To Render Aid and Assistance

The Pacific is a dangerous place, as the crews of the Nathan Jamesand the Henandiscover.

[Author's note: This story takes place after the events of Episode 11 of Season 3 and before Episode 12. It ends the series consisting of A Great and Terrible Thing, First Commandand Interlude: Top of the World.]

After re-fuelling at Pearl Harbour the Nathan James and the Henan had temporarily parted company, to call at the inhabited islands of the Hawaii group and, if needed, deliver doses of Cure. They would rendezvous north of the island of Maui before starting for the mainland.

"Looks like it will be clear sailing," Slattery said to Chandler, as they surveyed the calm sea to the east.

"It's what might happen when we get there that bothers me," said Chandler, too softly for the rest of the bridge personnel to hear.

Lieutenant Rodrigeuz, the officer at the Comms station – its usual occupant, Lieutenant Granderson, was currently serving as Acting XO on the Henan – said: "Sirs, picking up a message. From somewhere to the north of the island of Molokai. Distress call. In English."

Slattery activated the speaker.

" ... to any ships in the area, we need help," said a young and frightened-sounding voice. "Many of our crew have come down with the Red Flu, including most of the officers and engineers. Several people have died. Please help us, please ... "

Slattery picked up the radio phone. "Ship in distress, please identify," he said.

" ... thank god, please help us, come immediately ... "

"Ship in distress, please state country and port of origin," said Slattery.

" ... please help us, please come immediately, we need assistance ... "

Slattery hung up the phone. "Sounds like all we're going to get out of them," he said. "A ship in distress, we're kind of obliged to take a look. Rules of the sea. But it sounds a bit odd, the Red Flu just breaking out like that."

Chandler nodded. "Let's make it a careful look," he said.

Slattery nodded and turned to the navigator. "Midshipman Spencer, plot us a ... careful ... course," he said.

"So many little islands and reefs around here, any course is a careful one, sir," said Spencer.

"Lieutenant Rodrigeuz, contact the Henan and give them new co-ordinates for rendezvous," said Slattery.

Slattery and Chandler studied the ship through binoculars. "According to Fire Control, the footprint fits that of a light cruiser of the Indonesian navy, the Sadarso," said Slattery. "No sign of Indonesian markings, or any other, though. Not even a flag or a name."

He looked around the immediate area. There was a mountainous island not far away, south of them.

The Sadarso, if that is what it was, was dead in the water. There were bodies lying on the foredeck, and a few more aft. No sign of life. The radio signal simply repeated the 'please help us' message. Maybe it was all the English the person on the other end knew.

"Full stop," said Slattery to the helm officer. "Prepare a rib team, tell the Doc to get a batch of Cure ready."

The Nathan James came to a halt, a few hundred metres away from the Sadarso.

"This doesn't smell right," said Slattery.

Suddenly, the gun turrets of the Sadarso began to swing towards the Nathan James. The 'bodies' got up and ran for the secondary armaments.

"Emergency stations!" shouted Slattery. "Brace for incoming fire!"

The turrets on the Sadarso were firing. They were targeting the five-inch gun of the Nathan James.

The Nathan James rocked as the turret took two shells. The Sadarso kept firing, aiming at the other weapons of the US ship.

"Two more ships appearing from behind the island in the south," said Rodrigeuz. "Fire Control identifies them ... damn, as frigates of the Mexican navy. The Allende and the Abasala, both once of the US navy, Knox class."

"I'm guessing that they won't have any flags either," muttered Slattery.

"Systems have taken heavy damage throughout the ship, according to Fire Control," said Rodrigeuz. "Weapons, guns and countermeasures inoperative."

The Sadarso ceased firing.

"We are being hailed by the Sadarso," said Rodrigeuz. "They ... they are asking for you, Commander Chandler."

Chandler looked around at the damaged Nathan James. Repair teams were already working but for the moment the ship was effectively helpless.

He picked up the radio phone, and Slattery picked up an extension. "This is Commander Chandler of the US Navy," he said. "Who am I speaking to?"

"This is Commodore Salvador Arias," said a voice – not the same one as before, very different. "I represent the Pacific New Guard."

"Never heard of it or you."

"The point, Commander, is that I have heard of you. And in the name of the New Guard, and at the request of the US government, I demand the surrender of your ship."

Chandler responded with words not always associated with senior officers.

"But Commander," said Arias, "you have no choice. Your ship is disabled, and you are surrounded. The other ships of my fleet will be in firing range very soon. I should say that if I see any of your remaining weapons turn towards this ship, or towards my other ships, or if I see your ship move, we will blow you out of the water. The US government has asked that we capture your ship if possible, and arrest you. I would be quite willing to tell them tomorrow that it was not possible. In fact, I would expect you, personally, to go down fighting. But you might not be so willing to sacrifice your entire crew."

Chandler ground his teeth. He covered the phone and said to Rodrigeuz, who was connected to Fire Control: "How long until we have strikeback potential?"

"Ten minutes, minimum," he said. "And the five-inch will take much longer."

Chandler glanced at Slattery.

Not much choice.

They both stared at the Sadarso.

And then, suddenly, a missile slammed into the far side of the cruiser, exploding with a roar.

Another voice came over the loudspeaker: "This is Commander Garnett of the Henan, hailing Nathan James. We are pleased to render any aid and assistance we can."

"Son of a bitch!" shouted Slattery. "Talk about nick of time!"

Chandler spoke into the radio to Commodore Arias. "Goodbye, Commodore, and fuck you," he said. He hung up, and turned to the bridge team. "Tell the repair teams they have five minutes," he said. "Tell them we need to get into this fight."

On the bridge of the Henan, Commander Garnett was directing her skeleton crew. The 130-mil of the Henan, the equivalent of the Nathan James' five-inch, was firing. Every gun with range was firing.

But now, even surprised and wounded, the Sadarso was firing back. And it was a larger, more heavily-armed ship. It had gun turrets fore and aft, as well as substantial weapons midships.

A well-aimed shell from the Henan's 130-mil hit the Sadarso's missile battery, putting it out of action.

"Straight for them, and maintain speed at full attack," said Garnett.

"Are we going to ram them?" said Lieutenant Wilkins, at Helm.

"No, but we want them to think we are," said Garnett. "Get them to focus on us and not the James."

"And let's hope that the James can handle those frigates," said Granderson, standing next to Garnett on the bridge.

"Well, remember what ship we're talking about," said Garnett. "Helm, cut speed as we approach, and we'll hit them with everything as we pass."

The Sadarso was starting to move – and to swing away, trying to get out of the path of the oncoming ship. Its secondary guns were raking the Henan with fire.

On the Henan, there was a sudden explosion on the bridge foredeck as a shell hit. The windows blew out in a shower of fragements, and a wave of concussion swept across the bridge. Garnett was thrown backwards.

Granderson was the first on her feet. "Helm, maintain course and speed!" she said. Then she saw Garnett lying against the back wall, bleeding from a head wound and with a dislocated shoulder. She rushed to her.

Garnett looked up at her. "Looks like you'll be taking it from here, XO," she said. "Give 'em hell." She slumped into unconsciousness.

"Captain, we need orders!" shouted Wells, at Comms, through the chaos.

Granderson stood up. She turned to face the bridge crew. "Orders are, we continue the fight," she said. "Full attack."

But even as she spoke, the Henan took another punch, amidships. A major one.

"Fire control is offline," said Wells. "Heavy damage there, by the sounds of it. The 130-mil is inactive."

"Secondary armaments, prepare to fire as we go by them," said Granderson, taking the command chair. "Helm, cut speed on my mark." She activated her radio. "Petty Officer Miller, are you on the fifty-cal?"

"Ready and waiting for a shot."

"Then I'm counting on you to take out their bridge."

"On it, ma'am."

The Henan was about to pass the Sadarso by no more than ten metres, going in the opposite direction.

"Cut speed now!" said Granderson. "All guns that can fire ... light the bastards up!"

They did. Everything they had. Granderson had a glimpse, as the two ships slid by each other, of the bridge of the Sadarso taking fire from the fifty, the windows and armour buckling under the impact of heavy bullets from close range. But the machine guns of the Sadarso were firing at the fifty platform now.

And then they were past.

"Helm, hard over, flank speed! Bring us around again! Gun teams, reload!"

"My god," muttered Slattery, as he watched the two ships trading punches, toe-to-toe. "My fucking fucking god."

"Captain," said Wells. "Lieutenant Burk says that Fire Control for the 130-mil is inoperative. But he thinks he can do a manual load and fire the gun from under the turret. Maybe."

"Tell him I don't want to hear maybe," said Granderson. "Tell him I want to hear that gun. Gator, they won't be able to aim from there. I'll need you to come up with a firing solution."

"M – me?" said Gator. "But I – I haven't done anything like that before."

"Just do the maths, Gator, crunch the numbers." Her radio buzzed. Miller.

"I know the short-range missiles are offline without Fire Control," he said. "But I think I can do a manual restart, if I can re-wire the firing system and hook into emergency power. Get one bird off, at least."

"Do it," said Granderson. "And by the way, Petty Officer, good work with the fifty."

"It was my genuine pleasure, ma'am."

On the Nathan James, Slattery had ordered the ship to turn towards the incoming frigates. He watched as they each fired a missile.

"Fire Control," he said into the intercom. "Please tell me we have countermeasures operating."

"Coming online soon ... soon ... soon," said Lieutenant Mitchell. "Soon ... now! Countermeasures away!"

A volley of interceptor missiles leapt from the Nathan James. Its secondary guns were coming back, and were targeting the frigates.

"Knox Class, my ass," said Slattery.

The Sadarso was trying to turn away from the Henan, aware that the destroyer's main gun was not firing. Granderson knew that as the distance between the two ships increased the secondary guns became less useful – and that the Sadarso still had primary guns. She was trying to stay close but the larger ship was beginning to pull away.

She activated her radio. "Lieutenant Burk, are you loaded?" she said.

"Loaded, but we can't traverse. Elevate but not turn. The mechanism is jammed. We're trying ... but it's a stubborn son of a bitch, ma'am."

Granderson considered. Without that gun able to hit the Sadarso, they were finished. But the gun couldn't turn.

So we turn the ship ...

"Gator, the 130-mil is jammed in position," she said. "Find an angle for us. Target their aft turret. Feed the directions directly to Helm and Lieutenant Burk."

Gator stared at her, mystified. Then he realised what she had in mind. He bent over the navigation table, scribbling numbers. He began to read elevation figures to Burk.

The aft turret of the Sadarso was swinging towards them.

Going to be close, thought Granderson.

"Helm, maintain speed, turn seven degrees," said Gator. "Ten seconds. Then reduce speed to half and turn eleven degrees."

"Turning !" said Wilkins.

First one and then the other missile went down, hit by the Nathan James'interceptors.

Slattery knew that the frigates would have interceptors of their own as well as Seawitches. Any missiles fired at them would probably not get through.

"Close with them!" he ordered. "Go between! As much speed as we can muster!"

From the bridge of the Henan, Granderson watched as the ship turned, with what seemed agonising slowness.

"Almost," Gator was saying, concentrating on his figures. "Almost ... get ready ... almost ... now!"

The gun fired.

The shell slammed into the turret. It exploded.

"Gun team, can you re-load?" said Granderson.

"It's going to take a few minutes," said Burk. "This thing wasn't designed for this."

Granderson watched as the Sadarso began to turn, to bring its forward turret to bear.

"Petty Officer Miller," she said into the radio. "I need that missile."

At the missile battery, Miller and the two seamen with him were splicing wires and running by-passes as quickly as they could. He was aware he had blood running down one arm. He had taken some shrapnel in the shoulder when he had been on the fifty. And after the run to the missile battery, his injured leg was an agonising blur.

No time to think about that now ... concentrate on this mother ...

Almost there ... a few more ...

No Fire Control for direction, he said to himself. So manual traverse, aim by sight. Only option.

He directed the other two seamen to crank the cog that turned the battery. It began to move, swinging towards the Sadarso.

He had the final two exposed wires in his hands. He touched them together, looking at the little maintenance console, where a red light blinked. Nothing. He tried again. There was a spark, but not enough.

He took a deep breath. "Come on, baby," he whispered.

Granderson's voice through the comm: "Miller – "

"I know."

"Eric – "

"I know!"

It sparked. Green light.

"Missile away!"

"Torpedoes, fire!" shouted Slattery.

The missile slammed into the Sadarso's superstructure. There was a massive explosion.

A wall of water shot up from the frigate. Another a moment later.

On the other side of the Nathan James, the other frigate dodged all the torpedoes.

Except the last one. It hit the ship in the stern.

The Henan's 130-mil, with Gator aiming, fired another shell into the Sadarso. The ship was burning now, dead in the water. Its crew began to abandon ship.

Granderson slumped back in the command chair. She saw there was a corpsman tending to Garnett.

She looked around at the near-wrecked bridge. She suddenly realised that she was bleeding from a gash on her arm. Many of the bridge crew had similar wounds. But they were smiling.

"It was an honor to fight with you," she said to them.

"The honor," said Gator, "was ours."

"We lost some good people," said Garnett. Her head was bandaged and her arm was in a sling. She, Granderson and Slattery were in Chandler's office on the Nathan James.

"And we might lose more before this is over," said Slattery. "But we also saved a lot. I doubt that Commodore Arias, whoever he was, would have let the crew live."

"There was no sign of him among the survivors," said Granderson. "Guess he went down with the ship, one way or another."

"Maybe," said Chandler. "I am concerned about what he said about the US government wanting us stopped. Obviously, there are things going on there we don't know about."

"It would explain how Arias knew our position," said Slattery. "And why he didn't know about the Henan. Commander Garnett, how is your ship? It took quite a beating."

"Afloat, but only just," said Garnett. "Fire Control is gone, internal systems shot, holes where holes should not be. Not enough duct tape in the world to stick it all together again, I think. We've still got the engines, so we can make the mainland, but she'll never fight again. So let's hope we don't run into any more of the Pacific New Guard. Who were they, anyway? Do we know?"

"Probably some military renegades who got hold of some old ships and teamed up, came up with a fancy name for the operation," said Chandler. "The people we picked up couldn't tell us much. With their cruiser and one of their frigates gone, and the other frigate getting along with damaged screws and half a rudder, we probably won't hear from them again."

Granderson stepped forward. "Sirs," she said. "While all the crew of the Henan fought bravely, there is one who did an outstanding job. Even when wounded, he came up with the idea of hot-wiring the short-range missile battery. And then made it work. Without that, we would not have won, I think. And that was after he had turned their bridge into Swiss cheese with the fifty. That crewman is Petty Officer Eric Miller. I believe he should receive an appropriate medal."

"No can do, I'm afraid," said Slattery. "After hearing about the role he played, I had the same idea, and I spoke to him about it. He has declined any personal commendation. Says it should go to the whole crew. As you know, the Navy can't give someone a medal if they don't want it. But I will ensure that his service record reflects his actions, and you can be sure I will take note of it in the next promotions list."

Granderson considered. Somehow, she was not surprised.

"What's next?" said Garnett.

"Next, home," said Slattery.

"But I think," said Chandler, "that the Henan might have one more duty to perform."

It was several days later. San Diego Bay was not far.

Petty Officer Eric Miller and Acting XO Alisha Granderson were standing together on the platform at the top of the world.

"Good place to say goodbye to her," said Miller. "I suppose for you it means your first command."

"That was for just a little while," said Granderson.

"But you handled it well, Wonder Woman."

"We all did, Eric."

They looked down. There was a rib preparing to depart for the Nathan James.

"We should go," said Granderson. "The course and the engines are set. Nothing else for us to do but catch the last boat."

Miller nodded. "One thing," he said. He took his harmonica from his pocket and wedged it into a corner of the platform. "Maybe here is where it belongs," he said.

"I think that's right," said Granderson.

Then, together, they climbed down the ladder, and into the rib, and set off for home.

END