by Gus Frazer
‘Major,’ he yelled with his finger on his throat mic, ‘Major, we’re flanking to the right, I repeat we are flanking to the right.’
‘Copy that, Corporal, we are under heavy machine gunfire. Attack the position I’m highlighting on the attack map.’
‘Yessir,’ responded Higgins, looking down at the screen on his wrist.
Beckoning his remaining two men forward, he asked, ‘You guys copy that?’
The men nodded feverishly.
‘Right, spread out, keep low. Jameson, here, you take this,’ handing him one of the two remaining grenades. ‘These are the last two, let’s make ’em count.’
‘You bet,’ replied Jameson.
Spreading out in a line, they crept forward slowly, every nerve ending screaming information to their brain. The men could see the dugout and the machine gun that was ripping into the major’s team. Higgins could see the silhouette of the Chinese soldiers in the dugout.
Calmly dropping to one knee, Higgins pulled out his last grenade, unpinned it and threw it in one fluid motion as he dropped for cover. The grenade sailed through the air and into the dugout. The Chinese stopped firing momentarily as they realised what had just joined them. A split second later and the grenade exploded, sending pieces of flesh and metal flying.
Without hesitation, Higgins and his men leapt into the destroyed dugout for shelter. Holding the button on his throat mic Higgins yelled, ‘Major, dugout secured, I repeat, dugout secured.’
‘Copy that Corporal. Now focus your attention on the main Chinese line. I’m highlighting them now, do you see?’
‘Yessir, I have it.’
‘B Company is under heavy fire but is pushing through. I’m not waiting for them though. Let’s keep the momentum,’ continued the major. His team had sustained heavy losses, but he’d be damned if he was slowing down now that they had the advantage.
‘Do you want us to move down to your position, sir?’ asked Higgins.
‘No, you keep out to our right and come in on a pincer movement.’
‘Yessir. Say the word, we’re ready to move out,’ replied Higgins, turning to look at the others. He knew the next stage was the most difficult and would in all likelihood result in their deaths.
‘Move out,’ came the order from Major Cowell through their earpieces.
Heaving his body up, Higgins readied himself to face the enemy fire once again. He looked over to his left and made out the silhouettes of the major’s team with their muzzle flashes moving quickly forward. Raising his rifle he fired at the Chinese line, aiming only at the white flashes coming from the enemy guns.
Moving forward as quickly as possible, they were soon running. Mouth open, Higgins wasn’t thinking anymore. He just ran and fired his weapon as accurately as possible — which wasn’t very precise given the terrain, darkness and speed they were moving. Higgins didn’t notice that the further forward they ran, the less the enemy fired back.
Still running forward and firing sporadically, Higgins finally noticed that there were no more muzzle flashes coming from the Chinese side. It was quieter, there was less movement around them and no bullets in the air.
Confused, he kept moving. Reaching the enemy trench, they dived in, the dirt sticking to their sweat-covered skin and soaked clothing. Jameson was beside him breathing heavily. Cahill was nowhere to be seen. ‘What the fuck?!’ said Jameson, ‘Where are they?’
No time to answer. They could see movement out of the corners of their eyes. Someone was running toward them down the trench. Lifting their weapons, they took aim. Higgins recognised the loping gait more than anything — it was the major.
‘Major!’ he yelled, lowering his rifle.
‘They fucking ran, Corporal,’ panted the major, struggling to catch his breath. ‘Soon as they saw that we’d busted through their first line, the little cunts turned and ran!’
‘We got ’em on the back foot now,’ replied Higgins.
‘Yep, we can have these bastards, we can push ’em back to where they came from,’ said the major with a fierce look in his eyes. He was high on adrenalin and the chemicals the army gave them to stay awake. This was the first taste of victory, however small, that the Australian infantry had achieved since the fighting began.
‘We need to set up a defensive position here — we can’t risk losing this ground to a counterattack,’ said the major rapidly. ‘Higgins, I want you to take your men back to base camp and bring up as much ammunition and supplies as possible.’
‘But sir, can’t the support company bring that forward? Like you said, we can’t lose this ground to a counterattack.’
‘Support company? They could take hours just to get themselves organised. No, I want you to go back immediately, is that understood?’ said Major Cowell.
‘Yessir, understood.’
‘Good man, Corporal. You did a bloody good job out there tonight. I’ll be recommending you for a promotion.’
‘Thank you Major,’ replied Higgins brusquely.
With that, the major turned and in a low crouch he jogged back down the trench line. ‘Jameson, let’s get the ammo and get back here,’ ordered Higgins. The adrenalin was quickly wearing off and being replaced by a heavy tiredness. Higgins knew they had to keep moving or they would collapse with exhaustion.
Higgins checked his bearings and led Jameson out of the trench, back the way they had come. They moved quickly and silently through the cool night air. A 30-minute jog later and they were at the base camp they had left earlier that night. In an hour or so it would be light — and they did not want to be out of the trenches in the light of day.
‘Help me with the PAL,’ said Higgins, opening a large alloy crate containing the PAL, an exoskeleton Power Assisted Limb suit worn by the operator to aid in carrying substantial loads.
Suited up, Higgins and Jameson looked like alien cyborgs.
They loaded one another’s backs with munitions. Each was able to carry nearly 300 kilograms with the PALs.
‘Remember, take it easy for the first few minutes,’ said Higgins, ‘PAL will mess with your coordination with these loads.’
‘I’m good,’ replied Jameson, moving forward — slowly at first.
They were able to walk at a good pace despite the difficult terrain. The PAL sensors could maintain perfect balance for the operator at up to 45-degree angles.
Shortly after starting out, they saw and heard the enemy counterattack. The night turned to day as mortars and artillery lit up the sky, the ground shaking beneath their feet. Unmanned jet-powered drones swooped down low and fast over the ground, unleashing thousands of rounds on the Australians with each pass.
‘Come on! Eject the loads. Let’s get into it!’ yelled Higgins to Jameson.
Hitting the emergency release button on his suit, the munitions dropped instantly to the ground.
‘Switch your PAL to combat setting,’ yelled Higgins, checking the ammunition count on his RP-12. ‘No time to eject!’
None of the soldiers liked using the PAL in live combat. The armour couldn’t stop a direct hit and there had been cases of PALs jamming up completely. When hit effectively, they seized up, leaving the operator a sitting duck. Because of all this, they were generally considered too risky for combat. But at least in combat setting the PAL suits became faster and more responsive than in their load-bearing setting.
Higgins and Jameson sprinted to the forward line. The closer they got, the more carnage they could make out. Then people began to appear, running towards them. Higgins spotted the major, injured but still barking orders.
‘Turn around! Get back to the base camp and set up a defensive line!’ yelled the major, tracer rounds framing him as he ran toward Higgins.
The unmanned Chinese tanks were unleashing a hail of bullets and munitions on the retreating soldiers — no mercy from the enemy. Not that Australia had shown any mercy earlier when the Chinese had retreated.
In the PAL suit Higgins was faster than the others, so he droppe
d to a knee and started to lay down suppression fire on the Chinese, hoping to buy the others some time to retreat.
As the major ran toward Higgins, a plume of blood vapour exploded in front of his torso. Half a second later he went down, face-first into the ground.
Higgins was up, running towards him. A bullet smashed into the shoulder armour of the PAL, twisting Higgins wildly. Regaining control, he ran forward to where the major lay.
Reaching him, Higgins kneeled down. ‘Sir, get up!’ he yelled over the carnage around them.
The major mumbled something Higgins couldn’t make out.
Higgins, looking down at the major’s back, could see a small hole where the small-calibre, hyper-velocity round had entered his lower back. Higgins knew that the round would have passed through his body, tearing a much bigger hole as it exited his abdomen.
‘Major, come on. We have to move!’ screamed Higgins, teeth grinding as he leaned down and hauled the major up to sitting so that he could get him onto his shoulder.
Higgins saw the blank look on the major’s face. He looked incredulous, not in any pain, just sitting there confused. At that moment, a bullet entered the major’s back, ripping through his sternum. Exploding, the exiting round sent blood, flesh and shards of bone flying, much of which ended up on Higgins.
In shock, he let go of the major’s limp body and stumbled backwards, falling. The major’s blood covered virtually every part of Higgins and the PAL unit above the waist. His eyes were the only bits of his face that were not covered in gore.
He sat frozen, legs spread, arms propping him up, staring at the major’s ruined body. He fell back, lying in the dirt, paralysed. An intense ringing in his ears drowned out everything. The flashes of explosions were all in the background now, and the strobe effect of the light seemed to draw him further into a state of shock.
Higgins’ fuzzy mind slowly came back to him. An intense feeling of vertigo overcame him, and he was overcome by nausea. He leant over to his right to vomit the contents of his stomach up. Picking himself up groggily, he focussed hard on willing his limbs to move. As soon as he did, the PAL took over and he began to run quickly back to the trench.
Crashing into the safety of the trench, he saw Jameson firing furiously at the enemy. Higgins wiped his mouth and noticed the blood and bone on his hand. It took a second for him to realise it was the remains of the major on his face. Scrubbing furiously at his face with his gloved hands, he rubbed so hard his face was scratched and red and sore.
Jameson, still firing, looked down at Higgins rubbing his face. ‘Get the fuck up here! Shoot! Shoot!’ he yelled.
Higgins ignored him, so Jameson paused shooting long enough to kick him. It was enough to give Higgins a physical sensation to grab onto and focus on.
Slowly Higgins stood and lifted his rifle. Taking position beside Jameson, he unleashed his weapon on anything that moved.
With every burst of fire he became more and more focussed on the present, on what was going on around him and on his uncontrollable fury. Half-man, half-machine, flesh, blood and bone adorning his body, he was a terrifying sight. The enemy would receive no mercy from Corporal James Higgins.
The order came after another two hours of intense fighting: ‘RETREAT IMMEDIATELY.’
For most of those on the frontline it was a welcome order. They were beyond exhausted mentally and physically. Many of them were collapsing unconscious, their bodies unable to continue after the fierce fighting. But the order was a bitter pill to swallow for Higgins. He knew there was little hope of holding back the Chinese forces, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being beaten. The pain he felt to his pride far outweighed any physical pain. He felt embarrassed that they had not been able to succeed in their mission. He could barely look Jameson in the eye.
Even though the order was simply to retreat as opposed to surrender, he knew that Australia was screwed. They had suffered too many losses and the Chinese were too strong. The walls of Fortress Australia had been breached and now the enemy had the chance to build a foothold. They now had a platform from which to launch the second phase of their plan — securing the mines of South Australia.
At the end of the fighting, over 10,000 Australians, and a good percentage of the US soldiers who were assigned to the battle from their base in Darwin, were either dead or seriously wounded. Nearly 30,000 Chinese were dead or wounded — acceptable losses by Chinese standards. Their military still vastly outnumbered the Australians, who were now half the fighting contingent they were at the outset. After just over a week of bloody fighting, it was clear that Australia had no chance of stopping the Chinese.
The Australian public could take no more either, as people were bombarded with high-definition graphic images from Sky World and BBCNN. The channels broadcast 24-hour live coverage, with military analysts providing commentary and speculation. The charts, the maps, the statistics were overwhelming. Every Australian with a digital media device could see the same sorts of reports Australia’s military leaders were seeing.
This was one reality show that the public could not stomach. The media’s no-holds-barred coverage made watching almost unbearable for many. However, in the vain belief that watching the massacre was akin to a show of support for the soldiers, many of the people thought it was the public’s duty to watch.
Hudson, finally recognising the futility of the conflict and embattled daily by waves of outrage from the public, had called the troops back.
Barely weeks after Chinese soldiers set foot on Australian soil, Prime Minister Hudson addressed the Australian public from the SOF in Canberra, where he had been holed up since news of the attack. The government PR machine was now up to speed and trying to salvage some level of dignity in the face of such a horrific defeat. Hudson and his handlers spent hours honing the speech and the way he should deliver the address. Hudson felt prepared — he could easily have been an accomplished actor, had he the courage as a younger man to step into the spotlight.
Sitting in front of the camera, Hudson straightened his tie, though he desperately wanted to loosen it. The production crew fussed with cables and microphones around him. His make-up stylist walked up with her toolbox and started putting the finishing touches on Hudson, creating a flawless veneer impenetrable to the high definition cameras used.
‘Thirty seconds, Mr Prime Minister,’ said a young producer, clearly nervous.
Hudson nodded.
Matt approached him from where he’d been standing behind the cameras. ‘Sir, Netrating data has estimated 27 million connections — that’s an audience of pretty much everyone with a screen.’
‘Thanks Matt,’ replied Hudson, exhaling audibly.
‘Ten seconds,’ said the producer, ‘clear the prime minister, please.’ Matt gave Hudson a reassuring look, then turned to get behind the cameras, leaving Hudson alone.
‘Five, four, three, two,’ counted down the young producer.
Staring directly at the camera, Hudson blinked, felt his forehead prickle with sweat, swallowed once and breathed in. ‘People of Australia. History has been written by a hand other than our own. Facing an enemy that greatly outnumbers our brave fighting men and women, we have stared into the abyss. On our present course, our future is bleak.
‘The simple truth is that there is no physical way our troops can stop the Chinese from taking over the mines.’ Hudson paused and intensified his look into the camera, which zoomed tightly in on his face. ‘Which is why,’ he continued, ‘in consultation with the cabinet and our military leaders, I have made the difficult decision to remove our brave fighters from the path of the Chinese army.
‘We know that history judges us by the decisions we make in harrowing times such as these. What we are yet to see is the sentence which history is to serve us.’
Hudson paused again and stared into the lens of the camera. ‘I pray that you all understand the forces at work in the making of this decision. I can assure you that every attempt to establish diplomatic relations
is being taken so that we can reach an acceptable outcome to this situation. Thank you, that is all.’
Finn was in his parents’ living room with his dad, both of them staring at the screen.
‘Thank God for that,’ announced Tom.
Finn was trying to comprehend the implications of what the prime minister had just said. For the past two weeks he’d been holed up at his parents’ place, doing little other than surfing with his dad and watching the news. He’d become strangely exhilarated by the events — watching the battles, he saw graphic evidence of how truly virtual his life up to that point had been. His job had been gaming numbers on a screen. This stuff, on the other hand, was reality. He was not prepared for Australia to just quit after all that.
‘So that’s it, we just roll over and let them take our land?’ he said in disbelief.
‘Finn, we hardly “rolled over” — ten thousand people are dead in just a few weeks of fighting. How do you call that “rolling over”?’ asked Tom incredulously.
‘Dad, what was the point? He just sent those people to their graves — and for what? So the prime minister is going back to diplomacy — why did he commit those soldiers to a fight in the first place if he wasn’t going to fight to win?’
‘He probably shouldn’t have done that, either. Nothing’s worth that many lives.’
‘Oh, come on, Dad. You’ve been doing way too much yoga and meditation with Mum. You used to be a fighter — you were a CEO, for God’s sake! If you were in the military you’d have wanted to put up more of a fight.’
‘Maybe I’m older and wiser than I used to be, you ever think of that?’ Tom scrutinised his son’s face. He knew he’d been a hard man in his younger years, but he still had a hard time believing he could have ever been as ruthless and idealistic as his son was now being. ‘Ten thousand people are dead. I think we should probably cut our losses.’
‘Dad! What the fuck? That’s my point. We can’t dismiss what happened — what did those 10,000 die for, then?’ said Finn, reaching the end of his tether. ‘It can’t have all been for nothing,’ he muttered as he stood abruptly and walked to his room to get his things.
