Adrian Smith - The Fourth Phase

James had fought hard and long to get to the position he had. He came from a poor, forgotten, and downtrodden neighbourhood, rife with domestic abuse and drug and alcohol dependency. He had shivered and coughed his way through many cold, damp winters, huddled under blankets with his siblings as his mother and father partied, smoked, and drank their way into oblivion every weekend. The parties always ended with a fight. Some were brutal and quick, others long and full of screaming and shouting.

As the eldest, he’d done his best to protect the others, often taking beatings from his enraged mother and father. He’d learnt to protect his head and vital organs from the raining fury of the blows. A deep rage had seeded in his belly, and as he grew older it festered, and had eventually bubbled to the surface. He’d grown to hate his culture, to hate the way they drank and smoked everything away. Food, education, and your own child’s health came second when you were an addict.

As James had grown into his body, he had worked out and taken up martial arts, learning Karate, Judo, and Kung Fu. When he was sixteen, his life changed. Cleaning up the room his sisters shared, he’d found his youngest sister’s diary. It had fallen to the floor. James had flicked through it, and been horrified at what he read. One of his uncles had regularly abused his sister. The deep-seated, festering rage burst forth. James stomped down the road to his uncle’s house, barged in, and attacked him. He’d smashed the man’s face with all his anger and fury. Everything that had built up over the last ten years came out, providing fuel to the raging fire. He didn’t stop until the police arrived and hauled him off his uncle’s lifeless body.

James had pleaded guilty and was tried as a minor. He served five years in a juvenile detention centre. He joined the Army soon after getting out, and channeled his anger into forging a career.

A knock at the door pulled James back to the present. With a last look at the vodka, he smoothed his receding hair down. “Enter.”

A private swung open the door and met his gaze. “Sir, the Indonesians are making their way around Miner’s Head. ETA in one hour.”

James scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Very good, Private. Inform the men to go on high alert.” He held the private’s gaze as he turned with a nod. “And Private, is that radar operational yet?”

“No Sir. The team you sent to fix it are still working on it.”

“Damn it! We need that up and running!” He placed his hands on the desk in front of him. He stared at the private. “That will be all. I’ll be out shortly.”

“Very good, Sir.” The private shut the door with a thud.

James pushed back his chair, turned, and gazed out into the darkness. A few lights around the settlement were twinkling through the falling rain. He could see soldiers walking briskly as they prepared, moving mortars into position, moving vehicles. He had ordered all civilians indoors as soon as he’d received word of the approaching ships. He wanted to wait until he learnt what the Indonesians wanted before letting them out. The fact that the radar was down bothered him. It had been working fine. It was if someone had sabotaged it just as the Indonesians were sailing in. Who? And more importantly, why? The timing was too convenient.

Normally HMNZS Te Mana was anchored in harbour, and they’d been using its radar. But it had sailed north three days ago to support HMNZS Taupo , forcing them to erect a new one. The small islands scattered around the aptly-named Bay of Islands had become overpopulated, their fragile ecosystems failing. The Brigadier and the Commander, fearing disease and anarchy, had ordered that the inhabitants be relocated. Half were to be integrated here on Great Barrier, the other half on the Chathams, with the Commander and the Brigadier.

James caught his reflection in the rain-splattered window. His brown eyes stared back at him. He could see the black bags forming under his eyes. Letting out a breath, he ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, his wiry muscles taut as he rubbed. James turned and pulled open the door into the head room.

He stood for moment on the threshold, taking in the action. To his left, a long desk with computers lined the wall. On the opposite side of the room, through a door set ajar, was the radio room. It was a narrow room. Against one wall ran a desk with several radios, and four operators were chattering into microphones attached to headsets. In the centre of the head room sat a large square table covered with maps, a few chairs around it. Second Lieutenant Jay Badminton looked up from the map table and gave him a curt nod. James strode over.

“Lieutenant, SITREP?”

“Sir, the three Indonesian ships have rounded Miner’s Head. At current speed, the ETA is one hour. Eyes on have reported that they are slowing their speed.”

James looked down at the map of Great Barrier island, and located Miner’s Head. “I want any available ships to be deployed out here to Maunganui Point, but keep their distance. I want wheels on the ground shadowing them. Have the guns on Kaikoura Island and across the channel been set up?” He raised an eyebrow.

Badminton held his gaze. “Yes, Sir. Four ATGMs have been positioned.”

James ran his finger down the map, through the narrow channel of water. If they want to invade, they’re going to have to come through here. The rest of the shoreline is too rocky . Their behaviour hadn’t indicated as such, but, so far, all attempts at communication had failed.

He looked up from the map. “What about our ANZAC brothers?”

“Nothing to add from them, Sir. They haven’t detected any foreign ships encroaching on their islands.”

“Very well. Keep vigilant.”

Badminton nodded. “Yes Sir.”

James turned his attention back to the map, scanning for any weakness in his defences. They were on their own in this fight. HMNZS Te Mana and Taupo were twenty-four hours away.

A shout from the radio room shifted his attention. James turned as one of the operators pushed through the door and strode over, waving a piece of paper. “Sir, this just came in for you. I don’t know what to make of it.” The operator passed him the paper.

James glanced at what was written and furrowed his brow, drawing his thinning eyebrows together. He read: Mayday, mayday. Require immediate evac from GL-426. Power is failing. This is code black. Repeat this is GL-426 requiring evac. Please advise.

James looked up. “Signaller, advise GL-426 we are en route, ETA fifty minutes. And get me Captain Johns on the line.”

He turned towards Badminton without waiting for a response. “Inform the medical staff that we have incoming and to prepare for a code black.”

Badminton caught his worried look. “Yes Sir.”

James watched him as he left the war room. Well, Johns, it’s time to test your Renegades. You’re not going to like it.

The door to the radio room slammed open. James looked up at the signaller rushing back in.

“Sir, it’s Falcon 7. They’re under attack.”

James clenched his jaw and gave the signaller a curt nod. “Is the Captain on the line?”

“Patching it through now, Sir.”

“Good.”

James pulled down the shirt of his fatigues, straightening it, and strode from the head room. What next?

The rotor blades of the NH-90 helicopter loomed out of the darkness. The pilot had nestled it between the cabbage trees dotting the beach. Dee moved out from the bush and onto the sand dunes. The white sand squelched under her boots like corduroy pants rubbing together. She swept her rifle up and down the beach. Jack gave her a nod and she peeled off left while he went right. Dee took up a covering position next to the door. She made eye contact with the pilot and he slid open the door. Dee let out a shrill, quick whistle, and watched as the Renegades exited the bush at a light jog. The Joneses jumped in and turned, covering Ben as he jogged the last few steps. He gave Dee a reassuring pat and hopped in, making for the vacant co-pilot seat. Jack spun and climbed in after him, with Dee bringing up the rear. Eric, stationed to one side, slid the door closed with a thud as the whine of the powerful Rolls-Royce engines fired up. Dee took her seat, smiling at Jack.