Winter Kill 2 - China Invades Australia

by Gene Skellig

  The entire New South Wales sector was, or at least had been, the bread-basket of Asia with over 50,000 productive farms producing shiploads of everything from rice and oranges in the southwest of NSW – the Riverina Sector – to the grain and fruit of the central west slopes & planes – the Dubbo Sector, his current assignment, and the sugar, bananas, diary and livestock of the mid and north coast – the Newcastle-to-Grafton Sector.

  Now, with food production having had the same catastrophic collapse as in all other food-producing regions of the world, with the onset of the nuclear winter, it was still seen as a bread-basket to the Chinese despite the utter failure of all agricultural operations other than perhaps sheep grazing, which was doomed to failure as the temperature continued to drop. That Australia is in the southern-hemisphere air-mass, and had taken fully six months longer than the northern hemisphere to grey-out, meant that grasses and other rudimentary feed-crops had continued to grow for a time, but even that marginal degree of production soon ended a year later.

  The real treasures were the grain silos, cattle-yards, warehouses and orchards that had been brimming with commodities when the war had begun. The first thing that the Chinese had applied the civilian workforce to was the conversion of these bulk goods into products suitable for long-term food storage. The planners in Jinan had projected that the nuclear winter would last from eight to ten years globally, less so along the coast where livestock and dairy operations were expected to be viable again after five to eight years, at least minimally so.

  That meant that culling herds, slaughtering and processing 90% of the animals, drying and storing the nuts and grains, and drying, canning and otherwise processing the fruit products had to be accomplished before these strategic commodities began to rot. To the Chinese, and eventually to the enemy, food was as vital to the war effort as weapons systems and ammunition.

  And with the enemy agents largely neutralized in New South Wales – Fang’s AOR – an efficient Chinese administration of the factories, warehouses, canneries and other food processing infrastructure was swiftly achieved. After the first few months, there was very little of the sabotage, assassination and other forms of resistance that so plagued his counterparts up in Queensland and down in Tasmania.

  Fang had toured some of the warehouses himself lately. They were brimming with enough supplies to last, for the Chinese at least, for the next ten years. That the Australians who worked in the industry had behaved with a suitable degree of deference and obedience to their new masters he attributed to their desire to live, even if not free, in order to provide for their families. After all, word had gotten around throughout occupied Australia that women and children would be raped, tortured and murdered if their men gave the local administrators any difficulties.

  The Chinese soldiers were particularly fond of the ‘ANZAC biscuits’ and canned ‘Bully Beef’, which one particular food processing plant had been producing in massive quantities. Both products were made entirely from local stockpiles of grain and beef and had extremely long shelf-lives. The ANZAC Biscuits were very hard, but the Chinese soldiers liked to grind them up into a porridge and flavour them with hoisin sauce. That enormous red-haired manager at the Bully-Beef plant in Waga Waga – Mr. Blais – Fang recalled his face and other details, from his archive-like memory, had gone so far as to label the biscuit tins and pallets of corned-beef with Chinese-language labels, no doubt ingratiating his company with their local Chinese military commander and occupation administration officials, he recalled. We’re getting it done despite the setbacks. Everything is going according to plan, but that does not mean that I can relax, the enemy is still quite strong, and no doubt will continue to try to make inroads into the Chinese communities, Fang reminded himself, watching everything that was taking place in the busy restaurant.

  And then, as he sipped his Oolong tea in a dark corner of ‘The Seven Seas’, the best Chinese restaurant in Dubbo, he picked up on something. It was only a tiny detail, one that had almost no meaning at all. But it was enough to catch his attention.

  That young man sitting around that big table in the back of the restaurant just shook hands again. Completely normal, the way the old man had put his other hand on top of the young man’s during the handshake, in a warm and welcoming gesture that was common in the Chinese community. No doubt it was meant to convey respect and friendship, like when you meet someone you have heard good things about, or the family member of a respected associate. Fang reflected to himself, becoming conscious of what his unconscious spy senses had noticed. But the way the old man nodded his head, only slightly, as if in deference to the young man, meant that the young man was not only welcome and ‘known’ about, but that he was also extremely important. Such reverence from an old, well-established man directed to such a young man, a boy really, is strange…

  Fang worked it through in his mind. Here in Dubbo? This crappy little cross-roads town in Chinese-occupied territory, with the Indian Army advancing relentlessly from the west…it can only mean one thing. The local Brown Pandas are finally, after almost four years of war, choosing sides. They are going with the allies. They can see the writing on the wall, and want to show some good faith for the allies before they arrive, so that they are seen as having been loyal Australians all this time. And this young man is their contact. He’s one of Weir’s spies! Fang thought, excitedly.

  He knew exactly what to do. With a few quick keystrokes into his secure cell-phone, he activated his rapid response team.

  Ten minutes later, when he saw the black Mazda CX5 SUV pass by on the ‘1-minute warning’ pass outside the restaurant, Fang moved into position.

  Approaching the young Chinese from behind, he timed it perfectly, pressing his pistol into the back of the man’s neck just as the front entrance of the restaurant erupted into gunfire.

  The other customers attention was focused at the six men in black combat fatigues who had stormed into The Seven Seas, firing rounds into the air and shouting: “Get Down!”

  The only men who did not move were Sunny Yao and the unseen man who had pressed the cold steel of his pistol into the back of Sunny’s neck.

  From the firm hand on his shoulder, Sunny knew that he was dealing with a professional; he did not move. However this plays out, I have to finish what I came here for, he thought, his mind racing through possibilities before he came up with the right words. When the local business leaders finally looked up at him from the relative safety of the floor under the table, he smiled at them, hoping to show more confidence than he felt.

  “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Li Ning. I must beg your permission to depart with the gentleman behind me,” Sunny said, hoping that the unseen operative behind him would be curious enough to let him finish, “but I will be back this way one day to finish our conversation once and for all,” he said, hoping that would be enough of a clue to tell Mr. Li that he would never see him again, that the next visit would be from the Australian military – in force, and that Li should carry on with the agreed upon plans. Hopefully he’ll be able to talk his way out of the interrogation that’s sure to follow. Maybe his prominence in Dubbo’s Chinese community and his commitment to the cause will be enough, Sunny thought, of the man who he knew would probably be the last friendly face he would see before he died.

  Sunny did not resist as he was man-handled out of The Seven Seas, thrown into the trunk of the waiting SUV and chained to cargo tie-down loops bolted to the floor.

  As the SUV sped away, he looked out the rear window, half-heartedly trying to keep track of the direction of travel when his head was suddenly struck by a blunt object. Dazed, he felt consciousness slipping away. He was not surprised. It has been a long time in coming.

  The brightness of sudden daylight hurt his eyes almost as much as Sunny’s head ached when Major Fang removed the sack from his head. As he tried to get his bearings, Sunny remembered the beating, the shouted threats and the preliminary round of questioning that the scar-faced enemy agent
had put him through before knocking him unconscious.

  The initial attempts to get him to talk had been rushed, and seemingly in a place where his captors were uncomfortable staying very long. Some sort of warehouse, Sunny figured, but not an isolated one. There was lots of noise coming from adjoining buildings.

  This time it was different. The other thugs were gone. The two men were alone, out in the snow-covered wilderness someplace. What’s he going to do, kill me and bury me here? Sunny wondered, more curious than afraid. He had accepted the inevitability of his fate. He knew that the level of pain would continue to increase until he cracked. Hopefully he could hold out long enough to provoke an excessive, fatal beating before he gave up too much information. He had no other options. He simply knew too much, and could not allow himself to divulge the names of the Green Pandas he had cultivated, or disclose what he knew of coming operations in the Broken Hills sector.

  “Young man, you have impressed me. You have taken it like a man, and held out well so far. That is to be expected, as I am sure that you’re the one I’ve been looking for,” Fang began. “You’re the one who’s been impossible to find, the one sent by Colonel Weir,” Fang guessed, accurately. “The question is, what are you trying to accomplish in Dubbo?” Fang asked, rhetorically. “There’s no way you’re going to turn Li Ning against us, by the way. Don’t you know how much he’s enriched himself in the years since we took over here? He’s one of us, an Orange Panda in your silly code-words. We’ve taken him from being merely a small warehouse and transport operator to being a very big man in Chinese New South Wales. By the way, did you know, I was the one who recruited him? And did he tell you that as a rite of passage into the ranks of the most privileged local contractors, he himself pulled the trigger, killing Mr. Calhoun, the former Mayor of Dubbo?” Fang said, gloating, but also in an attempt to provoke an emotional response out of Sunny.

  And that was the opening he had been hoping for. Sunny pretended to be devastated by the news, and slumped just enough for his tormentor to notice without being obvious.

  “That’s right, my little Green Panda or whatever you are. You put your trust in the wrong hands, my friend. Li Ning told me all about what you told him, your plan to assassinate General Leung.”

  Slumping just a bit more as if the news was a physical blow, Sunny was actually elated by what Fang just said. Li must have made that up, to have something to give to this scar-faced jerk. He gave me something to work with, Sunny thought.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I’m just a student! A nobody!, I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about,” he said carefully in Mandarin, putting out a little more bait for the spy.

  “Listen, little guy, your Mandarin is crappy, stick to Cantonese, you Hong Kong fucker. Is that where you’re from? You signed up with the Aussies because you are jealous of real Chinese, mainland Chinese? – or did you have no choice?”

  “What do you mean? How do you know that?” Sunny had him. He could sense that the guy was so full of himself, so culturally and intellectually superior to the defenseless kid he’d been beating on for the last 24 hours that he’d never see it coming. Sunny waited, patiently, as Fang carried on.

  “I know all about you – your type anyhow. What were you studying, by the way?” Major Fang asked, happy to have his prisoner talking. He would soon have the kid singing like a bird, Fang hoped. He does not stand a chance against me. What is he, twenty years old? He’s just a kid. Maybe I can turn him, once I find out what makes him tick, what he needs…

  “Dentistry, at U of Adelaide. I was in third year when your lot came here,” Sunny said in English, feigning the Australian-Chinese accent, hoping that none of his American accent came out.

  “Dentistry?” Fang said, with sincere surprise. “I could use a good dentist. Are you any good?”

  “Yes, I am. And I’m going to have my own clinic when this war is over, one way or the other.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dazhuang. My Aussie mates call me ‘Dusty’”, Sunny said, switching back to Mandarin as if trying to please the man standing over him.

  “So just to get things off to a better start today than yesterday, just tell me something I already know, like who sent you, and what was your mission in Dubbo?” Sing, little birdie, sing!

  “Look, I don’t really know anything. I get my orders from different people every time. They really don’t tell me much, just to travel to some shit-hole town, talk up the big man, and then report back with a summary of ‘who’s who in the zoo’. It never really amounts to much. I just give them the names of the players in each town they send me to, usually, that is.”

  “But not this time?”

  “No, this time I was supposed to…Look, I don’t want to tell you everything. Not until I know what’s going to happen to me. I mean, are you going to kill me?”

  “We’ll see. It depends on what you do here, now.”

  “What do you want from me? What do I have to do?”

  “Why did you become a spy? Don’t you know how dangerous that is? It’s certain death if you’re caught, you know.”

  “I really didn’t think about it. I was in Adelaide. The war had started and Adelaide was hardly even touched, unlike everywhere else. Everybody there thinks that China will ultimately lose, so I went along with them. What choice did I have?” Sunny looked up at Fang beseechingly. To ensure that he looked suitably terrified and anxious, Sunny thought of his girl-friend, Agness Blakely, and the prospect of never seeing her again. That led to a moment of capitulation, where he accepted that there was a good chance that he would not come out of this alive. Agness was right, I take too many risks. Should have gotten assignments like Jake Weir, Melody’s boyfriend. He never gets sent on dangerous missions like mine. Poor Agness, when she hears what happened to me. I sure hope that she does not blame Melody for her good luck, she’ll need a good friend when she’s grieving over me, he thought, and then brought his attention back to his tormentor. Somehow, Sunny found himself calmed by the acceptance of his coming fate, even if it was somewhat contrived.

  “Makes sense, kid. But now it’s over for you. You’re in some pretty serious trouble,” Fang relished the way the boy seemed to cringe whenever Fang approached him, and decided the young man was in way over his head. He may have been useful as a go-between for the allies, passing messages to Green Pandas in the NSW AOR, but he was not a trained operative. He was a dentist, not a soldier. Time to give him a scare, and then some hope, and see how he responds.

  Fang brandished a sharp knife in front of the boy, and then stared at him menacingly.

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? So why should I tell you anything?” ‘Dusty’ looked fearfully at Major Zhang.

  “What choices do you think I have, Dusty?”

  “You could let me go,” Sunny said, looking meek.

  “Would you go back to Adelaide if I did?”

  “I don’t know, should I? Would you let me go if I told you something useful?”

  I’ve got him, Zhang thought. The kid broke so easily. I’ll need to toughen him up, give him some women and booze, or boys, or drugs – whatever his weakness – and then send him back in as a double. Zhang cut the plastic zip-strap from the boys wrists. “Who’s in charge of your unit?”

  “What’s the deal, first?” Sunny did not move, but began to breathe a little deeper, as if breathing easier, like a hostage who felt hope thanks to his bonds having been cut.

  “Deal? There’s no deal. You are in no position to negotiate. But if you give me something good I may let you live one more day. You give me more – everything you know – then maybe things could work out for you after all. So who’s in charge of your little network?”

  Sagging back onto his heels from the ‘dog-begging’ posture he had worked himself up to, Sunny felt the muscles in his legs tighten up under his buttocks; his feet pressing into the snow.

 
“Some American guy. They say he’s a Ranger, whatever that is. He’s the one always hungry for my post-mission reports. I’ve seen him in the debriefing area, getting all excited about the reports.”

  “Really? Like which ones? Be specific.”

  “He’s really horny for reports about where your top officers are travelling to and from, any planned visits, hospitality being prepared, accommodation arrangements. Things like that. They’re always telling us to listen for specific ‘Time-and-Space’ information on guys like General Leung,” Sunny said, letting the enemy spy swallow the bait, hook, line and sinker.

  “So it really is an assassination plot, like Li Ning said?” Probably because they’re having so much trouble making inroads into my AOR, they’ve given up on recruiting support, and are getting desperate – going the assassination route. Major Fang was so impressed with himself, thinking a mile ahead about how to seduce and turn the young boy, and of how best to use him as a double, that he momentarily dropped his observation routines. He took his eyes off the boy a bit too long as he cast his eye on the snowy horizon thinking of where to set the boy up for his indoctrination. It’ll take time, but I can shape this boy into whatever I want.

  Sunny leapt up, swinging his fist with all the force he could put into it. He struck the distracted Major Fang directly on the chin. Fang fell back into the snow, momentarily dazed.

  Sunny hesitated for an instant, unsure whether to pounce on the man or head for the vehicle.

  It was a mistake.

  The scar-faced Chinese agent had begun to roll over, still clutching his knife. As Sunny ran for the tree-line, he felt his legs being taken out from under him. Fang had gotten his arms around Sunny’s legs, like a football tackle.