The atmosphere in the New Zealand Parliament buildings was heavy, an emergency meeting of this nature hadn’t been called in decades and each member present was tense, their faces drawn in concern as they took their seats in the house. The gravity of the situation — the sinking of the HMNZS Canterbury, the death of their peacekeepers and the escalating tensions in the south pacific, particularly the Solomon Islands — was evident in every furrowed brow and stiffened posture. Miriama Kahu, stood at her seat as the leader of government, her figure small but resolute against the storm of uncertainty brewing within the chamber.
The Speaker of the House, Tane Johnson, called the meeting to order, his voice echoing against the high stone walls. "Order. Prime Minister, you may begin."
Miriama nodded, the weight of her responsibility settling on her shoulders. "Thank you, Mr. Speaker," she said, her voice steady but tinged with an unspoken urgency. "Members of the House, we are here today to discuss the tragic loss of HMNZS Canterbury, which was sunk off the coast of the Solomon Islands under suspicious circumstances. This was not a random attack — this was an act of aggression. Early intelligence reports indicate that Chinese forces may be involved."
A murmur ran through the room, quickly stilled by the sharp rap of The Speaker’s gavel.
Kevin MacNielty stood next, a grim look on his face as he addressed the room. "The reports we’ve gathered are disturbing. The Canterbury, which was part of a peacekeeping mission in the region, was attacked by what we believe to be a Chinese naval vessel operating in the area. More troubling still, we have reason to believe that this is not an isolated incident. We have intelligence indicating that the Chinese may be conducting clandestine operations on Guadalcanal Island in the Solomons, possibly testing a new weapon system or military technology."
Miriama’s gaze flickered toward one of the big screen televisions mounted on the wall of the house chamber, showing a digital map of the Solomon Islands, the locations of the respective U.S. and PRC fleets and the last known location of the Canterbury were marked with red outlines. MacNielty continued, "our initial assessments suggest that this technology, whatever it is, may have caused the recent earthquake which rattled the region a few days ago. We’re still waiting for full confirmation, but the possibility is growing stronger that the Chinese were testing something which had seismic consequences."
The room fell silent, the implications of the statement settling heavily on every member’s mind. Deputy Prime Minister Craig Du Plessis, who had just returned to Wellington from an important industry meeting in the Manawatu, a pragmatic man who had been on edge since the news broke, stood next. His voice was low but filled with urgency. "This situation is spiralling out of control. If the Chinese are behind this — not just the attack but potentially destabilizing the region with these tests — we need to act. We can’t afford to wait."
"I agree with the Deputy Prime Minister," said Derek Harper, his tone hard and resolute. "This is an attack on our sovereignty, an attack on our peacekeepers. And the Chinese involvement — whether direct or indirect — signals a larger geopolitical shift. We need to prepare for escalation, and fast. We cannot afford to sit idle while they test these dangerous technologies on our doorstep. The Pacific Island nations look to us for leadership, we need to show it!"
Miriama felt the weight of the room’s expectations pressing down on her. They all looked to her for a decision, but the path forward wasn’t clear. She turned to Du Plessis, seated in his customary place next to her. His face was etched with concern, this was the first time she had spoken to him in person since this all started and was interested to hear his opinion. He leaned in closer as Miriama spoke to him in a low voice.
"What are we looking at if this goes beyond a diplomatic protest?" she asked, her eyes sharp with the need for answers. “What do you think about this whole mess?”
Du Plessis’s voice was tight, his answer equally measured. "If this is what we think it is — if the Chinese are testing military tech that caused this seismic event and sunk our ship to hide that fact— then we would be well within our rights to trigger an Article 51 response under the UN Charter. It’s a clear act of self-defence in the face of armed aggression. You have my full support whatever way you chose to go, but we should show caution, we need to do something of course, but we need to be very careful, your sanctions were a good first step, let’s see how that plays out first."
Miriama exhaled slowly, glancing around the room. The conversation was starting to move faster, the political lines beginning to shift.
"Mr Speaker, if I may continue?" she said aloud, her voice calm but tinged with the weight of the moment, Johnson’s gavel slammed down, the sharp crack echoing through the chamber and the room fell eerily silent. "Thank you, Members of House, it is my solemn duty to advise you that Article 51 of the U.N. charter is being considered, that would mean invoking our right to self-defence under international law and potentially engaging militarily. So far we have restricted our response to diplomatic overtures, we have placed heavy trade sanctions on China, expelled their diplomatic staff and recalled ours. Further escalation and the possibility of armed conflict is not a situation we take lightly, Mr Speaker, I would like to hear the opinions of the opposition in this matter."
The room was deathly quiet, the gravity of the Prime Miniter’s statement rippling outward. A declaration of this magnitude had not been made in almost a century. To the members of both sides of the house, but particularly the opposition, who had been left out of the high level meetings so far that day, the possibility of war was no longer a distant threat — it was a very real prospect. The Prime Minister’s request however was a shock, it was not very often that the government sought the advice of the opposition, clearly illustrating the importance of the situation. In doing so, Miriama Kahu was calling for unity, for the government to speak with one voice.
Simeon Forrester, the National Party and opposition leader, was the first to speak, his tone biting. "Prime Minister, with all due respect, this is the moment we need leadership, not hesitation. If China is involved, if they are testing dangerous technology that affects our region, then we have no choice but to invoke Article 51. We cannot let them escalate their influence in the Pacific without consequence."
His words were sharp, the call for action clear. Katie Phillips, the National Shadow Foreign Affairs Minister, chimed in with equal fervour. "The government cannot afford to be indecisive. Our allies in the region — Australia, the United States, even the UK — will be watching closely. If we don’t respond swiftly and firmly, we risk our credibility on the world stage."
Miriama's hand tightened around the edge of the podium as her mind raced. She knew the stakes were high. "And what do we risk by acting too soon?" she asked, her voice cutting through the mounting voices of dissent. "If we invoke Article 51 without clear evidence, we risk provoking a war we may not be ready for. A conflict which could destabilize the region for generations and drag in forces we cannot predict or control. We cannot be rash, no matter the pressure from both domestic and international sources."
But Nathan Liu, the National Shadow Defence Minister, wasn’t about to let caution be the guiding principle. "Prime Minister, the risk of inaction is worse. If we wait too long, the window for a peaceful resolution closes. Our peacekeepers are already dead and another ship lies on the bottom of the seas, we cannot afford to let China establish a stronger foothold in our backyard."
Miriama’s mind churned, the sheer audacity of the women! The opposition had had this chance to do the very same thing years earlier and they caved, now they are calling for war? Dennison’s words clearly had the desired effect though, debates raged across the house, flooding in from all sides. But it was the quiet words of the Governor General, Todd Welker, which gave Miriama pause. She hadn’t noticed that he had been sitting in the back of the chamber, his presence usually not required at these sittings. She was grateful for it though, his experience and wisdom silently weighing in on the conversation.
"Mr Speaker if I may?" Todd said as he rose slowly. With a nod from The Seaker he continued, his voice measured, "Prime Minister, no decision made in haste is ever the right one. The region is already unstable. The actions of the Chinese are a provocation, yes. But we must consider the consequences, not just for New Zealand but for the Pacific as a whole. Any military escalation will have far-reaching implications. Might I suggest a more measured approach to begin with?"
Miriama nodded, taking in his words, her resolve hardening. The political divide in the room was deepening, and the pressure on her was mounting. With the lives of her citizens at stake, she couldn’t afford to falter.
"I will convene with the security council immediately," Miriama said, her tone firm. "A decision on invoking Article 51 will not be made lightly. We will exhaust all diplomatic options first, but we will not shy away from protecting our interests, our people, and the peacekeeping efforts that New Zealand has long stood for in this region."
The debate was far from over, but the path forward had been set — and the next steps would define the future of New Zealand’s role in the Pacific.
The room fell into a tense silence, as the echoes of disagreement continued to reverberate. But as the meeting drew to a close, one thing was certain: the tides were shifting, and the world was watching.
***
For the next several days, the attack on the Canterbury and its aftermath dominated the global news cycle. Television screens and social media websites across the world flashed with images of the sinking, of politicians scrambling to address the crisis, of military forces mobilizing in the Pacific, and the sanctions on the PRC. Channel after channel reported on the rising tensions, of the two little nations that were taking a stand, in what was now being labelled a ‘David and Goliath’ like struggle. Of the ongoing tension between the U.S. and China, both of whom were manoeuvring their naval assets into the region with increasing urgency.
The United Nations, under pressure from the global community, called an emergency session. But despite the high-level talks, it was clear that diplomatic rhetoric wasn’t going to prevent what everyone knew was coming. With Russia and China leveraging their veto power, it became increasingly evident that the UN was a paper tiger, impotent in the face of such overwhelming geopolitical forces.
Meanwhile, the Solomon Islands, already reeling from the catastrophic earthquake that had struck immediately prior to the Canterbury’s sinking, found itself once again teetering on the edge of war. The natural disaster had been a precursor to something far more destructive, a harsh reminder that the Pacific, long seen as an afterthought, a region of peace, was now becoming the epicentre of a conflict which threatened to reshape the world order.
In that time, the world seemed to hold its breath as the ripple effects of the sinking spread. The imposed sanctions from New Zealand and Australia on trade with the PRC citing national security concerns, cut off any further export of oil, agricultural goods, steel and other minerals. Given the completely lopsided nature of these arrangements to begin with, the effect on the oceanic nations was minimal, For China however, though not their only supply of these goods, the economic effect was felt. Beijing, predictably enraged, reacted with fierce condemnation in the media. The sanctions, though a measured diplomatic step, had ignited a firestorm in the House of the People, and the consequences were immediate.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Within hours of the sanctions being imposed, cyberattacks began targeting New Zealand's power grids and financial systems. The country had made significant strides in recent years to bolster its cybersecurity infrastructure, with advanced measures designed to protect critical assets. Yet, despite these advancements, the relentless assault from the People's Republic of China proved to be a formidable challenge.
At first, New Zealand’s cyber units struggled to identify the full scope of the attack. The PRC’s tactics were sophisticated and multi-layered, designed to slip past defences and overwhelm response systems, social media being a primary gateway. While the majority of these attacks were immediately contained, several financial websites crashed, disrupting services for thousands of businesses and individuals alike. Communications faltered as government and emergency services networks were briefly taken offline, leaving the country reeling. For several hours, New Zealand seemed to be on the edge of a digital blackout.
In the face of mounting chaos, New Zealand's security and intelligence services, the NZSIS and GCSB, scrambled to address the unfolding crisis. Public statements issued from the government urged calm, but the fear simmering just beneath the surface was impossible to ignore. Many of New Zealand’s citizens saw their bank accounts wiped clean and even though this was rectified almost immediately, the uncertainty of who was behind the attacks, the scale of the damage, and the vulnerability of the country's most essential infrastructure began to unsettle the citizens and officials alike. It was becoming all too clear that this was no random attack — it was a coordinated assault with the weight of a state actor behind it, and although it was next to impossible to prove who that actor was, to the New Zealand government and the world at large, it was all too obvious.
The country’s cyber defence units, initially slow to fully recognize the scope of the threat, eventually kicked into high gear. Within days, they managed to restore a semblance of stability, and install future proof safeguards, though the equilibrium was an uneasy one and for months afterwards, the enemy continued to probe for weaknesses. The attacks had been relentless, hitting critical sectors of the economy and governance, and the speed at which the New Zealand’s cyber units were able to adapt was testament to their expertise. But there was no ignoring the lesson which had been hard learned.
The suddenness of the attacks, their tenacity, and the sheer ferocity with which they had unfolded served as a wake-up call for the nation. New Zealand had always considered itself somewhat insulated from the most intense global cyber threats. However, this rapid escalation made it clear that there was no corner in the world beyond reach in this new digital age of warfare. Though the immediate danger had been mitigated, the attacks served as a stark reminder that, in this interconnected world, even the most prepared nations were vulnerable. The PRC had shown them just how fragile that perceived safety was.
In the wake of the cyber onslaught, several additional units, including RNZAF fighter squadrons and support aircraft, along with the 4th Royal New Zealand Infantry (Airborne) Regiment were deployed to bases in northern Australia. The prepositioning of these forces being deemed appropriate by both governments in the wake of the recent attacks. Further to this, the Royal New Zealand Navy swiftly joined Australia in conducting joint naval exercises in the Tasman Sea. The exercises, meant to demonstrate solidarity and strength, were quickly shadowed by Chinese surveillance vessels, their presence an unmistakable sign of Beijing’s growing concern. But as the two allies engaged in their naval manoeuvres, the situation in the Pacific continued to escalate and more naval units were put to sea to patrol the vulnerable coastlines of both countries.
To bolster their stance, far to the north, the Tangaroa Strike Group had arrived in the Coral Sea, while the Melbourne Strike Group, having refuelled in Darwin, entered the Timor and Arafura Seas a day later. The Pacific, once a vast and largely peaceful expanse, was rapidly becoming the stage for a dangerous game of military brinksmanship. Every move, every repositioning of forces, felt like a countdown to the inevitable.
Behind the scenes, diplomatic and backchannel communications were in full swing. Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the United Kingdom (CANZUK) had already begun working together, quietly sharing intelligence. In the days that followed, Canada offered logistical support and sent one of their new replenishment ships along with two of their River-class destroyers as an escort, while the British promised their own support and the HMS Ark Royal, and her group set sail toward the pacific. The international community rallied, but it was a fragile alliance, and each nation knew the stakes were high. The solidarity was clear in private, but the question remained: Would it be enough to stop the storm that was gathering?
As military assets continued to flood into the region, the prospect of full-scale war in the Pacific became an ever more tangible possibility. The Solomon Islands, caught between superpowers, was poised to once again become a war zone. In the span of a few days, the entire Pacific had transformed from a relatively calm expanse of water into a volatile, military-dominated arena, its future hanging precariously in the balance.
And as each hour passed, the weight of inevitability pressed down harder on those who stood at the helm of this unfolding crisis.
***
The current state of affairs had well and truly buried itself deep into New Zealand's collective consciousness, that was clear from news broadcast on every channel, there was no escaping it. The whole world had shifted, and the newly promoted Captain Caleb Robinson, found himself standing in front of a large bay window in the lounge of his North Shore home in Auckland, watching the rain streak down the glass. The unseasonable summer storm outside mirrored the turmoil he was reeling from inside himself, the weight of the past week pressing down on him with suffocating force. He had told his wife the day before, Sarah, calm but clearly struggling with her own emotions in that moment, had said only one word.
“Why?”
“Because I have an obligation,” Caleb had replied, his voice firm but tinged with regret. “Because I need to do this Babe. Because the ones I left behind need me to do this.”
“I love you Caleb, and I support you,” she said, wrapping the man in her arms. “I knew what I was getting into when I married you, but you almost died last time. I don’t like you going out again, but I understand. Just promise me you’ll be careful, I don’t want to lose you!”
By the following day, Caleb still hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell his son the news, that he was going back to sea again, it just never seemed the right time, even though he was rapidly running out of it. He just couldn’t shake the guilt of what his actions might mean for his wife and child.
His eyes, tired and distant, lingered on the view — the rugged coastline of Auckland, stretching toward the horizon, a far cry from the chaos and heartbreak unfolding in the Pacific, and not for the first time wondered how his old friend was doing, hoping he was safe. The room was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the continuous news feed from the large screen mounted on the far wall and the distant sound of traffic. But it was an unnatural quiet, a silence filled with unspoken thoughts and raw grief.
His wife, Sarah, was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The sounds of her movement drifting in from the open doorway— the soft clink of utensils, the sizzle of food in the pan — offered some comfort, but it only served to remind him of the normalcy that had been so violently torn from his life.
Cody, was upstairs in his room, likely lost in the world of his video games. Caleb wondered if the boy had any real understanding of what had happened to him, of the fact that his father had been so close to death only a few short days ago. Did Cody know how much his world had shifted, how much his father had changed in that time? The loss of his ship and his crew was a devastating thing, but how could he explain that to a 12 year old boy, whose only real concept of death came with a respawn a few short seconds later. But then, he thought to himself that maybe he wasn’t giving the boy enough credit, maybe he did understand and t5hat’s why he was so distant sometimes.
He rubbed his face, trying to wipe away the weariness which had settled there, the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could fix. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion; it was emotional exhaustion, a bone-deep sorrow he couldn’t seem to outrun. The Canterbury had been more than just a ship to him. It had been a home, a place where camaraderie and responsibility intermingled. And now it was gone — along with the lives of his crew, and a piece of his own soul.
"Caleb?" Sarah's voice was soft, tentative, as though she too sensed the weight that hung in the air. She appeared in the doorway, her gaze searching his face in the mirrored glass of that window, waiting for him to turn and look at her.
He finally looked into her eyes, they were full of comfort, of warmth, of love for him. His own, just tired and filled with the rawness of grief. He had told Sarah of his promotion and reassignment the day before, she had taken it rather well, considering. "I don’t know if I can do this, Babe. I can’t stop thinking about them... about the ones I couldn’t save."
Sarah’s expression softened, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and love. She stepped closer, her arms wrapping around him. “I know sweetie. I know. But you did everything you could. You can’t carry the weight of it all on your shoulders, they aren’t big enough!” She whispered soothingly into his ear.
Caleb chuckled, he couldn’t help himself, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have done more. The orders had been clear — abandon ship. But there had been so much chaos in those final moments. That missile had had come so suddenly and did so much damage so fast! It was as if the ship had been engulfed in some kind of unholy hellfire. It was lucky any of them survived at all. The last thing he remembered before the blackness took him, was the roar of the waves and the cries of his crew.
He closed his eyes against those images which threatened to overwhelm him. The faces of his crew, their expressions frozen in fear, their last moments burned into his mind’s eye forever more.
“I should have gotten them out sooner,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
Sarah held him tighter, this wasn’t the first time they had had this particular conversation. It was getting better, but Caleb still couldn’t allow himself to feel the comfort of her embrace. He still didn’t feel like he deserved it. His thoughts kept drifting back to the sea, back to the place where everything had fallen apart.
Cody’s voice broke through the fog of his mind. "Dad?" The door creaked open, and the boy appeared at the top of the stairs, his small frame, Caleb’s own reflection mirrored in miniature, silhouetted against the light from the hallway.
Caleb didn’t turn to face him. His heart clenched, and a deep, heavy ache filled his chest. Cody had only just started to understand the weight of what his father did. But now… now he feared that the boy would never know the man who he had been before the sinking. Before the loss.
“Hey, bud,” Caleb finally said, his voice rough. He turned and forced a small smile, one that felt like it was being torn from him.
Cody hesitated at the top of the stairs, looking between his parents, clearly unsure of how to approach the tension that suddenly filled the room. Finally, he slowly descended the stairs, his small footsteps echoing through the silence.
“Are you okay, Dad?” Cody asked, his young voice soft, though it carried the weight of a question he shouldn’t have to ask at his age.
Caleb knelt down to his son’s level, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. His heart ached at the sight of Cody — his bright eyes, his innocence, still untouched by the horrors that life could throw at you.
“I’m just tired, kiddo,” Caleb replied, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’ll be okay. I’ll always be okay for you.”
Cody gave him a small, uncertain smile, before wrapping his arms tightly around the man’s neck. “Mum says you’re a hero,” he whispered softly into the man’s ear.
Caleb's heart clenched at the words, his eyes stinging. He sure as shit didn’t feel like a hero — he felt like a failure! But as he pulled back and looked into his son’s eyes, he realized that he couldn’t let his darkness overwhelm them. Not when he had his family to live for, not when there was still so much left to fight for.
“I’m not a hero, kiddo,” Caleb said quietly. “But I am your dad. And I love you and your mum very much, that’s all I need to be.”
His son nodded, pressing his head against Caleb’s shoulder for a moment before pulling away, a slight smile on his face. “Okay, Dad. I’m glad you’re home.”
As Cody went to set the table, Caleb stood, his gaze drifting back to the window. The storm had passed, but the clouds still hung dark and thick in the sky, just as the weight of the situation loomed over him. The events of the past week — the attack, the chaos, the losses — were far from over. And yet, in this quiet moment with his family, Caleb knew that he couldn’t let the grief consume him. Not while Sarah and Cody needed him.
“You have to tell him” Sarah whispered to the man, breaking the silence.
“I know.” Was all he said in return.
Caleb sighed, glancing back at Sarah, who had returned to the kitchen, her back now turned putting the last few finishing touches on dinner. He knew the troubles weren’t over. It wasn’t even close. But tonight, at home, with his family safe at his side, it was the only thing that mattered. For now, he would hold onto them, and tomorrow, he would face whatever came next.