In what can only be described as a fever dream of geopolitical theatre, a gaggle of US Marines and Japanese warriors, no doubt fuelled by instant ramen and a burning desire to prove their bushcraft credentials, have descended upon the sunburnt arsehole of Australia for a spot of military training. The UK Defence Secretary, a man whose job description appears to require a stiff upper lip and an ability to say nothing of substance with great conviction, has hailed this jamboree as a shining example of ‘allied readiness’. One imagines the readiness in question refers to the ability to navigate a gift shop in Alice Springs without causing an international incident.
The exercise, pompously named ‘Talisman Sabre’, involves 30,000 troops, a number that could comfortably fill Wembley Stadium or the waiting room of a rural A&E department, depending on your perspective. Our defence chief, clearly thrilled to be involved in something that doesn’t involve quibbling over the price of a pint in the Commons bar, declared that this sort of intercontinental camaraderie ensures that ‘we can tackle any threat together’. What threat?
One suspects it might be the threat of having to admit that the Empire is but a damp memory, or perhaps the terrifying prospect of having to order a flat white without a translation app. Meanwhile, the locals are reportedly thrilled to have their quiet bushland turned into a giant paintball arena, complete with real guns and the occasional bout of heatstroke. As a journalist who once got lost in the Cotswolds for three hours, I can only marvel at the logistical prowess required to get thousands of trigger-happy souls to pretend to invade a country that is already on their side.
It’s all a bit like watching a pantomime where the audience is armed. But then again, what do I know? I’m just a man with a gin bottle and a typewriter, reporting from the edge of sanity.
