By the time Herabee Ragbar Scarf had finished his usual breakfast of buttered toast with warm tea and departed his small bungalow, Pearl Harbour was starting to stir. As he slowly made his way towards the park at the southernmost point of Pearl City, jeeps were already flying up and down the streets with increasing frequency, and there were scores of planes soaring high overhead in the midst of exercises. To his eye, they were nothing more than dark specks drifting against the pre-dawn sky.
When he reached the park, the dewy grass was glittering under the brightening sky, which had turned to a deep red beneath a blanket of royal blue. Beyond the park, the rising sun was just beginning to spill across the harbour, sparking glints of fire throughout the shadowed armada lying dormant in the shallows.
Ahead of him sat Ford Island, presently a dark swathe behind the gleaming warships. Behind the island, out of sight, was Battleship Row. The calm waters there gave no indication, but Herabee knew that just below the surface the USS Oklahoma, USS Montana, and the USS Resolution lay wrecked where they had sunk, six long months ago. Only half a year – but so much had changed. Even the water in front of him was now graveyard to a handful of smaller ships, and hundreds of American sailors. Some of the sunken ships had been successfully refloated and repaired, but too many had been sent to the seafloor permanently. A scattering of cold, lonely tombs, borne of rank treachery and betrayal. Herabee’s anger rose at the thought of it.
He took a deep, measured breath and then turned his gaze to his right, where the untamed Waipio Peninsula undulated its way towards the harbour entrance. Watching the peninsula’s lush vegetation grow increasingly vibrant under the fiery orange sunlight did much to calm him.
He looked back towards the park, and could see Calden sitting on a bench ahead, at the edge of the grass near the concrete seawall. He was facing the water, and conversing with someone sitting next to him; Herabee couldn’t tell who the other person was from behind.
He coughed as he approached them to indicate his arrival.
“Ah, Herabee!” Calden remained seated, but turned around to regard him. “Good man – right on time, as ever. Let me introduce you to my colleague, Doctor Connington.” He gestured to the hunched, weaselly man beside him.
Herabee shook Connington’s hand, though he found he had developed an immediate dislike towards the thin, aged doctor.
“Herabee Ragbar Scarf. What do you do?” Herabee asked.
“The same as yourself, I imagine.” Connington’s smile was a thin, dry line. “I think of new ways to win the war.”
Herabee nodded uncertainly. He didn’t really want to know what ‘new ways’ Connington was talking about.
“That will be all, Doctor,” Calden said abruptly. “We’ll meet next week, at the same time.”
Connington nodded in acknowledgement, then stood up and took his leave.
“An insufferable man,” Calden declared, once the doctor had passed out of earshot. “But invaluable.” He smoothed his pressed suit.
Herabee never knew how the young man was always so impeccably dressed. For his part, Herabee was wearing a comfortable pair of slacks and a large, buttoned shirt that he felt was reasonably successful at hiding his paunch. He wondered what his wife would say about that – but she was back in the States. He had been a lot trimmer when he’d left, almost a year and a half ago.
“Good of them to release you from your subterranean realm,” Calden said facetiously.
Herabee let out an awkward chuckle.
“How long has it been since we last met?” Calden continued. “I find that time is running oddly of late, and the order of things seems to shift in my mind.”
Herabee considered the question, and was surprised at the answer. “Only a week.” Calden was right; it seemed increasingly difficult to determine the timing and order of things.
“A week… and what has happened in the last week?”
“A lot, and not so much.”
“Indeed, Herabee, indeed. That does seem to be the way of things now.”
“Well, I suppose there’s no need to avoid the main issue at hand.”
Calden raised an eyebrow. “The fog?”
Herabee nodded. He enjoyed his role within the Special Programs Group, but, like usual, he felt out of the loop. Holed up in the depths of the SPG facility, Herabee had little opportunity to hear about the wider war situation and developments. Calden, on the other hand, seemed to be a convergence point for knowledge from all across Pearl Harbour and beyond. His employment in the Special Technologies Group afforded him far more opportunity to interact with people.
“You’re eager for news – quite understandable. I’ll fill you in. In fact, the good Doctor passed on some relevant information just now.”
“By all means, go ahead.”
“Firstly, I’ll mention the experiences of the two Port Authorities. Nouméa has definitely seen the worst of it – Tuvalu has been able to avoid dealing with the fog, except for in a few isolated incidences.”
The base at Tuvalu was significantly smaller than Nouméa’s sprawling Port Authority, but Herabee knew that wasn’t why they had largely escaped dealing with the fog thus far. Rather, it was a blessed turn of luck resulting from the initial designation of each Port Authority’s zone of influence. The fog had first been sighted some ways north of the Santa Cruz islands, and while both Port Authorities were geographically similar in distance from the epicentre, most of the fog currently lay within Nouméa’s sphere of authority. Tuvalu’s primary strategic focus was directed further north-east, to counter the intensifying Japanese efforts against Nauru and the Marshall Islands.
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“When you say Nouméa’s seen the ‘worst of it’ – how bad is that, exactly?”
Calden smirked. “In the past week, more than twenty privateers have gone missing. Now, that’s privateer ships, to be clear. The number rises each day.”
“God above…”
Calden waved his hand. “Pah, it’s only a few privateers. There’s still plenty left, and more will be along to replace the losses soon enough.”
“But what about the military, Calden – surely it hasn’t been contained to the privateers –”
“Yes, yes.” Calden looked mildly irritated that Herabee had broached the question. “There have been some military losses, naturally, but they have primarily been confined to those elements repurposed by BARO and sent into the fog on reconnaissance operations.”
“And those losses?”
Calden paused briefly. “Almost total.”
Herabee laid his head in his hand. Just what were they up against here? True, they had known about the fog’s impending arrival – but they had been given precious little insight as to its nature.
“The soldiers who made it back spoke of strange things.” Calden began again. “Indeed, one might suspect that they had simply lost their minds, were their stories not also being echoed by the privateers.”
“What have they said?”
“A few spoke of large spiders, translucent and delicate, but also possessed of a needle-sharp stinger. A few men were killed that way. There have also been other reports of large, aggressive dogs, possibly mutated through some unknown process. In an isolated case, one privateer ship returned from the fog with only a single survivor, half-mad, who raved about a pale monster with gangled limbs who ate his crewmates.” Calden smiled. “We didn’t put much stock in that story – the man’s currently being held on suspicion of murder.”
“Good Lord.”
“Apart from the fog’s electromagnetic properties and effects, some slight temporal anomalies have also been reported.”
“Anomalies? Of what sort?”
Calden grinned reassuringly. “Ah, something here, something there – mostly, the watches of returning soldiers desynchronising somehow, or compasses behaving strangely. Nothing to be worried about.”
“Very interesting.” Herabee wasn’t sure what to make of all these tales. “And do we know how far the fog has spread so far?” he asked. “Is it close to either of the Port Authorities?”
“Although it was first sighted about six hundred kilometres north of Vanuatu, the trade winds are causing it to spread north-west significantly faster than other directions. It’s still spreading generally outwards, to be clear, but has only advanced a hundred kilometres or so southwards and eastwards, at what appears to be a constant speed. It will cover the northern Santa Cruz Islands by the end of the week, and it’s likely to reach Vanuatu in a month. Keep in mind that by nature, it’s not the most symmetrical shape, so much of this is conjecture.”
“Most interesting…” Herabee rubbed at his fleshy chin. “And what have you heard about Guadalcanal? Do you know when this war will finally start? There’s all this nervous energy around, I can’t bear it.”
“Strategically, Japan has been fortifying possible landing beaches for the past month, as well as conducting reconnaissance excursions throughout the surrounding ocean. Our privateers have run into them on occasion, but the Japanese seem largely concerned with patrolling their controlled territories, rather than actively engaging any of our ships.”
“I see.” Herabee said. “I suppose it is the fog which poses the greater immediate risk to our forces and privateers, then.”
“Correct,” Calden said, “but to return to your question, both Nimitz and Vice Admiral Ghormley are now satisfied that they have a clear understanding of the tactical situation on the island. There are a handful of Japanese units there, constructing defenses and such, but all of our own reconnaissance has underlined the lack of any Japanese capability to match our invasion force. They’ll put up a fight and harass us for a time, but they’ll buckle. Our war machine will surge into action very soon.”
“Good,” Herabee said, feeling a sense of relief. “Good.”
“Nimitz in particular is eager to get a move on,” Calden continued. “I have it on good authority that the invasion forces will start massing by the end of the month at the latest, with the invasion to follow shortly thereafter. It’s highly likely that by mid-July, our boys will be waist-deep in the thick of it.”
“Finally,” Herabee said eagerly, “the hammer will fall.”
Calden grinned. “Oh, it will fall, my dear Herabee – at least twenty thousand Marines will land on the island in the first day.” His eyes sparkled wildly. “And only a few thousand Japanese soldiers to stand against them. Can you imagine the sight? Such a wave of fury, such glorious purpose!” He sighed. “Ah, but we have other uses, you and I.”
Herabee nodded, but Calden’s fervent outburst further reinforced his belief that the young man was, in some fundamental way, quite deranged.
Returning to what Calden had said earlier, a question formed in Herabee’s mind. “You said the fog’s spreading to the north-west more quickly? Then what of Guadalcanal?”
“That is… a point of concern,” Calden admitted. “The winds have led to far more erratic movement, but our best estimates currently put the western edge of the fog at around two hundred kilometres from the epicentre.”
“Two hundred kilometres in a week… and how far to Guadalcanal?”
“From the epicentre? Near enough to seven hundred kilometres.”
Herabee exhaled. “That’s cutting it close.”
“Very,” Calden said with a smirk. “But now you can appreciate everyone’s increased eagerness to get on with the invasion.”
“Most naturally, most naturally. And what of your work? How is it proceeding?”
“The fog-dispersal units?”
Herabee nodded.
“It’s all proceeding very well. With the generous support of Robert Sterling and Unified Innovations, we’ve now completed the first prototypes, and they are being rolled out as fast as we can manufacture them. The first few shipments have already arrived at Nouméa and Tuvalu.”
“Excellent, excellent. And are you confident they’ll do the trick?”
“Oh, they’ll work – but for how long, we’re not sure. These are very early days. Still, it gives people something to do. Far better than sitting around, wringing our hands about this fog.”
“Quite right.”
“And what of your own work, Herabee? How is our friend the Augur faring?”
Herabee shrugged. “The same as ever, I suppose.”
“Does he know yet that it’s just him in your ‘special program’?”
Herabee shook his head. “We still feel it is more beneficial for him to think there are others in his situation. But he’s a special case.”
Calden scoffed. “That’s understating it. He’s proved to be a wealth of information, even from what little you’ve told me. The entire endeavour to engineer fog-dispersal units can be traced directly to your friend.”
Herabee shifted uncomfortably. “Indeed.”
“Well, he let us know in advance about the fog, and about some of its particular properties. But what of his ongoing use now?”
Herabee shifted again. “His ability to provide new information has… diminished, of late. I’ve been trying several different approaches, but it seems that he may have expended his usefulness.” He frowned. “I don’t mean to sound crass.”
Calden laughed. “Don’t feel bad, dear Herabee! We’re in the business of war here, not charity.”
“I suppose. Still, there’s something about him. Some sense of a deep inner pain. I’m not sure. But if it’s to be the end of our partnership, then I’ll miss working with him, even if he did scare the wits out of me sometimes.”
Calden waved his hand. “Let others worry about his welfare.” He leaned forward, a sly expression on his face. “In fact, I’ve heard we might be working together more closely, soon enough.”
“Oh?” Herabee hadn’t heard anything of the sort.
Calden nodded. “I can’t say much – it’s all quite delicate at the moment, you understand how these things are. But it seems the Special Technologies Group may have a need for you very soon.”
“Indeed?” Herabee eyes widened. He had rather enjoyed his time working with the Augur in the Special Programs Group, but if the STG had need of him… well, he wouldn’t hesitate to go where his nation required.
A natural silence fell as Calden sat back on the bench, looking satisfied with his half-revealed news, while Herabee mulled over all he had been told. Ahead of the two men, the sun had now thoroughly cleared the horizon, flooding the harbour with a brilliant warmth.