by Gus Frazer
Hudson stared at Draven in disgust.
General Draven continued. ‘Though it would be far easier to take out the Chinese forces while they’re seabound, the reality is we simply cannot. So we must plan for a land-based confrontation. Now, we could have 25,000 troops near the Gulf in less than four days. They can go head-to-head with the Chinese and stop them in their tracks.’
‘One hundred thousand Chinese troops, stopped in their tracks?’ repeated Hudson, his eyes narrowing. ‘I’m a politician, not a soldier, but even I know the numbers don’t stack up.’
‘Sir, that figure is closer to 150,000, we think,’ said General Martin Stephens, one of the country’s most decorated senior military officials. The physically imposing man had been silent up until this point, his blue-grey eyes observing the room carefully.
‘When we are outnumbered four to one, what’s an extra 50,000?’ Hudson seethed at General Stephens, directing a splintering look at him.
General Stephens was unperturbed by Hudson’s display. Although Stephens, at only 47, was relatively young compared to his fellow generals , what he lacked in years he made up for in combat experience and smarts. His time fighting in Africa and Afghanistan had toughened him up enough not to be affected by the prime minister’s disdain. ‘Mr Prime Minister, I have an alternative strategy.’
‘Well, let’s hear it,’ said Hudson as the others around the table shuffled uncomfortably in their seats.
‘We do nothing,’ said Stephens.
‘Nothing?’ repeated the prime minster incredulously.
‘Yes, nothing. Let them land safely, then mobilise and begin their journey to South Australia.’
‘Quit being a smart arse, Stephens. Why the hell would we just let them start Waltzing Matilda down the centre of Australia?’ guffawed Hudson.
General Stephens remained calm and even. ‘Sir, it’s not as ridiculous as it first sounds. Five years ago we conducted extensive simulations and modelled a number of potential invasion scenarios. The analysis clearly showed that, based on a northern landing, there was only one defensive strategy deemed to have a significant probability for success — we called it the Cosgrove Response. It basically entails waiting for them to come to us. It’s nearly 2000 kilometres from the lowest point of the Gulf to Woomera in South Australia. That’s a lot of hard outback land to cover during summer, regardless of their technology. Let’s draw them into the centre of the country, let nature soften them up, and when they think they’re close, then we engage.’
General Draven had heard enough. ‘Mr Prime Minister, the Cosgrove Response is flawed for one very simple reason. The Australian public will not accept a government that simply allows an invading army to walk down the middle of the country!’
Hudson looked at both men. ‘So General Stephens, what happens if our military forces are overwhelmed once China has a foothold here in the Gulf? The Chinese will be in our backyard and there will be no room for a Plan B.’
General Stephens intensified his stare at Hudson. ‘Sir, if our armed forces are overwhelmed at any point now, it really doesn’t matter. The Chinese will take control of the mines and whatever else pleases them and we will be powerless to stop them.’
Chapter 2
On the same day President Hudson received the news that would change Australia forever, Finn Hunt was going about his usual Tuesday pre-work ritual.
It was 6:45 am and he was walking down the steps to the Boy Charlton Pool at Woolloomooloo. The air was crisp and cool, laced with salt from the harbour. The sun was rising over the imposing old cranes at the naval base across the bay. Berthed along the wharf were nearly a dozen warships, permanently docked in the harbour — decaying, rusting hulks going largely unnoticed by the populace. Finn had often thought of the irony of the forgotten ships — rotting away in clear view of the modern, thriving city.
Still, even the rusting ships couldn’t put a damper on the pleasure of an early morning swim — for Finn there was no better way to start the day. He met his mates Sam, Jack, Zak and Jacob there every Tuesday and Thursday for swimming training before work.
Walking from the changing room to the pool, Finn felt the chill of the early morning southerly breeze on his skin.
Seeing Jack at the end of the pool, Finn smiled. ‘What’ve you done, mate?’
‘Five hundred, you’ve got some catching-up to do, fella,’ replied Jack.
‘Yeah, I better get cracking. You seen the others?’
‘Yeah, everyone’s here except Zak, he’s training for some ridiculous bike race.’
‘Shit, right, wait for me before you do the sprints,’ said Finn, jumping into the water. Diving in, there was an immediate chill as his nerve endings registered the cool water, but it was relatively mild and he told himself to harden up.
The usual routine was a one-kilometre warm-up, followed by a lengthy chat with the guys, then a series of sprints to finish up. Finn was fast and had picked up the pace a lot since starting with the guys nearly two years ago, but it was Jack, 42 and as strong as an ox, who dominated the pool.
After Finn had powered through his kilometre, he spotted the guys in another lane, standing waist deep in water, bantering. As he breathlessly ducked under the lane ropes to join the pack, Jack slapped him on the back. ‘Right Finn, ready for the fifties?’
‘Gimme a second,’ gasped Finn.
‘No chance, that’ll teach you for being late,’ said Sam, an ex-rugby-player from England. ‘Besides, a 26-year-old like you shouldn’t have a hard time keeping up with an old bugger like Jack, right?’
‘Come on, two minutes guys. Hey did you see the cricket last night?’ Finn asked, trying desperately to buy himself a few minutes of rest.
‘Yeah, how bad was Australia?’ said Sam, who relished the opportunity to pay out on an Australian sports team.
‘You have no idea, Sam. Australia was sandbagging. They were so good for so long that they’ve had to lower their standards in order to make the rest of the world competitive,’ fired back Jacob, trying to justify Australia’s miserable loss to the West Indies in a recent one-day test series.
‘Australia’s been sandbagging for years then, if that’s the case,’ replied Sam smugly.
‘Whatever mate, no other team has won as many world cups as us.’
‘No other team has had a losing streak last for fifteen T20’s,’ said Sam, with a smirk.
‘Mate, you need to pull your head in. It’s not like England has done anything in the last five years,’ said Jacob, not letting-up.
‘There is honour in our consistency,’ replied Sam.
‘Not when it’s consistently shit,’ said Finn, joining in.
‘Alright, come on, let’s get on with it girls,’ Sam shot back.
‘Yeah, come on, I’m getting cold,’ said Jacob.
Jack looked disgusted. ‘I’m getting cold, it’s so chilly,’ he said in his best girlie voice, mocking Jacob.
‘Right, come on boys, what are we going to do?’ said Finn, keen to get moving now.
‘Ten 50s to start with,’ said Jack, who usually set the agenda for the swims.
‘Let’s do it,’ said Finn.
‘On the zero,’ said Jack referring to the clock.
Jack pushed off at the zero mark, Finn followed 5 seconds later. Stretching each arm forward in turn and dragging it back until his hand brushed the side of his thigh. Straining to drag his body through the water, Finn focused his mind on catching Jack. By the fifth sprint, they were all beginning to tire and Finn finally caught Jack.
After the sprints they were all breathless but in good spirits. Wearily hauling themselves out of the water, sleek as seals, they headed for the showers, talking and joking. Once changed into his ‘trader’s uniform’, a $5000 Ermenegildo Zegna suit that fitted his athletic 6’5” frame immaculately, Finn walked up to his black 4x4 Jeep Hybrid.
‘Office, please,’ he said clearly as he settled into his seat. The Jeep’s sophisticated radar and mapping software mea
nt that Finn could catch up on the stock market as he drove to the city. He was aiming to be at the office by 8 am. The Jeep navigated itself smoothly through the congested CBD, to the carpark beneath the sleek glass-and-metal skyscraper where Finn worked. Pulling into his car park right by the elevator, Finn always got a bit of satisfaction from how his Jeep stood out compared to all the electric Porsches and Jags. As he stepped out of his car, he ran into a colleague walking towards the elevator. He could never remember this guy’s name — was it Tim or Tom?
‘How’s the wunderkind doing this morning, eh?’ Tim or Tom asked Finn, punching him in the arm with forced jocularity.
Finn smiled politely and nodded, keeping his responses to a minimum throughout the elevator ride, breathing a sigh of relief when they finally arrived at their floor. Tim or Tom was exactly the stereotypical ‘trader’ that he despised and avoided at all costs. Except for Chris, one of his best friends he’d known since school, he didn’t spend any social time with his work colleagues. Though Chris did come from the finance world, they had a history and, for Finn, having a history meant he could look beyond the superficial — though it didn’t stop him from regularly taunting Chris about his image-driven consumer tendencies.
Finn strode into his office, past the bullpen where most of the other traders sat. His office had floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the harbour, but one detail distracted from its executive finishes: a framed poster that hung behind his desk with ‘Gamer of the Century’ emblazoned on it in retro characters. Chris had given it to him a few years back, when Finn’s ascent had become complete and he’d moved into this office. It was their in-joke — privately, Finn had confessed to Chris that trading seemed like nothing more to him than a video game — one he’d mastered with disturbing ease. It had all been so easy for him that he had a hard time taking it seriously. But he wasn’t going to turn down the wads of money that his employers were eager to throw at him for his ‘skills’.
Later that day, Finn took a break and went downstairs to see Chris. Coming out of the stairwell, Finn looked across the cavernous floor with row upon row of long white desks seating hundreds of people. Spotting Chris leaning back repeatedly throwing a small stress ball in the air, Finn called out, ‘Hard at work?’ as he wandered up to his friend’s desk.
‘Mate, this is the engine room of the company down here, we analysts keep this place humming,’ said Chris, defending himself.
‘Uh huh,’ said Finn, sitting on Chris’s desk. ‘You girls just keep doing those pretty reports and let the real men make the tough calls upstairs.’
‘Whatever. Now, what’s happening this Thursday? We hitting the clubs?’
‘Damn right, mate, I’m ready to unleash,’ replied Finn.
‘Nice, I’ll make sure the others are …’
A loud cry interrupted Chris. It came from somewhere on the floor and abruptly stopped all conversations, people turning to see what was going on. There was a commotion at the other end of the office. A man stood up and yelled out to the rest of the floor, ‘China’s invading Australia!’
Finn looked at Chris quizzically. ‘What the fuck?’
‘I’ll get online, let’s see what’s going on,’ said Chris, hitting his keyboard. ‘Chinese Invade Australia,’ mumbled Chris as he typed the words into the Newsbot window. Instantly a front page of news appeared on the screen, all to do with the invasion. Live international commercial news feeds, social media feeds and government feeds filled the screen.
Finn’s mouth dropped as he leant into the screen. ‘Look at the volume of traffic, click on that article there,’ he instructed Chris.
It seemed to take an eternity for the page to load.
‘Come fucking on,’ said Chris, impatiently staring at the screen.
Finally the page loaded and Finn read aloud from the screen. ‘At this stage the government is not releasing any further details of the Chinese flotilla in the Gulf except to say that the military has been placed on full alert and diplomats are in communication with the Chinese Government, trying to resolve the situation.’
‘We’re going to war with China?’ said Chris incredulously.
‘Mate, I think China is bringing a war to us,’ replied Finn, still staring at the screen. ‘Oh fuck,’ said Finn, his eyes widening. Turning from Chris’s desk he began quickly walking back to the stairs. As the enormity of what he just read sunk in, he began to run. Reaching his office he was in full sprint. Pulling up at his terminal he accessed his trading program. The buzz on the trading floor outside his office seemed no different to how he had left it. Had no one heard yet?
‘Sell everything now. Sell, sell!’ he screamed to the floor as he started hitting his keyboard.
People stood up to see the maniac who had clearly lost his mind.
‘Australia is being invaded by the Chinese. Off-load as much as you can!’
Frantically, Finn smashed at his computer, selling everything he had in his portfolios. If he was lucky, he might get rid of some of the stocks before the market collapsed, which he knew with certainty that it would upon everyone hearing the news.
His heart pounding, all he could think about was beating the market and minimising his losses. With three screens surrounding him, he looked at the one displaying the key market indicators. ‘Fuck!’ he cursed as he saw the real-time numbers and charts all head south.
‘Too late, it’s already happening,’ he muttered as he looked up to see that the rest of the floor had caught on. There was yelling and cursing in all directions.
All night Finn and everyone in the company worked on strategies to minimise their exposure. It was virtually pointless though — the market collapsed before anyone could save any real value. Billions of dollars were wiped out in a matter of hours. By 7 am the next day an announcement was made that the markets would be closed, which meant there was no trading — and there was nothing more Finn could do. Exhausted from the last 24 hours, Finn left the office.
Rather than go home, Finn decided to go to his parents’ house on Sydney’s Northern Beaches for a week or two. Driving out of the city Finn considered how perverse it was that it was such a beautiful morning, the sun already hot and the sky cloudless. The drive up on the empty roads took him only 30 minutes, but he napped through most of it.
Pulling into the drive, he groggily got out of his Jeep and walked in the unlocked front door. Surprised his parents hadn’t heard his car in the drive and come out to greet him, he hesitantly entered the bright and airy home and walked down the hall towards the kitchen. The walls of the hallway were studded with family paraphernalia: photos of Tom, Finn’s dad, from his days as CEO of the Nine Network, photos of Sonia, Finn’s mum, in various yoga and meditation poses and, most embarrassingly for Finn, the usual gallery of naked baby pictures and formal portraits of him when he was young, in his Army Reserves uniform.
He found both parents in the kitchen, glued to their screens which were flashing up news about the invasion. Finn’s parents started when they finally noticed him. Sonia immediately jumped up and gave her son a hug and a kiss.
‘Finn, you look terrible, poor thing. I’ll make you some brekkie’. She immediately started bustling in the kitchen, her customary flowing sarong rustling with her movements. Finn noticed some new streaks of silver through her black hair. It seemed more peppered with white every time he saw her.
Tom stood and stretched, taking his attention away from his screen to grab his son in a rough hug. Although Finn had almost 40 years and four inches on his dad, he was always impressed with the vitality and strength of the old man. Tom chalked it all up to the miracles of his daily surf.
‘Dad, hey, what’s the latest?’ asked Finn.
‘Hey kiddo. I don’t think anyone knows what’s going on.’ He rubbed his tanned, bald head in a weary gesture. ‘I’ve been watching the news all morning and they just keep repeating the same thing. The Chinese have amassed a fleet of a hundred ships up in the Gulf of Carpentaria.’
‘B
ut why? What do they want up there?’ asked Finn.
‘I have no idea, son, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s good.’
Back in his office and 24 hours after his rude awakening, James Hudson was a man in torment. He knew what he had to do and he knew that outwardly he was doing his job. Inside, however, his mind was tied in knots. He kept rolling the same questions through his mind: ‘Why now? Why me?’ He was paralysed by the questions and desperately fought against his obsessing, knowing it would get him nowhere. Still, he couldn’t help but feel cheated. He’d come to power at a time of unprecedented peace and prosperity for the region. How could anyone expect him to be capable of handling this?
General Stephens knocked and entered the room. ‘Sir, you wanted to see me?’
‘General, come in. Sit down.’ Hudson beckoned him to the couches near the fireplace in the corner of his office. Stephens strode briskly towards the couches and sat down. Whenever Stephens was in Hudson’s office, he had to marvel at the man’s image-consciousness. He’d had this statesmanlike office created in the underground complex at great taxpayer expense — Stephens couldn’t even venture a guess at how much the installation of the real fireplace would have cost, considering the logistical problems in piping the smoke out of such a high-security subterranean structure.
‘What an unbelievable situation we seem to have found ourselves in, General — the Chinese are going to invade our country and try to take over our bloody mines. The only good news is it sounds like they’re not interested in our cities or infrastructure … for now. And it seems, from what you and Draven are saying, our military is powerless to do anything to stop them,’ said Hudson wearily.
General Stephens looked down at his hands, which were clasped in front of him. He paused for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. He raised his head and, looking directly into Hudson’s eyes, began to speak with controlled urgency. ‘Sir, our initial military response is critical to the future of this country. May I be very clear in saying that our forces will not survive a head-on assault against the Chinese.’ Leaning forward he continued, ‘The Chinese think they can sweep down the centre of Australia and take over the mines with minimal fuss — and they’re right. If we try to scramble our forces into a forward line of defence, we will be crushed.’ He paused, praying that this was sinking in with Hudson.
