“Yeah, she does have that well-educated quality,” Stella said.
“Seems like a nice girl though,” Pete said, taking a gulp of tea. He was feeling awkward again.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Stella said, sensing Pete's unease and made it worse by suddenly jumping up from her chair. “I forgot you take sugar. I gave it up a while back.”
He shook his head. “I'm sweet enough.”
“Want an ashtray?”
“Wouldn't mind,” he replied, feeling his cheeks burning. I’m sweet enough? Where the hell did that come from?
She brought back an old plastic ashtray with pictures of whiskey labels and burn marks on it from a cupboard in the kitchen, then she sat down again to watch him smoke his cigarette in silence.
At least he had shown up. He did look thin though.
“Franchette says I need to give up my cigarettes and beer,” he chuckled, crushing the tobacco-stained butt into the ashtray. “It does get a bit hard to catch my breath at times,” he said.
He slapped his chest and immediately began coughing.
“For Chrissakes, Pete!” She exclaimed. “Then, give them up the smokes!”
“I told Franchette that it's the coal dust I’ve been breathing in over the years.”
“Smoking will be making it worse,” she told him.
She picked up his mug and walked out to the kitchen to make another brew.
“Jeez, Stell,” he called out. “Do I have to give up every enjoyment in life?”
“We are raising two fine kids,” she reminded him when she sat down again. “There's plenty of enjoyment in doing that, don’t you think?”
“They are growing up fast, aren't they?” He shook his head in disbelief and smiled. “Does Storm talk about his plans for next year?”
“He's not saying much. I just hope he can find a full-time job. It won't be in Coona. I keep pushing him to sit the entry exams for university. You never know. He might pass.”
“Well, one thing is for sure, there isn’t much of a future in the mines,” Pete said with a wry smile.
“I'm glad to hear you say that,” she replied.
“He's smart enough to go to university,” Pete said, nodding his head. “It stinks that it costs so much though.”
“Did you know Penny is a dance student in Sydney?” she asked.
“Not much future in dance,” Pete replied. “I guess that doesn't matter if you're a little rich girl.”
“Pete, you could move back in here,” Stella told him suddenly.
He gazed around the room, taking in the battered cabinet, and the tired sofa.
“We should've left town when I was laid off from the mine.”
“You didn't want to do that,” she reminded him.
“I was wrong,” he said.
“Well, best not to look back,” she told him.
She glanced up at the sudden noise of wind in time to see the washing jerk on the clothesline like a buoy floating above the fish hook.
Pete cleared his throat. “You know, if the house sells, we could think about moving to Brisbane. I wouldn't mind a view of the sea,” he laughed. “Even if we do have to drive for a bit before we find one.”
Stella gave him a coy smile, running her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. “You know—Summer won't be back for at least two hours… She will be at the Deakin's riding Tara's pony for at least that long.”
She flashed what she hoped was a teasing smile.
“Yeah?” Pete said, staring at his wife in surprise. “What's on your mind, Stell? Are you thinking we might start off all over again?”
“I was thinking that we do need to sort through a few issues, but—”
“By issues, you mean my issues, right?” Pete said with a half-smile.
“Yeah…” she said with a shrug. “And mine too.”
She realized then that her hands were shaking, and she pressed them together in her lap. “But, all that shouldn't stop us having a bit of a cuddle right now, should it?”
Pete's mouth fell open. “I didn't think... I mean...”
The look on his face made her suddenly want to get up and embrace him. Pete, for all his crustiness, had not quite lost his boyish innocence.
She crossed her legs, allowing her skirt to ride up her thigh. Stella still had good legs. She knew it and was mighty proud of the fact. She poked a finger in a run in her black stocking. “Damn, I never saw that one.”
“I thought you were going to ask me for a divorce,” he told her. His voice was hoarse as he realized he was filled with desire for his wife.
“If I wanted to divorce you, I would have asked for it over the phone,” she said getting up from her chair.
She got up from her chair and walked across the room, stopping close enough to him that her skirt brushed the whitened knuckle of his hands on his knees.
“Are you a little tense, Pete?” She asked, and she giggled.
“I'm not as young as I used to be,” he said. He got to his feet and placed his hands on her hips. “And, I might disappoint you.”
“Not anymore, you won't,” she told him.
Pete saw Stella's eyes were the same startling blue, and he remembered falling into when they first met.
“I still need you, Pete,” she said, and she kissed him on the lips.
The glass in the dining room windows rattled violently and Stella looked up to see her washing had disappeared off the line.
“Pete?”
He turned in time to a plastic chair sail across the yard to crash against the side of the garage.
They gazed in wonder at golf ball sized chunks of ice bouncing high on the back lawn. The noise of the hail on the roof grew to a roar. It sounded like a giant tip truck was emptying its back tray over the house.
“My clothes must be all over the yard!” She yelled as she ran to the back door.
“Don't go outside, Stell!” Pete shouted.
They stood under the back eve of the house waiting for the hail to stop and stared in amazement at the backyard. The lawn and the garden were glistening white. The corrugated roof of the garage was sagging in the center.
Over the top of the dented shed, they could see the line of the distant bank on the other side of the river. The sky was dark gray-green and as they watched a dark, rotating cloud mass formed a long tentacle. The funnel quickly grew in breadth and length until it touched down on the far bank. They watched the tip lick the ground. At the point it made contact there ballooned a giant ball of debris. As they looked on, the tornado jumped the water.
A large object smashed the concrete at their feet. Then the roller door of the garage compacted inwards as if struck by a giant fist. Pete pulled Stella back into the kitchen.
The sound of breaking glass was coming from all sides. Angular objects caught inside the maelstrom swept by and as they watched, they saw pieces of structure disappear upwards into the roaring vortex. A large strip of corrugated roofing iron appeared sailed toward them. It was on a steep flight path leading straight to the kitchen, but it fell short, and lodging deep into the back lawn where it stood upright and flexed like a sail on a yacht.
“Oh, Pete,” Stella wailed. “What about Summer?”
“She’ll be fine,” Pete told her. “It's only a little twister.”
The local bushfire warning siren was wailing like an air raid was underway. There were alarms from cars and commercial buildings. A cacophony of wails, beeps, and chirps. And, on top of it all came the howls of dogs desperate to free themselves.
It was the first true tornado either of them had ever seen, and long after it dissipated they stood in the middle of the kitchen holding onto each other.
12
The Recruiters
The national Army recruitment campaign had finally arrived in Coona. When Storm and his best friend Ben heard about the khaki colored bus parked at the far end of town, they decided to check it out.
Ben had got it into his head this would be their big opportunity
. It was the chance for the kind of adventure Coona could never offer. He told Storm and their friend Ethan he was sick of playing Call of Duty online. It was time for the real thing.
Ethan advised Ben, outside of a decent paying job, all he needed was a girlfriend. According to Ethan, having a girlfriend solved every possible problem afflicting Ben. At least, any of the problems his friend was foolhardy enough to declare.
Ethan was a year older than his two friends. He had done everything first, including leaving school at seventeen. At the ripe old age of nineteen, the one-year age gap seemed more like a chasm.
In recent months, Storm and Ben had seen a lot less of Ethan. He told the two it all came down to making a real success of his studies. Later in the year, he would face an assessment on his way to becoming a fully licensed electrician. He knew the other two were disappointed, but as he told them, he had no intention of joining the Army.
He watched as Storm and Ben kick-start their motorbikes. He hoped he looked casual and cool as he stood with his hands in his pockets on the front lawn of the bungalow he shared with his father. He gave them a wave, but they never looked back.
The two friends stood before the recruiters, taking in the neat stacks of glossy pamphlets and brochures that covered the top of the trestle table.
Behind the recruitment paraphernalia stood a tall man in his mid-twenties. The soldier reached a long arm across the tabletop and pumped the hands of each of the boys in turn.
“I'm Staff Sergeant Jamie Young. This is Sergeant Ryan Hostler. Ah—that's Hostler, mind you. Not hustler.”
Hostler, the other recruiter sitting beside him winced at the bad joke.
“Oh, ha-ha-ha,” he said. “Ignore all that.”
Young leaned across the table, all conspiratorial and staged whispered to the Storm and Ben. “He would like to ignore me, but he can't because I outrank him! Call me Jamie if you want.”
The recruiter's smile was practiced. The routine had grown old and tired a long time ago. They rehashed it for each new batch of kids that showed up. The banter would never change much, and neither would the kids. The kids, the targets were bored lads in the main. Sometimes a girl or two would show up. All of them were looking for excitement and a steady paying job. All of them, in the end, were really just so much grain to be harvested.
Storm and Ben grinned at each other. They were ready for the thrills awaiting them inside the bus.
“I didn't know the ADF did this kind of thing,” Ben said.
“Our bus you mean?” Young asked.
Storm noticed the blonde recruiter had overdosed on the sunshine. Lately, it wasn't so easy to do. That meant they had been sitting outside the bus for most of the day. This being what was becoming an increasingly rare commodity—a sunny day.
Hostler's nose had peeled to the red, and it was sore. Every so often the soldier touched it with a fingertip as if to reassure himself there was still a nose on his face.
“Well, yeah,” Ben replied, impressed by the uniforms in front of him. They did look nice and crisp despite the heat.
“We've been at this for a while. Doing visits to schools in the main centers, and even a few campuses. We haven't been specifically targeting the rural areas until the past few months. This must be your lucky day, I guess.”
“Have you got many sign-ups from Coona?”
Hostler picked up the book next to him and flicked through the pages. “We've got callbacks to make. You can write your phone number or email next to your name, then your full address and your age. We contact you in a couple of days. That's all there is to it.”
Storm glanced down at the book and saw indeed that many pages were already filled. He recognized the town names. Some of them were places he had visited, and many that he never would.
“Are you doing this?” Storm asked Ben.
“Yeah,” his friend nodded with enthusiasm. “Why not?”
“Why not indeed,” Young said to the two boys. “Fill in all the boxes and you will be taking your first step into a world of excitement and adventure.”
“I like the sound of that,” Ben said as he waited for Storm to finish with the pen.
“You boys going to give the games a tryout?” Young said, giving a wide grin. His teeth were a startling white. “It's all good fun.”
“So what have you got inside?” Storm asked.
“Shooting games mostly,” Young told him.
“Plenty of those,” Hostler added with a chuckle.
“Do you have a Tank Simulator?” Ben asked.
“Hell, yeah!” Young said slapping the tabletop.
“Come on,” Ben nudged Storm. “Let's take a look inside.”
“What about a Super Hornet Sim?” Storm asked.
“Nah, mate,” the soldier said with a shake of his head. “But we do have a very cool Black Hawk Icosahedron Flight Sim. You can actually loop the loop—that's if you think you have the stomach for it.”
“Oh, yeah?” Storm said. “I'll give it a go.”
“Come on in and take a look,” the recruiter said closing the book with a snap.
“I've already clocked up a few hours on a fixed wing,” Storm proudly informed the man.
“No kidding,” Young said, and he gazed at the boy with genuine admiration. “You could try out as a rotary wing pilot. That might be you one day, right? A future helicopter instructor! How's that sound? Bright lads like you often train as an officer. Do you think you have what it takes to be a leader?”
“You mean him?” He asked the recruiter with a snigger, glancing across at Storm who had sat himself down behind the next console.
“I mean it,” Young said to Storm, and with a nod of his head to emphasize the fact. There was something about the boy that he could not put his finger on. A quiet self-confidence Young had noticed right away. The boy seemed more tuned into his surroundings than the average type of kid they saw on their rounds of the country towns.
Their time in the bus did not last long. The hour was late, and the recruiters were eager to be back at base camp in time for the evening meal. Young came through and told the boys the day had come to an end.
As they walked outside, the warm afternoon breeze quickly evaporated their disappointment along with the sweat on their faces after sitting inside the stifling interior.
As they squinted in the shockingly bright afternoon sun, Young shoved a pamphlet in their hands.
“Well, are we going to be seeing again you boys?”
Ben gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
“Awesome!” Young said nodding his head enthusiastically. “And I noticed both of you chalked up excellent kill numbers!”
“Mate, your beak is a mess,” Young said, peering at Hostler's burned nose. “Don't you have any sunblock left?”
Hostler touched his fingers against the damaged skin. He pulled the brim of his hat down to get a little more shadow. “They did all right, then?”
“Yeah, but who gives a shit,” Young replied as he reached into a backpack below the table and tossed Hostler a tube. “We just want their signatures, and the rest they will learn later—or not at all.”
The last three lads walked out of the bus, calling out their goodbyes to the recruiters.
The two soldiers watched the boys ride away.
“How old did they say they were?” Young asked.
“I didn't, but they were probably seventeen—ish,” Hostler replied, squirting sunblock onto his hand and painting it on his nose. He slapped another palm full of it around his neck. “What do you think happened in Guam?”
Young pulled the other chair out from under the table and sat so close to the other man the two were knocking shoulders.
“I heard that giant cracks opened up in the runways,” he said.
He spoke quietly. It was probably just paranoia, but all the same, what he had to say was intended only for Hostler’s ears. “The reports talk about the docks and the marina completely smashed. As in rendered unusable. Some witnesses
have said the area looks like pie crust that’s been dropped on the ground, and the word is, that it happened in an instant. There were no quakes beforehand to warn them.”
“Doesn't sound like a natural disaster, does it? That might explain why they don't show images of the damage.”
“That's why they are keeping quiet for the time being. It wasn't an earthquake. China has given us a taste of one of their new toys.”
“You think so?”
“I don't think so. I'm telling you. It was an attack.”
“So, who told you?”
“My cousin did. He's working at Joint Operations Command. He said they intercepted communications at Pine Gap.” Young folded his arms across his chest. “He told me in confidence, so best I say no more.”
“Awl, go on, mate! You can't leave me hanging here!”
“No, really. I can't say anything more.”
“Okay. So don't give me any details. Just give me a general picture. What are we up against?”
The two men had been close friends for over two years and had been through a lot together, including a tour in the Pacific. In all that time, Hostler had never heard anything as sensational coming out of Young's mouth. The man was as down to earth as any Hostler had known in his short life.
“But this is different!” Young said. “Knowing this kind of info could get you in serious shit. Especially if the media got their teeth into the story. If that happened, and the brass found out it was me, my cousin might be looking at a court-martial.” He glanced at Hostler. “And that's you and me also! This is stuff he wasn't supposed to be talking about.”
“You mean like new technologies?”
“I mean like shit we're not supposed to know!” Young said, suddenly bewildered at himself for opening his mouth in the first place.
“We're not talking tactical nukes then?” Hostler asked with raised eyebrows.
Young shook his head. “No, mate. They all have other toys they'd prefer to use first.” Young bit his lip. What the hell, he thought. Hostler can keep a secret. “China's got a long-range laser weapon. It could be what they used to attack Guam.”
Jubilee Year Page 6
