Against the rules, her NBC suit hung in the shower recess. It wasn’t against the rules to put it in the shower. Taking it off was the issue. She could see it hanging there, with the hood and gasmask looking like something ghastly and alive, and only vaguely human. She was supposed to be wearing it to bed but, fuck that, thought Annabelle. She was sweating enough as it was and wasn’t looking forward to putting it on in the morning. It’d be like climbing into a wet rubber glove.
Congratulations, she said to herself as she got up and paced the room in the dark — you wanted to kick your career on to the next level, and instead you’ve given yourself a major kick in the guts. A bigger pay packet and a capricious boss out for revenge because she wouldn’t come across now replaced the man she loved. And she was no longer the anchor. Sure, she might recover that position but she had a fair idea what she’d have to surrender to secure it. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. She’d once been in control, but now she’d lost it. Completely. And what about Tom? She’d moved to another city. Without even telling him. What signal had that sent? She had completely fucking blown it.
But it wasn’t all her fault, was it? Hadn’t he been just plain stubborn? Hadn’t he always placed the regiment above her? The more she thought along these lines, the more indignant she became, the mood pendulum swinging to the other extreme. Was it fair of him to expect her to wait at home while he dodged bullets in some unknown hellhole? No, it wasn’t. What if they had kids? The selfish bastard! Before Annabelle became too indignant, the competing voice in her head reminded her that he hadn’t asked her to give up anything, that the person making all the demands had been her. And what did she expect? That Tom would just chuck in his career and follow her to Sydney because she was…Annabelle Gilbert, anchorwoman? She knew she didn’t want a lap-dog. Tom had strength, he was his own person. She had always loved that about him, so what had changed? Why had the appearance of a ring on her finger so radically altered her outlook? Tom would make adjustments to his life as they were needed, wouldn’t he? Maybe it was just ego — her ego — that had been the wedge driving them apart. Admit it. When it comes right down to it, girlfriend, you just don’t want to marry a soldier, even if that soldier is Tom. Before she’d met him, Annabelle had always seen herself ending up partnered to a professional, someone like a lawyer or a doctor, whose life dovetailed neatly with her own aspirations. Maybe you’re doing Tom a favour. Time will just amplify our differences, our disappointments. Finally, Annabelle gave up the struggle and fell into the arms of a fitful sleep, but an instant later, the alarm clock beside her bed buzzed telling her that it was time to wake up. She lay in bed, trying very hard to think about absolutely nothing, but failed. They had to file after breakfast and she still hadn’t written the piece. ‘Dammit,’ she said to the darkness. She got up, switched on the sidetable light, and sat down on the bed with her laptop.
Weaver and the cameraman met Annabelle in the hotel lobby, its windows and doors taped and sealed with plastic sheeting like those in the rooms. Army types rushed through on unknown errands. The level of anxiety had reduced a little from the previous day so Annabelle guessed that nothing noteworthy had happened overnight. Weaver confirmed that. He’d been up for an hour and looked fresh, for once. ‘All the hookers have left town,’ he said unashamedly. ‘So I went to bed early. What was I going to do, knock on Vicky Virgin’s door?’
Annabelle shrugged. She was in no mood for banter.
Weaver handed her an aluminium foil tray. ‘Breakfast,’ he said, ‘courtesy of the army. I’ve had mine, and if I was you I’d save myself for lunch.’
Annabelle took a peek inside and smelled the contents, and decided to take the producer’s advice.
‘Yeah, I think our union would have something to say about that,’ he said when he saw the look on her face. ‘The army has decided the city is secure so they’re moving most of the men onto the highway and the airport to help the police. That means we’ve lost our armed shadow, but Billy the Kid is going to stay with us.’ On cue, the large boy in a chemical suit with the hood and mask hanging down his back walked through the door.
Greetings were exchanged and Weaver said, ‘Are you familiar with a cartoon character called Baby Huey?’
‘No,’ said Billy the Kid, looking puzzled.
Annabelle wasn’t either and so had no idea what Weaver found so amusing.
‘Okay, let’s go to work,’ Weaver said. ‘Annabelle? Have you written anything for me to look over?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, handing him a couple of sheets of printout.
‘That’s good,’ he said as he read. ‘Some nice touches. We’d better hurry if we want to do this.’ He fluttered the paper in his hand.
Twenty minutes later, Annabelle Gilbert was framed in the camera lens so that the gun of the USS Peary was in the near background, the emerald waters of Port Darwin beyond. The network wanted the piece live. No second chances to get it right. Annabelle finished the rehearsal as the grey bow of an American frigate, the last remaining ship of the USS Constellation’s battle group that had begun leaving the port several days before, came into view.
Weaver gave her the countdown and, on a silent ‘one’, Annabelle Gilbert went live into the homes of millions.
‘It’s a beautiful tropical morning in Darwin, just like it was almost sixty-two years ago to the day when, at five minutes past ten in the morning, one hundred and eightyeight aircraft of the Imperial Japanese Navy brought the Second World War to this spot, dropping more bombs on Port Darwin than they did on Pearl Harbor, sinking nine ships and killing more than one hundred and seventy people. The gun behind me is all that remains of the USS Peary, a destroyer sunk on that fateful morning killing ninety-one seamen.
‘Back then, Australia was taken by surprise, but not today as we await the arrival of a different kind of war in our skies, a war in some ways even more brutal than that global conflict of the last century.
‘A spokesman for the Australian Army confirmed the estimate late yesterday that more than ten thousand people remain in the city, refusing to evacuate. Many are local Aborigines. Few of those remaining have the protection provided by one of these, a nuclear biological chemical or NBC suit, supplies of which are scarce.’
The picture changed as the cameraman swung his camera around to show Weaver and Billy the Kid, both of whom were wearing the full NBC suit with the hood and gasmask over their heads. Annabelle also wore hers, but the hood and gasmask hung behind her back.