‘A copper and a journo walk into a bar …’ Bruce had said as they’d entered the place. It was a running gag between them, originally demanding a witty response, but these days producing no more than a shared smile. Both of them were Townsville boys born and bred, and now in their mid-twenties were well-respected identities in their home town. Having grown up together, Bruce and Pete were the firmest of friends.

They’d settled themselves at the bar with their beers, Senior Sergeant Bruce Desmond in civvies, having come off duty after an eight-hour shift, and Pete Vickers having left the Townsville Daily Bulletin offices for the day. Not that Pete had stopped work. Far from it. The American Officers’ Club was a favourite hangout of his, even when the bar wasn’t open. He’d hang around the lounge, drinking cups of tea and eavesdropping for any piece of inside information he might glean. And he gleaned quite a bit, although to his constant chagrin there was very little his editor would agree to print.

‘You can go ahead and write it, Pete,’ Jim Burnet would say in his infuriatingly placid way, ‘but you’ll be wasting your time. It won’t see the light of day.’

And Pete would heave a weary sigh. ‘Yeah, yeah, wartime censorship, I know, I know.’

‘Afraid so, mate,’ Jim would reply with a nod intended to appear sympathetic, although he was simply stating the case as it was. ‘Got to toe the line.’ And that’s when Pete would want to clock him.

‘So I suppose that’ll soon be my job,’ he now whinged to his mate as they sat at the bar, ‘a daily report on bloody water usage.’

‘Oh, come off it,’ Bruce countered, ‘they wouldn’t waste their top-gun journo on a daily tally report.’

Pete’s response was no more than a snort, followed by a hefty swig of his beer.

‘I read your piece on the water situation,’ Bruce said, ‘on why it’s come about, future weather predictions and how it’s bound to reach a crisis point. I thought it was a hell of a good article.’

‘Yeah, that’s all I’m allowed to report on these days,’ Pete growled. ‘There’s a bloody great war raging in the Pacific and I’m told to write about the level of the Ross River weirs, a burgeoning military population and the city’s bloody water supply.’

Jeez, he’s in a foul mood, Bruce thought. ‘Well, you’ve got to admit it’s worthwhile, mate,’ he replied in all seriousness. ‘If the situation’s as drastic as you said in your article then people need to be told.’ Responding to Pete’s further scowl he signalled the barman. ‘I’ll get us another beer.’