The Fifth Season (57 page)

‘Help them!'
Hani screamed, but in that instant they were gone. Both men were doomed by the weight of their gold belts, sucked down into their watery graves before either could release the weighty metal tied around their waists. At that moment, her attention distracted, Mary Jo fell forward, crying out in pain when her shoulder struck the engine controls.

‘No!'
Hani choked, realizing that Budi was gone. Mary Jo positioned herself on the loose boards set directly above the diesel below, then lowered herself into position, bracing herself with both feet against the timbers. Gritting her teeth in pain when the boat rocked savagely under the weight of another crushing wave, she tugged at the smaller woman, forcing her close to her side.

‘Stay here!'
she ordered, shaking Hani with one hand.

‘Mary Jo, let me go!'
Hani shrieked, her head banging savagely against Mary Jo's as the boat jerked, then dipped, before being tossed aimlessly into a deep trough.

‘
They're gone, Hani! They're gone! There's nothing you can do!'

‘Let me go!'
Hani cried again, struggling to free herself of Mary Jo's firm grip.

‘Stop it!'
Mary Jo shouted, her command lost when another dreadful blow sent a shudder through the badly damaged ship. Hani made another attempt to break free but Mary Jo's open hand flashed, striking the terrified girl sharply. Stunned, her mouth fell open, her eyes wide, then she burst uncontrollably into tears while clinging fiercely to Mary Jo.

‘We're going to die!'
she whimpered, her choking sobs buried against the other woman's chest.

‘We're not going to die!'
Mary Jo admonished, squeezing Hani closer.

Below, she could hear the terrifying noises of timber beams groaning. Like others in this fleet, these ships had been designed for coastal waters and more moderate seas.
‘It's okay, Hani, I've got you now,'
she said reassuringly, still holding her firmly.

‘I'm cold,'
Hani complained, and Mary Jo knew this was not just the shock. She too had begun to shiver. Wet, tired, and the temperature below what they had become accustomed to, Mary Jo knew they might not have much longer. Her shoulder ached and when she attempted to lift her right arm, bolts of excruciating pain flashed through her body.

‘Shh!'
Mary Jo whispered hoarsely, while stroking Hani's head. Then she whispered again, her attempts to console the Indonesian girl failing as Hani quietly slipped into shock.

More than eight hours passed before Mary Jo dared climb from the battered enclosure to inspect her surrounds. The cyclone had diminished in intensity during the darkness of night, and turned towards the Australian coastline and Broome, high on the Western Australian coast. Deeply distressed, Mary Jo refused to believe that there were no other survivors on board their battered vessel. There had been more than sixty commence the voyage together on this boat. Amongst them there were eight children. A thought crossed her mind that some may have taken refuge below, in the small hold where supplies had been stored. Then she discovered that the hold cover had been smashed away, the tell tale sounds of water swishing around below giving rise to new fears. They were sinking, she knew, then wondered how far they might be from help.

Mary Jo's body ached all over but her earlier fears that her collarbone had been fractured or even broken could now be dismissed. She inspected the injury, grimacing in pain as her fingers touched exposed bone, grateful that her fall had not been more serious.

Morning arrived, bringing with it choppy seas and gray skies, the wind strength sufficient to cause discomfort. Mary Jo climbed painfully to her feet, relieved to find that Hani was conscious although uncommunicative.

Mary Jo knew it was imperative that they take stock of their situation, then decide what course of action they might take. Without food or water, she knew their chances were slim. As her now rudderless ship spilled from one wave to the next, she caught occasional glimpses of another vessel and decided to signal for help.

An hour later, when she found herself with Hani standing in ankle deep sea water with waves washing precariously over the deck, Mary Jo fought rising panic. She screamed out, her voice carrying across the waves to the solitary figure she could clearly see on the other ship but, incredibly, her pleas for assistance were ignored.

‘Can you help us?'
she tried again and again, each time with a similar response. Mary Jo refused to give up. She brushed spray from her face, mystified by the unresponsive soul standing almost statuesque in pose, not one hundred meters away. It was as if the other person was deaf or perhaps traumatized by the cruel passage.

‘Please! We need your help!'
she called again, her voice fading with the effort. Mary Jo knew she could not depend on their boats drifting closer together. If anything, she feared that the distance would grow, the possibility of deliverance fading with the strong currents.

‘Hello!'
Mary Jo screamed, one more time.
‘Please help us!'
Then, suddenly, the other figure waved, and Mary Jo yelled with delight, waving her left arm furiously.

Bloodied from numerous falls and disorientated from being knocked unconscious in the wheel-house, Lily remained huddled inside the seriously damaged ship, recognizing that she was alone. In the dark, storm filled night, as crushing seas relentlessly beat down upon her flimsy vessel, Lily had managed to find temporary refuge inside the compact, partially protected quarters. She was grateful to the old seaman who had dragged her inside the three-sided wheel-house, acknowledging that she owed the man her life. Now, he was gone as well, washed overboard while attempting to salvage something from the hold.

Deprived of food and water, her mind became clouded with the knowledge that her vessel must surely sink, having taken on far too much water during the fierce storm. Exhausted, her will to continue weakened by the punishment her body had endured, Lily curled her bruised and aching limbs under her chin and prayed. As wave upon wave crashed down upon the fishing boat tossing her body cruelly around the cramped space, she cried out in anguish, pleading that her ordeal would now end. The storm progressed, her mind drifting in and out of consciousness, carrying Lily through the dark morning hours to when she awoke, startled to discover that her nightmare was terrifyingly real.

While she slept, the tropical cyclone which had so ravaged her fleet, had moved on, now dumping record levels of rain across the barren north-western areas of Australia. The rough seas and fierce winds continued to abate through the early morning hours, providing Lily with the opportunity to drag herself to her feet inside the wheel-house, where she stood groggily staring at the gray, misty world outside.

She felt cold but remained inside, still uncertain as to what she should do next. Lily placed her hand on the greasy, engine controls, then peered down into the compartment where the four-cylinder diesel stood, awash in sea-water. She checked the battery as she had observed the seaman do so many times before, her heart falling when there was no response. She checked for supplies and found these spoiled. Apart from a number of near empty water containers floating around inside the ship, Lily had no remaining rations to keep her alive.

By mid-morning, visibility had improved dramatically and Lily was shocked to see that her ship had either drifted away from the main body of the fleet, or very few others had survived the storm. She watched as another fishing-boat floated aimlessly nearby, concerned when she saw the two survivors on board. Alone, Lily felt vulnerable. The rain water sloshing around in the twenty-liter, plastic jerry-can out of sight in the hold would, Lily knew, keep her alive for but a few more days. They outnumbered her and, in her weakened condition, she would not be able to defend herself in the event they attacked.

Gradually, their ship drifted closer and Lily became even more anxious, fearing that they might board. When the taller of the two began calling out, she refused to acknowledge, convinced that she would be better off alone. Besides, she could see that the other vessel was dangerously low in the water. This would mean that they would soon disappear altogether and that would be that.

But when their vessels drifted even closer, Lily rubbed her weary eyes and stared at the distressed survivors on the other ship again. She could clearly see that the larger woman had fair hair.

‘Please help us!'
she heard the voice call again, and this time Lily waved in response, stunned with the discovery that there were foreigners amongst the refugees.

Hamish McLoughlin remained inside the MGM Casino Hotel, looking dismally out across the wind swept sea as tall palms swayed to and fro in the foreground, bending excessively under the gale force winds. The high-wire fence strung along the beach around the hotel to prevent the intrusion of crocodiles stood unyielding, and Hamish turned from the turbulent scene, sick to his stomach with the thought that Mary Jo was out there, somewhere, and he could do nothing to help.

He went to the bedside phone and dialed the number again, his sense of frustration further exacerbated when connected to a recorded message at the Bureau of Meteorology. Hamish slammed the receiver down heavily, cursing systems which interfaced machines with those in their time of need.

He had arrived late the evening before, having boarded a flight from Singapore. There, he had been advised by the British High Commission's Defense Attaché that satellite surveillance had, indeed, established that a sizable fleet of fishing boats had been identified, heading for the north Australian coast.

When pressed, the British colonel had contacted his counterpart in the Australian mission and confirmed that this was the very same fleet which had departed from the area identified as Pelabuhan Ratu on the south Java coast. His spirits lifted, Hamish had jumped on the first plane for Darwin, acting on advice given by the consulate authorities in Singapore. There, he had expected to charter a plane and go looking for the fleet himself and, once within striking distance, intended to persuade one of the deep-sea charter captains to take him out to search for his woman.

But Cyclone Pauline had interfered with these plans and now Hamish was grounded in Darwin, depressed by the impotency of his situation. He turned to the television, played with the remote control until finding the CNN broadcast, then slumped unhappily into a cane wicker chair. The repetitive news program with obvious American bias continued its global coverage of current events, with Hamish almost missing the comment regarding the Indonesian warships. Immediately, he became more attentive, his face becoming grim with what he heard, his thumb punching the volume button as he listened to the CNN presenter.

“And to confirm earlier reports, it seems that the massive exodus of refugees attempting to cross from the Indonesian island of Java to Northern Australia has been intercepted by warships. Information bulletins, based on unconfirmed satellite reports, suggest huge losses amongst the refugees. Cyclonic weather conditions continue to hinder rescue attempts, adding to the catastrophe which has some analysts now lifting earlier estimates to more than fifty-thousand lost when the cyclone struck. Viewers may remember that more than twenty-five years ago, that part of our globe was subjected to another devastating cyclone which hit the Australian coastline …”

Hamish sat staring at the television screen, numbed by this news. He leaned forward, grasping his head in despair, fighting the turmoil inside as images of Mary Jo fighting for her life, cluttered his mind.

Satisfied, the Indonesian captain passed the binoculars to the officer alongside. It was apparent that the main body of the refugee fleet had not weathered the cyclone too well. This would make their mission far more difficult and time consuming. He had hoped to find at least three, even four hundred vessels in close formation. Instead, the group off his starboard numbered considerably less than that.

‘Boarding parties?'
the captain inquired. The frigate had located a string of fishing boats, obvious survivors from the original refugee fleet.

‘Boarding parties all mustered, sir.'
The sailors had been assembled for at least an hour, waiting for the order to lower their boats.

‘Away boarding parties!'
the captain ordered.

‘Aye aye, sir. Away boarding parties,'
the officer of the watch repeated. A number of Gemini rubber dinghies and Zodiacs were swung out on davits and lowered into the sea. Each of the small craft carried six, well armed sailors, all eager for their share of what lay hidden in the ships ahead.

Within minutes, they were making their way through the calm water towards the scattered fleet.

They boarded the first vessel, quickly dispensing with the unarmed passengers once rings and other valuables had been surrendered. The sounds of automatic fire carried for miles across the sea, striking fear in the refugees' hearts as one by one, the Indonesian sailors boarded their vessels, dealing brutally with those on board. Within the first hour, more than thirty fishing boats had been left in bloody disorder, the raiders swiftly executing the entire complement of each ship they attacked, having relieved those on board of everything of value. Bodies were left where they fell, the few who threw themselves into the sea in desperation were shot as they attempted to swim away.

The viciousness of the sailors' actions grew from their disappointment in the value of their haul. For most of the past week, ship-board gossip had estimates of the bounty they might find grossly disproportionate to what, in reality, many of the refugees had carried on their journey. Incensed by the discovery that there were but few gold bars to be found, the boarding parties showed no mercy, murdering all without exception. Ear rings were ripped from lobes, ring-bearing fingers hacked from hands and, on one ship, an old woman's gold teeth were bludgeoned from her mouth with gun butts as she lay dying. Unarmed, the refugees could offer no resistance, most dying, cut down by automatic fire within the first moments as they kneeled in prayer, some bludgeoned to death while terrified children looked on. Then, their turn followed, the seamen leaving none behind who might bear witness against them.