Parliamentary Office
"We need to resolve this rifle business," says an elegantly dressed gentleman as he stares out the large window centred on one wall.An equally well-dressed man rises out of his chair in abrupt fashion. He pauses a moment to collect himself. In forced calmness he says, "As far as I'm concerned, with all due respect, Prime Minister, there is no business to resolve: The Ross rifle is our weapon of choice."
I am seated an uncommon distance away. It is clear that my role is that of observer. I remain silent.
"Mister Hughes... Sam, “ says the Prime Minister, “I know your attachment to this issue… but what of these conflicting reports?” The Prime Minister walks to the oaken desk that dominates the room. He scans the pages of a document scattered across the desktop. His fingers, as if eyes, run down each page. “Here,” he says tapping a page a few times. “Under field conditions, it says, reliability is inconclusive.”
“Nonsense, Sir,” says Hughes bluntly. “Our snipers swear by them. We’ve won praises for our accuracy and I have received no complaints in regards to reliability. This is just opposition rhetoric.”
There is an uneasy pause. The Prime Minister seats himself behind the desk. “Admittedly, I am not as up on issues of the military as I should be, and I do rely on your good auspice as Minister of Militia. Nonetheless, I am the one who must address the House.”
“If I may, Prime Minister,“ says Hughes almost immediately, “we must not forget, too, that the Ross is made right here. We cannot ignore the economics of it all.”
“Economics be damned!” says the Prime Minister tersely. It is apparent that he is becoming increasingly agitated. “If war is coming, then I want our men to be prepared… and that means having the best.”
“Precisely, Sir,” says Hughes cordially. “There is no better way to guarantee this than to ensure our $14 million militia budget is passed. And that is easier to do if some of the money stays at home --"
“And easier to do if we are at war,” interrupts the Prime Minister. He resumes his stance beside the window. He clasps his hands behind his back and turns his attention to the happenings outside.
“War is something this country is boisterous about,” says Hughes. His manner is decidedly more zealous at the mention of war. “And what an opportunity for us. Our people united -- think of it, united! -- in aid of our mother countries. This is our chance to distinguish ourselves as a nation. Sir, we want this war. We need this war!”
The Prime Minister begins to pace. "My ears are hearing logic where there is no logic in war. War is an ugly affair. You were in South Africa for God's sake!" Then, as if suddenly aware of my presence, he looks directly at me. “And what of you, Mister Ross? Would you go to war to make a nation?”