By then Willy had run a hundred metres but already he was tiring and puffing hard. He kept his head turned to watch the plane, noting that it was safely down and slowing quickly in the smaller waves outside the surf zone. A few hundred metres further out from it was the Wewak. The LCT had now reversed into deeper water and swung her bows to face north and was proceeding on her way. Tiny figures lining her rail and bridge showed that those on board were watching.
‘I wish Graham was here,’ Willy thought. ‘He is a lot fitter than me.’
That fitness was now of crucial importance became quickly apparent as the ‘Catalina’ slowed and turned, then began taxiing back along its landing run. ‘On no!’ Willy groaned. He was now gasping for breath and labouring and had only run about 200 metres. Already a painful stitch was beginning to grab in his right side.
He had no choice but to slow to a panting walk. As he did he watched the Pterodactyl surge back past him, rolling and pitching as it crossed the waves diagonally. ‘Surely they aren’t going to try to drive it in through the surf?’ Willy thought anxiously. He knew that if that was possible and it could be run up onto the beach then the people in it could just jump out and run into the dunes to the wreck long before he and the others could reach it.
It was only then that he realized that the others were not running with him. He looked back and saw why. They had been busy hastily untying the load from the 4 Wheelers and now both of the tiny vehicles were roaring along the hard sand near the water, Mr Beck and Willy’s father on one and Norman on the other.
Willy came to a stop and gulped in great lung fulls of air to get his breath back. ‘We might have a chance,’ he thought, ‘but only if..’ Even as he thought this his hopes shot up as he saw the ‘Catalina’ spin round in a flurry of spray and come to a standstill about 200m off the beach. The flying boat was already about 500m further along but Willy was suddenly hopeful. ‘That must mean they are not game to drive her in through the surf,’ he thought. ‘They will have to launch a rubber boat and paddle ashore. We do have a chance!’
Mr Beck’s 4 Wheeler went racing past and Willy waved them on. Norman’s pulled up and Willy quickly scrambled aboard. Even before he was settled on the small cargo tray Norman had it moving again. “Go! Go!” Willy shouted excitedly.
They went racing on along the beach. Norman kept right down near the water’s edge where the sand was firmer although several times they hit soft patches which threatened to bog them. Each time Willy’s heart went into his mouth. ‘Oh no! Don’t bog!’ he thought. It would be just too cruel to be that close to success and to be beaten again.
Heart in mouth with trepidation he saw the ‘Catalina’ anchor. A minute later, when the 4 Wheelers were another 300m further along the beach, he saw a dark shape appear from the port side where he knew the door was. It was a rubber dinghy and it had three men in it. From that distance he could not identify them but one was all dressed in long whites and had a white hat. ‘That might be Mr Jemmerling,’ he thought.
“How much further?” Willy shouted in Norman’s ear.
“Just past this patch of trees,” Norman replied.
Willy looked and saw that a straggly clump of spindly looking mangroves extended from the swamp behind the dunes to a wide stretch of dark mud. The mud extended down to the edge of the sea, ending abruptly in a short, vertical drop. The thought that the mud might be their undoing had him praying and tense but then he saw Mr Beck’s 4 Wheeler slowly grind across it, wobbling and sinking but not deep enough to bog.
Norman made his own track across the bumpy mass. It was slow going and Willy fretted, aware that the rubber boat now had an outboard engine going and was motoring quickly in towards the beach. He looked down anxiously as the 4 Wheeler suddenly tilted but then it righted itself and churned on across the uneven, spongy surface. Willy now saw that the mud was actually laced with tree roots and was mostly firm.
Then they were across and the engine was whining at high speed, the noise music to Willy’s ears. Twice the 4 Wheeler struck soft patches and nearly tipped over, slewing alarmingly. Willy clung on and whooped. By the time they had covered another hundred metres the rubber boat was in the surf and only a hundred metres from the shore.
Willy saw Mr Beck jump off his 4 Wheeler and run up the beach, pointing to the dunes. Willy’s father followed him. Norman tried to drive the 4 Wheeler up across the soft sand but it came to a wheel-spinning standstill as soon as they hit soft, dry sand. Willy didn’t wait. He sprang off and dashed up the sand dune ahead of him. A glance over his shoulder showed the rubber boat among the surf and almost at the beach.
“Where is it? Where?” he cried as he reached the crest of the dune. Mr Beck and his father were there, looking around them.
Mr Beck gave a shrug, his face a mask of determination and even desperation. “I’m not sure. Somewhere round here. The pilot tried to land on the salt pan on the landward side of the dunes. The plane is among the dunes nearest the marsh.”
Willy looked and saw that this stretch of coast was quite unlike the previous search area. Here there was a jumble of quite small dunes, three to five metres high at most. The dunes were covered with a thin clothing of tufts of grass and some sort of creeper. Beyond the dune line tree tops were visible a hundred or so metres inland. The dunes were scattered with dips and hollows among them and were not in long, straight lines. Between the dunes and the trees was a small salt marsh, much of which was covered by clumps of grass. The remainder was white with a dry crust of salt.
Another glance showed the rubber boat sliding onto the beach. Willy’s hopes that it might get capsized in the surf had not been realized. Out of it scrambled three men: Mr Jemmerling, Mr Hobbs and Harvey. That sight sent Willy and the others racing down the far side of the dune and dashing across the next hollow. They scrambled and clawed their way up the second dune.
“Spread out! Willy, you go to the left,” his father shouted.
Willy did so, clawing his way up the steep face of the dune, ignoring the dry sand that stuck to his sweaty skin. On top he paused to look. He was gasping for breath but more from anxiety than running. He looked around, shielding his eyes from the glare. “Where is it?” he muttered. He was hoping to see some really obvious sign, such as a tail fin sticking up but then he remembered Mr Beck describing how he and Norman had covered the wreck with tarpaulins to protect it.
Now he began looking for a sharp hummock. There were several but they had clumps of spiky bush growing on them. He ran across to one, his feet sinking in the soft sand and his breath labouring. By the time he had clawed his sweaty, gasping way up one sharp little mound he was sure that there was nothing under it.
From there he looked around. Fifty metres to his right he saw his father and the Becks scrambling almost frantically around among the landward edge of the dunes. And there was Harvey! He ran down the far side of a dune and joined the search, right between Mr Beck and Norman. Willy felt so frustrated that he wanted to scream and he clenched his fists and turned to scan the edge of the salt marsh.
Rasping breathing behind him made him look around and Willy saw Mr Hobbs sliding down the side of the dune on the seaward side of the small hollow Willy had just crossed. The nearness of the opposition sent his heart rate racing and he began to dance with frustration as he turned and looked again. Hobbs began scrambling up the loose face of the dune Willy was on. Behind him Mr Jemmerling’s head appeared as he climbed the seaward side of the first dune.
With Hobbs only twenty metres away Willy looked frantically around. ‘They must have seen something from the air,’ he reasoned. ‘Something must be exposed.’
And there it was! A flat surface with a curved edge that could only be a wingtip. It was sticking out of the edge of the next dune about fifty paces away, right on the edge of the salt marsh. As Hobbs scrambled up the dune Willy slithered and dashed down the other side. He resisted the temptation to call out, lest he be wrong.
His haste was almost his undoing. His foo
t caught in one of the creepers and he went sprawling. Sand coated his hands and face and he tasted salt and grit. But a glance over his shoulder showed Hobbs staring past him. Ignoring the sharp prickles and sand Willy scrambled to his feet and resumed running. Now he was sure. It was a wingtip. Leaping over and through clumps of spiky grass he ran for all he was worth.
As Willy reached the edge of the saltmarsh Hobbs let out a shout. “Over here!” he yelled. Then he was running down the side of the dune in a race to catch Willy. Willy cast a frantic glance back at him- and almost tripped again. Then he ran out onto the dry salt- and realized instantly that he was making another error as his boots at once broke through into soft, slimy mud.
“No! No!” Willy gasped, changing direction and dragging himself back onto the sand. The wing was only twenty paces away. A glance behind showed Hobbs only ten metres away.
“I must win!” Willy snarled to himself as he scrambled and slithered along the steep side of the dune. Hobbs saw him doing this, apparently losing speed so he ran out onto the salt marsh instead. Instantly he sank to his knees and he came to a swearing, floundering standstill.
By the time Hobbs had dragged himself back to the sand Willy had reached the wing. He nearly jumped on it, stopping just in time. After bending down to touch it, both to check it actually was metal, and to claim the prize, he faced back and shouted, “Here it is! I’ve got it!” To his dismay it came out as a gasping croak.
By then perspiration was trickling into Willy’s eyes and he had to blink and wipe his face to see clearly. Through eyes that seemed misted and blurry he saw Hobbs come to a stop only metres from him. Fearing that Hobbs might knock him over or push him aside Willy tried to shout again but he was so winded that it still came out as a rasping croak. “Mr Beck! Dad! Here it is! I’ve found it.”
But instead of his father or Mr Beck it was Mr Jemmerling who next appeared. ‘Oh no!’ Willy thought, afraid that he might be robbed of his find even at this moment. Mr Jemmerling slithered down the back of the sand dune and stopped near the exposed wingtip. Then he moved to try to touch it. That sparked Willy’s anxieties to a new pitch. Stepping across to block Mr Jemmerling’s path he yelled, “Don’t touch it! We found it! It is ours.”
To Willy’s surprise Mr Jemmerling stepped back but then smiled. He said, “Well done young William. That was a good race but you won it fair and square.”
Willy could not believe what he was hearing. All he could do was stand, chest heaving, blinking away the sweat. To his enormous relief Norman appeared, followed quickly by his father and then by a red-faced Mr Beck. As they did Willy called to them, “I found it Dad. I was here first.”
Mr Beck moved past Willy and bent to feel the exposed metal. “This is the wing alright,” he said. Then he straightened up and faced Mr Jemmerling, just as Harvey came running across to join them. “This one is ours Mr Jemmerling. We found it first.”
Mr Jemmerling again smiled. He raised both hands in a placatory way and said, “Of course. I am obviously disappointed but you won this one fair and square. But you still have to recover it. Maybe we can come to some accommodation?”
“What do you mean?” Mr Beck asked warily.
“What if I make you an offer to buy it; as is-where is?” Mr Jemmerling queried.
That bothered Willy. Having found the wreck he did not want Mr Beck to make any arrangements with Mr Jemmerling. He cried, “Don’t sell please Mr Beck. This one is yours.”
Mr Beck nodded. “Don’t fret young Willy. I want to do this restoration.” He then faced Mr Jemmerling and said, “Sorry Mr Jemmerling. Maybe after we have restored it we can talk again.”
Mr Jemmerling looked a bit annoyed but then shrugged. “That is a pity. I would have payed well. Never mind. There are still a couple of ‘Airacobras’ to locate along this coast. We will go and look for them. And you still have to get the wreck back to civilization. Do you mind if we help dig the wreck out? I would very much like to see what condition it is in.”
Willy could see that the question put Mr Beck in a difficult position. He wanted to say no but Mr Beck finally nodded. “Alright, but on the clear understanding that everything found is left with us.”
Mr Jemmerling went stiff and stood up straight. “Of course! I am not a thief! I resent the implication.”
“Sorry Mr Jemmerling, but there were suspicions based on the fact that my house was burgled and that the same man was later seen in Cooktown spying on us on the same day you were there,” Mr Beck replied.
“I know nothing of that,” Mr Jemmerling said gruffly.
“So who were those men?” Willy asked. “Who are they working for?”
“I have no idea,” Mr Jemmerling replied. “Now, if you want our help then stop making accusations.”
“I can’t afford to pay you for the work,” Mr Beck answered.
Mr Jemmerling made a dismissive gesture. “This is my hobby. It does make me money, nearly enough to cover costs, but I do it for fun. And Mr Hobbs and the plane crew get paid a yearly salary so they will do what I say,” he said.
Hearing that, and the confident and arrogant tone in which it was said, made Willy shiver. He was certain that if Mr Hobbs or the plane crew objected they would quickly be looking for other employment!
At that moment Capt Kirk, Graham, Andrew and Carmen came striding over the dunes. “We wanted to know what happened,” Capt Kirk explained.
The story was told and Willy was glad of that. ‘The more people who are witnesses to us finding the plane first the better,’ he thought. Even now he was anxious that some legal claim might rob them of the prize.
Capt Kirk listened and then said, “And how long do you think it will take to excavate the wreck and then move it to the beach?” he asked.
“At least three or four days,” Mr Beck replied.
Capt Kirk nodded. “Good. Then we can stick to our original plan. We will go to Portland Roads and Thursday Island and unload our cargo, then pick you up on the way back in five days time, on the third of January.”
So it was agreed. Both Graham and Andrew wanted to stay but their request was denied as they were needed to crew the Wewak. “The law lays down minimum crew numbers for the safe operation of a vessel,” Capt Kirk explained. Both Graham and Andrew looked disappointed but shrugged and did not argue.
The whole group made its way back to the beach. Willy was merely a spectator while Capt Kirk and his friends returned to the Wewak. The LCT then got under way and headed off north. Watching her dwindle into the distance renewed Willy’s acute feeling of isolation. Mr Jemmerling sent Harvey and Mr Hobbs out to the Pterodactyl to collect clothes, tools, food and camping gear. An hour later Mr Hobbs was ashore with these things and Harvey on his way back to the ‘Catalina’.
“I can’t risk the flying boat riding at anchor out there on a lee shore,” Mr Jemmerling explained. “Pterodactyl will have to wait at Lockhart River.”
Half an hour later the ‘Catalina’ took off, a rough, pounding take-off that got Willy worried lest the plane dive into a wave crest and crash. Once airborne the aircraft turned north and flew away. Watching the tiny black shape rapidly shrinking in size reinforced the intense feelings of isolation.
“Now,” Mr Jemmerling said, “Let’s set up camp and then get to work recovering the ‘Beaufighter’.”
CHAPTER 30
SWEAT
For the next four days Willy sweated. The weather was so hot and still that it seemed that the sun was sucking the moisture out of everything. High humidity made it even more uncomfortable as that meant his sweat did not evaporate but stayed on the skin as an irritating and unpleasantly sticky fluid.
To make things worse there was no shade at all at the crash site so the hard physical labour of uncovering and removing the wreck had to be done during the cooler hours: the early morning and late afternoon. In the middle of the day all the group did was sit or lie in the limited shade of their tents and tarpaulins strung between the spindly mangroves.
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br /> Even this was only of limited relief because of the reflected glare from the sand and sea and because there was almost no wind. The weather stayed hot and dry. For most of each day there was hardly a cloud in the sky. The sea settled to a flat calm that swashed gently onto the beach but lay almost still at night. Everyone wished for rain and all weather reports on the radio were eagerly listened to. On the second day there was a glimmer of hope when the weather report informed them that a small low pressure cell had formed in the Gulf of Carpentaria.
“That’s what we want,” Mr Beck said. “Nothing like a good Low in the Gulf to bring the rain onto the east coast.”
But that hope faded on Day 3 when the ‘low’ moved south onto land near Burketown. Rain was reported south of Cairns, around Innisfail and Tully, but not a drop fell north of Cooktown.
The camp was set up among the dunes at the edge of the small clump of spindly mangroves. The site was unpleasant and also unsafe. Concern over the danger from crocodiles meant they mounted a guard all night, every night. This was always two people on duty, for two hours and with one changing every hour. As there were only seven people that meant two stints of guard duty each night.
That there were crocodiles was certain. During the stillness of the night they could be heard grunting and coughing in the mangroves beyond the salt marsh. “Barking flat dogs!” Norman called them, but the joke had an edge to it. His rifle was kept handy at all times.
Because it got light about 04:30 the camp was woken at 04:00. After a quick cup of brew and a snack they set to work as soon as it was light. By 10:30 it was so hot that work became not just very uncomfortable but a threat to health from heat illness. Work was resumed at 4:30 pm. As the sun did not set till 7:15 pm and then the light lingered until nearly 7:45 that meant about 10 hours of work time.
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