The Fifth Season (56 page)

His Cabinet agreed unanimously. The country's military would immediately go to full alert, with the navy being directed to fire upon the approaching refugee fleet should it ignore warnings to return to Indonesian waters.

The resident specialist looked out through the haze, pleased to be inside the comfortable air-conditioned offices in Darwin's northern suburbs, protected from the Territory's sweltering conditions. On his way from the parking lot he sensed something in the air, his senses suggesting that conditions were changing, his empiric knowledge warning not to assume anything until the data had been reviewed. The Darwin T.C.W.C. had been tracking the rapidly changing conditions which had originated well out in the Timor Sea.

The storm build up had then moved to the east, away from his sector, into the Indian Ocean where it had gained momentum.

A Cyclone Watch had been issued to coastal and island communities earlier in the day, and had now been upgraded to a Cyclone Warning, as gales were now expected along the western coastline within twenty four hours. These warnings would be updated at three-hourly intervals, and would also be closely monitored by Australian defense establishments in the area. The specialist had observed the increase in military activity over the past twenty-four hours, assuming this to be somehow connected with the sudden influx of Indonesian fishing boats carrying refugees from the strife torn islands. For a few brief moments he reminisced, recalling the holidays he had spent in Bali, just two hours to the west, wondering if the holiday destination would manage to sustain their culture against the onslaught of Java's determined Moslems.

His thoughts returned to the matter at hand. He was aware that the navy's patrol boats had been working overtime to discourage the continuous flow of Indonesian boats entering Australia's exclusion zone, with R.A.A.F. Orions maintaining aerial reconnaissance to support their efforts. With the possibility of a cyclone developing, it was imperative that aviation and shipping be kept aware of any changes in wind and sea conditions.

He turned as one of his fellow officers knocked on the open, glass-pan-eled door and entered.

‘This one's getting serious, Ross,' the woman said, handing him the hourly update. ‘Upgraded and coming back our way.' The word ‘FLASH' was emblazoned across the top of the message, an alert issued when major changes occur such as the unexpected movement towards the coast or rapid intensification of tropical storms. She knew that the contents of this message would no doubt require station staff to be retained on duty around the clock to broadcast cyclone information.

‘Perth?' he asked, and she nodded. The Tropical Cyclone Warning Center in the Western Australian capital was responsible for coverage of the Indian Ocean, west of the line where the Darwin T.C.W.C.'s sector ended at 125 degrees longitude. He read the report, a sardonic smile crossing his lips.

‘Cyclone Pauline?' knowing that the naming of cyclones were not at all random. The Meteorological Bureau prepared lists which were followed explicitly. Then, as he read on, he whistled softly.

‘Category Four?' but his associate knew that no response was required.

Categories of cyclones range from ‘One' for weak cyclones, to ‘Five' for the most severe. The devastating Cyclone Tracy which had struck Darwin at Christmas more than a quarter of a century before had been rated ‘Four'.

‘Yes,' she replied, ‘and turning back towards Dampier.' Tropical storms in the Australian region always exhibited more erratic paths than cyclones in other parts of the world. This, coupled with the fact that these dangerous conditions could change at any time turning sharply, sometimes even following a looped course, made forecasting more than a science. They walked to the wall map together, tracing the newly named threat with their fingers.

Both knew that Cyclone Pauline would bring very destructive winds and dangerously high tides. Another phenomenon they would have to consider was the almost certain threat of a storm surge. These raised domes of water which measure from sixty to eighty meters across, and up to five meters higher than normal tide levels, were of immense danger to low lying coastal areas, should they occur at the same time as a high tide.

‘Okay then,' Ross sighed, returning to his desk, ‘tell the others,' then went about preparing the text of the cyclone warning for his own sector.

Across the city, and deeply engrossed in their own activities, Northern Command communications officers busied themselves alerting navy ships and boats to the changed conditions, recalling the entire fleet. Patrol boats were ordered to their closest ports, warships were instructed to sail further north, and all R.A.A.F. aircraft were grounded. In Canberra, the general consensus amongst senior military officers had been that the Indonesian ships would be in complete disarray, trapped in the cyclonic conditions. They also agreed that the Australian blockade would most probably now fail, given that the tropical storm would no doubt spread the huge fleet across an area impossible to police once conditions permitted. Signals containing their new concerns were flashed to all northern military stations, ordering immediate resumption of aerial and sea reconnaissance following Cyclone Pauline's abatement.

Mary Jo slipped then fell crashing her knee against the wooden deck as the ship pitched forward, then sideways, the captain unable to maintain speed in the rough conditions.

‘Hold on!'
she heard Budi call, catching a face full of sea water just as another wave crashed over the side. Mary Jo was frightened. The fishing boat did not seem that seaworthy as it bobbed around, tossed in all directions.

The weather had changed quickly, catching the inexperienced off-guard.

Before the storm, humidity had been exceptionally high, most passengers electing to remain sitting propped wherever they could find a comfortable position amongst the over crowded vessels as they proceeded through the calm seas. Mary Jo watched disinterestedly, as the ships cut their way slowly through the water, the low, oily swells lulling all into a false feeling of tranquillity. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hani and Budi dozing, their arms wrapped around each other, oblivious to the heat.

Following daybreak, high, feathery cirrus clouds passed overhead and, a few hours later, Mary Jo observed the build up of dark, thunderstorm clouds on the horizon, alarmed when these approached with noticeable speed. Seas began to rise, whipped into greater motion by strong winds and the captains widened the distance between the vessels in the interests of safety. Then, as the weather deteriorated further, the skies darkened, the winds increased in intensity and waves of incredible heights towered threateningly over the fleet.

‘Tie everything down!'
the order went out, and amongst the frenzied activity possessions were swept overboard, lost forever in the turbulent seas. As the winds increased in velocity, blinding rain lashed the fleet, reducing visibility even further. Mary Jo heard Hani cry out in fear when a wave crashed over their vessel, lifting those on board, before tossing them back cruelly onto the hard deck.

‘Budi! Help me!'
Someone screamed and Mary Jo turned in time to see Budi grab for his father's hand, the older man struggling under the deluge of sea water swirling through the boat. Mountainous, white crested waves climbed to fifteen meters and more, before crashing over the fleet, extracting their deadly toll. Fishing boats ruptured, breaking up upon impact, while others were spun out of control, crashing against each other, spilling their terrified passengers into the raging seas.

‘Look out!'
Mary Jo cried out but she was too late. A wall of water collapsed against their ship throwing her cruelly against the wheel-house, then dragged her along the deck as receding water threatened to carry all overboard.

And so it continued. For more than eight hours, the fleet was buffeted cruelly by the cyclonic conditions, with winds reaching two hundred and twenty kilometers per hour. Twenty-meter waves continued to savage the fleet, washing many to their deaths, their cries drowned before others could come to their aid. Temperatures dropped and the beating continued, Mary Jo's vessel badly damaged when struck by another, tossed together by the giant seas.

Then, mysteriously, it seemed that the refugees' prayers had been answered. The wind fell, the waves sloshed around in a confused state and rain ceased as the fleet entered the cyclone's eye. Sunlight streamed down through the funnel briefly, highlighting the black, swirling mass of clouds strung all around the horizon. Believing they had been delivered from the threat of a watery death, the bruised and battered survivors clung to each other unaware that they were still in peril.

‘Look! Over there!'
Someone shouted but most were too exhausted to care.

‘It's a warship!'
the cry swept through the fleet. Mary Jo rose wearily to her feet, and peered across the still turbulent sea, her eyes focusing immediately on the tall, gray, steel hulled warship as it ploughed through the scattered flotilla.

Screeching, tearing screams of timbers being torn asunder cracked across the foam tipped waves, as the first of the three thousand ton frigates came into full view. The Indonesian warship drove through the center of the fleet, carving a deadly path directly across Mary Jo's ship's bow, sinking more than twenty of the wooden hulled fishing boats in its path as it attempted to slow. The frigate's captain signaled the other warships in his group which were still wrestling with cyclonic bands, more than twenty miles astern. The remaining frigates and corvettes changed course accordingly, swinging wide to avoid the danger of collision.

At first, seamen aboard the fishing boats assumed that the Indonesian ship was from the Eastern Fleet and had stumbled across their flotilla by accident. But later, when almost an hour passed and the remaining warships came into view, they realized that they were doomed.

In total disarray, those in control of the refugee fleet panicked, breaking away from the main body of ships. Within minutes, and without the benefit of the more experienced seamen, many of the fishing boats lost direction amidst the fear and confusion. Once again, the sky became dark and the fierce winds returned, lashing all with blinding rain as the cyclone's eye passed over the fleet, and Mary Jo feared that they would all die, trapped in nature's devastating cauldron. The cyclone returned with a vengeance unparalleled to anything she had ever witnessed before that day, the towering walls of water smashing, crushing, then sweeping terrified refugees into the unforgiving sea where they perished, many trapped between the timbers of pilot-less ships.

As the powerful winds dispersed the ships in each and every direction, the storm tossed warships kept their distance, their captains recognizing that they were already at risk and could achieve little in these dangerous conditions. Without exception, none of these officers had ever experienced such gigantic seas and were astonished with the severity of the cyclone's force. Centered around the equator, most of Indonesia's thirteen thousand islands lie only a few hundred miles to the north of the primary cyclone zone. Although the country experiences storms in the extreme, the powerful forces which unpredictably ravage Northern Australian communities between November and April every year rarely occur in the archipelago.

Incidences of freak cyclones occurring in the easterly areas surrounding Timor and Flores had only been evidenced twice in more than twenty years and there were none amongst these crews who had witnessed either event.

Naval captains struggled to maintain control over ships and crews. As mumbling amongst the lower deck grew, the threat of outright mutiny finally forced six of the warships to turn for home. Recognizing the futility of the exercise, another followed within the hour, leaving the frigate which had earlier burst through the refugee fleet standing alone. Although as weary as any in the crew, the captain maintained watch through the night, fearful of losing his ship in these unfamiliar waters. The frigate continued to roll dangerously, the high seas challenging even the most seasoned sailors on board. But the crew remained loyal, anticipating even greater rewards now the other ships had withdrawn. When weather permitted, boats filled with armed sailors would be lowered into the sea, the defenseless refugees unable to prevent what would happen next. Their minds filled with gold, those aboard the frigate waited for the winds to subside, impatient for the slaughter to begin.

The cyclone's fury continued, the nightmarish conditions already too great for many in the fleet. Inundated, and unable to recover as wave after wave beat upon their ships, almost half the fleet was destroyed before morning, the darkness blanketing the thousands of bodies swept before the churning sea.

Mary Jo's boat was driven under by one freak wave, then rose up again only to be hit by another. She lost her footing countless times, slipping and sliding as the deck underfoot suddenly disappeared, then slammed back with brutal force, driving her to her knees. She knew the likelihood of being swept overboard, as had most of her fellow passengers was increasing, her strength now beginning to fade. Mary Jo crawled towards the stern, clinging frantically to a well-secured rope. She wiped the stinging spray from her eyes and saw a couple struggling to keep hold of each other. The third member of their family, Budi's father, fell heavily, and cried out.

‘Get into the wheel-house!'
she shouted at Hani, but the young woman was too terrified to move. Mary Jo slipped as the boat swayed dangerously, regained her balance, then grabbed Hani by the arm and dragged her into the one man wheel-house just as a thunderous wave crashed onto the deck, washing Budi, then his father, overboard. Hani tried to scramble after them but Mary Jo held her back.