After months at sea, the arrival of the Royal Navy in Darwin was heralded by the low, steady thrum of heavy diesels and the gleaming steel of warships appearing on the horizon. The naval Jack fluttered from multiple masts as the British Amphibious Group made its final approach into Darwin Harbour, escorted by lethal-looking destroyers and frigates that cut through the shimmering waters with silent menace. It had been a long time coming.
The past decade had seen a shake-up in the Royal Navy’s amphibious capability—successive governments had decommissioned ships seemingly at random, political wrangling had delayed essential procurements, and the fleet had found itself in a state of transition. Yet, somehow, through sheer determination and necessity, they had managed to pull it all together. The journey had taken months of meticulous planning: securing transit lanes, arranging refuelling rights, loading and securing gear to ensure the fleet could sustain long operations. But now, at long last, they were here.
As the first of the British ships edged into port, Major General Sir Thomas Hardwick, commander of the 1st Expeditionary Division, stood at the railing of HMS Albion, gazing out over the sun-scorched docks of Darwin Harbour. He was flanked by Brigadier General Henry Dawson, commander of the 12th Armoured Infantry Brigade, and Colonel Jim Lockhart, commander of 40 Commando, Royal Marines. Even after weeks of transiting the Indian Ocean, the oppressive heat of the tropics was suffocating. The air was thick and stifling, a far cry from the damp, grey mornings of Plymouth, where he and his men had embarked months ago. Waves of heat rose from the tarmac, shimmering under the relentless Australian sun.
Hardwick turned to Dawson, who wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
"Bloody hell, this place is an oven." Dawson Stated.
Hardwick smirked. "Welcome to the Northern Territory. You’ll get used to it."
Dawson snorted. "If this sun doesn’t cook us first."
The fleet had arrived with an impressive force. Alongside 40 Commando, the 12th Armoured Infantry Brigade had deployed, bringing with them a potent mix of heavy cavalry, reconnaissance elements, and artillery to supplement the ANZAC forces already in theatre.
With them came additional naval muscle—HMS Queen Elizabeth fresh from her CATOBAR refit and her carrier strike group, accompanied by amphibious group’s escorts, two Daring-class destroyers and two City-class frigates. The group was comprised of RFA Tidesurge, a Tide-class replenishment ship, and the Littoral Support Ship Argus, repurposed once more as a forward operating platform. HMS Albion and HMS Bulwark, the UK’s newly modernised multi-role landing platform docks, loomed over the flotilla alongside two Bay-class LPDs, bringing in vital vehicles, helicopters, and heavy-lift assets.
Beneath the surface, the unspoken sentinels of the deep lurked. Rumours whispered among the sailors and Marines suggested that an Astute-class SSN, a hunter in its element, prowled somewhere in the depths, a silent guardian. A Vanguard-class SSBN was also apparently operating nearby, its mission classified but its presence unmistakable ensuring that British nuclear deterrence remained very much in play.
Hardwick, Dawson, and Lockhart descended the gangway as the first Royal Marines disembarked in tight, disciplined columns, their boots thudding against the sunbaked dock. Waiting to greet them was Brigadier General Caroline Hughes, commander of the 4th Light Brigade—the other half of the division. Her brigade had arrived days earlier via RAF airlift, embedding themselves with Australian forces and preparing for the operations to come.
Hughes folded her arms as they approached, a smirk playing at her lips.
"Nice to see you bastards finally made it," she called out, her voice carrying over the din of machinery and shouted orders.
Hardwick grinned. "Fashionably late, but we got here, Caroline."
Hardwick exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the heat bore down on him. He turned back towards the dock, watching the vast logistical ballet unfold as vehicles, supplies, and personnel streamed off the British warships. The long journey was over, but the real work was only beginning.
***
But the British weren’t the only ones arriving.
To the east, the horizon was dotted with more ships, their hulls casting long shadows over the azure waters of Honiara Harbour. The Canadians had arrived in full force, their strategic shift from peacekeepers to active combatants in the Pacific theatre evident in every ship that pulled in. The Canadian government, no longer content to allow their peacekeepers to be whittled down and picked apart piecemeal, had made its boldest move yet. In true Canadian fashion, they had sent reinforcements—no half measures, no delays.
The 2nd Canadian Expeditionary Division had come ashore, its advance commanded by Major General Ally Davis, a veteran with a reputation for pragmatic leadership and an unflappable demeanour under fire. The division was a formidable sight in itself, composed of two mechanized brigade groups: the 1st Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group, led by the calculating and unyielding Brigadier General Lucas Bellamy, and the 5th Canadian Mechanized Brigade Group, under the command of the sharp-eyed, fiercely determined Brigadier General Marc-Antoine Tremblay.
Their mission was clear: reinforce the region and bolster the Commonwealth’s presence in the Pacific. And they wasted no time. The ships of the Canadian task force had barely anchored in Honiara when the first of their mechanized units began to offload onto the docks, the tracks of their Leopard tanks grinding through the salt-slicked earth with a relentless promise. Every move felt deliberate, synchronized with an underlying urgency.
The Canadian escort fleet, while smaller than the British armada to the west, was no less formidable. Two River-class destroyers, sleek and aggressive, cut through the waters like sharks, ready for action. Flanking them were two Halifax-class frigates, designed with anti-submarine warfare in mind, their sonars scanning the depths for any potential threats beneath the surface.
The real power, however, lay in the Canadian’s two Virginia-class SSNs—silent, invisible, and deadly—whose presence was enough to give pause to even the most confident of adversaries. They had broken off on arrival and were now headed to their predesignated patrol areas in the northern end of the Philippine Sea. In the middle of the fleet, two Galicia-class LPDs bore the bulk of the Canadian mechanized assets, while a replenishment ship ensured that every vehicle, every man, and every piece of equipment would remain operational for as long as needed.
“Leave the carrier at home,” came the suggestion from the ANZAC governments, a pragmatic decision made in the interests of strategic focus. The Canadian’s Melbourne-class carrier was better placed to patrol in the icy reaches of the Arctic, the Pacific, could hold its own for now.
On the sun-baked docks of Honiara, Major General Ally Davis stepped onto the solid ground of the Solomon Islands, her boots making a soft thud against the concrete as she surveyed the scene. Her tall, lean frame was encased in a tactical jacket, her eyes sharp despite the oppressive heat. Waiting for her was Colonel Freddy Holmack, the commander of the Canadian peacekeepers already stationed in the region. Holmack's uniform was dusty and wilted from months of hard duty in this tropical clime, but his sharp eyes betrayed nothing of the wear and tear of their long presence in the theatre.
Alongside Holmack stood Major General Lachie Patterson, the senior ANZAC General and the commander of all allied ground forces in the Pacific theatre. His thick, weathered neck and heavy eyebrows made him a figure that inspired both confidence and wariness. He had earned every ounce of his gruff reputation, and it showed in the way he stood, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering as he sized up the new arrivals.
Davis returned the sharp salute from Holmack, then offered a firm handshake to Patterson. “Hello General Patterson,” she said, her voice steady and commanding despite the tropical heat. “I hear you could use some help?”
Patterson grunted, his lips curling into a slight, sardonic smile. “We’re holding our own, but we could use some reinforcements sure.”
A flicker of understanding passed between the two Generals. Davis glanced at the sprawling task force unloading behind her, the mechanized troops now beginning their rapid deployment. “We’re not here just to hold our own. We’re here to push forward,” she said. “The Commonwealth’s presence in the Pacific isn’t just about defense anymore. It’s about showing strength—unity.”
Holmack, his face lined with the experience of peacekeeping in the region, eyed the ships, the hum of unloading equipment filling the air. “The Chinese won’t know what hit them,” he muttered. “This place is about to get a lot more interesting.”
Davis smiled faintly, her gaze scanning the horizon as the roar of helicopters and the rumble of armored vehicles filled the air. "The Pacific is no longer just a contest between Beijing and the ANZACs. The Commonwealth has arrived, gentlemen. And we intend to make our presence felt."
Patterson let out a low whistle, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the growing force. “It’s about fucking time,” he said, grinning. “Let’s show them what happens when you poke a bear.”
Davis raised an eyebrow and looked curiously at the Australian. “Koala or Polar?” She asked.
Patterson laughed a deep belly laugh that felt good after so many weeks of continuous operations. “Both,” he replied. “They’re both just as dangerous when they’re pushed. So’s a kiwi if you corner them.”
“I can get behind that.” Davis Chuckled.
The alliance, as formidable as it was, had just taken its next step. The Pacific had shifted, and now, the Commonwealth’s collective strength would be tested, side by side, against the rising storm to come.
***
The following day, the HMNZS Rongomai, New Zealand’s Lewis and Clark-class dry replenishment ship, slipped quietly into Honiara Harbour. The early morning mist clung to the edges of the water, shrouding the ship’s massive form in a ghostly veil. The Rongomai cut a deep channel through the water with the precision and grace of a vessel used to the most demanding of maritime logistics. Her mission was one of mercy—dropping vital supplies to the islands and leaving just as quickly as she had arrived.
Trailing closely behind, the MV Endeavour Bay, a Koru Logistics heavy cargo ship, made its way lumbering into the harbour. The ship was also loaded with critical supplies: food, ammunition, and medical aid for both the military personnel stationed there and the increasingly desperate islanders who had suffered under months of constant conflict. At her bow, the white-and-green Koru logo glinted in the morning light, a silent symbol of New Zealand’s deep commitment to its Pacific neighbours.
But the Rongomai and Endeavour Bay were not alone. As the two vessels approached the port, their escorts, the HMNZS Kaka and HMNZS Kiwi, waited patiently at the harbour mouth. The two Kahu-class corvettes, sleek and deadly, stood like sentinels, their guns poised, radar systems scanning the horizon. Their orders were simple: to defend the heavies, ensuring that any aggression—whether from sea or air—would be met with swift retaliation. The Kaka and Kiwi were perfectly positioned to protect the ships’ valuable cargo, their Aegis-equipped systems ready to intercept any threat that might arise.
The Rongomai and Endeavour Bay would be in port for only a few hours, a brief window of time to unload their precious cargo. New Zealand had made its commitment clear—it would not allow the islands to starve, and it would not let them fall under China’s growing influence without a fight. Onboard the Endeavour Bay, one of the most important and sophisticated pieces of equipment to be offloaded was a consignment of mobile Aegis-at-Home missile and radar defense systems, augmented by a small fleet of truck-mounted HELIOS-TWK Mk1 (500kw) solid-state laser systems, manufactured by Aotearoa Defence Optics Ltd. These advanced laser systems would become key components of a network, designed to strengthen the defense infrastructure of the islands and protect them from any form of military aggression.
Equally as important was the NZ Army Engineers on board and the vital building materials, portable generators and other equipment they had brought with them. Hospitals, schools and more importantly homes and infrastructure needed to be rebuilt. Now that the fighting had eased, it was time to start the process of healing.
As the unloading operations began, Commander Amelia Fletcher stood on the bridge of the Rongomai, her gaze sweeping across the harbour. She could see the cargo crews hustling to unload the shipments—every moment was precious. These supplies were critical for maintaining the security and stability of the region. However, she also knew the larger geopolitical stakes at play. Behind her, the steady hum of the ship’s engines filled the air as the Rongomai prepared to sail within the next few hours.
“We’ll need to move quickly,” Fletcher murmured to her first officer, Lieutenant Tane Jamison, who stood beside her, reviewing the unloading timeline. “Tell the yard jockeys to get those Aegis trucks off the Bay as fast as possible. If China notices our presence here, we might have less time than we think.”
Johnson nodded, his expression serious. “Understood.”
Across the dock, a team of engineers from Aotearoa Defence Optics Ltd were carefully unloading the HELIOS-TWK Mk1 lasers. These truck-mounted units, capable of targeting and neutralizing incoming missiles or aircraft, were a testament to New Zealand’s growing technological edge in the Pacific. The lasers were set to be deployed across the Solomon Islands, where they would augment the Aegis-at-Home network that now stretched from the Australasian shores to the far reaches of the Pacific, safeguarding the region against threats both on the ground and in the air.
The unloading proceeded under a careful, coordinated effort. Military trucks, already prepped for rapid deployment, rolled out of their containers as soon as they hit the ground and made their way to the staging areas. The soldiers assigned to them moved with purpose, ensuring that nothing was left behind that could compromise the integrity of the mission. As the HELIOS-TWK Mk1 systems were driven away, a quiet but potent sense of resolve settled over the operation. These lasers weren’t just a defense—they were a statement.
The New Zealand and Australian government along with their CANZUK allies had drawn a clear line in the sand. No longer would the islands of the Pacific be left to fend for themselves in the face of rising foriegn influence. The Rongomai, Endeavour Bay, and their escorts had arrived not just to provide aid, but to project power—a clear message to anyone that any attempt to disrupt the sovereignty of these islands would be met with overwhelming resistance.
Standing at the helm, Fletcher watched the unloading continue, her thoughts momentarily shifting to the bigger picture. The presence of the Aegis-at-Home network, supported by HELIOS-TWK Mk1 lasers, Rocket Lab satellites, and cutting-edge AUVs, was only one piece of the puzzle. What was unfolding in the Pacific wasn’t just a logistical operation—it was a complex geopolitical maneuver. And New Zealand and their allies, were positioning themselves to lead the charge in the defense of the Pacific.
“We’re nearly done,” Jamison said, his voice steady but resolute.
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“Good, let’s wrap this up quickly and get out before anyone notices us.” Fletcher replied. “We don’t want to give China any excuse to escalate.”
“Aye, Commander,” Jamison replied, as the sound of tugs starting up echoed across the harbour. “We’ll be ready.”
As the Rongomai and Endeavour Bay prepared to depart, Fletcher’s eyes lingered on the horizon, where the outlines of the Kaka and Kiwi stood guard. Their presence, along with the newly deployed HELIOS-TWK Mk1 lasers and the expanding Aegis-at-Home network, ensured that the Pacific would not easily be taken. The islands’ sovereignty had been reinforced—not just with aid, but with the full force of CANZUK’s military power. And as the ships turned to leave the harbour, one thing was clear: New Zealand had made its mark in the Pacific, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
***
Within the halls of the United Nations Headquarters in New York, the general assembly was abuzz with righteous indignation.
“You do nothing but trample on the sovereignty of the Islands and its people, like obstinate children. And yet, you claim moral superiority in the Pacific? Enough is enough." Called Akira Nakamura, the ambassador for Japan.
Zhao Cheng’s eyes narrowed. “You speak of sovereignty, Ambassador Nakamura, yet where was Japan when the Australians and New Zealanders intruded upon the Solomon Islands’ sovereignty? What does Japan care about this issue but to once again poke at China’s influence in the region? And let us not forget the history of Japan’s own imperial expansion in the Pacific. Don’t pretend to be the moral authority here.”
Nakamura’s nostrils flared as she stood tall. “Japan's history is not for you to use against us, Zhao! What we speak of is the present, and the present is China’s continuous overreach in the Pacific. You know full well that the Solomon Islands did not ask for your ‘help.’ And now the whole world is bearing witness to your bullying tactics. You think this region will tolerate such oppression?”
Greg Symonds of Australia, his voice rising in frustration, added, “China’s ‘sphere of influence’ is nothing but a façade. You’ve tried to twist the Pacific into your own domain by force, and now, when your tactics are exposed, you cry foul because your aggression has been met with resistance, when you expected capitulation. Australia and New Zealand are not your pawns, Zhao. We will defend the sovereignty of the Pacific, regardless of how many times you try to turn the narrative on its head.”
The U.S. delegate, Catherine Paterson, wasn’t letting up this time either. “And let’s talk about accountability, Zhao. Your country continuously violates international law while pretending to be the victim. From the Pacific to the South China Sea, your actions are only proving one thing—China is the one destabilizing the region, not the West. And I’ll say it again—your presence in the Solomons was nothing but occupation, not cooperation.”
Zhao Cheng shifted in his seat, his patience visibly wearing thin. “We will not be bullied into submission. China’s actions are in line with international law, and we are well within our rights to operate in the Pacific. If the West continues to press, the consequences will be dire. Do not test our resolve.”
The room was quiet, the tension thickening like a storm before a flash of lightning. A few moments passed, and the Secretary-General spoke once more, his voice firm. “Enough. It is clear that the accusations and counterclaims are mounting. But we cannot allow this debate to devolve into threats and hostile rhetoric. We must find a resolution. A solution where diplomacy, not violence, prevails. This Assembly is a place of dialogue, not of war.”
However, the lines had already been drawn. The divide between the Western powers and China had only deepened. The eyes of the world were on the United Nations General Assembly, awaiting for what would come next. Would the East and West continue to clash over the Pacific, or could some form of diplomacy, fragile as it may be, emerge from the chaos?
The Solomon Islands stood as the battleground for this ideological war, both metaphorically and physically, the outcome was far from clear and the atmosphere felt heavy with the weight of unspoken tension. The Chinese Ambassador, a man known for his cutting words and calculated presence stood, his voice sharp and dismissive as he addressed the gathering.
"You speak of stability, but your actions in the Solomon Islands tell a different story," he said, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the Australian and New Zealand delegates seated across from him. "This so-called 'military buildup' by your trifling CANZUK alliance is nothing more than an armed occupation at the behest of the Americans, a blatant attempt to further entrench Western hegemony in our backyard. The world should see it for what it is—an invasion, cloaked in the false rhetoric of 'protection' and 'aid'. You call yourselves liberators, but we all know the truth. You are nothing more than modern-day colonialists."
The New Zealand delegate remained seated, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard as he absorbed the accusation. There was a brief silence before he spoke, his voice calm, but laden with a quiet fury.
"Your country has sunk two of our ships, Zhao," Fletcher said, his words precise, every syllable cutting through the air. "Two…. One of them on a peacekeeping assignment! Hundreds of my countrymen and women are dead! And don't pretend it didn’t happen. You detonated something in that power plant, sending the infrastructure of those islands straight back into the Stone Age. Your oppressive tactics in quelling lawful protests there, as a direct result of your actions are a matter of public record. These facts are not in dispute, Ambassador. The whole world sees you for what you are."
The whole room seemed to hold it’s collective breath as the words settled in around them. Zhao’s jaw tightened, his face reddening, but Fletcher pressed on, his voice growing firmer, his gaze unflinching.
"The Commonwealth and American forces in the region are there to stabilize, not conquer," he continued, his tone resolute. "We are there to help them, not hinder them. Your baseless accusations against us will not change the reality of what is unfolding on the ground. Your government's lust for power and control, its constant meddling in the affairs of sovereign nations, will not intimidate us. We stand for peace, for sovereignty, and for the right of the Solomon Islands and their people to determine their own future."
The Chinese Ambassador’s lips curled into a thin, condescending smile, and with his voice dripping with arrogance he spat the words. "Peace? You speak of peace, yet your governments meddle with the sacred balance in the Pacific, stirring up tensions, provoking a larger conflict. This isn't peace—this is exploitation disguised as aid. Don't mistake your own arrogance for justice."
For a moment, James Fletcher, the New Zealand delegate said nothing, his gaze unwavering as he considered the man's words. Then, with a quiet intensity, he spoke once more, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"You may twist the facts all you like Zhao, but you cannot erase them," he said resolutely. "The truth is clear, and it stands in stark contrast to your narrative. Your time of manipulating weaker nations with your 'benevolent' offers is over. The region is stronger now, and we will not stand idly by while you attempt to rewrite the history of this conflict."
The tension in the room was unrelenting, but it was clear to everyone present who held the upper hand in the conversation. The New Zealand delegate’s words hung in the air, a challenge, a declaration of defiance. The Chinese Ambassador, for all his bluster, was momentarily taken aback, his expression hardening as he tried to formulate a response. But it was too late—the battle of words had been fought, and it was clear that the truth had already found its voice.
***
At HMNZS Irirangi, a nondescript white box of a building, a stone frigate nestled in the shadow of Mount Tongariro, was housed New Zealand’s most sensitive operations. From this unassuming structure, the pulse of the nation’s defense network reverberated through the airwaves, a silent sentinel watching over the Pacific. Inside, operators sat in a darkened room, surrounded by a maze of screens displaying a constantly updating flow of data. Rocketlabs’ Satellite feeds tracking the skies, while the SOSUS net provided real-time underwater surveillance. The room hummed with activity as the operators monitored the ebb and flow of fleet movements across the ocean.
A subtle shift in one of the screens caught the attention of the lead operator, Chief Petty Officer Maia Collins. A slow-moving anomaly, detected by the SOSUS network, appeared in the Philippine Sea, its trajectory suspiciously southward. It was not a usual pattern, not a typical merchant ship or natural underwater current, with decades of experience manning sonar stations, she knew a submarine track when she saw one.
"Commander, you might want to take a look at this," Maia called out to the duty officer, another seasoned operator named Lieutenant Commander Rhys Simmons, who had spent decades studying oceanic patterns.
Simmons approached the screen, narrowing his eyes as he reviewed the data. The anomaly moved steadily, its signature nothing like the typical civilian or commercial traffic they tracked daily. There was a deliberate quality to its movement—a military vessel, perhaps.
“Match it with the satellite feed,” Simmons directed.
Maia worked quickly, her fingers flying across the keyboard, reorienting one of their surveillance satellites, pulling up the latest imagery. The two data points aligned, and the sea was clear of traffic.
“Hmmm, your analysis Chief?” Simmons asked, scratching his chin.
“I’d say it’s definitely a slow-moving submarine boss, probably trying to be as stealthy as possible, likely a nuclear boat.” She replied, eyes glued to the track. “It’s course appears to be heading directly toward the heart of the Carrier Group.”
There was something chilling in that confirmation and both operators felt it.
"Signature matches like a Chinese submarine," Collins muttered, her tone darkening.
"If it’s heading straight toward the task force. We can’t afford to wait. Send alert action traffic to Fleet Base Pacific get them on this immediately."
In Fiji, orders were swiftly relayed to the submarine HMNZS Taniwha, docked in the vibrant blue waters of the harbour, the crew was already on board having just finished refuelling and resupply from their latest patrol. The short but intense briefing arrived through secure channels, and the crew went into immediate action, the cold metal hull of the submarine stirring as the engines hummed to life.
In the control room, the captain, Lieutenant Commander Caleb Johnson stood over the navigational charts, his brow furrowed as the navigator, Lieutenant Kazi Rahman plotted the most efficient direct course. The submarine was a silent predator beneath the ocean’s surface, and for the first time, she had been called into actual aggressive action. Moorings were slipped and the black hulled submarine slid away from the pier. At just over two kilometres from the wide harbour mouth and well away from the shallow sandbars, she dived below the waves.
"Kaz, reel out the cable and initiate satellite relay, feed directly into the navi-computer. We don’t have a lot of time on this one and I want no mistakes. Helm as soon as we clear the outer marker, make your depth 200 metres and 25 knots." Johnson barked as he surveyed the room. Their orders were absolutely unambiguous: they were to intercept and prosecute the anomaly before it could pose any risk to the carriers.
Rahman quickly inputted the coordinates into the submarine's tactical system. “Course plotted, Skipper,” his voice steady. “We’ll be on it in just over six hours if we maintain that speed.”
That was cutting it mighty close, and the captain and navigator shared a knowing look.
The crew worked in synchronized chaos, the sharp commands of Lieutenant Siti Amina, the boat’s Executive Officer, who was also the diving officer, cutting through the noise as the submarine prepared to dive deep. The hum of the vessel’s machinery was like a living heartbeat, a rhythm of life below the surface that would carry them into the depths.
"We are at 200metres and proceeding at 25knots. All departments stand ready, Captain. The board is green." She stated at the completion of the evolution.
Johnson nodded, his expression grim. "Good. Keep it tight. We’re running dark on this one. We won’t hear shit at this speed, and we’ll be relying completely on Irirangi to watch out for us, so let’s be ready for anything."
At the tactical station several hours later, Sub-Lieutenant Hiroki Sato, the Officer of the Watch, sat with intense focus, watching the sonar readouts for the path of the target. He had already fed the anomaly’s vector into the ship's system and was feeding the track data to the navigator, to plot their intercept course.
"Conn, Sonar! We’ve got it," Sato called out, his tone low but confident. "It’s a submarine all right Type-093 I’d wager. It’s still moving south, consistent with the SOSUS data."
The revelation sent a ripple of tension through the control room. A Chinese nuclear-powered submarine, armed with long-range anti-ship missiles, was heading straight for the carrier task force.
At the comms station, Sub-Lieutenant Rajesh Iyer monitored communications with Fleet Base Pacific and the incoming feed from Irirangi. His fingers worked the console with practiced ease, ensuring that everything was routed correctly. He was all too aware that any lapse in information flow right then could be catastrophic.
On the surface, the world above was calm, but beneath the waterline, the Taniwha was preparing for what could be a dangerous game of cat and mouse. The next few hours would be interesting. Johnson stood at the chart table, his eyes scanning the myriad of screens around him, his thoughts with the mission ahead.
“Sonar, Conn, any sign they’ve heard us?” Johnson called over the radio.
“Conn, Sonar, I can’t say skipper, but the track hasn’t moved so I want to say no.”
“Helm, make your speed eight knots and obey corrections from the Navigator.” Johnson ordered.
“Aye sir, make my speed eight knots… Sir my speed is eight knots.” Replied the helmsman.
Now within reach Johnson had ordered a speed that would still overtake the track but would render the Taniwha near invisible as the submarine glided deeper into the Pacific. The chase so far had been reckless but necessary, he hoped the reduction in speed now, would mean that her presence would go undetected.
As the Taniwha moved closer to its target, the tension within the crew grew to palpable levels. The Philippines Sea stretched out ahead, vast and uncertain, and the shadow of the Chinese submarine loomed. The true nature of the vessel they were approaching was now confirmed—it was definitely a Chinese Type 093 submarine, the signatures matched perfectly with what they had on file. The type-093’s were armed with multiple long range anti-ship missiles, and it was heading straight toward the heart of the allied forces’ operational area.
Johnson and his crew knew they were on the cusp of something. The countdown to a potential confrontation had begun, and the Taniwha was ready—whether it was a routine pass or the opening move in a far more dangerous game. The Pacific had just become a hot zone, and they would be the first to meet it head-on.
***
The 9,500-tonne Province-class air warfare destroyer, HMNZS Canterbury, cut a steady course through the vast Pacific, her sleek stealthy angled hull slicing through the deep blue waters as she too departed from Fleet Base Pacific, the New Zealand Navy’s newly established forward presence in Fiji. Though officially named Suva Naval Base, most of the Kiwi sailors had taken to calling it by its more evocative moniker.
Tonight, Canterbury was out on, yet another convoy protection run, covering a critical oil shipment from North Port, Whangārei, bound for the United States. The Kahu-class corvettes handled most of the escort duties these days, flitting between the relay points scattered across the Pacific, ensuring that supply lines remained unbroken. But recent tensions in the region—Beijing’s wolf warrior diplomacy had turned into something more tangible on more than occasion, and while outright war hadn’t yet ignited, the New Zealand Defence Force wasn’t taking any chances. That was why Canterbury was out here, providing a show of force—a silent sentinel beneath the Pacific sky.
Standing on the port bridge wing, Captain Caleb Rawlinson let his gaze drift across the horizon. The sun was sinking, casting long golden and fiery orange streaks across the ocean’s surface. It had been an unrelenting summer in the islands, the air thick with humidity and the scent of salt. He was looking forward to the cooler night winds, the kind that rolled in after dusk, carrying whispers of the tropical paradise.
He caught his reflection in the bridge glass, a fleeting glimpse of his own face before the glare of the setting sun swallowed it. He had gotten old in the last year, but then, having a ship shot out from under you will do that. But the strange thing was, he realised he was smiling.
The past few months had been good. Better than he had expected. Life in Suva had given him something he hadn’t realised he had lost—balance. For the first time in months, he had been able to truly be with his family. Sarah and Cody, their new home in Fiji, a sense of routine beyond the confines of steel bulkheads and mission briefings—it had changed him, healed him. He felt lighter, in a way he hadn’t in a very long time.
But he knew that he had to guard against complacency, the wariness remained.
The Chinese hadn’t made another move—yet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there, watching, waiting. The PLA Navy was still subtly testing boundaries, pushing against the edges of the rules-based order with calculated intent. Rawlinson had been on the receiving end of Chinese expansionism twice before and had lost so much in the process. He knew exactly what they were capable of.
His mood was getting too dark, and he could feel himself slipping into old thought patterns, so took a deep breath of cooling sea air to reset himself. Caleb turned slightly, glancing back through the bridge windows, watching his crew at work.
At the compass, stood Lieutenant Priya Sodhi, she had the watch this evening. She was young, sharp, eager and possessed a natural air of calm that Rawlinson liked. There was a quiet competence about her that he admired. He had no doubt she would make a fine captain someday.
The rhythmic hum of the ship’s bridge systems filled the space, a reassuring undercurrent of controlled readiness. His young crew, and their watch officers all moved with quiet efficiency, their hands gliding over touchscreens and controls, monitoring the maritime picture.
Footsteps approached, and he looked back to see his executive officer, Commander James Benson, stepping out onto the bridge wing. He was carrying two mugs of steaming coffee, Caleb knew instantly that it was coffee, he could smell Benson’s handmade acrid brew from a mile away! Handing one over without a word, the two men leaned against the rail, watching the endless sea ahead in companionable silence, the last light of day bleeding away into the oncoming dusk.
"Hell of a sunset," Benson murmured after several minutes.
Rawlinson nodded. "Yeah. One of the best."
A comfortable silence stretched out between them once more, the kind born from months of shared duty and an instant friendship. Below them, Canterbury’s engines thrummed softly, a steady heartbeat in the night. The convoy was still hours away, but the captain knew better than to assume quiet meant safety. Somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, the next move was already being planned.
Benson exhaled, the breath barely audible over the ocean breeze. "Convoy’s on track. There was a last minute change apparently, now it’s four big heavies, three tankers and a container ship, with three Kahu’s watching over them. If the Chinese are sniffing around tonight, they’ll see we’re not taking any chances."
Rawlinson didn’t take his eyes off the horizon. "Good. Make sure we have a clean feed from Irirangi and let’s just hope they stay where they are."
Benson gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah. And let’s hope for a quiet night while we’re at it."
"Fuck!" Rawlinson replied. “Never use the ‘Q’ word EX-O, Jesus!”