With the difference in time zones, it was still early morning and dark in Wellington, the capital city of New Zealand. Prime Minister Miriama Kahu, a striking and formidable woman whose roots ran deep in both Māori and Pākehā heritage, stood at the centre of the gathering storm—this one political. A war had already begun in the Pacific, though no one had officially declared it, and certainly, no one wanted it.
The unseasonably cold wet weather had lingered through the night foreshadowing her mood, and now heavy rain lashed the tall glass panes of her Beehive office. Outside, the harbour was an inky void, the reflections of distant lights trembling on its rain-pelted surface. Miriama stood silently, her silhouette framed by the long windows, her mood as dark and brooding as the weather.
The phone call that no leader ever wanted to receive, had come at an early hour. Barely awake, she'd been rushed into the office by her staff, the weight of the news already pressing down on her before she'd even heard it in full. New Zealand’s peacekeepers, her people, the embodiment of her official will, were dead and she had sent them there! Now, standing alone in the predawn gloom, she tried to brace herself for what would come next.
Behind her, there was a knock at the door. She turned slightly as it opened to reveal one of her younger advisors, Oliver Walker. His face was pale, his hand trembling as it gripped an official-looking document. She didn’t need to read it to know what it said, his face told the whole story in vivid detail.
“It’s confirmed, ma’am,” Oliver began, his voice shaking as he struggled to maintain his composure. “The Canterbury has sunk, possibly by enemy action. Defence HQ gave no further details, although they did say to expect the chiefs within the hour for a full briefing.”
Miriama’s heart plummeted, a cold weight settling in her chest as her mind began to race. The Pacific had been teetering on the brink for months, its fragile balance threatened by rising tensions between the U.S. and China, the relentless advance of climate change, and the desperate struggles of island nations trying to survive. The Canterbury, once a symbol of New Zealand’s diplomatic and humanitarian presence in the region, was now a shattered wreck on the ocean floor.
Even now, she imagined the American and Chinese fleets circling each other like wolves in the night, their captains gripping their triggers. One misstep, one moment of fury, and the Pacific would become a spark that ignited the next great war.
Oliver, having delivered his message, bowed his head and quietly excused himself, leaving her alone once more.
Miriama turned back to the window. Rain streaked down the glass, a distorted reflection of the tears beginning to flow down her cheek. For a moment, she let the grief take hold, not as a leader but as a human being. Her tears were not a sign of weakness; they were an expression of solidarity with the families who had lost their loved ones today—a silent acknowledgment of their pain.
But her moment of mourning was brief. Wiping her face, she squared her shoulders and turned toward her desk, her resolve hardening. She pressed the intercom button on the phone.
“Yes, ma’am?” came the voice on the other end, steady but subdued.
“Oliver, please coordinate with the defence force. I would like a confirmed list of all those we lost today, along with the contact details for their next of kin. I intend to call them personally once I have more information.”
There was a pause, then Oliver replied, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and admiration. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Oliver.”
As the connection ended, Miriama sat down, her hands folding on the desk in front of her. The storm outside raged on, and so too did the one in her heart. But even in the face of tragedy, she knew her nation needed her strength, now more than ever. The battle for the Pacific wasn’t just about resources or politics—it was about humanity. And she would face it head-on, come what may.
***
A short time later, her mind swirling with thoughts raging from the unpleasant to the extreme, Miriama returned to the window. Her gaze settling on the smooth water of the bay where several of the Navy’s new ships lay docked or at anchor. It was a strange sight, to see Royal New Zealand Navy ships stationed permanently in Wellington harbour and one she still wasn’t quite used too. What was equally strange was the roar of jet fighters in the sky again, a sound she hadn’t heard since she was a girl playing in the fields of her family’s farm in the Manawatu. Those jets and the grey coloured sleek, modern silhouettes of those vessels in the harbour, was a stark reminder of how far New Zealand had come in the past decade—and how far it still had to go.
This new look defence force was the culmination of more than a decade of infrastructure investment and strategic rebuilding for the country, a vision which had started under the previous government. The early 21st century had been chaotic, to say the least. The War on Terror, the global pandemic, conflicts in Eastern Europe, and the Middle East's unending turmoil had stretched the world’s superpowers to their limits. While the United States was preoccupied with its own challenges, the balance of power in the Pacific began to shift, and many nations decided it was high time to prepare for an uncertain future.
Australia, Britain, and the U.S. had responded by signing the AUKUS pact, an agreement designed to bolster security and stability in the region. Australia was already reaping the benefits, with advanced military technology and infrastructure flooding into the country. But as AUKUS reshaped the strategic calculus of the Pacific, New Zealand found itself always on the outside looking in.
Concerned about being sidelined in the regional decision-making process, the newly elected government at the time decided to act. They concluded that New Zealand could no longer afford to rely solely on its allies to carry the burden of Pacific security. If the nation wanted a voice at the big boy table, it needed to invest heavily into its own capabilities.
On paper, the plan had looked audacious—perhaps even overly ambitious—but it held promise. Within two years, the government had opened the country’s doors to industry, forging key relationships with their newly signed CANZUK defence agreement partners as well as reestablishing ties through the ANZUS treaty with their American allies.
One of the main centrepieces of this initiative was the revitalization of New Zealand’s shipbuilding industry. A shining example of this success was the establishment of ‘Oceania Naval Works’, a joint venture between the government, Blohm+Voss, Babcock (NZ) Ltd, and RTX Group. Their state-of-the-art construction yard in Nelson had exceeded all expectations.
It had taken over two years to expand and build upon the bones which were already there, but once completed, in just four years the yard had delivered eight of the Navy’s new Kahu class escort corvettes—sleek, versatile vessels that could bridge the gap between the ability of a frigate and the need for a smaller more cost effective vessel with a reasonable crew complement yet still hold their own against any adversary. From corvettes they had moved on to larger and more complex vessels. Within the next few years four large Achilles-class destroyers, built from the German F125 Sachsen class design, and four additional submarines of the Type 214 design also numbered amongst their portfolio and were added to the fleet. Not only were these ships completed ahead of schedule and on or under budget, but the operation had started to gain international acclaim. Orders for additional ships were already underway, and whispers of potential export deals hinted at even greater opportunities.
The government’s other projects reshaped the military landscape of New Zealand. Devonport Naval Base underwent a massive overhaul, extension and upgrade, while Shelly Bay in Wellington—long dormant—was rebuilt, expanded, and reopened. Though the Wellington facilities could not accommodate ships larger than cruisers, they were bustling with activity. The piers had been designed with the fast reloading of vertical launch rocket cells in mind—a curious decision to some in the New Zealand government, but one largely financed by the Americans, so there were few complaints.
Like they had done with the Australians, the Americans also poured money into upgrading New Zealand’s air bases at Whenuapai, Ohakea, and Woodbourne, as well as greatly expanding base facilities at Rongotai and Christchurch Airports, where RNZAF Base South was established. These upgrades included enhancing runways, housing, hangers and maintenance facilities. This led to the eventual reinstatement of the fighter and attack wings for the air force, along with new helicopter, transport and airborne early warning and patrol squadrons—steps taken at New Zealand’s expense but seen as the next logical evolution, to becoming a responsible strategic partner in the region.
Army bases also had an overhaul during this period. Again, with help from the American’s, base facilities like storage, maintenance and housing were heavily upgraded, as was the size of the force. Considerable ‘pre-positioning’ of equipment seemed to be the main drive for this, however, the NZDF still reaped great rewards from it. Massive recruiting drives were undertaken for all three services, but the NZ Army saw the biggest increase. Now standing at just over two divisions of highly trained and very capable professional soldiers and growing. Many old units and regiments seeing reinstatement in this time, including armoured units for the first time since the late eighties.
Initially, the public had balked at this rapid militarization and what they perceived as just more foreign meddling in local affairs. New Zealanders had grown far too confident since the end of the cold war, that its isolated nature would keep it safe from harm. However, With rising tensions in the world, keeping the eyes of their traditional allies elsewhere, their views softened very quickly. The people were, however, beginning to wonder how the country was going to pay for it all, even with considerable American investment! Then the government played its trump card and publicly rescinded the oil exploration and drilling embargo.
Some years previously the possibility of significant oil reserves had been discovered off the coast of the South Island, but they were never fully explored, until now. The government immediately established ‘Koru Energy’, a state-owned oil company to manage and regulate the burgeoning oil industry of New Zealand keeping as much of the profits and the industry as ‘in-house’ as they could. Within five years these fields were creating a very healthy revenue, especially with the volatile situation in the middle east. Within only a few short years, money flooded in from many offshore clients, particularly Australia and regional trade partners, like Malaya, the Philippines, Indonesia, South Korea and Japan. Consequently, the government was able to create a ‘Petroleum Fund’, much like what the Norwegians had done with their own oil industry, to manage surplus revenues.
The transformation didn’t stop at upgrading bases, New Zealand made great strides in other areas of defence, from cutting-edge cyber capabilities to specialized training programs for its armed forces. This new defence strategy was just the start, with an emphasis on keeping procurement costs low, whole new industries were starting to take shape around it.
Beyond shipbuilding, American and later some European investment helped to fund weapons and technology research and manufacturing plants. Local companies already making strides in those areas, were quickly bought out by giants like Thales, RTX, General Electric, McDonnel Douglas, and Honeywell among others. Jobs created by these initiatives rippled across the economy, revitalizing communities and industries which had languished for years.
The transition was surprisingly smooth. Many cities already had small or even dormant manufacturing plants—from aircraft manufacturing to cars to appliances to food production—, with the skeletons of those dormant, in many cases still mostly intact. These facilities were, resurrected and/or repurposed and expanded far faster than anticipated. The ancillary jobs which followed created an economic boom unseen in New Zealand for over a century.
With this newfound revenue, New Zealand embarked on expansive infrastructure projects which reshaped its industrial and economic landscape. Two large smelters were constructed in Westport and Greymouth, designed to capitalize on the country's abundant iron sand and coal reserves for local steel production. Within just five years of their completion, their combined output eliminated the need for imported steel, revitalizing the mining industry. This resurgence, however, came with a commitment to doing things differently. The memory of Pike River remained a sombre reminder, and the mantra "never again" guided every decision.
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To prioritize the safety of workers, the preservation of the environment, and the protection of fragile ecosystems, these projects were undertaken with an unprecedented focus on sustainability and consultation. WorkSafe NZ, the Department of Conservation, and local iwi played integral roles in planning and oversight, ensuring the projects upheld the principles of safety, ecology, and guardianship of the environment.
This collaborative approach led to the creation of two new ministries, consolidating various departments to improve efficiency and governance. The Ministry for Land, People, and Environmental Safety was established to regulate industries and ensure the highest standards of workplace safety, ecological balance, and sustainable development. Meanwhile, the Ministry for Science and Technology took on the role of driving innovation, overseeing research, and implementing advanced technologies for future projects.
The economic transformation and industrial revival of the West Coast extended beyond the smelters and state-of-the-art shipbuilding facility in Nelson. To power these new industries sustainably, geothermal and wind energy farms were constructed with a focus on maximizing output while maintaining ecological integrity. These efforts positioned New Zealand as a global leader in renewable energy innovation.
A landmark achievement of this era was the development of cutting-edge, eco-friendly oil refinement technologies. Refinement stations, built on both the North and South Islands, operated at peak efficiency, marking the end of New Zealand's reliance on imported oil. Agriculture, a cornerstone of the nation's economy, continued to thrive, further bolstered by these advancements.
Before long, New Zealand achieved a remarkable level of self-sufficiency, balancing industrial growth with environmental stewardship. The West Coast, once seen as a region in decline, became a shining example of how sustainability and progress could coexist, setting a model for the rest of the country to follow.
With industry booming, New Zealand experienced an unprecedented economic transformation. Exports of oil, agricultural products, and emerging technologies—both military and civilian—propelled the value of the New Zealand dollar to record highs. Within a few short years, the cost of living plummeted, and by the end of the decade, the GDP soared to around $850Billion, and even the harshest critics began to soften their stances, even with the continued 5% defence spending. This industrial renaissance, dubbed "New Zealand's Second Golden Age," had silenced many sceptics, including members of Miriama’s own party, who had opposed these changes for years. Even the Green Party, traditionally vocal in its opposition, found little to criticize. The projects were built and run with such ecological efficiency that they became international benchmarks for sustainable development. For those who had railed against these changes, the results were undeniable: the new system worked.
Population growth paralleled this industrial revival, surging to over 11.5 million by 2035. An initial wave of foreign engineers and tech workers filled critical skill gaps, but as industries expanded, so did job opportunities. Cities swelled, with populations doubling, tripling, or even quadrupling in just a few years. Industries long thought obsolete roared back to life. With more people to feed, clothe, and house, textile mills and food production factories reopened, dairy factories and freezing works sprang back into operation across the country. Forestry thrived as sawmills were also reopened, tasked with producing timber for housing projects, while NZ Rail enjoyed a renaissance of its own. The reopening of Dunedin's Hillside Road Works heralded the production of locally built locomotives for the first time in decades, marking a proud return to self-reliance.
Almost all goods could now be produced domestically—from vehicles to appliances to the latest gadgets. Even goods that still required importation became far more affordable, thanks to new, efficient trade routes established in the wake of this economic boom. For the first time in generations, New Zealand felt truly self-sufficient.
Unemployment plummeted to historic lows, debt became a relic of the past, and taxes were reasonable. Education at all levels, including tertiary, was free, as was access to a comprehensive healthcare system. Prosperity was palpable, and for many, it felt like a dream realized.
Yet, for all these successes, Miriama couldn’t completely shake her unease. The Labour Party had swept into power the previous year, ending four terms of National governance—a period that had overseen this remarkable transformation. While Miriama now recognized the logic behind the significant spending which had fuelled the boom, lingering doubts gnawed at her. Had this newfound self-sufficiency been achieved at too high a cost? Could some of that wealth have been allocated more wisely, perhaps to address the underlying social issues that still persisted?
As she reflected, the contrast between prosperity and the uncertainties of its foundations became clear. The industrial and economic miracle had delivered results that no one could dispute, but the question remained: Would the foundations of this success prove sustainable, or was New Zealand racing towards a reckoning it had yet to see?
Her eyes rested on one of the carrier, anchored majestically in the bay. Or was that one of the landing docks? She couldn’t recall the type specifically. Regardless, they were the largest and most formidable looking ships New Zealand had ever possessed. The name of this particular vessel, Kaitiaki, stood out in her memory. A Te Reo word meaning "Guardian," it felt deeply symbolic—powerful and protective, a fitting emblem for a nation reborn.
Her escorts, two of the compact yet deadly Kahu class corvettes were moored at the newly restored Shelly Bay naval base, the Achilles-class destroyer Taranaki and the Capital-class frigate Dunedin were also there looking just as majestic as its namesake from all those many years ago. The new frigate looking mighty and powerful was one thing, you expected them too. The sight of the corvettes though, truly gave her pause. Small and bristling with weapons, their design was nothing short of terrifying. The name "Kahu," meaning hawk in Te Reo, was equally apt—a sleek, deadly predator of the seas.
Most of their crews were ashore, celebrating a return from the latest of a particularly long and gruelling group exercise with the Australians. Miriama let them have their moment; celebrations might soon become a rarity.
Today was meant to be full of pomp and ceremony, showcasing New Zealand’s progress and resilience. It still would be, she supposed, but not in the way anyone had planned. The city below remained blissfully unaware of the looming shift in global dynamics.
She thought back to a quote from one of her predecessors: “If we need them, we’ll buy them.”
Standing at the window, staring out at the fleet, Miriama couldn’t ignore the irony. What had started as a bold effort to safeguard New Zealand’s hard earned independence and security now seemed poised to drag the country into the very conflicts it had hoped to avoid.
These ships, symbols of a New Zealand that refused to be a bystander anymore. Yet today, they just felt like targets. The Pacific had become a multi-dimensional chessboard, and New Zealand was no longer just a spectator—with this strength it was a player. Whether that was a triumph or a trap, only time would tell.
“Well, we bought them all right,” she murmured to the morning sky. “But will it be enough?”
The only response was the distant cry of seagulls over the harbour and the beginnings of early morning traffic. As she turned back towards her desk, Miriama’s mind churned with questions. What was the real cost of this newfound strength? And what would happen if New Zealand’s hard-won place at the table came at a price the nation wasn’t ready to pay?
***
The sharp buzzing of the intercom broke through the heavy silence, jolting her from her spiralling thoughts. Frowning, she reached out to press the button. Her thoughts would have to wait. For now, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
"Yes?" she said briskly, her tone steady despite the unease gnawing at her.
Oliver’s voice crackled through the speaker, calm but with an edge of urgency. “The Chiefs of Defence are here, Prime Minister.”
She took a measured breath. “Send them in.”
The door swung open seconds later, and a procession of high-ranking NZDF officers marched in, their polished uniforms catching the light, each adorned with the insignias of their rank. Despite their outward composure, the tension in their posture was palpable. Close behind them came several civilian operatives, their expressions grim and unreadable, carrying folders, laptops, and an air of restrained urgency.
Miriama straightened, steeling herself as she approached the line of officers. One by one, she greeted them, her condolences sincere.
“Admiral Fitzpatrick,” she said to the Chief of Navy. “I’m so deeply sorry for your loss today.”
The Admiral, his face etched with grief, gave her a small, appreciative nod. "Thank you, Prime Minister. We’ll get through this."
Next in line, she extended her hand to an imposing and towering figure in green. "We haven’t met yet, I don’t think?"
“No, ma’am. Major General Max Jamison, I’m head of Special Operations at Trentham,” he replied, his voice a calm rumble as he gently clasped her hand. "General Clarkson sends his apologies; he’s stuck in Auckland but will join us tomorrow."
“Thank you, General. I know these are trying times for all of us.”
Finally, she stopped before the Chief of Air Force, Air Vice-Marshal Tania Grey, her oldest friend. "Taans, always good to see you," she said softly.
"Formal today, Prime Minister," Tania replied, gripping her hand firmly but with an unspoken warmth that only years of friendship could convey. Beside her stood Air Marshal Robson, the Chief of Defence Force, who she also greeted warmly.
Once seated, the group exchanged brief glances before Robson began. His voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the weight behind his words.
"Prime Minister," he began, "we’ve confirmed the loss of the Canterbury…” He hesitated for the briefest of moments, his jaw tightening, "...Satellite and radar telemetry indicates that at approximately 0530 Solomon time this morning, she was sunk off the coast of Guadalcanal Island. Initial reports suggest a deliberate act. Likely hostile."
The room seemed to contract as the words hung in the air. Deliberate. Hostile.
Her voice, though measured, carried an undercurrent of steel. “Deliberate, you say. And hostile? Do we have confirmation of who? Or are we still dealing in speculation?”
Robson exchanged another glance with one of the civilian operatives, a wiry man with sharp features and a thin file tucked under his arm. The man leaned forward in his chair.
"Prime Minister," he said, his voice low and precise, "we have credible indicators pointing to Chinese involvement. Satellite data and intercepted communications are still being analysed, but the preliminary evidence... is strong."
The Prime Minister’s lips thinned into a hard line. She leaned back slightly, clasping her hands together on the desk to stop herself from gripping the edge.
“And what does ‘strong’ mean exactly, Mr. Sinclair?” she asked the head of New Zealand’s secret intelligence service, her tone colder now.
“It means,” Sinclair replied carefully, “that while we can’t yet confirm direct orders, satellite imagery clearly shows the launch of two high speed missiles from a Chinese vessel, the first shot down our helicopter, the second struck the Canterbury, there was also strong indications of a torpedo launched from the other direction, likely from a submarine, given the lack of other ships in the area. With tensions high in the region and what we already suspect about the earthquake on the island, these patterns would be consistent with covert state actions. Enough so that—”
“It’s not conclusive,” Robson interrupted firmly, cutting off the operative. “Not yet.”
Her gaze darted between them. “Then I want conclusive. And I want it Fast!” She turned her focus back to Sinclair. “And until we have it, I want absolute discretion. I won’t have this spiral into blind accusations without hard evidence.”
Sinclair inclined his head. “Understood, Prime Minister.”
“Do we know the status of the crew?” she asked, shifting her attention to Fitzpatrick.
The Admiral’s expression darkened. “We’re still piecing that together ma’am. Early reports indicate multiple casualties... possibly severe. American helicopters responded quickly and have managed to rescue thirty survivors so far, out of the hundred or so on board, including Commander Robinson. Further search and rescue operations are underway, but the area is increasingly hostile, and conditions are challenging.”
A sharp knock at the door broke the tension momentarily. Oliver stepped in, a folded note in his hand, his usual calm demeanour giving way to something more urgent. He crossed the room swiftly and handed her the note.
She read it quickly, her eyes narrowing. “It’s hit the press already?” she said aloud, her voice taut.
Oliver gave a curt nod. “It’s spreading fast. Stations and other outlets are already running with whatever they have, there’s headlines everywhere. SIS and GCSB are trying to contain it, but—”
The Prime Minister rose abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Then tell them to stop trying and start succeeding Oliver! I want every available resource on this now. If we can’t control the narrative, we’ll lose the chance to steer it.”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” Oliver said, retreating swiftly.
She turned back to the room, her expression now carved from stone. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me be perfectly clear. We are staring down the barrel of a crisis that could easily consume us on multiple fronts. I need answers, and I need options.. No speculation, no half-measures. Understood?”
A unified murmur of agreement swept through the room.
“Good. Now let’s get to work! General Jamison," Miriama said to the large man. "Looks like you have something for us to look at, Care to begin?."
Jamison rose and approached a detailed map, which an aide had placed on a hastily constructed easel behind them. Standing there now, his imposing figure commanded the room.
"Ma’am, it’s impossible to know what we are actually dealing with, until we get eyes on the ground. Based on the latest intel we have, we propose deploying a Special Operations task force to the contested area. Certain assets are already in place, but additional resources will require coordination with Canberra for local transport. This is a surgical response, designed to gather intelligence, secure key objectives, and avoid further escalation if at all possible."
Miriama’s eyes narrowed. "And if things escalate anyway? If this ‘surgical response’ of yours becomes a full-blown conflict?"
Jamison met her gaze without flinching. "Then we’ll be prepared, ma’am. But if we do nothing, we lose the initiative—and possibly much more."
The room fell silent as Miriama considered his words very carefully. Finally, she nodded. "I want the full details, General. If we’re going to do this, it has to be precise, measured, and above all, necessary. New Zealand will not be the one to light the match which sets the Pacific ablaze."
Jamison inclined his head. "Understood, ma’am. This is what we’re proposing…"
***
Just under two hours later a lone Royal New Zealand air force C-130J took off from Whenuapai airbase and turned north east headed towards Queensland, Australia.