The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

by Robert G. Barrett

  Milne swallowed some chicken sandwich and stirred another cup of tea, dropping his spoon off the stone table in the process. The clatter echoed around the temple; Milne picked up his spoon, gave it a quick wipe and looked at Brian. ‘So you still can’t quite believe what we did today, Takatau.’

  Brian shook his head over his cup of tea. ‘It all seemed to happen so quick. This morning we’re sitting here drinking coffee. Now we’re having lunch. And there’s bodies, and sunken ships and downed planes scattered over half the world.’

  ‘Yes. Time gets a bit out of focus in those MeG 21s,’ said Milne. ‘But we’ll have a nice drink tonight. And we’ll have a quiet minute for all those that died.’

  ‘That would be appropriate,’ agreed Brian. ‘And I could do with a drink, too.’ For some reason Brian found himself smiling. ‘Sinking aircraft-carriers is thirsty work.’

  ‘See,’ said Milne. ‘You’re developing a black sense of humour already.’

  ‘Don’t you need it. Shit! Wait till the media picks this up.’

  ‘Yes. It’ll sure knock sport off the front page,’ said Milne.

  ‘And what about poor bloody Clooney,’ laughed Brian. ‘What’s he going to say? Somebody would have got a photo of us in those masks.’

  ‘He’ll think of something,’ said Milne.

  ‘The Loo Noo,’ said Brian. ‘I was a bit dubious at first. But when I saw you sitting in the disc … You’re a deadset genius thinking that up.’

  ‘A modest genius, mate.’ Milne looked at his watch. ‘Well, what do you reckon? We head back for the late?’

  ‘Yeah. Good idea,’ said Brian. ‘A surf would go well.’

  ‘Then we’ll have dinner. And we should get the news off the satellite at nine.’

  They finished eating, left the temple and walked out to the car. They put their bags in the back and Milne got behind the wheel. It started to rain so he took his time and despite all the horror they had witnessed, both were in a fairly jubilant mood as they drove home, laughing and comparing macabre notes on some of the terrible things they had done earlier. Milne’s right, thought Brian as they left the farming area and started into the rainforest. I am developing a black sense of humour.

  It was still raining when they got to the PP and Key Harbour was like a ghost town. None of the shops were open, there wasn’t a soul to be seen and the whole place had a flat lifelessness about it. Even the wind had died to nothing. Milne pulled the car up under the loading dock at the back of the warehouse and they got out.

  ‘Am I imagining things,’ said Brian, ‘but shit, it seems quiet.’

  ‘No. Everybody’s on their arse because of the force field,’ said Milne. ‘Wait here a sec.’ Milne went down to the house, then came back. ‘Yeah. All the girls are in bed. They’re out like lights.’

  ‘How long’s this going to last?’ said Brian.

  ‘With a bit of luck, they should be on their feet around lunchtime tomorrow.’

  ‘So no partying and no tampering again tonight,’ said Brian.

  ‘No. You’ll have to pull the old pud tonight, mate. Unless you want me to throw on a wig and a pair of false eyelashes.’

  Brian thought for a moment. ‘Hey Ron …?’

  ‘Don’t even fuckin ask,’ said Milne. ‘Go and get your board shorts and I’ll meet you back here in five minutes.’

  Brian went to his room and got changed. He met Milne at the rack and they took two of the mals. It was still raining when they got to Windmills, there was no wind and it was fairly small. The light was fading, so they went straight out on the lefts.

  The conditions had turned the water to oil, so even though the waves were small, they were astonishingly glassy. Brian got some great nose rides and it was relaxing listening to the melodic swish of the water round his mal as he hung through the little barrels. Milne paddled over and commented about the glassy conditions when Brian noticed a swirl in the water. The biggest tiger shark swam under their surf boards, circled round and came back again. Brian watched it and turned to the President.

  ‘Looks like we got company,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ answered Milne. ‘It’s me old mate.’ The tiger shark started banging its tail on the surface sending great plumes of water everywhere. ‘Hello,’ said Milne. ‘I think he’s trying to tell me something.’ Milne paddled over and put his arm around the huge shark’s head. The shark opened its mouth and splashed its tail. Milne waited, then patted the shark on the head again. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said to it. The shark banged its tail again then swam off.

  ‘What did he say, oh one who talks with sharks?’ asked Brian.

  ‘There’s something out there,’ said Milne. ‘Probably a submarine. We’ll have a look first thing tomorrow.’

  The sun started to disappear behind the rain, so they caught a last wave each and paddled in. They drove back to the PP, put the boards away then went to their rooms and got cleaned up. Brian got into a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt and met Milne in the kitchen. There was no Lengi, but plenty of food in the deep freeze. Brian got a beer and between the President and himself they managed to nuke a meal of satay prawns, vegetables and rice, plus coffee and hot rolls. They cleaned up then walked down to the Key Bar. The lights were on. But there was definitely nobody at home. Outside it was raining steadily.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Brian, taking a seat at the bar. ‘This is like the end of the world or something.’

  ‘Yes. It’s quiet all right,’ agreed Milne, going round the other side. He looked studiously at Brian. ‘So what would you like to drink?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Brian. ‘I didn’t bring any money.’

  ‘How about a nice Jack Daniels and mineral water?’

  ‘Hey. I’ll be in that,’ said Brian.

  Milne rummaged under the bar and came up with a fresh bottle of Gentleman Jack. He opened it and poured two glasses with ice, mineral water and a slice of lime. He clinked his glass against Brian’s and took a mouthful. ‘Ohh beautiful,’ he said. Brian agreed. Milne had another sip and looked at his watch. ‘Two minutes. For those who didn’t make it today.’

  ‘Yes. Fair enough,’ said Brian seriously.

  The two minutes went by while the rain spattered down outside. Milne took another sip of bourbon. ‘Have you ever surfed Green Island, Brian?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Heaps of times,’ answered Brian. ‘Especially during the summer in the nor’easters. A mate of mine’s oldies have got a weekender at Ulladulla.’

  ‘There’s another good spot down there. Congo Point. We used to camp out there. Surf and do a bit of spearfishing.’

  They sat around talking about surf spots and different places they’d been to. After a while Milne started yawning and Brian found himself following suit.

  ‘So what’s our play tomorrow, Sawi?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ answered Milne. ‘Tomorrow we’ll give the Frogs a rest. Even though they’ll be screaming to revenge their “honeur”. They’ll be too shit-scared to do anything in case we come back and flatten all their nuclear power plants.’

  ‘Sinking that nuclear carrier’s certainly rooted the tourist trade for them in New Caledonia.’

  ‘That’s the only blue, sinking all those nuclear-powered ships,’ said Milne. ‘The fuckin fuel rods.’

  ‘Yeah. I wouldn’t fancy a holiday in Hawaii or Guam right now,’ said Brian.

  ‘Nevertheless, we’ll give the Yanks another serve. First we’ll visit Edwards Air Force Base in California where they train their top guns. After we’ve sorted them out, it’s off to Bangor Submarine Base at Silverdale, Washington, to blast a few Trident submarines. And from there, it’s just a hop, step and a jump to Umatilla Army Depot. On the border of Washington State and Oregon.’

  ‘What’s there?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Three thousand tons of biological and chemical weapons.’

  ‘Shit! We’re not going to blow that up, are we?’

  Milne shook his head. ‘No. We’r
e just going to hover over the place for a while. Maybe strafe the surrounding desert.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Brian.

  ‘There’s enough chemical weapons at Umatilla to wipe out half the United States,’ said Milne. ‘Even a boofhead like Clooney will soon get the picture. And I reckon he’ll be on the phone quicker than you can say double cheeseburger with fries to go.’

  ‘I’d rather we didn’t have to blow the place up,’ said Brian.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Milne. ‘We’d kill millions.’

  Brian let go a cavernous yawn. ‘Mate. All this talk about killing. It’s putting me to sleep.’

  ‘It’s a helluva thing to kill a man,’ drawled Milne.

  Brian looked at Milne over his Jack Daniels. ‘You don’t do a bad Clint Eastwood, Sawi. Though I like your President Clooney better.’

  Milne snatched a look at his watch. ‘Shit! Talking about Clooney, the news is on. Let’s take our drinks up to the office.’

  ‘Righto,’ Brian yawned again.

  They picked up their drinks, left the bar as it was and went upstairs. Milne opened the office door and hit the light switch. Brian sat down as Milne turned on the TV and fiddled with some dials on a tuner.

  ‘I don’t know what the picture’s going to be like,’ he said. ‘The girls are much better at working this than I am.’

  The picture came on and it was snowy with a few ghosts. It would clear, then ghost up again. The newsreader was a skinny African–American man looking seriously worried in a grey suit and heavy rimmed glasses. Behind him was a mock-up of the American, French, English and Lan Laroian flags divided by flames. Milne inserted a blank tape and pushed the record button as the station ID and music finished.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said, taking a chair next to Brian.

  ‘As from today,’ the newsreader began anxiously, ‘a state of war exists between the United States and its allies, and the Republic of Lan Laroi. At ten a.m., Micronesian time, forces of the Republic of Lan Laroi attacked United States navy and air force bases in Guam. They also attacked Pearl Harbor and Noumea and parts of the French mainland. It is believed MI6 headquarters in London were also targeted. Military losses are not available at this instant, but it is believed casualties run into the tens of thousands.’

  ‘Tens of thousands,’ said Brian. ‘Shit!’

  ‘The President of Lan Laroi, Ronald Milne, did warn Washington of the attack before it started,’ continued the newsreader. ‘But the question being asked is how the tiny island republic with a population of barely one thousand people, situated thousands of miles from Guam and Europe, was able to cover this vast distance and inflict so much damage in such a short space of time. It is a complete mystery. We now go straight to Washington for a message from the President.’

  ‘Onya, CC,’ said Milne, taking a sip of bourbon. ‘Give us the guts, old mate.’

  The picture wobbled a little then Clooney came on, seated at his desk wearing his favourite blue suit. If the newsreader looked worried and drawn, Clooney’s face looked like Rameses the Second with the bandages removed.

  ‘My fellow Americans,’ he began sagely. ‘In another unprovoked and cowardly act of aggression. Stealth bombers from the Lan Laroian air force. Have attacked American military bases in Guam and Pearl Harbor.’

  ‘Stealth bombers,’ Milne spluttered into his bourbon. ‘We haven’t even got a fuckin airfield. Let alone any stealth bombers.’

  ‘What a prick,’ said Brian, staring at the TV screen.

  ‘How Lan Laroi got access to these sophisticated weapons is not certain at this point in time. But it is believed they were stolen from NATO bases in Europe. By mercenaries in the employ of the Lan Laroian government.’ Clooney continued but the picture began to fade. ‘Whatever the answer. Let me assure the Lan Laroian terrorists. American retribution will be both swift, and decisive. I have spoken with the French Prime …’ The sound went, then the picture faded to wriggly lines.

  ‘Bugger it,’ said Milne.

  ‘What’s causing that?’ said Brian. ‘The force field?’

  ‘Probably. That and solar activity. We get a few sun spots this time of the year.’ Milne watched the screen for a few moments, then switched the TV off leaving the record button on. ‘Anyway. We saw enough.’ He finished his bourbon, turned to Brian and laughed. ‘So what did you think, anyway?’ he asked.

  Brian shook his head. ‘That’s the best bit of spin doctoring I’ve ever seen. Stolen stealth bombers. What next?’

  ‘He had to say something, the poor fuckin goose. You can bet they’ve seen photos of us and had them suppressed. But not for long.’ Milne winked at Brian. ‘We’ve got them fucked already.’

  ‘I hate to say this,’ said Brian. ‘But I can’t wait to give Clooney another serve tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m a bit that way myself.’ Milne yawned and stretched. ‘Shit! I don’t know about you, Takatau. But I’m about rooted. I might hit the sack.’

  Brian caught Milne’s yawn. ‘I won’t be far behind you. What time are we bundying on tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll see you in the kitchen at six. You want me to wake you?’

  ‘Yeah. Just in case.’

  Milne turned the lights out in the office and shut the door. Brian said goodnight and went to his room. He got down to his jox and cleaned his teeth then walked out on the balcony and watched the rain. After a while he went inside and set the ghetto blaster up next to the bed then turned off the lights and got under the mosquito net. The bourbons had Brian feeling quite mellow. I wonder how a hot one would go now, he thought, as Jimmy Buffett started crooning ‘Come to the Moon’. The memory of the men in the cutter’s body parts getting splattered all over Pearl Harbor flashed on Brian’s mind. No. Not tonight, thanks. The rain was as easing as Jimmy Buffett’s voice. Brian got one more yawn in and before he knew it he was sound asleep.

  Brian was up before Milne needed to wake him. Outside the rain had stopped, the morning stars were appearing behind the clouds and it looked like being a fine day. Brian had a shower, got into his uniform and walked down to the kitchen. Milne had his uniform on and his head in the fridge.

  ‘G’day mate,’ he said. ‘How are you? Did you sleep all right?’

  ‘Like a log,’ replied Brian. ‘I thought I heard thunder a couple of times.’

  ‘That wasn’t thunder,’ said Milne. ‘That was bombs hitting the force field.’

  ‘Bombs? Shit!’

  ‘They’ve sent over some stealth bombers.’

  ‘The ones we didn’t steal,’ said Brian.

  ‘Yeah,’ laughed Milne. ‘And I reckon if you looked along the sea bed, there’d be conked out Cruise and Tomahawk missiles all over the place.’

  ‘The nasty, vindictive bastards,’ said Brian.

  ‘Nothing for us to worry about though,’ said Milne. ‘The only ones worried’d be Clooney and his mates. And fuck them.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Brian. ‘So what’s for breakfast?’

  ‘I might knock up an omelette.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll sort out the toast and coffee. You want some fruit?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll take some with us. And make an extra thermos of coffee.’

  They got breakfast together and Milne’s tomato and cheese omelette was quite good. There wasn’t anything wrong with Brian’s coffee, either. They ate and talked about different things, then cleaned up their mess. Milne told Brian to get his gear, he’d meet him at the car then they’d go across to the jetty. Brian did that then followed Milne across the road. They walked to the end of the jetty and all the sharks were there, flopping around in the water, splashing their huge tails and baring their terrifying teeth.

  ‘Something’s stirred them up,’ said Milne. He clapped his hands and all the sharks formed a straight line with the big one at the front, pointing towards Tiger Island. Milne clapped his hands again and they all swam off.

  Brian watched them disappear into the harbour. ‘What’s the story?’

  �
�There’s something out the other side of Tiger Island,’ said Milne. ‘You can bet it’s a submarine. We’ll get the discs and check things out.’

  ‘Okay, Sawi. Let’s make tracks.’

  They walked back to the car and set off. Milne put one of Brian’s tapes on and Mark ‘Kaz’ Kazanoff and Snooks Eaglin were getting stuck into ‘Swanee River Rock’ as they took the turn-off into the jungle. The roads were muddy and there were puddles everywhere. But Milne kept up a steady pace and they got to the temple in the usual time. They left the car and went inside. Milne opened the maps up on the table and showed Brian where they were going once they sorted out what was going on round the island. They got the crystals from the wall and climbed aboard the MeG 21s. Minutes later they were through the tunnel and hovering above the reef, putting their masks on.

  ‘Okay,’ Milne’s voice came over the radio. ‘Follow me and we’ll check the perimeter.’

  ‘Aye aye, Captain.’

  They took off slowly for the other end of the island and followed the edge of the force field at two hundred metres. They were nearing Tiger Island when Milne stopped.

  ‘Look down there,’ he said. ‘About half a click away at one o’clock.’

  Brian looked past Milne. Along the force field were six black rubber duckies with six men in each bumping against the force field wondering what was going on.

  ‘A raiding party,’ said Brian.

  ‘Yeah. US SEALS. That means the submarine would be about two clicks away, roughly in a straight line from those dinghies.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Brian. ‘What do you want to do about the SEALS?’

  Milne waved from inside his disc and Brian thought he saw him smiling from behind the alien mask. ‘I’ll go down and give them a fish.’

  Milne peeled off, hovered not far from the SEALS and strafed their rubber duckies to ribbons, killing most of the raiding party. The rest were left floundering in the water, after losing their weapons, their explosives and all their radio equipment. Milne blasted the water around them and flew back to Brian.

  ‘You didn’t finish them off,’ said Brian.