Fiction

Dogs of War /or
Merry Christmas, Mr Howard /or
Apocalypse Preempted /or
God Bless America / or just
Like a war film

[ensemble]

— Yeah, and who didn't bother doing anything about it. Look, this is our Vietnam. Howard's so deeply committed he can't withdraw; most of the troops are finished off so he was bound to bring in conscription.

— Why doesn't he just come out and say that he wants us to fight for America 'cause that's all we're doing.

— I keep thinking of those speeches by the blazers at the RSL, the memorials my dad dragged me to. All they talked about was the Horror of War and Queen and Country and fighting for the Freedom us kids supposedly enjoy today. Always finishing off with a neat little trick about making sure this would never ever happen again, eternal vigilance and the prices of freedom and all that.

— I mean everyone knew the Middle East was a powder keg and now they're all hungry for the Bomb so they can finish each other off. First it was the Palestinians and now they're history it's the Iranians. And then Afghanistan (who's in power there again?) throws a curve ball blowing up that base and then it's massive friendly retaliations all round because we're the peacekeepers now and Janet Howard comes around pinning medals on the fallen patriots, because she too is a missionary for peace, and well, whose war was it anyway?

— It's your war! Remember that war bonds are like money in the bank.

— You've heard it? So the Opposition tries to broker a deal with the US, making us a real American State at last. The 53rd or 54th star, whatever they're up to now on the flag. And it fell through, as usual, so they say, because the State Governments would be out of a job.

— Ok so you're the political humour editor now, Mr Laurie Oakes?

— Old cronies on dollar lagers and the blue rinse brigade waggling about grandchildren and hip replacements; and then crying like children, the most broken and emotional of them all, when remembering what they went through and why the fuck would you want to wish that on anyone else.

— Or why would you go jump in a war that's got nothing to do with Australia, jump to the American whip, How High, Good Sir Dubya. That miserable little lapdog. Good little doggie WRUFF that's right go hunt the terrorist WRUFF set to him honest doggie WRUFF 'cause who helps George and all the boys keep the spotlight on the Gulf when the country's tearing up inside WRUFF 'cause that's the way we do business WRUFF with our friends.

— It's Johnie's war for peace and it's Dubya's war for oil and global meddling and right wingers and it's Janet's war for healing the victims and it's Blair's war for war's sake. I mean it's only 3.5 million dead with no foreseeable end in sight, so just keep pumping laws for dole bludgers to find a better life in a body bag, or be a hippy shit and fight the power and get your ass hauled into jail. And who gave a fuck about the Palestinians who got transferred up the duff. Think they had a choice? Think we got a choice?

— OK but the full conscription bill hasn't passed through the Senate yet so why treat it like a done deal already.

— It's gonna go through just like every Year 12 endstatement's gonna get printed with a draft notice, you watch my words, in a matter of weeks.

— I used to think the whole ceremony and the 11 o'clock stand was just dramatics and keeping the wounds open but now... Their skin was crumpled and wrinkled and they always had huge amounts of small change. And pills.

— Fuck Vietnam man, at least they had their Hendrix.

— Like — what's the name of that gunnery sergeant, that tough bastard in Full Metal Jacket, screaming at his oafs 'cause there's a fluff of dust on their boots? Jump! Good doggie!

— OK so you're this Palestinian and you're pretty pissed off sitting up against that big wall, and you get these pictures beamed in from Australia of some tree-hugging hippy shit saying this war in unnecessary and evil and what not, are you gonna be pissed or what? I'd grab a gun and start shooting too. I've just been locked in a big open prison 'cause noone else gave a rat's. I'd fight like a refugee. Hugging trees.

— But now I get scared by all that memorialising; I mean I get cut to the bone because that's what's coming to me. My brother's already gone and I've got a really strong feeling no Private Ryan is gonna come and save my ass. And all them blue blazers over and over again: we should fight to prevent war, not pursue it, or some such. That's what really makes me scared. It's catching up.

— Yeah! 'If you ladies leave my island, if you survive recruit training, you'll be a minister of death, praying for war. You're the lowest form of life on Earth! You are not even human fucking beings!' I love that guy. And by the way Private Ryan was the one they tried to save, not the one doing the saving, maggots.

— I miss my girlfriend. Two hours already.

— Don't worry, we're here. Take yer protein pill and put your thinking caps on! Ever flown on a Hercules before?