“So, where’s the fucking army?” I said. “Their helicopters appeared on day one, hovered overhead for a few hours and then pissed off. What the hell use is that?” A good question, thought Paul but neither of us was Hannibal nor that famous Chinese military tactician whose name I can never remember. (Sung Tzu?) What did we know about military stuff? Well, actually, I’d been in the Army Cadet Corps for a couple of years – toy soldiers, if you like. I’d been on a few overnight bivouacs, listened to a few lectures from regular army guys who were just back from ‘Nam. That set me, ever so marginally, ahead of Paul – and I said so. “Okay then, Hannibal,” he said, only with a hint of sarcasm. “Tell us what you’d do if you were in charge of the Australian Army” Er? “The problem is unprecedented and spreading rapidly,” I started. “So, I’d abandon those who had already been affected and concentrate on containment.” “Hmm,” said Paul. “All the evidence suggest they have, in fact done precisely that. So, what then?” “I’d call for help. The problem is too big for our forces alone – we’d need the Yanks. And they’d come because they wouldn’t want the problem to spread beyond our borders – and don’t forget that all our borders are sea borders. So, the infection could potentially be stopped from spreading overseas if enough effort is put into the problem while it is still in Australia. Block up the air and sea ports, for starters.” Paul agreed that this made sense: “But where are all the Yanks?” “They’d still be coming,” I said. “By and large, it takes time to gear up for a war – even one like this. And don’t forget – unlike us – their best troops are still bogged down in Vietnam. There’s still a war on there, you know.” (This was before the Fall of Saigon in 1975 – as you will have guessed.) “And our own troops?” asked Paul.
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