By Dmitry Filipoff

Last week CIMSEC featured short stories submitted in response to our Call for Fiction.

Authors explored a wide variety of futures and scenarios. From unique naval capabilities and platforms, to devious tactics and undersea warfare on foreign worlds, authors imagined an array of thought-provoking scenarios. 

Below are the stories and authors that featured during CIMSEC’s 2024 Fiction Week. We thank them for their excellent contributions.

“False Flag,” by Tyler Totten

“Herera looked up from his command display to see empty containerized missile launchers being hauled over the side linked by heavy wire rope. He wasn’t sure why until he saw the next layer of containers opening in turn and starting their launch sequence. Herera realized with horror that the ship could still contain dozens of additional missiles.”

“Aleutian Ambush,” by Addison Pellerano

“Heart racing, Andrew stumbled his way into the team’s modified operation center, several monitors hooked up to a couple different computers and a Starlink terminal. RW1 Ruiz Castro sat in front of the monitors, receiving the data feeds from multiple of their USVs. RW1 looked up as LTJG Lee entered through the door frame, the blue light of the ops center casting a glow across the space. ‘That was something else, Sir. I am glad no leakers got through,’ he said softly.”

“Rendezvous,” by David Strachan

“Shilpa shook her head. How did we get here? It was inevitable that astrobiology, much like all of science itself, would be slowly subsumed by the machinations of geostrategy and power politics, but for the scientist in her, it was as absurd as it was immoral. She bristled at the notion of exporting human conflict to another world, and in the name of scientific exploration no less. If we cannot explore in peace, should we even explore at all?”

“Veins of Valour,” by Robert Burton

“For what seemed an eternity, they remained hidden beneath the canopy, their breaths held in anticipation. Finally, the distant hum of the drones faded into the distance, leaving behind an eerie silence. Before they shed their camouflage, Lieutenant Reynolds took advantage of the tarp’s electromagnetic shielding properties to quickly assess her patient’s vitals.”

“The Impending Tide,” by Mike Hanson

“As it came closer he noticed its markings were different than he remembered. Troops immediately debarked the helicopter and began unloading supplies. As he came closer he could see their blue uniforms. In large letters on the side of the helicopter were the letters ‘PLANMC.’ These were not Americans. The Chinese had landed.”

“Lessons Learned,” by Paul Viscovich

“For their part, the drones in the swarm had no active sensors and were dependent on the accuracy of their pre-programmed flight path until getting close enough for units of the scouting pods to detect the infrared signature of exhaust gases from the enemy’s stacks. The usual noise level in CIC ticked down a few decibels as decision-makers and watchstanders alike strained to follow reports of the unfolding attack. Petty Officer Gary Woytowych, seated at his NTDS console, reported events as they happened.”

“Visual on the Marlin,” by Karl Flynn

“Pahlavi commanded the ROV to slowly move toward the open torpedo tube using the station-keeping mode. He was intently focusing on lining up the resupply capsule with the open tube. At this point, the ROV’s control software was doing most of the work, but Pahlavi could still feel himself sweating. After what seemed like an agonizingly long approach, the finned end of the capsule disappeared into the open torpedo tube.”

“Dark Ocean,” by Vince Vanterpool

“This area was a bald patch on his displays, completely devoid of visually stimulating information, much like the dark ocean Corbin witnessed just before taking the watch, and like it had been for the last two days. Despite the uniformly blank patch of pixels on the screen, Corbin knew that the area was under heavy scrutiny from both above and within the area; dozens of eyes and ears straining in the void to catch a single glimpse or inadvertent squeak of a possible target.”

Dmitry Filipoff is CIMSEC’s Director of Online Content. Contact him at [email protected].

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By Vince Vanterpool

LT Corbin Jasmin wandered down to the wardroom to get some “fresh” coffee. The lights in the wardroom were dimmed for darkened ship, creating a very relaxed atmosphere despite the persistent shuddering of bulkheads from the high-speed transit. The ship, an older Flight III Arleigh Burke, has been travelling east at top speed for two days now, taking seemingly random maneuvers in a strange, evasive pattern. Corbin stood in front of the Japanese coffee machine, something more akin to a soda dispenser with bright lights and vibrant colors. There were a series of options available on the touch screen above the spout, from dark roast to long espressos. Corbin stood before the screen and hesitated about which one; his finger hovered over the various options. It feels like an eternity, a full sixty seconds, before he settles on simple medium roast black coffee.

Corbin trudged up several ladder wells to the bridge. “Request permission to enter the pilothouse,” he asked softly. “Enter the pilothouse,” the boatswain’s mate of the watch lazily replied. The pilothouse was completely dark with only the faint glow of the electronic chart emanating from a heavy red-tinted filter laid over the screen. Even the small LEDs for the different systems around the bridge were taped over with opaque, black masking tape to preserve every ounce of night vision the bridge team could muster.

Careful not to trip over the knife edge, he stepped forward and cautiously approached the shadowy figure he assumed was the Officer of the Deck, ENS Kamala Karolina.

“OOD, anything significant?”

“Nothing tonight, sir. Traffic has been non-existent and we’ve been adjusting course per SESS’s direction without any issues,” the ensign said casually.

She was right, the traffic picture was in fact empty. The view outside the windows looked like the ship was flying through empty space as the stars shown above them in the moonless sky and below them, reflected by the dark ocean. Corbin mulled over how boring his upcoming watch downstairs was about to be and lamented over having to be in CIC vice enjoying the view up there when, just for a second, he thought he saw the hint of a shadow of a slim mast just poking over the horizon. Kamala must have seen his worried face and quickly replied, “Oh, that’s Betty.”

“Who?”

“Sorry, sir. I meant Ronin 17. All the vessels have been keeping station with no issues from what we can tell without radar.”

Corbin forgot how the bridge teams, notably the more junior officers, have developed affectionate names for the unmanned surface vessels, USVs, in their company. The unmanned vessels also had their radars secured and were maintaining station visually with their mast cameras trained on his ship, a neat trick with properly trained computer-vision models, but can result in interesting maneuvers with the right sea state.

“Very well. Anything to pass down to the next watch?”

“Yes, sir. Next watch has the next balloon launch. Winds have been pretty light so they shouldn’t have any issues like last time.”

Good, Corbin thought. These high-altitude balloons were the only connection back to higher headquarters they had, so any break in the relay chain would mean no updates for a while. Corbin replied back with an attempt to be as equally casual, “Alright, cool. And Stella? How has she been?”

STELLA was the ship’s updated celestial navigation system. Built off of the same named manual astronomical calculator, this version used a simple skyward-facing camera on top of the pilothouse to stare at the cosmos and ascertain the ship’s position automatically.

“Uh, well, wheels says she has been doing fine with the partial cloud coverage, but the next morning fix should help verify that.”

Corbin hummed to himself with concern, but STELLA was all they had with GPS currently as useful as fixing your position by naked eye in open ocean. Corbin thanked the junior officer for the information and made his way to the ladder wells he just climbed a few minutes ago.

In stark contrast to the pitch-black pilothouse, Central Controlling Station, or CCS, was brilliantly lit in austere white overhead lights and twinkling red, green, and orange status lights on the consoles it housed. The Engineering Officer of the Watch and the two console operators were in a loud, friendly debate about if the last Ticonderoga-class cruiser will get its service life extended one more time and actually outlive the last Littoral Combat Ship still in the fleet.

“Good evening, MPA. How’s the plant tonight?”

“Good evening, sir,” the always smiling CWO4 Patrick Rogers swiveled his chair towards Corbin.

“The plant has been temperamental as always. 1A GTM has another broken valve from the fuel service tank, but GSM2 will get to printing a new one once she is done with the part for Shirley. I mean Ronin 22,” he corrected himself holding back an even bigger grin at the mistake. “The next watch should be able to replace it and have the engine ready for use.”

“Shirley?” Corbin asked, half smirking himself. “You’ve been hanging around the ensigns too much. Is Ronin 22’s part supposed to be sent over tomorrow then? The bridge didn’t mention any preps for small boat ops for next watch.”

“Uh… let me check. No, OPS and CHENG talked and given the transit speed we need to maintain, we will just hold onto the part until the next safe box. Shirley, nothing will go wrong!”

MPA said with emphasis, his console operators trying to hold back their own laughs.

Corbin couldn’t help but actually smile at that one, “Alright, that was a good one. Have a good night.”

Amused, he left CCS and heard all three burst out laughing over MPA’s joke as he shut the hatch.

Corbin approached the hatch to Combat Information Center, CIC or simply Combat to many, and instinctually punched in the combination. The lock clicked open from inside the space, but Corbin still had throw his body against the hatch to get it to swing open. He reminded himself that he still needed to talk to Eric, the OI division officer, about getting the maintenance job for that written. He stumbled, almost fell, into Combat and was instantly bathed by the blue lights overhead. Someone long ago told him the blue helped keep watchstanders and console operators awake on watch, but he has seen enough sleeping Sailors to believe that is not the case.

Lately though, just as now, Sailors were alert on watch given how quickly the situation could have changed then. The USV consoles were equally as unmanned as the vessels they controlled as the low latency short wave mesh network was disabled at that time. The warfare coordinators and their supervisors, despite having their radars secured, were maintaining situational awareness from a variety of assets and monitoring the onboard track management and assessment algorithms. Each row of consoles, Air Alley and Surface Street, monitored the recognized air picture and recognized maritime picture, respectively. Each of their weapon target assignment algorithms were deactivated at the time, but could be enabled as requested from the operators or remotely through the aforementioned high-altitude balloons.

LCDR Ryan Hayes got up as his watch relief approached. “And my favorite person has arrived!” he said to Corbin with a large grin.

Corbin replied back with a sheepish grin, “What’s up Ryan? Anything fun happen? Did you win the war?”

“Ah, not yet my friend, but I am sure your decisive and attentive watchstanding will guarantee us victory!” Ryan said with a grand wave of his arms to the mostly empty large screens in front of the TAO and CO consoles.

Corbin plopped himself in the TAO, Tactical Action Officer, chair and got situated as Ryan regaled him with the routine maintenance and reports that occurred over the last three hours.

Before he left, Ryan concluded with, “Oh, and I spoke with OPS and the boat ops is pushed to a later date for Ronin 22’s repair part. Shirley-“

“Shirley nothing could go wrong,” Corbin said as he dryly cuts off Ryan with a small smirk.

Ryan couldn’t help but laugh, “I hope MPA gave me credit for that one.”

“In fact, I think he neglected that part in the turnover.”

An hour slowly passed by for Corbin as the large screens before him remained mostly empty. Each one was an enlarged representation of either the recognized air picture or recognized maritime picture, but with more abbreviated information compared to what the coordinators saw. Both screens largely contained neutral contacts, merchant ships and commercial airliners, trying their best to maintain a sense of normalcy despite the very obvious detours they took around the most dangerous areas. And his ship was driving into the center of one. This area was a bald patch on his displays, completely devoid of visually stimulating information, much like the dark ocean Corbin witnessed just before taking the watch, and like it had been for the last two days. Despite the uniformly blank patch of pixels on the screen, Corbin knew that the area was under heavy scrutiny from both above and within the area; dozens of eyes and ears straining in the void to catch a single glimpse or inadvertent squeak of a possible target.

It all happened quickly.

A simple blip was all it required. An errant transmission under a specific satellite, sailing slightly too close to a saildrone or underwater receiver, or a Sailor trying to connect to the cellular network from a visible island. The blip, a simple glimpse or inadvertent squeak, was the final piece from numerous, ostensibly different data sources, that the autonomous targeting system at higher headquarters needed to complete its puzzle. It selected a series of available candidates to complete the strike mission: an expeditionary missile launcher, an allied airborne maritime patrol aircraft, and a surface action group consisting of a destroyed and three USVs. It sent out the information through what it assessed was the fastest available path, knowing or hoping each candidate was waiting with their finger on the trigger, as any delay would compromise the already small window of opportunity given to them by the adversary.

Corbin looked down under his seat to see where he had placed his coffee. Happy to have acquired his warm prey and while enjoying a simple sip of the needed caffeine, his eyes spotted a new contact appear in the previously empty area. A hostile surface contact fed to them by higher headquarters with fire authorization tags attached. The ship will only not fire if the CO, or TAO in this case given the short time window, feels it will jeopardize their group’s tactical situation, or TACSIT. The ship and others in company’s TACSIT was now the number one measurement of surviving the trip back out of the dangerous area. LT Jasmin didn’t have time to speculate and mull over how effective their deception and counter-targeting had been over the last few days, and had to hope the previous watches had performed well, as the window to shoot would close quickly.

Corbin, satisfied with the information they see and the information verified by his watchstanders over their tactical internal voice net, ordered the missiles to be fired. No acknowledgement back to higher headquarters was needed, nor recommended for survivability reasons, as the weapons transmitted and connected to the weapons network for in-flight updates.

The missiles fired with a familiar explosive shudder through the ship as they left the comfortable confines of their VLS cells. The bridge team reported successful missile launches from Shirley, Betty, and Louisa as well, prompting him to remember to mentor them on professional voice communications on the net afterwards. The USVs, also given the order as seen in the fire authorization tags on the contact, acted on their own accord; the last barrier to a fully autonomous weapon platform and combat system removed out of necessity for environments where communication was a luxury and decisiveness was a necessity.

Corbin could negate the launch with an order over low probability of detection, low bandwidth short wave transmissions, again if he had deemed it required to maintain the veil of covertness for a bit longer.

On his screen, the once empty area displayed the circle of weapons quickly collapsing on the hostile target. As the circle disappeared, the target does as well with a small delay. Most likely, a UAV asset conducted BDA and passed the success message to higher headquarters. Corbin ordered the bridge to increase speed as the thermal plume of the missile launch would attract the same amount of attention they just saw happen to someone else; and if not already inbound, threat missiles would be in a few minutes.

After watch, Corbin goes to get a snack from the Wardroom. The attendants started to set the tables for breakfast as best they can with the ship heeling aggressively back and forth. The maneuvers increased in frequency; if the missiles firing didn’t wake everyone up, the rolls did. With one hand on the bulkhead for support, he arrived at the basket of pastries available.

Without even looking through all the options, he picks a flavor that looks good enough before stumbling to his stateroom.

LT Vince Vanterpool is a Surface Warfare Officer with previous sea tours in FDNF-J onboard USS McCAMPBELL (DDG 85) and USS SHILOH (CG 67). Vince earned his Master’s in Operations Research from Naval Postgraduate School and is currently attending Department Head School at Surface Warfare School Command, slated to be the Chief Engineer on USS SHOUP (DDG 86) in Yokosuka, Japan. Outside of the Navy, he enjoys writing and running TTRPG adventures for his wife, kids, and friends.

Featured Image: Artwork created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By Karl Flynn

Somewhere in the Philippine Sea…

I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.

Lieutenant Commander Bowman was flying a slow racetrack pattern low to the water to maintain ground effect. Per the rendezvous procedure, she was supposed to set the Marlin down if her crew didn’t visually acquire the submarine after four complete circuits. The intent of the procedure was to save as much fuel as possible for what lay ahead. She had rehearsed resupplying a submarine dozens of times, but never in a warzone. Today, her crew would be doing the real thing.

Who the hell thought this whole thing was a good idea anyway? There’s probably a dozen things that can still go wrong. At least we’re doing this during daylight.

“Ma’am, got a periscope at three o’clock, eight hundred yards!”

Bowman leaned forward to look past Lieutenant Wei, her copilot, and squinted out of the right side of the aircraft to try to see through the sunlight dancing across the ocean surface. Sure enough, she spotted a periscope—or rather, a photonics mast—protruding out of the calm water.

Damn, there she is. Right where she’s supposed to be. Bowman allowed herself to smirk. Nice job, Weems. Maybe the rest of this will be just as easy.

_____________________________________

Meanwhile, aboard the USS Iowa, SSN-797, Lieutenant Weems spotted the Marlin II circling overhead on the LCD screen.

Son of a bitch. This is actually happening.

“Conn, visual on the marlin. Right where she’s supposed to be.”

What a beautiful bird. Weems was tracking the aircraft on the photonics mast admiring the four-engined amphibian.

“Conn, aye.” Weems’ commanding officer, Commander Nguyen, was conning the boat for the resupply. “Alright, Mr. Weems. Proceed with the linkup procedure.”

“Aye, captain.”

Weems selected the visible light from the photonics mast user interface and read through the scripted message. He remembered how his roommate had made him learn morse code with him before their Leatherneck evaluation at the naval academy. He couldn’t help but feel thrilled when they successfully used their lights to coordinate a night attack, only to receive a tongue-lashing from the staff for giving away their position with their lights.

Bet you never would’ve guessed I’d be using morse code for this.

Weems had wanted to commission as a Marine but wasn’t selected. His roommate was and had been assigned to an infantry platoon in the 3rd Marine Littoral Regiment. Based on the sheer volume of shipping the Iowa had encountered over the past few days, Weems wondered if his former roommate—or anyone in the MLR—was still alive.

No. Don’t think about that. Focus on the task at hand.

_____________________________________

Back aboard the Marlin, Wei was deciphering the flashes of light from the submarine.

            “M-A-R-L-I-N-8-0-8…  D-E…  I-O-W-A…  S-T-E-A-D-Y…  C-S-E…  0-1-5…  R-E-A-D-Y…  T-O…  P-R-O-C-E-E-D… K.” Wei turned to his pilot. “Hot damn! They’re ready for us!”

            Bowman felt a surge of adrenaline. She wagged the massive aircraft’s wings three times in accordance with the pre-arranged acknowledgement signal. “Alright, Wei. Let’s go through the landing checklist.”

            “Aye, ma’am!”

_____________________________________

            Weems was fixated on the enormous airplane. He watched it recede behind the boat, circle back, and line up parallel to the Iowa’s track offset by a few hundred meters. As the plane approached, he saw the flaps lower even further, then the sea spray kicked up behind the plane as it descended. Finally, the craft settled down into the water just as it was abreast of the sub. Weems followed it as it taxied well ahead of the sub, stopped, and opened its starboard cargo hatch.

            Weems turned to his captain. “Looks like they’re getting ready to deploy the ROV, sir.”

Commander Nguyen nodded in acknowledgement, then announced, “Flood tube two.”

A reply came from forward of the conn. “Flood tube two, aye, sir.”

_____________________________________

Commander Pahlavi had been a reservist until shortly before hostilities had commenced. Although he was the highest-ranking officer aboard the aircraft, he still felt out of place. His last tour on active duty was years before at a mobile dive and salvage unit that had experimented with industrial ROVs. This made him one of a select few naval personnel to have operated the modified work-class ROV the Navy had used to pioneer undersea replenishment techniques. While based on an industrial ROV design, the Navy’s resupply ROVs had been fitted with additional thrusters and control surfaces to keep up with submarines making minimum steerage while submerged. Pahlavi looked at the unusual craft with a sense of apprehension.

The Navy had over a decade of experience conducting carrier operations in peacetime before WWII. Now we’re going to resupply a submarine underwater with less than a year under our belt?

Pahlavi shook his head and refocused on the task at hand. After completing the built-in diagnostic process, Pahlavi got on the aircraft’s intercom system. “ROV is ready for deployment.”

Bowman’s voice replied, “OK, sir, commence deployment procedure when ready. Wei, signal the Iowa.”

Aviation’s Mate Third Class Orlov was standing by at the edge of the open cargo hatch. When he heard Bowman’s command on the intercom, he immediately began coordinating with Chief Park, the Marlin’s loadmaster, to lift the ROV and get it over the water next to the fuselage. Pahlavi glanced away from his operator’s display at the twenty-year-old Sailor leaning out of the starboard cargo hatch signaling Park to reel out the winch.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.

As he watched the rubber padding on the craft’s exterior submerge with the thick umbilical trailing behind it, he turned back to the ROV controls mounted below the touchscreen on his operator’s station. “ROV is away.”

“Aye, sir.”

Alright, everything according to procedure.

Pahlavi started driving the ROV alongside the Marlin’s hull. Orlov was announcing how much length was being spooled out of the umbilical reel. The umbilical served several purposes: it tethered the ROV to the aircraft, fed electrical power and control signals from the aircraft to the ROV, and provided video feed to Pahlavi’s control station. Once the umbilical reel had spooled out two meters, Pahlavi stopped the ROV.

“Bowman, we’re ready to get underway.”

Bowman’s voice replied through Pahlavi’s headset. “Aye, sir. Increasing speed to three knots.” Pahlavi focused intently on the ROV control station to ensure the vehicle didn’t collide with the Marlin’s hull as the aircraft slowly moved forward. Bowman’s voice came back over the intercom a few seconds later. “Speed through water is three knots, sir.”

Alright, here we go.

Park and Orlov were preparing one of many capsules slightly smaller than a Mk-48 heavyweight torpedo to be lowered into the water. Cylindrical in shape, the container was tapered on both ends with fins protruding past the end facing the aft end of the aircraft. It was made of positively buoyant material and retained ten Compact Rapid Attack Weapons—effectively miniature torpedoes. The Iowa had expended several dozen CRAWs in the last few days of fighting, but she still had most of her Mk-48s on board. Pahlavi watched as the Sailors lowered the capsule into the slowly receding ocean just below the open cargo hatch. As it neared the surface, Pahlavi fixed his gaze back on his control station and watched the capsule break the surface from the ROV’s underwater camera.

“Steady…Hold!” At Pahlavi’s command, Park stopped the secondary winch that was still connected to the supply capsule. Pahlavi drove the ROV alongside and watched as one of the ROV’s manipulator arms mimicked his own movements. He grabbed the capsule roughly a third of its length from its front end.

“ROV has positive control! Release the capsule.”

“Release the capsule, aye, sir.” Orlov leaned out of the cargo hatch and pulled a second cable, which released the winch cable from the capsule. Pahlavi carefully watched the ROV’s thruster speeds compensate to keep the capsule steady as the cable disconnected. All were well within the specified tolerances.

Pahlavi switched back to the aircraft’s intercom. “Alright, Bowman. Just like we rehearsed. Bring us to starboard and get us on the same track directly in front of the Iowa.”

“Aye, sir!”

_____________________________________

            Weems was watching the large seaplane keep station just off the Iowa’s port bow on the photonics mast display. Then, he saw the aircraft’s tail signal light begin flashing.

            “New signal!  I-O-W-A…  W-E…  A-R-E…  R-E-A-D-Y…  T-O…  M-E-R-G-E…  T-R-A-C-K…  K.”

            “Alright, Mr. Weems, get them on station,” Commander Nguyen replied.

            “Aye, sir.”

_____________________________________

Rather than relying on GPS, which, for all she knew, was being spoofed, Bowman was shifting the Marlin’s position based on the commands of the Iowa. Wei was relaying the distances being signaled via morse code from the Iowa’s photonics mast.

“Three meters.”

“Three meters,” she replied.

“Two meters, change course to zero-one-six.”

“Two meters, changing course to zero-one-six.”

“One meter, change course to zero-one-five.”

“One meter, changing course to zero-one-five.”

“Iowa’s signaling again. M-A-I-N-T-A-I-N…  P-O-S-I-T-I-O-N…  T-U-B-E…  2…  O-U-T-E-R…  D-O-O-R…  O-P-E-N…  C-O-M-M-E-N-C-E…  R-E-L-O-A-D…  K.” Wei turned to his pilot. “Are you ready to make history, ma’am?”

Bowman allowed herself a smile. “Easy, Wei. We still gotta do the hard part. Signal the Iowa that we’re sending the ROV.”

_____________________________________

            Park was spooling out the ROV’s umbilical reel, allowing Pahlavi to drive the ROV directly astern of the Marlin. As the distance between the ROV and the Iowa closed, Pahlavi could see the sub’s bow emerge from the sea.

            Visibility is great out here. That should help.

            He guided the ROV along the submarine’s starboard side. As the ROV got closer, he could clearly see white numbers painted on the side of her hull.

            There’s the draft marks. Torpedo tube should be right behind the 20… There she is!

            As the ROV approached the sub, Pahlavi could see the fairing over the second torpedo tube was in the retracted position, revealing the open torpedo tube illuminated by the ROV’s underwater searchlight.

            Easy does it.

            Pahlavi commanded the ROV to slowly move toward the open torpedo tube using the station-keeping mode. He was intently focusing on lining up the resupply capsule with the open tube. At this point, the ROV’s control software was doing most of the work, but Pahlavi could still feel himself sweating. After what seemed like an agonizingly long approach, the finned end of the capsule disappeared into the open torpedo tube.

Gotcha!

As the ROV’s forward manipulator got close to the open tube, Pahlavi walked the capsule hand over hand—or manipulator over manipulator—into the tube until it was fully seated.

            “I have visual confirmation of clearance on the outer edge of the torpedo tube! Moving the ROV away.” Pahlavi was already driving the ROV away from the Iowa as he spoke.

_____________________________________

            Weems watched as the signal light on the Marlin’s tail lit up again.

            “New message: P-O-S-I-T-I-V-E… V-I-S-U-A-L…T-U-B-E…2…C-L-E-A-R…K…”

            Commander Nguyen nodded affirmingly. “Close tube two.”

            “Close tube two, aye, sir.” In the torpedo room, torpedomen were preparing to onload the capsule and ready tube four for the capsule that would follow.

_____________________________________

            After nearly two hours ferrying CRAW capsules from the Marlin to the Iowa, Pahlavi was mentally spent. In all, the Marlin crew had resupplied the Iowa with 110 CRAWs. Park was reeling the ROV back from the eleventh resupply run when Pahlavi saw the Iowa turn to port and dive while he felt the Marlin turn to starboard. It was surreal watching the submarine disappear out of view. He wondered if he would see his former plebe again.

            Godspeed, Mr. Nguyen.

            A tear made its way down Pahlavi’s face as the Iowa faded into the depths. Once the sub was no longer visible, he buried his face in his hands and wept silently. As he wept, he felt a hand gently grasp his shoulder.

            “Sir, is everything alright? We need to retrieve the ROV,” Chief Park said softly. He had noticed Pahlavi wasn’t paying attention to the ROV control station and realized what was happening. Pahlavi did his best to wipe away his tears and nodded to Park, then looked back at his controls.

“All good, chief. Let’s proceed.”

_____________________________________

After Park and Orlov had finished retrieving and securing the ROV, it had taken Bowman just twenty minutes to reach cruising altitude. The Marlin was significantly lighter than at the start of the mission largely thanks to the lack of CRAWs aboard as well as having expended a significant amount of fuel.

Hm…We burned more fuel than we were supposed to during the resupply.

As though he had read her thoughts, Wei turned to her and said, “I don’t think we’re gonna have enough fuel to make it back, ma’am. Even if we did make it, it’d be way too close for comfort.”

Bowman continued studying the fuel levels and checked the engine’s burn rates. They were flying at cruising speed, but the unexpected headwind was causing the four turboprops to go through fuel faster than was anticipated.

            “Yup, sure looks like it.”

I hope there’s a tanker in the air. I really don’t feel like sitting on the water again.

            No sooner had she spoken those words when the Marlin was buffeted by an even stronger headwind. Wei spoke up again. “Ma’am, we’re definitely not going to make it.”

“Concur. Good thing is we’re out of the EMCON zone. See if you can find a tanker available for tasking.”

            “One step ahead of you, ma’am. There’s no tankers available, and I can’t imagine any will free up any time soon with Enterprise’s air group providing CAP clear out here. Good thing is if we divert south by a bit we can reach a USV towing a dracone that’s only a few miles away. Looks like it was supposed to stage it for an EAB, but that mission got scrapped. Now it’s up for grabs, so we might as well refuel—not like the F-35 can land on water.”

Bowman sighed heavily, resigned to bobbing on the water’s surface while refueling from a drone boat. “Alright. Can you plot a course to rendezvous with that USV?”

“Yes, ma’am, at 159 we should have a visual in about…actually, we should be able to spot it now!”

“Copy, coming to 159.” As she banked the Marlin to turn south, she switched her intercom setting to address the entire aircraft. “All crew, prepare for water landing. We don’t have the fuel to make it back in a straight shot, so we’re going to put down to get fuel from a cargo USV.”

Shortly after the crew acknowledged the landing notice, Chief Park informed Bowman over the intercom that he had acquired the USV with the aircraft’s powerful optical suite. Bowman pulled up the feed on one of the screens in the cockpit, clearly showing the USV slowly plodding along. Since the USV’s course and speed were readily evident to Bowman, she brought the aircraft around behind the USV and set the plane down in the water offset from its track, just like she had done with the Iowa. As she taxied alongside the USV, she said, “OK, Chief, prepare for waterborne refueling.”

“Aye, ma’am!” Once the Marlin was close enough, Commander Pahlavi was able to establish a local datalink with the USV and take control of it. He signaled Park and Orlov to open the cargo hatch and simultaneously got on the intercom to talk to Bowman. “OK, I’m controlling the USV. It’s got plenty of fuel for us, just need to get the refueling boom over here.”

Bowman replied, “OK, sir, I’m coming to a halt. Let’s get ready to refuel.”

“Copy, bringing the USV alongside now.” Once he had driven the USV behind the Marlin’s number three engine, Pahlavi switched settings to have the USV keep itself at the same relative position to the Marlin. He then started to deploy the USV’s refueling boom. He could see himself hunched over the common operating station inside the Marlin’s cargo bay from the refueling boom’s camera.

“Count down the distance, Orlov!”

“Aye, sir!”

As the refueling boom extended toward the Marlin, Orlov dutifully called out the closing distance.

“Five meters!”

“Five meters.”

“Four!”

“Four.”

“Three!”

“Three.”

“Two, alignment is good!”

“Two.”

“One! Steady, sir. You’re lined up.”

Pahlavi carefully brought the refueling boom into contact with the aircraft’s starboard refueling receptacle. Orlov immediately secured the fuel line to the fitting next to the open cargo hatch. “Boom is secure, ready to begin fueling, chief!”

“OK, Orlov—ma’am, did you catch that?”

“Sure did, Chief. Aircraft is ready for fuel transfer.”

“Aye, ma’am! Commencing fuel transfer.” Chief Park opened the fill valves, then Pahlavi switched on the USV’s fuel transfer pump. Both settled back and watched its fuel level slowly fall as it pumped fuel into the Marlin’s depleted tanks.

_____________________________________

            Bowman was glad to be back on land. After spending another hour sitting on the water taking on fuel from the USV, she was eager to sleep on a bed that didn’t move. After post-flighting the Marlin, she briefly conferred with her crew before walking back to her cot. She flopped down without taking off any of her gear.

Her sound sleep was interrupted by another pilot walking to another bunk. Bowman recognized Lieutenant Schmidt, another pilot in her squadron.

            “Hey, Allie. How was your mission? I heard you got tasked with resupplying the Delaware.”

            Schmidt stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the ground. She replied without raising her eyes. “We did…She didn’t show.”

            Bowman couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Oh, God. Allie’s husband was on the Delaware…

            “I’m so sorry, Allie. Maybe they’re still out there. Maybe they—”

            Before she could continue, Lieutenant Schmidt collapsed to the floor in tears. Bowman rushed over to her. The other officers in the female berthing, awakened by the commotion, looked over. Most tried to go back to sleep. They had become numb to the sight; many had already lost husbands, friends, brothers, and sisters. And none of them knew when it would stop.

Captain Karl Flynn, USMC, is a rifle company commander in 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marines.

Featured Image: Artwork created with Midjourney AI.