“The Courageous is an Albion-class landing platform dock,” Adams said. “Designed for the swift deployment of troops via helicopter, boat, or directly onto a beach.”
“Not a rescue vessel?” I asked. “Interesting. He didn’t say he was in charge, just that he was aboard. If he wasn’t Admiral Popolov, why use that name and rank? If he were speaking Russian, I might understand it. But why is a Russian admiral using the radio aboard a British ship? Why claim to be aboard a British warship if that wasn’t his ship? What kind of ship is the Golden Shores?”
“We don’t know, but we’ve been unable to pick up any signal from the vessel.”
“Where did this signal come from?” I asked.
“The north. The recording was made as the storm began. We haven’t heard anything since, nor picked up either vessel on radar.”
“If this admiral were attempting to deceive, he’d have someone with a British accent on that radio, claiming to be captain. Or, if he were the only English-speaker aboard, he’d claim to be a general or ambassador from Germany or Latvia, or some other NATO nation. He would not identify himself as a Russian. But if he was attempting to reassure, why use his own name, his own rank? Why not just the ship name?”
“Yes, exactly. Any guesses at an answer?”
“There’s an obvious one,” I said. “It could be that isn’t the Courageous, he’s not an admiral, and his name isn’t Popolov, but the Golden Shores is part of his fleet. This message is a way of proving their identity.”
“Proving they weren’t a threat,” Adams said. “Suggesting there is some threat out here. There’s another obvious explanation. He is Admiral Popolov, and he seized or salvaged that ship.”
“Would that make him hostile?” I asked.
“Old alliances are as meaningless as our pre-war enmities. Before your arrival, around Madagascar, after the ports fell, many ships were low on supplies. We saw them turn pirate simply to feed their crew and fuel their engines.”
“If they are hostile, how would we fare in a fight?”
“Victorious,” Adams said. “There is no doubt. But only if we recognise the danger before they are close enough to board.”
“So we’d have to shoot first?” I asked.
“It is unlikely they’d attempt a direct approach,” Adams said. “They would claim to be in difficulty, request assistance, wait until some of our crew were aboard their ship, and they were able to send their crew onto ours.”
“Aren’t there code words and call signs?” I asked.
“He’s not claiming to be the ship’s original captain,” Adams said. “If they make contact again and claim to have salvaged the ship, should we believe them? Do you see the dilemma? They are to the north, and so between us and Ascension. Between Ascension and Robben Island.”
“So if they are a threat, will we have to return to Cape Town?” I asked.
“Possibly, but are they a threat? My inclination, at present, is that they are.”
“How so?”
“Because there is one more piece of data. We picked up a submarine again.”
“The Adventure followed us?”
“We have not confirmed it is that particular boat, but it seems most likely,” Adams said. “Why has this British submarine not responded to any of our radio messages? Because the sailors don’t have the correct accent. If the Courageous is now under Russian command, why not the Adventure?”
“But that sub could sink us?”
“Yes, but at a risk, and a cost of irreplaceable torpedoes. I would guess they’ve identified us as a New Zealand frigate travelling away from home. They would assume we’re on some kind of survey mission. If we leave them alone, they will do the same, but they want to claim these waters.”
“So we can ignore them,” I said. “But will they ignore Robben Island? If they’re following us, they’re not bothering our people in Cape Town. If we attack the Courageous, the sub will sink us. If they both attack us, we’re in trouble, and that’s assuming they have no other ships.”
“Hence the dilemma,” Adams said.
“We can’t turn around, because it’ll still be a few days before the rescue ship reaches Robben Island. Right now, we’re the lure. But we can’t let them get aboard our ship. So we continue north, and wait?”
“It seems so,” Adams said. “I hoped you might have spotted something I’d missed. Yes, I think we’ll have to wait, and be ready for whatever’s coming.”
26th March
Chapter 27 - Brace for Impact
I was woken by the alarm. A blaring siren. Not loud, but pervasive. My first thought was fire. But the announcement was a stand-to for action.
Boots on. Belt next. Holster. Ammo. Shoulder bag with its sealed water bottle, and ten of the oat-money-bars I’d plastic-wrapped into a waterproof brick. The un-inflated life-vest came last. Rule-one runs deep, and so I checked the knife was securely buttoned in its sheath in case, in the water, I needed to cut those boots loose. I wasted ten seconds debating the rope: though it might be useful, it would reduce buoyancy, but Avalon would certainly yell at me if I didn’t have it. It would be easy to ditch so I attached it anyway.
It didn’t take long. Once I was ready, my brain caught up with reality. If the ship went down, and I made it into the freezing ocean, there’d be absolutely no chance at rescue. In the open water, afloat or not, death would take minutes. A lifeboat might drag it out for a few hours, but death was still a certainty. Not wanting to wait for it alone in my cabin, I went to the bridge.
I reached it in time to hear Lieutenant Renton announce, “Torpedo away, ma’am.”
“Launch counter-measures,” Adams said with an unimaginable measure of calm. “Welcome to the war, Commissioner. Brace for impact.”
I grabbed the rail close to the door, just as the ship shook, though not nearly as violently as I’d expected.
“Captain, the torpedo self-destructed after we launched counter-measures.”
“Prepare to launch the first torpedo,” Adams said. “Ready to alter course, and to launch the second. Hold on, Commissioner.”
“Who’s shooting at us?” I asked.
“A Russian Akula-II submarine,” the captain said. “We think it’s the Vepr. It’s a long way from home, since it should be stationed in the Arctic.”
“Second contact, Captain!” Renton said.
“Where?”
“Bearing zero-eight-five,” Renton said. “Another submarine. It’s the Adventure. She’s already fired. She’s—”
This explosion was more forceful, shuddering the ship’s bones.
“The Russian is gone, ma’am,” Renton said. “The Adventure blew it apart.”
“Any other contacts?” Adams asked.
“No ma’am,” Renton said.
“Raise the Adventure,” the captain said.
“No response, ma’am.”
“Cut speed to half, but maintain course,” Adams said. “Keep trying to reach the Adventure.”
I stood there, white-knuckled, holding my breath until I saw spots.
“The Adventure isn’t responding, and she’s not following,” Renton said.
“Yesterday,” Adams said, “we picked up a radio signal from a British ship, the Courageous, commanded by a Russian admiral. Tonight, a Russian submarine launched a probing attack and was sunk by a Royal Navy submarine. Maintain heading. Keep trying to raise the Adventure.”
I’d walked in on the tail end of a battle, but I’d only missed the first few minutes. Ten minutes at most. Probably less. From first contact to the loss of dozens of lives. An entire submarine had been obliterated. Ten minutes. Less. It had almost been us. I looked at my life jacket. I didn’t want to ask if we should look for survivors. It seemed unlikely there’d be any, and search-and-rescue clearly wasn’t part of the captain’s plans.
“Captain, you said that was a probing attack,” I said. “They weren’t trying to sink us?”
“They destroyed the torpedo after we launc
hed counter-measures,” Adams said. “It was fired-by-wire, an umbilical cable linked it back to their boat. They wanted to test us, to gauge our response, our ability, and the level of our munitions. They were assessing the chance of seizing our ship. A frigate makes a better pirate boat than a landing-platform-dock like the Courageous. We must assume the pirates control Ascension. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t operate so close to that old base. The Adventure was chased out of harbour. We were the perfect decoy to distract that Russian sub. In which case, the Adventure may now ask us for assistance in retaking the Courageous, and the island. Mr Renton?”
“No word, ma’am.”
“What’s our heading?”
“Due north, ma’am.”
“Broadly towards Ascension,” Adams said. “No, that won’t do. Put us on a course to Brazil. If the Adventure wants any further assistance from us, they will have to ask. Otherwise, we are leaving this theatre. And plot a course to take us back to Robben Island. A looping course which will travel through waters to the south.”
The crew worked. The captain sat. I stood. Everyone waited. For nothing, as it turned out. The Adventure changed course by one hundred and eighty degrees and without making contact. No one else did, either, nor was anything picked up on the radar.
After an hour, the captain stood the ship down, though maintained our course towards South America.
“So are we going to Colombia?” Zach asked.
“No talking during the test,” Avalon said.
I’d found them both in the scientist’s cabin-lab.
“Done,” Zach said, closing the book. “Now can I have my oat-bar?”
“Already?” Avalon asked, sounding pleasantly surprised. She handed Zach one of the dollar-ration-bars, which explained how she’d managed to get him to undertake a test, just after a battle.
“Are we going to Colombia, Commish?” Zach asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think the captain has decided,” I said. “There’s something odd going on in these waters. We don’t want a hostile ship following us back to Robben Island, but we’re not sure who is hostile and who isn’t.”
“But we’re not going to Ascension,” Zach said. “So if we don’t turn back tomorrow, we’ll have to go on.”
“We’ll know tomorrow,” I said.
“Zachary, these are all completely incorrect,” Avalon said.
“Yeah, but you didn’t say I had to get them right,” Zach said. “Only that I had to finish them. You want me to do them right, that’ll cost a lot more than one oat-bar.”
27th March
Chapter 28 - Axe and Stone
The captain made the announcement at midday: “You all know why the scientists are aboard. In South America, we can serve justice on those responsible for the murder of billions. We could find the key to creating a weapon to restore safety to the living. Or we could find another crater. But if we don’t go, someone else will be sent. There’s a war being fought in these waters. There’s a risk to any ship, and we can’t pass that risk on to someone else. We can’t return to Robben Island without chancing that risk follows us. There is a danger to us in being unable to refuel in South America, but there are other ways home, and we will be home again soon.”
Something about the announcement troubled me. Unable to place what, I went looking for Bruce. I found Clyde and Zach first, in the armoury, sharpening axes.
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping Dr Avalon?” I asked.
“Yeah, she sent me away. Her and Doc Leo wanted the cabin for private work.”
“What kind of work?” I asked, my suspicions rising.
“I don’t think they’re really working,” Zach said. “They just wanted me gone.”
“Understood,” I said. “Anyway, I was looking for Bruce.”
“He’s running another close-combat session,” Clyde said. “But I’ve been thrown on my face enough times not to need the practice. Is there trouble?”
“I wanted to discuss what we’ll do when we get to Colombia,” I said.
“Until we’ve refuelled, it’s too soon to plan an attack,” Clyde said. “Assuming we can refuel.”
“Yeah, and no worries if we can’t,” Zach said. “We’re going to fly back from South America, all the way to Auckland. Direct.”
“Where did you hear that?” I asked.
“Glenn told me. Glenn Mackay.”
“The petty officer? Who told him?”
“Dunno,” Zach said. “But it’s obvious. All those Americans, I mean North Americans, States-Americans, they’ll have flown south, right? So we’ve just got to find the planes. Airports will have tons of fuel, because there was nowhere for the South Americans to fly. They wouldn’t go north, would they? Because that’s where the zoms were.”
“But they’d have flown to New Zealand if it was within range,” I said.
“I bet some did,” he said. “But not many, or we’d have known about it in Canberra, right? So that’s where the planes are, and that’s how we’ll get back. It could be like in six days’ time.”
His logic was cloudy, but I’d let him realise it for himself, and bask in optimism until then. “What’s with the axes?” I asked. “Are we that low on ammo?”
“Long-handle, short axe-head,” Clyde said, holding his up. “Spike at the top, and another at the base.”
“It’s for killing zoms,” Zach said. “Clyde made them.”
“You did?” I asked.
“I designed them,” Clyde said. “Mr Dickenson’s making them in his machine-shop.”
I took the axe from him. With the ship forever lurching back and forth, I wasn’t going to risk a practice swing, but it felt well balanced as I tested the weight. “You missed your calling, Clyde,” I said.
“Jace wanted me to take up a hobby,” he said. “This was after I took the lobbying job. I found wearing a tie suffocating, and was a tad vocal in letting my feelings be known. He suggested restoring clocks, but I didn’t want to be stuck indoors, so I bought a couple of rust buckets to repair.”
“That was after Somalia, right?” Zach asked.
“What happened in Somalia?” I asked.
“One of my teams was kidnapped,” Clyde said. “That’s back when I was running in-country field-ops for the charity. We’d agreed on the ransom, but this other bunch of terrorists rushed the exchange. They took the money, and took out the crims’ bag-man. The price for the hostages doubled, and the insurance wouldn’t cover it.”
“Yeah, but he got them out,” Zach said. “Tell her how.”
Clyde picked up the axe. “The hard way,” he said, running a sharpening stone along its rough blade. “There were two of us in-country who’d served, me and Hailey. I’d bumped into a couple of old mates who’d turned merc, and who’d been propping up a bar waiting for work. So I set them up as over-watch. I called in a favour and got sat-coverage of the warehouse. Went in hard and fast, me at the front, Hailey at the side. But inside were rows of crates which reduced visibility. We were one second too slow in taking out their last man. Hailey jumped on the grenade. But we got the aid-workers out. I was down as Hailey’s next-of-kin, so me and Jace adopted Hailey’s son, Wilbur. That was the last straw for Jace. Now we had a son, he couldn’t have me travelling places where it was fifty-fifty I’d come back in a coffin. I took the promotion to Canberra, lobbying for the umbrella group overseeing the charity, trying to squeeze a bit of funding and a lot of policy change out of the parliamentary rock. I got the job because of my medals, and had to go to evening functions wearing them, you see?”
“You were wearing medals and everyone else was in a suit?” I asked.
“Yep. Effective, though I can’t undersell how much I hated it. But I loved my workshop, and so does Wilbur. Bought him his own set of wrenches last year. Plastic, but he loves ’em. I bought a few old paddock bashers I was converting into our own little camper. When Wilbur’s a bit older, a couple of years from now, I plan to take us on a cross-Oz trip. Still will,�
� he added, putting the axe down.
“You’ve got to have something to fight for,” I said.
“Something to live for,” he said.
“But that doesn’t explain the axes,” I said.
“They’re for close combat on a ship,” he said.
“Against boarders? I’d prefer my gun.”
“Against zoms,” Clyde said.
“Because ghost ships will have fuel,” Zach said. “That’s Mr Dickenson’s plan. All those ships they blew up around Madagascar had fuel aboard, so it’ll be the same near Brazil. That’s how we’ll get fuel.”
“With axes?” I asked.
“There’s thirty sailors we can use for close combat,” Clyde said.
“The thirty Bruce is training right now?” I asked.
“Yep. They’ve been through basic. Some have been in combat. None have ever done anything like this. The danger is ricochets and strays, and it’s a big danger if we’re transferring fuel the old-fashioned way. Boarding axes would reduce the risk.”
Clearly, everyone else aboard the ship had been thinking five steps ahead of me, and I didn’t like where their thoughts had taken them.
“Bruce wouldn’t give these thirty sailors rifles when boarding a ghost-ship?” I asked.
“Oh, they’ll have firearms,” Clyde said. “But not as a primary weapon. That’s assuming the ship is overrun with zoms, and that we’ve got to fight our way below to access the fuel. Probably won’t come to that.”
“No, of course not,” I said.
Finding a plane which could fly to Auckland sounded unlikely, while seizing a ship sounded dangerous. But neither was at the forefront of my mind. The original mission was to seize notes from the lab in Colombia. If we didn’t have enough sailors trained in taking a ship, how were we going to use them to take the sisters’ compound?
28th March
Chapter 29 - An Old Type of New Sail
Some people play poker to win. Some play not to lose. Cops play to watch other people. Which is another way of saying I lost every hand we played over breakfast. Rations have been reduced. Eating the meal didn’t take long, and the game was a way of passing the time we’d been allotted in the mess hall.
Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Page 25
