Dawn of the Tiger

by Gus Frazer

Finn headed around to the kitchen where Jess was preparing eggs and bacon.

  ‘Morning,’ said Finn cheerfully.

  ‘Good morning. Finally decided to join us?’ teased Jess, flipping the bacon over.

  ‘Yeah. This resort ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I was expecting breakfast in bed and it never arrived,’ Finn complained, leaning against the kitchen bench beside her.

  ‘Oh really? Well, I’ll have a word with the staff,’ said Jess smiling, sliding the food onto a plate for Finn.

  ‘Thank you. That would be good,’ Finn said formally, carrying on the game as he took his plate to the table.

  After breakfast he headed out to see John and help with the construction. John was an excellent builder and already Finn had learned a lot from him. The fire had stopped at a brick wall in the middle of the house. John had explained to Finn how the wall had been part of the original homestead and that, when he had married Jess’s mother, he had built the kitchen and extra rooms that had luckily remained relatively unscathed by the fire.

  After a morning of hard work on the roof, they stopped for a long break at lunchtime. Finn lay in the shade of a big tree, contemplating how much he relished the feeling of hard work. He couldn’t help but ponder the purity of building — using his hands and energy to create shelter, doing what men had done since moving out of the cave. He also couldn’t help but make the comparison between what he did in the army and what he was doing here. In the army he congratulated himself on doing something that benefited the Australian people, but really he’d been congratulating himself for being such a legend, and all he’d done was destroy things. He felt embarrassed at how he had thought himself so much better than everyone who wasn’t fighting in the war. Remembering the fight he’d had with Chris back in Sydney, he physically cringed at what he’d said, and how superior he’d clearly felt to Chris. How could he have blamed Chris for reacting like that? He realised now that he’d been wrong, deluded by self-importance.

  Working here on the farm for two people he barely knew — who had saved his life and been so generous and welcoming — was a much better way of proving his worth, being useful. He recognised that this was the essence of being a man.

  ‘Finn, can you pass me that drill down there?’ called John from the top of a ladder.

  ‘Sure,’ called Finn, getting up from his spot under the tree. He strode over to pick up the drill. ‘So John, have you always been a farmer?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said John taking the drill. ‘No, not always. After growing up out here on the farm I went off to school in the city, just like Jess and Aaron did. I had a whale of a time once I settled into boarding-school life and all that. I studied art history, would you believe?’ he looked down at Finn, grinning. ‘I figured that if I ended up back out on the farm, at least I’d be a cultured bloody farmer!’

  ‘I’m beginning to not let anything surprise me about you and your family, John,’ Finn laughed. ‘So what made you come back?’

  ‘Well, I guess I never really left in a way,’ John paused to drill a hole in the wall in front of him, ‘or should I say the land never left me. I enjoyed the city life but in the end I just found it lacked the soul and substance of the bush. Out here I feel like I’m part of the world, part of nature. In the city I just felt part of the bloody rat race.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ said Finn, nodding. ‘Trouble is it took a war for me to get out and find myself.’

  ‘It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it? I remember when I first left the city and came back here, I was in pieces — hated the place! Ended up having to go travelling for a year to find myself. Then when I came back for the second time I realised it was right, and that this land was part of my creed.’

  ‘Your creed?’ asked Finn.

  ‘Yeah,’ said John, handing the drill back down to Finn. ‘Every man has a creed by which he lives his life. Mine involves living out on the land. You have a creed — it’s inside you.’

  ‘That’s pretty philosophical, mate,’ said Finn genuinely surprised.

  ‘It’s the art history, mate. Can’t help myself!’

  ‘So what’s your creed, then?’ Finn probed.

  ‘I’m not telling you,’ John chuckled. ‘But like I said, it involves living out here, on the land, communing with nature every day.’

  For the rest of the day, Finn pondered the idea of his creed while he worked on the house.

  That night he went for a walk with Jess to the river that lay to the north of the homestead. The sun had already set, but the sky was still light. The air was cooler and smelled crisp, clean and alive — every breath was like a drug. He wanted more. The birds were noisy, as they always were at that time. The riverbank was a remarkable spot, a true oasis in the desert where trees grew green and lush. The current was not strong at this time of year, but Jess had told him that in the wet season the river would swell, with millions of litres rushing through.

  Sitting on a fallen tree trunk, Finn and Jess stared out at the river.

  ‘I need to go into town tomorrow,’ Finn said, breaking the long comfortable silence. ‘I have to find out what happened to the rest of my squad. I need to know they got out okay.’

  ‘Is it safe for you to go into town, though?’ Jess asked, looking at him with concern.

  ‘I think so. The Chinese patrols seem to have eased up again.’

  ‘Are you going back to the war?’ asked Jess hesitantly.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Finn replied honestly.

  ‘Finn, what’s the point?’ Jess burst out. ‘You said it yourself. There’s no way Australia can win. The Chinese are here now. We need to adapt, not fight.’

  ‘I know Jess, but it doesn’t matter. I realise now that I gave up fighting for Australia a long time ago. I’ve been fighting for my mates, and there is no way I can live with myself knowing that they are out there dying while I’m here.’

  Jess turned away and looked at the river, the water gently drifting past.

  ‘Your call, Finn. We can’t stop you leaving and we’re really grateful for everything you’ve done,’ she said, her voice sad.

  Finn looked at her as she stared out at the river.

  ‘Come on. We should get back before it gets too dark,’ said Finn, standing and offering Jess his hand.

  The next morning Finn took the Patrol into town on his own. He knew the way now, from the trips he had made with John. There was more life and buzz in the town today — people were starting to come out after the recent reprisals. Finn sensed the feeling of apprehension among the people of the town, though. It wouldn’t take much to make these people go running for the hills again, he thought.

  He found it odd that there was still no military presence in the town, given the recent attacks. Going to The Australian, Finn went straight for the pay phone with a little salute to Dave the barman. He called his parents first, managing to speak to them both. The relief in their voices was palpable, and Finn felt a lump in his throat when he spoke to Sonia.

  He then dialled the army hotline and asked to be put through to his base command in the Blue Mountains. They would be able to tell him about the others and where he should report.

  A young corporal answered and put him through to a lieutenant in the camp. Finn gave the man his details and explained what had happened to him. The lieutenant listened intently and brought up the operational files.

  ‘Says here that only four men made it out of that operation alive. You are listed here as MIA, along with Carver,’ said the lieutenant.

  ‘Carver is dead,’ Finn said immediately, holding his voice steady. ‘I saw him with my own eyes. Who made it out, sir?’

  ‘Ahh, looks like Sergeant Higgins, Private Samuels, Private Jessop and Corporal Kelly. Although Kelly was injured pretty badly and appears to still be in hospital.’

  ‘Jesus, Bull. Is he going to be alright?’

  ‘I can’t tell that from this file, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So where are the others then?
I’d like to rejoin them as soon as I can,’ Finn said.

  ‘Like most divisions, they’ve been sent down to South Australia to help in the relocation of civilians.’

  ‘Relocation? What’s going on?’

  ‘The government has decided that we should leave the Chinese to it and clear out all civilians from the area to avoid any further conflict. We’re letting them have it, mate.’

  Immediately Finn wondered whether John and Jess’s farm would be affected. He didn’t think they could take it if they had to abandon their home a second time. ‘Is the Winton area going to be evacuated?’ Finn asked.

  ‘If the place was going to be evacuated, it’d be evacuated already,’ the lieutenant replied.

  Finn was relieved to hear that John and Jess would be unaffected by the relocations. Knowing they’d be fine, he felt the pull of responsibility to get back with his squad.

  ‘So where’s the nearest base to me? I’ll go there tomorrow,’ said Finn.

  ‘You’ll need to get yourself to Rockhampton. From there we can arrange transport for you.’

  ‘Rockhampton. Okay. It’ll take me a day or two, but I’ll leave tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll let them know to expect you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘No problem. And well done on your escape. Sounds like we’ll need a thorough debrief when you’re back.’

  Finn walked out of the pub and into the warm morning sun and buzzing street. He felt conflicted. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Jess. He savoured every moment with her, but at the same time he wanted to stand beside his mates again. Christ, my mates, he thought to himself. Only four of them had made it out.

  Climbing into the Patrol, he started the engine and headed back to the homestead. The drive back seemed even longer than usual, as he mulled over his predicament. He wanted to stay and finish helping John and Jess. It was the least he could do for them. But at the same time he felt like he should be with his mates, even if it was just herding civilians around. The really hard, heavy work on the homestead was almost done. John and Jess could finish the rest themselves. Soon his conscience would be able to let him go and he could get back to his mates.

  Chapter 20

  It was 0500 hours, pitch-black and drizzling steadily at Christchurch airport. The two B-5 stealth bombers taxied into a huge hangar, engines deafening to unprotected ears. The planes looked like huge angular boomerangs, the wings melding into the fuselage seamlessly. The powerful lights of the hangar reflected off the black, wet surface of the planes as they came to a standstill, ushered in by the ground crew.

  The US Air Force normally used the enormous hangar for covert survey missions to map out the enormous oil reserves in the Antarctic region, as well as for scientific flights down there. Now the only other aircraft in the hangar was an enormous C-8 Galaxy transport, which had arrived before the B-5s. The Galaxy carried the logistical support equipment for the bombers. The Americans had brought a crew of 20 technicians and scientists, who would ready the plane and its nuclear cargo for the mission. As soon as the B-5s began to wind down their engines, technicians busied themselves, attaching power cords, fuel lines and numerous other cables to their fuselages.

  After 20 minutes of shutting down, the pilots climbed out from beneath the planes. They were led immediately to an area where they were checked for radiation and helped out of their flight suits which, due to the altitude the planes were to fly at to avoid detection from Chinese surveillance, were more like astronaut suits. For the rest of the day the planes would be prepared for the mission. Every millimetre would be thoroughly checked by the technicians and pilots. While the aircrews were doing this, the scientists would be testing the circuitry and diagnostics of the nuclear devices.

  Later that morning, General Stephens was in his office with Sarah, Fletcher and General Draven. Draven was brought in to update them on the relocation of the civilians. He, like the vast majority of military officials, was unaware of Operation Fulcrum, believing that the mission was to remove civilians from the region and to accept defeat.

  Stephens looked across his desk at Draven. ‘So, Paul. You’re 100 per cent sure that the areas now deemed to be Chinese territory have been cleared of all civilians? I want your personal assurance that there is not a single Australian in that region.’

  ‘Our boys have been through that region with a fine-toothed comb. We have cleared out everyone within the demarcation lines,’ replied Draven punctiliously.

  Stephens nodded. ‘Good. Have all your men remain outside the demarcation line and guard all routes into the area. I don’t want any civilians deciding to nip back home, is that understood?’

  ‘I’ll make sure that it’s locked down tight.’

  ‘Thank you, General. That will be all.’

  Draven stayed put. ‘Stephens, I hope you are seriously working on the terms of your leadership agreement. I know we are in the middle of a crisis, but I believe the Australian people would sleep better at night knowing there will be an end to military rule at some point in the near future.’

  Stephens gave Draven a level stare. ‘I assure you, Draven, I have no interest in appointing myself leader for life. I’ll deal with the documentation next week. That will be all.’

  With that, General Draven stood and turned to leave the office. On his way out, he bumped into Anne McKinnon, the government’s senior meteorologist, on her way in. Draven paused and looked back. Why is Stephens seeing a meteorologist? he wondered to himself.

  McKinnon finished her briefing and left the room. Sarah and Fletcher stared at General Stephens.

  ‘Well, it looks like we’re all set to do this then,’ said General Stephens, leaning back in his chair.

  Fletcher looked anxious. ‘Draven noticed the meteorologist when he left. He even did a double-take. Do you think he suspects something?’

  ‘Nothing surer,’ said General Stephens. ‘He’s a suspicious bugger, Draven. His mind will be working overtime trying to figure out what we’re up to. But by the time he does, it’ll be too late.’

  ‘I suppose so, Marty. But all the same, too much is at stake to have him blow the lid on us now,’ said Fletcher, unwilling to brush it off.

  ‘Draven is not a concern,’ Stephens said firmly. ‘Now, more importantly, the stealth bombers have landed at Christchurch and are being prepped for the mission. Tonight we will observe the mission from the American Embassy. They have full satellite telemetry and operational control and we will be able to communicate directly with the pilots from there.’

  Sarah was silent. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t believe Fulcrum had come this far. What began as a wild conjecture was now about to become a reality, with very real consequences. After the previous night’s incident with Matt, she was very much on edge. What they had done was clearly illegal and she could only pray that the situation would be resolved quietly. The repercussions would have to be dealt with once this was over.

  ‘Sarah,’ said General Stephens. ‘You okay? I don’t want you losing your nerve at this stage of the game.’

  Sarah blinked quickly. ‘I’m fine, General. Sorry. I was just thinking about any possible way General Draven might have to find out what’s going on.’

  ‘He won’t. Don’t worry about Draven,’ Stephens said, exasperated. ‘Let’s keep our eyes on the prize here, guys. Don’t let him break your focus. I can handle him.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Sarah sheepishly.

  ‘All right. I want you both at the embassy by 1800 hours. The B-5s will take off at 2000 hours. Sarah, can you ensure that fire, ambulance and hospital services are all put on alert this afternoon? No need to give an explanation — just have them on alert.’

  General Draven walked to his office, not feeling right. Something was going on that he wasn’t being let in on. He was well aware of the excesses that rulers who were not accountable to their people were capable of, and this situation was setting off alarms in his head. Despite the fact that he was not part of the
Stephens’ inner sanctum, he was still a high-ranking official with extensive access to records and intel. He decided to put this to use. Pulling MiLA out of his briefcase, he called his personal assistant.

  ‘Jackson,’ said Draven. ‘I want you to do some sniffing around. Something is going down and I need to find out what. Whatever it is — it’s big. Get back to me when you have something.’

  Matt regained consciousness about 30 kilometres off the south coast of New South Wales. He felt sick and disoriented, and his neck was stiff. It took a moment for the feeling of nausea to pass. He raised his hand to his neck, trying to rub the soreness from it — his fingers felt the roughness of synthetic material on his skin there. With a grimace, he picked the thing off his neck and looked at it. A patch! He realised slowly that he was on a boat — the room he was in was rocking rhythmically, with the occasional larger wave making the vessel reverberate. Matt looked around — he was in a tiny cabin with nothing but a bunk bed, mattress, pillow and a plastic jug of water. The sound of the engine was a constant monotonous drone. There was no light coming in, as the tiny porthole had been welded shut and the glass painted black on the outside. He had no idea of the time or how long he had been unconscious.

  Matt scanned the room, taking in every detail, his head clearing by the minute. He noticed a tiny camera in the corner of the cabin — he was being watched.

  The cabin door opened and Matt lurched back on the bunk bed as a large man wearing a black suit and balaclava came into the room and stood by the open door. Another man in identical clothing walked in with a tray of food, placing it on the side table. Without saying a word, they shuffled their large frames out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them.

  Matt leapt off the bed when he realised he wasn’t going to be hurt. Launching himself at the door, he started banging with both fists. ‘Let me out! Let me out of here!’

  He knew it was pointless, so he stopped quickly and, suddenly ravenous, turned his attention to the food. There were no utensils on the tray, so Matt used his hands, shovelling the food into his mouth.