The ANZACs: A Lesson in History
“History is written by the victors.”
— Winston Churchill; Hermann Göring; Dan Brown; Scott Z. Burns
[24 April, 2235 | History Lesson]
The class of fifty-seven students takes their seats in the sterile but brightly lit education room. Everything within the Auckland Education Institute, the premiere (or only) Government-approved school within the city, is white: a reminder to the students that they are here to learn, and to learn only. Ms. Quadro, the class instructor, enters the room twenty-seven seconds late after traveling to the megaschool’s seventy-eighth storey. At least, she reasons, she can afford to have her pay docked for that time. SMs. Quadro addresses the class immediately; there is no time for anything other than education.
“The story of the ANZACs is as old as time itself,” the instructor begins. “Or it might seem like that to you youngsters, with your lack of comprehension of anything prior to the twenty-third century. With ANZAC Day tomorrow, and the long weekend to commemorate New Zealand’s finest warriors, this morning’s lesson is dedicated to their history.”
Looking at the education room, the teacher asks, “The ANZACs formed in 1914. Can anybody tell me how long ago that was?”
Alexa Maas is the first to put her hand up. Again. It’s always Alexa, the ten-year-old know-it-all that Ms. Quadro believes is certain that if she has the answer to every question, she’ll forever be her favourite student. Surely should mean that she skips ahead to engineering class ahead of schedule, right?
Ms. Quadro nods in Alexa’s direction. At least she has her hand up, unlike all other those reprobates packed into the room.
“321 years, Ms. Quadro.”
“Correct, Alexa. As you children should be aware, the ANZACs formed in 1914. 2235 minus 1914 equals 321.”
As Alexa sits at the front of the room, her self-satisfied smile inching across her face, Ms. Quadro punches a command into her desk terminal. Suddenly, the children’s minds are transported from the year 2235, the Nanny chips implanted in their heads at birth now filling their mind’s eye and ear with a time prior to the First World War.
[1914–1915 | The First World War]
“Attention, Alexa,” the child’s Nanny chip begins. “What follows is a lesson about the history of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. If you have any questions, please state the word ‘Question.’ Once there is an appropriate pause in the lesson, I will answer your question. Before we begin, do you have any questions?”
“No,” Alexa responds.
“Then let us begin,” Nanny responds. “Please be aware that the New Zealand government only allows the YutopiCorp Nanny to provide education, rather than being the true assistant that children require. Please petition your local Government member to extend the usage of the Nanny chip, and request that they think of the children.”
“The ANZACs were once a united force, combining warriors from New Zealand and Australia during the twentieth century. An attempt was made for the countries to reunite the ANZAC warriors, however, hope for this was lost during the New Zealand-Australia War of 2202 to 2206.
“November, 1914: Neighbours and close allies, New Zealand and the now-extinct continent previously referred to as ‘Australia,’ officially formed the Australasian Army Corps. This name effectively nullified New Zealand’s involvement in the public eye, and as a result, the New Zealand recruits forced a name change. This name, which lasted until April 2206, was the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, which I will henceforth refer to as ‘ANZAC.’ A multinational body, at Australia’s insistence, the ‘ANZAC’ name naturally excluded the representation of other countries, including the then-United Kingdom, India and Palestine.
“Please note that the updated acronym, NZAC, will be covered later during this lesson.
“December, 1914: While the intent was for these combined forces to train in England, rather than subjecting the Australians to the English winter, which they were not up to the task for, the ANZACs undertook their training in Cairo, Egypt.”
“April, 1915: The ANZAC units departed Greece for what was then known as Gallipoli, Turkey. Later that month, the ANZACs landed on Gallipoli Peninsula, the area of which had since been popularised as ‘ANZAC Cove.’ As French allies made a diversionary landing at Kum Kale on the Asian shore and British allies simulated landing preparations Bulair, New Zealand war hero Bernard Freyberg seam ashore to light flares, distracting the enemy.
“A force of approximately twenty-five thousand men advanced across the peninsula. Early in the morning of 25 April, referred to as ANZAC Day, Australian warriors found themselves on unfamiliar ground with inaccurate maps. This prevented the warriors from maintaining contact with one another, with very few meeting their objective.
“More warriors from New Zealand and Australia landed at Ari Burnu and pushed inland. Despite a counter attack by the Ottoman Empire, the ANZACs successfully built a perimeter from the north to the south. The failure of the Australian battalion, however, resulted in a tactical stalemate.”
[24 April, 2235 | Question]
“Question,” Alexa asks.
“Proceed,” Nanny responds.
“When are we going to get to more recent history? Learn something that actually matters?”
“We will discuss recent history in due course, Alexa. World War I is part of the curriculum for this lesson, and you will be tested on this.”
Alexa lets out a disgruntled sigh. She keeps it quiet, not wanting Ms. Quadro to catch what the teacher would define as an attitude problem. “Then continue, Nanny.”
[1915 | The First World War: Continuance of Subject]
“May, 1915: With ANZAC Cove believed to be secure, the warriors were assigned to attack Helles. Under artillery fire from Ottoman outposts, the attack was ceased, to begin again the next day, when reinforcements resumed the battle. Here, the warriors advanced approximately six hundred metres; four hundred short of their objective, with one thousand casualties.
“Following this, a brief period of consolidation occurred on both sides of the battle. The Ottomon Empire relieved its troops, and the ANZACs were low on ammunition. Small attacks did continue during this time, resulting in a number of Australians being killed due to sniping.
“On 19 May, the Ottomon Empire launched an attack. A total of forty-two thousand Ottomon warriors launched this attack, in an attempt to push the 17,000 ANZACs back to the sea. The Ottomans failed: Only one hundred and sixty ANZACs were killed with four hundred and sixty-eight wounded, compared to three thousand dead Ottomans, with another ten thousand injured.
“Five days later, the Ottomans surrendered to the ANZACs. An offer of armistice was made, to enable the Ottomans to bury their many lost warriors. Please listen to the following statement from Private Victor Laidlaw. Please note that as Private Laidlaw is from the continent previously known as Australia, consent was sought from your parents for this part of the lesson. Your father provided written consent on 19 April, 2235. Please also note that the audio quality of this statement has been enhanced, however, due to the age of the recording, please note this does not meet with modern audio standards.”
The voice changes from Nanny’s eerie almost-but-not quite human voice, to that of a man from centuries ago. “‘The armistice was declared from 8:30 a.m. this morning till 4:30 p.m. It is wonderful, things are unnaturally quiet and I felt like getting up and making a row myself, the rifle fire is quiet, no shell fire. The stench round the trenches where the dead had been lying for weeks was awful, some of the bodies were mere skeletons, it seems so very different to see each side near each other’s trenches burying their dead, each man taking part in this ceremony is called a pioneer and wears two white bands on his arms, everybody is taking advantage of the armistice to do anything they want to do out of cover and a large number are down bathing and you would think today was Cup Day down at one of our seaside beaches.’”
The ancient human’s voice is replaced with Nanny’s once more. “August, 1915: Following failures by the allies to make any progress at Hilles, two attacks were planned on 6 August from the Nek by Australians, and on the Chunuk Bair Summit by the New Zealand forces. Both of these failed. The next day, the ANZAC attempts continued. Where the Australian forces failed due to attacking too soon, alerting the Ottomans to their presence, the New Zealand forces easily held onto Chunuk Bair.
“December, 1915: ANZAC warriors were withdrawn from Gallipoli over the course of the month. One evacuation was discovered by Ottoman troops, who were killed by the ANZACs, discouraging the Ottomans from looking further.
“This concludes the first part of the lesson. Do you have any questions, Alexa?”
“No, can we just get on with this?”
“Very well,” Nanny replies. “We will now proceed to World War II and the Vietnam War.”
[1941–1971 | Second World and Vietnam Wars]
“April, 1941: Greece was under attack from a German invasion known as Operation Marita. In anticipation, the ANZACs arrived to provide assistance to Greece, to better enable the country to defend itself. The ANZACs were charged with enabling the evacuation of the British forces. The ANZACs held the Olympus and Servia passes. When the Germans attacked, they lost fifteen tanks, and the allies made their escape.”
“May, 1962: It was determined that the then-United States forces knew nothing about jungle warfare. ANZAC provided thirty military advisors to provide training to the U.S. forces in order to fight in the Vietnam War.
“June, 1965: After departing on 27 May, the ANZACs arrived in Vietnam in June. They undertook actions in Biên Hòa Province and fought in Gang Toi and Suoi Bong Trang.
“August, 1966: The Battle of Long Tan took place between 18 and 19 August. The ANZACs were heavily outnumbered by the Viet Cong, but fought off this assault, losing just eighteen warriors, compared to the Viet Cong’s two hundred and forty-five. This enabled the ANZACs to dominate the Phước Tuy Province in subsequent battles.
“August, 1971: On 18 August, three years after the Battle of Long Tan, New Zealand and Australia made the decision to withdraw the ANZACs from Vietnam.
“This concludes the second part of the lesson. Do you have any questions, Alexa?”
“Are we getting to the New Zealand/Australia War now?”
“Yes,” Nanny advises.
“Ugh, finally!”
[2202 | The Word]
“As this history is from the twenty-third century, please note that archival footage is used. By placing students inside the moment, YutopiCorp is enhancing students’ education. This is a reminder that the New Zealand government only allows the YutopiCorp Nanny to provide education, rather than being the true assistant that children require. Please petition your local Government member to extend the usage of the Nanny chip, and request that they think of the children.”
The imagery that Alexa is watching turns a stark black and the audio falls silent. After about a second, this recommences, accompanied by a brief appearance of text reading “October, 2202.” Alexa feels as though she is sitting in the Prime Minister’s office within the Australian Parliament House. Prime Minister Jak Xavix sits behind his desk, flanked by an unknown woman behind him. Alexa offers Prime Minister Xavix a smile, which he fails to notice, forcing the girl to remember that this is only a simulation.
Xavix turns to the woman behind him. “She’s about to call.”
“Then I shall camouflage myself,” the woman responds.
Right on cue, a hologram appears. Across from his desk, Joselane Saavi, Prime Minister of New Zealand is standing before him.
“Joselane, so good to see you,” Xavix begins.
“Likewise, Jak. I trust this line is secure?”
“Naturally,” Xavix answers. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“Why don’t you stand, Jak? It is the proper thing to do.”
“I don’t like wearing pants. You might see my unmentionables.”
This elicits a laugh from ten-year-old Alexa. It does not elicit a laugh from Prime Minister Saavi, nor does it elicit a laugh from the stranger.
“Moving along, New Zealand is facing increased pressure to cede control to YutopiCorp. I fear there is a war coming.”
“I’m not certain that’s the case, Joselane. Granted, YutopiCorp would like us both on board, but I doubt they would wage war against us.”
“We need to be prepared. Either they will buy us out, and it’s bad enough that our previous administrations both unleashed the Nanny chips on us; or they will win through war.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Japan and the U.S. have the largest army in the world. Look what they did to China when they asked for neutrality.”
The stranger suddenly appears behind Xavix.
“I believe you mean the Heart and the City, Prime Minister Saavi. Japan and the United States of America no longer exist. They are now but two parts of YutopiCorp. Soon, we will have control of your country. When we have control of all countries, finally, the world will be able to embrace the utopia it has been striving for.”
“And who the hell are you, exactly?” Saavi asks.
“You can just call me Your Eminence,” the woman replies.
“Well, Your Eminence, you can strong-arm Prime Minister Xavix all you like. New Zealand and Australia are united, and we will fight you until the bitter end.”
“Joselane, there is no strong-arming? Is that a word?” Xavix begins. “Whatever, neither Her Eminence, nor YutopiCorp itself, have applied any pressure whatsoever. But what they have to offer us is magnificent. They’ll bring our countries into the twenty-third century, the twenty-fourth and beyond. Stand united with us, and our relationship will remain strong.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Australia’s the bigger country, Joselane. And we have YutopiCorp behind us.”
“Fuck you,” the New Zealand leader responds, for the feed to be cut short by the stranger.
“Answer me now, Xavix. Are you with us?”
“Yes.”
“Then say the word.”
“Do it. Send a shinobi.”
[2202 | Shinobi]
For the briefest of seconds, Alexa can’t see anything; the feed has gone black. As it resumes, the child now finds herself in a helicopter, looking down at Wellington’s skyline. The chopper is quieter than those from the twenty-first century; the rotors are no longer blades, but soundwaves manipulated by the engine. Using the latest YutopiCorp tech, it is also completely undetectable to any form of radar.
Alexa looks out the window and sees the pitch black sky, illuminated by the stars in the air and the lights below. Turning back to look inside, she examines the person in front of her. He is dressed entirely in black, aside from a yellow highlight with the YatopiCorp logo on his left breast, and the softly glowing blue hue of his cybernetic eye. Strapped to his back are two swords, a katana and a wakizashi.
A voice calls from the cockpit. “We’re just about there. I’m starting the descent now.”
The shinobi remains silent. He moves to open the door, and Alexa instinctively grabs her seat out of fear of being sucked out of the helicopter. It is only when the shinobi looks at the world outside of their vessel that she relaxes her grip.
Suddenly, the shinobi dives head first from the chopper. Alexa’s knuckles turn white as she finds herself plummeting below with him.
“Question,” Alexa says. “Question. Question!”
Eventually the Nanny chip responds. “Bismuth subsalicylate concentrate has already been injected into your system. It will ease the nausea shortly. An order has been placed for a replacement dose, it will arrive within forty-eight hours.
“It won’t be needed,” the girl mutters under her breath.
As Alexa experiences the drop, the world is rapidly approaching the shinobi. Soon, he opens his arms, and gliders stretch between them. The shinobi catches a drift and circles around. He is gliding around to the New Zealand Parliament Buildings, his trajectory aiming for the roof of the Executive Wing, known to the New Zealanders as the Beehive.
First constructed in 1977, the Beehive has not been upgraded in more than two hundred and fifty years, outside of added security measures designed to keep the institution safe through the challenges of the twenty-third century. The shinobi notes one of these security measures on the Beehive’s roof: twelve armed guards protecting the roof.
“Stealth mode,” the shinobi says.
The shinobi disappears, his suit now refracting the light around him, giving the illusion of invisibility.
“Given the stress the suit is currently under, I can only guarantee one minute of stealth,” the shinobi’s A.I. responds.
“Noted.”
The shinobi’s momentum increases, carrying him to the flagpole sitting on top of the Beehive. Reaching out, the shinobi grabs the flagpole as the gliders fold back into his suit. He spins around on the flagpole and leaps off it, propelling him down to the roof. Silently, which makes Alexa wonder whether this is the result of skill or if it’s simply an enhancement bequeathed to him.
The shinobi sprints towards the edge of the roof, then climbs over it. His hands and knees automatically attach to the building, and he scales down past the top floor, to the next. Peering through the window, he can see Prime Minister Joselane Saavi sitting at her desk.
Reaching behind him, the shinobi clasps the hilt of his wakizashi and draws it. Its energy blade is about thirty centimetres in length, which makes it just the right length to slice through the Beehive’s reinforced window. As his blade is ready to penetrate the glass, he hears a brief static-like noise, and then he reappears. His minute ran out. Still, this should be an easy job.
The wakizashi pierces the glass, causing an alarm to sound. Turns out the job won’t be as easy as the shinobi had thought.
“Shit. Well, the price just went up.”
Cutting his way through the glass, the shinobi makes a circle, which he pushes into the office. He clambers inside, to be greeted not only by Saavi, but six armed guards. An energy kunai materialises between each of the shinobi’s fingers. With a flick of his wrists, each kunai sails from his hands, landing right between the eyes of each target, killing them instantly.
Saavi rushes out from behind her desk and makes it through the open door. The shinobi gives chase, and is intercepted by another five armed guards. He draws his katana as the guards open fire, deflecting the laser bolts back at them. The shinobi spots the Prime Minister running down the stairs and rushes after her. Two more guards block the shinobi’s path, and are swiftly decapitated in one laser-sharp motion. Thankfully, for the cleaners, the energy used in the sword cauterises the guards’ wounds, reducing the amount of blood spatter over the walls and carpet.
The shinobi soon catches up to Saavi. He kicks one guard in the groin before snapping his neck, then throws the body towards another three guards rushing towards him, bowling them over. Turning around, two more guards are approaching, and he disembowels them, tearing their stomachs open. He grabs the Prime Minister.
“Why…why are you doing this?”
The shinobi looks to a nearby security camera. His message is not just to the Prime Minister, but the world. “For the glory of Australia.”
He grabs Zavvi by the neck and throws her over the barrier, sending the soon to be former Prime Minister hurtling to the floor, seven storeys below. He leaps after Zaavi, and a split-second after she lands face first with a crunch, he lands safely, his katana impaling her through the back and chest.
“Stay where you are, and hands where I can see them!” The shinobi is surrounded by armed guards in every direction.
“Smoke,” the shinobi says.
In the twenty-third century, humans are no longer used to smoke. Cigarettes have been banned, as has anything that could cause a fire. The world has finally transitioned fully to green energy, no longer polluting the planet to maintain their creature comforts.
An explosion of smoke at the shinobi’s feet soon covers him, and fills the building. Their vision obscured by the smoke, nobody was willing to let the assassination of their Prime Minister stand. The room fills with gunshots, each laser bolt briefly illuminating the slowly dissipating smoke.
Minutes later, and the smoke has largely cleared. The shinobi is gone, and on the ground floor, sixty-three corpses lie in his wake.
“That. Was. Awesome!” Alexa says, almost as giddy as the previous April, where she ate all her Easter eggs in one hit. “Can we watch it again?”
“We must proceed, Alexa; there is more left to learn. I have saved this footage to your personal archive.”
[2202 | Opinions]
The following day, footage of the assassination is trending across the world. It is estimated that within twenty-four hours of Zaavi’s passing, 97.8 per cent of the world’s population, including children, has witnessed her death, along with the newly-infamous statement, “For the glory of Australia.” The feed that Alexa is watching lists various numbers, which just confuse the child:
“Summary of opinion polls: Australia:
- Agree with Australia’s actions — 47.5%
- Disagree with Australia’s actions — 32.8%
- Undecided about Australia’s actions — 19.7%
“Summary of opinion polls: Countries under YutopiCorp’s control:
- Agree with Australia’s actions — 63.7%
- Disagree with Australia’s actions — 12.9%
- Undecided about Australia’s actions — 23.4%
“Summary of opinion polls: Countries under corporate control (not YutopiCorp):
- Agree with Australia’s actions — 42.1%
- Disagree with Australia’s actions — 39.6%
- Undecided about Australia’s actions — 18.3%”
As the numbers fade from view, they are replaced with a second set of numbers which serve as a juxtaposition to the others.
“Summary of opinion polls: New Zealand:
- Agree with Australia’s actions — 0.3%
- Disagree with Australia’s actions — 97.4%
- Undecided about Australia’s actions — 2.3%
“Summary of opinion polls: Countries not under corporate control:
- Agree with Australia’s actions — 1.4%
- Disagree with Australia’s actions — 96.9%
- Undecided about Australia’s actions — 1.6%”
“What is your opinion of Australia’s actions?” Nanny asks Alexa. “Do you agree, disagree, or are you undecided?”
“I agree,” Alexa responds.
“Thank you. Your response has been recorded.”
The footage changes to Canberra, Australia, and a protest being undertaken outside Parliament House by New Zealand nationals. About two thousand protestors have gathered, each of them holding digital placards featuring phrases such as “Murderer,” “Xavix the killer,” “Warmonger,” and “Pay for your crimes.”
The protest continues into the evening, yet the crowds are refusing to move on until Prime Minister Jak Xavix has addressed them. Xavix doesn’t relish the idea of having rotten fruit hurled at him, which his minders have been reminding him is the best case scenario after Australia relaxed its gun laws in the early twenty-second century.
As the night carries on, the protest has not yet quietened down. Xavix would like to retire to the Lodge for the night, but his security staff are unable to guarantee that any route would keep him clear of protesters. The Prime Minister is surrounded by his cabinet of egomaniacal politicians as the Head of Security arrives.
“We’ve made a decision,” Xavix informs the Head of Security. “Put an end to this mess.”
The Head of Security nods his head. “Affirmative,” he says, before leaving the meeting room.
Minutes later, Xavix’s instruction is carried out to the Prime Minister’s satisfaction. Twenty-four turrets rise from the grounds outside Parliament House. They do not take aim, they simply open fire, firing round after round of hot plasma at a rate of fifteen shots per second, per turret. Given the power that plasma affords compared to the simple lasers carried by individuals, the power of the turrets, and the two thousand protesters not wearing armour, the protestors are all dead in under a minute. The turrets keep shooting for another two minutes, just to be certain.
As the turrets retract into the ground, the lawns of parliament house are nothing but scorch marks, plasma remnants and globs of perforated fat that, mere moments ago, resembled human beings. The following day, New Zealand would formally declare war on its once closest ally.
[2203 | The Farm]
It is now more than a year later, and Alexa finds herself in a city she doesn’t recognise, as the feed updates to “December, 2203.” Australia is no longer referred to by its previous name; it is now known as the Farm. The cityscape is being redeveloped, with new skyscrapers in the early stages of construction to accommodate people who will be moved from areas to be used for farming. Images of Santa Claus are illuminated on glowing billboards pushing people to buy the latest YutopiCorp gadgets. The Australian flag is nowhere to be seen; replaced by the YutopiCorp logo.
The advertising on the screens throughout the city disappears, replaced by Prime Minister Xavix standing behind a podium, looking as Prime Ministerial as one can after becoming little more than a figurehead spouting others’ words.
“YutopiCorp has been at war with New Zealand for thirteen months,” Xavix’s address begins. “New Zealand fails to recognise the Farm’s sovereignty; they fail to recognise what YutopiCorp has to offer. Once a great ally to the nation previously known as Australia, New Zealand must pay the price for its attacks on our great land.”
The crowd lets out an uproarious cheer and applause for the Prime Minister’s words. They know that the Farm — and YutopiCorp in general — is at war with New Zealand. However, what very few seem to note is that following the Parliament House massacre of 2202, all news making its way into the country is YutopiCorp-approved.
“I am pleased to confirm that fifteen minutes ago, YutopiCorp has taken Wellington. The New Zealand Parliament Buildings have been destroyed, and I can confirm that we have destroyed the New Zealand government. There need not be any further casualties. YutopiCorp is currently moving to occupy the country, providing the necessary infrastructure for New Zealanders to thrive.”
Again, the crowd hoots and hollers in excitement of the figurehead’s news. The excitement is short-lived, however, as the image on the screen disappears. In Xavix’s place is Prime Minister Zaavi’s replacement, Prime Minister Hash Ire. Behind him is a New Zealand flag, and behind that is what looks to be a military bunker’s wall. Ire is surrounded by his ministry.
“Greetings, Australia. My apologies; greetings Farm. A name fitting for your country’s ‘respect’ from YutopiCorp,” the address on behalf of New Zealand begins. “For the last fourteen months, New Zealand has been defending itself from attacks launched by the Farm on behalf of YutopiCorp. We have held back the attacking forces, resulting in far fewer casualties than there could have been. As you can see, Prime Minister Xavix’s declaration of victory was premature.
“Tonight, we begin a new era. A proactive era. An era where we will no longer simply defend ourselves from the Farm. New Zealand is a small nation, but a powerful one.”
Alexa watches as the screens turn to black, and all the neon lights throughout the city switch off. The power has been cut off, thanks to an electromagnetic pulse. Not just within this unknown city, but across the entire country.
[2205 | A Chance]
The feed now reads “February, 2205.” For the past year, the Farm has been without power; the Government is still unable to determine how New Zealand was able to permanently disable it. The public has been advised to stay indoors to avoid the enemy forces now occupying the country. As a result of these measures, the streets are empty, lit only by gas lamps installed to provide some form of light in the black nights.
Six New Zealand warriors fly through the city formerly known as Sydney. Wearing robotic suits of armour, their eyes glow blue, as do the jet thrusters attached to the soles of their boots. Their task is simple: search for enemy combatants, then destroy them. All except for the fireteam leader, Sergeant Aurora Chance, who has been given more information about the power outage than her rank determines.
A loud humming fills the air, and everything below it is suddenly awash with light. The ship is branded YutopiCorp, and the fireteam assumes that it must hail from the City or the Heart, on account of it requiring energy to run. The fireteam’s stomachs sink at the thought of how obvious the drop ship is: it wants to be seen. The warriors follow their sergeant’s instructions and stop flying, instead hovering in position as Chance flies toward the ship to investigate.
As she reaches her destination, the drop ship’s airlock opens. From it fly a dozen shinobi, gliders stretched wide. Spotting the New Zealand combatants, shuriken appear in each of the sninobi’s hands. Taking aim, the shinobi launch their shuriken, with more materialising in their place. As these appear, the shinobi fling them toward the enemy, and repeat the process.
The New Zealanders duck and weave, dodging the attacks as the shuriken explode as they make contact with nearby buildings. As neither side shows consideration for the property damage nor the potential loss of life, the opposing forces take the battle lower, using the cityscape for protection. One shinobi takes a laser to the glider and hits the ground, shattering his skull as he lands head first in the pavement. One of his comrades soon takes revenge, landing an explosive shuriken to the chest; the explosion blows right through his ribcage, sending him hurtling toward another member of his company. They are both dead.
Chance watches the battle play out. Her team is now outnumbered, eleven to three. It won’t be long now. Three decapitations later, and it certainly wasn’t.
Alexa watches as Chance flies towards the drop ship and enters through the airlock. With her arms stretched above her head, three YutopiCorp warriors have their rifles aimed directly at her.
“I surrender,” Chance says.
[2206 | Interrogation]
“February, 2206” flashes up on the feed. One year has passed. Chance is malnourished, shackled to a chair in her cell, which is guarded by a forcefield. Her body is bruised, battered and torn from the twelve months of torture she has endured. As the forcefield comes down, Chance doesn’t even bother trying to escape.
“When you are next attacked by the enemy, let your fireteam die,” was the instruction given to her by her Colonel. “Then surrender to the enemy.”
One thing Chance’s training had taught her over the years is to never question your commanding officer, so she didn’t. Nor did she have to, with the last words uttered by the Colonel to her being “Trust me, you will win us the war.”
A large guard comes barreling into Chance’s cell. He enters a key into the back of her chair, releasing the shackles, and drags her out of the cell. For the first eight months, Chance has been fighting. She fought the guard. The guard fought back. In the early days, reinforcements were required. Then, as the Sergeant grew weaker, reinforcements weren’t required. Now, Sergeant Aurora Chance doesn’t have the strength to fight. Every day, she loses the strength to endure the torture. She is aware that one of these days, it must end. She fears that day might be today.
The guard drags Chance into the interrogation room, and shackles her arms and legs to chains. Turning his back to her, like he has, each and every day this past year, he punches instructions into a console sitting against the wall. The chains tighten, stretched by gears pulling them in separate directions. As they pull against Chance’s arms and legs, lifting her limp body into the air. Her muscles hurt, her bones feel like they are about ready to pop out of her sockets, but she’s used to this by now.
“How long’s it been, Sergeant Chance?” a voice booms from the speaker. It is Her Eminence. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your children?”
“A year,” Chance says quietly. To this day, she’s not certain that Her Eminence can hear her answers, but determines that if you’re interrogating somebody, you’re going to want to hear the answers they provide.
“By my count, it would be about a year, would it not? A year since you were captured, a year since we were told that you have the key to bringing the Farm back online.” As Her Eminence speaks, Chance shakes her head, struggling to know if she’s been heard. “But today’s your lucky day.”
For the first time in the last year, as her body is being pulled in all directions by the chains, Chance looks up. A holographic image appears, showing the Auckland Education Institute, a towering skyscraper housing thousands of the city’s children. Of these thousands, two of them call Sergeant Aurora Chance “Mum.”
“That’s my school!” Alexa exclaims.
“That was not a question,” Nanny responds. “That was an interruption. It has been noted.”
Alexa watches as a second hologram joins the first, this time displaying the institute from a different angle. The image on the first hologram zooms in on the eighty-first story, where Quinn Chance’s class sits. The second zooms in on the forty-fifth floor, where Madalyn Chance undertakes her schooling. The view of the walls changes to infrared imagery inside the classes. Thirteen-year-old Quinn is doing his best to distract himself rather than listen to his teacher, while six-year-old Madalyn is intent on listening to each and every word.
“As you can see, your dear husband has been doing a marvellous job of getting the kids to school each morning,” Her Eminence says. “Naturally, it makes your kids sitting ducks for the mechs we have surrounding the institute.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Killing kids unnecessarily is most certainly frowned upon. But, as I am sure you would agree, I’ve been patient these last twelve months. I deem this necessary, so you had better believe I would.”
“You fucking bitch!”
“You have ten seconds.”
Chance is not willing to talk. She has been tasked with ending this war, not handing the win to the enemies.
“Ten.
“Nine.
Eight.
Seven.”
Chance’s heart rate increases. Her mind is racing, trying to find a way out of this situation.
“Six.
“Five.
There is no way out. Chance is certain of it.
“Four.
“Three.”
“Two.”
There is really no way out of this. Either Chance sacrifices her children, or loses the war.
“One.”
The choice is simple. “Okay, I’ll talk!” As simple a choice where one of the outcomes is single-handedly losing a war, that is.
“Stand by, team. It appears our argument has won Sergeant Chance over.”
“It’s nano-EMPs, housed in a chamber. They constantly feed off each other, fuelling each other, expanding the electromagnetic pulse throughout the country.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s housed in that damn tower you installed,” Chance growls at Her Eminence. “You build with independent contractors, you run the risk of them accepting payment from interested parties. Oh yeah, it’s indestructible, isn’t it? Yeah, good luck with that.”
The YutopiCorp Tower was built, replacing the Lambert Geographical Centre of Australia. Once a tourist destination for those excited to hit the dead centre of the country, it is now a monument to the greatness of YutopiCorp, letting everybody know who this island belongs to.
“Pull back,” Her Eminence orders the mechs. Finally, acknowledging Chance’s commentary for the first time, she says “Nothing is indestructible.”
[2206 | Indestructible]
After more than a month of working out how they can destroy the “indestructible tower,” YutopiCorp scientists think they have finally found the answer. The area surrounding YutopiCorp Tower has been cleared, and a large airship flies in, obscured by the night sky. The feed now displays the date “April, 2206.”
Hovering above the tower, a red glow appears at the ship’s base. It glows brighter and brighter, until a beam shoots from the ship. The beam, consisting of pure, concentrated plasma, pours down from above, incinerating the desert surrounding the tower. After a number of minutes, the tower’s façade begins to crack.
Eventually, the tower collapses; each individual piece of the former monument to YutopiCorpis covered in molten plasma. The ship continues to unleash its weapon, making absolutely certain it destroys the chamber containing the nano-EMPs. Finally, the chamber explodes. Nanoparticles fly out, free of their electromagnetic prison, and spread throughout the Farm.
With the force of 25 kilotons each, every single nanoparticle explodes with the force of a nuclear bomb, obliterating the Farm, and turning all those on it, to ash instantly. Everyone aside from those lucky enough to be off the mainland, that is.
“25 April, 2206 is the day that the Farm formally became the Wasteland. Thanks to Tasmania’s survival, it is now known as the Wasteland’s head office,” Nanny explains. “On 25 April each year, we celebrate this day: NZAC Day.”
[24 April, 2235 | The Victors]
Alexa’s Nanny chip ends the lesson. Alexa’s sight and hearing bring her back to the education room as she regains her senses. Feeling a little dizzy, the girl raises her hand.
“Yes, Alexa?” Ms. Quadro answers.
“Can I go to the toilet, please? I’ve been trying to hold it in for about three quarters of that lesson.”
Ms. Quaddro gives Alexa a nod of approval and the girl leaves the education room. She walks through the sterile hallway and into the bathroom. She doesn’t need a toilet stall; she has found herself alone. Alexa reaches into her pocket and pulls out a syringe, filled with silver liquid. Nervously sliding the needle into her neck, Alexa squeezes the syringe, filling her vein with the liquid.
“Ow!” the girl yells. She caresses her head; she was unprepared for the sharp headache that short-circuiting her Nanny chip would cause. Still feeling dizzy, but thankful the headache has worn off, Alexa again walks through that sterile hallway and returns to class.
As the girl enters, she hears Ms. Quadro asking the class a question. “What did this lesson teach you?”
“That history is written by the victors,” Alexa responds without raising her hand.
Ms. Quadro looks at the girl in confusion. “Please raise your hand before answering questions, Alexa. You should know better.”
Alexa looks at Ms. Quatro directly in the eye and raises her hand to address the entire class. “For the glory of Australia! For the glory of the Farm! For the glory of the Wasteland!”
Squeezing the palm of her raised hand, Alexa unleashes an explosion, decimating the not just the classroom, but the entire seventy-eighth storey of the Auckland Education Institute, as well as the three storeys above and below. The fourteen storeys above plummet to the ground, killing everybody instantly. At approximately twelve thousand casualties, it is nothing compared to the New Zealand-Australia War, at least.
“History is written by the victors.”
— Winston Churchill; Hermann Göring; Dan Brown; Scott Z. Burns; Alexa Maas
