The Fifth Season (53 page)

The existence of the large number of boats was no secret to Winarko and, he guessed, to Indonesia's neighbors. Although Australian authorities had offered to send their own navy further into Indonesian waters to assist deterring the ever increasing numbers of refugee ships, he had declined their offer. It was difficult enough with the American Seventh Fleet maintaining a presence in the country's east, south of the Philippines, but he did not wish to create a scenario which permitted the Australians to build up any defence presence, believing that they had designs on Indonesia's eastern provinces, such as Timor and Irian Jaya. As a number of provinces in that area were demanding recognition of their independence declarations, Winarko believed that the Australians would welcome the opportunity to provide support to these resource-rich territories.

Acting on advice from his own officers, Winarko permitted the flow of refugees to continue, acknowledging that this kept the limited Australian navy fully occupied and out of his way. In the meantime, one third of his navy was loosely spread out from north of Java to the western coast of New Guinea, to contain the warships under Muis' control out of Surabaya. Of these, Muis had managed to convince the captains of some six corvettes and three frigates to follow his cause. Armed with Harpoon and Exocet surface-to-surface missiles, Winarko did not wish to risk losing any of his own ships in a direct confrontation, unless this became absolutely necessary. He knew that his strength lay in his ground forces and counted on the remaining, serviceable AURI aircraft to maintain the capital's integrity from aerial attack. Winarko was aware that more than two thirds of the air force had been destroyed in the prolonged fight against Praboyo, most of these belonging to the ambitious upstart's forces. Better these were destroyed than have Abdul Muis' arsenal enhanced with F-4's and F-16's, he thought.

‘Which ships have sailed?'
he asked, his thoughts returning to the problem at hand. It was not all that serious, he believed. If anything, he could probably claim responsibility for sending the ships there, to prevent their escaping for Australian shores.

‘Corvettes five, Frigates three,'
he answered, holding fingers in the air.

‘Have you been in contact with their captains?'
Winarko asked.

‘We've tried, but we're being ignored.'

‘What do you want to do about them?'
Winarko pressed. It was, after all, the Admiral's problem. The overweight officer shrugged.

‘Let them go. Who knows, maybe they'll get rich,'
he attempted a smile but was too tired to enjoy his own joke.

‘When will they arrive?'
the Chief of Staff asked, more out of curiosity than any strategic reason.

‘Well, they broke formation about four hours ago. We've been tracking them.

They should reach their destination in two to three days. Their quarry will not
be making much more than five or six knots.'

‘We should inform the Australians,'
Winarko advised, then added,
‘and
the Americans.'

‘They'll find out soon enough,'
Sudomo quipped. General Winarko nodded sagely, perhaps he could claim credit after all.

‘Where is the American fleet?'

‘Still holding off, north in the Celebes Sea.'

‘Warn them, anyway,'
he ordered. The ships' passage would be through international waters but it would be to his advantage to pre-empt any rumors that these were renegade captains. After Sudomo departed Winarko paced the floor. He had more pressing problems to consider.

He opened the letter delivered surreptitiously that morning. It was from Abdul Muis and written in his hand. General Winarko read through its contents again, wondering if the man was bluffing or would really risk losing everything and attack the capital as he had inferred. Then there was the powerful Muslim leader's veiled threat to issue a holy letter of condemnation. This, he knew, could easily be construed by any of the
Mufti
Muharam
zealots as an execution decree.

Winarko placed the letter carefully back in its envelope, his Javanese heritage influencing his thoughts. He would not refuse to discuss the matter with Muis. Consensus and discussion had always been part of their culture and perhaps they may be able to find a solution to the impasse they had both reached. Somewhere in the distance he heard the magnified cry calling the faithful to prayer and he checked his watch. He was late.

Summoning his aide, Winarko hurried out to the waiting staff-car and went directly to the Istiqlal Mosque, where he prayed in silence that Haji Abdul Muis would not carry out his threat to issue a holy
fatwah
bearing Winarko's name.

* * * *

Lily looked up at the dark, cumulo-nimbus cloud bank with its promise of rain and whispered a silent prayer. It was hot. Humidity had reached debilitating levels as the sun climbed to its zenith, the absence of wind typical before the turbulence of storm.

She tied a soiled handkerchief loosely around her forehead to prevent salty drops of perspiration from falling into her food. She leaned forward over the small, ceramic bowl and scooped the hardened rice into her mouth. Rationed carefully, their food supplies might last another two weeks. Lily's eyes passed over the mound of unhusked coconuts to her left, accepting that when these were finished, they would be totally dependent on rain to quench their thirst. The fleet had left Grajagan Bay before final stores could be taken on board. Their fishing boats had been fired upon from the shore and the refugees had sailed south, to wait for the West Java fleet in open waters. Now, more than one hundred miles from the inhospitable south Java coastline they drifted, their vessels tied together to conserve valuable fuel.

Occasionally, a wailing cry would pierce the quiet somewhere within the fleet when another of their number died, the sound now all too familiar to her ears. Since escaping the Balinese onslaught, cholera had swept through their fleet, the tragic results no longer evident as bodies were quickly cast into the sea. Lily prayed that her god would not remain an absentee landlord, as she continued to live with the fear of death.

A brief puff of wind across the calm sea gently brushed their faces, the suggestion that rain would follow raising hopes. The refugees made ready with plastic buckets to catch the precious drops, while others ignored nature's signal, having experienced such false promises many times in the past. Lily moved towards the wheel-house and looked up inquiringly at the man who had been appointed captain over her vessel.

‘Will it rain?
' she asked, hopefully. The well weathered seaman smiled at the young, resilient woman. He enjoyed talking to her. She seemed keen to learn.

‘Perhaps, perhaps not,'
he answered, a twinkle in his eye.

‘Someone back there said you could tell by sniffing the air,'
Lily had overheard someone suggest this. The refugees had little else to do but gossip.
‘Can you?'

The man displayed a yellow-toothed grin and breathed deeply for show.
‘Once you have learned how to listen to the wind, understanding will
follow,'
he said, reciting something he had learned from his father.
‘For
even the most powerful storms commence with but a soft whisper.'

She held her hand out, palm facing towards the sky, closed her eyes and breathed in slowly.

‘It's raining!'
someone cried, and suddenly Lily could smell the distinctive change in the air. At first, only a few drops fell, the refugees all holding their breath, praying for more. Then, as the wind increased and the surrounding sky darkened, the heavens opened sending sheets of stinging rain across the sea. Lashed by growing wind the ocean's waves swelled in size and, within minutes, what had previously been a moderate sea turned into a swirling, threatening cauldron, sending fishermen scurrying to start their engines.

The storm lasted no more than an hour. Tropical skies quickly cleared and the sun broke through. Hot, sticky conditions which had preceded the storm monotonously reappeared, blanketing the fleet with an air of listless despondency. Another day passed and they waited, impatient for word that the great fleet would soon pass by.

Two hundred miles south of Pelabuhan Ratu, the fleet turned to the east off Christmas Island and set a new course which would take them into the lower latitudes. The lead ships would not normally have traveled this far south before turning towards Northern Australia but radio intercepts had influenced those in command to take these measures. Surprise soon turned to concern when they discovered that Jakarta had sent a number of warships in pursuit, and they monitored the airwaves to determine why the Indonesian Navy had suddenly had this change of heart.

Mary Jo waited, impatiently, for some sign that either Hamish or Anne had found some means of rescuing her but as the day wore on and the distance back to the coast grew with each hour, her hopes started to fade.

The fleet moved slowly through the deep blue water, the late crimson sky blurring at sunset against a background of purple haze as the refugees loaded their clay cookers with charcoal and commenced preparing their last meal in Indonesian waters.

Mary Jo watched as children were fed first, then the men and finally the women. Although the meals were basic, Mary Jo felt the first pangs of hunger, willing to try the rice porridge or even the greasy fish cakes should any be offered.

The pungent smell of
sambal
paste assailed her sense of smell, her empty stomach reacting to the drifting aromas as sizzling sounds teased, her eyes observing one woman dropping prawn crackers into a pan, then seconds later retrieving the cooked, crispy wafers which had more than trebled in size. Mary Jo smiled at the woman but was ignored. Embarrassed, she made her way towards the stern and watched the other ships as their passengers gathered around their own pots, preparing to eat.

Amongst the crowded ship, she suddenly felt desperately alone and, for the first time in many years, vulnerable.

* * * *

After the first day at sea, Mary Jo's lips were chafed, her sunburned arms, neck and feet now quite red and beginning to cause her some pain. She craved a cigarette, tempted to ask one of the men for one of their
Ji Sam So
kretek
cigarettes. She had checked the contents of her soft, leather equipment carryall and discovered that apart from the many rolls of exposed and unused film, and several partly consumed packets of peppermint and gum, there was little else which could be of any use to her, stuck out there.

As the coastline had slowly disappeared from view, Mary Jo had looked back wistfully, unaware of the horrific blood-bath she had left behind, and wondered why neither Anne nor Hamish had come to her aid. Throughout her first day, she scanned the sea for signs that she might be rescued but as the hours wore on, and the mountains high above Java's dangerous coastline gradually blurred with the ocean, she unhappily came to terms with her predicament. She checked her equipment, determined to make the most of the situation.

By the end of the second day, Mary Jo already knew a great deal about those aboard her vessel. She spoke to them, inquiring about the fleet's destination, the duration of their voyage and their expectations upon arrival. Most seemed receptive to her presence, although the boat's owner cum captain did not appear all that pleased. Then there was the problem of food and drinking water.

Mary Jo was conscious that the passengers had been limited in what they might take on board. Money, what little she carried, was useless out there on the ocean. She had gone without food for the first day, believing she would be rescued. An unopened roll of peppermint lifesavers had done little to stave off hunger. When clay-pot charcoal fires were started again, late afternoon on their second day, Mary Jo reluctantly avoided the cooking area, moving away so as not to impose. But the aroma of food was too much and, as Mary Jo looked wistfully over at the fires, she was observed.

At first, she had been embarrassed when asked, but Mary Jo knew she would have to eat to survive and was relieved that someone was willing to share their food.

‘Would you like to try this?'
the man kindly offered, holding a bowl filled with rice cakes for her to try. In spite of her hunger, Mary Jo was cautious not to take too much, accepting the food with her right hand as she had been coached by Anne.

‘Terima kasih,'
she smiled, thanking her benefactor.
‘Is she your daughter?'
Mary Jo asked, looking in the sickly young woman's direction.

‘No,'
he replied, bending down to offer the girl some dried beef,
‘but she
will be when we arrive in Australia.'
For a moment Mary Jo was confused by his response, then she realized what he meant and looked at the boy sitting alongside his fiancee.

‘You are the son?'
she asked, and Budi nodded, embarrassed by this talk in front of all the others.
‘What is your name?'
Mary Jo kneeled down to speak to Hani. She could see that these three were quite different from the others on board. Even the captain treated them more deferentially and Mary Jo was curious as to why.

‘I'm Hani.'
the frail Indonesian girl answered, Budi assisting her into a sitting position. It was obvious that she was quite ill and had a fever. Mary Jo watched as she was offered the
dendeng
beef but she refused, asking for water to quench her parched throat instead. Mary Jo sat on the hard, wooden deck beside Hani and held her wrist. Her pulse was weak and Mary Jo could see from her pallor that she did not take to sailing too well.

She reached into her leather bag and found the half-eaten packet of lifesavers and extracted one for the girl. Hani placed this in her mouth, smiled weakly and closed her eyes.