Dawn of the Tiger

by Gus Frazer

  ‘Fuck me, I was just making a point that people can survive out here,’ Dave said quietly to Finn.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I think Sarge probably has some pretty shit holiday memories from his last visit to the desert, don’t you think?’ said Finn tactfully.

  ‘Mhh,’ grunted Dave. ‘Whatever.’

  Finn walked over to where Higgins was standing with some of the others, who were staring down the column of trucks in the direction they were headed. The column trailed off into the distance, evaporating into the heat haze. Beyond the trucks, though, was a break in the landscape’s uniform flatness. Out of the sand and dirt rose a long mound. From this distance it looked smooth and lazy — an easy obstacle for their 4WD trucks. ‘What’s going on, Sarge?’ he asked.

  ‘According to the map, we’re at the eastern point of the Simpson Desert, and this little lump of dirt is called Big Red. It’s actually a fuck-off massive sand dune that’ll slow the arse of the convoy down another day, at least. We might as well hunker down and find some shade because it’s unlikely we’ll be moving too far today,’ said Higgins. Big Red stood about 35 metres above the rest of the plain. But the height wasn’t the problem — the difficulty was in the gradient, and sand, which made it an extremely difficult obstacle to negotiate.

  The heat was getting unbearable by 1400 hours. The squad had sought refuge in any piece of shade they could find, but the sun was high in the sky now, which meant the only shade was under the truck — so under they went. By 1500 they were on the move again, but not for long. A few hundred metres down the line and they stopped again. Higgins was right, thought Finn; it would take a damn long time to get every vehicle over Big Red.

  That night they camped near the base of Big Red. The night was cold — in stark contrast to the heat of the day. Sitting around in a huddle, they were wearing their thick desert jackets to keep warm. The conversation had been the usual debates over which AFL team was the best in history, who was the greatest cricketer to ever swing a bat, whether General Stephens had any idea what he was doing. The usual stuff. One by one the men trickled off until it was Higgins and Finn alone.

  ‘So, Sarge. You were in the initial battle for Australia, weren’t you?’ asked Finn directly.

  ‘Yeah, I was,’ Higgins replied, squinting into the distance.

  ‘What was it like, if you don’t mind me asking?’ replied Finn.

  ‘It was a fucking massacre — you probably got a better view of it than me on the evening news. From what I hear the coverage was extensive.’

  ‘True, but that can’t really explain what it was like.’

  ‘Hunt,’ Higgins turned to face Finn directly. ‘It was a fucking nightmare. Let’s leave it at that.’

  Finn stared back at Higgins in silence, regretting asking him now. Higgins held his gaze, staring him in the eye.

  ‘Err, yeah. Sorry, Sarge, didn’t mean to pry.’

  Higgins broke his gaze quickly. ‘Yeah, don’t worry about it.’

  With that, Higgins stood, hesitated, and walked toward his bivvy.

  For the first time, Finn felt scared and lonely. He sat there in the cold desert night, leaning against his pack, knees pulled up to his chest, chin tucked into the collar of his jacket, feeling the warmth of his breath on his neck.

  Pull yourself together, he thought to himself. This was the only way he knew to fight the panic that accompanied self-doubt and fear. He had never experienced pure, raw fear, but he could feel it creeping up on him now, and he knew it was inevitable. Right now, he just wanted it over: all the training, this horrendous convoy. It was all delaying the ultimate reality of the total fear Finn would soon experience. He had to know what it would be like: whether he would cope, how long it would last. Would it cripple him? Or would he master it, let it go and perform his job? Of course, he had no idea. He only prayed that he would deal with it and live to reflect on the feeling. He’d asked for a real challenge; now he’d gotten it.

  Next morning after breakfast, Higgins called the men in around the back of their truck. ‘Right, I’ve got some info on where the hell we’re going and what we’re doing.’

  Instantly, the men pricked up. ‘’bout bloody time,’ said Marks.

  ‘Shut your pie-holes for five minutes and I’ll give you the good news. General Stephens and his crew have come up with a plan that I reckon could work. Now, we’re here.’ Higgins pointed to a spot on the map displayed on his roll-out plastic computer screen. The spot was about a hundred kilometres southeast of Alice Springs.

  ‘The convoy is now going to hang a sharp right and head due north from here, running parallel to the Ghan railway line, which the enemy is using to transport resources to the ports in the north. As you well know, the Chinese have been watching us pretty closely with their satellites. Right about now they are probably flapping about wondering what a convoy this size is doing so far from home. And flap they fucking well should!’ The men sniggered and laughed at this, but it was tainted with the tone of uncertainty. There were too many unknowns for them to be totally confident just yet.

  ‘And here’s where it gets fun. Each morning starting today, the convoy will head off as it normally does, but now, four squads will be left behind at each camp. Each squad’s truck will leave with the convoy as normal so as not to arouse suspicion. Before daybreak, the assigned squads being deployed will get under a thermal tent that will hide the heat signature until the convoy is long gone and the satellite has passed. Each squad will then head by foot to its assigned base camp where rations, ammo and other supplies have been arranged. From this base, we will be conducting tactical strikes on the Chinese transportation and military infrastructure. This is it, boys.’

  There were back-slaps and shouts from the squad. This was the best news they had received since setting out. Finally, it all seemed worthwhile. There was a plan, they were heading into action and they were the ones on the offensive. The atmosphere crackled and Finn could taste the adrenalin. ‘Game on, boys!’ he yelled, to more backslapping and cheering.

  Chapter 9

  In Canberra, the control centre of the SOF was a hive of activity. Gathered in the conference room were the heads of military operations. Entering the conference room, Fletcher, Adams and the general sat down with little fanfare. Sarah Dempsey walked to the lectern.

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ she began, looking around the room, ‘today I’ll be taking you through our strategy for obstructing and ultimately defeating the Chinese and their illegal mining and exportation of Australia’s mineral deposits.’

  The briefing went for over two hours, with many questions. Sarah was unflappable and had a response for every question. Drawing the briefing to an end, she summarised the strategy. ‘There will be a series of ongoing, coordinated guerrilla attacks on the Chinese transport infrastructure from South Australia to the Gulf of Carpentaria. The aim of these attacks is to destabilise their transport to the point where it becomes economically unviable for China to continue.’ She closed her briefing notes, signifying the end of the presentation.

  The room was quiet, which unnerved General Stephens slightly. But looking around, he could see the faces of people who were satisfied, nodding in agreement.

  General Stephens leaned forward on the table. ‘Thank you, Sarah. Essentially, people, our view is that our goals can only be attained through a carefully orchestrated, ongoing guerrilla operation. Make no mistake; this will be a war of attrition.’

  Standing now, supporting his weight against the table on clenched fists, eyes boring into everyone in the room, General Stephens continued. ‘The end goal is simple — get the Chinese out, reclaim our land, regain control of our mines and take back this country’s freedom!’

  The room erupted in applause, there were fists banging on the table, heads nodding, shouts of approval — the testosterone in the room was palpable. The air felt heavy and stale, but charged and energised at the same time. The meeting dissolved into motions of congratulations and backslapping. S
mall groups broke away to discuss the plans. The general was relieved. Sarah had done a brilliant job of presenting the strategy — and it looked like everyone was onboard.

  Alone in his office after the briefing, Stephens felt tired. The adrenalin kick never seemed to last long nowadays. He slumped back on his leather couch putting a hand to his head, rubbing his brow, the light from the fireplace throwing the crags in his face into sharp relief. All he could do right now was breathe and just try to relax his exhausted mind and body. He really wished he could just go to sleep for 24 hours, but right now that was not an option. This was the point where all the planning of the past few months would be put into action. This was the point that mattered. All the planning in the world meant nothing if the execution of the plan failed.

  There was a knock at the door and Fletcher opened it enough to poke his head through. ‘You all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Come in,’ Stephens said, raising his head just enough to look at Fletcher, ‘I’m just starting to understand how Hudson must have felt.’

  ‘Come on, Marty — you’re not incompetent. How could you possibly feel like Hudson?’ replied Fletcher with a short laugh.

  General Stephens was too tired to reply with anything more than a wry smile. ‘Give it a few more days and we’ll see.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. And just remember — without you, Hudson would have had us all digging the mines for the bloody Chinese by now.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Stephens replied, face serious again, ‘we’re a long way from getting the Chinese out of here yet. This is going to be a long campaign, one that we may never win.’

  Fletcher sat down opposite the general. ‘Maybe, but we can’t underestimate the resolve of the Australian people.’

  Stephens leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ‘I know what we’re doing is right, but I can’t help thinking that perhaps it’s all futile, and that perhaps we should just be playing the diplomatic card and negotiating our way out of this mess.’

  ‘Bullshit. This is the right approach — the only approach. We’re doing the right thing here, Marty,’ Fletcher said, trying hard to make Stephens look him in the eye.

  Silence. General Stephens was in no mood for debating the rights or wrongs of their actions. Besides, it was too late now. The plan had been set in motion, the cogs were turning and there was no going back.

  ‘Why don’t you go and rest for a couple of hours?’ Fletcher suggested. ‘You haven’t slept in over 24 hours. Sarah and I have got this covered. There’s not a lot more you can do right now.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ General Stephens stood slowly, rubbing his head, which started pounding as soon as he stood. ‘Wake me in two hours?’

  Fletch stood as well. ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘I mean it, Fletch. Two hours,’ Stephens said, looking sternly at Fletcher.

  ‘I got it. Now bugger off and get some sleep,’ replied Fletcher.

  ‘Oh, and remind me when I wake up,’ Stephens said, turning at the door, ‘we need to arrange a meeting with Draven. He’s been pestering me for documentation about our leadership. He wants it in writing that we’ll cede leadership and return to a democracy as soon as a certain set of conditions, to be agreed upon, are met.’

  Fletcher chuckled. ‘He is a stickler, isn’t he? I’ll see what I can do.’

  After General Stephens had left, Fletcher went over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a large Glenfiddich with a splash of water, no ice, sighing heavily as he walked back to the couch. At least Hudson had the decency to leave his liquor cabinet fully stocked, he thought to himself.

  Sarah knocked once on the door and walked in, smiling broadly. ‘That seemed to go well, don’t you think, Fletch? Where’s the general?’

  ‘In there, having a sleep,’ replied Fletcher, head tilting to the adjacent room.

  ‘Oh …’ whispered Sarah, ‘finally. He hasn’t slept in a long time.’ She crept across the room and sat on the couch across from Fletcher.

  ‘He’ll be fine in a couple of hours. He’s one of the toughest blokes I’ve ever met,’ Fletcher replied, taking a sip.

  ‘Sure, but he must be feeling the pressure. Anyone in his shoes would,’ Sarah said, looking pensively into the fire.

  ‘Sarah, I’ve seen this man take a round in combat and still manage to drag my sorry arse out of a red hot terrorist zone. He’ll be fine.’

  Sarah didn’t reply, but nodded — staring at the door to the room where Stephens was resting.

  ‘I need to return Ambassador Xian’s calls,’ said Fletcher, heaving himself up from the couch. ‘He’s left a dozen messages since this morning. No doubt he’ll be upset over the convoy’s presence near their transport lines. I bet his superiors in Beijing have been squealing away about the satellite imagery.’

  Walking back to his office, Fletcher thought about the situation at hand. The Chinese extraction of iron ore and other resources was estimated to be nearing capacity. It had quickly become clear that the planning of the Chinese invasion had started long before it was executed. All their mining equipment had been manufactured and ready to use as soon as they had control of the mines. The whole operation had gone like clockwork for the Chinese — until now, that is. He wondered what approach Xian would take to their discussion.

  Dialling his secretary, Fletcher asked to be put through to Ambassador Xian. Xian immediately picked up.

  ‘Ah, General Fletcher, thank you for returning my numerous calls,’ he said with an air of sarcasm. ‘I am sure you have guessed why we so urgently needed to speak with you. We have seen the satellite imagery and we know you have mobilised a rather large convoy, which has been slowly moving toward our transportation lines. My superiors in Beijing wish to know why.’

  ‘Well, Xian, it’s very simple,’ Fletcher replied cheerfully. ‘We are creating a military base in the Northern Territory along the border of Queensland. As your government pointed out, it is our mines that you are after, not our cities and towns. However, we wish to assure our people that the Chinese forces are being watched and that the regional towns are being protected.’

  ‘But General Fletcher, we have given you our word — we are not interested in coming near your urban areas.’

  Fletcher was on a roll. He had practised this conversation many times today in his head. ‘Xian, we have accepted what has happened to our mining industry. We are merely trying to move forward. To do that, the Australian people must feel safe.’

  ‘Well, yes, I can see that, but I will need to discuss it with my superiors in Beijing.’

  ‘I understand, Xian. Please let me know if there is anything more we can do to allay your concerns. Our interests are only concerned with the rebuilding of Australia.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Well we shall talk again soon,’ said Xian hesitantly, not sure what to make of the conversation — believing what Fletcher had told him, but at the same time … not entirely sold.

  ‘Okay, then. Thank you, Ambassador. Goodbye,’ said Fletcher, hanging up. He couldn’t help smiling. It was good to hear Xian so unsure of himself. Fletcher knew that the Chinese wanted to disrupt the Australian way of life as little as possible; the sooner the country let go of the South Australian mines and set about rebuilding its economy, the more efficiently China could extract and export the resources. But Fletcher and the others also knew that once they were beholden to China, that was it. They would forever be at the whim of the Chinese. How long before another resource became of great interest to China?

  After Fletcher had gone to call Ambassador Xian, Sarah left the SOF on a high. Her adrenalin was bursting and she could think of only one way to release it.

  In her car, Sarah voice-activated Matt’s number.

  Matt answered from his office. ‘Hey, what’s happening?’

  ‘Just driving back from work. We had a win today. Fancy celebrating with me?’ she said in a suggestive tone, as her car turned onto her street.

  ‘Sure, what did you have in mind?’ asked Matt,
tilting his chair back, already having a pretty good idea.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps you could come by and surprise me with a bottle of something sparkling?’ she said seductively as her car pulled into its space.

  ‘Hmm. Not much of a surprise now, is it?’ replied Matt, grinning.

  ‘That depends on what you do to me after the champagne,’ she said, still sitting in the car.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ Matt said quickly, immediately hanging up.

  Sarah smiled to herself — she did enjoy their repartee and Matt was certainly eager to please, which was always a bonus. She enjoyed his company, and sexually they were extremely compatible. She didn’t have time for a complicated relationship, and neither did he, especially now as he was acting as the head liaison between the military and the government. They were both very clear on emotional boundaries and it suited them — although sometimes, for example when she was smiling like she was now, she wondered if that was as easy said as done.

  General Stephens opened the door to his office and walked in, rubbing his face. Fletcher was sitting on a couch, screen in hand, reading through a report.

  ‘Morning,’ Stephens grumbled, his voice deep and coarse, face rough and unshaven.

  ‘Morning? It’s nearly 2100 hours,’ replied Fletcher.

  ‘Urgh, I feel terrible … What happened to two hours?’ he glared at his friend. Not waiting for a reply, General Stephens continued. ‘Give me some good news.’

  ‘This should cheer you up. I spoke to Ambassador Xian earlier. You should have heard him squirming away about the convoy.’

  ‘He bought the story though?’ asked Stephens, yawning.

  ‘I think so. Hard to tell. I think he took it like a shit sandwich — didn’t like the taste, but ate it anyway.’

  ‘Hmmf. Regardless, we don’t have long. A few more days and the tactical strikes begin. That’s when things will get interesting with the Chinese,’ said Stephens, rubbing his face again. ‘Where’s Sarah? You seen her?’