Oceania Naval Works at the port of Nelson was a hive of activity, multiple ships lined the yards, some nearly finished, some just started, the rest somewhere in between. The main pier was alive with the sounds of pomp and ceremony. Nearby, with well-practiced skill, the Royal New Zealand Navy Band, their brass instruments gleaming under the warm summer sun, played subtle variations of official music on repeat. The crowd around them spoke in hushed tones.
Tied alongside, loomed the intimidating presence of the massive and newly complete Achilles class Destroyer, a shining beacon of the country’s strength and commitment to the security of the region. The all new HMNZS Canterbury, sat majestically at the pier, barely moving as the subtle ebbs and flows of the harbour water caressed and kissed her sides, the only sounds coming from her, the light touch of the waves and the gentle and almost imperceptible hum of her powerful engines at idle.
The sleek lines of her raked bow and angled hull looked every bit as powerful as the auspiciousness of the moment suggested. Shining in pristine naval grey, the black paint of her new pennant number D421 stark against the lighter background. Multi coloured flags displaying their ancient maritime meanings, fluttered from her mast in the light breeze coming from the west, the quiet rustle of their movement seemingly whispering barely heard words conveying the gravity of the moment.
Crowds of dignitaries, sailors in immaculate dress uniforms, and families of naval personnel lined the docks, filling the temporarily erected stands. A special platform, draped in the national colours, had been set up at the edge of the pier in front of the giant warship for the ceremony. A brass bell gleaming in the summer sun, adorning a polished oak wood stand, stood at the centre of the platform, waiting to be rung.
A sleek silver Audi, miniature New Zealand flags flapping in the slight breeze, carrying the Prime Minister pulled up to the pair. As Miriama Kahu stepped out, immediately flanked by her DPS security personnel, the band struck up the national anthem. She had chosen a sharp navy-blue suit for the occasion and had added a silver fern brooch to her lapel. She paused briefly on her approach to acknowledge the crowd and key members of the delegation with a subtle hand shake and a formal nod before walking up to the podium. Behind her, high-ranking naval officers and government officials took their seats. To her left sat the Chief of the Naval Operations, Rear Admiral Richard Te Ariki resplendent in his dress uniform and traditional Māori cloak, the sun’s rays reflecting off the intricately shined hilt of his ceremonial sword. Beside him was Chief of the Navy Admiral Danny Fitzpatrick.
The Prime Minister gave the men a curt nod and Te Ariki stood to take the podium and begin the ceremony, offering greetings to the dignitaries and other assembled guests. Once the preliminaries were completed, The Admiral rook a step back and the Prime Minister approached the podium. Her voice, steady but emotional, carried across the crowd.
“Tena koutou Katoa. On this auspicious day, we remember the brave souls of our whanau who so recently paid the ultimate price for peace and our nation's security. Their sacrifice and our grief will be forever woven into the fabric of our nation’s history.
“This, the newest of our destroyer fleet, bearing their ship’s name, is a testament to our resilience and our commitment to the ongoing peace and stability of this region we call home and the continued security in the Pacific. To the crew of this ship, may you carry the legacy of her namesake with pride and courage. Your mission is not only to defend our shores but to honour those who came before you. Thank you!”
The crowd applauded as she was guided to a small table in the corner of the stage and handed a gleaming silver hand axe. “As the proud patron of this vessel, with this offering I commission thee HMNZS Canterbury! May you sail strong and true.”
With practiced ease she swung, cutting the line holding back the ceremonial bottle wrapped in flax and adorned with Māori carvings. As it shattered against the bow, champagne from a local winery exploded in a spray of foam across the hull and a cheer erupted from the crowd. A junior officer stepped up and rang the bell once, twice, and then a third time. It’s sharp sound echoing out across the harbour, the Prime Minister returning to her seat.
The Navy Band struck up the tune of E Ihowā Atua and the honour guard and assembled sailors on the pier came to attention and saluted as on board, the white ensign was officially raised for the first time.
Captain Michael Harding, the commissioning officer, stepped forward saluting the ensign, the standing dignitaries, the Prime Minister, and the navy’s top brass in turn, before turning to face the man standing at attention in front of the gathered sailors.
“It has been my honour to command this vessel during the build, fitting out and trial phases. With her commissioning today, my task is complete. I now hand you over to the Chief of the Navy.”
“Tena koutou, Tena koutou, Tena koutou Katoa. Ladies and gentlemen, honoured guests, and members of the Royal New Zealand Navy and their families, today we stand in the shadow of history. The name Canterbury, although all to fresh in our minds, is one of mana, of courage, sacrifice, and service. Though we mourn the loss of her predecessor, today we turn a page and start this new chapter. This ship, the newest and most advanced of the Achilles-class, is a mighty Waka and she will carry forward this name with honour.”
“Captain!” He spoke now directly to the man at the head of the formation. “You are hereby ordered to take command of this vessel by me, you will remain in command until I tell you otherwise.”
With the band Striking up another haunting hymn, the two captains approached each other and saluted.
“I now pass the command and safekeeping of this ship and her crew to you, I stand relieved!” Harding stated, removing the ceremonial captain’s pennant from his shoulder, handing it to the man in front of him.
“You are relieved!” Captain Caleb Robinson replied with equal gravitas, taking the pennant.
With the transfer complete, the two men saluted each other for the final time. Captain Harding offered a nod of respect before stepping back, retreating from view. Caleb, though a man of middling height, carried himself with a commanding presence. One which belied his stature. Straightening his cloak of command, he saluted the Admiral and the stage, before stepping forward to the podium, his movements purposeful and assured.
“By your order and that of His Majesty the King,” he began, his voice resonating across the pier, “I take command of this vessel.”
The crowd, a sea of uniforms and civilian attire, leaned in to catch his every word.
“To my crew,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the assembled sailors, “you are the heart and soul of this mighty warrior. Together, we will honour the proud name of Canterbury.”
There was a brief pause, a moment of silence heavy with the weight of his words. His tone softened slightly as he turned his attention to the families gathered nearby.
“To your families gathered here today, I say this: your sons and daughters, I take into my care as if they were my very own.”
He scanned the faces before him, reading their emotions—pride mingled with worry, courage intertwined with fear. His eyes came to rest on a beautiful blonde-haired woman seated in the front row. Beside her was a boy, his back straight, his expression composed, but barely.
No, not a boy, Caleb corrected himself. A young man.
The memory of the night he’d told him the news came rushing back, in vivid detail.
After 48 hours of observation, the hospital had discharged him, and he’d spent the rest of the day with his family, trying to savour every moment. But by dinner, the inevitable could no longer be avoided.
“Cody,” Caleb had said, carefully setting his fork down, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
The boy had looked up expectantly, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
“I’ve been reassigned buddy. I’ll be going back to sea.” You could have heard a pin drop at the dinner table, the silence that followed his statement was deafening. Cody’s face crumpled as the words sank in. Without a word, he pushed his chair back and ran from the room, tears streaming down his face.
Sarah looking him straight in the eye, held his gaze for a long moment before gently shaking her head. “I love you Honey, and I support you,” she said. “But, you really could have handled that better. I can’t fix this one for you, YOU need to explain it to him. He needs to hear it from you.”
That night, Caleb had sat with Cody in his room, speaking softly, trying to explain why this duty mattered so much. His son had tried to be brave, but the fear and anger wouldn’t let go. By morning, Cody seemed calmer, though Caleb knew the hurt and fear still lingered just beneath the surface.
Back on the pier, Caleb’s voice remained steady, but his heart was speaking directly to them—to Sarah and Cody.
“I do not take this duty lightly,” he said, his eyes meeting theirs. “I will do everything in my power to return this ship and her crew safely back home again. I give you my word.”
A solemn hush spread over the gathered crowd, as if the weight of his promise had settled over them all.
Stepping away from the podium, with practiced precision, the band struck up Royal Oak. The honour guard came to attention and was dismissed, and the assembled crew of HMNZS Canterbury also came to attention, before boarding the frigate in perfect unison, each sailor pausing to salute the ensign as they crossed the gangway.
Robinson ascended to the bridge wing, taking his place as the ship’s new captain. He glanced down at the dock one final time, his eyes finding Sarah and Cody amidst the crowd. He raised a hand in a small, almost imperceptible gesture, before turning back to the task at hand.
“Single up all lines,” he ordered, his voice clear and confident.
The frigate’s engines rumbled softly as they powered up and the various ropes holding her to the pier were let go or reeled in. Her bow thrusters engaged, and Canterbury began to move, gliding smoothly away from the pier.
As the ship gained distance, the band played Now Is the Hour, the haunting melody carrying across the water. The crew stood at the rails, a solemn and resolute presence, their uniforms stark against the backdrop of the sea.
On the shore, Sarah placed a hand on Cody’s shoulder as they watched the frigate sail into the harbour. To New Zealand, Canterbury was more than just a warship—she was a symbol of resilience, a promise of hope in the face of an uncertain future. To Caleb, she was his responsibility, his mission, and his unwavering commitment to those he served and loved. To his family, she was something else entirely!
***
Once she left the harbour and the ship yard behind, Canterbury, sailed east toward the Cook Strait, her sleek lines cutting through the choppy waters of the inter-island passage. The ship’s engines hummed smoothly, a testament to both her modern design and the rigorous trials she had undergone under Captain Harding's command. The crew had come to trust the ship's capabilities as much as they trusted the ship herself, their new captain however, was still an unknown quantity. Below decks there were whispers, the officers and chiefs did their best to stamp them out, but a small few persisted.
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The strait’s turbulent currents immediately tested her mettle, but Canterbury handled them with ease, her rudder responding crisply to every adjustment. From the beginning of that first day, Captain Robinson had made it a point to put his ship and crew through their paces before venturing into less predictable waters. To be in command of a naval ship was one thing, to be in command of a fighting ship? That was something different, he would make sure both ship and crew were ready. He would not be caught with his pants down again!
The “Action Stations” and weapons drills started almost immediately, and the new captain kept up a hellish pace. But it was worth it, with each successive test, both ship and crew performed to satisfaction.
Once clear of the strait, the destroyer veered northeast, heading toward the smaller Pacific islands, her mission simple but vital: patrol the area, assert New Zealand’s presence, and respond to reports of escalating Chinese incursions. By the time they reached their patrol area, the crew, the ship and her captain were honed to the finest of edges.
For two days, Canterbury traversed the vast expanse of the South Pacific. The seas stretched endlessly, the horizon meeting the sky in a seamless blur. At night, under the silvery glow of the moonlight, her steel hull gleamed like a sentinel against the darkness, her wake cutting an unwavering path through the waters. They had followed up on recent reports of a Chinese fishing fleet in the area, encroaching into the EEZs of Pacific nations. What once seemed like isolated incidents now formed a troubling pattern, hinting at a larger, more deliberate strategy.
Just after midnight the ship’s bridge was alive with activity. Commander James Benson, the EX-O, stood near the helm, his sharp eyes fixed on the faint line where the sea met the sky. Below decks, in the command information centre the crew there were equally alert, its consoles glowing faintly as officers monitored radar feeds, electronic emissions and sonar pings. The hum of the state of the art Norwegian technology underscored the tension that had built over the past few hours.
“There it is again!” the Principal Warfare Officer, Lieutenant Commander Kate Miller, called out, her voice breaking the relative quiet of the CIC.
Captain Robinson leaned over her station, his expression calm but scrutinizing, his face now lit by the faint backlit glow. “The same one?” he asked, his tone measured.
“Yes, sir,” Miller confirmed, her voice steady as she adjusted her main console display. “It’s definitely one of the trawlers we’ve been monitoring. Every now and again, this one strays just a little too close to acceptable boundaries. It’s moving erratically like it’s navigation is out, but it’s always at the same approximate distance from us. It’s far too methodical to be a simple fishing vessel. Orders?”
Robinson’s jaw tightened as his sharp eyes scanned the screen. The trawler’s movements were subtle but unmistakably calculated. He paused for a moment, weighing his options. “We’ll make a few drastic course adjustments through the night and see if she follows us. If she’s still there in the morning, we’ll take a closer look.”
“Aye, aye, boss,” Miller replied, turning back to her console. Her fingers moved swiftly, issuing orders to her team, who responded with crisp affirmatives.
“Good work Kate.” He said as he left the room, headed upwards. Minutes later, Captain Robinson stepped onto the bridge. The atmosphere was taut, a quiet buzz of efficiency permeating the space.
“Captain on deck!” someone called.
Robinson waved off the formality with his usual response: “As you were!” His gaze swept the bridge, quickly taking in the crew’s focused expressions and the faint hum of the ship’s systems.
“Our friend is back,” he said casually to the XO as he slid into his command chair.
“The trawler?” Benson asked, leaning closer. His tone was even, but there was a hint of anticipation in his expression. “Are we going to take a look?”
Robinson nodded slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. “If it’s still there in the morning—and I assume it will be—then yes. In the meantime, in about half an hour, order the ship to EMCON Status One. Let’s run a few radical course changes. Have a little fun with it and see what it does.”
Benson’s grin mirrored the captain’s. “You’re on, boss.”
Thirty minutes later, as ordered, the crew worked with practiced efficiency, transitioning the ship into Emissions Control Status One, minimizing her electromagnetic signature. Lights dimmed across the ship, and non-essential systems powered down. This, coupled with her angled hull left Canterbury as close to invisible as possible. Engines shifted to a low-noise operational mode, while sonar operators adjusted their settings to listen intently for any sign of pursuit. With the sound deadening matting around her engine spaces, the whole effect turned Canterbury into a ghost, she basically just disappeared.
On the radar, the trawler continued to maintain its course and distance, its movements subtle yet deliberate.
“Officer of the Deck, you may execute your first turn,” Benson ordered, his voice cutting through the muted tension on the bridge. The OOD relayed the orders, and the ship veered stealthily, her wake zigzagging across the sea, leaving nothing but a black hole in her wake.
“Let’s see if they’re as curious as they seem,” Robinson murmured, his eyes fixed on the smaller plot screen in front of him. “If they really are curious, they’ll try to reacquire us visually, then we’ll know.”
As the minutes ticked by into hours, the radar display revealed the distance from the trawler slowly decreasing, and still somehow mirroring Canterbury’s movements, each time adjusting its course to match.
“That should not be possible, not for a trawler, they must have some serious surveillance gear on that tub! Or something else is directing them.” Robinson murmured, picking up a mic. “CIC Bridge, P-WO drop us out of EMCON and sweep the area, full spectrum, confirm any target tracks?”
“Bridge CIC, They’re definitely still tracking us. No ordinary fishing vessel would keep up with us manoeuvring at EMCON one like this.” Miller observed, her tone calm but with a sharp edge of certainty. “Got it, airborne target 25 miles very small, likely a drone, only spotted it when the STAR reactivated.”
“Kate, Is it big enough for weapons?” Robinson asked over his own radio.
“No way Boss, it’s purely surveillance.”
Robinson leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at his executive officer. “Looks like we have ourselves a winner! Let’s see what they’re actually hiding when dawn breaks.”
“You’re on Boss!” Benson replied, a little too excitedly.
The tension on the Canterbury was palpable as the crew prepared for the next phase.
***
The following morning after a quick high speed run they easily caught up to the trawler.
“Officer of the Deck give us five knots of closing, maintain a distance of a two hundred metres.” Robinson ordered from the starboard bridge wing. “R-O make the call.”
“Fishing vessel on my starboard bow this is New Zealand warship Canterbury, stop or heave to, I intend to board you!”
The boarding operation was like any other drill they had undergone in the last few days and was just as swift and efficient as it was in practice. As the Canterbury’s RHIB sped toward the suspicious vessel, the team, led by Lieutenant Mark Patel, double-checked their gear. Their radios crackled with updates from the destroyer’s CiC.
“Patel,” Robinson’s voice came through, calm but firm, “Stay sharp. Something about this doesn’t sit right.”
“Sure thing, Boss. We’re ready,” Patel replied.
Minutes later, the team stormed the deck of the Vietnamese flagged trawler, weapons at the ready. The vessel’s crew—composed mostly of dishevelled, non-threatening looking fishermen—raised their hands immediately. But Patel’s instincts screamed that something was off.
“Do you smell that?” Patel said to the boarding team chief, who shook his head in response, “Neither do I, this is no fishing boat!” Leaving behind a security detail to guard the crew, a quick sweep of the lower decks revealed the truth.
Below deck, the team found a large room filled with advanced electronic equipment—far more sophisticated than anything a standard fishing trawler should possess. Computer monitors displayed encrypted transmissions, while an array of high-tech surveillance gear hummed ominously in the semi-cramped space.
“Holy shit,” Patel muttered under his breath as he examined the setup. “Ah, Boss? You are not going to believe this!” He called through the radio a second or too later.
Robinson’s voice crackled through his earpiece. “Report.”
“Captain, this isn’t a fishing vessel. It’s definitely some kind of spy ship.” Patel scanned a table littered with documents and memory drives. “There’s a lot of data here. I can’t make sense of it all, but I’m seeing all sorts of things from satellite feeds to lines of code, to maps, I can even see our own “Sovereign Command Key” code on one of the screens, how the fuck did they get our “Sovereign Command Key” code Boss? One thing’s very clear—this isn’t random. They’ve been monitoring us. Targeting US.”
“Calm down son, bag it, everything, go through it first to make sure there’s no traps, then take everything--- hard drives, pen drives, papers, whatever you can find. Clear?”
“On it Boss.” The young man replied and the team set about their work.
***
Back on the Canterbury, a few hours later, intelligence specialists were pouring over the confiscated materials. Among the encrypted files, they uncovered all manner of things, it wasn’t just their own “Sovereign Command Key” they found. This ship they had stumbled on had access to the entire navy! They could sneak in the back door, and no one would know until it was far too late. But what was more chilling, was where that information had come from, one of the most closely guarded of any of a military’s secrets. Fragments of a more frightening scenario were beginning to form. This revelation: strong evidence of a mole high up within the New Zealand government! While the files didn’t name the traitor directly, the breadcrumbs were enough to spark a crisis.
In the Beehive’s war room, the tension was palpable. Prime Minister Miriama Kahu stared at the digital display showing the face of Captain Robinson via secure vid screen communications.
“Are we certain about this?” she demanded.
“As certain as I can be Ma’am, I’ve already ordered the changing of our own "Sovereign Command Key”, I suggest you issue similar protocols throughout the fleet. I’m sending everything we have with triple encryption to the SIS via satellite, it’s the best I can do from here. I’ve also ordered a ‘port visit’ to Su’va to fly the flag as it were, ” he said with raised fingers. “Can you have someone meet us there to take the physical evidence off our hands?”
“You’re damn right I can Captain, how long will it take you to get there?” She replied.
“We can be there in two days Ma’am.” Robinson stated, then looked off to his left, issuing orders for a second. “We’re on our way now Ma’am. Best of luck.”
“To us all Captain, to us all.” Miriama replied to the screen which had already switched back to maps of the pacific.
Minister of Defence Kevin MacNielty nodded grimly. “If this evidence is solid, and I have no reason to disbelieve it. Someone high up is feeding Beijing classified intel. But who?”
“Goddammit,” Miriama hissed, slamming her fist on the table. “This isn’t just a breach. It’s a fucking betrayal. I want every possible lead pursued, leave no stone unturned. I don’t care what it takes. If someone is selling us out, I want their head on a spike in front my fucking office door!”
***
Within the hour, Miriama was back in her office, pacing like a caged lion, phone pressed to her ear. The line crackled slightly as the Australian Prime Minister came through.
“They’ve got us by the bloody short hairs, John,” she snapped, barely restraining her fury. “The command keys for the entire navy—maybe more. God only knows what else they’ve got their grubby hands on. I don’t know who this traitorous bastard is, but when I find out, there will be hell to pay. A reckoning, John. I swear it.”
Across the Tasman, John exhaled sharply, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the phone. “Jesus, Miriama. You’re sure?”
“I’ve already issued the order—every single command code is being changed as we speak. But it might be too late. If they’re inside, they could have been for a while.” She ran a hand through her hair, the weight of the situation pressing down like a lead weight on her chest. “I don’t know how deep this runs. How far. Or where it fucking ends.”
John cursed under his breath. “I just gave the command on our end too. But Christ, Miriama—who the hell has these codes? Who even has access?”
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fear.
“That,” Miriama said, her voice low and dangerous, “is the million-dollar question.”
John let out a slow breath, the weight of it settling in his chest like a lead weight. "Alright, let's think this through. We know it's someone with very high clearance—command keys aren’t just lying around on a desk. That narrows the field, but not by much."
Miriama exhaled sharply, tapping her fingers against the desk. "Senior officers, top brass in intelligence, maybe certain government officials—hell, it could be a contractor. We’ve outsourced so much shit in the last decade that half the people with access don’t even wear a uniform."
"That’s a bloody terrifying thought," John muttered. He rubbed his temples. "Let’s assume for a second that this isn’t just some mole in the system. What if this is bigger? A leak at the top, coordinated, planned?"
Miriama's stomach twisted. "Christ, John, you’re talking about treason."
"I’m talking about probabilities," he shot back. "We have to consider the worst-case scenario. If someone’s been feeding them intel for months—years, even—they might already have backdoors in our systems we haven’t found yet."
Miriama slammed her palm on the desk. "Fucking hell. And the Kiwis and Aussies aren’t the only ones with skin in this game. If they’ve got our command codes, there’s no reason to think they haven’t compromised someone else."
John inhaled sharply. "The Americans."
"Or the British," Miriama said darkly. "Maybe even the Canadians. Anyone plugged into the network could be vulnerable. Jesus, John, if they’ve breached allied systems—"
"Then this isn’t just about us anymore." His voice was grim. "We need to reach out—quietly. No press, no leaks, no fucking panic. If Beijing knows we’re scrambling, they’ll know we’re onto them."
Miriama nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. "Agreed. I’ll have my best people start a deep dive into system logs, see if we can trace any unusual activity. But I need to know if anyone in your intelligence circles has had even a whiff of something like this before now."
John hesitated. "I’ll make some calls. But Miriama—if they do?"
"Then we’re already behind the eight ball," she said, voice low and tight. "And we need to pray to every god that we’re not already too late."