Fiction Contest Week

2nd Place Finisher

By Michael Barretta

DF-26B ballistic missiles split the sky with their hypersonic screams. Guam Killers rained down and Andersen Air Force Base burned. Greasy, black smoke, illuminated by bright flashes of primary detonations, billowed violently into the sky. War was loud, very loud, thought Lieutenant Andrew Cohen as he strapped into the right seat of Bone Daddy, a B-1B Sea Control Bomber. He was first to the aircraft and had hit the alert button at the base of nose gear to start the engines before climbing up to the cockpit. 

Cohen opened his NATOPS pocket checklist. His hands shook and he couldn’t stop them. This wasn’t a fight. This was straight up murder from the sky and any second now a thousand-pound high-explosive warhead was going to detonate fifty feet above him and the overpressure would flatten him to a thin paste of jelly before his synapses could fire. Patriot and THAAD missiles arced skyward, leading long vaporous contrails. Bursts of light illuminated the high cumulus clouds gathering in the early dawn. 

Second wave incoming. 

He stared for several impossibly long seconds at his NATOPS checklist as if it was written in some strange, foreign language. An explosion rocked his aircraft and bits of Andersen Air Force base pelted the fuselage. 

Bone Daddy’s aircraft commander, Lieutenant Commander David Ross, was lost somewhere in the burning base; Cohen didn’t think he would show. AW1 Patrick Lenihan, Bone Daddy’s Offensive Weapon System Operator, appeared. The man’s face was scorched red and his barely within regulations hair was burned to tight ashen curls.

“Sir, if we don’t get out of here, we are going to die.”

“I know. We need…”

“Sir, no one else is coming. They are all dead.” 

“Okay.” Cohen advanced the throttles and the four F101 engines spooled up from idle. The aircraft lurched forward and he steered it off the alert strip onto runway Six Left. “Get up here and strap in.”

 Lenihan sat and strapped himself into the left seat as the aircraft rolled. On the runway, Cohen advanced the throttles to their stops, full afterburner. Bone Daddy surged as all four afterburners lit. 

The second wave impacted. 

Debris rained down. Pieces of runway. Pieces of buildings. Pieces of people. The nose dropped off a buckled slab of upheaved runway. Cohen thought of Air France’s Concorde trailing fire when kicked-up debris ruptured a fuel cell. Airspeed built and the nose broke ground. The Air Force’s B-21 Raider hangars exploded and rivers of burning JP-8 fuel flowed across the runway.

The main mounts slipped free and he sucked the gear up, flying through fire. He pushed the nose over for airspeed. 360 knots. Wings swept back 25 degrees. The jet was heavy with 16 AGM-158D Long Range Anti-Ship missiles in the mid and aft bays and an auxiliary fuel tank in the forward.

 The smartest thing Cohen could do was get away from ground zero.

His wife lived at ground zero. Rachael taught third grade at the DoD school. 

The ground plummeted away as he escaped over Pati Point, the cliffs at the end of the runway. He leveled at 350 feet, 540 knots, wings swept full aft, above a sea slick with morning light. He banked left and rolled out heading 360. He didn’t really know why, it just made intuitive sense. His heart pounded. He just took off without a plan. He locked eyes with Lenihan and saw his own terror reflected back. 

An immense flash of light lit up the area behind the aircraft.

“Did they nuke us?” asked Lenihan.

“I don’t know.”

______________________________________________________________________________________

Despite its capabilities, the Air Force didn’t want the B-1B. No matter how sexy a Cold War killer it was, without stealth, its ability to penetrate highly contested airspace came under increasing doubt, besides it was just a bit too long in the tooth, a money sponge sucking up resources for new hardware. The Air Force didn’t want the Navy to have it either. Bombing was firmly within the realm of Air Force mission sets and who needed the competition; besides, the Navy had their P-8 Poseidons to prowl the oceans.

Oddly enough, the Navy was in violent agreement and did not wish to take custody of the aging platform. Not only were they expensive, but philosophically, operating the B-1B was de facto proof that aircraft carriers were vulnerable to shore-based bombers firing standoff weapons, and the Air Force did not need any help making that argument. But a shipbuilding program crippled by persistent economic recession, a suspicious shipyard fire that scrapped the USS Abraham Lincoln, and the cancelation of USS Doris Miller meant that the Navy had a power projection problem in the Pacific ocean. 

Boeing lobbyists, Congress, and a dusted-off RAND study forced the matter and twelve B-1B Lancers were regenerated from Davis-Monthan’s Type 1000 storage and bailed to the U.S. Navy. Six were based in Japan, six in Guam. 

 Only one would make it to the fight. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

“What are we doing?” asked Lenihan.

“I don’t know yet.” Cohen had a digital copy of yesterday’s intel brief on his secure tablet with the last known positions of the three Chinese Carrier Strike Groups. Very unusual for all three to be at sea at the same time. The Chinese had claimed it was an exercise. 

He rotated through Guam center, tower, and ground frequencies. Dead air. The frequencies for Guam International Airport were also quiet. No sense in taking out one airfield and leaving the other. 

“Lenny, you are gonna have to run both defense and offense. Load up the ESM library so we can see who is out here with us.” 

“We’re only half a crew and we don’t have orders,” said Lenihan.

“We will just do our jobs,” said Cohen. “Best we can.”

Lenihan looked hesitant but finally said, “I’m on it.” He left the cockpit to take his position at the Offensive Weapon Systems Operator’s station behind the cockpit.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Calmer now, Cohen took the time to organize his cockpit and back himself up with his NATOPS checklist. What did he know?

GPS and SATCOM systems were down. Earth’s orbit was probably a tumbling satellite graveyard. No way to get confirmation or authorization. Bone Daddy’s inertial navigation system was upgraded with the new MAGNAV system so he knew where he was in the world. He flew undamaged over a blue Pacific Ocean darted with sunlight after a horrific ballistic missile attack that destroyed Andersen. With the aux tank in the forward bay, he had nine hours of fuel, enough for Taiwan and back. Bone Daddy was alone and loaded for a sea denial mission. 

Fights on. 

Time to deny the sea.

“Library is loaded. I’m getting hits. Nothing military. Commercial navigation radars. Developing passive tracks,” said Lenihan over the ICS.

“Okay, thanks,” said Cohen.

Cohen thought of his wife and how scared she must be. If she was still alive. He went there, indulging his inner darkness. How screwed up the world must be for her to be a casualty before him. “Find me something Chinese and military to shoot at.”

______________________________________________________________________________________

Airman Morales’s head throbbed and blood ran into his eyes from a gash across his forehead. He felt scalped. He scooped pulverized concrete debris with the front loader’s bucket and as it rolled forward a blackened human torso tumbled into view. Intestines spooled out from the ruptured body and the remains fell out of sight. Between the broken-up dead and the toxic smoke, the smell was atrocious, and with the tropical heat, the stench would only get worse. He stopped and vomited between his legs.

“What the hell are you doing?” yelled Master Sergeant Grady.

“Master Sergeant, there’s people in the…”

“No. We don’t have time. Fill those holes in the runway. Just do it.”

Morales nodded. If a man with third degree burns and half a uniform gave you orders, you followed. Besides, he was the only one within sight that had his shit together.

“There is a bird out there, Morales. It needs to come home,” explained the Master Sergeant.

How could you tell? thought Morales. Cratered runways. Flattened buildings. Blasted aircraft. Fires burned everywhere and no one was putting them out. It was like a malignant god had reached down and stirred the Earth. Everything was chaos except for the Master Sergeant. Morales wiped his sour mouth and nodded in affirmation. His head pounded. Smoke stung his eyes.

Stop thinking. 

Start doing. 

Nothing easier than filling holes and there were more than enough to keep him busy. 

The front loader’s engine drowned out the screams of the nearly dead.

______________________________________________________________________________________

“I got something. Someone broke EMCON,” said Lenihan. “A single hit on a Type 348 fire control radar associated with 37 millimeter close-in weapon system. Mounted on multiple classes of Chinese warships. Bears 002, indefinite range. It lasted about 15 seconds.”

“Okay turning to. Keep me updated.” He flew hands on at 1500 feet above the Pacific. BARALT hold on. RADALT hold off. Unlikely that radar altimeter emissions would travel far enough for detection, but before a few hours ago, missiles raining down on Guam were also considered unlikely. He was much calmer. The routine demands of flying focused his mind. Let the training win.

Maybe we should have seen it coming? Fractured domestic stability, strengthening Taiwanese independence movements, and an aging Xi Jinping under threat of losing power necessitated a big win against an external enemy. Seems like today was the day. 

They flew on.

______________________________________________________________________________________

“I got another hit. X band, KLJ-7A off of FC-31 fighters. Multiple hits. Hostile and friendly. The world’s gone active. Something big is going on. Multiple surface search and fire control radars bear 006.”

Once opposing forces had found each other, the battlespace lit up with electromagnetic energy. No sense in being quiet once discovered. Kinetics followed. DF-17 hypersonic missiles launched from H-6N bombers slalomed out of the sky and were met with directed energy fire from Constellation-class frigates. Aegis-guided SM-3 interceptors slammed into DF-21 anti-ship ballistic missiles. Deep penetrating F-35 Lightnings parsed the battlespace to millimeter fidelity. Radars and countermeasures went dark as weapons systems delivered concrete results. Ships burned. Wingless aircraft tumbled from the sky. 

But that was none of his concern. 

The AN/ALG-161C electronic support measures system classified targets down to the hull numbers and he had a good idea which hulls needed destroying.

“Lenny, do you have anything for me?” asked Cohen. 

“I do. I’ve got Link 16 off a Triton. We are participating,” said Lenihan. 

The mission panel display electronically sketched out the largest sea battle since World War II in abstract symbology. Three Chinese and two American carrier strike groups had committed to destroying each other. The Kennedy and Ford had engaged the Liaoning, Shandong, and the newer type-003 Carrier, Chairman Mao Zedong. 

“Let’s get into the fight,” said Cohen. Now that he knew where he was going and who to shoot at, he descended to 500 feet and accelerated.

______________________________________________________________________________________

“Targets designated,” said Lenihan. “Platform.”

Cohen leveled the wings. Hit the pre-arm/release switch. He opened the bays and added power to maintain airspeed.

No need to get specific with AGM-158D’s. Their evil little minds had already tapped into the open architecture of the Offensive Weapon Suite and they had a pretty good idea of their role in the matter. The weapons collaborated and decided upon a course of action to defeat the shotgun destroyers flanking the Chinese carriers. They presented the plan to the aircraft commander as if he could come up with something better.

“Contacts inbound. FC-31s. We’re about to be engaged!” said Lenihan. “Am I cleared?”

“Cleared for release,” said Cohen.

One-by-one, the AGM’s fell into the slipstream. Wings snapped open like switchblades and engines ignited. Transition to cruise. 

Lenihan called the deployment. “One of sixteen away. Two of sixteen away.”

The sixth missile malfunctioned when one wing failed to extend. The motor ignited and the missile corkscrewed into the sea.

The first AGM’s out the door throttled back and waited for their siblings to catch up. The weapons formed and swarmed, splitting into three flights of five. Each calculated to travel 200 nautical miles and arrive on target within milliseconds of each other. 

 “Sixteen of sixteen away, cleared to maneuver,” said Lenihan.

Cohen closed the weapon bay doors and threw the aircraft into a hard ninety-degree knife edge turn. His little piece of the war was over. He pushed the nose down, aiming for 200 feet, hoping to get lost in the wave clutter. He firewalled the throttles. Nothing in the inventory flew better low-level than a Bone. 

FC-31s closed, and his defensive systems could feel the tickle of KLJ-7A radars burning through Lenihan’s jamming. The KLJ-7A radar guided two PL-12s, China’s AIM-120 equivalent, until the missile activated its own terminal guidance radar.

“Two PL-12s. Active. Stinger’s hot,” said Lenihan. “Platform.”

Cohen had a choice. Attempt to defeat the missiles with maneuver and conventional jamming or go wings level and let Stinger, the 90-kilowatt laser pod mounted to Bone Daddy’s empennage, work its sci-fi magic.

Well, he couldn’t pull 39 g’s to evade and the missile had a home-on-jam attack mode. “Platform,” he acknowledged. 

Wings level. 

Sitting duck.

The laser fired, indicated only by an alert on his panel. He held his breath and waited for the missiles to shred his aircraft. 

“Splash two. Targets down,” said Lenihan.

“Amen,” said Cohen.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Runway Six Left looked like a dirt strip, but it was far better than Six Right. A bulldozer pushed the wreckage of a bat-winged B-21. The aircraft had hit a crater at near takeoff speed and had disintegrated into a spray of toxic, composite fire. Somewhere in that tangled, smoldering mass were the remains of two pilots. Someone would look later. 

The Master Sergeant had impressed the walking wounded into working parties, and they groomed Six Left with shovels, rakes, brooms, and bare hands. It was like a zombie FOD walkdown, but he took what he could get. What was he supposed to do? The damn runways were his and until someone came along and told him to stop, he would do what he was supposed to do, keep it flat and smooth. Someone’s pickup truck arrived with bags of concrete acquired from out in town. They dumped the bags on the top of the tamped down rubble to fill in the gaps. If they could get some water, they could make a surface that might not tear the gear right out from under an aircraft. Maybe the Marines were right. Vertical was the way to go. 

He stood on a filled 30-foot crater and knew it was someone’s grave.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Cohen ran on fumes with engine number three shut down for high turbine temperature. He identified Guam by the smear of smoke marring the horizon. No one answered the radio.

He bypassed Andersen and marked on top Guam international. No one challenged him. Guam International still burned and the airfield looked like the surface of the moon, but the area around the airport looked intact. Thank God for precision weapons. 

Lenihan stood and peered through the windscreen “It’s still there.”

“Hard to sink an island.”

“They sure tried.”

Cohen flashed the wings over his house. If Rachael was alive, she would look up and see a B-1B with Jack Skellington nose art, and she would know he was okay. He tried to pick out his house through the smoke and summer haze, but he couldn’t.

“She’s okay,” said Lenihan.

“I know,” said Cohen, but he really didn’t. 

They overflew Andersen , entering a wide overhead pattern mindful of his one engine out. People and construction equipment scattered from runway Six Left. It looked rough, but he didn’t think his aircraft would drop into a crater. He extended his downwind and turned to final. Full forward sweep.

The main mounts touched down and chirped. He held the nose, bleeding off airspeed. The aircraft shuddered over the rough patches but didn’t sink in. When all three were on the ground, he deployed spoilers and brakes that threw him into his straps. The aircraft roller-coastered over the filled craters but it stayed straight and dirty-side down. He laid on the wheel brakes hard. 

God bless whoever filled those holes. He steered off the last taxiway and dead-ended at a smoldering pile of debris.

Fatigue swamped him, running right through his body like a train. He felt like he could sleep right here in his seat, the seat that still had the ejection seat pin in place.

He pulled the throttles to off, not bothering with the shutdown checks or starting the APUs, His cockpit faded to dark under protest. His NATOPS was around here somewhere.

“I have to go find Rachael.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Epilogue

Commander Martha Fluckey, Commanding Officer of the USS Barb, a Block V Virginia-class submarine, had the wounded and unescorted Mao Zedong, the sole surviving Chinese carrier, in her sights. The carrier had taken three AGM-158D hits from a lone B-1B coming at her from an unexpected direction. The ship’s island was a twisted steel stump and the hangar deck was a burned-out cave. It wasn’t fighting, but it still floated.

That was her problem to deal with.

She felt the thump of four Mk-48 torpedoes leaving her tubes. She waited and listened. 

Her sonarman turned and nodded. All four, thousand-pound warheads had detonated on target. 

“Launch drone.” 

The drone burst the ocean’s surface and streaked towards the mortally- wounded carrier. 

She vectored the drone’s BDA to the boat’s display panels.

She and her crew watched in silence. Such a high-definition spectacle seemed more like a Hollywood special effect than a military victory. Tons of water poured into the carrier’s hull. It rolled in a sudden catastrophic upset pitching debris and men over the sides. Such a monstrous thing to witness.

“Send message. Scratch one flat top.”

Mike Barretta is a naval aviator having flown the SH-60B helicopter on multiple deployments. He currently works for a defense contractor as a maintenance test pilot.

Featured Image: “concept for Boeing- B-1 bomber” by James Vaughan via Artstation.

Fiction Contest Week

By First Lieutenant Karl Flynn, USMC

First Lieutenant Liu, USMC, looked north out to sea toward the Luzon Strait. The sky was turning amber and orange as the sun sank toward the horizon. He knew Taiwan lay beyond the horizon 200 kilometers away. As he often did, he began to wonder what was happening there. As a platoon commander, he was not privy to strategic level actions. Even if he had had internet access, it would have been impossible to discern the truth from news sources, much less social media. Both sides were pushing as much deception as possible. Liu knew he probably wouldn’t find out until well after the war concluded, which, as far as he knew, could last for a very, very long time.

We’re probably in more or less of a stalemate. Since the Ford got hit by that DF-21, we’re not gonna get much help. The Navy won’t risk any carriers—or amphibs—within 1,500 clicks of any Chinese-held island, so there’s no force substantial enough that can get close enough to do anything. On the other hand, the PLAN has to be terrified of the subs we’ve got left. After the Shandong was sunk by—presumably—a fast attack, they won’t want to risk their ships on the high seas, either.

“Sir, the boat’s heading back.”

Liu looked at his squad leader. Sergeant Morales was lying in a small depression at the edge of the beach with his binoculars trained on a vessel a few hundred meters offshore. The craft was an optionally manned surface vessel about 30 feet long. The Marines used its high resolution sonar to check on the fuel bladders that were staged on the seafloor and to ferry supplies.

“So it is. Buford, what’s it saying?”

What appeared to be a small grassy hill replied. “Scan shows the dracones that were supposed to arrive are there, sir. I have the grids to both of them.” Corporal Buford, the platoon radio operator, was laying under a camouflage net to conceal the laptop screen he was looking at.

Perfect. The divers can get them checked tomorrow morning. At 935 tons each, that brings our fuel total to 3,740 tons. Well, that’s fuel that we have underwater. We still have those two fuel bladders at the FARP. Even after the Seahawk topped off this morning we’ve barely put a dent in them.

“Roger, let’s head back. Once we get there get those grids to the divers. Lieutenant Bolton will want them to check the dracones first thing tomorrow.”

“Roger.”

Buford started packing up his Toughbook and radio while the rest of the squad assumed a staggered column formation.

Liu keyed his radio. “Sentinel, this is white one, over.”

A voice responded, “White one, go for Sentinel, over.”

“Patrol is retrograding. No change to pack count or route.”

“Copy. Roger up as you pass the ground sensors, over.”

“White one copies, out.”

Liu gave the hand signal to begin moving. Once the lead element of the patrol reached where the ground sensors were emplaced, Liu got back on his radio.

“Sentinel, this is white one, passing ground sensors, over.”

“Sentinel copies. We’re picking you up. See you shortly, over.”

“Roger, out.”

______________________________________________________________________________________

The island the Marines were on was named Siayan. Barely a kilometer north to south, the island was part of the Batanes Islands halfway between Taiwan and The Philippines. Siayan was home to a total of 91 personnel including 60 Marines, 15 sailors, and 16 soldiers who manned the Expeditionary Advanced Base (EAB) under the command of a Navy surface warfare officer, Lieutenant Bolton. The Marines on the island included a mobile reconnaissance platoon reinforced with a rifle squad and an aircraft maintenance detachment of about 20 Marines. There were six sailors who operated and maintained a C-RAM system, six communications specialists, and two Navy divers. The Army also had a detachment of 17 soldiers who operated and maintained surface-to-air missiles. The senior-most soldier was Sergeant First Class McDaniel who had spent his career in the Army’s air defense artillery branch. The EAB also boasted a forward arming and refueling point and an expeditionary pier to accommodate small surface craft.

As the Marines patrolled back, they passed THAAD and MEADS launchers. Though operated by the Army, they were compatible with the Navy’s Aegis system. These weapons made Siayan a node in the network of sensors and shooters on land, at sea, and in the air. The Navy had calculated that this particular EAB would present a low payoff target to the PLA. While it was certainly a thorn in their side, Navy planners—and Liu—hoped that it would be just not enough of a thorn to warrant deliberate action to destroy it.

The sun was setting over the trees as the Marines arrived at their expeditionary shelters. These were essentially shipping containers with lighting and climate control, though air conditioning was never used in order to save fuel. Eleven were used by the Marines, sailors, and soldiers. The three that were used for command and control always had their air conditioning units running to cool their electronic systems. This made them a popular spot for Marines to congregate. Gunnery Sergeant Cunningham—Liu’s platoon sergeant—regularly had to kick them out. Three other shelters were used to store supplies including replacement parts, lubricants, coolant, hydraulic fluid, sonobuoys, ammunition, and several tons of food.

The last three shelters were usually empty. Periodically, they would be used by an enabling asset dispatched to the EAB. These included Seabees during the EAB’s initial construction, Navy EOD personnel, and various maintenance teams. When they weren’t in use, the sailors, soldiers, and Marines turned them into gyms using makeshift exercise equipment. Liu passed his shelter and headed for the communications shelter. He unlatched the door, entered, and sealed the door behind him, then looked at the sailor behind the computer screen.

“We’re back. Anything for me?”

“Yes, sir, I was about to radio you. Just heard from the Petersen’s Seahawk. The pilot said they ran into some kind of maintenance issue and that we’re the closest place to go. They’ll land in about 20 minutes.”

This doesn’t sound good.

“OK. I take it Lieutenant Bolton and Staff Sergeant Garrison aren’t tracking yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Roger, I’ll go let them know.”

“I can do that for—” he started to get up from his chair, but Liu motioned for him to stay seated.

“No need. I’d rather deliver the bad news than make you do it.”

Liu found Lieutenant Bolton talking to Staff Sergeant Garrison by the balloon tether shortly after the sun set. He looked up at the balloon floating several hundred feet above him, still visible in the twilight. The balloon was a relic from the global war on terror. In Afghanistan, Marines used aerostats to give powerful optics a bird’s eye view of the battlefield. Although SSgt Garrison’s primary job was aircraft maintenance, he was also involved in maintenance for systems on the EAB. Liu walked up as the two were having a conversation about the EAB’s distillers. Bolton saw Liu approaching.

“What’s up, Liu?”

“Good afternoon, gents. I have good news, but I’m afraid I also have some bad news.” Bolton and Garrison exchanged a look.

Here it goes.

“The Seahawk ran into a maintenance issue. It’s heading back here.”

“Sir, did they say what the issue was?” Garrison asked.

“I’m afraid not, Staff Sergeant.” Garrison started walking to the communications shelter grumbling curses under his breath. Liu continued, “Good news is we confirmed that those two dracones are right where they’re supposed to be.”

Bolton thought for a moment. “That helo will probably keep Staff Sergeant and his Marines busy for a while.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else from your patrol?”

“No, sir.”

“OK. Have you eaten anything since you’ve been back?”

“No, sir.”

“Alright.” Bolton sighed in frustration. “Go get some chow. Once Staff Sergeant is done talking to the helo crew I’ll start passing our situation up the chain of command.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Liu started walking back to his Marines.

Guess he’s not that mad after all.

______________________________________________________________________________________

A few minutes later, Liu was eating and chatting with his Marines when Bolton came out of the communications shelter. He saw Liu and started walking over to him. Liu started to get up.

“Sit down, Liu.”

This probably won’t be good.

“Roger, sir.” Liu complied.

Bolton continued, “Just got off the hook with higher and the Seahawk crew. They think they know what the issue is and they have the part to fix it—at the airfield on Itbayat.”

Itbayat was a substantially larger island eight kilometers southwest of Siayan.

I don’t like where this is going.

“Once they land Staff Sergeant Garrison can confirm which part they need. Once he does, I need you to take one of the ARVs to get it.”

Now I see why he’s not angry: it’s my problem, not his. Looks like I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

“Understood, sir.”

Bolton nodded, then headed back to the communications shelter. Liu got up to go find his gunner, Corporal Olson. Both Marines had initially trained on the LAV-25 when the Marine Corps still fielded LAR units. The Marines had replaced the LAV with the Amphibious Reconnaissance Vehicle (ARV) and used them to form Mobile Reconnaissance Battalions (MRBs). MRBs also employed smaller ground vehicles, unmanned aircraft, and optionally manned surface vessels. While LAR units could only conduct terrestrial operations, MRBs could operate in the littorals.

The ARV itself was lightyears ahead of the LAV-25. It was capable of swimming in the open ocean and was armed with a bigger main gun and a TOW missile launcher from the Army’s Bradley fighting vehicle. The gun sights were upgraded and the commander had an independent optics suite that could be raised on a mast while the vehicle hid behind cover. The ARV also boasted laser warning receivers, a gunfire locater, an active protection system, smoke grenade launchers, a smoke generator, and an EM sensor and countermeasure suite capable of locating and jamming radar emitters and multi-band radio communications. The vehicle’s software was constantly searching the image from the sights for threats. It could highlight them for the crew or automatically slew the turret to them depending on the setting.

Liu walked past the two ARVs parked next to the tether and headed toward his gunner’s shelter as darkness settled in. Liu knocked on the door and Olson opened it.

“What’s up, sir?”

“The helo is on its way back. We’re probably going to have to get a part for it from Itbayat.”

“Good to go, sir.”

As Liu was leaving, he saw Gunny Cunningham running toward him.

“Sir, ground sensors picked up something on the northeast shore.”

Liu’s blood ran cold.

If there’s someone else on the island, surely the balloon would’ve seen something. How could they possibly have gotten past all of the other sensors, too?

Unbeknownst to Liu, a Chinese Yuan-class submarine had discreetly slipped past the sonar nets protecting the island over an hour earlier and bottomed out less than five nautical miles from where he stood. A force of eight naval commandos had, in fact, made it past the watchful eyes of the surveillance balloon.

“Get the platoon ready. I’ll take the ARVs offshore, you take the dismounts overland like we rehearsed.”

“Roger.”

Both Marines turned on their heels. Gunnery Sergeant Cunningham started rounding up Marines. Liu ran back into the shelter and relayed the same information to Olson who immediately started putting on his gear. Liu didn’t wait for him. He ran straight to his ARV passing sailors, soldiers, and Marines who were preparing their own weapons and gear.

In less than three minutes, both ARVs were moving. He passed a sitrep to Lieutenant Bolton as his driver moved the vehicle toward the shore.

“Splashing!” the driver announced as the vehicle plowed into the waves. Liu felt the ARV slow down, then settle into a steady speed as it began to float.

“Roger,” Liu said, then switched to external comms. “White one, feet wet, out.”

“White two, feet wet, out.” Liu glanced to his right. He saw the splash of his wingman’s vehicle entering the ocean through his PVS-31 binocular night vision system.

“White three, this is white one, I need a posrep every 100 meters, over.”

“One this is three, wilco, out.”

As Cunningham responded, Liu looked at his map.

If they move quietly, it’ll take them eight minutes to reach the ground sensors. How many troops is Gunny going to run into? There can’t be that many. Any sizeable force would need a surface vessel. Swimmer delivery vehicles can only hold a few people. Unless there’s more than one…

The radio brought Liu out of his thoughts.

“White one, this is sentinel, over.”

“Sentinel, go for white one, over.”

“Update to enemy posrep: ground sensors active 150 meters west of the promontory, over.”

Liu looked at his map again.

“Roger. Let me know if they pick up more movement, over.”

“Wilco, out.”

The direction of fire should be safe if we can engage them once we round the northern point of the island.

“Three, this is one, I’m going to recon by fire once we pass the north point. Stay south of the northern cache, over.”

“Roger. Three standing by for recon by fire, out.”

As the ARVs were about to round the northern point of the island, Liu heard helicopter rotors. He turned around to see the Seahawk plain as day through his night vision tubes flying northeast.

Go find that sub and kill him.

Liu looked back toward the island. The vehicle was moments away from passing the northern point. He quickly glanced at his wingman who was staggered behind and to his right, then lowered himself into the turret as the northeast shore came into view.

“Infantry in the treeline!” Olson announced. Liu pushed a button on his hand control to bring up his gunner’s view. Liu felt a surge of excitement when he saw two human forms through the gun sight’s thermal imager.

There they are.

“Three, this is one, confirm you have no one on the north shore, over.”

“One, this is three, affirmative. We’re at the cache, over.”

“Roger, break.” Liu unkeyed then rekeyed the radio. “White two, simultaneous engagement, enemy infantry, 135 degrees, 400 meters, HE 200, over.” As his wingman acknowledged the fire command, Liu switched back to the intercom. “Infantry, HE 200, fire and adjust.”

“On the way!” Olson replied.

Within seconds of one another, both ARVs’ main guns barked three times in quick succession. Four hundred meters was practically point blank for a 30mm gun, so both gunners found their mark. The explosions registered as huge flashes in the sights. After the flashes vanished, both thermal signatures were gone.

“Cease fire, target destroyed.”

There’s probably not even enough of those poor guys to bury.

“White three, this is white one. Two troops destroyed, over.”

“One, this is three, that must’ve spooked them. We can hear them moving our way. We’re setting into a hasty ambush, over.”

“Roger, we’ll hold here in case they try to make a break for the beach, out.”

Six hundred meters southeast, Gunny Cunningham directed his Marines into an L-shaped ambush. As they lay in wait, he heard the commandos running toward his position, unknowingly placing themselves directly in his engagement area. In less than a minute, he could see them through his thermal sight. He waited as they closed to 50 meters. As the enemy paused to regroup, Cunningham placed his reticle on the leftmost commando’s temple. When he fired, he saw half of the man’s head disappear.

The report of his M27 instantly triggered the rest of the Marines to open fire. Some fired automatic bursts from their rifles while grenadiers fired 40 millimeter grenades. As Cunningham transitioned to another target, he could already see the impacts of the bullets on their bodies and the explosions from the grenade launchers. The commandos didn’t even have a chance to return fire.

“Cease fire!” The roar of the ambush was quickly replaced with the faint sound of diesel engines and helicopter rotors.

Nine kilometers north, the Seahawk was at work. Lieutenant Griffin lowered its dipping sonar into the sea. The moment the sensor sank beneath the water’s surface, it detected a passive sonar contact. 

We’re right on top of him!

“Sonar contact, extremely close! That’s got to be the sub.”

“Concur. Launch the outboard torpedo.”

Before the pilot finished speaking, she was already adjusting the weapon presets on one of the Mark 46 torpedoes. As soon as she was finished, she felt the aircraft shudder as the weight of the torpedo fell away.

“Bloodhound away!”

After falling into the ocean, the torpedo’s computer activated its passive sonar seeker and initiated a circular search pattern. It quickly found the submarine still sitting on the seafloor. The torpedo raced toward the sub. At such a close range, there was nothing the submarine skipper could do. Less than two minutes after release, the torpedo detonated.

As the Seahawk’s crew confirmed the kill with their dipping sonar, Gunny Cunningham watched his Marines search the bodies of the four dead commandos while his corpsman stabilized the two wounded ones.

These guys and all their gear will be an intelligence goldmine. Hopefully we can get them out of here before the PLA figures out what happened.

As though he had read Cunningham’s mind, Lieutenant Bolton came over the radio.

“White three, this is Sentinel actual, over.”

“Go for white three, over.”

“Once those EPWs are stable enough to move get them to the FARP as soon as possible. An Osprey is en route to get them, over.”

“White three copies, out.”

That was quicker than I expected.

Doc Robinson had overheard the radio traffic. “Gunny, they’re ambulatory. We can move now.”

“Sentinel actual, this is white three. We are oscar mike to the FARP, over.”

“Roger, out.”

Featured Image: “Operation FireFly,” by Tyler Thull via Artstation

Fiction Contest Week

By Billy Bunn

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“For a thousand years, Russia has had a vision of Constantinople as the centre of Russian power. Her first descent upon it was made in the ninth century, while still a heathen nation; and her latest in the nineteenth. Can any parallel instance be found, in which a nation has held fast to one great idea for a thousand years, through all vicissitudes of fortune, and all changes in government, religion, and civilization? It has been called the dream of Russia, – is it not a marvelously prophetic dream?”¹

—Cyrus Hamlin, “The Dream of Russia,” The Atlantic, December 1886

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September 23rd, 2024
Events at the Tactical Level of War

0446 (GMT+3), Eastern Mediterranean Sea

It was a clear dawn in the warm waters east of Cyprus. Even heading into the fall, the Eastern Mediterranean is one of the most serene bodies of water in the world; this day was no different. The weather was clear, the water was still, and the feeling was calm. 

Looking through the periscope of the Kilo-class submarine Kolpino, Kapitan Vasily Kastonov² was struck by the irony of the peaceful scene; he was about to issue an order that could unleash a nuclear world war. Kastonov lowered the periscope, checked the clock, and at precisely 0450 issued the order: “Fire.” 

One word. Even as it left his lips, the captain shuddered at the implications.

From various positions in the control room of the Kolpino, keys were turned and buttons pushed, and a volley of Kalibr land attack cruise missiles were launched. Simultaneously missiles from six other Russian submarines, including a massive Severodvinsk nuclear-powered sub, were fired.³

Suddenly, the waters of the Mediterranean convulsed as three dozen objects broached the surface. The 20-foot-long missiles began racing eastward, yellow flame and white contrails making them easily visible against the blue sky. Ten seconds into flight, the missiles’ liquid-rocket-fueled boosters separated from the main body, and solid-rocket-fueled turbojet engines kicked in.⁴ 

Three minutes later, twenty Russian Federation Navy surface ships launched over a hundred additional Kalibr from locations in the Mediterranean, Black, and Caspian Seas.

In 2015, for the first time in its history, Russia had employed precision-guided munitions from the sea, striking ISIS in Syria. This day, however, upon reaching Syria, the missiles turned north. Covering hundreds of miles in thirty minutes, they soared low along the coastline. They found their targets: early warning radars, missile defense sites, and command posts across Turkey were damaged or destroyed. Kastonov knew the implication of the sites they targeted: the destruction of Turkey’s air defenses paved the way for the Russian Air Force. 

Aboard the Kolpino, Kastonov and his crew had already moved on to their next mission: proceed west towards Crete, positioning outside of Souda Bay, Greece, and wait for further orders. As the largest NATO naval base in the Mediterranean, he prayed those orders didn’t include engaging hostile American ships. But Russia had just unleashed a surprise attack on a NATO member, and he knew that Article 5 impelled a response. Hopefully, his superiors had crafted a plan that would keep the U.S. and her allies from fulfilling this commitment. 

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“When Peter the Great ascended the throne in 1689, the Baltic was almost a Swedish lake, the Black Sea Turkish, the Caspian Persian. The struggle for a seaboard which then began has since been the ruling motive of Russian policy, and has already graven deep marks upon the history of nations. ‘We work,’ wrote Peter, when on his western travels, to the patriarch Adrian, ‘to effectually conquer the art of the sea, in order that, on our return to Russia, being completely instructed, we may be victorious over the enemies of Christ.'” ⁵

—Sir George Sydenham Clarke, Russia’s Sea-Power Past and Present, 1898

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0610 (GMT+3), Southern Black Sea

Sergeant Pavel Komarov had been involved in eight combat missions during his time in the Russian Naval Infantry. He had been wounded twice in Ukraine, once in Aleppo. Still, this was his least favorite part of the job: sitting, waiting, occasionally throwing up, as the amphibious vessel cut through the water. Unlike combat, he felt helpless. At any moment a NATO submarine could launch a torpedo and his ship would disappear in minutes. 

The war had started an hour ago, he knew. Pavel had made his way topside hoping the fresh air would quiet his nerves. In the light of dawn, he could make out the contrails of dozens of missiles flying south, the same direction his ship was heading. Minutes later a hundred Russian jets screamed low over their position, followed by a roll of thunder that seemed to last forever. Turkish coastal defenses were being methodically eliminated, clearing the way for him and ten thousand of his compatriots to hit the beach. 

 Pavel knew his history; the last time someone attempted an amphibious invasion of Turkey was the Gallipoli campaign in World War I, and that did not end well for the invaders. Still, he had faith in he and his comrades’ ability to control the beachhead and fight their way to their ultimate objective: seizure of the Turkish Straits. Over a decade of ground combat had given them confidence that can only come from success on the battlefield.

 At that moment, the coastline of Asia Minor came into view, and a claxon began to sound, warning the soldiers to prepare for disembarkation. “Just get to the beach,” he thought. Once there he and his comrades would control their own destiny, and the fight for Constantinople – the city the Turks called “Istanbul” – would begin.

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“But Catherine, without dissolving her alliance with the Austrians, proceeded to a unilateral violation of the Treaty of Kucuk Kaynarci, annexing in 1783 all the Crimean Peninsula and founding in Sevastopol a large military base, whose purpose was the advancement of the ‘Greek Plan’, i.e., the advance of the Russians through the straits to the Mediterranean.”⁶

—Rozakis and Stagos, The Turkish Straits, 1987

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Events at the Operational Level of War

1850 (GMT+3), Southern Command HQ, Rostov-on-the-Don, Russia

Kapitan General Sasha Orlovsky couldn’t help it; a feeling of optimism had begun to creep into his mind. Twelve hours since the attack began – undoubtedly the riskiest attack in world history – and still no indication of a NATO response. The earliest moments were the most dangerous, as Western intelligence began to realize that what was supposed to be a large-scale Russian exercise was actually a disguise for the invasion of Turkey. The question became: would Turkey’s allies respond? 

As the Southern Military District’s Chief of Staff, Orlovsky knew that the success or failure of the plans they had developed over the past two years would answer that question. A strategy that Russia had successfully employed 10 years earlier in Crimea was being employed: fait accompli.⁸ They needed to achieve their military objectives in Turkey so quickly that NATO would decide it was too late to reverse the outcome. An enabler to that strategy was deception.

Even after the USSR fell, Maskirovka—military deception ranging from camouflage to disinformation—remained an important Russian strategy. The timing of the invasion of Turkey was driven by the exercise Kavkaz 2024 (Caucasus 2024). For nearly two decades, Russia had been holding annual exercises with the focus rotating every year between their four Military Districts – East, West, Central and South. Though each exercise focused on one region, participating forces came from all four of the districts. Since Kavkaz 2020 was the last time the Southern Military District had led the exercise, the only way to bring in large-scale Russian forces without raising suspicion was to wait until 2024. 

In the intervening years the Southern MD had begun district-wide combined arms exercises including bases in Armenia, Abkhazia, and South Ossetia (to Turkey’s east), and southern Russia and the Crimean Peninsula (to Turkey’s north).⁸ Beginning in 2022, Russian forces in Syria and the Mediterranean were included. By the time large scale Russian forces began deploying to these areas in the spring of 2024, the West had been desensitized.

Now two combined-arms armies were on Turkey’s eastern border, with another army on the Crimean Peninsula, elements of which were embarked on amphibious ships heading to Turkey’s shore. The massive blow, however, would come from their southern flank, where 300,000 Russian and Syrian troops attacked across multiple fronts stretching from the Mediterranean to the Iraqi border. Turkish forces on the Syrian border had been shaped to fight Kurds, and it was assumed they would not be prepared for an attack from conventional armored forces. As Turkish infantry positions melted away, this assumption proved true. 

Realization took hold; battle damage assessments from the front indicated Russian and Syrian forces were exceeding their initial objectives. Russian cyber attacks wreaked havoc in the nation’s communication grid, followed by thousands of precision strikes from land- and sea-based cruise missiles and attack jets. These attacks isolated Turkey’s strategic leadership in Ankara, severing communications to its military commanders across the country. 

The attack from the Caucasus was designed to freeze Turkish forces in the east, and to sow confusion and panic in the regime. The specter of motorized rifle divisions pouring across Transcaucasia appeared to have the desired effect. Even as the combined Russian-Syrian force moved in from the south – a much more direct threat to the capital – Turkish divisions in the east stayed in place. 

Russia’s strategic objective was limited: annexation of the Turkish Straits. To accomplish this, however, the Turkish leadership had to believe that the entire nation was at risk. This appeared to have worked, and Turkey ordered their forces to take up positions to defend the capital. As those movements began to unfold, General Orlovsky approved the invasion’s final order.

From the Black Sea, naval infantry troops began to land at Turkish beaches, establishing bridgeheads on the European and Asian sides of the Bosporus. Simultaneously, airborne brigades seized airfields in the region while severing lines of communication. Istanbul would soon be isolated from the rest of the country, and follow-on Russian forces would pour in from the Black Sea. With Ankara at risk and enemy forces coming from literally every direction, Turkey would be offered a cease-fire. Faced with a fait accompli in the Turkish Straits and potential siege of the capital, it was hoped Ankara would relent. 

Of course, this would all be academic if NATO came to the aid of Turkey, but Orlovsky had no control over that. No matter, the operational plan appeared to be working. Orlovsky smiled as an entire wave of optimism rolled over him. 

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Aide-Memoire FROM RUSSIAN FOREIGN MINISTER TO BRITISH AND FRENCH AMBASSADORS AT PETROGRAD, 19 FEBRUARY/4 MARCH 1915.

The course of recent events leads His Majesty Emperor Nicholas to think that the question of Constantinople and of the Straits must be definitively solved, according to the time-honored aspirations of Russia.

Every solution will be inadequate and precarious if the city of Constantinople, the western bank of the Bosphorus, the Sea of Marmara and of the Dardanelles, as well as southern Thrace…should henceforth not be incorporated into the Russian Empire.

BRITISH Aide-Memoire TO THE RUSSIAN GOVERNMENT, 27 FEBRUARY/12 MARCH 1915

Subject to the war being carried on and brought to a successful conclusion…His Majesty’s Government will agree to the Russian Government’s aide-memoire relative to Constantinople and the Straits, the text of which was communicated to His Britannic Majesty’s Ambassador by his Excellency M. Sazonof on February 19th/March 4th instant.⁹

—Secret memos between Great Britain and Russia granting the latter Constantinople and the Turkish Straits upon entering the war against Germany

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Events at the Strategic Level of War

2330 (GMT+3), Ministry of Defence Headquarters, Moscow, Russia

General Mikhail Antonov squinted his eyes as he tried to read the cable that had been handed to him. Even with his glasses, the letters blurred; it had now been more than 48 hours since he last slept. He handed the note to his aide and ordered him to read it. 

“Although NATO forces remain on highest alert, the Intelligence Directorate has observed no indications of mobilization orders being issued. All forces remain in garrison, apart from Greece, which has begun deploying to the Turkish border.” 

Antonov allowed the words to sink in, then sat down in his leather chair and drew a deep breath. He had been the Chief of the General Staff of Russia for a year, yet had known about this operation much longer. He was “read in” to the program in late 2021, and the months had flown by. Still, this most fateful day in the history of Russia seemed to be unfolding according to plan. Reports from the battlefield were optimistic, and the response from the West had been mostly limited to diplomatic apoplexy. 

Antonov had been given a simple mission: keep Russia out of a nuclear war, following the attack against a member of NATO. In order to accomplish this, he had focused on three overarching strategic tasks: deception, division, and deterrence. 

Surrounding one’s enemy while convincing him there is no threat is not easy. The regional tensions and conflict afforded Russia abundant opportunities, however, and they exploited them. The drift towards the West became the casus belli that led Russia to occupy Georgia, and the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict led the Armenians to request Russian forces be stationed in their country as a defense against Azerbaijan. 

Ukraine’s move toward NATO membership gave Russia the cover to seize the Crimean Peninsula. Moscow allowed NATO to frame that conflict as a potential threat to Western Europe, instead of what it really was: the successful transformation of the Black Sea back into a Russian lake, brimming with cutting-edge military forces pointed at Turkey.

The biggest turn of events came during the Syrian Civil War. Syria became a testing ground for a new generation of Russian weaponry, and over the next ten years the Syrian Army was transformed into the largest and most experienced force in the Middle East. The “Syrian Express” – a nearly continuous seaborne supply operation from the Black Sea to Tartus¹⁰ – continued well after combat operations had come to a halt, yet NATO did not seem to notice. By 2023, the equivalent of a Russian Combined Arms Army had taken up residence on Turkey’s southern border, operating daily with the Syrian Army. What’s more, Russia had been able to forge a military alliance with Syria, Iraq and Iran – the southern and eastern flanks of Turkey. 

Still, even as they encircled Turkey, Russia would find ways to draw Europe’s attention to the west. Large exercises near the Baltic states, operations in eastern Ukraine, and submarine deployments off the U.S. coast, were all designed to mask Russia’s true objective. 

The effort to divide Turkey from the NATO alliance, Antonov had to admit, was a stroke of genius. The Syrian Civil War once again presented a historical opportunity. The U.S. alliance with Kurdish fighters greatly troubled Ankara, and Russia was quick to exploit the division. This resulted in Russia selling Turkey new surface-to-air missile systems, leading to the U.S. cancellation of the sale of F-35 strike-fighters to Turkey. Russia and Turkey’s warming relations eventually led to the 2023 decision to close American air bases in the country, attesting to how far the wedge had been driven. 

Dividing U.S. combat forces from Europe, to a large extent, occurred organically, the general opined, thanks to rising American concerns over China. The watershed moment was the Obama Administration’s 2011 “rebalance to the Pacific,” signaling a change after 200 years of America’s European-focused grand strategy. 

Russia and China shared an enemy: dividing U.S. forces benefitted them both. This had been the impetus to begin, in 2005, a series of annual combined exercises. China could do what Russia couldn’t: draw U.S. naval forces 8,000 miles away from the Mediterranean. Following a state visit by China’s president to Moscow earlier in the year, China began conducting a series of no-notice exercises in the Taiwan Strait. The Americans reacted predictably: the USS Gerald R. Ford, on station in the North Arabian Sea, was directed to move toward Japan. As Russian forces emptied onto the beaches of Turkey, the closest U.S. aircraft carriers were pierside in Norfolk. 

That led to the riskiest task: strategic deterrence. As part of Kavkaz 2024, three Severodvinsk-class nuclear-powered guided missile submarines left the Arctic and transited through the English Channel; however, instead of moving into the Mediterranean, two of the subs disappeared into the Atlantic. The Kalibr-equipped submarines presented a unique tool for Antonov: strategic ambiguity. In an interview in 2015, President Putin had revealed that Kalibr could contain either conventional or nuclear warheads.¹¹ America, in deciding how to respond to Russia’s invasion of Turkey, would have to consider the fact that there were 40 warheads under the waters of the Atlantic, well within range of Washington. Furthermore, the possibility existed that some of those missiles were nuclear. Even with conventional warheads, they could easily destroy $30 billion worth of aircraft carriers sitting in Norfolk. 

To reduce the chance of miscalculation, the Russian president had called the American president at the onset of hostilities, assuring him that Russia had no designs to move against the U.S. nor any other NATO ally; this was a one-time operation with limited objectives in Turkey. With most of their naval forces deployed to the Pacific, an existential threat off their coast, and what appeared to be a fait accompli in the Turkish Straits, America had few good options; the U.S. would sit this one out.

It appeared to General Antonov that the gambit had worked. Without a move by the U.S., no European country seemed willing to “go it alone,” especially in support of a pariah regime like Turkey. Though he knew Russia was entering uncharted territory, the most dangerous phase of the operation was behind them. The Russian Federation was in control of the access to the warm waters of the Mediterranean; nothing was beyond their reach now.

Billy Bunn is an assistant professor at the Joint Forces Staff College in Norfolk, Va., and a retired U.S. Navy intelligence officer. He is a graduate of the Naval War College and the University of Colorado, Boulder and is currently pursuing his PhD in International Studies from Old Dominion University. He can be reached at [email protected]. The views and themes presented are offered in a personal capacity and do not necessarily reflect the views of any U.S. government department or agency.

Endnotes

¹ Hamlin, Cyrus. “The Dream of Russia.” The Atlantic. Atlantic Media Company, December 1886. https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1886/12/the-dream-of-russia/522855/.

² All names are fictional and any resemblance to any person, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

³ Sutton, H I. “Russia Increasing Submarine Cruise Missile Capacity as US Navy Decreases Its Own.” Royal United Services Institute, August 19, 2021. https://rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/russia-increasing-submarine-cruise-missile-capacity-us-navy-decreases-its-own.

⁴ Haaretz.com, “Russian submarine launches cruise missiles toward Syria targets,” YouTube Video, 1:09, December 9, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y2twAIAftMc.

⁵ Clarke, Sir George Sydenham. Russia’s Sea-Power, Past and Present; or, the Rise of the Russian Navy. London, UK: J. Murray, 1898; pp. 1-2.

⁶ Rozakis, Christos L., and Petros N. Stagos. The Turkish Straits. Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Martinus Nijhoff, 1987; p. 21.

⁷ Hakse, Bastiaan Freark. “By Fait Accompli: The Russo-Ukrainian War,” 2019. https://studenttheses.universiteitleiden.nl/access/item%3A2628002/view. 

⁸ Barros, George. “Russian Military Begins Month-Long Combined Arms Exercises across Southern Russia.” Institute for the Study of War, August 11, 2021. https://www.understandingwar.org/backgrounder/russian-military-begins-month-long-combined-arms-exercises-across-southern-russia.

⁹ Hurewitz, J. C. Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East. Princeton, NJ: Van Nostrand, 1956.

¹⁰ Voytenko, Mikhail. “Syrian Express Study.” FleetMon.com, November 3, 2015. https://www.fleetmon.com/maritime-news/2015/10031/syrian-express-study/.

¹¹ “Meeting with Defence Minister Sergei Shoigu.” President of Russia. The Kremlin, Moscow, December 8, 2015. http://en.kremlin.ru/events/president/news/50892.

Featured Image: “Lone Warrior” by Adam Jarvis via Artstation.