Why F-16s when we have FU2s?
The Prime Minister addressed the emergency cabinet meeting. "It seems we have a problem. It's this F-16 fighter thing. If you'll pardon the expression, the balloon appears to have gone up."
Jim Anderton sighed. "I think that's a little premature, Helen. Just because the decision to dump the F-16s has left half the country feverishly sharpening garden implements and wondering whether the Indonesian invasion will come tomorrow or the next day, I wouldn't say the balloon's gone up ... "
"What would you say then?" inquired the dour Dr Cullen.
"I'd say we're in Poo Pond without an inflatable," said Jim. "Although that's not strictly true. I believe the Navy's still got an inflatable, hasn't it?" No one seemed to know.
The Prime Minister fought for control. "Look," she said. "The public need to feel protected, secure. They need to know the Anzac spirit is alive, that New Zealand is still a force to be reckoned with." She turned to the Minister of Defence. "Can you give the public this assurance?"
"Er ... No," Mark Burton replied.
"Let me draw you a picture." Helen Clark's steely blue eyes swept the cabinet table. "Two Indonesian cruisers steam into the Waitemata, pausing only to stick a torpedo into each of our only two serviceable warships. Bang. No more Te Kaha. Bang. Goodbye Te Mana. They then commence shelling downtown Auckland. How do we respond?"
There was a thoughtful pause. "Stay in Wellington?" offered Sandra Lee.
"Wellington is being shelled by another cruiser. So is every coastal city in Australia, so they can't help us. No Navy, no Air Force. What do we do?"
Trevor Mallard spoke up. "Could we send the SAS out in that inflatable dinghy Jim mentioned before ... You know, with mines or Molotov cocktails or spears or something?"
The PM scowled. "Does anyone remember Pearl Harbour? Dr Cullen, you're a student of history, what can you suggest?"
"Er, Pearl Harbour wasn't quite my thing. I was mostly medieval. I suppose we could attack them with primitive siege engines ... You know, catapults, mangonels and arbalests - all, mounted on top of the Sky Tower. If they sailed under the Harbour Bridge we could pour boiling oil on them. That was popular in the 1300s."
"At today's oil prices? You're joking," Helen snapped.
"Mutton fat then," suggested Annette King. "We've got plenty of that. We'll pour boiling mutton fat on them from microlights and hot-air balloons."
Jim Anderton cleared his throat. "Couldn't we tax them?" he asked, a gleam in his eye. "That's a good way of getting rid of people. And I'll bet not one of them belongs to a union. Sign them up, that's the story. A dose of the old 'Cooks and Stewards.' That'll soon thrash 'em into line."
The Prime Minister sighed. The meeting was interrupted by a timid scratching at the door. A message was handed to the leader. She tore it open hurriedly. "From the Pentagon," she said. "The response to our F-16 decision." The cabinet was all ears. Helen Clark gasped. "It says," she said carefully, "FU2." There was a buzz around the table.
"That's disgusting," shouted Dr Cullen. But Helen's eyes were ablaze.
"Don't you see?" she said. "It's a compromise. They must be offering us a cheaper option. I want a full report on these FU2s on my desk in the morning. What's their strike capacity? Are they compatible with the Aussie F/A18s? How do they rate with the F-16s and can they land on carriers?"
She paused, her eyes shining. "On second thoughts, don't wait for the report. E-mail the Aussies now and tell them it's on. When the balloon goes up, their loyal New Zealand allies will be right behind them with a fleet of dazzling FU2s. That should strike terror into the heart of any enemy. FU2," she whispered. "That's the future I see for New Zealand's defence requirements."
<i>Dialogue:</i> Jon Gadsby
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