improved over that way?’

  Jan glanced to the South. ‘Yes. We’ll give it a try. It should be above the vegetation line in the tundra and alpine grasses.’

  They soon identified a long trail of wreckage, then the bulk of the plane scattered at the base of a rocky escarpment. It appeared to have impacted with cruise power on. Due to the gradual gradient, it had disintegrated leaving wreckage for over 500 metres. Its twin fins and close proximity to the map position made it a likely suspect. The only clear level ground lay at the edge of a precipice. Jan hovered briefly above the wreck. Lacking a suitable landing spot in the immediate area, she balanced one skid precariously on an embankment alongside. Dave and Fang quickly jumped out and unloaded their gear. At Dave’s request, Jan would return two hours later.

  Dave felt confident. Everything identified it as a Ventura bomber. ‘Looks like he’s hit in level flight. Probably crashed in cloud.’

  ‘Yeah, tragic.’ Fang scanned the ridge top just up the slope. ‘Just missed clearin’ the top of the ranges by less than 200 metres.’ The ruptured fuel tanks had burnt a third of the bomber’s fuselage away. One torn-off wing rested a hundred paces down slope.

  As they approached the main wreckage, they saw that the litter trail began with scraps of Alclad skin and opaque shards of perspex. Fang entered the torn cabin section; brittle looms of wiring hung in disarray. The coatings crumbled at a touch to expose blackened copper cores. The cockpit revealed a mutilation of torn metal, tangled with fragments of rotted leather. Except for the low moan of the mountain wind it was deadly quiet, like a mausoleum. Even after fifty years, the chrome on a torn off shock strut shone like a mirror, mocking nature’s eternal attempts to reduce it to base minerals and dust.

  Fang forced open a fuselage door and hesitated. ‘Dave, take a look at this.’

  A faint message showed, scratched into the fuselage skin.

  ‘SITE VISITED 8-15-48. THREE BODIES REMOVED. REMAINS OF TWO MORE BODIES IRRETRIEVABLY TANGLED IN WRECKAGE. LT. JAMES LANGLEY, US. WAR GRAVES COMMISSION.’

  The old etching excited them. It tallied with Jan’s research. After a cursory look through the remains of the fuselage, they moved down the slope to check the torn-off wing. It lay in one piece over a small depression.

  Dave crouched and shone his torch into the trench. ‘There’s two burnt corpses huddled under here. I wonder why the commission team didn’t check down the slope?’

  ‘There was somethin’ in the report about extremely bad weather.’ Fang recognised faded scraps of khaki American uniforms with dilapidated air force badges and stripes. ‘Looks like they survived the crash and died from exposure, starvation or burns.’

  ‘This ones got no dog-tags but there’s something in his hip pocket,’ said Dave, as he carefully slid a burnt wallet out of the charred and rotted cloth of the old uniform. Suddenly, a stiffened skeletal hand dropped on to his arm, as if the corpse was trying to prevent an apparent theft. Dave pulled back, startled then checked the wallet. ‘It’s heavy, and stuck together with age and mould.’

  Fang rummaged through the pockets of the dead. ‘We can take the dog tags and keys back with us. Nothin’ else of interest on em’.’ He then covered the near-skeletons as best as conditions would allow under the wing. ‘We better move on, Dave. It’s gettin’ close to the rendezvous with Jan.’

  Dave felt frustrated ‘Too bad we wasted so much time on the other wrecks. This is definitely the Ventura.’

  ‘We need more time here,’ Fang agreed. ‘We still ain’t got a clue where the barge is. If we run outa time today, we better come back and see what else we can find. We’re runnin’ outa options.’

  Jan made a tricky approach and attempted to hover the helicopter over the scattered wreckage. For expediency, she gingerly placed one skid on the higher edge of the slope, trying to create a stable platform for Fang and Dave to scramble back on board. The Hughes helicopter could land on twenty-degree slopes but the alpine grass caused a cushioning action that resulted in a loss of essential ground effect. At such critical altitude
s, extra power usually offset this phenomenon.

  Fang stood back waiting for Dave to jump aboard when his attention was taken by a movement on the horizon. The vague shape may have been a Tarangau eagle. Pilots often sighted the huge birds as high as 16,000 feet in the mountains. The distant object moved rapidly toward them, too fast and too sleek to be a bird. It hugged the contour of the mountain slope like a jet fighter with terrain-following radar. After skipping over a nearer ridge, it became obvious what it was—a low-flying plane approaching at very high speed.

  Dave managed to clamber aboard the helicopter and turned in time to see Fang hesitating. He looked east with a puzzled expression on his face. Dave shouted angrily for him to hurry. Jan jockeyed the controls with difficulty, trying to maintain the delicate balance of forces that kept the helicopter stable but teetering on one skid.

  Fang anxiously shouted something back and pointed along the mountain. Jan and Dave glanced forward and saw the rapidly approaching plane. It flew straight at them, perilously low. A collision looked inevitable, but the Skymaster pilot lifted the nose just enough to allow the speeding plane to clear the helicopter’s rotors.

  The downwash blast of air threw the helicopter into uncontrolled gyration. Jan fought with the controls. Fang instinctively ducked as the chopper danced crazily in the disturbed air. The rotors hacked overhead, dangerously close. He quickly assessed the situation and dived down the grassy slope, then rolled well clear. With one skid still bouncing on the slope, the insidious phenomenon of dynamic rollover, peculiar to helicopters, began to occur. Jan responded quickly. She hauled on the collective pitch and increased power. The Angry Egg tilted awkwardly sideways away from the embankment and stabilised directly over the tail wreckage of the Ventura.

  ‘Jan! Watch out for the wreck!’ Dave’s warning came too late as the rotor blades clipped the top of the fin on the old bomber.

  With a sudden metallic chatter, the whole machine shuddered like a mortally-wounded beast in some hideous death spasm.

  ‘Down the slope!’ Dave shouted. ‘Head for the level ground beyond the wreck!’

  Jan turned the crippled helicopter downhill. She cleared the wreck and followed the fragments of the old bomber down the gradual slope. She had to decide. Only seconds remained before the machine shook itself to pieces. There was no choice but to land downhill and risk striking the tail rotor on the sloping ground. The skids dragged through the tundra grass as she tried to hold the furiously vibrating controls.

  The dangerous level area at the edge of the precipice lay within reach. Jan carefully allowed the damaged machine to settle, hoping it would not slide off the edge of the sheer escarpment. She shut down the little jet engine and they stepped out into the quiet alpine air to inspect the damaged rotor blades.

  Fang jogged down the wreckage trail and arrived panting heavily in the rarefied air. ‘You okay? I thought that idiot was about to hit ya. Looked like he was deliberately waitin’ to buzz the Egg right on lift off.’

  Jan still trembled from her efforts. ‘We’re all right. We had a rotor strike on the tail of the wreck. It was vibrating so bad I had to put it down.’

  Dave inspected the blades. ‘What sort of plane was it?’

  ‘A Skymaster again. Probably the same one,’ Fang replied, then hesitated. ‘Oh oh, look at this.’

  Three of the blades looked scratched and abraded. The fourth had suffered a deep gash through the leading edge and into the metal core. A glance along the blade also revealed wrinkling and a slight upward bend from the gash to the tip. Dave knew it indicated that aerodynamic forces had severely overloaded the blade.

  ‘This egg is fried, Dave. It ain’t goin’ nowhere!’

  Dave inspected the bent and damaged blade, looking for answers. For him it was particularly frustrating. He had an unstated policy: there are no problems, only solutions. This seemed to be an insurmountable problem.

  They gazed around the hostile terrain, realising they were stranded high in the mountain wilderness.

  27

  Jan had acquired Dave’s enterprising attitude. ‘Dave, why can’t we radio for another blade to be dropped in, change it and fly out?’

  ‘No problem, except I want to keep the wreck site low key. I don’t want some big media thing about rescuing a downed chopper crew near a wartime bomber wreck. It could give the whole game away.’

  ‘That Skymaster pilot obviously knows about it,’ said Jan.

  Fang brushed off grass and rubbed some minor scratches. ‘I bet it was that arsehole Harada. He still doesn’t know which one’s the right wreck. We’ve been to a few. Let’s just call Madang tower and ask them to advise Jake. He can arrange for a spare blade to be ferried up.’

  Their radio call from Madang brought bad news. ‘We were unable to contact any of your company staff or chase up the part you require. Advise us if you require further assistance or rescue.’

  Fang swore angrily. ‘Shit, Jake’s still out searchin’ the islands for barges. They’re out of radio range and all our spares are on board the Lahara. Him an Seiji could be gone for a bloody week!’

  Dave advised Madang that they would attempt temporary repairs, then silently walked around the crippled helicopter. He crouched and looked down the slope beyond. On an impulse, he paced out the distance to the edge of the escarpment and peered over the edge. A dangerous wind shear howled over the lip of the precipice. Dave realised the strong updraught might be advantageous. As he returned to the helicopter, he studied the tundra surface and tossed aside random pieces of wreckage from the crashed bomber.

  ‘What the hell are you up to, Dave? Gonna bobsled back to Madang?’

  ‘Remember Eddie’s story about Bien Loc?’

  ‘What! That crazy Yank that used to fly for us?’

  ‘Crazy like a fox. Clever trick that. Might be worth a try,’ Dave gave Fang a questioning look.

  Jan listened, intrigued. ‘What trick?’

  ‘A Vietnam vet American pilot we knew had a rotor strike at Bien Loc,’ Fang explained. ‘He was flying a Loach, the military version of the Hughes chopper. All the rotor blades have quick release pins, so he simply removed the damaged blade and it’s opposite to maintain balance, then flew it back on two blades. He said it took a lot of power but he made it.’

  As Fang finished talking, Dave mounted the helicopter and began dismantling the blade retention pins.

  ‘Hang on pal, we’re over 10,000 feet up here. That ain’t gonna work as easy as it did at 1,500 feet in the jungle near Cambodia.’

  ‘I know. His Loach would have been armour-plated and carrying fixed weaponry, and Eddie weighed nearly a hundred kilos. Just your size,’ said Dave with a wink.

  Fang hesitated, astonished. ‘Me! I’m the heaviest one here.’

  ‘Even at this altitude, we’ve got a weight advantage over the heavy military machine,’ Dave pressed. ‘Plus the Angry Egg’s got a later, more powerful engine. We can dump a lot of unnecessary weight.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, you’re the one who doesn’t mind risking his neck in suspect flying machines.’

  ‘For a price pal, for a price.’

  ‘No prizes Fang. If you don’t wanna do it, I’ll have a go.’

  ‘No Dave, you fly a chopper like a cement mixer. Even Jan would handle it better than you. I’ll give it a shot, but I ain’t takin’ no chances.’

  Jan felt offended. ‘No! I was flying and did the damage. I should do it.’

  Dave quickly disagreed. ‘No way Jan. It wasn’t your fault and it’s too risky. I don’t want you to do it.’

  Jan argued further but Dave obstinately ignored her pleas. She muttered something under her breath and walked off.

  They began clearing a path from the helicopter down the gradual slope toward the escarpment, pulling out any grass tussocks as they went. Though the fronts of the landing skids were curled up to prevent fouling foreign objects, the grass might still retard the sliding take-off. They tossed aside rocks and bomber fragments, then stamped small bog
s firm with earth and grass.

  Fang and Dave emptied the cabin. They then removed the doors, seats, upholstery and any unnecessary radios and instruments.

  Fang began draining fuel. ‘I’ll leave enough fuel to reach Madang.’

  Using the tailboom as a lever, Dave swung the light helicopter around in the right direction, ‘We’re lucky. We got a favourable headwind.’

  Fang clambered into the Hughes without hesitation and the tiny jet engine started with a whine.

  Dave could see he was not happy and simply wanted to get it over with. Dave and Jan stepped clear of the proposed take-off run and the abrasive blast of dust.

  Fang powered up, bringing the rotor head speed to maximum. He pulled on the pitch control, waiting for as much lift as two blades would allow. He tilted the cyclic control and the helicopter began to slide downhill. It bounced awkwardly on the undulating surface but moved forward swiftly. Two lengths from the edge and neither skid had left the surface. Fang had to make a decision. Suddenly, he pulled off power and the little helicopter jerked and slid to a stop.

  Fang shut down the engine and stepped out, disgruntled. ‘That’s it, were stuck here now.’

  Dave tried to hide his disappointment as he walked around the chopper. ‘I’m lighter than you, I shoulda tried it.’

  ‘You pig-headed bastards!’ Jan could not suppress her anger any longer and interrupted the exchange. ‘I should be the one to fly it back. I’m the lightest and most experienced. It makes sense and would give you both more time to search the wreck.’

  Dave hesitated. ‘It’s tricky Jan, almost like a launching. I’ll have a go.’ He knew she was the obvious choice but feared for her safety.

  Fang quickly agreed with Jan. ‘Dave, she’s right. Jan flies choppers all the time and better than either of us. She handles the Egg like it’s an extension of her body.’

  Dave’s frustration after the unsuccessful take-off attempt surfaced. ‘If you think I’m gonna let her try, pal, then you’re playing with an extension of your body!’