Dawn of the Tiger

by Gus Frazer

  ‘What is …?’ he started to ask, but his question trailed off as he moved to sit down. Hudson, who had been sitting, staring at his note pad, his mind a thousand miles away, looked up, confused and alarmed.

  ‘Wh … What’s this all about? General Stephens, what are you doing? What’s going on?’ cried Hudson, panicked, looking around frantically for answers.

  Standing and searching the faces of his own ministers, he stared in disbelief as every one of them averted their gaze. But Hudson’s face did not twist in anger or flush with shock — it relaxed with a look of pure relief.

  He didn’t want this job anymore, he didn’t want the responsibility, the guilt, or the pain. He suddenly realised that this was the perfect solution: let someone else take over. His expression was almost serene.

  It was all over and General Stephens hadn’t even opened his mouth. He didn’t need to. He just stood there in front of Hudson, resolute. A silent coup.

  Hudson was the first to speak. Standing to face General Stephens he gripped the collar of his suit jacket, pressing it down. ‘So you want the job, do you?’ he said, staring him directly in the eyes. Turning to his own ministers, holding out his arms, he asked, ‘You want him to lead the country now, too?’

  Again, his response was averted gazes.

  Looking back at the general, Hudson took a step closer and stood just millimetres from the general’s face. ‘It’s yours,’ he hissed. And with that, Hudson turned and walked out of the building alone. A stunned silence pervaded the entire cabinet.

  After the door had closed behind Hudson, the general took a deep breath and exhaled, slowly looking around at each of the faces in the room. He felt a rush of adrenalin like nothing he had experienced on the battlefield. But it was controlled, his mind free and lucid.

  When he spoke his voice was clear, his tone deep, pace steady and even. ‘You all know me and, for most of you, what has just happened is no surprise.’ Pausing for effect, he continued. ‘Today we start a new day in Australia’s history, with one single-minded objective. There is only one strategy and only one tactic that will lead to just one result. We are getting China out of Australia, no matter what the cost. Since the invasion, we have done everything the Chinese wanted us to do, whether we knew it or not. Well, that’s about to change. They’re banking on our fear and weakness to keep us at bay, to keep us in our cities and on our coastline. But today we’re not afraid. Today we fight back. And we will continue to fight back, whatever the cost.’

  Raising his voice, General Stephens continued. ‘We need a new strategy to fight the Chinese! We need to give our citizens the chance to defend their land, and we need to give our people hope that we can once again be a sovereign nation, free of this infection that splits our nation in two!’ Rapturous applause broke out and the general felt the waves of applause break over him. He looked back at Fletcher and Sarah, both smiling and clapping.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will be taking the fight to the Chinese, but not in the conventional way. We need a new strategy: our intention is to frustrate and sabotage their transportation lines so that the cost of excavating our land becomes so great that they realise it makes no economic sense to continue. We will strike at their Achilles heel — their efficiency. Make no mistake, though, this strategy will come at a cost. The Chinese will not take our actions lightly and they will make reprisals. We must all be prepared to accept this, or there is no point continuing.’

  Pausing, General Stephens looked around the room. He needed everyone in that room to understand the path Australia was headed down and, importantly, he needed them to want to travel it.

  ‘Such is the cost of freedom,’ he continued. ‘Australia must stand up and fight. On this we cannot compromise. We cannot back down and we cannot make the same mistakes again. Ladies and gentlemen, from today, we fight back on our own terms.’

  Members from all parties stood and clapped, yelling their support. No speech in the Australian Parliament had ever elicited such a response. With that, General Stephens moved to exit the room, shaking hands with the parliamentarians as they swarmed in to surround him.

  Once Stephens had managed to get out the door with Fletcher, Sarah and a security detail, Connor Adams took the floor. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he called above the chaos, ‘please be assured, we see no reason to change the ministerial operations that are currently in place, except, of course, the Department of Defence. General Stephens’ office will take control of this department immediately, but everyone else will stay in their respective roles. The general wishes to meet with each and every one of you in the coming days to discuss outstanding issues. Now, I’d be happy to take any questions.’ For the next two hours, Adams fielded questions from the ministers.

  Hudson, meanwhile, walked back to his office to collect his things. Suddenly feeling light-headed, he stopped and put his elbow against the wall to steady himself. Overcome with emotion and shock, alone in the hallway, Hudson sobbed. Wiping the tears away quickly before anyone could see, he straightened himself, breathed deeply and focussed on getting to his office.

  Once there, he slumped into his chair. He’d known from the moment the general stood on the floor in parliament that he had the backing of the cabinet. Stephens must have been lobbying for this for some time. His stomach twisted with a mixture of shame, humiliation and relief.

  What would he do now? The only thing he could think of was to get out of Canberra, for good. Where would he go? Coastal Queensland? New Zealand? It was ironic, thought Hudson, how Australia, for the past 50 years had complained about the number of New Zealanders who migrated to Australia, ‘sapping the welfare system’ and ‘taking advantage of Australia’s superior economy’. The tables had well and truly been turned in the last few months, with hordes of wealthy Australians jumping ship and relocating there.

  By the time Hudson reached his office he’d resolved to give himself some time to work out his next move. What was the rush? He was feeling strangely good, considering the embarrassment of what had just occurred. For the first time in months, James Hudson felt a glimmer of hope for himself. Free at last.

  Later that day the news broke in the national media. The Australasian was first to get it online and the digital headlines were astonishing. Across every connected digital device, the news was entirely dedicated to the ‘Silent Coup’, as the media had dubbed it — describing how General Stephens had simply stood in front of Hudson and took control without uttering a word. The Australasian had a stock photo of General Stephens looking dignified and resolute. They called it the ‘stare that won a nation’. The Sydney Morning Herald was running with the ‘Silent Coup’ headline and had managed to get photos of Hudson walking back to his office looking lost in a world of his own.

  The news headlines were instantly spread across the world. The ramifications of the general’s actions would be felt the world over. China, too, had the headlines on the front page of every news site in the country — much to their government’s dislike. In the old days there was no way this news would have been declared in such an honest and immediate way. The government newsroom would have put a positive spin on it and hailed it as a further victory to China.

  Finn was at his parents’, sitting at the kitchen bench when the news came through of General Stephens’ coup. Listening intently to the report on the screen in the kitchen, Finn was immediately galvanised, his mind racing at the possibilities now that Australia was being led by the military. Finally, he thought, looking around the room in elation, we can start to actually do something.

  Tom entered the room, obviously having heard the news in the other room. He looked worried.

  ‘How good is this? Finally we can start taking it to the Chinese,’ Finn said animatedly, oblivious to his dad’s state.

  ‘Son, you seem pretty damn keen to see more young Australians getting blown to bits out there in the desert. I don’t think this is good news at all. This is just a commitment to more dead Australians,’ replied Tom, leanin
g on the kitchen bench.

  ‘Come on, Dad. Are you serious? At some point we need to do something, otherwise do you really think they’ll stop at our mines in South Australia? Western Australia will be next, and then who knows? Maybe they’ll move in on the farmers so that they can feed their growing population. Then we’re all screwed. There’ll be no resources and no food!’ Finn felt the all-too-familiar sense of rising irritation at his father.

  ‘Look, all I’m saying is, hasn’t there been enough bloodshed? Do you really think that military tactics can beat an army like the Chinese?’

  ‘Well, Dad, if England had that attitude back in the 1930s imagine what the world would be like now.’

  ‘You can’t compare wars, Finn. This is a very different scenario—’

  ‘Is it?’ interrupted Finn, ‘Is it really, Dad? I don’t think it’s that different at all.’ He’d risen from his seat and was leaning tensely against the kitchen cupboards, arms folded defensively across his chest.

  ‘Finn, war was very different back then and the Nazis were a very different enemy, with different motivations. The Chinese are in Australia for one thing. Let them have it and let us get on with rebuilding Australia the right way. It’s pointless wasting energy and lives on fighting the Chinese.’ Tom was becoming more agitated by Finn’s naivety and ignorance.

  ‘Maybe, Dad, but at least we’ll be trying to do something, and it may even force the Chinese to take a diplomatic route to resolve the conflict,’ said Finn, desperately trying to convince his father.

  Tom paused, confused over why Finn was getting so heated. Something wasn’t right.

  ‘What do you mean by “we” son?’ he asked in a strained tone.

  ‘Well, nothing … Australia I guess,’ replied Finn, hesitantly.

  Tom started to crack. ‘Son, you better not be thinking about doing anything stupid. There is no way in hell that you’ll be going out there to fight.’

  ‘Why not? At least I’ll be doing something with my life that actually means something instead of thinking about how much money I’ve made or lost. And besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything going on right now. The financial markets won’t start up again for months, if not years.’

  Tom finally had evidence of what he’d been dreading. He’d pushed his son away from military service once, getting him to funnel his energies into something constructive, like his education and building a career, rather than playing army on the weekends. Now he was going to have to do it again, it seemed — but this time the stakes were so much higher.

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said brusquely, trying to conceal his sudden panic, ‘you’ll find something soon enough.’

  ‘Dad, financial companies are like submarines — they go up and they go down. When they go down they blow their ballast and people like me get spat out.’

  ‘You don’t know that. You might find that if Australia just knuckles down and gets on with rebuilding, the economy will bounce back.’

  ‘Are you going senile? Our economy has always been predicated on easy access to valuable resources. Without them, we’ve got nothing. And besides, as soon as we do create a new economy, what’s to stop China from taking that too?’

  Both men stared hard at the kitchen bench, refusing to look the other in the eye. Finn recognised the conversation had become an exercise in futility. ‘Anyway, gotta go Dad.’

  Tom said nothing, frozen in his position braced against the kitchen bench. Finn left, angrily grabbing MiLA on the way out.

  This is bullshit, he thought, climbing into his Jeep.

  Later that evening Chris came around to Finn’s apartment. After a few beers and debate over if and when the footy season would start again, Finn tipped up the last of his beer, set the bottle down and looked over at Chris. ‘Mate, I’m thinking of joining the army.’

  Chris stared at him, mouth partly open, beer bottle frozen in mid-air on its trajectory to his lips. ‘You fucking serious?’

  ‘Yeah, I am. I can’t stand sitting around anymore. Plus, I really believe in what General Stephens is saying. I think we can still get the Chinese out of here, or at least make life bloody difficult for them.’

  ‘Fuck off! You’re serious?’ Chris had a nervous grin on his face. ‘You’ll be killed out there mate. You’re fucking insane.’

  ‘Well that’s a change of tune. What happened to “Oh I’m going to get out there and smash ’em back to Beijing”?’ said Finn in a mocking tone.

  ‘Fuck you, I wasn’t serious. You saw what happened to our boys in the initial invasion — it was a bloodbath. Why would you go out there to be more meat in the grinder, you stupid fuck?’ Chris was upset, tensely leaning forward at Finn. ‘Tell me you haven’t gone and signed up already, please tell me you’re not that fucked in the head?’

  ‘No I haven’t — yet.’ Finn replied, sitting back in his chair, as calm and quiet as Chris was now agitated.

  ‘Good, well pull your head in. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a money boy — not a fucking commando.’ Chris raised his bottle to his lips and had a long drink.

  ‘Another?’ asked Finn as he stood waving his empty beer bottle, feeling a little light-headed. He didn’t normally drink this much during the week, but he knew tomorrow would be another day with nothing much to do, so carrying a hangover didn’t worry him.

  ‘Yep, why not? I got nothing on tomorrow.’

  ‘How is being back at home?’ asked Finn, returning with two beers in hand, happy to change the subject.

  ‘You know, pretty dull. But I’m not alone; most of us are in the same boat. You’re the only guy I know who is still in their own place.’

  ‘At least your parents live in a great spot, it’s not like you’re moving out to the mountains.’

  ‘True. Still, can’t wait to get out of there. You know if I could get a mortgage right now, I could probably buy somewhere!’

  ‘Buy? Why the fuck would you want to do that?’ said Finn.

  ‘I don’t know. My dad keeps carrying on about it,’ said Chris, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Fuck that. Spend your life paying off a mortgage? For what? Mate, there are easier ways to make money,’ said Finn, handing Chris another beer.

  ‘Yeah, well, whatever, first things first — I need a job,’ said Chris, clearly bored with the way the conversation was going. Reanimating, Chris sat up and asked, ‘So, sorry, you never gave me an answer … are you fucking insane?’

  ‘No, look, I’m just saying I think I want to do my bit for Australia. Actually challenge myself,’ replied Finn, with a more serious look now.

  Chris, sitting forward, mirrored Finn’s expression. ‘I get that, but mate, you saw the news coverage. Why would you ever go there? The things that happened to people out there, it was fucked up.’

  ‘Mate, I know, but I trust General Stephens. He won’t be ordering troops to fight like that on a frontline, up against the largest army in the world. He’s smarter than that and, from what I’ve read, he’s got the right idea for getting the Chinese out.’

  Chris, flinging himself back on the couch, said in disbelief, ‘Fucking dreaming. You really are a cock.’

  ‘Whatever. I haven’t decided yet, so let’s just leave it. Besides you’re a twat if you don’t think we need to do something about the shit this country’s in,’ retaliated Finn, growing tired of trying to explain his motivations.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Chris, getting the last word in.

  The boys turned their attention back to the screen and the reality show, Australia’s Most Open Personality, which recorded contestants’ most embarrassing moments for a year. This was Australia’s top-rating show. Finn stared morosely at the screen, dejected by the banality of it all.

  The next day the integrated ambient alarm system woke Finn, the room slowly brightening, mimicking a sunrise. Feeling the haziness of a hangover, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, slowly rising to a seated position with his head hung low. He took a deep breath before heaving himself t
o his feet.

  Stuffing his swimmers and towel into his sports bag, he was almost out the door before he realised he’d forgotten MiLA. I would’ve been screwed without that, he thought to himself, turning back to grab MiLA from the bench. Then he was in the lift and down to the carpark. He walked up to his Jeep, MiLA unlocking it automatically as he approached, and he climbed in. ‘Morning car, destination pool, please,’ he said clearly once inside. The car repeated the destination, started up and reversed out of the parking space. Finn sat back and watched the morning news as he travelled. Once again, the ‘Silent Coup’ and its ramifications dominated the coverage. Overall, the sentiment was positive, the feeling being that most Australians were tired of inertia and were looking for a more aggressive stance. Well, that was how Finn was taking it anyway, but maybe he was just projecting his feelings onto the public sentiment.

  Getting to the pool at 6:45 am, he couldn’t see any of the other guys’ cars in the lot yet. Though the pool was heated, the water temperature was still brisk. Diving in, Finn swam the first hundred metres too fast, trying to warm his body up but only tiring his arms — not ideal when you have another 900 metres to do. And that was just the warm-up. Slowing to a more controlled pace, the water began to feel comfortable and his arms felt stronger and smoother through the water. By the 600 mark he was feeling really good, his stroke was long and powerful, his breathing controlled and regular. There weren’t too many people at the pool this morning and his lane was empty until Jack joined him. Good, thought Finn, you can catch up this morning.

  Finishing his kilometre, Finn stood at the shallow end of the pool, stretching his arms and looking out for the others, who had arrived while he was swimming.

  After their sprints the boys lingered for the customary chat at the end of the pool before finishing off the routine with the ‘Anzac’, which was a 50-metre butterfly sprint. No small task after swimming two kilometres.