Queen Charlotte: The Victor SSN Incident

[drmarkbailey]

Another saved from the old site

TLW QUEEN CHARLOTTE

15 May 2001

The Run In.

“Taras Schevchenko is passing over the RV point now sir.”

“The night antenna-buoy reeled in? Yes? Slow blow, then.”

The old Project 671RT Syomga (Salmon, or Victor II in NATO parlance) came off the bottom slowly, carefully and quietly. She had been lying there on the bottom for four days. It was supposed to be a week but a breakdown had slowed them drastically, cutting in to the buffer of time. But that is what it was for. The crew was used to it. The KGB team was not.

“Bring Mr and Mrs Jones to the control room.” They were all called Jones when aboard.

“Sir!”

There was a very long delay, which slightly irritated the CO, but – KGB. It was not like he was going to complain, was it?

They appeared twenty minutes later, he was surprised to see that they were fully attired in kayaking equipment. He mentally changed gears to English. They never spoke Russian aboard with the KGB team, none of them. Non English speakers wore a tag so ‘Mr and Mrs Jones’ knew not to speak to them. And this was the seventh milk run he and his crew had done to this place.

“Sorry we are a bit late mate,” said the statuesque blonde, “Hubby and I were maintaining our tans on the sunbed.”

“Bloody hot in there,” he agreed, “it’s a good thing we were starkers.”

“Gotta be no tanlines, love,” she said, “pity it’s too hot and cramped in there for a nookie, but.”

The CO raised his hands, laughing as the rest of his control room crew grinned.

“Okay, okay, you have the newlywed local-speak down pat.”

His face sobered and he continued in English. “Taras Schevchenko has passed the RV point and we are following her in. Per the usual plan we’ll bottom again in the drop off point and wait for 0200 to surface and offload you into your kayaks. Be prepared for strong winds as there is an easterly gale building. They get those here even in summer and they are good and bad. No small craft will be out fishing but it makes the paddle harder for you and the deep currents get very unpredictable for me. You may have to paddle upwind to the island and camp. That has happened once before and you know the cache location there. If that occurs I will turn while awash to get you closer to the island and in its lee. Go downwind from us, I will steam slowly past you, when a line opens up aft of my stern to the shore paddle astern of me and keep clear of the prop wash. I won’t submerge until you are clear.”

Both nodded soberly. This was the most physically dangerous part of their insertion into the western world. Going to the regional city to the modest house they had just ‘purchased’ was easy. Their ‘own car’ was already waiting for them. All they had to do was paddle less 50km in two or three days to a point only they knew, load their kayaks and drive away. They had plenty of money to live on while they found jobs.

The CO knew, as did the whole crew, that they would then live unobtrusively in-country for some years and then move to another, more important country. That’s when they would really start their roles as deep cover penetration agents.

“Anything else out of the ordinary going on mate?”

“No, there’s a navy training ship in the area doing basic training but it’s just a modified transport. No warships or coastguard ships anywhere near. No, it’s only the weather and the chance of some random fisherman seeing us. So,” he said briskly, “go and make sure that all your gear is ready, yes, I know you have checked it a hundred times, check it again, and give it a final examination for any hint that you are not what you pretend to be. I am worried about the gale, and want to take care that neither of us does a Mikhail Lermontov.”

Mr Jones looked thoughtful. “Back in ’86, wasn’t it?”

The CO nodded. “Yes, February, she left Sydney for a two-week cruise around New Zealand, over 700 aboard. Got too close and hit rocks around sunset I think, and sank a few hours later. Only one man died. Problem was that she had a KGB school onboard for fellow travellers and local communists and of course that deck also held the signals interception facilities. They had time to do a good destruction but of course when the capitalists dived on the wreck they got confirmation of our other activities. Took a while before cruises could start again.”

He shrugged. “We probably still do a few things with them, I have no need to know, but that’s why we switched to this style of operation. And it suited these older nuclear submarines too. They are no longer front line units and this is a very valuable operation.”

oOo

The Agents

They had a hell of a time handling the German-made, top-of-the-line sea kayaks due to the strong wind. Getting in to them from the submarine’s slick casing in near pitch darkness was worse, the clear sky was rapidly clouding over and the temperature was dropping fast. They’d taken one look at the conditions and agreed that the island was their best bet. The CO had brought the submarine further in and as close as he dared. In the end they had only about 400 metres to paddle. Fortunately the tiny beach had no other campers: it was far from the best beach on the island. Of course no-one lived on the island. Still, they came ashore exhausted and cold, then worked frantically to drag the kayaks up, set up a camp, make it look like they’d been there for a day or so, find the cache to get their latest instructions, more money, phones and documents. The last were not much but they were critical, things like recent shop receipts. The other cache held the same things, it would be emptied after they picked up their vehicle by … someone. That might take some time as they could be forced to camp here for some days if the gale got too bad.

And it was all done by very dim red light. They got their tent up, it was sheltered where they were on the island’s lee side but the sound of the gale threshing the woods was threatening. Dawn was just barely starting to lighten the eastern skyline as they got into their double sleeping bag.

The submarine had long since vanished.

oOo

“I’d prefer to have gotten clear of the sound on the surface,” muttered the CO mostly to himself.

“Captain? I understand, but protocols and procedure…” said the Political Officer

“Oh, I agree of course,” said the Captain, “but there’s a real problem of navigation safety here.”

oOo

The Survivor

The man on the bed was the least badly smashed up. This was not saying much, he was shattered. He was also high on painkillers so his defences were down. And he knew that nobody knew that he and his shipmate were alive, let alone here. They had also showed him the first diver’s video of the control room, with the diver stuffing documents into a bag.

“Nikolay Biryakov,” he responded sluggishly in English. “How am I alive?”

“We do not know, Nikolay. We think you were caught in a very big wave and tossed into the cliff. You were found jammed into a deep crack in the cliff twenty metres above the sea.”

“How bad? I cannot see.”

The female voice was gentle. She sounded like his late mother. “You are very badly injured, Nikolay. Many broken bones. Your face was badly hurt, but both your eyes seem intact. They are covered by bandages until some more tests are done but they seem to be fine. You cannot move much, only your right arm does not have multiple breaks. All of those breaks will heal. I have to tell you that the surgeons could not save your lower left leg.”

“What will become of me?”

“We must know…”

“No. The question as not of you. The KGB will interrogate me, the Navy will have no place for me with only one leg even of the KGB ever lets me out of prison. I am not married but my father and sister will be punished too.”

“Stay here.”

“How?”

“We have not told them that you are alive. We have not told anyone that there was a survivor.”

“Are there others?”

“Just one, a very young cook.”

“I know him, he’s a kid. He’s safe. New conscript. Knows nothing.”

“Make a decision first. To start with, what was your mission?”

oOo

The Interrogator

She read the decision. He’d cooperated fully, and her recommendations had been accepted. She turned the page. Canadian documentation, money from the five-eyes pool for defectors, a choice of the US, Canada, Australia or New Zealand, cover that he’d been awarded a huge damages payment after an appalling industrial accident, Lord knew he had the injuries to prove than aplenty. Support so he would not waste it – ongoing debriefing would go on for years – and his value was immense. He was the only officer to survive, and the only man from the control room to survive. And nobody knew that he still existed.

He was the perfect defector.

She looked out the window.

Hmmm.

And they had never caught the agents. They had vanished as if into night and fog. The closest they had come was the three pairs of kayakers seen in the area, one pair had been tracked, but all leads on the other pairs were cold. Gone. In the wind.

He’d been in an induced coma for a week. No choices there.

“So the skipper wanted to surface but he political officer reminded him of policy. That was, of course, enough to stop him. I was the second weapons officer, and could not see the chart. He was trying to get a visual fix when we hit on the port side. He put the helm hard to starboard, we were obviously too far to port. The screw must have hit the rock as it stripped and the engine room was already flooding. We were over a rock garden, nowhere to bottom. He had no choice but to do a full blow and hope to get to the surface before the engine room flooded, then hope that we could either anchor or call the liner or get ashore somewhere. He tried, all he could do, he also dropped the anchor. I can still hear the despair in his voice when he said we were under the cliffs. Then we struck.”

He paused, the horror still in his eyes. He shook his head very slightly.

“Can I ask, how did anyone find me?”

“You were incredibly lucky….”

oOo

The Cliff

The sky had darkened and the eastern horizon was black and shot with lightning.

“Well, not much choice but to hunker down, love.”

“Yup. Wind’s rising and the forecast’s just wicked.”

“That little sheltered saddle just above the gulley where we found the archaic epithermal gold traces?”

“Best spot within a safe walk, it will be too dangerous to try and crest to the lee side when the rain and wind hits hard. It’s a very safe spot, a great shelter, and it’s close.”

They folded their metal detectors, shouldered their main packs and took off. They got there in twenty minutes hard slog up the steep slope which took them (somewhat oddly) closer to the tip of Cape Jackson, about a straight-line kilometre from their tiny emergency campsite. The shelter site they had noted two days ago was fairly flat and actually behind an angled rock – bedrock jutting out of the bones of the Earth like a broken sword blade – only about eight square metres of flat ground but tucked right in behind the metre and a half high rock which angled back so their tent tucked in behind it. Dense scrub about five to six feet high surrounded the tiny clearing. The little lee meant setting up their little dome tent was easy. It was very sheltered behind it.

They had an early dinner, heated over a tiny gas cooker. Then the full force of the gale hit.

oOo

He snapped awake.

“What the hell was that?”

“Steve?” Her voice was groggy with sleep.

“Something weird. Not the wind or rain.”

She came awake. “Quake?”

“No. Everything was red, Louise.”

“Red?”

In the endless atonal shrieking of the gale, the tent was silently flooded with wavering, watery, pale red light. The ghostly shadow of the rock was clearly visible.

“What the hell? It’s coming from the north. I’ll get to the end of the rock and find out what it is.” He scrambled to get his boots and rain gear on. Two minutes was all it took before he scurried back in.

“Phone phone phone phone phone and get your boots on, all your wet weather gear, secondary shelter tent, medical gear, food and hot drink kit. All the climbing gear. Set a lamp here and leave it on!”

She passed the satphone, she was already moving fast. “What…”

“Big ship on the rocks near the tip of the cape.”

“Oh my God, those poor people!”

He keyed the phone to the satellite, linked to the domestic system and punched in 111.

“What is your Emergency, police, fire or ambulance?”

“Shipwreck. Shipwreck on Cape Jackson, they are firing red flares. My name is Steve Degois, calling in on a satphone I am in a camp shelter about a kilometre south of the tip of Cape Jackson with my fiancé. Caught by the storm. There is a big ship on the rocks at the base of the cliffs, she’s already rolled on her side, all I can see is a smooth hull. Can’t see much, only glimpses when they fire a flare. We are about six hundred metres away straight line, got some mountaineering gear. Bloody dangerous along the knife edge track but nobody is closer than us. We are moving now. I don’t know if she got an SOS out. All I’ve got is their flares. She’s at the base of the cliffs, right at the base in the breaking seas, God help them all. I’ll try to go down the cliff. God help them all in that position. East side of Cape Jackson maybe 400 metres south of the tip of the cape. Got it?”

“Got that, am passing to the police and sea rescue people…”

oOo

Louise was on the satphone with the sea rescue people now. Dawn was not far away but the light on this hideous morning was terrible. She was wracked by violent shivering as her hypothermic body tried to generate heat.

The desperate flares had long since stopped.

Steve was hauling himself up slowly, obviously tired and carefully checking his climbing rope as he climbed. He had no wet weather gear on and he was soaked.

“Love…” she said, voice unsteady as she shivered.

He shook his head, eyes haunted. Still breathing deeply, he gestured for the phone.

“No helicopters?”

“Weather’s simply too bad,” she said, “they can’t get off, boats are on the way from Picton.”

He took the satphone as she handed it to him.

“Sea rescue, helicopters can’t get close enough but they can fly a team in to the other side and they can hike over, and they have to, I saw bodies and found three survivors, all lodged in the cliff by the waves. They are… oh God they are smashed, just smashed. I need a medical team here, over.”

He listened to the phone.

“What was she? No fucking idea but she was a big ship. Only sign of the ship is a curved section of black painted steel and it won’t last long, she’s totally broken up. Masses of wreckage floating about everywhere, at least a dozen bodies I could see. Three survivors, too busted up to move, can’t see how they are alive. We simply can’t get them up the cliff, there’s only two of us and Louise is fifty-five kilo’s wringing wet and these are big men, she can’t haul them up three hundred feet of cliff and I’d have to be down there with them but I don’t even have a stretcher to tie them in to. These guys are really broken up. All I could do was cover them with the wet weather gear off our own backs and tie them in to the cliff with piton and line so the seas don’t wash them away. We are already suffering hypothermia but we can huddle here and wait.”

He listened again.

“Then find a helo pilot with big brass balls. They stand no chance otherwise.”

“Yeah? Good. An hour? Great. Land on the west side, there’s a fairly sheltered cove roughly a K south of the Cape, climb up to the hut, follow the track up the ridge track, head north and for pity’s sake tell them to hurry. Battery’s low, will check back every twenty minutes.”

He looked at his fiancé. “I don’t understand this love, there’s no ship missing. Helo’s are waiting for any chance to get off, Aussie training ship is pounding up here at full pelt from Pelorus Sound. Frigate’s scrambling from Wellington. If it wasn’t for that fishing boat also reporting the wreckage they’d be ignoring us as nutters I reckon.”

She just nodded, cold and exhausted. They got into the small tent they had burrowed under the branches they had chopped and he curled around her to try to keep her from even worse hypothermia. Being so slight she was terribly vulnerable to it.

oOo

The first to reach them was a pair of young Midshipmen, sent ahead as runners and carrying comms gear, foul weather gear, blankets and flasks of hot, very sweet tea. Steve put blankets on Louise, who was dangerously cold and sluggish, then wrapped more waterproof wrapping around her, coaxing her to drink the hot tea. The rest of the party was ten minutes behind. He’d had some tea himself by then and got the team rigged. Then they went down the cliff on their lines.

oOo

The Recovery

It was a nightmare beyond anything they had imagined, yet with Herculean efforts they recovered the three shattered men, up a gale-lashed cliff face. The Stokes Litters were good for protection from further injury. The medics had cut their soaked uniforms off, packed them in heat-packs, wrapped them in the extemporised shelter and done what they could, rigged blood, and splinted limbs. The Midshipmen were young, strong and fit. Relays of them carried them back down the track then to the landing place, where boats took them back to the ship. She was the nearest medical facility. The Taras Schevchenko had arrived too, oddly insistent on helping.

Knowing what they now did, the training ship had rigged her machine guns, all she had. A RNZN frigate arrived next, having steamed from Wellington at full power. She’d shown herself then gone around into the dangerous waters off the cape, trying to recover wreckage. The weather was utterly impossible for helicopters.

One of the survivors died in the training ship’s sickbay.

oOo

The Island (Next Day)

They slept only four hours and that badly, the rising gale rattled the tent and the noise from the island’s gale-wracked woodland was tremendous. The driving rain was heavy, and came in surges and waves.

He looked outside.

“Yeah love, nah. The lee is there alright but the waves further offshore are just too dangerous. And it’s a sharp chop with an open lee shore. Be here for at least a day and maybe two.”

He looked around. It was a genuinely miserable day and the waves were far too large for the kayaks.

“Tell you what. I’ll get out and put up the tarp to make a shelter from the rain. It’s not coming in sideways here so we might as well settle in a bit, set up the gas stove and stuff and make a cuppa. You stay here.”

It took him forty minutes to rig the large shelter over the tent and unpack the gear from the kayaks.

“You want a cuppa, love?”

She stuck her head through the tent opening and grinned at him. “Well, I want something sweetheart, how about you come back in here?”

Hey, naked, he thought, and grinned back at her.

“Now that sounds like a great idea!”

Afterwards they both got dressed and set about the camp. All their gear was top of the line European or American, very light weight and compact. They were, after all, quite a well-off couple. By early afternoon it was all done and they settled down to a hot meal of rehydrated stew and tea. All was well with the world. Well, except the weather of course.

The first hint they had was when a local fishing trawler, a big wooden one maybe eighty feet long, nosed around the point. It spotted them and altered course to close the beach.

They glanced at each other and walked in the driving rain, hand-in-hand, down to the sand, returning the wave of the deckhand. The water was quite deep close in and the trawler closed to about fifty yards before dropping anchor. After a few minutes it became obvious that they’d be coming ashore in the tinnie it towed behind it.

He looked at this, calculatingly.

“Go and get coffee prepared, right immediately.” She nodded at the code phrase, just once, and went to each kayak’s hidden compartment. She concealed her own pistol and then hurried back to the beach, kissed her husband and then went back to the campsite. The hug and kiss were ample to conceal the transfer of his pistol. He then walked to the water’s edge as the tinnie came up to the beach.

“Hi fellas, shitty weather, sheltering from the storm?”

The older man – obviously the skipper – did not reply until he sloshed ashore and shook hands, muttering a greeting and introducing themselves.

“Nah mate, hang on, Jamie, bring that snapper over. Jamie’s one of me deckies.”

The deckhand reached into a plastic tub and took a big snapper out of it, came over and handed it to the agent with a ‘there ya go, mate’.

“Jeez, thanks for that, can bake it over a campfire, want a cuppa? Me missus is putting the kettle on. “

“Nah mate, have to keep goin’. Look, Navy’s asked us to check all the bays and coves here, there was a shipwreck last night up the Cape. Did ya see or hear anything unusual last night at all?”

The agent scratched his chin. “Naah. Saw the storm coming and got in here just before it hit, set up camp and got to bed early. Slept in this morning too.”

He saw the older man glance at his very shiny new wedding ring and catch the drift. “Newlyweds? A kayaking honeymoon?”

The agent grinned. “It’s how we met. Both outdoors types, bloody love it out here. Plenty of time for hotels in Fiji when we are old farts. Hey, we rounded the Cape yesterday, bad place to come ashore, what was it, one of them big Korean squid boats we saw a couple of days back? They OK? Shit, not another liner I hope?”

“Nope, weirdest thing the Navy say. A Russian submarine.”

“What? No. You’re shitting me!”

“I shit you not, a bloody nuclear sub. Right under the cliffs too poor bastards. She was pounded to pieces. They found a couple of survivors this morning all smashed up in cracks on the cliff, but I hear they died. Navy’s asked us to look for survivors and wreckage which might have been swept down this way. Ain’t seen any yet, but. Current doesn’t really set this way.”

“Oh my God,” He turned and shouted, “hey Love, come over here for a sec!”

They saw a startled young woman raise her head and then walk towards them. They could see almost nothing of her in her full wet weather gear.

“Love, this is Dave, Dave, my wife Cath, Dave says a Russian sub was wrecked up on the Cape last night, Navy’s got him looking for survivors or wreckage. I slept like a log last night, did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

She looked shocked, and shook her head. “My God. No, nothing. Any survivors? We paddled round there yesterday and it’s all cliffs!”

Dave shook his head. “There were a couple, really smashed up, waves tossed them up on to the cliffs and they were caught in crevices and ledges, but I heard they died. If that’s true, no survivors.” He scratched his dripping beard. “I know these waters. Fished ‘em for thirty years. I can’t even see how anyone could survive being hung up high on the cliff. So I sure believe that there’s no survivors. God what a place to go ashore!”

The young woman covered her face with her gloved hands. “What a horrible place to die, what a horrible way to die. I think I’d rather just go home now after that news.” She turned to her husband and dropped her face on to his shoulder.

He glanced at her as his arm went around her and looked at the trawlerman, “Any chance of a lift ashore?”

He shook his head. “No, sorry mate, normally no sweat, but we gotta keep searchin’. Might be someone in the water even yet.”

“Sorry, I should not have asked, I should have thought…”

“Nah, that’s OK. It’s a bad shock for everyone, dunno how big the crews are on a Russian sub but maybe fifty or eighty men died last night. Bad business and we should be about it.”

“Look, we’ll be fine here until the sea eases, tomorrow I guess, we still have a week’s food and there’s plenty of water, and thanks for the reddie, it’s a nice change and I’m sure I can find some dry wood somewhere here. We’ll keep an eye on the water and check the shoreline round this end of the island this afternoon. All we can do. We find anything I’ll set a big signal fire on the beach.”

“Thanks mate.”

The started to push the tinnie out.

They watched it go.

“Shit.”

“Best course of action?”

“Stay here until the sea calms enough to allow us to paddle out. We do that as fast as we can but in no haste. Check the shoreline as we said we’d do.”

He glanced at her. “Well done, he barely got a glimpse of your face and none of your figure or hair. I’ll start growing a beard. They can have no information of what the operation was unless they get something documentary and that will take time. We’ll assume that there are survivors and that they will find documents.”

oOo

The Diver

The old diver – they were all old divers, volunteers deliberately taking the places of younger men on this part of the job – sat on the deck-edge. He was obviously very tired, and he shook his head.

“Lad, I have seen this before. I dived with Alexander McKee on the Royal Charter at Moelfre Point in Wales. The golden wreck. 1856. That was another terrible shipwreck. Moelfre point was, and I am quoting McKee himself here, ‘quite the worst ship-trap I have ever seen’, because there were a series or razor sharp vertical rock ledges dropping in to deeper water. Royal Charter grounded on a rising tide on the sand below the ship-trap and everyone was safe, she was a strong iron steamer. Then the rising tide and huge seas lifted her on into the ship-trap and the ledges and she was torn to shreds in minutes. They nearly all died twenty yards from the shore. Never had a chance, poor souls, and rescuers on shore could do nothing but watch, see and hear them all die.”

He gestured at the towering cliff. “It’s hard for me to believe, but this is an even worse ship-trap than Moelfre Point. The surge here in an easterly gale is unbelievable. But underwater it’s pure horror. There’s a series of vertical, very sharp rock ridges running out from the cliff base. They run out and down like ripsaw blades, only long, y’see?” He gestured with his hands.

“So she was pushed on to these by the sea, and they sliced into her, kept her there and literally sawed her apart. The breaking seas acted like steam hammers, each rolling and also grinding her into the sawblades, and keeping her there too. And they simple sawed her apart. The crew just had nowhere to go, poor bastards. That there’s a survivor is simply a miracle. This,” he gestured at the steep cliffs fanged with jagged teeth, teeth now with tatters of steel stuck between them “is not survivable. They could not have come ashore at a worst place on this entire coast.”

“Can it be salvaged?”

“There’s nothing to salvage. The bow section is at the cliff base, it was sawed off roughly amidships and had nothing much to hold it there, so it sort of rolled down the cliff. It looks like some giant sea monster has chewed on it. It’s been cleared and is no problem to anyone, we got all the torpedoes out to make sure there were only the two nuclear-tipped ones. The aft section was in a rock garden and it got sawed into four sections and then beaten to tangled scrap by its own heavy components and the bloody big jagged boulders the pounding broke off the ledges, all getting swirled about together for three days. It’s a steel and boulder smoothie down there.”

“But the reactors…”

He passed his hand through his sodden hair. “Get this through your thick skull, fuckwit. There’s no fucking reactors. They were fucking shredded and pounded into steel rags and tatters along with everything else. There’s flecks and chunks of smashed fuel rods all over the place down there, mostly underneath thousands of tons of tangled steel and boulder puree. No salvage ship can get close enough and even if we built a huge fixed cantilever crane out over the site from the top of the cliff and lift all the steel, that’d make it all worse. It’s mostly what’s keeping most of the fuel rod bits, and they’ve been ground basically to flecks and dust, mostly sort of contained here.”

“So what can we do?”

“Nothing. Seawater is a great radiation moderator. Let nobody within half a mile and monitor the spread. It won’t be far. Then forget about it.”

“But it will kill everybody in New Zealand!”

“Bullshit son, just stop lying. Only stupid ignorant people believe you, OK? I’ve been diving here for a month right into the middle of it. Ten feet away from a naked fuel rod you can’t even detect any radiation above background. Been doing that for a month now. Stop spreading bullshit lies from Green Left Weekly. I’ve taken about three times the radiation you get from a simple chest x-ray from 86 hours in the scrapyard. That’s why when I brought that big fuel rod chunk to the surface I bloody stayed underwater. Dangerous in the air, safe as houses underwater. That’s why I stuck it inside a submerged modified 44 gallon drum. They lifted it full of water. Safe that way. Just stop lying to everyone for fucks sake.”

“What was a Russian nuclear submarine doing here anyway? We are a Nuclear Free Zone!”

He looked really offended as the old diver guffawed in his face.

“You stupid little dickhead,” he said genially, “only friendly, law-abiding nations will obey that, it’s pretty fucking obvious that the fucking commies did not give a shit about it even to you, isn’t it? I mean, seriously, have you not noticed that’s a wrecked Soviet Victor II class nuclear armed nuclear attack submarine down there, isn’t it?”

He looked at the young reporter with open contempt.

“Well, isn’t it, boy?”

He just shook his head.

“Then what do you think they were doing here along with the Soviet cruise ship?”

“I don’t know!”

The old diver shook his head in his turn. “Then just for a nice change, you understand, try and use that pint of ignorance and stupidity inside your head that passes for brains. I’d guess they were landing covert intelligence agents, but they could also have been looking at the best places to lay mines, supplying pro-Soviet terrorist cells, trying to tap into our communications cables, all the usual covert action a hostile enemy super-power does to a small power like us when they feel like fucking us up the coit without any lube. And it was our friends who came to help us, unstintingly, even after that Lange twit pissed them off with his stupidity.”

He slapped the deck of the old HMAS Kimbla and pointed at the USN’s Pacific Fleet salvage ship, currently laying a massively strong heavy mooring system.

The reporter was reduced to incoherence.

The old diver smiled to himself inside his head. There was a reason he had insisted on a live broadcast.

oOo

The Fallout – Canberra

“Prime Minister, members of Cabinet. The initial seeds of the 1987 New Zealand Nuclear Free Zone policy and subsequent legislation were sown in the late 1950s with the formation of the local Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) organisation. A notoriously well know Soviet Front organisation, this was supposedly in response to rising public concern following the British hydrogen bomb tests in Australia and the Pacific. However, this KGB front organisation did tap into a genuine public concern and New Zealand voted in the UN to condemn nuclear testing while the UK, US and France voted against, and Australia abstained. In 1961, CND urged the New Zealand government to declare that it would not acquire or use nuclear weapons and to withdraw from nuclear alliances such as ANZUS. This rather clearly displayed the strategic intent of Moscow Centre to any who cared to think about it, regrettably this did not include the New Zealand population. In 1963, the NZCND submitted its 'No Bombs South of the Line' petition to the New Zealand parliament with 80,238 signatures. In New Zealand terms this was a massive display of public support.”

“What was driving this was French nuclear testing at Muroroa Atoll. The Atoll and nearby Fangataufa are both in French Polynesia. They were officially established as a nuclear test site by France on 21 September 1962 and extensive nuclear testing occurred between 1966 and 1996. The French displayed a remarkable aversion to conducting these tests in metropolitan France. Funny that.”

“In March 1976 over 20 antinuclear and environmental groups, including Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth, met in Wellington and formed a loose coalition called the Campaign for Non-Nuclear Futures (CNNF). Again, this was heavily supported by Moscow Centre although not all the parties involved were KGB puppet organisations. The CNNF opposed the introduction of nuclear power and embarked on a massive, well-funded national propaganda campaign, which again generated a massive petition.”

“In 1984, Prime Minister David Lange banned nuclear-powered or nuclear-armed ships from using New Zealand ports or entering New Zealand waters. He then pushed through the New Zealand Nuclear Free Zone, Disarmament, and Arms Control Act 1987, under which the territorial sea, land and airspace of New Zealand became nuclear-free zones. This has since remained a part of New Zealand's foreign policy.”

“The Act prohibits entry into the internal waters of New Zealand 12 nautical miles by any ship whose propulsion is wholly or partly dependent on nuclear power and bans the dumping of radioactive waste into the sea within the nuclear-free zone, as well as prohibiting any New Zealand citizen or resident to manufacture, acquire, possess, or have any control over any nuclear explosive device.”

The briefer smiled. “Apparently people building nuclear weapons in their back shed is such a problem in New Zealand that they had to pass a law.”

“The nuclear-free zone Act does not prohibit nuclear power plants, nuclear research facilities, the use of radioactive isotopes, or other land-based nuclear activities. However, no such research facilities or power plants exist currently in New Zealand. The strategic ramifications were immediate and serious.”

“After the Disarmament and Arms Control Act was passed by the Lange-led Labour government, the United States government suspended its ANZUS obligations to New Zealand, a tremendous victory for Moscow Centre. The New Zealand left has built a mythic view that the legislation was a milestone in New Zealand's development as a nation, an important act of sovereignty, self-determination and cultural identity. It remains the only case in the world of a nuclear-weapon-free zone status being enshrined in legislation.”

The briefer shrugged, “and now the USSR has, to directly quote a very pungent New Zealand comedian and anti-nuclear activist: quote, taken a shit in New Zealand’s hat, jammed it on our heads, pissed in our face, kicked us in the balls, dropped our daks and screwed us without any lube, then laughed at us and said ‘and what are you going to do about it, you have no allies’ unquote: as you can imagine this has not gone down especially well.”

“Especially as it’s true,” said the Prime Minister.

The Defence Minister looked at him, grinning. “Your comment that we had no NFZ and it appeared that the Russians didn’t seem to do this sort of thing to us did not go down well, Prime Minister.”

“Tough bloody luck. We did not turn ourselves into Moscow’s catamite like that idiot Lange did, did we?”

“Well, no. And the fallout from this is disastrous for the Clark Government.”

“Government’s a kind word for that goat rodeo…”

The Defence minister laughed. “Think I am going to argue? Let me list their actions.”

He held up one finger.

“One. Announced they have cancelled their F-16 buy and will abandon their A-4 force when the contract by which we pay for most of the OPEX and base them at Nowra ends in two years. Which, I might add, screws us to the wall with red-hot rivets because it abrogates the agreement that they provide CAIRS to the alliance, and forces us to get attack helicopters RFN.”

“RFN?”

“Right Fu… erm… Fricking Now.”

“You’ve been hanging out with the ADF for way too long.”

“Well, yes, Prime Minister. I think that’s in my job description somewhere.”

“Two. Tried to cancel the second pair of ANZAC class frigates, they can’t, so they will be delivered as OPV, little more than bare hulls. Oh, and laid up other ships.”

“Three, are absolutely gutting the Army.”

“And four, Clark never met a Soviet who she did not want to blow,” interrupted the Minister for Defence Industry.

The PM turned to her in surprise. “Strong words from you, Alison!”

“I know, but heartfelt, I’ve just had the dubious pleasure of multiple meetings with her, she’s perfectly capable of calling us militaristic war-mongers, gutting her own military, insisting that Australia defend New Zealand at our cost, describing the USSR as entirely devoted to peace in the face of US aggression, and insisting that all of our equipment should be built in New Zealand. The woman’s an ideological idiot with as much grasp of international reality as my cocker spaniel. That, dear colleagues,” she noted acidly, “is my professional view of Comrade Clark.”

The PM, smiling, gestured at her to continue.

“Agreed, the Victor Incident will push the more extreme left to further entrench their views. On the other hand, the more moderate and centrist left are now openly wonder why, if they have a Nuclear Free Zone, just why New Zealand is getting rid of the NZDF which alone provides the wherewithal to keep those who violate it out of their waters? The Soviets won’t even take their calls and the media is reporting, pretty sharply I might add, that a strongly worded note, or sending a fine to the HQ of the Red Banner Pacific Fleet is not going to cut it. It’s only a very short step from that to wondering just why their centre-left Governments have been pissing off their allies, making themselves helpless, and sucking Soviet cock!”

The PM looked at her, surprised at her vehement viciousness. “You are seriously exercised about this, Ally.”

“I’ve had to deal with her and the vomitus slew of brain-dead undergraduate losers she calls Ministers, PM. Hey, how come I got that gig, anyway?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to do it. The Foreign Minister said he’d rather strip stark naked, paint himself blue with woad and juggle live squid while standing in a busy laundromat in high summer. And I have minions for that sort of thing, minions, I tell you. Oops. I mean, much valued and highly erudite colleagues!”

They all laughed.

Then the Minister for Defence Industry nodded soberly. “On a serious note and in my humble view, of course, New Zealand governments of all political persuasions need to grow a pair of balls and actually lead on defence procurement. Tell the public 'why' something is needed. Not cave in to what are, largely, calamitously uneducated views mostly driven by their extreme left.”

“Agreed of course. How have their greens reacted to the worst nuclear incident and breach of national sovereignty in their history? Ally?”

She shrugged. “Just like Clark and her standing joke of a Government. Just like them, they don’t know whether to shit or go blind, basically. They instantly had the usual blind panic-mongering, which led to massive public hysteria in the media, then that all collapsed with live coverage of divers picking up fuel-rod chunks with ordinary Kiwi fire-tongs like everyone has at home. Their entire line on nuclear weapons is toast. After all, there was a three month period when New Zealand was a nuclear power, as they owned two operational nuclear weapons which the USN disassembled on live TV. Then, to rub dried chili flakes soaked in nitric acid into that gaping wound, the USN, when taking handover of the two nuclear torpedoes, made that a live coverage as well. That female Lieutenant-Commander’s quip was deliberate and well rehearsed, ‘with this transfer of New Zealand’s operational nuclear capability to USN control, New Zealand is no longer an operational nuclear power’ indeed! It also made the point that those nukes remain New Zealand property. Then they insisted on the weapons remaining there because, under the Kiwi NFZ legislation they could not legally load them on to any US ship or aircraft to remove them. Would never dream of aiding, offering partial approval of or in any way abetting the Soviet breach of New Zealand sovereignty. So they have had a store ship berthed in Wellington for months, patiently awaiting New Zealand Government legislative changes to load the New Zealand-owned nuclear weapons in their custody sitting in a shed on the same wharf. The locals are all screaming about that, too. Want ‘em gone as it’s wrecked their local tourist trade. That was months of absolute political agony for Clark and there’s no end in sight. The left’s screaming at her because they are still there, their greens yowling about removing the nuclear material from the wreck, the USA and us cheerfully saying that all they had to do was change the NFZ legislation to allow the nuclear weapons to be legally loaded as they would not dream of breaching New Zealand law like the Soviets had, oh,” she waved her hands cheerfully, “it’s total political chaos at all levels and thoroughly delicious to watch. There’s not enough popcorn in all the world. She’s such a blithering idiot that she’s got no clue and only opens her mouth to change feet when the one in there gets too soggy. And she has surrounded herself with even worse idiots.”

They all laughed.

oOo

25 August 2002 New Zealand
Fall of the Clark Government

The Foreign Minister himself would brief this one, it was that important.

“OK, this is where we are at, so from the top. Helen Clark was the 37th New Zealand Prime Minister. Her Government has been annihilated in the election yesterday, 27 July 2002. Under Clark's leadership, Labour became the largest party in parliament from 1999. Clark became the second woman to serve as Prime Minister of New Zealand, and the first to have won office at an election. She also served as the Minister for Arts, Culture and Heritage throughout her premiership. She had additional ministerial responsibility for the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service (NZSIS) and for Ministerial Services.”

“Clark entered office just three years after the adoption of the Mixed Member Proportional (MMP) voting system, which had produced an unstable National-led government under Bolger and Shipley. Clark negotiated the formation of successive coalition governments. Political scientist Bryce Edwards identified Clark's ability to lead stable governments as her most significant achievement, arguing that her ability to work with a variety of coalition partners—including the Alliance, Jim Anderton's Progressive Party, Green, United Future and New Zealand First—consolidated public support for MMP. In political retrospect, MMP is a disaster, as it has promoted the least strategically able to positions of power by cementing mediocrity and an ability to sell out one’s principles for short-term gain as the necessary route to power. MMP promotes fragmentation, long term instability and general policy mediocrity.”

“Clark's particular interests included social policy and international affairs, she is very involved in the former and has at best an irreal, undergraduate understanding of the latter. A strong supporter of nuclear disarmament, reduced military preparedness to fund social programs and cultic millenarian messianic fervour to save the world, Clark has pursued a policy of peace-making within the Pacific region which she interprets as supporting the USSR against the USA and us, she has also herself the task of making New Zealand the first ecologically sustainable nation, describing this as "central to New Zealand's unique national identity". Her government's major policy achievements include the Working for Families package, increasing the minimum wage 5% a year, interest-free student loans, creation of District Health Boards, the introduction of a number of tax credits, overhauling the secondary school and the introduction of fourteen weeks’ parental leave. Commentators praised her for overseeing a period of sustained and stable economic growth, with an increase in employment. However, the settings which actually created this were those of the previous two governments. She’s merely stealing their credit.”

“Clark has a bizarre personal fixation on certain sex-related issues, ostensibly to be seen to be ensuring that gender was not an issue in politics. Practically this means that she acts as viciously as possible while playing on traditional social norms that she not be attacked in return as she’s a girlie and that’s mean. Those who take her at her word have consistently portrayed her as bloodsucking, cold, and humourless. She herself whines that when her male counterparts speak in the media, they look strong and determined, whereas when she portrayed the same characteristics, the media made it to look like she was "tough" and "nagging." In fact, she is cold and humourless, and fixated on herself and her image. She’s a political opportunist with the cardinal political sin of not being very good at it.”

“OK, her first term from 1999. The 1999 general election produced a historic moment for New Zealand; for the first time, two women, Clark and Shipley, campaigned against each other as leaders of the country's two major parties. Clark repeatedly stated her desire to "govern alone" rather than as part of a coalition. However, in the lead up to the election, Labour made overtures to the left-wing Alliance. Clark addressed the Alliance's annual conference in August 1998. On polling day Labour returned 49 seats, an increase of 12, ahead of National's 39 seats. The first Clark-led Cabinet linked Labour with the Alliance. Alliance leader Jim Anderton served as Deputy Prime Minister under Clark until this year. The full ministerial team, and portfolios, was announced on 9 December—12 days after the election—and the new government was sworn in the following day. The coalition partners pioneered "agree to disagree" procedures to manage policy differences. Such procedures lessened the chances of Cabinet becoming publicly divided and running the risk of losing the confidence of the House of Representatives and promoting longer-term instability, as problems simply festered.”

“In January 2000, the then Police Commissioner, Peter Doone, resigned after The Sunday Star-Times alleged he had prevented the breath testing of his partner Robyn, who had driven the car they occupied, by telling the officer "that won't be necessary". Both Doone and the officer involved denied this happened. Doone sued the Sunday Star-Times for defamation in 2005, but the paper revealed they had checked the story with Clark. She confirmed this, but denied that she had made attempts to get Doone to resign and defended being the source as "by definition I cannot leak". Clark also responded by saying that National supporters had funded Doone's defamation-suit. Opinion on the significance of this incident varied but it accords to her own character.”

“In 2000, Labour MP Chris Carter investigated the background of one of Clark's Cabinet colleagues, Maori Affairs Minister Dover Samuels, regarding allegations of historic statutory rape. Ex-convict John Yelash claimed that Carter had approached him to help with the investigation; a claim that Carter denied. Clark backed her MP, referring to Yelash as a "murderer" when he had in fact been convicted of manslaughter, a less serious offence. Yelash sued Clark for defamation, resulting in an out-of-court settlement.”

“In April 2001, Clark met with Chinese President Jiang Zemin during an official visit to Beijing. Jiang referred to the Prime Minister as an "old friend". He stated that China hoped to "establish bilateral long-term and stable overall cooperative relations with New Zealand". Clark strongly supported China's entry into the World Trade Organization, and she has never voiced anti-Soviet views in public.”

“In May 2001 the Victor incident occurred at Cape Jackson and this ran a wrecking ball through the Clark government. In an effort to repair some of the damage, in late May 2002 Clark made her first visit to the United States as Prime Minister. She visited the former site of the World Trade Center, where the New York City Police Department presented her with a New Zealand flag that had been recovered from the rubble after the September 11 attacks. On 26 May, Clark visited the Pentagon and Washington, D.C., where she met with American officials, including a private meeting with the President. Most of the agenda for Clark's visit focused on the joint counter-terrorism campaign and she avoided discussions related to the USSR as best possible. The Americans were not very impressed.”

“This was also to divert from a forgery issue involving Clark. As Opposition Leader in 1998, Clark signed her name to a canvas that had been painted by another artist. The painting was subsequently auctioned for charity. After the act came to light in April 2002, the opposition National Party referred the matter to the Police. A police report found evidence for a prima facie case of forgery, but determined that it was not in the public interest to prosecute the Prime Minister.”

“In June 2002, Clark apologised on behalf of New Zealand for aspects of the country's treatment of Samoa during the colonial era. Clark's apology was made in Apia during the 40th anniversary of Samoa's independence and televised live to New Zealand where Samoans applauded the Prime Minister's gesture.”

“The Alliance split on 1 June 2002 over the Government's refusal to better support the New Zealand troops deployed to East Timor, leading to the imminent dissolution of Labour's coalition with that party. Consequently, Clark called for an early election to be held on 27 July. This was more likely to have been driven by the worsening fallout from the Victor Incident. Certainly, her political opponents claimed that Clark could have continued to govern, and that a snap election was called to take advantage of Labour's existing position in opinion polls which showed them still in front but with support rapidly softening.”

“Then, on 5 June 2002, the Timor massacre happened. Clark tried to suppress information about it but she was not in control of the sources, and with the release of the imagery and the whispers of what had happened to the New Zealand soldiers, the leaks began. We are all familiar with this so I won’t belabour it, what resulted was a political annihilation with Labour reduced to four seats and the Progressives and Greens eliminated from Parliament completely.”

He glanced up. “So what has happened since. Basically, it’s a case of the new Government telling us that ‘we must away, for there go our people and we are their leaders!’”

“Essentially, Kipling’s Gods of the Copybook Heading did, with terror and slaughter, return. The New Zealand left cannot believe that mere reality has dared to intrude into their hopes and dreams and smash them all. Tough luck to them, I guess.”

“Practically, the new government is over-reacting as they have no real choice and it’s going to badly damage their budgetary situation for years to come. They are doing the following.
Firstly, the second pair of ANZAC class will be upgraded as warships and not stay as big OPV.

Second, they are looking at ordering four sizeable OPV fitted as corvettes, but with certain systems like SSM launchers mostly kept ashore until needed. We are advising to look more at ASW instead, but, Timor. That could go either way. Thirdly, the RNZAF is to get a squadron of F-18 as fast as that can be done. Their P-3C are to be urgently upgraded to get closer to the same standard as ours and that’s good, they are well behind. Fourthly, expect the NZ Army to double. Fifthly, all the services are going to drastically expand their reserves.”

“All of this is rather knee jerk and it’s going to buy them real problems especially with guided weapons but the new Government is on the back of a galloping tiger.”

“Final comment, it finally looks like the Kiwi’s are taking things seriously.”

The Prime Minister settled back in his chair and, steepled his hands and looked thoughtful, causing his Cabinet to fall silent.

“They are going to over-react to this, they really have no choice. The question now is how we best take advantage of that?”

[Jotun]

Question: Is 9/11 canon in TLW? The way I see it, it would be butterflied away by the POD, as it would throw one hell of a spanner into the timeline of TLW.

[drmarkbailey]

No idea, sorry.

I'm just reposting stuff saved from the old board.

Something big would break on the islamist terrorist front, that's inevitable even from random chance as there's just so many attacks.

In previous positions I've done about 14 years of counter terrorism work of various kinds. The rule of thumb in that field is that annually there are about 2,000 islamist terrorist attacks per annum in this world as reported in media, mostly local, mostly in Africa and the Middle east. In fact that's only about 85-90% of them but it's close enough. While it cycles, very generally there's about a couple of hundred killed and several hundred wounded a month, worldwide. last September was pretty bad (600 killed and a thousand wounded) and 2024 has been a slightly worse-than-usual year. Most are small numbers, it's just that there's a lot of attacks. Yep, it was something of a relief to move on from CT work. Depressing stuff.

Cheers: Mark

[Jotun]

No idea, sorry.

I'm just reposting stuff saved from the old board.

Something big would break on the islamist terrorist front, that's inevitable even from random chance as there's just so many attacks.

In previous positions I've done about 14 years of counter terrorism work of various kinds. The rule of thumb in that field is that annually there are about 2,000 islamist terrorist attacks per annum in this world as reported in media, mostly local, mostly in Africa and the Middle east. In fact that's only about 85-90% of them but it's close enough. While it cycles, very generally there's about a couple of hundred killed and several hundred wounded a month, worldwide. last September was pretty bad (600 killed and a thousand wounded) and 2024 has been a slightly worse-than-usual year. Most are small numbers, it's just that there's a lot of attacks. Yep, it was something of a relief to move on from CT work. Depressing stuff.

Cheers: Mark

It just sprang out at me, and while the embassy bombings in Nairobi and Dar-es-Salaam were mentioned by Jan, something as seminal, disruptive and transformative as 9/11 wasn't, to my knowledge. Let's just ask him when he is back.

[drmarkbailey]

AGreed, and that's a good 'spot'! I appreciate the help with finding discontinuities.

Cheers: Mark

[James1978]

It just sprang out at me, and while the embassy bombings in Nairobi and Dar-es-Salaam were mentioned by Jan, something as seminal, disruptive and transformative as 9/11 wasn't, to my knowledge. Let's just ask him when he is back.

I believe 9/11 is something he's gone back and forth on, but hasn't firmly committed to either way.

[Jotun]

Best we ask him…

[Craiglxviii]

Thank you for this too Mark- I’d only half- remembered the Victor on the ricks.

[Bernard Woolley]

Question: Is 9/11 canon in TLW? The way I see it, it would be butterflied away by the POD, as it would throw one hell of a spanner into the timeline of TLW.

It's something I've never felt comfortable saying yes, or no to.

[Eaglenine2]

The story is in 2005 and there isn't a mention of 9/11?

[Bernard Woolley]

Please see my previous reply.

[Jotun]

Question: Is 9/11 canon in TLW? The way I see it, it would be butterflied away by the POD, as it would throw one hell of a spanner into the timeline of TLW.

It's something I've never felt comfortable saying yes, or no to.

Fair enough, but as I wrote, an event this seminal, disruptive and transformative would have changed the topography of TLW significantly. But that's just me.

[James1978]

Mark,

Couple questions for clarification:
1) So the actual Victor II wreck was on 16 May 2001?

2) Did we move the year of the Timor Massacre? Because your other story sets it in March 2000, but this one refers to it happening on 5 June 2002.

[drmarkbailey]

I'm not entirely sure what version this is, so I'm sure there are errors in it. WHat date is best for the timeline?

Cheers: Mark

[James1978]

I'm not entirely sure what version this is, so I'm sure there are errors in it. WHat date is best for the timeline?

Cheers: Mark

Which one is most likely to be the straw that breaks the camel's back to bring down the Clark government?

My two cents. If the Victor Incident happens first, it plants the seed that the Soviets under Renko are playing with a new rule book as well as the idea that virtue signaling means less that New Zealand liked to think it did. And that comes after a few years of open Soviet support for Indonesia.
So when the Timor Massacre happens later, there is a greater public perception that the government knew, or should have known, that Indonesia felt emboldened by Soviet support, and how the hell did we get caught with our pants down on the frontline a year after the Soviets got caught in New Zealand's own backyard. Even better if recent Soviet/East Bloc weapons turn up in militia hands.

PS, I sent you a couple emails.

[drmarkbailey]

That looks like it works!

Cheers: Mark