HMNZS Tangaroa - Bismark Sea. November 15th, 2040 15.12LT
They arrived without fanfare.
Six E/A-15N Reapers — the sharp-edged replacements for the aging EA-18G Growlers — dropped onto the deck of Tangaroa like predatory birds coming home to roost.
The decision to pivot away from the Growler had been made quietly but decisively. New Zealand’s Ministry of Defence, buoyed by surging domestic production and growing influence within joint projects, had chosen to rebrand its versions of the F-15EX. The result was the F-15P — a name meant to reflect the aircraft’s Pacific roots. Its navalised cousin, born of even deeper collaboration, was renamed the F-15N. And the EW strike variant, once designated the E-15EX/N, now bore a single name: Reaper.
It was Ari Cohen-Tait — the program’s lead engineer — who’d stitched the design together, working hand-in-glove with Israel Aerospace Industries and Boeing NZ at the Dunedin plant. Internally, the team had called it Ra’am HaYam — Sea Thunder — a nod to Cohen-Tait’s roots and his family’s legacy with the original F-15I. The name hadn’t stuck. But the spirit of it had.
For the ministry of Defence it had been an easy sell. A reduced number of different airframes meant less money spent on individual sets of maintenance protocols. The supply chain was in house and with two local factories, the production numbers were easily manageable.
What emerged was a machine of uncompromising power: The E/A-15N “Reaper” Block I. A navalised electronic warfare and strike aircraft with teeth.
Based on the rugged F-15N airframe, the Reaper was designed from the keel up to dominate the electromagnetic battlespace. It replaced the Growler in carrier strike groups and brought with it a generational leap in capability — real-time AI-driven jamming, modular mission payloads, and the ability to lead SEAD/DEAD operations while retaining dogfighting and deep-strike endurance.
Its AI — built on the same neural fusion engine that powered the Tūmatauenga-X suite — could parse a battlespace in milliseconds, fusing sensor input and directing coordinated jamming, swarm decoys, or strike packages with surgical precision.
It was more than a platform. It was a force multiplier, and now it had arrived in theatre.
The Silver Wraiths of No. 67 Squadron were to be the guinea pigs. The Reaper had performed beyond expectations in simulations and test flights. Now, the real-world trials would begin. If it held up under combat conditions, it wouldn’t just change the game — it would redefine it.
The other Alliance members were already interested. The Americans were watching, too — quietly, but with growing intent.
The Wraiths put the Reaper through hell for a full week and couldn’t find a fault.
“Tell me what you think,” Mason asked Commander Tobi Ravindra, CO of No. 67 Squadron. He’d called the man into his mess straight off the flight line. Ravindra was still in his gear — sweat-soaked, visor up, flight harness slung loose.
“Honestly, Admiral? I’m sold,” Ravindra grinned. “The Reaper’s fatter than the Growler, sure, but the fly-by-wire is insane. It handles like—hell, I don’t know—like a Texan back in flight school. It’s that agile. And fast. Holy fuck, is it fast.”
“You could say the same about the N’s though,” Mason replied evenly.
“Sure,” Ravindra said, that cocky edge forming at the corner of his mouth. “But this just feels different. And with all those added hardpoints? I don’t need to carry so much bad language to protect myself.”
Ravindra left to debrief. While Mason poured himself a coffee he wouldn’t drink, he thought about the ramifications of this new aircraft. He remembered the words of his air operations officer, when they had tried to fit the Sea Eagles into the mix, he was probably going nuts at this one. The Reaper was bigger than the Growler. Mason could practically hear O’Doyle pulling his hair out from across the ship. Staring at the flight log on his datapad, he went through the numbers, they certainly looked promising, but only time and bullets would tell the real story. They’d built a storm, that much was certain. Now it just had to live up to its promise.
Mason put the pad down on his desk and looked out the window, toward the cloud-split horizon. Somewhere out there, enemy radars were already cycling up, satellites shifting, signals pulsing through the void.
They didn’t know it yet. But the game had just changed.
***
Rawlinson Residence, Suva – Fiji. November 15th, 2040 16.25LT
The shoreline was placid that afternoon, calm. The waves made of gorgeous blue pacific water, still crashed against the white sands, but to Caleb Rawlinson, freshly returned from his third convoy assignment, and with new orders coming, the waves seemed a little less threatening. He was considering taking Cody down to the beach for a surf, when the boy came out onto the veranda, barefoot as usual, a rather perplexed look on his face, an old magazine in his hand.
“What is it buddy?” Rawlinson asked, scooching over on the lounger so his son could sit down.
“I thought we didn’t have any nuclear submarines?” Cody replied, with a look of confusion.
Rawlinson eyed his young son closely, well, not so young anymore. He had just had his thirteenth birthday. Another one Rawlinson had missed while he was at sea. At least this time he wasn’t fighting for his life, surrounded by the debris of his sinking ship. At least this time, he had been able to video conference in. This time, he could almost be there for his boy.
“We don’t.” Rawlinson said. Cody had leaned back, melting into his father and Rawlinson placed a protective arm over the boy. “We have the Makos, but they’re conventional boats. Why?”
“This says we have nuclear submarines.” Cody handed the magazine he was holding to his father. It was an old copy of the Global Defence Review, almost ten years old! Rawlinson read through the article.
***
Global Defence Review – July 15, 2032
France and CANZUK, Launch Joint SSN Development Pact Amid AUKUS Breakdown
By Jonty Reynolds – Defence Correspondent
Paris / Ottawa / Canberra / Wellington / London— In a transformative move set to redefine Indo-Pacific defence dynamics, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and now France, have officially launched a joint nuclear submarine development and production initiative, marking the formal collapse of the troubled AUKUS submarine deal with the United States.
The Oceania-class SSN Program, a multi-nation collaboration, centres around a next-generation nuclear attack submarine based on France’s successful Suffren-class (Barracuda). The project will see each nation contributing their expertise:
France will take the lead on nuclear propulsion and hull design, building on its Barracuda submarine program.
The United Kingdom will integrate sonar systems, weaponry, and safety protocols based on the renowned Astute-class platform.
Canada will provide key construction modules and systems from its Halifax shipyards, enhancing both its Arctic and Atlantic maritime capabilities.
Australia will oversee final assembly at Osborne Naval Shipyard in Adelaide, solidifying its leadership in the Indo-Pacific naval landscape.
New Zealand, while not a direct recipient of the nuclear-powered submarines, will play a crucial role in the development, contributing expertise in submarine systems integration, underwater warfare technology, and submarine support infrastructure. New Zealand’s new Mako-class conventional submarines, based on the German Type 212CD, offer critical insights into quieter, more efficient submarine operations in the Pacific. This collaboration ensures New Zealand remains integrated within the strategic fabric of the partnership without acquiring nuclear propulsion.
The Oceanic Naval Defence Integration Accord (ONDIA) was signed by senior defence officials from all five nations in Paris, underscoring the growing importance of international cooperation in an era of global naval competition.
“This agreement strengthens our shared commitment to maritime security and enhances the technological capabilities of all involved nations,” said the British Defence Minister. “The Oceania-class represents the future of submarine warfare in the Indo-Pacific and beyond.”
The Oceania-class submarines will feature an advanced hybrid UK-French combat system, automated propulsion controls, and enhanced strike capabilities designed to meet the operational demands of both the Arctic and Indo-Pacific regions. With a focus on modularity and interoperability, the submarines will provide a backbone for the strategic naval deterrence of the five nations, as well as potentially allied democracies in the region such as Japan and India.
The program will see the construction of seven to ten submarines across the partner nations within the first five years, with the option for further expansion or export to like-minded countries. New Zealand, while not directly receiving the nuclear boats, will continue to support the project through joint exercises, technical cooperation, and operational integration, ensuring its role in safeguarding the broader maritime region.
AUKUS Fallout and Strategic Rebalancing
The new pact comes as a direct consequence of the AUKUS program’s stalling, with the project encountering political gridlock, financial hurdles, and technical delays. Australia, having shifted away from the Virginia-class submarine procurement, will now invest heavily in the Oceania-class project, aligning with both national interests and broader CANZUK-Pacific security strategies.
Newly elected UK Prime Minister Richard Winslow stressed that the partnership was not just about securing submarines but about reshaping global naval power.
“This initiative demonstrates that our nations can not only weather the storm of global defence turbulence but can also lead the charge toward future naval supremacy,” The British Prime Minister stated.
France, whose relations with Australia were damaged by the original AUKUS cancellation, has seen this deal as an important opportunity to reassert its strategic relevance in the Indo-Pacific.
Consortium Build Strategy
In line with the collaborative approach seen in the upcoming Melbourne-class aircraft carrier program, the Oceania-class will see the hull and nuclear propulsion systems built between France and the UK, with combat systems, sonar, and electronics being finalized in Australia and Canada. This cooperative build ensures that the submarine’s systems are fully interoperable with allied forces.
First steel cutting for the Oceania-class is scheduled for late 2033, with the first submarines expected to enter service in 2040 with the Royal Australian Navy and Royal Canadian Navy. New Zealand will continue its vital role in joint exercises and system development, reinforcing its position as a key player in the region’s strategic balance.
"This partnership ensures our collective defence capability is stronger, more integrated, and more agile than ever," said a senior New Zealand Defence Spokesperson.
This deal will undoubtedly mark a new chapter in the strategic dynamics of the Indo-Pacific, ensuring that CANZUK and France continue to lead the charge in maintaining peace and stability in the region, with New Zealand as a key partner shaping the future of maritime power.
***
It took Rawlinson a few minutes to finish the article, it had been so long ago he had almost forgotten. But now, looking at these pages, he could remember the fallout. It had been a massive blow to the collective American ego, but it had done wonders for the European and Oceanic economies.
“I think I see the problem here.” Rawlinson stated. “The nuclear boats were for everyone but us. It says so here!”
Rawlinson pointed to the line in the article, and Cody’s face turned an instant shade of pink.
“Oh, I guess I missed that bit.” Cody said sheepishly. “Why though?”
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Rawlinson eyed his son’s curious look.
“Why don’t we have nuclear boats?” He asked and Cody nodded. “Because a long time ago, we took a stand when so many countries wouldn’t, and we have maintained that stance ever since.”
The boy nodded sagely at his father’s words, he thought for a moment. “But isn’t nuclear power better for the environment?”
“That’s the hard part. Sometimes what’s better isn’t what’s safer.” But Rawlinson wasn’t finished. “Nuclear power is fine if properly handled, but it has the capacity to be perverted into something so deadly, that’s why we stood against it.”
Cody looked deep in thought for a moment. The moment stretched into two, then three and soon the only sounds that could be heard was some soft music on the wind from somewhere over by the neighbours and the waves crashing on the beach. Rawlinson looked at the article again,
“Where did you find this anyway?” He asked the boy.
“Library, I was doing some research for my end of year project at school.”
“Are you finished?” the man asked, conspiratorially.
“Mostly.” The boy replied, with a quizzical expression.
“Wanna go surfing?” Rawlinson asked, lifting the boy from the lounger and waggling his eyes at him. There was no need for words, the boy’s smile said it all. He sprinted off the veranda, the sound of his thundering feet echoing through the house. At a running leap, Cody hooked his board under one arm in an almost seamless motion and was half way down the path, before his father had even stood.
“He misses you so much when you’re not here.”
Rawlinson turned at the sound of his wife’s voice. The thunderous echo of Cody’s feet had expertly masked her approach.
“I Know,” he replied, pulling her into his arms and giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead.
***
Chinese Amphibious Task Force - Philippine Sea. November 16th, 2040 02.12LT
They had been forming up for over a month — methodically, deliberately, like tectonic plates grinding toward pressure.
The People’s Liberation Army–Navy had taken losses. Heavy ones. Far heavier than any projection Beijing’s Central Military Commission had signed off on. Four aircraft carriers — Liaoning, Fujian, Guangxi, and Shanxi — now lay at the bottom of the ocean. Two conventional, two nuclear. Their destruction had been a rude awakening, orchestrated by precise Allied strikes, drone swarms, and a level of coordination the PLA had underestimated.
Amphibious ships had fared little better. Seven of the formidable Type-076s — meant to be the linchpin of China’s island-hopping doctrine — had been lost in the Indonesian campaign. Burned out in mangrove chokepoints. Crippled by loitering munitions. Sent to the depths by Allied submarine ambushes.
Cruisers, destroyers, frigates, corvettes, submarines — every class had been bloodied.
And yet... the fleet still outnumbered the Alliance.
What the PLA lacked in finesse, it made up for in mass and momentum. The Americans, the British, the Australians — they had better kit. Smarter missiles. Sharper edge. But China had numbers. China had reach. And most of all, China had learned.
Faster than anyone expected.
The PLA Air Force had been gutted in some theatres — two full carrier air wings annihilated in the Java Sea, dozens of stealth fighters torn from the sky over Malaysia and the Bay of Bengal. Even their prized H-20 bombers had been shot down in swathes during deep raids into Allied airspace.
But those failures had taught them.
Taught them how the Alliance moved. How their stealth platforms communicated. How their pilots baited and struck. Every loss was fed into the new AI-sim nodes in Chongqing. Every wrecked J-20 became a lesson. Every downed bomber a data point.
In the field, Chinese doctrine had started to shift. The once-cumbersome strike packages were becoming agile. Swarm tactics were being refined. Their jammers, once crude, were being recalibrated on the fly. They were adapting.
And now, a new task force — broad, battle-hardened, and bristling with firepower — was pushing south toward Papua New Guinea and the Solomons.
It wasn’t just a show of force. It was a reckoning.
Behind its lines, thousands of PLAN Marines prepared to storm the beaches. Above, newer drone variants moved in chessboard formations — tighter, more disciplined. Beneath the waves, submarines prowled corridors already mapped in predictive detail.
The Alliance had bloodied the dragon.
Now it was coming back, smarter. Meaner. And this time, it knew what it was hunting.
***
HMNZS Tangaroa - Bismark Sea. November 16th, 2040 08.12LT
The E/A-15N Reaper eased up to the catapult, like the predatory beast it was. It didn’t just move, it stalked. The yellow-shirted director signalled the pilot to halt, and he pushed the brakes in. He hit a switch next to the landing gear handle and the nose of the aircraft dropped towards the deck. He felt the tug, as the tow hook and catapult engaged.
One of the flight deck crew held up a tablet full of large print digital numbers, it was his weight and current fuel level, they used to use grease boards, but times had changed, modernity held itself back for no man. The pilot checked the numbers over and satisfied gave the man a salute. The director gave the test signal, and the pilot waggled his controls, making sure that everything was free and easy. The jet blast deflector came up, the afterburners kicked in, the director touched the deck, and the shooter hit the big red button.
The air was thick with the hum of the afterburners, the E/A-15N roaring off the bow and slicing into the sky as the wheels came up and the doors closed. In the back seat, radar and mapping screens flickered to life on the glass, and the weapons system officer for this run, Lieutenant Andy Champorelli began his work. A fresh layer of sweat clung to Mason’s brow, though his hands remained steady on the controls. He had only just gotten used to flying the N model, not that he was able to do it very often, but this one felt a little different.
The cockpit around him felt alive, the Elbit DASH-X helmet interface, meshing seamlessly with the Tūmatauenga-X Core AI brain, it was as if the aircraft itself was listening to him, responding to the ebb and flow of the digital battlefield unfolding in real-time. He had heard Ravindra’s words from yesterday and wanted to see it for himself. As the Admiral and commander of all allied naval assets in the southern hemisphere, he had that privilege,
Mason put the Reaper through its paces, a few sharp turns, a few banks and a few split Ss, a few high speed climbs, roll overs and high G pullouts. He liked to think that his wing man was struggling to keep up, but in reality the man was probably just humouring the Admiral.
Mason had flown the F-35 countless times, it was an awesome machine with a myriad of redeeming qualities, but the Sea Eagle and now the Reaper, just hit that sweet spot a little bit differently.
The mission today had started like any other — a simple training run, a few low-level manoeuvres with allied forces to test the new E/A-15N, flying in tight formation with birds from the HMAS Australia, and the same from the USS Enterprise. But now, everything was about to change.
“Admiral I’m picking up something on the AESA roughly 20 klicks directly ahead.” Champorelli stated.
“What do you make of it Champ?” Mason Replied.
A plague of locusts blinked onto radar — an amorphous blob resolving into a swarm of drones. Hundreds of them, scattered across the sky.
"Multiple targets incoming, looks like a drone swarm, hostile intent confirmed. Starting the music!" Champorelli stated matter-of-factly over the inboard radio.
Mason’s heart skipped, but his mind was already several steps ahead. This wasn’t a simple intercept. The E/A-15N wasn’t just a fighter — it was a multi-role powerhouse, ready for this moment.
The EPAWSS system hummed to life, its Tūmatauenga-X Core AI brain processors kicking into overdrive as Champorelli engaged the upgraded jamming pods. The screens in front of him began to glow with new tactical data, layering enemy trajectories and vulnerabilities in a way that was both overwhelming and beautiful. Mason caught a glimpse of it on his own glass, but became instantly busy with the job of flying the aircraft.
"Locking on. Jamming frequency active. Incoming drone swarm — launching countermeasures," Champorelli muttered over the intercom, his voice calm. Mason pulled the stick hard to the left and pushed the throttle forward, feeling the powerful engines roar beneath him.
The first wave of drones closed in, their tiny frames zipping through the air like wasps with a death sentence. Mason gritted his teeth, but Champorelli had everything under control, he had flown countless missions in Growlers, a system this new and slick was like child’s play, the AN/ALQ-218 – Tactical passive EW receiver and emitter systems syncing seamlessly with his inputs.
Then it happened. The Reaper’s AN/ALQ-249 NGJ anti-jamming systems activated — every signal, every electromagnetic pulse — all targeted at the incoming drones.
In an instant, the sky above him erupted in a blaze of electronic warfare. Every drone in the immediate vicinity faltered, their systems overloaded by the new frequency. Sparks flew from their tiny frames as they plummeted, some spiralling out of control, others disintegrating in mid-air.
Champorelli whistled through the mic in the back seat and Mason grinned, hands firm on the controls as the first wave of drones crumpled into the sea below. But it wasn’t over. The swarm was relentless, and more drones poured in, relentless as a tide.
With no time to spare, Mason pulled a barrel roll, twisting the aircraft in a dizzying arc. The E/A-15N''s Eagle Passive Active Warning Survivability System working in tandem with the Tūmatauenga-X Core AI recalibrated instantly, pushing its electronic warfare capabilities to the edge. Another wave of drones, now beginning to falter under the sheer power of the platform’s countermeasures, was closing in from behind.
"Deploying new countermeasures — pod activation," Champorelli called out, his voice a mix of exhilaration and professionalism.
Within seconds, the Reaper deployed its tailored suite of electronic warfare pods, which emitted a broad-spectrum pulse, overwhelming the second group of drones. The world outside the cockpit became a symphony of chaos as more drones fell from the sky, their once-precise trajectories now disintegrating into blind, flailing tumbles.
From his peripherals, Mason caught glimpses of the allied fighters in perfect formation, the teamwork of years of training on full display. They had him covered. No matter how many drones came at them, they would not be overwhelmed.
As the last of the drones tumbled into the sea, Mason allowed himself a small sigh of relief, his grip on the stick loosening just a fraction. The Reaper had passed its trial by fire. But it was more than just a successful mission — it was a declaration. The future belonged to machines like this, and to those who could master them.
Out there, beyond the horizon, the enemy was coming. They didn’t know it yet. But the Reaper was waiting.
***
Flight deck, HMNZS Tangaroa - Bismark Sea. November 16th, 2040 10.00LT
The Reaper came in low over the port side, nose steady, wings rock-still. Mason pulled a tight low turn, and the aircraft settled easily onto the glide slope. He pushed the poll down and the landing gear dropped with mechanical precision, the arrestor hook snapping down with a clunk that reverberated gently through the airframe.
“Wraith 102, you are at fifteen hundred metres. Call the ball,” came the voice from the LSO station.
“This is Wraith 102, I have the ball. Fuel state 6.2,” Mason replied, cool and clipped.
“Roger ball. Deck is clear.”
Tangaroa’s flight deck loomed into view, salt spray-slick and shimmering in the morning haze. Mason lined up the glide slope, flaps going down and adjusting his pitch ever so slightly with fingertip pressure. The Reaper wasn’t light, but it flew like it was, Mason had to keep an eye on it, even the slightest of gestures and the aircraft moved. The deck came thick and fast below him, In all his years fo doing this, he still had never quite gotten used to the controlled violence of a deck landing.
“Add power… looking good” Came the disembodied voice of the LSO.
Seconds later and the arrestor cables flashed by in a blur, Mason slammed the throttles full forward as the wheels kissed the deck. The jet slammed down hard, the inertia pressing both men into their seats—until the hook caught home and the aircraft snapped to a halt, propelling them forwards against their restraints, stopping just meters from the edge. Mason pulled the throttles back to idle and hit the hook lever, the tail hook sliding neatly back into its cradle between the two powerful jet engines.
He followed the Yellow-shirt’s directions and turned towards the island, moments later, the nose dipped forward and then bounced once as the tow tractor hooked in.
“Wraith 102 recovered. No damage,” came the voice over the deck comms.
Inside the cockpit, Mason exhaled through his nose. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding the stick.
“Nice catch,” Champorelli said, popping the canopy.
“Nice jamming,” Mason replied as they unbuckled. “Would’ve been a different day without you.”
They descended the ladder, flight crew already swarming the jet — checking pods, recording telemetry, snapping covers back on. Mason peeled off his gloves, helmet still in hand, as he walked with Champorelli toward the island’s CIC stairs.
***
Combat Information Centre – HMNZS Tangaroa – Bismark Sea. November 16th, 2040 10.15LT
The CIC was abuzz with motion. Tactical officers crowded around screens still replaying the engagement from multiple feeds — thermal overlays, AI-rendered flight paths, jamming logs.
Mason stood at the head of the operations table, helmet bag at his feet, a steaming cup of instant coffee in the other. It was brown and it tasted like warm regret, but it was wet and he sipped it anyway.
Across from him, Captain Todd Rossovich — Commander Air Group — tapped through the Reaper’s mission data on a tablet. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes moved quickly.
“Well?” Mason asked.
Rossovich looked up. “The pods held. You jammed out over a hundred and thirty confirmed drone signals, with an estimated hard-kill disruption of a hundred and three. No bleed-through. No cross-talk. System integrity’s at ninety-eight percent, and the heat mapping on the core held well within spec. It’s a clean run.”
Mason let that sink in.
“Champorelli’s sequencing was textbook,” he added. “Target grouping, frequency shifts, pulse staggering — it was all perfectly timed. And that barrel roll you pulled to reset the angle of engagement?”
Mason raised a brow.
“Overkill,” he said flatly. Then cracked a smile. “But it looked great on camera.”
Mason chuckled, drained the coffee, and set the mug down.
“Get the footage to Wellington. I want Defence seeing this before lunch. Also send a cut to Ravindra. I want him flying with a full strike group by dusk.”
“What about Washington?” he asked.
“Let them ask,” Mason replied. “Enterprise is here. They’re watching. They’ll know.”
Rossovich nodded once.
“What’s the intel on the drone source?” Mason asked.
“Chinese recon probe.” Replied Lt. Cmdr Cole Turner, Tangaroa’s Principal Warfare Officer. “Launched from forward elements moving east out of the Philippines. It wasn’t just a test run.” He paused, tapping the edge of the table. “They’re scouting the path.”
“Path to what?” Rossovich asked.
“To hell,” Mason said, turning toward the central map. “And we’re the welcome mat.”
***
Secure Comms Room – HMNZS Tangaroa – Bismark Sea. November 16th, 2040 10.55LT
The chill air of the room — kept low to protect the hardware — bit at the still-damp spots on his skin. Mason had just come from the showers, dressed now in fresh at-sea fatigues. His steward had advised him Admiral Fitzpatrick was on the secure line.
Still munching on the bacon-and-egg sandwich Henare had thrust into his hand, and sipping the strong coffee his steward had brewed to go with it, Mason stood before the comms monitor, staring at the face of his boss.
“Well?” the man asked.
“We’ve got a large fleet heading our way, Danny,” Mason began, and Fitzpatrick’s enthusiasm dimmed. “This one looks like it’s going to be rough.”
“And the Reaper?”
“It’s a godsend, Danny. I might have to kiss that Ari guy when I see him.”
Fitzpatrick chuckled, but the moment passed quickly.
“Tell me about this fleet.”
“I don’t have anything solid yet. They hit us hard with drones not long ago,” Mason said, choosing not to mention that he had personally shredded them from the sky. The Chief of the Royal New Zealand Navy didn’t need to know his regional commander was out flying cowboy missions. He could read it in the after-action report.
“We’ve got recon Hawkeyes circling now, backed by full air cover. We’ll know more soon.”
“I don’t like this, Mal,” Fitzpatrick said after a beat. “If the fleet’s as big as you think, they might be making a play for New Guinea. Or the Solomons.”
He paused, thoughtful.
“I’ll alert Commodore Masonovich in Suva. See if Jesse can send you some support.”
“That’d be appreciated. We should be hearing from the scouts soon. I’ll keep you posted.”
Fitzpatrick nodded. Mason hit the kill switch.
He finished the sandwich, drained the last of his coffee, and stood.
He had work to do.