The rope snaps tight!

One of the anchor chains suddenly jerks in mid-air, straining against the skid it’s been tied to. For a moment, the seaplane seems to hang in the sky, like a cartoon character hovering above ground before making a run for it.

Then the other chains snap tight as well, and the seaplane’s upward trajectory becomes a howling 45-degree acceleration down to the sea.

It’s like spinning soap on a line – helplessly anchored to a center point, the plane can’t help but arc tightly around it. You dive for cover, as the seaplane streaks towards you – and for a second, you get a glimpse of the pilot’s panicked expression, eyes bulging, hands locked in a death grip on the rudder.

Then the plane flashes past overhead into the jungle, engine screaming, and there’s an almighty crash and a splintering of wood – and then the smell of gasoline burning – and you scramble further away, flinching away from the inevitable explosion.