Track maintenance truck, undercover special operations vehicle.
The Herc, circled above the city and then scudded into the clouds, on a destination to who knows where. Big Ben, lowered the rear cargo door, waited for the signal and the the track maintenance vehicle was given the heave ho. ‘That’ll fix it, another one for senate estimates’. He wiped his ceremonial sword on his battle tunic and re-sheaved it. Whatever the case,
Ben meant business.
‘Where are we headed?
That’s classified,
Why are we here?
That’s confidential
What do you want with us?
Wrong Hercules. But deserved of an AO just the same, ‘for services to stronged-ness’.
NONE OF YA BUSINESS’!!
Ben fingered one of the grenades, we decided to stop the line of enquiry. He had us in witness K type situation. But we were still anxious, flying off to who knows where, and with a certified decorated V.C winner looking after us, you’d think we’d feel safe. We were SHIT SCARED!
Quent and Ces, always “acting the goat’!
The scariest thing was the way Ben fingered the ribbon of his miniature VC under his battledress, it looked a touch Captain Queeg, and we didn’t have an appetite for being mutinous. When he wasn’t fondling his miniatures he was talking in a conspiratorial way to his other troopers. They used a kind of sign language, and every now and then they’d turn towards us, and snigger. Clearly they had plans. But where they the same plans as MR BIG? Ben threw us a parachute. “Put this on’, and before we could say ‘Jump’ we’d been thrown out. And Big Ben was coming right after us, in a parachute emblazoned with a mighty VC. Whatever we hit when we landed ,we knew they’d be ready to be led, such is the power of Australia’s most coveted honour.
Ben’s mates!
We were drifting towards what looked like an aerodrome out in the middle of nowhere, and we noticed way below us a chopper, signal flares, and blokes in trucks rounding up people like mobs of sheep and herding them into what looked like a dirty great corral. Before we knew it, the ground loomed, and bracing ourselves for a rough landing we remembered to take the pressure by bending our knees and rolling over. Clearly all those Satdee arvos watching Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin repeats of ‘Jumping Jacks’ had paid off. The red dust settled. Ben was already up, and in no time had his Bren, Sten and Thompson out and motioned for us to follow him.
in the olden days progress was marked by a BIG POOF!
Locals being trained for Maralinga V.2
We were dazed, tired, a little thirsty, but nothing could counter what we were about to see. For there , in amongst the spinifex, the dust, the old windmill and the Nissan huts, the unmistakeable sign that said it all, ‘MARALINGA’. And the people being rounded up were local indiginies. WE could tell, because beyond the cordon of Nissen huts and soldiers a car park full of prisoner delivery vehicles stood by. ‘The benefits of privatisation’, I murmured to Ces, he nodded in agreement. Even in suffering. For the shareholders, there’s always a silver lining. 
Who says “war aint FUN’!
What’s going on? Ces exclaimed, “ oh that’!, Ben pointed to the manacled natives, ‘it’s just training. Since the intervention we like to round em up, just to make sure they respect authority. And it keeps us ready for another Op in Afghanistan. Very similar but less pliable. It also streamlines them for processing. Mind you there’s no medals in this, just a sort of a kind of sacred duty. But I’ve gotta say, been here long enough I’ll be a shoe-in for and AO someday’. He fingered his miniature again, whilst flicking an army issue comb through his hair. ‘Processing’? Ces timidly enquired, ‘yeah for Jail. It’s the prime mover in the NT. Without the prison system we’d be fucked’. ‘But why Maralinga’?
” let me Abos go loose Bruce” poignantly lost out to Sir John Betjeman for poet laureate, (cultural cringe).
‘Well it’s sacred land to us, for its where the Atomic Age really started in Oz, and besides if they try and run away at night we can spot em without night vision goggles’.’Why’s that’? I asked. ‘Simple, they glow in the dark’. Ben laughed, ‘as in the song, let yer abos go loose Bruce’. We all had a laugh with Ben, it seemed wise to humour him and refreshing to sing a bit of Rolf in such tetchy circumstances. Gallows humour.
But, our reverie was cut short. Before we could say “ radiation sickness” a big white Rolls Royce pulled up, with official flags. Ben commanded, ‘Stand to attention and show some bloody respect when I tell ya…
‘TENSHUN’!! The roller stopped, the window wound down just a fraction, Ben nodded to the unseen occupant and out stepped Mr Big.
He was kinda little, but he swaggered like he was almost as large as Ben. We knew it in a flash, cos from the other side this blonde, looking sort flirtatious got out. ‘Hiya boys been mis- behavin’? Ben sniggered, ‘not arf’, and the little bloke who was Mr Big smirked, ‘do as I say and you’ll be ok. Get me honey?’,
“Sure Roo’.
Had no idea Ruperts wife was Chinese.
We knew who Roo was, the most powerful man in the world Lord Rupert of Murdoch, himself.
‘Glad you boys could make it. We’ve got high hopes for you. And your little journey is about to begin’.
Before Ces or I could even begin to say, ‘now hold on Lord Roo, we’ve been bullied, trussed, bludgeoned, and corralled from arsehole to breakfast and you reckon you’re looking after us’….. when Ben pulled out his spare bayonet, and made a throat slitting motion with the weapon and motioned for us to shut up.
Woman falls in love with ‘Creature from the Black Lagoon”! sic (swamp)
‘Boys there’s someone i’d like you to meet, a little mate of mine, I’ve got lots of little mates in every corner of the world. Like you, I like to keep tabs on em. Just to be sure’. With a wave of his hand the chopper whirred into action, we were on it, with Ben, Jerry, Lord Rupert and a couple of other familiar faces. Rupert looked at his watch, ‘we’ll be just in time’, and we took off, blindfolded to who knows where.
Will Rupert spare our heroes the fate of world-wide journalism or will they be despatched faster than a Hong Kong bookseller? And what has any of this to do with Australia Day? Find out in our next blood chilling episode “The Times, they aren’t for changing”, or “for whom the bell Trolls”.