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.
‘See ya, Mum,’ he yelled down the corridor.
‘Finn, come here. Don’t leave like that!’ Tom called after him.
It was too late. Finn was too frustrated by his father’s narrow-minded view. Throwing himself into his Jeep, he tore out the drive and through the deserted streets of the Northern Beaches, heading back to the city. It was a good thing the roads were empty as he wasn’t in the mood to wait in traffic. The conversation with his dad, the prime minister’s speech, and the events of the past few weeks — everything was flicking through his head and he couldn’t control it.
Thirty minutes later he was coming down the freeway to cross the Harbour Bridge. Blue and red flashing lights accompanied by a small queue of cars greeted him before the bridge. The Jeep slowed to a stop and waited. A man in army fatigues walked up to his window and asked him to step out of the car.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Finn.
‘We’re checking every vehicle that goes over the bridge or in the tunnel, as a precautionary measure. Can I please see your driver’s licence?’
‘Ah sure, yes, here you go,’ Finn stuttered, a little surprised.
‘Sir, please step out of your vehicle and stand here,’ he pointed to a spot two metres from the car.
‘Sure,’ replied Finn, trying to regain his composure — all the fire he had from the conversation with his dad was now gone.
Two other men came alongside the car with long rectangular objects that they ran along the surfaces of Finn’s Jeep.
‘Sir, where are you heading tonight?’ asked the soldier, formally.
‘Home, to Bondi,’ said Finn. He noticed the view across the harbour was different. Where normally the city and bridge were brightly lit, everything was now in darkness.
‘What’s with the lights?’ asked Finn, feeling like an idiot the moment he asked the question. For some reason, he was intimidated by these guys. What did they see when they looked at him? A pussy, most likely.
‘Security measures,’ replied the soldier. ‘Can’t be too careful, what with all that’s been happening.’
‘All clear!’ yelled one of the soldiers scanning the Jeep. With that, the soldier interrogating Finn handed him back his driver’s licence. ‘Move on please, sir,’ beckoning Finn to his car.
Finn got back in the Jeep and made his way home in a daze.
Opening the door to the Bondi Beach apartment he rented from his parents, he noticed how stuffy the air was — probably because he hadn’t been home since the invasion began almost two weeks ago. Opening all the windows and the sliding door to his balcony, he took in the moonlit view across Campbell Parade, onto Bondi Beach and out to the inky black Pacific. A warm breeze from the north carried the smell of salt and humidity. And at this time of year, with humidity came storms.