Fiction Week

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.

Fiction Week

By Tyler Totten

880 km south of Midway Atoll, 11:15 (GMT-11)

“… tensions continue to escalate, some say war is inevitable. White House Press Secretary Jones insisted talks between US and PRC officials still show signs of progress. Despite the official sentiment, the stock market has less confidence, dropping another 5% in the third straight week of losses. The weight of reciprocal sanctions from both sides had already pushed the IMF to revise GDP predictions globally into negative territory. Further escalation…”

“Sir.” Captain Bryan Herera’s video feed paused automatically as the priority communication filled his headset. “Incoming message traffic.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. On the way.” He closed the comm with a frown. Any priority traffic could mean war. He was across the small cabin and down the short passageway to the CIC in ninety seconds. His stealthy command frigate was small and used space very efficiently. While SAG-58 was a powerful squadron collectively, each ship was relatively small and specialized.

“Decryption status, Lieutenant?”

“Finishing now, Captain.” Herera scanned it quickly and visibly relaxed, feeling each of his CIC crew glancing his direction in what they thought were discrete glances. Seeing his relaxation, they relaxed in turn.

“New orders, interdiction.” Herera pushed the relevant section to the squadron for their situational awareness. Simultaneously he pinged each ship’s captain for their availability. Seeing each respond green, he launched the squadron-wide conference.

“Morning. I’ve pushed our latest orders, nominally a simple interdiction mission. With the likely initiation of hostilities, commercial traffic has been fleeing WESTPAC. Most have headed towards the Indian Ocean but a few have also headed towards the US West Coast. ONI has flagged ships of interest for inspection and potential boarding. We’ve been assigned two containerships.

“First, the Liberian-flagged Great Wind owned by a Singapore-based company, out of Hong Kong, and reports she is headed to Hawaii and then Long Beach. Second is Pacora, Panamanian-flagged and owned. We don’t have details on why but ONI saw something of note.”

“Our orders are to interdict and inspect these vessels before they reach Hawaii. We will execute a sprint south, with surveillance support provided out of Hickam if available. They’re a little tight on available assets right now so I’ll rate that as doubtful.” Herera looked to where Casablanca’s captain was on his screen.

“Gil, I’ll want your birds over the top of both. How’re we looking to provide continuous coverage?”

“They’re about 300 kilometers away now, so we can start now and still have a few birds for armed overwatch of the boarding actions. I can have a bird for each off the deck in 30, sir.” Commander Gilbert Grahm’s gravely voice portrayed the smallest degree of tension.

“Very well, do it.” Herera nodded. “Sherry, I’ll want to push the boarding teams and armed escort out before we get within visual range. I assume that’s no challenge?”

“No sir, no challenge at all.” Commander Sheryl Gibbons tapped at her controls a moment. “We’ve still got about 5 hours to reach launch point. My people will be ready.”

“As for the rest of you.” Herera looked across the captains of his gun and missile-armed ships, the ones that provided his group with their air defense, strike, and anti-surface capacity. “We don’t know what to expect beyond what’s in our orders so I want us watching all domains. The PLAN could be trying to sneak a sub under these commercial ships or the ships themselves could be the threat. We don’t know what to expect so we’ll be ready for anything. General quarters and ready for action in four hours. Understood?”

“Yessir.” His lieutenants commanding the gun-armed Hedgehogs and VLS-armed Arsenal vessels responded crisply.

400 km west of Hawaii, 16:43 (GMT-11)

“Pacora, Pacora. In accordance with international treaties and your approach to the United States of America’s economic exclusion zone, you are ordered to stand by for boarding and inspection. Please respond.” Lieutenant Thorne turned, clearly concerned. “Fourth time now sir, no response.”

Herera’s frown deepened and he nodded in acknowledgement. Pacora was still steaming directly towards Hawaii. The ISR drone showed nothing unusual and they could make out crew on the bridge.

“Time until overwatch is in place?”

“Three minutes.” Thorne tiled the CIC main screen to show the plot, ISR feed, and the armed overwatch drone feeds. “Boarding teams will be on approach six minutes after that.”

Herera felt like he was missing something but didn’t know what. All he knew for sure was that there was a pit forming in his stomach.

“Activity on Pacora Captain.” Thorne maximized the feed showing Pacora.

For a moment, it looked as if the container stacks were shifting before Herera realized dozens of container tops were lifting on hidden hinges. Plumes of fire and smoke engulfed the ship as dozens of fires ignited at once and in an instant he knew.

“Defensive weapons free, squadron control to Roark. Continue closing on target vessel.” Herera freed his forces defensively and centralized control of the squadron to Roark’s automated combat system. “Roark, send flash warning, all stations.”

Roark’s computer sent the automated message push before its acknowledgement tone even sounded in Herera’s ear, far faster than any human could have done the same. Seconds would count here.

A flurry of acknowledgements flew in as the status board showed each ship report transfer of control. Roark’s combat system immediately began shifting stances, shifting Casablanca and Oyster Bay to the rear and moving the Hedgehogs forward.

“Fifty launches so far.” Thorne reported as the angry red symbols were plotted. “Heading zero-nine-zero and going supersonic. Target appears to be Hawaii and surrounds.”

“Ensure our feed is continuously transmitted to the net,” Herera ordered. He checked the intercept geometries and noted sourly that none of his ships could hope to down the missiles racing away from them towards Hawaii. He’d just have to make sure the total number launched were kept to a minimum. “Roark, strike mission anti-ship.”

“Target?” Roark’s computerized voice had an electronic growl but was clear in his ear.

“M/V Pacora. All weapons available, assume moderate defensive fire, ensure destruction in one salvo. Prioritize time to impact over munition conservation.” Roark would plot the strike faster and more reliably than his people could do on their own.

“Mission prepared. Twelve NSM in flights of four, one axis most direct route. Ready for authorization. Approval for strike on civilian vessel required.” Herera reviewed it, not expecting much complexity given SAG-58 and the containership were the only contacts for forty kilometers.

“Fire mission approved, civilian target authorized.” Herera also thumbed in his fingerprint authorization for the official log in addition to the audio recording he knew was being captured.

“Firing. Palisade, Bulwark, and Redoubt engaging.” Herera saw the three Arsenal-class ships obscured in smoke as they fired the naval strike missiles authorized by his command. The missile salvos flight would be short, launched from just under twenty kilometers.

“Sir, they’re dumping containers!” Thorne pointed at the screen incredulously. 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.

Sixty seconds after launch they went terminal. Pacora launched chaff and flares from hidden dispensers but the networked missiles ignored them and continued their dive. Distributed along its length, arriving nearly simultaneously, fourteen-hundred kilograms of explosive detonated as one. The entire ship shuddered and her propulsion power died as engineering was shredded and fuel set afire. Further forward, the explosions found more energetic cargo. The second row nearly expended, Pacora’s third missile layer was still ensconced in their containers. Three NSMs struck among them and added the mass of unexpended ordnance to the conflagration.

Aboard Roark, they watched in morbid fascination as the massive blast tore out the massive ship’s midsection. Hull steel rippled like water on a pond before the explosive energy finally tore the ship in half. Riddled with holes, the ship settled quickly as seawater rushed into the savaged hull. A minute later, both halves disappeared beneath the waves. Only debris and burning oil remained.

“How many launches?” Herera asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Eighty-five, sir.” Thorne refocused on his screens. “Air defenses engaging and Hickam’s CAP is moving to intercept.”

“Some are still going to get through.” Herera said darkly. He brought his attention back to the plot quickly. “Are we seeing anything suspicious from Great Wind?”

“No sir, but there wasn’t much warning here either.”

“Hail them. They are to come about to heading two-seven-zero immediately and reduce to steerage or we’ll consider them an enemy combatant.” Herera said stonily.

Thorne stared for a second, shocked before hailing Great Wind.

“Captain Grahm, time for armed overwatch to Great Wind?” Herera brought all his captains onto the conference without waiting for their confirmations. They needed to move quickly and as one here.

“Started moving them when we saw Pacora’s launches. They are approaching station now.”

“Boarding team and escort drones also enroute Captain.” Captain Gibbons added. “Thirty minutes to be ready to execute.”

“Very well. If Great Wind does not comply with our instructions, I want her disabled. We’ll try not to sink her but we must prevent any additional losses. Objections, concerns, questions?” Herera swept the faces of his officers. None spoke but he saw the range of emotions; shock, frustration, anger. All appeared in agreement.

315 km west of Hawaii, 17:28 (GMT-11)

“Boarding team approaching. Great Wind is still at heading two-seven-zero and five knots.” Thorne reported, his voice shaky but clear. The nervousness was wearing on them all.

“Took them long enough,” Herera grumbled, still glaring at the big ship. Her captain had tried to argue around it, offer all sorts of excuses to delay compliance. Herera had been sure he would have to disable her but the captain had finally complied after one of the escort drones detonated a rocket a hundred meters off her bow. Now the squadron, within ten kilometers of Great Wind, had interposed itself between the ship and Hawaii. The island had already taken a number of hits and at least one of the radar stations was no longer operating. He didn’t know if they were completely offline or just down temporarily. He’d endeavor to find out the damage after the task at hand was complete.

The net of armed drones flew and floated around her, every camera and sensor staring. They could see shadowy faces of the crew looking out but little else. Herera continued to watch the multiple feeds and threat indicators as the boarding team closed on the ship.

When a targeting radar lashed out from a series of hidden conformal arrays buried in the container stack the watching humans were momentarily taken by surprise. The further addition of electronic jammers reduced the quality of the feeds but were still below the level required to truly jam the massively redundant net of the SAG. The squadron’s automated system, however, reacted instantly. Already set weapons free on any hostile emissions or launches, the circling overwatch drones pivoted as they came to a hover. Two drones on opposite sides of the ship loosed anti-radiation missiles at the offending emitters. The network did not feel satisfaction but it sounded no additional warning. Everything was prepared and it was ready to engage the expected weapon launches heralded by the targeting radars. It could not have anticipated what happened next.

Small charges blew the lids off a hundred containers as one. Having barely flown free, a veritable cloud of objects emerged from the now open lids. They spread on every axis away from the ship even as additional hatches opened on additional containers atop Great Wind’s tall stacks.

“Drone launches, reports are merging. Roark can’t distinguish them individually.” Thorne paused momentarily to squint and interpret the data he was seeing. “At least eight-hundred drones.”

“Recall the boarding teams.” Herera relied on Roark to handle the defensive systems, any orders he gave would be late at this point. Even as he thought it, Roark’s own VLS rumbled as missiles thundered away and the 57mm deck gun rotated from its housing and roared into action at maximum fire rate. All across the horizon, every ship in his squadron was doing the same with every weapon. He saw the detonations in the dark clouds of drones all around the Great Wind both with his own eyes and on the drone feeds.

“Boarding teams withdrawing but heavily pursued.” Thorne’s report brought his attention to their feed. He noted that one of his overwatch drones was already offline and another was maneuvering hard to evade the pursuing drones. They were a mix of small missiles, pusher propellers, and even basic quadcopters. While they had been building speed, SAG-58’s drones had been hovering and had to transition to forward flight to escape. For some, it cost too much time.

315 km west of Hawaii, 17:36 (GMT-11)

“They’re still closing!” Corporal Ogdon snarled into the comm as she continued to play her minigun across the swarm. She was downing dozens of the little quadcopters but dozens more still pursued the four RIBs of the boarding team. Each boat poured fire into the swarm but all were losing ground.

“Unbox the Buster!” Lieutenant Cooper ordered. Private Collins scrambled from his seat, hauling a long case from under his seat. Quickly flipping the latches and opening the case revealed the long cylindrical weapon inside. Vaguely rifle shaped, it looked vaguely like a blunderbuss.

“Pulse out!” He called, bracing himself on the gunwale and rapidly stroking the trigger. The effects were immediate and drones dropped in clusters as their delicate unshielded electronics failed.

“Reloading. Fuck” Ogdon cursed, continuing under her breath as she and another private scrambled to reload the minigun. But they didn’t have the time.

Finally catching closing, quadcopters spiraled onto their fleeing prey. Despite their losses, the dozens remaining were still overkill. Multiple struck each boat, small warheads tearing through the thin craft and their occupants. Engine power died while secondaries finished the destruction.

None escaped.

In the air, their overwatch faired little better. The speed and maneuverability advantage provided some protection but half of the squadron’s airborne assets were overwhelmed. The rest, forced to flee at speed, had little left to contribute. Their human operators could only look on impotently as Great Wind’s containers began to launch missiles at the squadron’s ships.

315 km west of Hawaii, 17:38 (GMT-11)

“Vampire, vampire.” Thorne’s unsurprising report was still unwelcome. “Roark still directing defensive fire.”

Roark’s crew were little more than passengers now. Herera had been forced to helplessly watch his boarding team die. Now, he had to watch as his own fate was decided. The initial defensive fire had wiped out the remaining drones, those that hadn’t succeeded in striking their own targets, but Great Wind was launching heavier missiles now.

Short-ranged interceptors sprinted from launchers in a constant ripple while deck guns sent hundreds of rounds roaring downrange. The detonations, smoke trails, and flashes were impossible for the human mind to follow in real-time but he knew all were tracked and the intercepts choreographed by Roark’s computer. Every minor turret adjustment, every midcourse update, all happening in milliseconds to best defend the squadron.

“Fire mission request. Target Great Wind.” Roark’s generated voice filled his ear as the plan appeared on screen. The computer couldn’t fire offensively without permission but knew sinking Great Wind was a logical step and acted accordingly. Herera saw the plan was similar to the strike on Pacora, effective but not creative. Just as he’d expect.

“Approved.” Herera wasted no time. There was no telling how many munitions or other launchable effects Great Wind held.

Moments after approving, Roark’s answer to the enemy attack roared downrange. Seemingly undetected this time, the NSMs faced no defensive fire or decoys. Herera thought perhaps the outdated EW that Great Wind had employed in the opening act had been this ship’s only systems. Or at least the missile detection gear had been among what was destroyed when the anti-radiation missiles did their work before the drone swarm. Tearing into the massive ship, Great Wind died much the same as her apparent sister an hour earlier, leaving little more than a burning oil slick on the surface to mark her passing.

But she didn’t die alone. Two ships of the squadron burned along with her, Redoubt and Saber had both taken hits. Saber seemed only lightly damaged but Redoubt was a total loss. The small anti-ship missile had struck her amidships and the resulting secondary detonation of her VLS magazine had broken the ship’s back. She hadn’t quite split in half but her bow sat at an ugly angle relative to the stern and she had only a meter of freeboard remaining. Stiletto had maneuvered astern and launched her single RIB to search for sailors in the water but none were showing on the man overboard systems. The stern section was ablaze with an intensity that didn’t look survivable. As bad as he felt, he knew his people were feeling the pain as well. He’d led them into this little trap but he also knew it wasn’t intended for them. He thumbed on the command line to the surviving ships of the squadron, knowing his CIC crew would hear his words as well.

“As soon as we complete SAR, we’ll head for Pearl. Vessel statuses ASAP, priority superseded only by SAR and crew injuries. I know we’re all still processing what just happened but keep in mind, those drones were meant to follow-up Pacora’s strikes on Hawaii. We stopped them.” He said simply, taking the logical leap. He kept his darker thoughts to himself.

Not a great start. And the war is just getting started.

Tyler Totten is a naval engineer who has supported several Navy and Coast Guard programs, including LCS, DDG(X), and PEO Ships Futures Directorate with a deep interest in international and specifically maritime security. He is also an amateur science fiction writer published on Kindle. He holds a B.S from Webb Institute in Naval Architecture and Marine Engineering. He can be found on Bluesky at @azuresentry.bsky.social and X/Twitter at @AzureSentry.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.