The desperate exodus began to the beaches and the ports. The Balinese Muslims did not know what might await them there. Perhaps a miracle and a way out; perhaps only an empty promise and death.
It didn’t matter; it was all they had.
The MV Galaxy Shenandoah
Off the Northeastern Coast of Madura Island
1210 Hours; Zone Time, October 29, 2008
Amid the growing chaos in the islands, the big bulk carrier made its way eastward to Bali, its passage ignored as violence unfolded around it. In typical Third World conflicts, neutral merchantmen frequently possessed an odd form of immunity. Like a mail or paper deliverer passing through a neighborhood, they were frequently a faceless, ignored factor. At least until someone came up with a reason they should be shot at.
So far no one had come up with a reason to shoot at the Galaxy Shenandoah.
In the captain’s cabin, Amanda Garrett was involved in an unauthorized but necessary bit of backdoor Intelligence collection. Captain Ken Hiro, the current commanding officer of the USS Cunningham, was not on the highly compartmentalized JSOC listing of personnel authorized to know about Phantom Force and of Amanda’s current status. However, Amanda had placed her old exec on her own personal need-to-know list and she was making use of it now.
“What’s your situation, Ken?”
“We’re still holding off Benglulu harbor on the southern coast of Sumatra and we’re still pinned down,” Hiro replied, his voice faint but clear. They were speaking via a cobbled secure communications link between their two ships, laser com from the Shenandoah to one of the commando carrier’s Mariner reconnaissance drones and from the drone on to the Cunningham via encrypted commercial satphone.
“This was supposed to be a fast-in-and-out, evacuating a group of U.S. and
Australian business people and a Japanese tour group – but it hasn’t panned out that way. The Sea Dragons and a naval landing party are on the
beach maintaining a defense perimeter. At the moment, they’re the only thing standing between some two thousand Balinese Hindu expats and
Indonesian Chinese and about ten thousand pissed off Muslims.”
Amanda lifted an eyebrow. “Why are they mad at the Chinese?”
“You know how it goes with the Chinese merchant class in South East Asia,
Captain. They’re economically successful but outside of the cultural mainstream. When things
go sour, they make a convenient scapegoat. Be that as it may, if we pull out we’re going to see a massacre.”
“We’re becoming acquainted with the phenomenon. What about the government forces?”
“We’ve got a few police and Indonesian Army troops on the perimeter with us, but
they’ll last about ten minutes if we disengage.”
“Are the Sea Fighters themselves under attack?”
“The ships are uninvolved so far, and we haven’t been hit with anything ashore that we haven’t been able to deal with non-lethally. The locals don’t seem willing to take us on directly, but they’re keeping up the pressure. I suspect it’s only a matter of time before we start taking and delivering casualties.”
Hiro sounded tired. “Beyond that, we’ve got major logistical problems. The refugees need food, shelter and medical
care, way more than we can provide. It’s one royal mess, Captain.”
“We’re seeing the same scenario everywhere, Ken,” Amanda replied, wishing she had something more encouraging to say. “Only with differing casts of characters. There’s way too many of them and not nearly enough of us. What are Captain Carberry’s intentions?”
“He’s started an evacuation of the Indonesian refugees up the coast to the big
government garrison at Padang, using the PGACs and our one LCAC. It’ll take time though – and what they’ll do with them at Padang, I don’t know.”
“Acknowledged. We’re bound for the north coast of Bali to see if we can accomplish anything there.
Tie a knot and hang on, Ken.”
“Will do, Captain. I’m glad you’re still out here with us.”
“No I’m not, Ken. Remember that. I’m just the lowly skipper of a tramp steamer now. I’ll talk with you later.”
She returned the phone to its cradle and stared at it for a long minute. Damn, damn, damn! She had failed in her first attempt to stave off this disaster and now she was failing in her second. It would be a comfort to say that this had all started long before she had ever come to the archipelago, that it was destined to happen and that no one could have stopped it. But such rationalization was not acceptable to her nature.
She ran her hands through her hair, fingers tightening until her scalp ached. Tie a knot, Amanda. Tie a knot and hang on!
Subliminally, her mariner’s senses registered a slight change in the way the Shenandoah reacted to the sea. Looking up, she saw the light and shadow patterns drifting across the cabin floor. Standing up from her desk chair, she crossed to the cabin windows. They were starting their turn to the south.
Her windows looked to port and she could see the cloud-capped green peaks of Kangean Island rising out of the shimmering sea, looking like a stage setting for South Pacific. Without having to look, she knew that Rass Island would be on the horizon to starboard and that they were running the passage from the Java to the Bali Sea.
She had come to love the exotic, musical names common in these waters: Laute Kecil, Savu, Karimunjawa. If one had a good sailing craft, like one of the Bugi schooners, one could spend an entire lifetime just sailing from one mystic name to the next.
And she’d had the chance to do just that. The classic South Pacific fantasy: an existence free from responsibility or any physical or monetary want, a life spent in lovemaking and peaceful adventure in an oceanic wonderland. Just the sun on her back by day and a strong passionate man to rest beside at night and a white-sailed ship to aim at the next horizon. All of the paradises of her adolescent imagination.
The purchasing price would have been the mere sale of her soul and the ignoring of a holocaust.
“Damn you, Makara!”
The interphone on her desk rang with the alternate trill that indicated a call from the hold spaces. She was across the cabin in an instant.
“Captain here.”
“Ma’am, this is the duty officer in CIC. We have a situation developing you need to
have a look at.”
She was beginning to hate those words.
“I’m on my way.”
Singaraja Harbor
The Northern Coast of Bali
1210 Hours; Zone Time, October 29, 2008
The captain of the little inter-island passenger ferry was a brave man. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have risked this last run into Singaraga. But he was a capable seaman and, as such, a profound realist.
