Chapter 16

Frazer’s Homestead

By the time the vehicles rolled to a stop in front of the dilapidated building, which was once the stately home of the pioneering Frazer family, it was getting dark.

John soon had the portable generators fired up, with the aid of two flood lamps. Light danced over the remains of the house. It was not long before Roo gave the bad news to his fading fighters. He wants two on patrol all night.

‘Asp, you get the patrol organised. Two hours on Four off. That everyone is to take a turn,’ Roo gave his orders.

Bardi had a meal on the small fire he had built. Dicko had made a bush shower for Jillian, shading it off with a role of hessian he had found in the rear of one of the Utes.

John sat with Bardi as he tended to the meal.

‘How long do you think those three will last?’

‘Maybe two days – if the snakes don’t get them first. The spinifex’ll poison their blood, given they’ve got no shoes or clothing. Not much water around either, the way they’ll have to go to get back to their camp.’

John laughed. ‘So, Bardi, how did you contact your men to tell them what to do?’

‘Blackfella magic, Boss. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again – we know a lot about our country.’ Bardi patted gently on the mirror he had placed in his jacket pocket in the cave.

John then outlined their American prisoner’s confession to his trusted friend, asking, ‘You know any faster way to Indigo? Where we won’t be detected?’

Bardi thought for a while. ‘Maybe. The spirits of the elders would want me to defend this country. I’ve got an idea but it will be tough going for all. Not sure if she will make it.’ He pointed to the makeshift shower.

‘Jillian’s got spunk, mate – she hasn’t complained thus far.’

‘She can’t go the way we gotta go. Secret place. Men only,’ Bardi insisted.

‘What about the Elders? Can’t they give permission?’

Bardi scraped at his small goatee beard. ‘Maybe. Have to see when I ask them.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight. I’ll go to a special place and ask ʼem. Now you tell them all dinner is ready.’

Next morning, Jillian and John were the last out of bed. Roo had woken the men early and was putting them through a gruelling cardio-vascular battle workout.

As the troop went through its paces, John remembered when he had selected each member to train for his special squad – Strike Team Delta. The higher command of the army had dismissed it as a waste of time. However, the politicians found a way to use his elite team for their own dubious ambitions – to the detriment of the nation. Ignorant of their leaders’ double agenda, the crack company never complained about the operations they were called on to perform, often in hazardous and harsh conditions.

John was brought back to reality by the arresting sight of Jillian exiting the house dressed in jeans and one of his sweatshirts. He noticed her small tits jumping around in his shirt, and the outline of her buttocks as she walked a sight sexy enough to make any man look twice.

Roo still had the men running, his voice breaking the quiet of the early morning.

‘What are they doing?’ Jillian asked, sitting down near John.

‘Getting fit, love. I told them last night what we are up against. They all want to help get this nation back on its feet with a real government in power.’

He looked over at her. ‘No offence meant to you.’

‘None taken. After everything that’s happened, I find it hard to believe that you guys are still keen to help.’

‘You can dislike your enemy, that’s healthy, but never turn on your country. Most of all never turn on your friends, no matter what.’

‘Well said, darling,’ Jillian murmured approvingly.

‘My father’s words. He was a soldier too. Special Forces like me. An SAS commander in the Korean War.’

‘Yes, I remember you saying now. Soldiering runs in the family.’

‘Yep. The old man was the founding father of Strike Force Delta.’

‘All the way back to Ned Kelly as I recall?’

‘That’s a stretch, though Mum’s great-great grandfather was involved in the Eureka Stockade. So I guess our blood line has been rebellious all the way through.’

‘I reckon old Ned was trying to do the right thing. Bit of a Robin Hood type,’ Jillian said.

‘Nuh. He was a killer and a bully. I don’t condone what he did.’ John lit a smoke and drew back on it. ‘So – what do you think about your old man now?’

This was a question Jillian would have preferred to avoid.

‘For the good of the nation, he has to be stopped. He’s a traitor. People trusted him, voted him in, and he’s used his Prime Ministership for his own gains. That is not what politics is about.’

John laughed a little. ‘In a way all politics is the same.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, look at it. When you become a member or leader of a party, you don’t have your own conscience vote. You toe the party line or you’re out. At least Independents can vote for what people elect them to do. Parties don’t listen to the people. They have “behind the scenes” people dictating what they think is the best way forward, for the party, not the people. Is that fair?’

John drew on his smoke again.

‘For example – what they did to me and my men. Not good for the people. It hides a lot of lies. The party has to cover it up or lose the next election. The new government’s bound to find out what happened. That’s what scares your people most of all, but who suffers? The people who elected the cheats and liars.’

‘Do you put me in that basket?’ Jillian asked.

’If the cap fits! You’re a party person. Do you do everything that is voted on behind closed doors? You know – the “secrets” room?

‘Doesn’t what I am doing now show you I care?’

‘You were coerced, Jillian. You know that if we uncover the truth, your party are unlikely to rule this country again.’

‘It may be to our benefit! Honesty and all that.’

‘I take it you’re planning to stay in politics then? No Utopia for you?’

‘I feel a responsibility to the people.’

‘No, to the party. If you believed in the people, you’d be opening this country up. Running our power on solar and wind. Pumping seawater from the north to make fresh water for the outback, and granting the land there to people who can make a go of it. But no, the universal political flaw prevails. Preserving party power, even if it means compromising ideals. Carrot-dangling at election time is as far as it goes.’

‘I love your passion, John.’

‘See those men there?’ He pointed.

‘Yep.’

‘Who’s going to reward them for all they’ve done and are about to do? Your party? Are they really going to get their lives back? Wives and families? Stolen assets? Yet they don’t hesitate to take on this mission, knowing they could die. Why? Because they promised one thing: to serve their people with pride and honour. The enlistment oath they took never expires. That conviction is needed if this nation is to become truly great. Sadly lacking in short-sighted, self-interested people and parties.’

‘John, how come you let those Americans go yesterday?’

‘The elements will take care of them. If they make it back to their own kind, it’ll be in our favour. They’ll know we’re onto them.’

‘If? Don’t you mean when?’

‘Bardi gives them two or three days at best out bush.’

‘So where does this leave us?’ Jillian asked.

John looked over at Jillian, the mother of his son and saw only her beauty.

’When this is all over it’ll be time to wipe the slate clean and start over.

‘Utopia?’ Jillian asked with a wry smile.

‘Why not? Why not hundreds of Utopias? Thousands! Run by people weary of political claptrap. You can help make it happen.’