Dawn of the Tiger

by Gus Frazer

  ‘Yes, but perhaps Hudson’s defensive strategy will work and it will push the Chinese back out to sea,’ said Main somewhat desperately.

  The five faces staring back in disbelief said everything.

  ‘Okay, I guess not then,’ said Main.

  Connor stood, walking to the centre of the room. ‘Look Martin, I think we can all see that you have the nation’s best interests at heart, but now is not the time to be challenging leadership. The public won’t stand for it and neither will the government. The only way a coup can be successful is when the prime minister has lost the confidence of the public and of the government. He needs to be given the chance to defend the country, whether we believe in his capabilities or not. Let’s not talk of this again until the time is right — and let’s pray that time never comes.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Colonel Main.

  ‘Fletch, what do you think?’ asked Stephens.

  ‘I agree with Adams, it’s too early for this sort of thing. We should be putting our energy into helping with the defensive operation at hand, whether it’s right or not,’ said Fletch, alternating his gaze between Stephens and the carpet in front of him.

  ‘Right then, well without your support, I can do nothing. But mark my words, the Chinese will not be stopped. Australia is soon to be a nation occupied by a hostile military for the first time in history,’ said General Stephens.

  As each of them left General Stephens’ house, the conversation they just had weighed heavily on their minds. They knew that General Stephens was right, but they also knew that to attempt such a thing would result in their imprisonment. For now, they had to remain under the leadership of Hudson — for better or for worse.

  Chapter 3

  The defensive operation mounted by Australia’s naval, air and ground forces was predictable. The Chinese had estimated the response and were ruthlessly efficient in their onslaught. China’s fleet of submarines, aircraft carriers and other warships quickly and effortlessly disabled the Australian navy. The prized HMAS John Howard, the newest and biggest of the nation’s destroyers, was unceremoniously sunk off the coast of Far North Queensland without even firing a round. Over 200 men and women were on board the ship when it was hit broadside by a torpedo that turned the vessel into a floating fireball. Fewer than 50 survived.

  The navy’s submarines were embarrassingly inept in the face of the Chinese sub-hunting ships, which employed stealth technology to operate silently, making them virtually undetectable. This, coupled with the state-of-the-art underwater sonar equipment and a deadly arsenal of mines and noise-seeking torpedoes, made the sub-hunters a deadly weapon. Australia’s dated submarines were never going to pose a threat to China’s technological might. They were old, loud by modern standards, and completely useless against such an adversary.

  The Australian sailors who went to do battle against the Chinese in the submarines went in knowing what they were up against. Each person on board had to have known that it was futile to pit themselves against a modern, aggressive navy. And yet they followed their orders like the dutiful troops they were, sailing off to their inevitable death. Had the Australian public understood how vastly inferior the Australian navy was to the Chinese, they would never have allowed their loved ones to go to sea.

  Australia’s two newest German-built submarines, the U215s, which the navy had purchased five years ago, fared much better. Powered by nine hydrogen-oxygen fuel cells, they were silent and had no heat signature. Their composite structure meant they left no magnetic trace and were ideal for patrolling and defending Australia’s vast coast. Nimble and fast, they could dive in just 20 metres of water — allowing them to navigate the tight reefs and waterways common around Australia. But with only two of them in service, their efficacy at neutralising the Chinese navy was limited. Both submarines managed to inflict losses on the Chinese navy, however, after they had delivered their deadly load of missiles and torpedoes, they then had to sail all the way back to Perth in order to reload. Despite their stealth and usefulness in Australian waters, the Chinese considered them a nuisance rather than a genuine threat. The Chinese navy, not even feeling its resources stretched by its engagement with Australia, was expanding its aggression and had also taken control of the offshore oil and gas rigs in the Timor Sea and Indian Ocean.

  The RAAF, like the navy, was out-gunned and outnumbered. With three Chinese aircraft carriers stationed around the Gulf of Carpentaria, they quickly created an air defence perimeter — turning the Gulf into a safe-harbour for their carriers, tankers, supply vessels and troopships. From the aircraft carriers, China launched their J-35 fighter jets, which easily took care of the RAAF’s ageing Joint Strike Fighters, the F-35s. Though 20 years old, the F-35s were a phenomenal air-to-air and tactical fighter jet, yet China’s combination of superior hardware and fighter training made the Australian F-35s easy targets.

  The fight for air supremacy over the Gulf was over before it began. In the space of a few days the main thrust of Australia’s air force was all but destroyed. The RAAF was forced to hold back its remaining planes for fear that they would be without any air force. As it was, the air force had been reduced to ‘air support’ as opposed to ‘force’.

  With air protection assured, the Chinese troopships unloaded their infantry at a small port called Karumba. This was the launching pad for the Chinese army’s sweep down to South Australia.

  And so it was that the defence of Australia was left to the infantry. Never before had Australians been forced to fight for their land so literally. The infantry was outnumbered, with little or no air support; they were ill-equipped and poorly trained for this sort of operation, and disillusioned by the staggering might of the Chinese army. Every form of transportation was used to get as many of the country’s fighting men and women to the frontline. By air, by road, by rail, the military descended on the small town of Cloncurry in Queensland, not far from Mount Isa. Over 20,000 Australian troops were gathered in less than seven days. Reports had made it back to the troops of the sinking of HMAS John Howard and the huge losses suffered by the navy and air forces. This further enraged the troops and it was the topic of many conversations around the camp.

  The battle lines had been drawn. Australia’s defence would be decided in the desert areas north of Cloncurry. This would be the first push by the Australian army in an attempt to force the Chinese back to Karumba. It would be a joint strike at the mobilised Chinese army with support from the RAAF. While outwardly everyone was full of bravado, the dire reality of the situation could not be mistaken. They were up against insurmountable odds. The only hope, they knew, was to inflict immediate and heavy losses on the Chinese and force them to reconsider their initial plan, perhaps even provoking them to retreat and re-evaluate their options. This would give the Australian army time to manoeuvre and surround the Chinese in an attempt to curb their advance.

  The fighting was fierce. Day and night the artillery and air strikes bombarded the battleground. Heavy losses were incurred on both sides. China could afford them, but Australia could not. In the three days of fighting, the Australian forces did not push the Chinese back one millimetre. At the very pointy end of Australia’s defence was the 5th Battalion Infantry Regiment, a proud and distinguished unit whose history went back to the Second World War. In the Vietnam conflict of the 1960s, the battalion earned the name ‘Tiger Battalion’ for its ferocious and highly efficient fighting ability in the jungle.

  Major Pete Cowell commanded C Company of the Tiger Battalion. He had barely slept in the last three days of conflict and now, sitting in his foxhole surrounded by a rag-tag bunch of men whose rank meant nothing at this stage of fighting, his eyes became uncontrollably heavy. There was a respite in the fighting, a lull that had a distinct feeling of being the eye of the storm. With the almost rhythmic sound of heavy artillery landing on the Chinese forces nearby, his world was fast turning black and he was slipping into unconsciousness. It was night, and even this far north it was cool in the desert. T
he air was filled with a myriad of constantly changing smells. One second it was crisp, clean and earthy, as the desert should smell, then the breeze would change and the smell of death, violence and pain would fill the air. At times, the air was so thick with the stench of death that Major Cowell felt he was choking.

  Most of the men had never seen real combat — the training camps and joint exercises could never compare to the fighting they had just been through. At times the men were fighting hand-to-hand with knives and their bare hands. This sort of fighting hadn’t been seen since Vietnam, a war that was ancient history to most of them. Over the course of these few days, the morale of the men had gone from gung-ho bravado to resolute doggedness to desperation and, finally, to pure survival. The kind of survival instinct that none of them had even known they had. It couldn’t be described as a sense or knowing, more of a deep vibration at each person’s core. Though their bodies were spent and their minds numb with depletion, there was still this vibration. None of them spoke of it. There was no time to dwell on introspection, but each recognised it as their will to survive.

  Cowell tried to think of his wife and two daughters but he couldn’t. His mind refused to bring up their images. It was as though his mind was protecting him, not wanting their memory in any way associated with this hell. He was happy to let sleep take over and relieve him of the moment.

  ‘Major,’ he heard faintly. ‘Major!’ louder this time. Layers of noise came to him — the sounds of artillery, the commotion of men with gear. Opening his eyes he could see Corporal Higgins’ battle-scarred face close to his own, yelling his name. It was night, but flashes of artillery constantly broke the darkness. Suddenly he was starkly aware of where he was and his ears registered the exploding sounds even faster. His vision sharpened and he was suddenly very much in the present.

  ‘Major! We’ve got orders to move out!’ yelled Corporal Higgins above the artillery.

  ‘What’s going on, Corporal?’ Cowell rubbed his dirty face.

  ‘Sir, HQ’ve posted new orders.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Cowell tapping on his wrist mounted screen reading the orders, ‘this has to be a last-ditch effort,’

  ‘Sir, the men are ready to move out —’

  An artillery round exploded nearby, showering them with dirt and making them curl their bodies into a ball, protecting as much of their flesh as possible.

  ‘—but they don’t have a lot left in the tank,’ yelled Higgins, resuming the conversation as he straightened up.

  ‘Corporal, this is it. This is our last chance to push the enemy back,’ yelled Cowell above the artillery.

  ‘Yes, sir! So what’s the plan?’ replied Higgins.

  ‘Men,’ Cowell yelled to the others in the foxhole, ‘huddle! We have an objective and it is imperative we achieve it. We are to advance on the Chinese forward post, here.’ He pointed to the digital mapscreen unfurled on the ground in front of them. ‘We will have artillery support and B Company will be flanking the post to our left, so watch your friendly fire and remember that our guys are out there, too.

  ‘Okay, Corporal Higgins, I want you to take your section out to the right 200 metres before flanking the Chinese post. Be careful, we don’t know if the Chinese have moved into position out there. You may stumble upon enemy fire. If you do, retreat and come up behind us. Our objective is this forward post. Nothing else. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Higgins.

  ‘Right. The rest of you are with me. We move quickly and silently up to this point. Here we wait while our artillery boys hammer the hell out of them. When they’ve had a good dose of Aussie fireworks we go in and clean up while Higgins’ team causes confusion on the right and B Company sweeps through on the left. Any questions?’

  The men were stoic and silent. They were experienced enough to know that what the major had just explained to them was going to be difficult, if not impossible even though he described it like it was a straightforward operation. But they had been conducting similar operations in the last three days, all of which had ravaged their battalion.

  Higgins knew that this was another insane operation that the commanders deemed necessary. He knew it was all pointless — he knew it right from the start of the defence, when he’d been sent from the Darwin US Military Base, where he’d been enjoying the cushy posting after some tough tours of duty in the Middle East and Africa to help out the Aussie forces. But soldiers simply do, they don’t question, postulate or consider, even if it’s someone else’s country they’re fighting for. Ruthless execution of orders and fulfilment of your mission at all costs was what his sergeant always said during his training. Here he was and he would do exactly that, no matter what the cost.

  ‘Set Higgins?’ called Major Cowell.

  ‘Yessir,’ replied Higgins through gritted teeth.

  ‘Then let’s have some hustle. C’mon — move out!’ said Major Cowell through his clenched jaw.

  Corporal Higgins looked into the faces of his four remaining men, Jones, Jameson, Cahill and Davis, nodded grimly and moved them out silently over the top of the foxhole with no dramatics. The Chinese either didn’t see them or were waiting to see what they were up to, as there was no hail of bullets. ‘All right men, follow me, heads down, eyes up. Let’s go!’

  Higgins crawled along the dirt and sand. There was little cover in the desert and the Chinese used sophisticated night vision and thermal-imaging head-gear that meant they could spot the enemy over a hundred metres away. There was nowhere to hide in the desert, nowhere except the odd shrub or occasional rock — and the shrubs couldn’t stop a well-thrown pebble.

  What the fuck have we got going on here? thought Higgins. The going was slow and painful, crawling over rocks and hard-packed dirt. After about one hundred metres he checked his wrist-mounted GPS for their position on the attack map. Another hundred metres and he would make a 70-degree turn to the left and start heading directly towards the objective. Their artillery was pounding around them. The Chinese were certainly taking a hammering. It would stop soon though, and that would signal their turn.

  After another hundred metres on their chests, Higgins stopped, rechecked his GPS and made the turn. Crouched low, he moved as quickly as possible — eyes straining to stay at the top of their sockets, ears aching with concentration, skin raw and prickly as a cold sweat layered his filthy skin.

  Just another 20 metres then we’re in position, he thought to himself.

  Come on! Ten more now, little bit further …

  Finally in position, he tapped his GPS screen, sending a coded signal to the major and B Company announcing that they were in position and ready. The artillery had stopped now. Over his earpiece the major’s voice came through with crystal clarity, ‘Okay, we’re moving in. Higgins, give it 60 seconds then commence your assault.’

  ‘Copy that,’ responded Higgins.

  He heard the crackle of the machine guns and the muzzle flashes from what looked like hundreds of rifles from the Aussie side.

  Sixty seconds. Forty-five seconds. Thirty seconds, he counted down to himself, watching the firefight just a few hundred metres away from his men.

  ‘Fuck this, let’s go!’ he yelled as he lifted himself, heaving his body armour. Raising his fully automatic RP-12 assault rifle to his shoulder, he moved forward at a slow but methodical pace. The sound of his men behind him doing the same comforted him.

  Moving more quickly now, Higgins and his men were almost running when he saw out of the corner of his eye the flashes from rifles and heard the distinct whine of Chinese bullets passing within centimetres of his head.

  ‘Down!’ he yelled, falling straight to his chest and turning to the right, the direction of the fire. Taking aim, he cleared a few rounds in the direction of the muzzle flashes.

  They snake-crawled as quickly as possible toward a large rock, bullets smashing into the ground centimetres from their bodies. Scuttling behind the rock in a cloud of dust and heavy breathing, Higgins and three others h
uddled. Not far away Jones, a young guy from Lennox Head, lay face down and still — no time to worry about him now.

  ‘Fuck, we have to get over there and flank the objective or the major will be cut down,’ Higgins shouted to the others.

  Higgins tapped his throat mic to connect to Major Cowell. ‘Major, we are under enemy fire, pinned down, cannot get to you!’ he yelled above the sound of the firing.

  ‘Affirmative, Corporal, do your best to get over here. We’re pressing forward!’ came the major’s voice through the earpiece.

  ‘Corporal, what about Jonesie?’ asked Davis.

  ‘No time, he’s gone, and we will be too if we don’t get over to the major,’ replied Higgins. ‘Grenades? How many grenades do you have?’

  ‘Three,’ ‘None,’ ‘Three,’ came the replies.

  ‘Davis, you and me split the grenades. Jameson, Cahill, you cover us.’

  Turning to Davis, Higgins continued. ‘You break left — I’m going right. At the count of five, we throw. And make them count.’

  ‘Let’s do it!’ said Davis, composing himself.

  Higgins and Davis took two grenades each and pulled the pins, clasping them tightly in each hand, ready to throw.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Higgins, and without waiting for a reply, barked ‘Now!’

  Running out from behind the rock and into the enemy fire, Higgins ducked and weaved his way through the hail of bullets. He counted to five before hurling both grenades.

  Two successive explosions rang out as his grenades hit their targets, plumb in the middle of the Chinese dugout, followed closely by a huge explosion to his left where Davis had run. Davis had been mowed down by enemy fire and the grenades had gone off beside him, very nearly taking out the others behind the rock.

  Running back to the others and collecting his rifle, Higgins told the men to move out. The three of them now moved quickly and silently toward the ensuing battle, rifles at their shoulders, eyes scanning for movement in the darkness which was constantly illuminated by bright bursts of light.