Girl Soldiers

By Carl Delprat

GIRL SOLDIERS are 2.1 meters ultra-fit amazons, pre-pubic and free from PMT. So look out because — these testosterone-powered terrors can really kick butt.
We start off this story in Australia, only this is the year of 2194 ... a place far removed from today’s terrain, much of the same flora and fauna endures however be prepared for surprising changes. Like introduced species let loose, coastline alterations, diverse vegetation and much much wilder weather.
As for the inhabitants, south of United Global’s defence-line live the ‘Unclean’, venture north and what remains of Armidale is now a home for ‘Warlocks’.
Further ahead the struggling city of New Brisbanabad with its Great Golden Mosque marks the end of civilization on this island continent.
Yes a lot has changed since the last global catastrophe. What ‘global catastrophe?’ Well you best read this book for an update.
Don’t worry; the North American continent and the Central Coast of Australia are rock-solid United Global.
However United Global has many major rivals...Asia-Pacific, South American Atlantic, the Peoples Pride and a nasty European fascist state named Euro-Bund just to name a few.
As I’ve already mentioned as this story starts of in 2194, we have all been dead and buried for perhaps 170 years ... so you can get a glimpse on what your great-great-great-grandchildren are in for.
Yes reader, you are all in for so many surprises ... think no consumer driven economies, no heavy industrial enterprises and certainly no petroleum products.
It’s all because ‘Uncle Sam’ lost that very important chess game to the ‘Red Dragon, and this is chess on a very high level multi-dimensional chess played inside a dodecahedron shaped spinning structure with ... Lets forget it . . . its all beyond me anyway.
Now the world’s population is way down after that altercation...it could probably be around 200 million or less in total, perhaps a lot less?
Anyway vast segments of every continent remain radioactive for ...perhaps forever?
Of course — they blamed the poor Muslims for starting World War III, we were incorrectly told that Halley’s Comet got them all excited ...but then they just aren’t like us enough, and they had most of the oil reserves, — so that’s a good enough excuse.
And who or what is this ‘Uncle Sam’?
That’s the name given to the now redundant ‘United States’ 57.3 Petra-plays -processor...a bit like your own P.C. times a few hundred trillion, . . . and no prizes for guessing who owned that amazing 58.7 Petra-plays ‘Red Dragon.’

Now its no good dwelling on this foreboding future as we are already past the tipping-point... yes its all just about to happen, so — why wait to find out?
Come on reader ... give yourself a treat and taste of something completely different.
Yes a meal of magic made to expand the mind and fill it with fun.
Now, let’s join up with these young GIRL SOLDIERS and — become a Buccaneer on the high seas or — fly about in an E-copter.
Better still, cruise leisurely about the endless skies in a solar powered Eco-airship and while you’re at it ... crack open a tin of Jacob’s tongue ...(It’s tastes a bit like chicken loaf) ...
And, always, always, always be-a-very-good-GIRL SOLDIER-for-Jesus ...
Besides its hair-washing-day again already ... Ueeerrrr! ...
So stop flunking; win yourself a Thrill, Bliss or Rapture ...and like listen Cakeface...why be so-solid, ... act spinxey, just gag-gag another squirt of Shrink-milk and keep watching out for exploding ‘Stink-brats’.
And it’s now all soooo well into the future and for all you ‘double-druds’ its now way too late to ever-ever-ever look back.
“Incoming! ... Right girls ... now let’s get out of here ...”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carl Delprat
• Release date: Feb 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9780980737738

Carl Delprat

Carl Delprat is a prolific storyteller. His home is the Australian coastal city of Newcastle, New South Wales.

Book preview

Girl Soldiers.

An amazing fantasy/futuristic/adventure novel

Written by Carl Delprat Storymaker.

Copyright 2015 Carl Delprat

Cover design painted by Carl Delprat.

ISBN 978-0-9807377-3-8

*******(©)*******

Re-written: 24 September 2015 (Fourth Edition).

For the best GIRL SOLDIERS one could ever meet,

Colleen, Carmel, Carmen, Mercia, Dora, Rita, Annie and Leica.

And … a special thanks to Herb Parker for all his help.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

As per all fiction I have written, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely accidental and with no intention of insult or offence.

Note: My stories are in Australian English, and … indicates talking while ‘…’ signifies thinking.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

**********(0)**********

Other excellent stories by Carl Delprat are ~

31 LAMAN STREET. Is where an evil ghost wreaks havoc amongst the locals.

THE THREE TREES. An international serial murder mystery set in the 1950’s.

ALL STRINGS ATTACHED. Find out what happens after a mysterious glowing object is discovered in a coal seam. Based on Steven Hawkins ‘string-theory.’

THE STORY OF ANNIE. The long life of a MG-TC roadster.

THE TWO BROTHERS. A crime and passion novel with a serial killer on the loose.

A FEED OF FISH WITH FREDDY. A chocolate box selection of short stories.

DREAMMAN. Is where a young man uses his dreams to fight for good over evil.

WHAT ABOUT MADELYN? A political catfight between two rivals.

THE HARPSICHORD MAN. A tale about a criminal harpsichord builder.

**********(0)**********

Contents

About Carl Delprat, Storymaker

Other titles by Carl Delprat

A note from the author

Part One

Chapter 1: Goal attack is missing

Chapter 2: North up the Pacific Highway

Chapter 3: Back at the chicken farm

Chapter 4: Unexpected passage

Chapter 5: Open country

Chapter 6: The prisoner

Chapter 7: Up and off the mountain

Chapter 8: Across the Pacific

Chapter 9: The Great Lakes

Chapter 10: A change of scenery

Part Two

Chapter 11: The second decade

Chapter 12: The first southern expedition

Chapter 13: The Battle of Armidale

Chapter 14: A place called Bellbrook

Chapter 15: United Global is restructured

Chapter 16: Technical troubles

Chapter 17: Time passes

Part Three

Chapter 18: V-Force sets sail

Chapter 19: The Battle of Moreton Bay

Chapter 20: Group-7's long march

Chapter 21: The blight of the South Land

Chapter 22: Unwanted paradise

Part Four

Chapter 23: Buccaneers on the high seas

Chapter 24: The girls' navy

Chapter 25: Revenge again

Chapter 26: Flames in the sky

Chapter 27: Set Nor/East and don't stop

Chapter 28: V-Force sails home

Chapter 29: The sun finally sets

**********(0)**********

This idea of writing GIRL SOLDIERS hit me while visiting a shopping mall.

It started like all my other novels many years ago and this one took around ten tears for its gestation, and it was at this mall were I first noted our current female youths’ potential and supremacy.

With this limitless availability of protein, fats, carbohydrates, and sugars … they’d all eclipsed their mother’s stature and physique.

As Mother Nature never misses any opportunity, I predict perhaps a deluge of twins will be next. Anyway back to my story, and why girl soldiers may you ask?

Well why not; girls of this stature and energy would make excellent combatants.

My GIRL SOLDIERS are 2.1 meters tall ultra-fit amazons, pre-pubescent and free from PMT. So look out because — these testosterone-powered terrors can really kick butt.

This story kicks off in Australia and in the year of 2194 … a place far removed from today’s terrain, much of the same flora and fauna endures however be prepared for surprising changes.

Like introduced species let loose, coastline alterations, diverse vegetation, and much much wilder weather.

As for the inhabitants, south of United Global’s defence-line live the ‘Unclean’, venture north and what remains of Armidale is now a home for ‘Warlocks’.

Further up the coast the struggling city of New Brisbanabad with its Great Golden Mosque marks the end of civilization on this island continent.

Yes a lot has changed since the last global catastrophe.

What ‘global catastrophe?’

Well you best read this book for an update.

And don’t worry; the North American continent and the Central Coast of Australia are rock-solid United Global. However United Global has many major rivals … Asia-Pacific, South American Atlantic, the Peoples Pride and a nasty European fascist state named Euro-Bund just to name a few.

As I’ve already mentioned, this story starts off in 2194, we have all been dead and buried for perhaps 170 years … so you can get a glimpse of what your great-great-great-grandchildren are in for.

Some readers may be relieved to note religion has survived; yes it’s thriving and throbbing away in the most fundamentalist of forms, a formidable military mixture of fire and brimstone blended with a few new trends.

Curious perhaps?

Well you are about to find out tomorrow’s world is not so bad, in fact very much the same as the one you are currently living in.

Chapter (1) begins on the East Coast of Australia about 40 kilometres north of where the city of Newcastle once existed.

This site is part of the GIRL SOLDIER Front Defence Line (Sector-18) and its young Team-Captain Joan Hardy has a lot on her plate, equipment quality has dropped off, her replacements are getting younger and the ‘Unclean’ keep multiplying.

What’s more, her best friend and Goal-Shooter Stacy ‘Samurai’ Suzuki is still missing, yes she went out collecting scalps and … been missing now for two days.

Readers these are strange times indeed and you will now be confronted with many new and diverse experiences so as you turn these pages all will be revealed.

You will find Captain Hardy busy at prayer in her Cara-Pod. In her what? …

In her Cara-Pod and the best explanation for a 21st centaury person would be a caravan sized container/dwelling made by United Global out of a compressed wood pulp chemically known as polyhydroxyakanoate? …

That’s it … poly-hydro-ox-kano-ate … and those introduced little greasy black beetles just love the taste of it.

Yes reader, you are in for so many surprises … think no consumer driven economies, no heavy industrial enterprises, and certainly no petroleum products.

It’s all because ‘Uncle Sam’ lost that very important chess game to the ‘Red Dragon. Now, who or what is this ‘Uncle Sam’?

That’s the name given to the now redundant ‘United States’ liquid helium cooled Quantum 57.3 Petra-plays -processor…a bit like your own P.C. times a few hundred trillion, . . . and no prizes for guessing who owned that amazing 58.7 Petra-plays ‘Red Dragon.’

This is chess on a very high level multi-dimensional chess played inside a dodecahedron shaped spinning structure with … anyway, it’s all way beyond me, check it out for yourself.

The world’s population is way down after that altercation…it could be now around 200 million or less in total, perhaps a lot less?

Vast segments of every continent remain radioactive for … perhaps forever?

Of course they blamed the poor Muslims for starting World War III, we were incorrectly told that Halley’s Comet got them all excited … and they had most of the oil reserves, so that’s a good enough excuse.

Well it’s no good dwelling on this foreboding future as we are already past the tipping-point as it is.

So let’s join up with these young GIRL SOLDIERS and become a Buccaneer on the high seas or fly an E-copter.

Better still, cruise leisurely about the endless skies in a solar powered Eco-airship and while you’re at it … crack open a tin of Jacob’s tongue …(It’s tastes a bit like chicken loaf).

And, always, always, always be-a-very-good-GIRL SOLDIER-for-Jesus …

Besides its hair-washing-day again already … Ueeerrrr! …

So stop flunking; win yourself a Thrill, Bliss or Rapture …and like listen Cakeface…why be so-solid, … act spinxey, just gag-gag another squirt of Shrink-milk and keep watching out for exploding ‘Stink-brats’.

And it’s now all soooo well into the future and for all you ‘double-druds’ its way too late to ever-ever-ever look back.

"Incoming! ...

Right girls … now let’s get out of here …"

**********o0o**********

Creativity is the highest form of conscientious.

**********°o°**********

Part (1).

Chapter 1: Goal Attack is missing

"Nature is earnest, when she makes a woman." Oliver Wendell Holms.

**********°o(1)o°**********

The two galahs circled high above the clearing.

Below their wings three humans rested in the long grass and another dashed about searching for something.

So it was time to glide down and find a branch, and that fresh young corn looked ever so good.

Two hungry young chicks were waiting in a hollow tree … and these big violent humans were known to do such silly things.

Now that single human is now heading for her nest… so she won’t see us . . . and we can eat their corn.

Captain Joan Hardy entered her Cara-Pod; it was time for mid-day prayers fuelled with frustrations, "Oh dear sweet Jesus, Mega-Jesus, Giga-Tetra- Petra-Exa-Zella-Yotla-Jesus, please please-please stop this ringing in my ears, tat.

Take these tormentors from my territory … annoy my adversaries.

Bite the unbelievers, pester the protagonists … infect the infidels.

Maim the malicious; contaminate the contemptible … torture the tarnished.

Rid our rivals and foul our foe… tat, tatt."

Right, now that’s all over and done for Jesus and it’s hair-washing-day today…

♫ Hair-washing-day today …

♬ Clean the hair and cleanse the soul"

Captain Joan Hardy deserted her broiling Cara-Pod then tramped on towards the mobile-equipment sheds.

Excluding a chorus of cane toads and the old three legged goanna, all were vacant, not a soul in sight … so … where were her expected replacements hiding?

A quick hunt around the electro-copter pad, the storage-sheds next, and finally the munitions-pod proved all were vacant.

High up in the gum trees screeching cicadas burst forth then showered everything below with their sticky dew.

"They’re started again, now I get a double ringing … oh Jesus please be merciful?

The goats want milking … the rabbits and chickens feeding … the vegetables weeding … and look! Blast those galahs, they’re eating our corn again… and our denim dresses on the clothes line are covered with greasy black beetles and tat, and … and … we are totally out of Shrink milk, yes we haven’t had a packet of dried Shrink-milk around here now for two whole months. Tat, tatt."

Joan lifted her skirt and just to relieve the tension … charged towards the crop of corn.

"Go away!"

The galahs flapped from the cornhusks then alighted on a low branch and waited for this silly human to move on.

"Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, just where are my replacements hiding, tat?

Now Centre said they were arriving this very morning and if they aren’t at the netball courts, where are they, tatt?

Blast this ringing … Oh blast this rotten-relentless-ringing noise in my ears."

That same swarm of blowflies followed Joan past the vegetable gardens then left her for the garbage dump.

‘Voices, I can hear voices, yes here they are at last; now just look at them.

There they were, there was Centre lying in the grass with the two new lanky children … and playing with flowers, and they’d covered Centre from head to foot with white frangipanis.’

Oh look … just look at what the’ve sent me this time! groaned Joan Hardy Team Captain for Sector-18.

This was the third day of sustained attacks and they were now down to just tired troopers and worst of all … Goal-Attack was still missing and this was hair-washing-day …the very-very most important day of the whole week.

"Centre … now wake up soldier!

Is this all we get again, tat, tat, just two silly children, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, how many more do we have to waste?"

Joan looked about for something to kick, anything to inflict her anger on.

While brushing the floral surprises from her denim uniform, Centre staggered to her feet and gestured the two Juniors to do likewise.

They took no notice and continued playing.

This really looks great, moaned Joan.

"Replacements required and now they always send children.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, sweet Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, and our Front-Line could collapse at any moment."

As if to prove a point the sound of distant gunfire shut the cicadas up.

Joan picked up a broken branch then stuck the grass between the children.

Where on earth is Samurai-Stacey Suzuki my …our Goal-Shooter?

Two open-mouthed girls stared blankly at the lady Captain.

Neither had ever heard of this Goal-Shooter person Stacey Su-zu-k-ie … whoever she was.

The sleepy Centre responded,

"Samurai-Stacey left Bunker-18 and went solo yesterday to blow up Stink-brats, she likes to feed their Minders heat-beads and cooks them from the inside out.

And Wing Attack found her visor by the creek, so I would say she is wasted by now Madam Captain, … totally wasted …

Well that’s what’s I heard, Madam Captain, totally wasted.

Wing-Attack thinks she is totally wasted and Goal-Keeper agrees she is totally wasted.

So can I take one of these substitutes with me back to the Bunker; there is only me and Goal-Keeper left guarding it?

And did you know Wing and Goal Defence were both totally wasted this morning while gardening? Yes another Brat sneaked up through the long paspalum grass and wasted itself and now our veggie garden’s a complete write-off."

Centre turned away to wipe a loose tear from her cheek.

"That’s three more troopers all totally wasted.

And I should be in heaven with them before evening arrives."

Joan started to tremble and … she just-hated to be seen trembling,

Tat, tat. Bunker-18 requests immediate assistance; are any of you girls’ ready? Tat.

Knowing they were expected to do something … both Juniors jumped to attention.

Can one of you Kinder, I mean Juniors fire a blaster or perhaps the auto-shot? asked Joan while shading her eyes.

She’d forgotten her hat again so decided to tie her loose blond hair into a controllable knot.

‘Better still a loose plait or maybe a bun, yes a bun, wait no a plat.

Then today was hair-washing-day, oh what the heck!

And Stacey’s gone.’ That thought would not go away for long and it cut deep,

Stacey? …Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, sweet Jesus.

The shorter of the two children spoke up, I can Madam Captain and I am two months past my Kinder, proclaimed Junior-2.

And I will gladly take the Goal-Defence position for the Lord Jesus.

Junior-1, knowing full well her rank shoved Junior-2 rather hard causing her to fall backwards and onto a heap of empty food containers.

"See Miss … I’m much taller Madam Captain … see Miss this Junior-2 is still just a sook, our nurse said she was a sook, teacher said she was a sook and I claim this G-D position for Jesus as my right."

Tat, which do you prefer blaster or auto-shot, sookless Junior-1? queried Joan.

To impress her Captain, the blaster being the heaver and more difficult to operate was her choice.

The dejected Junior-2 buried her head in her hands then whimpered like a common sook.

Centre walked across to the munitions-pod and soon returned with a rather knocked about blaster, two handbags of ammunition, a magnetic bunker-key, a whistle attached to a lanyard and a blood stained Goal-Defence tunic.

Proudly sporting her blood stained G-D tunic, Junior-1 staggered off down the acacia lined remains of the Pacific Highway towards Front Line Bunker-18 dragging her blaster and two full handbags of ammunition.

Following behind at a much slower step Centre tried her best to stop yawning.

Joan watched the two scrawny figures dressed in oversized ankle length denim skirts, oversized denim jackets and large brimmed denim hats wander off then disappear behind a thicket of young gum trees.

First Joan’s legs … then her arms felt a cold shiver pass and another quickly followed.

A new drongo, I bet she doesn’t last a day, tat, tat, muttered Joan.

Then she will be a dead-drongo, if my ears would just stop ringing, now stop crying Junior-2 you will be needed soon, just wait here in reserve. Tatt, tatt.

‘That blaster was the wrong choice for someone still growing … are you afraid Junior-2?’

Madam Captain, I am determined to reach for my place in Heaven fighting for Jesus, fear is for the unbeliever, I have three Kinder Divinity Silver Stars and a Gold Kinder Obedience Badge and a Grade-A Puppy Handlers Certificate, bawled Junior-2 with eyes still bursting with tears.

Puppy handlers certificates, tat, what nonsense will they teach them next?

Joan left Junior-2 playing with the daisy chains and walked briskly towards Base Camp-18’s storage sheds. Tat, tat.

(Reader please note: Joan’s habitual signature sound ‘tat, tatt,’ is created by sucking her tongue against a gap between her front teeth).

Both these girls they sent me are no older then fourteen years if that tattt, and hopelessly inadequate to operate weapons tat, like a blaster, tattt, and as for puppy training? Tat, tat.

**********(1)**********

Junior-1 easily located Bunker-18 it was just 90 lengths down the old highway.

This bunker, alike all bunkers along the Front-Line was strategically positioned as to observe infiltration across the open fields of high paspalum grass.

At a guess the clearing was between 75 and 100 lengths wide and it partitioned their defence line from an endless barrier of encroaching eucalyptus forest.

Junior-1 checked about her new home.

Behind the bunker washing hung out to dry, beyond the washing were the remains of a flattened vegetable garden and scattered around its edges lay the flyblown rotting remnants of a recently wasted Stink-brat.

To the far left, two fresh gravesites beside several others were just visible where a track (according to a sign post) continued off towards Bunker-17.

To the right an overgrown netball court had two overturned and stripped people-movers all riddled with black beetle holes.

Some previous occupant had painted an effigy of that beautiful angel of God the ever most holy Saint Elvis on the back wall with love-hearts all around his head; across the surface of the far sidewall alongside some netball scores were the messages, Goal Attack’s dad was a fat old cane toad — Jesus doesn’t want any more Goal Keepers and above it Wing Defence still owes the team (3) credits.

Now all was chillingly quiet, . . . something … had switched off the cicadas … and … human voices drifted out of the forest beyond the long grass …

Then people started screaming out as if they had suddenly gone crazy.

Junior-1 now wished she hadn’t been so enthusiastic.

The screaming subsided … and the silence was just long enough for the noisy insects to switch their screech on again.

What a strange place, whispered the Sector-18’s latest Goal-Defence?

To the eyes of a seasoned Girl-Soldier, Bunker-18 was a typical two-story log-cabin style pre-fab structure fabricated from treated wood pulp segments clipped together at each corner with wedges. That familiar logo of a faded silver star with United Global blazoned across it was publicized on all four sides.

Rock-bomb explosions left the outside surfaces covered with depressions and those notorious black beetles’ holes were sure to be present if one looked for them.

Nailed above a ceramic doorway, (the only entrance) a row of dried human scalps attracted small black flies; some were fresh and still bloody.

The outside of this bunker smelt of eucalyptus oil, the best way of eliminating that damaging oily black beetle that just loved eating into United Global’s imported timber products.

"Who’s out there, you better speak up quick?" an unexpected voice from above startled Junior-1 who walked away from the bunker to see where it was coming from.

It’s Junior-1, the replacement G-D …so will you let me come inside?

"Well next time you stupid little bitch, give me a warning …

SAo blow your whistle when approaching or I’ll lob a grenade down on top of you.

I’ve already lost two good girls this morning while gardening and I’ve no time for some silly G-D replacement behaving like an idiot around our bunker.

Have you washed your hair yet? …

Like…it’s hair-washing-day today and did you bring any Shrink-milk?

We haven’t had any now for at least two months.

Use your magnetic bunker key to get in, I can’t come down from here."

Inside empty cartridges along with discarded food boxes covered the bare floorboards.

To the right against the wall two rows of three high sleeping bunks, to the left cooking facilities and cupboards.

Junior-1 placed her hat and two heavy handbags beside a smelly bunk then climbed up a timber ladder to arrive at the viewing platform where Goal-Keeper stood guard.

From this location she could see a full 200 degrees of open field facing the encroaching forest.

When Centre blew her whistle before entering, Junior-1 watched Goal-Keeper tremble and only stopped when the ceramic door was shut and bolted.

Goal-Keeper’s eyes were bloodshot and fresh bits of skin were missing from one side of her face, "Right kid, our, well your job is to watch, and watch and watch, then watch some more, we must watch for any sign of movement.

Our people-detectors are defective along with most of these command-helmets so all we have left is our two eyes.

The recent rains caused the grass to grow wild and those Stink-brats can keep concealed up to 20 lengths from our bunker.

We burnt-out the forest last spring but the rains have filled it with new growth and its still too wet to torch as yet.

Now … when the grass starts to tremble it means one of the Brats is closing in."

Goal-Keeper handed Junior-1 her battered and smelly command-helmet and her very own auto-shot and descended the ladder then collapsed onto the nearest bunk.

See that bunker 500 lengths to your right? said Centre now standing beside Junior-1 and pointing at a structure just visible against the tree lined open plain.

"That’s Bunker-17 a bunker just like this one….

Curse these mosquitos … to your right about the same distance in the other direction is Bunker-19 … Got ya!

And kid, its hair-washing-day today don’t you know?

Your hair has bits of flowers in it so you better brush it ready for the ceremony.

That is if we have one."

Where are the others Miss?

Centre ignored the child’s request, "Now just out of sight where the young trees have sprouted, more bunkers continue all the way up to Bunker-49 at the foothills.

So … that means Bunker-1 starts at the coastline …

And each bunker has a crew of seven when fully womaned. …

How come they’re not biting you?" Centre swatted another annoying insect.

"Most bunkers share a base-camp placed around about 50 lengths back from the Front-Line.

And well we have our own camp and we once had five electro-copters, well that was before I arrived … I have been here already four months now and that really-really seems forever."

And where are the others Miss? inquired Junior-1 for the second time.

"Goal-Shooter, Goal-Attack and Wing-Attack patrol up to 3000 lengths ahead of our bunker then return back here for food and sleep … I sometimes join them.

That ‘Samurai’ Stacey our Goal-Shooter is …or was … a little crazy.

She would patrol on her own all the way down to Port Stephens after scalps.

We will certainly be missing her."

Centre stopped talking to take a drink from a canteen then splashed a handful into her blood shot eyes before continuing.

Now without the ability to communicate using our command-helmets, we have no idea what our patrols are up to.

Centre pointed at something out in the long grass … then an ibis flew upwards and both girls stopped holding their breath.

Did you see all those hairy scalps nailed above our bunker doorway?

Junior-1 nodded back.

Did you see the leopard scull above the net-ball court hoop?

Junior-1 shook her head sideways for no.

"Most of those belong to ‘Samurai-Stacey’, she’s a Jap-girl, well she’s half Japanese and anyway the Captain and her are very close, too close or were very close ...

Ouch!

Do you know ‘Samurai’ once killed a leopard … a real live leopard?

We had a few sneaking around here before the Unclean moved in, I tell you they were scary times, but not as bad as … Ouch!"

Centre was stung again.

"When on patrol last week Stacey reported thousands of new arrivals were moving into this area, like locusts they are… like these dreadful mosquitos…

Now remember, Goal-Keeper is in charge of this bunker.

Wing-Defence, who is now splattered all over the garden and waiting replacement, and Goal-Defence … well that’s now you.

So you must stay right here always unless ordered by the Captain, G-K or myself to leave.

Now that’s all you need to know right kid?"

Centre started down the ladder to get some sleep when she felt a tug on her tunic.

Please miss, well where are all the others? again asked the lanky young replacement.

"For the last time, now listen Stacey Suzuki our G-S went missing on patrol late last night.

We found her night-vision visor near Bundabah Creek so Goal-Attack and Wing-Attack are out looking for her.

Goal-Defence and Wing-Defence were blown up this morning while watering our veggie garden out the back, well what’s left of it; the mongrels blew our vegetable patch to pieces."

Junior-1 wondered if Centre was about to cry, she looked so miserable.

"You couldn’t eat anything that was left, it’s sprayed with the fluids from two totally wasted Girl-Soldiers and one Stink-brat, yuck!

We finished burying them this morning, which was before I went and got you lot.

Prior to all this trouble we traded vegies for rabbits with Bunker-19 and sometimes Bunker-17 swapped bananas and avocados.

Back before these ‘troubles,’ Bunker 21 had the best netball team around, we came second once." Centre’s face had turned miserable again.

"Food deliveries along with munitions now are hopeless, so if the rest of our Front-Line lives like us, we are all in big trouble.

It’s all a madhouse these days.

Three troopers totally wasted in one day.

Look kid none of us have washed my hair yet and I need some rest … and remember don’t waste ammunition on any cane toads."

Miss, how come the Unclean don’t just walk in between the bunkers, why do they want to attack them, it is so silly?

Junior-1 was now beginning to get on Centre’s nerves.

"This better be the last question?

The Unclean are superstitious and won’t fight in the dark.

To frighten them off, we have placed ‘nauseators’ and ‘terrifiers’ in the forest opposite and at the edges of the open grass, and these are activated by ‘motion-detectors’."

Junior-1 almost looked like she understood.

"The Front-Line is booby trapped between each bunker with motion detectors, smell-detectors and land mines. Our problem is this area was where the Pacific Highway once travelled.

The southern side of that old highway funnels them directly to bunkers 16, 17 and us at 18. Now, can I now get some sleep?

Anyway we will probably be both in heaven tonight … and then I can get all the sleep I want."

**********(1)**********

As Joan hurried back to her cara-pod she noticed that the ultra-violet detector patch had turned bright red warning this was a high-risk day for sun cancer.

‘I have forgotten my hat again; in fact no one is wearing their hats today.

This camp is falling to pieces around me, and this blasted ringing in my ears won’t stop and look at that washing, the sleeves are still dirty.’

Well Centre can stay on the clothes-washing roster for that…she is so lazy-lazy-lazy.

The cicadas shut down again — the sounds of auto shots had erupted towards the front line.

‘So somewhere along the Front-Line the Unclean were probing for weaknesses.

Someone new must be organizing these Unclean and now we have little chance of stopping these mongrels, there are so many of them.

Oh! This terrible ringing noise, will it ever go away?

The cicadas restarted then . . . stopped … dead quiet, Ozzi Ozzi Ozzi, Oye Oye Oye. Kill Kill Kill Ozzi Ozzi Ozzi, Oye Oye Oye. Kill Kill Kill Ozzi Ozzi Ozzi, Oye Oye Oye. Kill Kill Kill Ozzi Ozzi Ozzi, Oye Oye Oye. Kill Kill Kill Ozzi Ozzi Ozzi, Oye Oye, Oye.Kill Kill Kill.

‘It sounded like hundreds of them are grouping near Bunker-17, and what terrible language, they are using that obscene ‘K’ word again, well it won’t be long before we hear…’

CRUUuuUMP followed by another CRUuuUuuMP as two more expendable Stink brats disintegrated somewhere nearby.

When Joan arrived back at her beetle-ridden cara-pod, she was surprised to find two weary Attack Players squatted outside.

They both looked frazzled; that slimy mud on their long denim dresses indicated they had crossed Bundabah Creek just south of the camp.

"What’s going on, tat. Why aren’t you both at your posts? Tat."

Goal-Attack answered first, Play-12 in process Madam Captain, when the Front-Line collapses we automatically assume those alternative defence line positions.

But I just replaced Goal-Defence, replied Joan. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, sweet Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. What is this ‘collapse’ supposed to mean, tat?

Centre fired off a green signal flare about 2 minutes ago didn’t you see it, or hear it?

Joan felt so foolish. ‘Fancy ever missing a signal flare … curse these deafening cicadas.’

I’ve this constant ringing in my ears ever since a Stink-brat tried to blow me up last weekend, sometimes it is so deafening and add the cicadas as well its…

[Technical Note: Each Model-3 ‘Blaster’ discharged 20 heat-seeking projectiles before requiring a reload; the hit rate of late was about 45%. In the past it often reached 80% but the quality of the ammunition, along with most of their equipment had dropped off.]

Joan Hardy assumed the problem came from old stock or perhaps the crafty Unclean were using fire-sticks to draw the heat-seekers off target.

Their alternative weapon named the ‘Auto-Shot’ was the old 2168 model and soon to be superseded; a replacement had been expected for 3 years. It could discharge 120 shotgun cartridges a minute that often overheated the barrel causing it to droop.

When their ammunition was exhausted the Girl-Soldiers resorted to a sidearm being a 20 shot Auto-Pistol that fired explosive heads, and the standard issue hand grenade with variable time fuse.

These intruders they named the ‘Unclean’ used hand made explosives flung from large well-concealed slingshots and catapults.

They avoided hand-to-hand conflict as the Girls always held the advantage.

Ambushes, using spears and arrows dipped in filth and cane toad venom were their preferred method of attack, along with deadly pit-falls and other devious booby traps.

This recent introduction of small wild children known as ‘stink-brats’ had altered the balance.

Attached to their tiny and hard to hit bodies was an explosive package designed to take out the contents of a Bunker, and was now causing the highest front fine causalities ever recorded.

Their method of attack was surprise, infants would come running from the scrub like rabbits, and when they reached a Bunker or any unsuspecting Troopers, detonate and destroy themselves.

The children had no idea these activities were fatal, food was promised for such exploits and they were told the Bunkers were full of it.

Since the 2193 breakout was contained the Unclean remained south of Port Stephens sustained by hunter gathering, mostly fishing.

Now they were determined to venture north.

Was it an overpopulation migration, or was some one organizing them this time?

"Madam the green flare means we are now overrun, our section of the Front-Line is overrun and Bunkers-16 and17 have already fired their orange flares.

Madam Captain we have very little time to prepare the secondary positions and I request permission to commence Play-12?"

Joan Hardy flicked back her loose blond locks then waved them away with her hands.

W-A and G-A ran off down the track to occupy and assist Bunker-17.

Joan Hardy’s secondary worry was with the rundown state of replacement equipment.

[For example, command helmets equipped with two-way communication plus heat and night vision visors were crucial for surveillance.]

She had a shed full of these inoperative helmets, only five electro cycles left out of an original ten, four broken down electro-copters and a beetle holed people-mover that could only travel in reverse … and as for her endless requests for mosquito nets?

As for wasting those smelly, starving and suicidal Stink-brats, yes . . . it certainly was repugnant but no longer shocking because this was life-or-death, what else could one do?

Joan wished all her shots could hit their Minders, those smelly horrible women hiding in the bush and sending starving expendable orphans to volatile deaths.

Anyway, unwanted and hungry girls were always expendable; United Global had just sent her another fresh pair to waste.

Several large detonations on either side of her position indicated something big was underway… and now with that infernal ringing in her ears a voice kept calling her name,

"Madam Captain, — Madam Captain."

Running towards her was Goal-Keeper; she had sustained facial injuries.

"Madam Captain, we have lost all the adjacent Front-Line bunkers, so-do-we-retreat as Sectors-14 to 17 have collapsed?"

Joan examined G-K’s wounds; many small cuts from a near miss left one side of her face a horrible mess, both lips were ripped exposing bleeding gums and missing teeth.

Who is covering your position? Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, sweet Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

When G-K spoke her torn bottom lip flapped about,

That replacement Goal-Defence kid you sent, she’s fighting like a demon.

G-K stopped talking and held the loose lip in place, The bad news is our Centre is wasted, copped an arrow in her right eye. We had to put her down …

G-K let go of her lip while Joan applied the dressing, "This had to happen with staffing cut-backs; we always had three to a post then two and now only one Girl-Soldier, tat tat.

It’s seven hours to darkness, and there’s only one flyable electro-copter to service four bunkers." Joan reached for the scissors and cut the bandage.

I’ll get onto it to locate the positions and hope reinforcements from Major Group-4 arrive before dark. Tat tat. The people-detectors were useless again and now Centre is wasted, I hope it was quick for her, we could all be wasted soon.

It was quick Madam Captain, a whack with a hammer and block on the back of her neck…quick and painless, informed G-K from the side of her mouth.

Joan had finished with the bandage and Goal-Keeper was anxious to do something.

"Madam Captain, will you please give me my orders as this Junior-1 is urgently waiting?

Opps! Sorry about that."

While getting to her feet in the cramped cara-pod, G-K had knocked over Joan’s altar and then — both occupants — cracked skulls while attempting to pick it up.

"You’re as clumsy as Centre ….was, tat, now just get out of my pod and wait outside … good.

Now listen, we have no hope of holding Sector-18 and this long awaited collapse of our Front-Line is well underway.

‘Smoke rising nearby from sectors-14, 15, 16 and 17 indicates our situation’s hopeless.’

Joan left her cara-pod and headed towards the storage sheds with G-K anxiously in tow.

"Please Madam Captain … I am still awaiting my orders."

Well here they are, first in the event of me becoming a causality, you’re in charge. Now fire the red flares and prepare for an ordered evacuation according to Play-16.

G-K removed the small gun from her utility belt and fired a red flare into the blue sky.

"Now bring whatever remains at Bunker-18 back here on the double, … move!"

See you in heaven Captain, shouted G-K as she picked up her blaster.

Joan watched G-K run down the track then hurried past a bemused Junior-2 settled in the tall grass. There were still a few things left to tidy up.

**********(1)**********

Captain Joan re-entered her cara-pod and knelt before the loving face of Jesus to recite only half of her mid-afternoon prayers.

Dear Jesus, help us smite the heathen, tattt, aid us to break their backs, guide us to smash their sprit, show us the way to…

Now it was time to set the fuse on her last packet of Blasted for 15, no make it 20 minutes.

‘The animals… yes set the animals loose then wait inside the mobile equipment shed for the others to arrive.’

Here beside the discarded command-helmets, smell-detectors, numerous croaking cane toads, and faulty blasters were five electro-cycles re-charged to 75% and good for 7000 lengths on flat ground at least …

‘I wonder where the other five are? I should have ten.’

Well after that it will be quite a long night walk to the Major Group-4 Base-Camp.’

(Known to all Girl-Soldiers as The Chicken Plant.)

Goal-Attack arrived back first with a makeshift bandage around her face and two ration bags thrown over her shoulders.

I detect our electro-copter returning on my handset Madam Captain; its approaching from 280 degrees and is now 600 lengths and closing.

I’m surprised they managed to get that wreck up into the air again, tat, tat, mumbled Joan.

She could now see what remained of her team coming from what once was their Front-Line.

A staggering Wing-Attack was covered in dirt mixed with blood from another close call explosion.

Joan looked in disbelief to see W-A’s skirt was ripped and anyone could see her dirty long white underwear and her yellow identification tunic was missing.

Last to arrive was Junior-1 who stumbled into the shed then plonked herself down beside the dishevelled W-A.

She was hot and tired but thankfully still without a scratch.

Can anyone of you tell me why G-K is waiting back at the bunker; I just gave her a command to fire a red flare and return? Tat, tatt, inquired Joan.

Goal-Keeper was just shot through the stomach and chest with arrows so she has gone to sleep now Miss, replied Junior-1 while looking about for something.

"Where’s that sook Junior-2 hiding Miss?"

They were now going so quickly Joan had no time to acquaint herself with any of them; and right now she couldn’t remember what G-K had actually looked like.

‘And only minutes ago I dressed her face?’

"Junior-1, if you are after water look over there near the electro-copter power-packs.

No stupid!

You are going the wrong way, they’re broken movement detectors, and those there are nauseators, see where the water drums are …

Anyone…can W-A still ride a bike, Tat, and is she deaf?"

Only in one ear from a blast Madam Captain, replied G-A.

And yes, she can ride … will I blow the munitions-dump and the water tanks?

"We have no Blastex left, I used the last in my cara-pod and it’ll go up in about 13 minutes; we will want plenty of smoke for cover so start some fires.

One more thing, has anyone yet seen Stacey Suzuki my G-S?

Oh for heavens sake, look someone grab hold of Junior-2, she is sitting in the long grass over beside the rubbish dump making daisy chains again, … well I ask you?

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."

The two Juniors were ever so hopeless on the electro-cycles, a frustrated Joan screamed at the pair until her throat hurt and now there was only 3 minutes left before her pod blew up.

Look, both of you drongos get on the back of G-A and W-A, we can’t stay here any longer.

Then everyone looked straight up at the surrounding tall gum trees.

A noise of something hitting the top branches meant a parcel of explosives was already falling and soon…

"Incoming girls, it’s a rock bomb so let’s get out of here …"

VAROOMmmph! Rocks flew in all directions … then stripped leaves and branches . . . rained down on their heads. Luckily no lethal missiles found a human target.

In the confusion, G-A and W-A had mistakenly ridden back down the Pacific Highway in the direction of Bunker-18.

A frustrated Joan Hardy pointed back towards the camp just as her cara-pod . . .

BAAarrrMPh blew up sending a small black cloud up into the treetops.

"The next snotty Junior who giggles or smirks will be tied up and left for the Unclean to pick at. Right, now just try me if you dare."

Junior-1 shook Joan’s arm and signalled her blaster towards the electro-copter approaching from the west.

The pilot waved as she flew past then fired a few rounds into the undergrowth.

That should scare them off for a while girls, declared Joan.

Then the most extraordinary thing happened — three balls roped together spun up out of the forest and entangled the rotor blades — and the electro-copter — dropped like a dead duck into the long grass.

Ozzi Ozzi Ozzi oye oye oye a flock of dirty screaming Stink-brats clutching onto sharpened sticks — came out from the surrounding scrub like a swarm of locusts …

And another horde followed straight after them.

There was little time to survey as the first of many arrows found their range.

Well I’ve never seen the likes of that before, someone is certainly training them, remarked Joan.

"I bet it’s the Bikies, yep it smells of Bikies are in on it, right … they picked hair-washing-day once before tat tat … at last year’s big break through.

Well girls for the second time …

Right girls…let’s Get out of here..."

**********(1)**********

After 45 minutes of fast travel three spent electro-cycles were spent, now their journey continued on foot.

A blanket of bushfire smoke covered their tracks and darkness would arrive in about four hours.

Joan was thankful they had reached the hilly region of Burdekin’s Gap, however they were another 6000 lengths away or at least three hours march from a township named Bulahdelah sited on the banks of the Myall River.

It would be dark on arrival at that significant United Global Major Group-4 Chicken Products Plant known to all living locality as ‘the Chicken Plant’.

***********o(1)o**********

Chapter 2: North up the Pacific Highway

"A leader is a dealer in hope." Napoleon Bonaparte.

***********o(2)o**********

While on the march the girls uncovered several abandoned roadwork stations, discarded wheelbarrows and tools lay scattered about indicating the prisoners (who carried out the road maintenance,) had escaped.

Now Joan had another problem to deal with; thankfully U-G prisoners were always hamstrung and could not get too far, however she expected they would be starving and in sizable numbers sufficient to stage an ambush.

The old Pacific Highway was a strange journey for the uninitiated, introduced plant life claimed an infinite array of exotic displays throughout.

On the left side of the road fields of prickly pear took hold and in the background a forest of camphor-laurel trees covered the hills.

Further ahead past condensed paddocks of cactus competed a thicket of lantana whose leafy vines strangled the life out of what was once eucalyptus woodland.

Every new bend in the road revealed varieties of vegetation where survival of the fittest fashioned more of the unexpected.

Fields of Mondo grass intersected with wild rose bushes, then to the next left and as far as the eyes could see rubber trees were wrapped in perfumed jasmine.

Then as if the gods were having fun tall pine trees stood layered with bluebell and beside the road plentiful patches of Indian hemp grew in abundance.

Joan walked behind her team just to be sure none of that troublesome plant was picked.

‘Nothing worth eating, animal or vegetable and no evidence of settlement anywhere, and now we’ve arrived at the Jacarandas, yes just like last year.’

And these fallen blue petals reminded her of . . .

‘It was almost twelve months ago and the Unclean’s unexpected breakout drove them all the way to about here … and the reinforcement convoy arrived down this same road.

Girl-Soldiers packed into long lines of people-movers,

Girl-Soldiers singing while speeding past this very same spot.’

"Girls, this is where I watched the relief arrive last year, they were singing