Hudson shut off the screen before the report had finished. He’d seen enough for today. China had, admittedly, played its cards extremely well. Again, Hudson had the feeling that he had been played — royally played — right from the start. Still, what were his options? Tomorrow he would meet with Ambassador Xian and accept the terms China had specified at the outset — that is, if the Chinese hadn’t changed their minds and their terms.
Exhaustion now took over Hudson as he left his office and made his way through the labyrinthine complex to his bedroom, not engaging in any of his usual chitchat with the staff manning the security checkpoints he passed through. Once alone in his room, he undressed with his eyes already closed and, for the sixth night in a row, went to bed without brushing his teeth or washing. Sliding into the cool sheets, his head throbbing, Hudson had a heavy and dreamless sleep, his conscious, unconscious and subconscious minds all at the point of exhaustion.
Before dawn Matt woke him — not that James knew whether it was dawn or dusk underground, or whether that mattered these days. Getting ready quickly he made his way to his office. He wanted to be thoroughly prepared for his meeting with Xian. Following a breakfast briefing with his team of advisors, his briefing with the Governor-General, General Draven, his deputy and another raft of military advisors, he went to his office to process alone. He wanted to practise the words he would say to Xian, knowing that this was a moment in history that, no matter how terrible and how much he wished it wasn’t him, would be recorded for eternity. He wanted to get this right.
At 7:52 am Hudson received the call from his secretary, telling him that Ambassador Xian had arrived and was entering through the security corridor. Asking her to send in the Governor-General, Draven and his deputy, he felt ready to follow through with the surrender. They filed in silently, which Hudson found unnerving.
‘Bloody hell! Anyone would think we just lost a war around here!’ said Hudson, trying to muster his once-heralded charisma as he moved to a chair that was flanked by comfortable couches. He gestured for Draven to sit to his left, and for Draven’s deputy and the Governor-General to sit on his right.
‘We all know we are making the right decision here. We are putting an end to the slaughter of our men and women out there in the desert,’ Hudson declared as he settled himself into his seat. ‘Once this is over, we’ll see how the dust settles, and I am sure we can continue to push for a more profitable and diplomatic outcome.’
The Governor-General looked at a loss. He was an older man, a statesman from a very different generation to Hudson. If it were up to him he would have sacrificed every last man and woman to defend Australia rather than let it be occupied by another country. However, even he recognised the impossible situation they found themselves in: he just couldn’t bring himself to lighten the situation with jokes.
A knock at the door secured everyone’s attention — they all turned to see a smartly dressed infantry guard open the door, salute and announce the arrival of Ambassador Xian, who entered accompanied by three other Chinese diplomats.
‘Come in, Ambassador,’ said Hudson, rising.
‘Thank you, Prime Minister. I believe you have met Xi Phu of our embassy, Wen Pan, our specialist counsel on Australian law, and Bai Cheung, my Executive Assistant.’ Xian gestured to each person in turn as he introduced them.
After the pleasantries and introductions from both sides, the meeting went as predicted. Hudson accepted, in principle, the terms of the surrender as the Chinese detailed. All that was required was for the paperwork to be drafted and signed. It was all stunningly straightforward.
After the meeting, once everyone had filed out of Hudson’s office, leaving him alone, it felt as though a weight of insurmountable density was lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t normally drink alcohol, but he decided a scotch was what the moment required. Walking over to the liquor cabinet that he had never seen opened, he reached for a bottle of twenty-one-year-old Glenfiddich — the best of the best, according to a Scottish lord he’d once met. Pouring a large tumbler, he muttered ‘What the hell’. Putting the same amount of water in the tumbler, he picked it up and took it all in one swallow. His mouth burning, the warm feeling made its way down his throat and belly. It made him feel more alive than he had been in what seemed like an eternity. Pouring himself another, he took the glass back to his desk where he sat, reclining in the leather chair that had first been used by Bob Hawke in the 1980s. Swivelling left and right, James Hudson arched his head back and closed his eyes, feeling the scotch take effect.
Suddenly he felt sure Australia would thank him — no, praise him — for his leadership and sense in its darkest hour. He would be forever known as the man that steered Australia through these troubled times with gravitas and decorum. Yes, he alone had saved Australia from further bloodshed and death.
Chapter 5
Six weeks since the invasion, and Australia was in turmoil. China’s operation had gone to plan and it had already constructed a transportation link from the mines in the south to the makeshift harbour in the Gulf of Carpentaria. Chinese engineers had created a rail line linking the mines with the Gulf, utilising existing rail lines and new technology that allowed them to quickly lay down the tracks. The Chinese had resisted obvious option of taking over ports in South and West Australia. Their rationale was simple, minimal intervention will result in minimal conflict. By keeping their operations out of sight of the vast majority of Australians’ they could reduce the chances of a protracted resistance.
Iron ore and uranium were now being transported north at an alarming rate. The train line split the country in two, dividing east and west Australia. The Chinese were already working on a second track that would run beside the existing line so that they could double the number of trains heading north to the Gulf.
In stark contrast with the efficiency of China, Australia had become paralysed by fear, disorganisation and racial hatred. Second- and third-generation Asian-Australians were frequently attacked and most were too scared to leave their homes. The government had, of course, tried to quell the racial problems but achieved nothing. The economy had been devastated by the Chinese invasion and with unemployment rising, many young people were out of work and out of patience, venting their anger and frustration at the people who looked like their enemy.
In Canberra, James Hudson was at his wit’s end. His confidence in his leadership abilities had taken a rapid nosedive since his post-surrender celebratory scotch. ‘Well, I don’t know what else to do, Matt,’ he said to his aide.
‘Sir, the Committee for Chinese-Australian Rights has a number of proposed initiatives that could help minimise the violence,’ replied Matt, trying hard to coax a decisive response from the despondent prime minister.
Hudson leaned forward, head in his hands. ‘Initiatives, programs, proposals… it’s all a waste of time. The problem is too many young people are angry and frustrated and they can’t vent it in the right direction. I’m at a loss, Matt. Everything we’ve tried has failed — the economy has flatlined, unemployment is at an all-time high, our international relations are disintegrating and the Chinese are burrowing deeper into central Australia and we’re powerless to do anything about it.’ Hudson looked up at Matt, his face flushed. ‘And on top of all that, I’ve got Premier Bright screaming at me that Western Australia will be next and what are we going to do about it? Well, what can we do? Nothing.’