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 wbunn001@odu.edu. 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.

Fiction Contest Week

By Keith Nordquist

So much for turning it off and on again.

“Don’t bother with another restart,” Verity said. “The ops center needs to know ASAP we lost Samjogo.” As mission commander, Verity Patel knew there was little left to do from her Shore Control System.

The SCS, or scuzz for short, was anything but disgusting. Damocles Logistics made sure of that. The SCS looked a little like a drone Ground Control System from the early 21st century but with extensive enhancements. Augmented reality tables crowded one side of the space while massive touch-screen monitors covered the other. Together, the tables and monitors allowed unparalleled interaction with a transoceanic shipping vessel like the Samjogo.

In an SCS, a crew of two could handle an entire New Panamax container ship on their own. From pinpointing a micro-mechanical problem in the turbine assembly to coordinating the additive manufacturing of repair parts at the next port-of-call, the system could do it all. Such impressive technology led Damocles Logistics’ CEO to call the SCS “a revolutionary tool for seamless and global logistics.” The small cadre of SCS mission commanders and mission engineers preferred instead to call their little revolution a scuzz-bucket. Semantics aside, the system made autonomous, large container ship movements possible. Until it didn’t.

“Dub, the feed’s dead, ok? Just get me ops, and let’s start thinking about options.”

William McFadden knew his commander was right, but he couldn’t accept it yet. Heck, it took him his whole childhood to embrace ‘W’ then just ‘Dub’ as a nickname. Older brothers can be tenacious. But so can SCS mission engineers. If anyone was gonna get their scuzz-bucket working again, it was Dub. He channeled his inner Montgomery Scott and assumed the mantle of miracle worker.

“The Samjogo’s state-of-the-art,” Dub said. “A fleet of support drones, redundant navigation equipment, robust communication suites—you don’t just lose this ship.” Dub’s Scotty-level impertinence was leaking out, but he calmed himself. “Boss, I can’t get a drone up right now, but the SkyLink constellation is still overhead. It’s got some rudimentary imaging sensors, and the birds are virtually tethered to the ship. They’re following it wherever it goes, so let me work with that for a sec. Ops is just gonna ask us what’s going on anyway. In two minutes, we’ll have an idea.”

“You got one, Dub.” Verity didn’t mind playing Kirk. Her brothers were tenacious too. Plus the SkyLink constellation was notoriously reliable, beaming high-speed internet to remote areas around the world and the solar system for well over a decade. If Dub knew of a way to manipulate the system, Verity knew to trust him. But she still didn’t like what she saw. Different failures and warnings flashed by the second. It was almost too much data.

Verity wished she could just don her Adaptive Brain Interface glasses—anything to help process the sheer volume of information. Most users called their ABIs “Abbey,” but Verity liked to call hers “Rabbi” since its cognitive enhancement seemed almost divine. Of course, ABIs didn’t look particularly blessed. Most looked like an ostentatious pair of aviators: thick, mirrored, and over-sized. But style was the cost of neural amplification. Each pair featured transcranial, direct-current stimulation amplifiers embedded in the temples and bridge to excite brain activity. They said it boosted cognitive processing power by 300%, and users frequently described a sensation of time slowing down. Celebrities and influencers were certainly doing their part to make wearable neurotech appear more stylish. All Verity cared about was how ABIs made hard problems easier without the complications of implants.

“Verity, let me get Abbey,” Dub said. Apparently he had the same idea.

“I hear ya, but no dice. Contract was specific. You only got thirty seconds left anyway. We do this the old-fashioned way.” The old-fashioned way, as in unaugmented. Military contracts were funny that way. A few years ago, some philosophers and scientists thought neurotech presented ‘ethical dilemmas.’ So they recommended standards for its use and proffered three universal neural rights. Something about the freedom of identity, the freedom of agency, and the freedom of perception. They codified it all in the non-binding Columbia Mind Accords in an effort to preserve what natural cognition meant to being human. Of course, not wanting to cede the moral high ground or perception thereof, the U.S. government subscribed to the Accords. The Department of Defense thus came to exclude ABI technology from all military contracts. Sure, no one could prove ABI systems preserved user control, choice, and awareness. But they also couldn’t prove they didn’t.

“The old-fashioned way,” Dub said. “Just an analog solution for a digital age.”

“That’s the job. No Abbey, no Rabbi—just us.”

Of course, ‘us’ included South Korean counterparts, too, because Omni-Hyundai Merchant Marine manufactured the Samjogo for South Korea and the United States.

It was an international appropriation surprise to say the least. You see, production started after Secretary Mark Pyrrhic at the Department of Defense and Secretary Bri Stultum at the Department of Transportation agreed to divest America’s organic sealift capacity. Looking to past wars and current markets, they concluded foreign-flagged sealift offered ample depth, availability, and access to move militaries in a time of war. The cost of such future reliance was moot. Scrapping new investments, service-life extensions, and recapitalizations was low-hanging fruit for Defense and Transportation during the last wave of isolationism and sequestration. And someone had to cover the increased healthcare costs of Baby Boomers and Gen X-ers—the most powerful constituencies in electoral politics. Secretaries Pyrrhic and Stultum surprised no one when they successfully ran for office after their cabinet tenures.

The Samjogo materialized because the savings were so pronounced and immediate. Congress had some balance-sheet wiggle room to experiment with a decisive force movement capability, albeit with some help. The Samjogo became feasible when South Korea offered to co-finance the experimentation. It would be a proof-of-concept shipping vessel and the centerpiece of a new a bilateral security negotiation. If America was heading to war, it would be on the decks of commercial sealift except for the Samjogo. Sure, some technologists in the Pentagon coalesced around a radically different approach: strapping outboard engines to containers and autonomously swarming them across oceans to converge at a destination. But the level of coordination needed to do it well with a human in the loop required neural amplification. And that was still a bridge too far.

The National Security Council feared neurotech’s vulnerabilities more than its moral ambiguity. ABIs were just another means to access the Samjogo’s designs, technical manuals, or shipping manifests. And no one likes an adversary to manipulate your plans or sow a seed of doubt. Worse, they could share a kernel of truth. Why advertise the capabilities of a ship made to bring war—an entire All-Domain Brigade Combat Team?

Today, the Samjogo had no personnel onboard, but it was still moving a brigade’s worth of equipment to Seoul. South Korea was secretly preparing for North Korea’s imminent collapse, though few knew how soon it was coming. Maybe Russia did, but no one could blame them for their domestic focus after the November Revolution. China certainly did. And they were using every diplomatic backchannel to relay their acceptance of the Samjogo’s mission to help contain the potential spread of weapons of mass destruction.

“Five seconds, Dub.”

“I’m getting a feed coming through now. Pulling it up on… monitor three. It looks like she’s still on-course. Diagnostics on the scuzz-bucket are… nominal, before and after the restart. SkyLink’s operating at 94% connectivity too—we just can’t link back to the ship. Whatever’s happening is on Samjogo’s end.”

Verity pointed at an out-of-place dark spot toward the back of the ship. “What about our drone on the stern?” she asked.

“I’m… not sure,” Dub said. “Maybe something to do with a port-call functional check before we lost contact. Let me see if SkyLink has better imagery. Hold on.”

Dub moved from the bank of monitors over to an augmented reality station, donning a visor to interact with the Samjogo’s satellite constellation. “The resolution isn’t great, but I think that’s X4, a port survey drone. It’s menial, verifies water depths and dock conditions. The system restart likely triggered a recovery program for unknown ports-of-call. X4 is there to help Samjogo figure out how to pull into dock without scuzz connection. Any port in a storm, ya know?”

“I’ll take whatever I can get,” Verity said. “See if you can get me eyes from that drone for a closer look.” She went over to another augmented table and donned her visor. As Dub hacked his way into X4’s imaging sensors with his administrator privileges and SkyLink access, Verity couldn’t help but feel something wasn’t right. “Alright, what am I looking at.”

“X4’s powered-up, moving to the command deck. The camera’s still warming up, so what you’re seeing is the sensor boot-up screen. I’ve overridden its recovery protocol so we can fly it wherever we want. It should keep up with the ship at this speed, and it automatically senses deviations in altitude with ocean swells. The East China Sea is always a little turbulent—no pun intended. Anyway, no need to worry about movement command lag or lack of visual feed yet, just tell me where you want it and give me a sec.”

“Take me to the relay station at top. If the disconnect is just a physical problem there, maybe we can figure out how to repair the transmission while underway. And make it fast. I’m gonna call ops while you’re pulling up the camera, get them in the loop for when we’ve got eyes.” Verity removed her visor and fumbled with the Damocles Logistics ‘smart’ phone. It may as well have been a telegraph or a fax machine. As a security precaution, corporate had issued all SCS crews their own phones for encrypted calls. But the technology felt ancient and unnecessary. Everyone already knew Damocles Logistics’ dirty little secret. It was the same for every other commercial transportation provider, even if they took military contracts. Transoceanic sealift ran on unclassified networks.

The increased demands of just-in-time production and delivery required transportation providers to cooperate more. Unclassified networks were the only way to rapidly share manifests and information between carriers, manufacturers, suppliers, and users. The Amazons of the world made customers expect real-time updates on all their shipments, incentivizing universal in-transit visibility for international shipping. As a bonus, it helped keep the oceans’ growing congestion under control. But the ‘smart’ phone wasn’t protecting anything but an optic.

“Video’s live. You called it, boss. Damage looks physical. The relay station has signs of kinetic disassembly and thermal reconfiguration.” Verity gave Dub a puzzled look as the augmented table’s overhead display darkened. “It blew up and melted,” Dub clarified.

“No, I get that, Dub, but what’s going on with the feed? Why’s it getting darker like that?”

“Let me turn X4 around and see.” What emerged was the last thing Dub expected. Swarms of microdrones, maybe thousands of them at a time, were converging in flashes and systematically attacking the ship’s topside. “A swarm? A swarm! I can’t… I can’t activate counter-measures!”

“Who’s attacking Samjogo?” Verity wondered aloud as she dropped the phone and donned her visor.

“I… I can’t do anything! It’s all dead!”

Still stunned, Verity marveled at how such tiny tools could be so destructive yet undetectable from the SkyLink array. It was almost elegant the way the drones methodically massed into kamikaze-like strikes upon the Samjogo’s command and control equipment. But the SkyLink feed began to flicker as connectivity dropped. “They’re jamming the constellation. Dub, get X4 outta there—it’s the only eyes we got! I’m hitting the alarm!”

Dub maneuvered X4 over the ship’s edge as the drone’s visual feed dropped in and out. Static images of fire and smoke froze on their screens. Verity punched the big red button in the SCS to alert Damocles Logistics of catastrophic failure and watched in shock as the swarms appeared to gather nearby X4. The last image broadcast before the swarm detected and eliminated the port survey drone’s transmission was an explosion.

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It took five minutes to wipe out an entire brigade of equipment. Five minutes to lose connection with America’s best and only sealift vessel. Of course, it would take another seven hours to wrap up the interim mishap investigation. While the SCS had recorded everything, Damocles Logistics and the Department of Defense did what bureaucracies do best: they followed their procedures. Verity and Dub sat in their scuzz-bucket for the entire remote questioning, leaving only for comfort breaks and hydration. They missed their ABIs.

Commercial satellite imagery eventually confirmed what everyone suspected: the Samjogo had disappeared. When it was clear Verity and Dub had no more to offer, the investigators released them to their local medical facility for a blood draw and toxicology report. But the toll of it all left them feeling numb. They slowly emerged from the scuzz and paused together in the dawn’s twilight.

Dub spoke first. “It’s… gone. A state-of-the-art ship—just gone.”

Verity took a moment to collect herself. “It’s a post-Titanic world, Dub—‘State-of-the-art’ is just a myth.”

Dub thought for a minute. “I know one ship isn’t exactly a resilient thing, even with the best electromagnetic counter-measures available. But Samjogo wasn’t sailing to war. And how did we miss that window of vulnerability during the restart? Or in the port-call functional check? How did we not think about those?”

“I guess… I guess it’s hard to anticipate what you can’t imagine? The person who invented the first ship didn’t necessarily realize they also invented the first shipwreck.”

“But everyone can read the tea leaves in North Korea, boss. Everyone wants stability. That equipment was gonna help provide it. Why would anyone take out the Samjogo with all that uncertainty?”

“Well, maybe it’s not about stability anymore, Dub. At least our version of it. Or maybe our understanding of it.”

Dub blinked a few times. “Verity, I have no idea what you’re talking about. South Korea, the U.S., China—stability is everything for us. People want their security.”

Verity took another moment and looked upward. She could still make out a few stars between the congested constellations of swirling satellites in the morning haze. “Stability is only everything if that’s everything to you. And it’s hard to control everything, Dub. Sure, technology makes us think we can, and my Rabbi makes a strong case for it. But there’s still instability. There’s still a little chaos out there brewing. The Samjogos of the world provide us the appearance of control—of security—big, strong, advanced. But how would an adversary view such a symbol of expeditionary power? Symbols only matter when they’re stable, and when you put a ship out to sea, you risk it not coming back.”

Dub chewed on his commander’s words. He always processed thoughts better as a sort of intellectual cud. “A ship in harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are for.”

Verity nodded slowly. “And a ship underway belongs to her environment. It might be the ABI-withdrawal talking, but maybe there’s some stability to be had from instability in that kind of environment, some new advantage for someone. You gotta tip the balance to shift the balance, right?” Verity paused, then smiled. “The Samjogo’s just an analog solution for a digital age anyway.”

Dub laughed. “I gotta trademark that.”

“A massive, transoceanic sealift vessel designed to move a whole brigade in one fell swoop—it’s a dinosaur. And restricting the use of neurotech is lazy. We need to do better if we want to be stable. Or secure. Or whatever it is we do.”

Dub nodded at Verity then wandered to the back door of his car. “I’ll see you at the hospital, boss. For now, it’s nap time.”

As Dub’s driverless car departed, Verity lingered outside the SCS and returned her gaze skyward. It must be nighttime in the East China Sea, she thought. But that part of the world gave up on seeing the stars a long time ago.

In seven hours of questioning, no one noticed the SkyLink constellation still moving west.

______________________________________________________________________________________

“Welcome back to AIM ‘News Now,’ where we’re still covering the breaking news from Hong Kong. The U.S. appears to have landed an incomplete invasion force at the Disneyland Resort earlier this morning. Reports are still coming in, but the Chinese Communist Party is now confirming… yes, hundreds dead and countless injured with numbers climbing as the flooding continues.

“The catastrophe seems to be the result of an American military vessel slamming into a sea-rise wall. The ten-foot revetment was protecting one of the resort’s oceanside hotels—the Explorer’s Lodge—itself an ironic symbol of Western imperialism.

“As other world leaders react, the Chinese President is calling for an emergency meeting of the United Nations Security Council to demand the immediate withdrawal of all American forces from sovereign Chinese seas. Meanwhile, the U.S. is denying responsibility for the unprovoked attack. American officials are also now claiming China hijacked their warship just yesterday. It’s important our audience know the American government made no such claims until after this ‘Disneyland Disaster’ became known.

“Before the break, noted conspiracy expert Dr. Emory Mendacem indicated the Peoples Liberation Army likely repelled the rest of the invasion force before landfall, protecting countless millions. Regardless of the claim’s veracity, one thing is clear: China will not allow the U.S. to take advantage of deteriorating conditions on the Korean Peninsula. For now, it remains a truly horrible day for China at the hands of another cavalier foreign policy.

“We’ll be right back with more on this breaking story in just a moment. And thank you for broadcasting Alibaba International Media ‘News Now’ across your devices, ABIs, and screens. Remember, our AIM is always true.”

Keith Nordquist is an airpower strategist for the U.S. Air Force and holds a Master of Aeronautical Science, a Master of Military Art and Science, and a Master of Arts in Military Operations. His background includes operational assignments as a mobility pilot and staff assignments as a major command, combatant command, and service-level action officer. Keith is a distinguished graduate from the U.S. Air Force Academy, the U.S. Air Force Squadron Officer School, the U.S. Army Command and General Staff Officer School, and the U.S. Army School of Advanced Military Studies.

Featured Image: “UE4 Container Ship” by Willi Hammes via Artstation

Fiction Contest Week

By Mike Matson

12 December 2077 — 1210 Hours, 88km South/Southwest of Joint Base Thule, Greenland

The Greenland Self Defense Forces (GSDF) were going to war.

Lt. Tame Larsen, GSDF, peered intently at the heads-up display (HUD) built into his flying suit’s helmet showing his flightpath heading through a winding ice-cut valley in northwest Greenland.

Using the valley to mask him from any enemy radar, Lt. Larsen, a third-generation South Pacific climate refugee, flew with twenty linked drones in a loose formation like a flock of seagulls. Fifteen of the drones were powerful swarming munitions, and five were support drones — three jammer decoys; an intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) drone; and a communications relay drone. Most of the equipment was of Turkish, Indonesian, or Ukrainian origin.

The swarm was nothing more than gray blurs in the twilight dark of the Arctic’s polar night, their presence betrayed only by the wasp-like hum of electric engines as fleeting shadows zipped along the valley floor. Lt. Larsen’s mission tonight was to defend the North Water Ploynya fishery.

Greenland’s North Water Polynya (NWP) was one of the only stable, high-performing fisheries left on the planet, and a strategic national asset for the fledgling independent country. The ‘Big Melt’ over three decades ago had witnessed the loss of the majority of Greenland’s ice sheet, triggering a global fishery catastrophe. Drastic ocean temperature changes disrupted ocean currents and tipped delicately balanced ecosystems into rapid decline. A desperate humanity reeling from the loss of millions of acres of coastal lands to rising seas battled for control of the remaining fisheries.

Now the Chinese were sending an armed fishing fleet to the NWP to take the fishery from Greenland in a de facto act of war.

Lt Larsen and his platoon of 15 Marine Raiders, comprising the entirety of the GSDF special operations forces (SOF), flew individual paths through several valleys, each with their own escorts, totaling almost 300 platforms. Every Raider except two designated heavy weapon specialists had twenty wingmen each as well, mostly a mix of swarming munitions, jammer decoys, and high-speed antiradiation missile (HARM) drones. The two heavy weapon Raiders each controlled five extra-large anti-ship cruise missile (ASCM) drones. The missiles were a Turkish knockoff of a Chinese ASCM packaged in a disposable launch canister integrated into a flying wing.

“Gull Six, prepare for feet wet and final turn,” said a Royal Danish Air Force officer in the joint operations center (JOC) at Joint Base Thule. Lt. Larsen’s Raider platoon was on autopilot, guided by a remote ground station in northern Denmark since their deployment via palleted munition drops out the back of the GSDF’s entire fleet of four regional cargo transports. The transports had transmitted false identification as regularly scheduled Air Greenland flights taking off from Thule’s modern civilian terminal to mask their activity. The JOC had shut down cell and internet service at the airport so the operation could not be exposed.

“Copy,” was all a tense Lt. Larsen reported. His stomach churned from the nervousness of going into action for the first time.

To Lt. Larsen’s left, stretching off into the night, he could faintly see the synchronized blinking of red aircraft warning lights atop the wind turbines which lined the Greenland coast for hundreds of kilometers. The entire west coast of Greenland was lined with thousands of turbines used to generate renewable energy for North America, transmitted via deep-sea, shielded electrical transmission lines.

Greenland’s abundance of wind and hydro power had turned Greenland into the Saudi Arabia of green energy during the tumultuous global realignments caused by the Big Melt. The synchronized light show of the turbine fields was one of the defining memories of Lt. Larsen’s childhood.

“Feet Wet!” He called out, a little too excited, as he crossed the coastline and into a deeper, consuming darkness — the moon casting a soft, pastel glow on the water below. These were waters he had fished his whole life. For him they had never been the frozen, ice-covered wastelands of history books, but a bountiful if temperamental sea he had fished year-round.

The platoon was entering Baffin Bay now from a half dozen points, and one hundred thirty kilometers in front of them, near the southern edge of the NWP, was their target: the invading Chinese fishing fleet with its PLA Navy (PLAN) escorts. Lt. Larsen’s suit banked sharply to the right, setting him on an intercept course, as the rest of his platoon soon settled into a single amorphous swarm stretching 10km from tip to tip.

“Status update on the targets?” Larsen asked the JOC in Danish. Although finally a fully independent country, Greenland maintained close ties to Denmark, and the GSDF and Danish Armed Forces were fully integrated. Lt. Larsen had commissioned out of the Royal Danish Military Academy.

“No change. They still haven’t realized their actual location and are continuing normal fishing operations. The cloud cover helped as expected. Too late for them now even if they figure it out.”

Lt. Larsen grimly smiled in his helmet. The brief patch of clear skies forecast by the meteorological department had dictated the attack take place today. With the ability to use celestial navigation, the Chinese would eventually realize their predicament.

“Excellent. We are approaching phase line green — do we have permission to execute? Confirm.”

“Confirmed Gul Six. Seal detachment engaging as well. Glory for Greenland!”

“Glory for Greenland,” Lt. Larsen repeated, then flipped channels to the platoon net.

“We’re a go,” he said without preamble in Kalaallisut, his native Inuit language. “Remember, disable the factory vessels if necessary, but do not sink them — we need to save the catch. It’s our primary objective after destroying the escorts. Use your swarm on any combatants or fishing trawlers. Glory for Greenland!”

The platoon responded with a chorus of war whoops, curse words in several languages, and ‘Glory for Greenland,’ all to cover their nervousness. They were the best of the GSDF, but none of them had previously been under fire.

Greenland’s growing population of three million people, driven by a standing promise to accept any indigenous refugee whose land was lost to the Big Melt, needed the fishery to survive. Even with the vast, newly exposed agricultural lands in southern and central Greenland, which are home to the fourth largest sheep herd in the world, if the Chinese were allowed to come and take their fish, the fishery would eventually collapse, and Greenlanders, old and new, would starve.

Lt. Larsen, taking local command of the swarm, sent a burst transmission, and the formation seamlessly shifted in the dark. ISR and jammers climbed to 5,000 meters. The HARMs moved to the tips on the flanks, and the two heavy weapon Raiders moved to the center. The swarm formed a crescent, with the tips farthest forward, HARMs waiting for the first electronic signs of its prey.

When the invading Chinese fishing fleet had entered Lancaster Sound at the end of the NW passage, the GSDF had gone to a war footing. The GSDF and their Danish counterparts had been slowly shaping the battlespace since the hostile fleet sailed from China, through a combination of three lines of effort, using old fashioned, yet high tech skullduggery.

The first line of effort involved icebergs.

To push the invading fleet closer to Greenland, the GSDF placed iceberg tracking beacons on thirteen small, unmanned surface wave gliders which sailed in a slow, coordinated movement southward out of the Nares Straight along the Baffin Island current, presenting on navigation charts as a rather large iceberg field that should be avoided.

In peacetime, the Greenland and Danish coast guards operating out of Thule placed these tracking beacons on the now rare icebergs which periodically flowed into Baffin Bay as a navigational aid for commercial shipping. Climate change had created an ice-free year-round route through the NW passage which had become a critical Asia-Europe trade route, compensating for disruptions in southern coastal areas like Florida which had mostly disappeared under five plus meters of rising seas.

The ruse had worked, and the invaders — four ultra-large fish factory vessels with thirty-six fishing trawlers and a robust escorting PLAN surface action group — sailed farther eastward and northward than they would have wanted to get to the NWP, driving them much closer than desired to Joint Base Thule.

______________________________________________________________________________________

The first rotating symbols showed up as over the horizon targets in Lt. Larsen’s HUD: red for the PLAN escorts, orange for the fishing trawlers, and blue for the floating processing factories. The ISR drone nearly five kilometers above him cataloged and processed signals and designated targets.

“Detachments A and B — targets selected. Launch now!” Lt. Larsen ordered. On the tips of the crescent, the HARM drones leapt forward at full speed, heading for the PLAN combatants at Mach 2. To Lt. Larsen’s immediate left and right, there were puffs of hazy smoke as ASCMs were ejected from cannisters by compressed air and then had rocket motors activate meters above the surface, the launch cannisters falling away into the frigid water. Nine supersonic sea skimming missiles sped off along the wave tops while the tenth malfunctioned and splashed into the sea.

“Thule. this is Gull Six. Engaging now. Missiles away!” That got a terse acknowledgement from the JOC.

“Activate jammers,” ordered Lt. Larsen on the platoon net. To his right on the far horizon, he could see dozens of pinpricks of light streaking downwards through a thin film of broken stratus clouds to the north, briefly illuminating the sparse cloud cover. His HUD confirmed the light show was ASCMs from Seal detachment arriving from the north and northeast.

Seal detachment, a squadron of three Danish stealth missile corvettes permanently stationed at the deep-water port which was part of Joint Base Thule, had departed the navy pier in blackout conditions. They took advantage of a coverage gap of Chinese satellite surveillance and raced towards the invaders at 40+ knots to launch their missiles.

The powerful ship-killing missiles closed quickly on their prey, causing the PLAN taskforce commander to briefly wonder how the hell the Dane’s had managed to sail so far from Thule undetected. As the missile count continued to rise on air defense displays, automated warnings screamed alerts out across the fishing fleet.

The TF commander’s confusion was due to the second line of effort: GPS spoofing.

The Danish military, with quiet help from the NSA and Canadian CSE, had initiated an operation to spoof the Chinese fleet’s location, targeting GPS, GLONASS, and their own BeiDou constellation, while altering the broadcasts of several Greenland and Canadian-controlled deep-sea buoys, along with all coastal navigational beacons surrounding Baffin Bay. It was subtle and required careful coordination.

When the battle started the Chinese fleet was 200 kilometers farther southeast than their instruments placed them.

As the PLAN warships fully energized all their radars, Seagull swarm’s missiles were identified racing towards the fleet from an unexpected direction.

The PLAN TF commander, until then still brimming with misplaced confidence, felt the first twinge of dread as the second swarm was plotted. Something was clearly amiss. He did not have time to dwell further, as just then the first missiles struck.

The multi-axis attack behind heavy jamming overwhelmed the PLAN’s integrated air defense network, despite two PLAN escorts successfully launching over a dozen SAMs. HARMs raked phased-array panels and upper decks with cubes of shrapnel, shredding sensitive equipment masts, while ASCMs did the killing down by the waterline.

Explosions rent the darkness. The PLAN’s flagship cruiser was struck squarely in its forward magazine, obliterating the ship. Night briefly turned into day from the flash of the explosion, and the fireball became a boiling mushroom cloud rising hundreds of meters. Another escort took five hits in quick succession, turning turtle in seconds and sliding under the waves with all hands. Missiles continued to find other PLAN combatants with deadly effect.

“Thule, this is Gull Six. I can confirm multiple impacts on at least six warships. Waiting on Walrus to initiate our assault.” He flipped back to the platoon net.

“Prepare to make the run for your targets.” As he said that, he saw the outline of the last surviving PLAN destroyer on the far side of the fishing fleet silhouetted in a glaring backlight that was quickly suppressed by clouds of smoke as multiple streaks of light shot into the air. The ship had picked up Lt. Larsen’s Seagull swarm and started launching SAMs from fore and aft vertical launch systems (VLS).

“Vampires! Vampires!” Came the automated call in all their headsets.

“Evasive action everyone, make your run now! Now! Now!” The swarm broke in multiple dimensions. The jammer decoys tried to suppress enemy missile seekers with digital vomit, while deploying flares, chaff, and miniature decoys. Everyone else went low, fast, and wide.

In just under a minute, the destroyer’s twin 64-cell VLSs were empty, and over a hundred SAMs streaked over the fishing fleet towards the Raiders. The merging swarms twisted, dove, and spun as they converged over the fishing fleet in Baffin Bay. Quick flashes of light in the darkness confirmed successful intercepts between manned and unmanned combatants.

That’s when the third, insidious line of effort came to life.

As Lt. Larsen’s Raiders weaved towards their targets, what the GSDF’s operational plan dubbed “Walrus detachment” started rising like leviathans from the dark deep of Baffin Bay.

The GPS spoofing had pulled the Chinese fleet over a freshly laid field of smart mines. As old as naval warfare itself, the simple sea mine still produced a devastating impact for such a limited investment. When combined with an advanced algorithmic hive mind, a smart sea mine was as deadly a weapon as any anti-ship missile.

The mines acted in a cooperative manner. Able to categorize ships by propellor and plant noise, tens of sea mines began to strike from below, just as Lt. Larsen’s loitering munitions circled and dove on the fishing trawlers and surviving PLAN combatant.

Hundreds of swarming munitions mixed with Chinese SAMs and green tracers from auto-cannons installed on the “civilian” fishing trawlers in a giant invisible furball spread over dozens of square kilometers. Explosions kept rending the night sky as missiles, drones, and mines all found targets in a deadly fireworks display.

Lt. Larsen climbed to get a better view as the engagement winded down. He watched as hundreds of emergency LEDs attached to survival suits activated, bobbing up and down in the dark singularly or in groups, interspersed between fields of burning oil and dark debris. Red flares arched from survival rafts into the sky from all points of the compass. Lt. Larsen knew the unforgiving waters of Baffin Bay would kill anyone in minutes if they were not in immersion suits.

A fisherman before joining the service, he felt a sense of empathy for the terrified Chinese sailors struggling in the dark, icy waters. Lt. Larsen tagged their locations as best he could and sent them to the JOC. The JOC would already be receiving the pings of hundreds of emergency satellite locator beacons in the coast guard watch center.

“Thule, this is Gull Six. All combatants disabled and sinking. Deploy the rescue ship.”

“Raiders, time to take the factories.” The plan had four GSDF SOF personnel assigned to seize each factory. Two soldiers had been shot down, the GSDF’s first and only combat losses of the night, leaving one boarding crew short.

Lt. Larsen streaked up to the forecastle of the fish factory and flared, barely avoiding the fore mast, cutting the engines as he landed. Hitting the quick release on his suit, he flipped his night-vision goggles down over his eyes and raised his rifle as his partner landed to his left. The plan was to land two on the forecastle and two directly on top of the bridge structure of each factory.

They swept forward with their rifles, their goal the steering bridge. They expected resistance, but the crews had apparently followed piracy protocols and locked themselves in safe rooms. They took the ships unopposed.

______________________________________________________________________________________

From the bridge wing, Lt. Larsen watched as the factory was docked alongside the quay with the help of two tugs. Harbor pilots had been flown out by helicopter once everything was secure, along with coast guard teams to process prisoners, relieving him and his men of additional duty.

Klieg lights lit up the quay, turning perpetual twilight into an artificial, harsh daylight filled with people moving in hurried gaits along the concrete pier amid a tumult of machinery noises and honking trucks. Two factory vessels were already docked, and he could see the Danish corvettes had returned over at the naval pier, battle flags proudly flying.

An aging light amphibious warship bought from the Americans years ago was also pulling into port. It had been the designated rescue vessel and held several dozen catatonic, hypothermic Chinese prisoners, along with over a hundred bodies pulled from the water, including the PLAN TF commander.

Smoke on the wind touched his nostrils, and he grimaced, the smell briefly overpowering the musky scent of the catch in the hold he instinctively loved as a fisherman. Lt. Larsen knew it was the burning permafrost in Russia. It had been burning almost non-stop for 30 years and filled the Arctic air with soot which covered snow in a perpetual gray film.

Above him flocks of seagulls circled the quay with their piercing cries as the northern lights shimmered over the mountains beyond Thule.

A chorus of ship horns started blaring in celebration around the port, and everyone on the quay stopped to let out a cheer. Lt. Larsen smiled and walked back into the steering bridge to activate the ship’s horn, watching the celebrations out the window.

He did not know if the Chinese would send another fleet. But for the moment his people were safe and their fishery secure. It was enough.

Mike Matson is a writer based in Louisville, Kentucky. He has 25 years of government and national security experience, and is a member of the Military Writers Guild. He can be found on Twitter at @Mike40245.

Featured Image: “Explorers” by Marat Zakirov via Artstation.