By Addison Pellerano
24 September 2027
LCDR Angela “LJ” Lee piloted the 737 military jet in a wide arc across the vibrant blue waters of the South China Sea. The jet engines’ pitch increased with the angle of bank, the auto throttles moving in unison as the jet demanded more power to remain at altitude.
The radio suddenly came alive. “Aircraft at location N 09 27 34 E 116 44 58, you are violating Chinese national airspace. Please turn around and leave the area.”
“LJ” looked at her copilot, double checking that he wasn’t about to respond to the radio call. They had recently been told to not respond to queries, especially when supporting the Philippine resupply missions to Sabina Shoal. The Chinese had become increasingly bold in the South China Sea, further pushing their claims to the area within the ten-dash line. The US’s absence from the South China Sea had been felt, as the military, specifically the Navy, committed more forces to reduce tensions within the Middle East and the conflict between Israel and Hamas.
This was the last mission of her squadron’s deployment to 7th Fleet. In a few days, they were going to pack up and return to NAS Whidbey Island in Washington state. “LJ” was looking forward to getting back since her brother commissioned as an Ensign in the Navy this past spring, and she had missed it. They had planned to spend her POM leave driving the western seaboard and exploring the northern coast of…
“BREAK RIGHT! BREAK RIGHT! MISSILE LAUNCH AT OUR 9 O’CLOCK!” The voice in her headphones screamed.
“LJ” snapped back from her thoughts, pushing the yoke forward and rolling the aircraft into a diving turn to the right. She mashed the autopilot button on the yoke to disengage the computer, giving her control of the large aircraft. The countermeasures were popping like popcorn as they exited the diving aircraft. Picking up speed, the blue ocean grew ever larger in the windscreen. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears over the noise of the accelerating aircraft. Time seemed to stand still as she spoke into the microphone, “WHERE IS THE MISSILE?”
“SIX O’CLOCK AND CLOSING!” one of the sensor operators in the rear responded.
Her palms sweat as she reversed her turn and increased the dive, willing the jet to outmaneuver the incoming missile, to respond to her control inputs. It wasn’t enough. The P-8 hung in midair for a second as the right wing separated, cartwheeling the body into the ocean.
The second Cold War had threatened to come to a rolling boil in the weeks and months following the Chinese shootdown of the US P-8. The tensions in the region reached an all-time high. The US posture was one of deterrence and presence, doubling the number of assets in theater with support from allies. Shortly after the shootdown, the US Congress approved two military aid packages – one to the Philippines and the other to Taiwan. These packages included upgraded platforms, new technology, and weapon systems that could challenge the Chinese in a fight, further adding to the tension.
24 September 2029
The chilled fall wind whipped through the building whose doors and windows had long ago succumbed to the harsh Alaskan weather, allowing mother nature to reclaim the decrepit building. LTJG Andrew Lee leaned up against a wall whose paint was peeling or non-existent, exposing the bare cinderblocks to all those who entered her. Andrew didn’t seem to notice the state of the building around him, nor the cold wind that was being blown in from the Bering Sea.
Andrew scrolled through countless schematics of old electrical systems, looking for the one that would help his team of technicians charged with restoring the decommissioned Long-Range Navigation (LORAN) station on Adak Island. He had been at it for hours, swiping through scanned documents from the 50s, 60s, and 70s about the LORAN equipment installed at decommissioned sites around the world. He pulled his Navy-issue parka closer, hoping to protect himself from the cold sea breeze. Locking the screen of his tablet, he walked to the front entrance, where rusted hinges were all that remained of what was once a proper door.
As he crested the hill outside the transmitter building, he could see the makeshift harbor and the antenna farm. Marines moved supplies up from the harbor to the cluster of buildings, digging foxholes before the permafrost set in. Did they really think they would be attacked here? he asked himself, taking a seat on a lone rock.
The coolness of the rock seeped through his trousers as he looked out over the harbor and outward to the Bering Sea and the North Pacific. He suddenly felt so small in the world, a cog in the larger machine. It had been two years since his sister had been shot down by a Chinese destroyer while in support of the Philippine Coast Guard mission to resupply their troops on Sabina Shoal.
Since then, he had thrown himself into his work as a newly minted Ensign and Information Warfare Officer in the Navy. He pushed thoughts of his big sister to the back of his mind. He was the OIC responsible for getting the LORAN station back online to fight China’s increased interference with US satellites, specifically GPS satellites. He also had been given a fleet of USV and UAS platforms to provide security for the island against unwanted visitors and to act as senor nodes in the US’s larger push for autonomous and remote sensing across the battlespace.
2200 Local on 15 October 2029
The sound of the island’s Patriot battery missiles exploded into the night sky, racing to intercept the incoming projectiles. The building shook around him as another missile left the launcher, the noxious exhaust rolling across the island. The launch alarm on the NASSMs launcher wailed, shortly followed by the whoosh of the missile launch and the eerie quiet that followed.
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.
All Andrew could do was nod his head in agreement, still in a bit of shock from the engagement. His throat hurt as well, probably from the missile exhaust gases. He needed some water. The latest intelligence update from three days ago did not indicate that hostilities had commenced or were imminent.
“No contacts out there yet, Sir,” RW1 said wearily. He had been on watch for almost six hours and was nearing the end of his shift. “Though, I am not sure what we expect to find with cameras and only one radar equipped USV. This weather is not helping either.”
While September had been cool, it had been sunny and clear most days. But October had brought high winds, reduced visibility, low clouds, and high sea states. Not to mention it was cold as well.
“Can we vector Windy 05 to the southwest, Ruiz?” Andrew asked. Windy 05 was their biggest Windward USV and equipped with radar, able to handle the higher sea states, and still provide the ISR the Sailors, Marines, and Soldiers needed to defend Adak Island. In the last month, the island’s population had grown to support the US’s posture in the Pacific and was now acting as a hub in the Navy and Marine Corps EABO concept of operations.
“We can try, Sir. The weather has picked up offshore and is limiting any forward progress of our fleet. The wind is too high to launch any of our UAS,” RW1 responded, enlarging the onscreen feed from Windy 05.
“Roger. I am going to call PACFLT and see if we can get them to send WAHOO underway,” Andrew said. The experimental medium Unmanned Surface Vessel (USV) designed for Anti-Submarine Warfare was larger than anything his team had, capable of superior performance in these sea states, and with an advanced towed array that would be useful in finding any surface ships or submarines.
Andrew picked up a red phone that was part of their expeditionary compute center and quickly dialed the battle watch captain. The phone call was quick and left him scowling. He slid the phone back into its cradle and returned to RW1. “They won’t let us use WAHOO because of the weather predictions,” Andrew said quietly.
“Roger, Sir. I will continue to try to get Windy 05 to move towards the southwest,” RW1 responded, eyes glued to his console. Andrew could see he was working on reprogramming the USV to search for a surface combatant.
Andrew was tired, the last month had exhausted him. All the unique systems his team used were proprietary, had their own interface, didn’t use the same language, and were built for different data networks or only had partial capabilities. He couldn’t even modify the programs to make the systems better or more compatible. RW1 had submitted the software change requests a month ago. However, due to budget restrictions, they hadn’t been accepted yet. He drifted to the corner where his sleeping bag lay and attempted to get some rest.
The first shells landed close to midnight. The explosions shook the ground and building around him. Andrew bolted out of his bed towards the command center. The harsh fall wind cut through his light sleeping layers, swirling toward him through the jagged edges of wall and a large hole where the door frame once stood. His heart raced as fear creeped into his mind, but he willed himself forward. In the dimly lit command center, RW1 was on the radio calling in counter-fires to the Marine NEMESIS team.
One of the video monitors that displayed the Windward USV’s camera feeds was filled with a white shimmering apparition of a naval vessel, a People’s Liberation Army Navy Type 54A frigate. Machine gun rounds splashed in the water around the USV as the frigate attempted to sink it. Suddenly, the entire screen went white and static, and Andrew’s stomach churned. At his side, RW1’s initial look of shock slowly morphed into a smile.
“We got her. The Marines report good effects from the NEMESIS battery,” he said in a quiet voice.
Andrew hadn’t even noticed the sounds of the missile launches, so engrossed he was in the video feed. As time passed, the camera feed came back into focus to reveal that the frigate was missing the forward part of the superstructure down to the water line, and the metal below the flight deck was twisted outward, as if inviting the crashing waves into the hull of the stricken vessel.
31 October 2029
Finally, a quiet day on Adak Island. The PLAN continued to shell, sporadically launching missiles and sending aircraft raids towards the island. To the defenders, it did not seem that China was serious about taking the island or stopping American activities there. The Army and Marines fiercely defended the island from the attacks, even striking back when the Navy’s unmanned systems were able to provide targetable data.
In the last week, the Chinese had effectively blinded them by using a denial of service (DDoS) attack on the US’s satellite constellation. This prevented LTJG Lee and his team from accessing the sensor feeds from their autonomous vehicles without access to GPS and internet services such as Starlink. Without a datalink of their own, the systems had become expensive modern art sculptures.
As the daylight receded, LTJG Lee sat at the work bench, tinkering with a software defined radio (SDR) and a single board computer (SBC), attempting to get them to talk to each other. He was buried in his work when he heard soft footsteps coming up behind him. He turned to RW1 walking in, bruised and bleeding from a cut on his head.
RW1’slips moved, yet nothing came out as he crumpled to the ground.
Andrew jumped off his stool and raced towards his fallen Sailor. Quickly, he assessed that the only injury to RW1 was the cut and some bruising. He took the time to move RW1 into his sleeping bag, called for a corpsman, and sat next to RW1 while the corpsman took his vitals and assessed him.
“It looks like he might have a concussion. He must have fallen into one of the shell craters or a foxhole,” HM3 Smith said quietly. “Just wake him in a few hours, and make sure he gets plenty of water as well.” HM3 got up and walked back out into the cool night.
Andrew sighed as he stood up, his body aching a bit from the sleeping arrangements. Thankfully, the workbench was portable. He moved the table and the electronics he was working on near RW1’s sleeping area so he could work and watch over RW1.
He walked into the Command Center, seeing black monitors and red lights on the Starlink status. He turned to see ET2 Brown running the hourly diagnostics check on the LORAN set. Luckily, they had been able to use new hardware and software to build a modern LORAN set, which was much smaller, used less power, and was easier to maintain. It was finally something the government acquisitions world got right, opensource, and it wasn’t something crazy proprietary, he reflected.
“ET2, I am going to be working in the berthing area. RW1 fell outside while walking back to the building and probably has a concussion. Come get me if you need anything.”
“Roger, Sir. I hope RW1 is doing okay. All the LORAN equipment is still up and working. No issues this evening. I turn over in a couple hours, I can relieve you on the RW1 watch then,” ET2 responded, concern lining his face.
“I will let you know; I hope the corpsman comes back and helps us with this since it is only the four of us. I will be working on my JACK O’LANTERN project while I monitor RW1.” Andrew grabbed a spool of wire and a soldering kit as he left the room.
Back at his workbench, Andrew sat down, pulling out the soldering iron and the solder. He picked up what looked like a RC aircraft and began running wires, connecting the SDR to the SBC and the flight controller board. The night wind whispered as it moved over the island, twisting around the buildings and the inhabitants.
A few hours later, he closed the laptop as he stood up, RC aircraft its controller in hand. He stepped out into the night, the darkness and the cool wind engulfing him. He considered the wind and deemed it acceptable for his aircraft. Winding up as if to throw a javelin, he launched the aircraft into the air.
I sure hope this works, he thought as he watched his creation catch an updraft. The small motor whirred to life as he depressed the start button. The high-pitched buzz mixed with the wind’s sounds, and the screen illuminated on the controller. At first it was dark, but when he squeezed one of the handles on the controller, the screen came to life. I will have to resolder that connection, he mused. He made a mental note of what to fix.
The UAS was now climbing and pushing out towards the sea. This was not the aircraft’s maiden flight on Adak, as he had done many familiarization flights with the thing. This was the first flight with a camera payload and a datalink to be able to see what the camera was seeing in real. time. The UAS crossed the beach line, and that is when he saw it. A row of amphibious vehicles crashing through the surf. Over the hiss of the wind, a faint whistling sound was growing louder…
“Get down, inc…”
LCDR Addison Pellerano is a Naval Aviator and a department head at HSM-71.
Featured Image: Artwork made with Midjourney AI.