Uncivil liberties pc-2

by Gordon Ryan

  “Well,” she said, rising and brushing off her dress, her face flushed. “Finish your sandwich and go meet the press. This promises to be an adventurous day. What will you do? Have you formulated your plans?”

  “Lots to consider, but I know what I won’t do. I will not go to war over the secession. I’ll do everything in my power, short of military intervention, to try to stop this break-up of our nation, but I will not use the military to oppose it. And that’s what I intend to tell the press before I meet with the Security Council. That should put a kink in their plans.”

  Helen stepped toward the door and paused, looking back at her husband. “I love you too, Mr. President. Do what needs to be done, and if the nation doesn’t agree, then you can take me home to a beautiful Arizona sunset, probably in the Republic of Western America,” she added. “By then, it will be time for someone else to stand on the wall.”

  Chapter 15

  HMAS North Lakes

  Brisbane River

  Queensland, Australia

  Easter Sunday, March, 2013

  From the bridge of Her Majesty’s Australian Ship, HMAS North Lakes, an Armidale class patrol boat, Lieutenant Commander Kate Cartwright, Royal Australian Navy, sat in the captain’s chair, watching the wharf facility at the Brisbane Bulk Sugar operation pass by on their starboard quarter, while Midshipman Barker, a JOUT, or Junior Officer Under Training, nervously took his first attempt at pilotage under the watchful eye of Lieutenant Jones, ship’s navigator. Very little activity was apparent in the commercial sugar facility, not surprising for a Sunday morning, especially in light of the long four-day Easter weekend. Most people had, in fact, turned their attention to the celebrations planned from Brisbane to Coolangatta, in concert with the Australian University Games along the Gold Coast. Many were simply taking one last weekend away before summer ended.

  As North Lakes ploughed steadily forward, the imposing Gateway Bridge drew closer, then loomed overhead. They passed beneath the graceful arch on their way east down the Brisbane River toward the rendezvous with HMAS Defiance, an ANZAC class frigate, scheduled for half an hour later in Moreton Bay. Both ships were newly commissioned, the most recent of their respective classes to be built.

  As a patrol boat commander, depending on the daily work load, Cartwright crossed beneath the bridge several times a week, yet there was always something exciting-satisfying, even-about sailing under the graceful overhead span, either entering or leaving the river basin.

  Opened for traffic in 1986, the bridge had originally presented a design problem. Due to the proximity of the Brisbane International Airport, the bridge was restricted in overall height to a total of 80 meters, but to accommodate the passage of bulk container vessels, it needed a minimum lower elevation of 55 meters. The result was a nearly flat profile, with a gently sloping arch in the center, the design problem having been transformed into an aesthetically pleasing engineering and architectural solution.

  Commissioned in 2008, HMAS North Lakes was a Royal Australian Navy Patrol boat, one of two on temporary assignment to patrol South Queensland waters. Built in Henderson, Western Australia, the ten Armidale class boats had nearly replaced the Fremantle class, only two of which remained in service. Armidale patrol boats, like the Fremantle before them, were more than the traditional river gunboats operated by navies around the world. With some functional improvements since the original HMAS Armidale had been commissioned in 2005, North Lakes, a twin screw capable of more than twenty-five knots, was fifty-seven meters in length with a crew of twenty-one and capable of handling two to three meter seas as she performed various coastal duties around Australia.

  At twenty-nine and an honors graduate of the Australian Defence Force Academy in Canberra, class of ’05, Lieutenant Commander Cartwright was justifiably proud of the sleek lines of her new ship, and, understandably proud also of her new posting as captain of the North Lakes.

  In twenty-five minutes, they entered the western stretch of Moreton Bay, the original location of Brisbane, which, when founded in 1824, was the home of a penal colony to house the truly incorrigible who were formerly incarcerated in Sydney as part of the 19 ^th century British determination to colonize Australia.

  Later, during WWII, Moreton Bay had been the home of a contingent of the United States Navy’s Task Force 72, more specifically designated Navy 134, U.S. submarine headquarters for the eastern half the South Pacific. Another U.S. submarine operation, responsible for the Indian Ocean, had been headquartered in Fremantle, Western Australia. Both bases had been commanded by General Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander of the Pacific Theater of operations, who was based in Darwin after his evacuation from the Philippines.

  Nearly two hours earlier, near Mooloolaba at the mouth of the estuary through which all ships entering Brisbane had to pass, north of Bribie Island, HMAS Defiance had taken on her harbor pilot for the two-hour transit into Brisbane’s port facilities.

  Two of the most imposing harbor entrances in the world are San Francisco, California, and Sydney, Australia. Each harbor is entered directly from the open waters of the Pacific Ocean and each has a magnificent bridge guarding its entrance. In a centuries-old custom the Americans called “Man the Rails,” or, as the Australians call it, “Procedure Alpha,” sailors line the railings of the vessel as it passes under the arch. Brisbane was a less imposing entry point.

  Being further inland, entry to Brisbane was a circuitous route, requiring a roughly two-hour passage through a maze of channels, Northwest, Spitfire, and Main among them, before actually entering the broader reaches of Moreton Bay. HMAS Defiance had traversed this route through the morning and was due to meet North Lakes at the western edge of the bay, just short of where both vessels had been directed to conduct a ceremonial run up the Brisbane River.

  As North Lakes left the river proper and entered the more open waters of the bay where navigation was confined to a series of well-marked channels imposed by the limited depth of parts of the bay, Lieutenant Commander Cartwright lifted her binoculars and immediately could see Defiance making her way toward them.

  Several other vessels, including two VLCC crude oil tankers and one ULCC tanker, were also navigating their way back to sea. By the time ultra-large crude carriers had come on the scene in the late 1990s, some drawing as much as fifteen meters, sections of Moreton Bay were reduced to clearance of only a single meter between seabed and the ship’s keel, making the pilot’s job all the more demanding.

  At 0920 hours, North Lakes and Defiance commenced their run into the Brisbane River system. Both ships’ companies were dressed in S3s, or ceremonials-the Australian Navy’s dress white uniforms for formal occasions. Defiance was in the lead with North Lakes in line astern, a by-the-book procedural 500 meters separating the ships. Ships’ crew not on specific duty elsewhere lined the rails as the vessels made their way upriver. A few spectators were beginning to appear at various vantage points along the bank.

  The two-ship parade passed the Port of Brisbane on their left side, and, off to the north, on their right, or starboard side, Lieutenant Commander Cartwright noticed three commercial aircraft spaced out on their final approach to the Brisbane International Airport. The channel began to narrow slightly as the ships entered the actual entrance of the Brisbane River and more commercial facilities began to appear, predominately on the north shore. Passing the BP Products oil refinery and then Cement Australia, despite the fact that the requirement to maintain proper separation from Defiance required constant attention, Cartwright had continued to allow Midshipman Barker to con the ship. She could detect growing tension in his commands as the procedural formalities increased and the ship’s maneuvering room decreased.

  Directly over the port bow about two miles distant, Cartwright observed a small aircraft flying northeasterly, coming low over the Bulimba Creek tributary and turning toward their vessels. Casually, she lifted her binoculars to get a better look. It was a two-engine Beechcraft with what appeared to be a single pilot in the
cockpit, flying low and fast at about 200 meters. Cartwright thought this peculiar, given the speed and the flight path to Brisbane International, plus the direction of the morning wind. The commercial airliner’s approach pattern had indicated an approach from the east. But on an otherwise calm Sunday morning, the small anomaly registered no alarm in her mind. She had seen her share of show-off pilots buzzing the local beaches. The small aircraft flew directly over the gap between Defiance and North Lakes on a course for the north shore and, as Cartwright assumed, was probably destined for the airport or for a trip to impress early sunbathers.

  Without signs of distress or a change in engine sounds, the aircraft banked slightly and dove directly into a cluster of fuel tanks located along the river shoreline. A huge oil tank exploded on impact. Orange and yellow flames burst forth into the bright morning sky, thick black smoke curling upwards. Several surrounding tanks immediately exploded, flying debris having penetrated their structure. Lieutenant Commander Cartwright was instantly off her chair, moving to the starboard side of the bridge.

  “I have the con, navigator has the ship,” Cartwright commanded, thereby relieving Midshipman Barker from his training duties. “Slow ahead both engines,” Cartwright immediately added.

  “Captain has the con, slow ahead both engines,” the helmsman repeated while transferring the order to the engine room.

  Over the next several moments, all eyes were on the blazing inferno to starboard, which was growing exponentially as surrounding fuel tanks succumbed to the heat and exploding debris. Lieutenant Christensen, the Executive Officer, appeared on the bridge, and Cartwright gave him a terse nod. Cartwright quickly ascertained that Defiance had also slowed her progress. As the full complement on the bridge of both vessels practiced an involuntary ‘eyes right,’ neither ship noticed the second Beechcraft approaching from the port side along the same path as the earlier aircraft until it was only about 500 meters from Defiance.

  Five seconds later, the twin engine aircraft slammed into the bridge structure of Defiance, causing the entire ship to shudder. A tremendous explosion followed, ripping through the center of the ship and scattering crew and shards of flying metal in all directions. Flames and thick black smoke rose from the Defiance. After a moment of disbelief, complete bedlam ensued.

  Aboard the North Lakes, Cartwright commanded, “Slow astern both engines.” The helmsman repeated the order to the engine room. The captain then picked up the main broadcast microphone. “ Hands to emergency stations. Hands to emergency stations!” she directed, her voice excited, yet steady and tempered. She exchanged an apprehensive look with her XO.

  “Dick…” she began.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he replied, unspoken understanding passing between them as he left the bridge to assume command of the damage control party.

  For some inexplicable reason, in the growing emergency her mind flashed to an incident some months earlier when she had first assumed command and had been on a quiet inspection through the ship. Outside the junior sailor’s recreation space, she overheard several of the sailors talking.

  “She’ll run us aground one day, she will. How’d we come up with a bloody Sheila for a cap’n? She don’t belong here.”

  “Don’t be flapping yer gums with me, mate. She’ll be right, just wait and see. She’ll come ’round.”

  Cartwright had been tempted to exercise her command authority and reprimand the offender, but had refrained, allowing the remark to go unaddressed. Still, it had remained in her thoughts over the next few months. Now, without warning, in an unforeseen emergency, it was time for her to ‘come ’round’.”

  Ship’s sirens were going off on the Defiance, reverberating across the gap between both vessels. Defiance was dead in the water, flames leaping from the foredeck and superstructure. Sailors were in the water directly in front of North Lakes, having either been blown off the deck or jumping in to avoid the spreading flames.

  Lieutenant Commander Cartwright knew the men and women in the water, if not badly injured, could make it to shore, just over a hundred meters on the starboard side of the ship. Many were swimming toward the North Lakes or the opposite shore, over two hundred meters distant, determined to avoid the inferno in the fuel storage facility on the north bank. She could see the sailors remaining on Defiance trying to organize to fight the fire, appearing on deck in protective clothing and rushing to the forward section of the ship.

  “Nav, take the con,” she commanded. “Bring us close alongside, slowly now.”

  “Ma’am, she’s fully ablaze. We can’t get any closer,” Lieutenant Canidy, the navigator who had assumed control from Midshipman Barker, responded.

  “I said bring us alongside, Mr. Canidy,” she confirmed, her voice remaining controlled, but directive. Barker stood rooted to his spot on the far side of the bridge, unsure of his responsibilities or how to respond to the growing crisis.

  “Aye, ma’am, coming alongside,” Canidy responded, taking a measure of courage from his commander’s confident tone and demeanor.

  The heat became intense as North Lakes slowly crept up on the port beam of Defiance, her once-proud superstructure now a mangled inferno of twisted steel. Lieutenant Commander Cartwright surveyed the chaotic scene. White uniformed sailors, both men and women, were strewn across the deck, some motionless, others struggling to escape the conflagration, many already having gone over the side into the water. At both ends of the Defiance, damage control teams were feverishly attempting to slow the fire’s advance.

  Her own damage control team, directed by Lieutenant Christensen, the XO, were standing by their railings, hoses in hand, the spouting water already beginning to arch across the gap as the two newly commissioned warships, their military designation now more than simple definition, drew closer together. Other North Lakes crew were on their port side, lowering the Jacob’s ladder, single ropes, and tossing life preservers into the water, beginning to assist with retrieving Defiance sailors from the river. Several of the North Lakes crew had already jumped overboard in full dress uniform to save injured and burned sailors from going under.

  Ashore, the activity increased dramatically over the next several minutes with the sounds of the Brisbane fire brigade racing to the scene of the fire. What had started to be a dress white ceremonial day, an easy day of public relations and naval pride in support of the Queensland celebrations, had quickly turned into an inferno of immense proportions. Cartwright knew that sailors had died, that more might yet die under her orders. It was the classic lesson in command that had been reviewed at the Naval College at HMAS Creswell. Her instructor’s words rang clear in her mind. ‘ Command isn’t a question of whether or not you’re prepared to die for your crew, but whether you’re prepared to order some of your crew to die for everyone else. ’

  In only moments, on a clear Easter Sunday morning, in the tight confines of the Brisbane River, Lieutenant Commander Kate Cartwright, commanding officer of HMAS North Lakes, had joined with the proud heritage of Australian naval officers who had taken their place in a long line of naval engagements, stretching back through Guadalcanal, Coral Sea, and the Battle of Matapan, and even further back to Gallipoli in WWI, almost one hundred years earlier.

  Today’s astonishing actions were not so public, not so openly declared, not so clearly defined, and came from a far more cowardly enemy, but from this morning’s opening attack, Australia had unceremoniously been put on notice: they were about to reap the rewards of defying the terrorists of the world.

  While not a classic naval battle in the traditional sense, Lieutenant Commander Kate Cartwright had exercised her command authority during the initial encounter of what would prove to be a long and costly domestic terrorist conflict. As later honors commending her bravery and that of her crew-two of whom, including Lieutenant Christensen, her executive officer, had died fighting the inferno-would demonstrate, the young commanding officer, as her equally young junior sailor had predicted that day months earlier, had indeed “
come ‘round.”

  In 2001, the Royal Australian Navy had stopped and boarded the MV Tampa in the Indian Ocean, some 140 kilometers north of Christmas Island. The ship had been bound for Australia and was loaded with refugees, mostly from Afghanistan. After a period of detention on Nauru, with some immigrants being admitted to New Zealand, Australian immigrant visas were granted to many of the former refugees, including two brothers who were eight and eleven years old at the time of their admission to Australia. The family had settled in northern Queensland.

  Twelve years later, on a warm fall day, the temperature hovering just below 28? Celsius, both brothers, now in their twenties, strolled along the beach front in Surfer’s Paradise. They were about to reward their adopted country with the full measure of their devotion to Al Qaida, Islam, and the World Jihad movement.

  Situated seventy-five miles south of the Brisbane River, Surfer’s Paradise is one of the most populated recreational destinations on the Gold Coast in Queensland, Australia. On a beautiful Easter Sunday, the Strand was jammed with enthusiastic people. Nearly every nationality could usually be found in the cosmopolitan crowd at this popular Gold Coast tourist spot, and today was no exception. Close to eight thousand people jammed Cavill Avenue, the distinctly commercial tourist area at Surfer’s.

  Millions of tourists and locals frequented the area annually, plying its outstanding beaches, trendy shops, and multiple restaurants with food from many cultures available within two or three blocks. Increasingly over the recent ten years, high-rise hotels and resort facilities had dotted the horizon, making the Gold Coast an international, yet affordable, playground.

  The Easter weekend provided yet another opportunity-for many, the last before winter-to yet again enjoy the fruits of living in one of the most beautiful places on earth. The two clean-shaven, young, and highly fit Afghani brothers jostled their way through the boisterous crowd, rounding the corner near O'Malley’s Irish Pub and heading west down Cavill Mall. Within moments, they were immersed in the throng, elbow to elbow with people from all walks of life. Carrying a beach towel wrapped around his arm, the younger of the brothers concealed a silenced weapon and found it easy to place several shots in quick succession as they pushed their way through the milling people. Both men were several meters away before the victims even had time to realize they had been shot. Only when the victims had fallen to the pathway did the multitude react. For most of the tourists, the reaction was to simply step over or around the prostrate bodies.