Fiction Week

By Daniel Goff

Shakedown Cruise

On a wet and cold winter night Col Marcus, the 26 MEU commander, and SgtMaj Martin arrive at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Lab for a special assignment.

“It is going to snow later,” said Col Marcus as the wind-swept rain brushed his face.

Seemingly unaffected by the icy rain, SgtMaj Martin asked, “Sir, do you know why General Trimble has given us this assignment?”

“He saved my ass in Venezuela…he said this is my payback,” replied Col Marcus with a hint of apprehension.

“So, this is going to be bad,” said SgtMaj Martin flatly.

The Colonel and SgtMaj presented their paperwork and guards led the pair into a small office deep in the lab where Dr. Jack Droz and Dr. Mary Wollstone eagerly awaited.

Dr. Wollstone stood and greeted Col Marcus and SgtMaj Martin as they entered the room.

“Greetings Col Marcus and SgtMaj Martin, this is my colleague Dr. Droz. He is the lead for the OX-XO program. We are incredibly pleased that General Trimble agreed to allow your MEU to be the test case for OX-XO,” said Dr. Wollstone with excitement.

Dr. Droz shook SgtMaj Martin’s hand, and when he gripped the Colonel’s hand, he realized just how big the former linebacker was. Col Marcus played football and rugby for the Midshipmen, and he looked the part, albeit with rounded shoulders and graying hair. Col Marcus looked like a brute, but his eyes revealed his character. They were keen and compassionate and filled with kindness.

Dr. Droz stepped back from the Marines, and bursting with enthusiasm, he blurted, “We are so happy that you will be taking OX-XO on your upcoming deployment to give our OX program real-world operational data. Our data scientists have been making final adjustments and we believe the OX-XO will greatly enhance your operational effectiveness and mission readiness.”

Col Marcus interrupted, “I am sorry but what is OX-XO?”

Dr. Wollstone looked confused and annoyed and then calmly stated, “Our OX program stands for Operational Exoskeleton, and your specific version is the Executive Officer. We realize there was a last-minute change with your MEU’s assignment, and given the lack of operational shipping, your MEU will serve in the Mediterranean and Pacific. General Trimble agreed to have your MEU take the program for its ‘shakedown cruise,’ even over the ACMC’s objections. General Lynch thought more testing was needed but the SecNav convinced General Trimble to okay the test run.”

“I appreciate the background, but we only found out about the tasker earlier this week and we do not have access to the files detailing what we have been assigned,” said Col Marcus in a measured tone.

“Oh, that is most unfortunate, but it should not be an issue. You see, our AI system at the service and fleet level has been working extremely well, and the Navy and Marine Corps have decided to employ it in a mobile configuration for testing and evaluation. Meet OX-XO, your new Executive Officer.” Dr. Wollstone was pleased with her pronouncement, and with a deft swiping of the keys on her tablet, a humanlike robot entered the room.

The OX-XO was a few inches shorter than Col Marcus, and he thought it resembled an odd combination of old classic science fiction movies, the Terminator without all the ominous features, and Start Wars’ C-3PO. Boston Dynamics created the robot in conjunction with MIT and Johns Hopkins. It was undoubtedly state-of-the-art and far superior to the robots on the market doing heavy manufacturing and jobs deemed dangerous to humans. Composite paneling covered the internals and only the major joints revealed the machinery needed for the robot to move. Its head was completely enclosed in metal, and its lifeless yellow eyes turned to examine the Colonel. The entire robot was painted in a flat green with hints of steel, carbon fiber, and aluminum in various critical places.

“Does it talk, or does it link with our command computer system?” asked Col Marcus as he inspected the OX-XO’s shoulder joint.

“I can do both. However, my programming directs that I interact as humans do whenever possible,” said the OX-XO in a flat, metallic voice.

Col Marcus thought that he heard a slight growl come from SgtMaj Martin and asked Dr. Wollstone and Dr. Droz a series of questions about the program requirements needed and logistical concerns about bringing a robot aboard ship. Over the next couple of hours, the two scientists answered the Marines’ questions, assuring them that all the technical requirements would be met at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory. When SgtMaj Martin asked if the MEU entered a conflict, would the OX-XO be shut down? The scientists chuckled and said they doubted anything would happen, but if it did, OX-XO was well versed in all the current war plans and service and think tank-sponsored wargames. SgtMaj Martin reminded the scientists that history had a nasty habit of biting the unprepared.

As the pair returned to their car, SgtMaj Martin noted, “You were right, it is starting to snow.” After a moment of silence added, “LtCol Marini is going to lose her mind. She loves being the XO and will not like getting replaced by a science experiment. Where will you put her?”

“I am not sure, but she is too valuable to sideline.” Changing the subject, the Colonel added, “I did not like how confident they were…almost smug. Remember how confident we were about Venezuela? All the old-timers reminded us about Iraq and Afghanistan, but we did not listen. It was bloodier than it needed to be, but luckily, we had smart people who adjusted quickly. Hell, I am preaching to the choir, you were with the 1st Marines, and you saw the worst of it.”

SgtMaj Martin was much smaller than Col Martin but carved from granite. SgtMaj Martin stared off into the distance, running back the horrors but eventual triumph in Venezuela through his mind before murmuring, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Easy Progress

Five months into the deployment, the 26 MEU was conducting operations with the Philippine Navy and Marine Corps. The USS Fallujah sits off the eastern side of the island of Mindoro and joining the 26 MEU were the venerable destroyers McCain and Stockdale. Almost all the Marines were on the island, training and working with their Philippine counterparts. The morning staff sync took place in a well-organized command tent, and the aroma of cheap coffee and humidity filled the air. After all the briefings, Col Marcus, SgtMaj Martin, LtCol Marini, and the OPSO LtCol Rose heard the morning brief by OX. That was the given name for their AI robot out of respect for the XO. OX’s metallic voice rang out a series of numbers and projections while it sat at the end of the table.

“Analysis of the previous 10 MEU’s maintenance requirements have yielded highly effective parts utilization and the ACE 18% ahead of flight hours goals and 21% ahead of standard fleet readiness rates. Based on the remaining lunar cycles, recommended flight operations have been sent to the ACE. The MEU has completed all required annual training and all reports to higher have been reviewed and recommendations have been forwarded to the command or back to the originator for revisions. End-of-tour award recommendations have been forwarded to you based on the staff’s performance.” OX almost seemed pleased by the accomplishments and efficiency.

The XO almost imploded over the award recommendations, but she remembered to breathe deeply when dealing with OX. Col Marcus removed his reading glasses and remarked, “Thank you, well done OX. Get back to me when you have figured out cold fusion.”

Battle Stations

That evening, the Colonel and his Marines slept under the stars. During the late evening, a sharp pop brought Col Marcus out of a deep sleep. Then another and another. A vise-like hand gripped his shoulder. SgtMaj Martin was bright-eyed and completely awake as he pointed to the sky above the Fallujah, Stockdale, and McCain. If one did not have the proper context, the bursts of color could be mistaken for beautiful fireworks. Long-range Chinese anti-ship missiles rained down on the trio of ships but luckily, the Stockdale and McCain were conducting operations with the Marines ashore and had deployed defensive drones that evening. The drones’ distinctive buzzing was audible before they sought out and detonated in front of the incoming missiles. Without the drones, the ships would have been sent to the bottom. Even so, McCain burned brightly at the aft end as the “Tin Cans” continued to defend the Fallujah.

The initial moments of the attack initiated a wave of shock and confusion, but Col Marcus was steady and acted with purpose. “SgtMaj get everyone to cover and find me the XO. I need contact with the Fallujah.” As SgtMaj Martin began to bark commands, the XO approached Col Marcus in a hurry.

“Sir, you need to see this,” said LtCol Marini. She turned her tablet to Col Marcus and noted, “It is a complete sham! The Chinese are saying they are conducting rescue operations in Taiwan and the local networks are reporting it was a tsunami. I told the OPSO to get our drones up in the air, so we have eyes and ears. Maj Ellis is coming with comms equipment to speak with Capt Turner on the Fallujah.”

At that moment, the wiry Major greeted Col Marcus. In his hands were a computer and a black metal box the size of a toaster oven. 

“As you can imagine, Sir, the Fallujah is in chaos, but Capt Turner is coming, according to the ship’s XO. I also have my Marines trying to contact III MEF and Seventh Fleet, but nothing yet.”

“Thank you, Pete. Keep reaching out and see what is going on,” said Col Marcus as he surveyed his Marines in action. He thought to himself that the ships were the target, and his Marines were not worth the missiles in the minds of the Chinese planners. They would regret that oversight.

At that moment, Capt Turner appeared on the screen. “Marcus, how are your Marines? I do not see any fires so that is a good start.”

“No casualties, Rick. We are trying to figure out what is going on, but comms are down. 

How are your Sailors?” asked Col Marcus in a concerned tone.

“A partially destroyed missile hit the fantail of the McCain. Killed one Sailor and injured two others. The crew did a hell of a job fighting the fire. I don’t want a second Ironbottom Sound, what are your plans?” Capt Turner rubbed his forehead as a link from Seventh Fleet popped up on their screens.

Admiral Sherbinin joined the feed. Across his left eyebrow, a cut spilled blood down his temple and cheek. His tone was level, “Thank God you two are alive. They shot down our satellites, and the only reason we can communicate is because we sent up a few comm balloons for testing earlier in the week. They won’t last long, so let’s be quick, gentlemen.”

Col Marcus spoke first, “Admiral my battalion is on the island, and we have suffered no casualties.”

Capt Turner followed up, “McCain was nicked but all three are operational. I have no information on Portland or Harrisburg. After the Marines went ashore, they departed north to join us later for maneuvers with the Japanese Navy.”

“Thanks gentlemen. I have nothing from DC or Pearl. We were hit. Hit hard. However, looks like their target is Taiwan from what I can tell. Here are my orders. Rick, get the heck out there and if you can get your flight deck running get the Marines supplies as you withdraw. Col Marcus, in this message, are the protocols to summon the UUVs in the areas. Your orders are to raise hell when and where you can.”

At this, a wolfish grin appeared on the Colonel’s face. Suddenly, the connection with the Seventh Fleet went black. The Colonel and Captain shared a nod and turned to execute their respective orders.

As the conflict continued, bits and pieces of the truth became clear. China’s attack on Taiwan was a complete surprise but had been planned for years. The Chinese Maritime Militia retrofitted existing craft and built small troop carriers over the course of a few years. This makeshift flotilla successfully landed clandestinely on the island of Taiwan during the evening of the attack. Long-range missiles pummeled Taiwan’s modest defenses and communications nodes, which sowed confusion. Fake Taiwanese communications were created and transmitted across multiple networks displaying fabricated videos of a tsunami’s devastation and China’s humanitarian response to the beleaguered island. To further create doubt and confusion, China shot down multiple satellites, and Special Forces, who had been operating within Taiwan for months, attacked electrical relay stations, conducted governmental assassinations, and functioned as command nodes for arriving Chinese forces. Hunter-killer robots arrived with the Chinese forces and smashed hardened defensive positions that had the wherewithal to know what was happening and fight back. Most importantly, China seized the initiative decisively and denied America time to plan and support preparatory phases.

The explosions, Marine actions, and shouts brought OX back online in its mobile docking station. After surveying incoming feeds, the robot determined a brief to Col Marcus was required. Col Marcus was in the command tent with the rest of the map, pouring over a map of the island. In its direct manner of speaking, OX stated, “Col Marcus, multiple communications networks are no longer available, and there were several attacks on American ships in the Pacific. Furthermore, based on my databases, more attacks can be expected. My recommendation is that we depart on MEU shipping and return to combat operations when it is safer and phasing operations have been completed.”

“Sorry OX, we are staying, we have our orders,” said Col Marcus not looking up from the map. 

“Staying does not yield a high probability of survivability. Our current situation does not fit the parameters of my programming and new datasets and modeling parameters are needed to determine optimal actions,” said OX unemotionally.

Col Marcus replied dryly, “A dead Prussian general called it the ‘fog of war.’ Let me provide some clarity for you. We have been ordered to attack the Chinese where and when we can. Based on our geography and limited mobility, our best chance to influence this conflict is to try and shut down the Sulu Sea to the Chinese. Our NMESIS Mk Vs can reach out and hit Chinese ships in the area, but we need to be able to see. Help LtCol Rose determine operational locations and electronic deception techniques to keep us hidden as long as we can. I have already sent recon forward to scout possible routes, and I have a logistics team working on combat foraging options to supplement what weapons and supplies are on the UUVs and with us currently.”

After a brief pause, Col Marcus made a point directed at OX but intended for his staff, “I do not expect this to be easy or safe. We are in a fight we did not ask for, but we are professionals and will conduct ourselves accordingly. We will be the eyes and ears for our naval forces and any Chinese ship or aircraft in our AOR will be our target.”

SgtMaj Martin confidently entered the room and calmly addressed Col Marcus, “Sir, the Marines are ready for your orders.”

LtCol Daniel V. Goff, USMC (Ret.) deployed to the Horn of Africa (2004 and 2006), to Afghanistan with the 24th MEU (2008), and a UDP to Okinawa, Japan (2015). He served as the squadron WTI for HMH-461, the Operations Officer and Det OIC for HMH-464, and the Commanding Officer for HMH-366. His B-Billets included selection as an Olmsted Scholar (Kyiv, Ukraine), Deputy Director of the Stockdale Center (Naval Academy), and an analyst with the Strategic Initiatives Group (CMC’s staff).  Currently, he is a Course Director for the U.S. Naval Community College.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By Tracy MacSephney

This fictional short story intends to use ‘useful fiction’¹ to imagine the 2050 workforce and the impact of autonomous systems on maritime operations. The short story is set in a ‘Fragmented’² 2050 and draws on open-source research and media to shape the story. It does not intend to predict the future.

Future Worlds: Fragmentation

“States, corporations, megacities and other non-state actors, including organised criminal and dissident groups, compete for power. Cooperation is rare and only sought when there is a benefit to further an actor’s interests.” –Global Strategic Trends, 2018

Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

2050

I check the roster one last time: Ensign Parker. I double-click on their image to add it to the facial recognition software which will project a warning in my HUD³ when it triggers. I also add a hologram projection with their name on it, which hovers over my head, so they can have something to look for. I call up the arrival details on my HUD: on time, shock horror.

“Bet it’s not on time when I’m trying to leave tonight,” I grumble to no one in particular.

I try to think back to my first day on the Alliance’s⁴ FOBS⁵ DREADNOUGHT⁶ and the essentials I need to get across to Parker before I leave but the troop transport lands and in no time the arrivals/departure hall starts to fill. Before I’ve even had a chance to look, the HUD idents Parker who is scanning the holograms.  

“Sims⁷ don’t prepare you for this part, do they?” I ask as I step in front of Parker before they’ve had a chance to spot me.

“They sure don’t, and I’m not sure what I expected either,” Parker confesses looking out across the flattop and beyond to the endless sea and sky in all directions.

“Get a good look Parker; the next time you see this part of the ship, you’ll be heading back home,” I pause while they look around. “I’m Phoenix, welcome aboard. Come on Parker, we’ve got time to keep and miles to go before you sleep.”

They smile like an excited puppy. If I remember correctly, it’ll be days, maybe weeks, before it wears off.

Most of the other arrivals have already departed the hall so we have one of the four 20-person elevators to ourselves. 

“When you’re trying to get around the ship always head to deck seven first–” I start but Parker interrupts, “–the Promenade, and navigate from there.” I chuckle and try to remember what it’s like to be keen and eager.

“I’m going to assume you’ve completed all the sims, so why don’t you simply ask me the questions you really want answers to, the stuff you can’t get from the sims or pull up on the HUD?” I offer.

“That would be great, thanks,” Parker distractedly responds.

By now we are on the Promenade, making our way to the travelator that runs in 40m sections up and down the length of the ship. Parker’s doing a good impression of one of those old-fashioned bobble head toys taking in the Promenade as we progress.

“We’re Top Gun⁸ so we only use callsigns out here. What’s yours?”

“Oh, uh, well you see I, um,” Parker mumbles and I chuckle.

“Ah, so you don’t want to use the one they gave you during training?” I recall my own which will never be uttered again. “Let me guess, something like ‘Nosey’?”

“Ah, yeah, not very original or cool like yours.”

“Well, we better think fast; once I program it in, that will be it.”

“On account of the Thunderbirds, and me being Parker and all, I thought ‘Guardian’ would be cool,” Parker hoped.

“No can do, we already have a Guardian,” I pause while I try to help the kid out, “Thunderbirds huh? Well, how about Thunder?”

“Perfect!” Parker’s relief is evident.

“Great, so we’ll head over to your cabin first, your gear should be there already, then we can grab scran⁹ before we head over to the office. It’s a good idea to orientate yourself so that you’re not reliant on the HUD all the time, you never know,” I offer as a warning, but equally true is if the HUD goes down, the ship is down and we’re a massive sitting duck. I don’t dwell on that thought for long and Parker’s silence suggests they know that too.

“Let’s get you synced to the ship,” I change the subject back to more practical issues as we progress along the travelators to the accommodation area.

I call up Parker’s credentials, add Thunder as their callsign, and send the uplink code.

“Got it,” Parker inputs the code and is instantly connected to the ship. I can see their HUD throwing up numerous messages.

“Ignore all messages today, except any flashing red,” I advise before they become overwhelmed with the information overload. “You’ll soon adjust to which messages you need to pay attention to, and you’ve got tomorrow to acclimatize and sort your filters out before you start your first shift.”

“Noted, thanks. Even Fallon¹⁰ wasn’t this busy with comms traffic,” Parker adjusts the settings to tone down all but flashing red messages. “Had the quietest 48 hours travelling here not being synced to a station or ship.”

“Oh, I know, that is one thing I’m looking forward to tonight,” I say, although I’m not quite sure that is true as I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself for 48 hours.

“Where are you off to?”

“Back to Fallon as an instructor for a couple of years and then no doubt back here on promotion as one of the Ops directors, although that all depends on ASI¹¹. I’ll probably be in Fallon when we know more so who knows.”

“You must be the best here if you’ve been selected as an instructor,” Parker says in awe, “I’m sorry I’ll miss the opportunity to learn from you.”

“And you’re one of the best to make it to DREADNOUGHT so no doubt you’ll be an instructor one day too, just focus on one mission at a time,” I say, which is just about the best advice I can give at this stage.

Just as we turn down the passageway to their cabin a flashing red message appears. In an instant everyone is moving purposefully around the ship heading to their designated areas.

“Change of plan, we’re heading to the office now,” I change direction and walk quickly, all while thinking officers never run. “Thunder, you’re about to get a chance to fly with me, let’s go!”

“Awesome,” Parker falls in step as we head to the office¹², and I message ahead that Thunder will need a cubicle prepared.

By the time we arrive at the office, all those already on shift are engaged in battle with an airborne swarm attack. It’s clearly AGI only so no match for the Top Gun team, although the swarm is huge. I slip into a spare cubicle and signal for Thunder to take the cubicle next to me. The systems are already boosted and the AGI has our Interceptors hovering at the border of our defensive perimeter; all we need to do now is sync to the cubicle which automatically happens as we sit down. In no time Thunder and I are engaging the swarm. 

For a swarm this size, it seems too easy, and I flash a message over to the Ops director:

Too easy, misdirection?

The instant response simply reads:

Scanning

I see a message flash at the same time as one of the Defenders explodes taking out an unidentified object in the Delta quadrant. I redirect my Interceptors to the location and link up to the relevant Explorer, another Defender already in position. Thunder has followed my lead while the rest of the team deal with the swarm.

The AGI flashes an error warning in a line of code just as another Defender explodes taking out another unidentified object. I send the blip in the line of code to the Ops director but not before instructing AGI to FIND¹³ and FIX¹⁴ the code to allow the Interceptors to ‘see’ and deal with the unidentified objects before the Defenders must respond.

The Ops director doubles the Defenders as a precaution and notifies the other FOBS. It’s the first time that we have seen this type of camouflage used, indicating a sophisticated adversary. However, with the code now identified, what’s left of the swarm retreats. That was a close call, and we all wait for the final all clear before we relax. It will be up to others to investigate further.

Following the call to return to normal ops, I take the opportunity to introduce Thunder to the Ops directors still loitering in the back.

“Thunder, great to meet you, welcome to the team,” says one.

“No longer a rookie, Thunder, great job,” says another.

“I like your instincts kid, keep up the good work,” says the final one.

My stomach grumbles reminding me it’s time for scran. No longer worried about having to pass on any sage advice to Thunder, we head over to the galley and regale in the details of the last mission.

Tracy MacSephney is a 1SL Associate Fellow working with the Royal Navy Strategic Studies Centre. She has a MA in Creative Writing (KUL), a MA in Defence Studies (KCL), and an interest in useful fiction.

References

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[1] Useful Fiction or FICINT (Fictional Intelligence), “melds nonfiction research with the power of narrative to reach target audiences with greater effect” (Useful Fiction, 2022)

[2] Global Strategic Trends future worlds: Fragmentation: “States, corporations, megacities and other non-state actors, including organised criminal and dissident groups, compete for power.  Cooperation is rare and only sought when there is a benefit to further an actor’s interests.” (Global Strategic Trends, 2018)

[3] HUD is heads-up-display, incorporated into glasses that everyone wears.

[4] The Alliance refers to the World’s strongest alliance previously called 5 eyes and what was Australia, Canada, New Zealand, UK, and US. 

[5] FOBS is “Forward Operating Battleship”; imagine 4 of the biggest cruise ships, built on top of oil platform technology with a flattop able to land an A400M; 800m long, 120m wide, powered by nuclear energy operating down to minus 47 degrees Fahrenheit, able to withstand any conditions including superstorms, using artificial narrow intelligence (ANI) to control the propulsion and stabilisers to manoeuvrer the FOBS and avoid the worst of the superstorms. Maintains approx. 40k personnel including Alliance military personnel, their families, agricultural, education, energy, engineering, entertainment, hospitality, media, retail, and other personnel able to support a fully functioning city.

[6] DREADNOUGHT named after HMS DREADNOUGHT, under UK Command covers the Atlantic Ocean and associated littoral regions. ENTERPRISE same size as DREADNOUGHT is under US Command operating in the Pacific Ocean; HALIFAX (Canadian Command operating in the Arctic), BRISBANE (Australian Command operating in the Indian Ocean) and TE KAHA (New Zealand Command operating in Oceania) are slightly smaller with approx. 30k personnel and have the same capabilities although slightly reduced mass.

[7] Sims is short for simulators; all training is now conducted in simulators.

[8] Top Gun referring to the best of the best in drone dog fighting skills. With drones now operating on artificial general intelligence (AGI) it takes a human in the loop to provide the creativity required to out manoeuvre and destroy enemy fighter drones which mostly still use AGI. The Alliance relies on AGI to operate the Explorers (intelligence gathering drones both above water and subsea) and Defenders (imagine a contact mine drone, colliding with incoming objects, if necessary, again both above water and subsea). Top Gun pilots operate up to four Interceptor drones (above water fighters) at a time and rely on AGI to have additional Interceptors on standby to replace those lost during battle. Submariners operate up to four Seaceptor drones (subsea fighters) at a time and rely on AGI to have additional Seaceptors on standby to replace those lost during battle. Not many adversaries have the subsea capabilities, so the submariners are not as busy as the Top Gun pilots. AGI with human maintainers ensure new drones are printed to maintain the mass required by the Alliance. “Industry roles will be multidisciplinary, potentially requiring the ability to create, operate and maintain autonomous and technological systems.” (Maritime 2050, para 39) “The future of the human race is hedged on creativity.” (Escott, 2017)

[9] Scran is slang for food.

[10] Fallon is the Alliances Top Gun school, the best of the best from across the Alliance are sent there to be certified and the best of those make it to ENTERPRISE and DREADNOUGHT.

[11] On the cusp of artificial super intelligence (ASI) it is still unclear how this will affect military operations.

[12] The office is the Command Centre, a common operating picture is displayed on the theatre style screen that all the cubicles face, each cubicle has its own display allowing the operators to engage their own targets but allowing the Ops director to see the whole picture.

[13] FIND: Detect, recognise, identify and/or locate a unit, object, activity, situation, event or individual or group(s).

[14] FIX: Deny the enemy their goals, to distract them and thus deprive them of freedom of action to gain own forces freedom of action.

Featured Image: Art created with Image Creator from Microsoft Designer.

Fiction Week

By LtCol Robert L. Burton, USMC (ret.) 

Transiting the Strait had been a highly anticipated movement for the Maritime Sealift Command crews in recent months. While maritime commerce usually flowed smoothly through the waters, the deteriorating security situation in the region due to Centralia’s recent belligerence had raised concerns. As Centralian forces focused on antagonizing their neighbors in Montanya, pirates and other outlaws exploited the fragile security on the high seas. Meanwhile, U.S. forces were heavily engaged in a security cooperation campaign to support their regional allies. Strategic sealift requirements through the Strait had not only increased but also carried greater consequences of failure.

The USNS Apalachicola’s current mission through the Strait exemplified this heightened importance. The ship’s humanitarian assistance cargo was crucial for an ally whose coast had been ravaged by a recent typhoon. Without these supplies, thousands of people would continue to suffer, potentially destabilizing the region further.

This particular transit was also notable for other reasons. This was the first time that Merchant Marine Cadets Deville, Thompson, and Sparkman had made the transit as part of their ‘Sea Year’ duty. Cadet Deville, the Engine Cadet, hailed from the Midwest and was always seen with a wrench in hand and grease on his face. Thompson, a laid-back Bostonian, was the Deck Cadet and the son of a fisherman. Cadet Sparkman, an Alabama native, was the assigned Cyber Cadet, a relatively new position for Merchant Mariners, and responsible for cybersecurity. The midshipmen were about halfway through their Sea Year Duty, but they had competently adjusted to their duties. Unique for them, however, was their assignment to the EPF-13 Apalachicola, a crew-optional vessel. Although they manned their stations from a darkened operations room in Norfolk, they did not take their responsibilities any less seriously.

_________________________________________

As the Apalachicola approached the Strait, Cadet Sparkman sat up at his desk. Although he realized the approach would take a couple hours, his intuition suggested that this transit would require his acute attention. He reached for an energy drink beside his monitor, took a healthy gulp, and began typing furiously on his keyboard. He scrolled through multiple open applications spread across three screens at his workstation. At one point, he reached for a clipboard, reviewing the daily cyber threat report. He recognized most of the top tier threats and followed down the list with his finger until he came across a less familiar one: “MAROON STORM.” A ubiquitous name, but he recognized by its nomenclature that the source of this particular threat was an emerging actor and thus more interesting since less was known about the actor’s intentions and motives.

_________________________________________

As Cadet Sparkman continue to review the information about MAROON STORM, he received his first alert that his intuition may have been right. He scanned through his systems logs and saw the first clue. A sensor on the bridge that measured windspeed had failed to function for two minutes. At the Apalachicola’s current speed, windspeed was most certainly measurable. But not strong enough for any wiring to come loose. Cadet Sparkman calmly turned the sensor off and waited for two minutes before turning it back on.

Sparkman glanced at his watch after only 30 seconds, trying to stave off his impatience, but then his mind began drifting off towards his Sea Year Project. The Sea Year Project was one of the other pressures that Merchant Marine midshipmen endured during their first at-sea duty. Like a six-month long homework assignment, it occupied much of their free time; however, its relevance to their current duty made it important to stay on top of. Each day he chipped away at his project and learned something new he could apply during his next duty rotation.

A thought occurred to him, and Sparkman activated the transmit button on his headset. “Cadet Thompson, this is Sparkman, over.”

Thompson responded, “This is Thompson. What’s up, Sparky?”

“Hey, I know you’re busy rolling up maps and stowing the sails and all,” Sparkman began, “but would you mind checking on the starboard anemometer? I think we may have an intrusion.”

“Hah. Yeah, okay. I’ll check on it,” Thompson replied.

Cadet Thompson was accustomed to Sparkman’s jocular insults. There was a misperception that Deck Cadets had a more leisurely role aboard ships, focused simply on navigating and steering. However, their academic studies, centered on logistics, business principles, and security, were just as crucial to maritime trade as the studies of the cyber or engine cadets, who specialized in propulsion and maritime engineering.

A few moments later, Cadet Thompson returned the call. “Hey, Sparky. I checked the anemometer, and it’s working fine. But you’re right about the readings; something’s interfering at the terminal.”

Sparkman acknowledged, “Copy that. Is it okay if I shut it off until we get through the transit? I should have a patch coded by then.”

Thompson agreed, “I’ll check with the Chief Mate, but go ahead and keep it off until I confirm.”

“Great, thanks,” Sparkman responded. He continued to monitor his various computer applications and monitors, looking for any additional issues that might have popped up. So far, no other indicators, he thought to himself. However, he made a mental note to report the incident to both the 10th Fleet and Military Sealift Command before his shift concluded.

_________________________________________

As Sparkman diligently drafted his cyber incident report, Cadet Thompson began sifting through his navigational charts. He reviewed the planned route and started calculating the remaining transit time, although he had not been explicitly asked to. Thompson found the math to be relaxing, and it helped to pass the time.

Satisfied that his measurements aligned with those of the navigator, Thompson looked at the radar to see how heavy the traffic was. He noticed it was lighter than expected for both the season as well as time of day. Curiosity piqued, he inspected their position in relation to nearby landmarks. That’s when he detected an anomaly. Based on his calculations and observations through the bridge cameras, something didn’t add up. According to the GPS, they were positioned precisely in the center of the sea lane, and their plotted path suggested they should proceed without altering their course. However, his video camera monitors revealed that the peninsula of Centralia was now perilously close to their intended route, within a few degrees.

Growing increasingly concerned about this discrepancy, Thompson sought out the ship’s navigator, 2nd Mate Sanchez.

“Mr. Sanchez, I have a rather peculiar question,” Thompson began.

“Hey Cadet Thompson. What’s on your mind?” Sanchez inquired, folding his arms in a patronly stance.

Thompson continued, “Well, sir, I’ve been reviewing the charts and plots, and everything seems to be in order.”

Sanchez nodded, “Alright, so what’s the issue?”

Thompson hesitated before saying, “The thing is, when I looked at the video monitors outside the bridge, it appeared that we’re drifting toward the peninsula, which doesn’t make sense.”

Sanchez’s eyebrow raised. “Hmm, that is interesting,” he mused. “Let’s take a closer look at your plots.”

After a few minutes of consulting the charts and GPS data, Sanchez came to the same conclusion as Thompson.

“Well, I agree with your plots. It does to appear to be correct and matches the GPS data. Let’s take a look at the video monitors,” Sanchez suggested.

The navigator pulled up the monitors, with the cadet observing over his shoulder. As they cycled through the cameras, it became evident that the landmass had come even closer into view since Thompson had first noticed it.

“You’re right,” affirmed Sanchez. “Something is not right,” his tone growing more serious. “We need to talk to the Officer of the Watch (OOW)”

After sharing their observations with the OOW, she reached the same conclusion: the landmass was too close for comfort.

The OOW returned to the GPS monitor, quickly punching in a sequence of commands. “The GPS is being spoofed,” she declared.

She alerted the bridge to the threat and then turned off the GPS. The three mariners waited with bated breath for two minutes before reactivating the system. Once the GPS was back online, Sanchez replotted their coordinates.

“Helm, come port to 280!” shouted Sanchez.

“Helm, come port to 280!” the helmsman repeated.

After adjusting to the new course, the OOW, navigator, and deck cadet conferred on what had just transpired.

“This is not the first time GPS spoofing has occurred in the Strait,” advised the OOW. “Fortunately, these new GPS receivers can reacquire the signal after such an attack. This was a more advanced attack, which shows how much this electronic warfare technology has proliferated.”

“Do you think it was the Centralians?” asked Thompson.

“Possibly,” considered the OOW. “But pirates in this region often collaborate with the Centralians, too. More than likely, it was proxies or their ‘little blue men’ just trying to create some chaos.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize something so high tech could be used by fishermen or pirates.”

_________________________________________

The Apalachicola was settling back into its routine when Deck Cadet Thompson noticed another unusual development. While monitoring the radar, he detected a tight cluster of blips moving rapidly toward his ship. Moving at approximately forty knots, just an edge over the Apalachicola’s max speed, they were clearly on an intercept track. At their current approach, this cluster would be in visual range in about ten minutes, and they would intercept the Apalachicola within thirty.

Observing their movements closely, Thompson immediately alerted the OOW.

“Ma’am, I’ve spotted a cluster of fast-moving vessels heading our way on an intercept course. They’re currently 25 nautical miles away, bearing 165, and they’re moving at 40 knots.”

“How many boats, Cadet?” the OOW inquired.

Thompson replied cautiously, “Ma’am, it’s a tightly packed cluster, but I would say more than five, possibly around 10.”

In response, the OOW ordered the starboard lookout to closely monitor his sector. Just as the cluster of vessels came into visual range, Thompson provided another update.

“Ma’am, the cluster has now spread out, and I’ve identified seven small craft, all maintaining 40 knots. They appear to be in a chevron formation,” he reported before glancing up.

The OOW locked eyes with Thompson, assessing whether the cadet was playing a prank. Her deliberations were interrupted by a report from the starboard lookout.

“Swarm of small craft, bearing 170, approaching at high rate of speed!” he alerted.

The term “swarm” resonated with the OOW, and she wasted no time. “Sound general quarters,” she ordered.

Instantly, the crew sprang into action, recognizing the impending threat. It didn’t matter whether these were pirates or Centralians their intentions were clearly hostile and posed a danger to the ship. The OOW directed the helm to increase speed, while the crew continued with their preparations, a well-practiced routine.

Hatches were sealed, non-essential communications ceased, and reports were dispatched to Fleet HQ to alert them to the current situation.

Despite the Apalachicola‘s increased speed, the swarm of small craft managed to encircle the ship at a distance beyond the range of small arms fire. While this might not be evident to the naked eye or visual sensors, the radar confirmed their presence. The OOW then issued a critical order, turning to Cadet Thompson. “Cadet Thompson, launch the drone.”

“Aye aye, Ma’am!”

Though not a seasoned mariner like the rest of the crew, Cadet Thompson and his fellow cadets were well-versed in small drone operations from their lessons at Kings Point. With a surge of pride, knowing the OOW entrusted him with this crucial task, Cadet Thompson swiftly launched the drone, using a flurry of keyboard commands. Once airborne, he manipulated the craft using a small joystick near his workstation.

_________________________________________

The Ship Master, having joined the bridge team, studied his video screen intently while Cadet Thompson maneuvered the ship’s unmanned aerial system. A swarm of seven small, unmanned skiffs were circling the ship in a counterclockwise pattern, keeping a cautious yet menacing distance. Thompson guided the drone along the skiffs’ path, briefly inspecting each for any discerning details that may reveal their intentions.

The swarm of skiffs now moved at a slower pace, like a convoy waiting for trailing vehicles to catch up. However, it was evident that malicious intent guided their actions. Whether they carried explosive charges or other means of sabotage remained unclear from the drone’s imagery. It soon became apparent that the swarm was accelerating and closing in on the Apalachicola, as if circling a drain.

The Master inquired about the distance to the swarm, to which the lookout responded, “Currently 400 meters, but closing in at a rate of 25 meters per minute.”

“Prepare the ‘Slimer’ and inform me when they reach 200 meters,” the Master ordered.

The Slimer was one of the few self-defense measures available on the ship when operated remotely. When physically manned, the crew could utilize various weapon systems, including small arms fire. However, during remote operation, standard procedures limited defenses to non-kinetic methods.

The Slimer, fortunately, was an effective tool. Developed by the Joint Intermediate Force Capabilities Office, it was a projectile launcher which dispensed a cluster of grenade-like canisters filled with an artificial slime similar to hagfish slime. Capable of launching from both port and starboard sides, the slime would expand into a viscous glob, which could foul the screws on small vessels and immobilize them.

“Skipper, abeam on the port side, 225 meters,” reported the port lookout.

“Roger, standby to launch.”

“Slimer, standing by, aye,” acknowledged the operator.

“At 200 meters!” exclaimed the starboard lookout, anticipating the imminent action.

“Fire.”

“Fire, aye.” With the push of a button, a cluster of five Slimer projectiles ejected from the launcher affixed on each side of the bridge. There was notably no launcher oriented toward the bow or stern to reduce risk of self-entanglement.

As the projectiles splashed into the sea, they each expanded as designed, creating globs of slime that floated on the surface. Just as intended, the unmanned skiffs unknowingly maneuvered right into the trap, instantly stalling out. Most of the skiffs quickly came to a floating standstill, while the remaining vessels, initially positioned near the bow or stern, also succumbed to the gelatinous trap as they continued their counterclockwise circuit.

_________________________________________

As the unmanned skiffs became mired in the hagfish slime, the Apalachicola resumed its tack and continued through the Strait without further incidents. The ship’s crew returned to their regular duties, displaying unwavering vigilance even though operating the Apalachicola remotely. The allure of relaxation in the rack and the opportunity to hit the gym beckoned to the Merchant Marine midshipmen. Still, they recognized that this recent shift offered valuable material for their mandatory Sea Year Projects.

Sparkman meticulously transferred his notes, codes, and cyber incident report traffic to his laptop. He knew that the patch he had installed earlier for the anemometer would require some additional coding, and he was eager to delve deeper into the “MAROON STORM” details through the Cyber Threat Repository.

Thompson was eager to refresh his navigation skills, particularly celestial navigation. The GPS spoofing incident had reinforced the vulnerability of overreliance on GPS. He knew he would not always crew an unmanned vessel like Apalachicola, so he felt it was important he could employ alternative navigation solutions if GPS was not available.

Deville was keen to quickly download his material from Engine Watch. As usual, he had been somewhat oblivious to the excitement during the transit. Tasked with monitoring and adjusting the dials and gauges of the ship’s engines, he had known something was amiss. Fortunately, the engine had performed flawlessly, requiring minimal intervention from the engineers. Deville understood that the sooner he completed his project’s assignment, the sooner he could find Thompson and Sparky and catch up on the latest scuttlebutt.

LtCol Robert L. Burton, a retired Marine Corps Tank Officer, was last assigned to U.S. Special Operations Command as a future warfare specialist. Presently, he is a strategic planning professional focused on developing solutions to contested navigation and operational maneuver challenges. He holds masters degrees from the Army School of Advanced Military Studies (SAMS), Army War College, and the University of Mississippi.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By CDR Paul W. Viscovich (ret.) 

            “Officer of the Deck, what contact is that off the starboard bow and what’s her CPA?”

            The OOD took a bearing on the distant ship from the centerline pelorus. “Skunk Lima, Captain. Closest Point of Approach is Three-Two-Five True, 12,500 yards at time 1437.”

            Commander Scott Cushing swiveled his bridge chair to train his binoculars on the contact. “Does she look a little odd to you?”

            “Yes, Sir. Much larger than your normal Chinese junk and she’s riding pretty high in the water. Shall we take a closer look?”

            “Yes. Come right to course Three-Four-Zero. That should get us some good photos of her.”

            “Aye-aye, Sir. Boats, pass the word, ‘Away the Snoopy Team, starboard side.’”

            It was a clear day with excellent visibility, sea state two. As USS Barry’s intel team assembled topside to collect whatever data they could, the CO leaned forward, watching as the distance to the junk closed. No doubt they’d get some good shots of this strange ship, her bat-wing sails flapping limply in the light air.

            “What the hell?”

            A small, unmanned aerial vehicle dropped out of nowhere and hovered just feet away from the bridge windows, apparently scrutinizing the captain as he stared back.

            “Sir! Lookouts report aerial drones just yards away off the starboard beam, port quarter, now the starboard quarter! Jesus, they’re all over the place!”

            “Sound General Quarters!” Commander Cushing punched the button for CIC on his 21MC intercom. “Combat, Captain here. Why weren’t these air contacts reported?”

            “Sir, they’re not showing on the air search radar!”

            “Yet here they are! Have someone tune the radar and gin up an OPREP-3 Pinnacle. Report this as an enemy contact!”

            The group of little airborne drones held their positions and followed the U.S. destroyer for several minutes before disengaging and flying off toward the mainland. One carried the photograph of a visibly startled Navy commander.

_________________________________________

            USS Barry’s Flash radio message had the predictable effect of stirring up some excitement at the highest levels of military leadership. President McCaffrey called for a briefing in the Situation Room early the following morning. He was the last to join the meeting. Wasting no time, he turned to his Director of Central Intelligence.

            “Well Hank, what are we to make of this incident?”

            “USS Barry managed to get a good photograph of one drone. It’s a quadcopter, quite small, and appears to be unarmed. Initial assessment is they’re reconnaissance assets.”

            “How far off the coast was Barry?”

            “About 25 miles out at the time of the encounter. Short trip for those UAVs. Could be off-the-shelf models.”

            “Except for one thing,” interrupted the Chief of Naval Operations. “Barry detected no unusual electronic signals before or during the encounter. The very precise navigation and situation-awareness demonstrated by these drones suggests autonomous control. Onboard Artificial Intelligence could account for that.”

            “Yes, maybe. We’ll look into it” replied the DCI.

            “Do we have anything like this in the works?”

            “No, Sir” replied the CNO. “But I can assure you, we’ll have a Request for Bids on the street by the end of the week.”

            “Anything else?”

            “Well Sir, since we’re discussing China, our sources confirm they’ve suspended work on building those aircraft carriers. It looks like they’ve shifted gears and are laying the keels for quite a few much smaller ships.

            “How small?”

            “About the same size of one of their Coast Guard’s 1,300-ton patrol cutters.”

            “This could indicate an impending move to dominate the South China Sea” offered the DCI.

            “Then we should alert Jakarta, Manila and Hanoi to this possibility.” The President continued, “While I’m thinking of it, any update on what’s causing those massive smoke plumes over Huangpu?”

            “No Sir.”

            “Well stay on it. They’re a major violation of the Paris Climate Accords!”

_________________________________________

            The contract was eventually awarded to Scythia Corporation. Their proposal was breathtaking in its originality. It would use an experimental crystalline-reformation technology to create hundreds of thousands of UAVs no larger than a fruit fly. These stealthy swarms would carry with them sufficient AI coding to evade obstacles, bad weather and human countermeasures. Upon locating their target, they would combine into temporary macroforms to create cameras, light sources, data storage, transmitters, and so on to do the work now performed by highly visible, expensive, and vulnerable drones.

            The leadership at Scythia eagerly announced “Project Panopticon” in an unclassified employee briefing at their corporate headquarters in Palo Alto. The CEO concluded his remarks with,

            “While I can’t go into too many specifics here, suffice it to say we are combining several of our current R&D projects into this one, which will take aerial surveillance forward by at least an order of magnitude. Panopticon will use tiny, airborne units that operate independently. If necessary they can individually fly under a door then work together to capture and deliver high resolution photographs. With it, we will not only keep several production lines working, we’ll be able to hire many new workers to support our expected expansion.”

            This stunning announcement was met by a murmur of excitement from the audience.

            “I’ll take any questions at this time.”

            A young engineer from R&D hesitantly approached a microphone. Clearing his throat, he adjusted the mic to eliminate the feedback squeal. “Sir, what you have described is no doubt a triumph of engineering and will give a tremendous boost to our reputation.

            “But I have misgivings over our partnership with the Pentagon. This new technology, who can say how they will use it? At what point might they decide to take it beyond surveillance and into combat? Killer drones could increase battlefield lethality as dramatically as the machine gun once did. Or what if it’s used for domestic surveillance, sneakily intruding in peoples’ bedrooms?

            “Before moving forward on this, could we just think about the intangible costs, and our social responsibilities? Thank you.”  

            The audience applauded his remarks with great enthusiasm. Many stamped their feet and whistled. At the podium, the Director of Personnel leaned over and whispered to the CEO, “You know, this social responsibility thing could work out for us in the long run. Taking a bold stand as an ethical company could very well attract some of the best young talent in Silicon Valley.”                

            The CEO nodded. “I’m intrigued by that possibility. Gotta discuss it with the board first, but I’m thinking maybe we should take a pass on Panopticon. The technology is so new, it could easily turn into a money pit.

            “Oh, and find out who that fellow is who spoke up and schedule a meeting. I like his guts and the way he thinks about the big picture. It hints at managerial potential.”

            “Doing what? What are you thinking?”

            “I might offer him a Directorate. If he works out there, great. And if this new antiwar orientation hurts the company, I’ll be able to fire him from a high-paid position to punish him!”        

            A week later, Business Insider reported Applied Symbiosis had picked up the Pentagon’s big aerial surveillance contract. They were a reliable company with a proven track record. Their proposed use of a more traditional approach to UAV technology would also cost much less.

_________________________________________

(Months later aboard USS Sailfish.)

“Conn, Sonar, strong contact bearing Two-Eight-Three. Machinery noises and blade rate similar to those over-sized junks.”

            “Sonar, Conn aye.” The submarine’s OOD looked to the captain, who nodded assent.

            “Diving Officer, Conn, make your depth One-Five-Zero feet.”

            After clearing the boat’s acoustic baffles, he ordered “Up scope. Diving Officer, make your depth Eighty-five feet.”

            A brief look confirmed a massive junk passing north bound, just inside China’s territorial limits.

            “Officer of the Deck, come right to a new course that’ll let us shadow her. I want to see if she turns into the port of Shauntou like those others.”

            “Aye-aye Captain. Helm, right fifteen degrees rudder, steady course Zero-Three-Three.”

_________________________________________

The next President’s Daily Brief included an assessment of several such sighting reports. The CNO opened his remarks with,

            “Chinese military activity in the South China Sea is ramping up. Their fighter aircraft are closely shadowing our reconnaissance planes and they’ve sent in a squadron of Coast Guard patrol boats to interfere with neutral fishing boats.

            “In the Taiwan Strait, our surface and submarine units report an uptick in coastal traffic of those super junks from Huangpu to Shauntou. One-way only. So far, none have left the port. Several reports highlight an abnormally strong radar return for wood-hulled vessels. Given this plus their size, we think they may be transporting steel or heavy equipment. There is also a recent increase of rail traffic into and out of the port.”

            “Where’s Shauntou on the map? I see, thank you. Is its proximity to Taiwan significant?”

            “It’s possible, but if you’re asking about a threat to Taiwan, we consider it unlikely. China has nowhere near the shipping it needs to carry an invasion force across the strait. We’re more concerned with its proximity to the South China Sea. Those small combatants being built there suggest they’re preparing for a major move in that direction. In fact, we think the super junks are directly supporting that construction.”

            “It’s a damn shame we can’t see into Huangpu. I’d really like to know what they’re up to.”

_________________________________________

            Higher precedence radio messages were printed in Radio Central for hand-delivery to the CO. On this morning, USS Ross’s Chief Radioman took the opportunity to escape the din and stale atmosphere of Radio Central to deliver this one personally. He could use a breath of fresh air and a view of the sunrise. But climbing three levels to the bridge left him unexpectedly winded. He stood at the back of the bridge for a long moment to catch his breath.

            “Daily workout, Chief?” teased the Boatswains Mate of the Watch.

            “Wait ‘til you’re my age, kid.” He crossed the deck, zig-zagging past the helm, around the chart table and over to the captain, seated in his bridge chair.

            “Good morning, Sir! This OBOE from our Task Group Commander just came in.”

            “Thank you, Chief.” He set his coffee on the angle-iron beneath the bridge windows and unfolded the Immediate Precedence message.

            “Officer of the Deck?  You should see this.”

            It was an operational directive tasking their guided missile destroyer to take a closer look at a super junk.

            “Well, Skipper, this could add some excitement to our day.”

            “No kidding. Pass the word for the XO and Ops to join me on the bridge.”

            The wait was not long. Toward the end of the forenoon watch one of the super junks came into view.

            “Officer of the Deck, sound General Quarters. Increase speed to ahead full and maneuver to intercept.”

            “Aye-aye, Sir!”

            The crew was well trained and motivated. It took only a few minutes for all stations to achieve manned and ready. The GQ Officer of the Deck reported this to the captain.

            “Very well! Now call away the Security Alert Team to the Flying Bridge, Backup Alert Force to the Flight Deck. If they swarm us with those drones, I want to be ready!”

            All hands stood quietly alert at their battle stations as the range between the ships decreased.

            “Bridge, Combat. High speed surface contact bearing Zero-Zero-Five, range 21,500 yards. Designated Skunk Romeo.”

            Moments later the Bridge Status Board Keeper barked, “Forward Lookout reports new contact on the starboard bow, correlates to Skunk Romeo. Looks like a patrol boat with a bone in its teeth!”

            The Chinese patrol boat intercepted the DDG before it could get close to the junk. It sounded five short blasts, the danger signal on its horn and maneuvered aggressively into the path of the warship. Simultaneously a flight of about a dozen UAVs descended on the ship in a harassing manner, like terriers nipping the heels of a cow. This was too much.

            “Pass word to the SAT and BAF, shoot down those drones! Just avoid firing in the direction of that patrol boat. Acknowledge!”

            Despite their best efforts, the Ross’s bridge team could get no closer than four miles from the junk. The nimble patrol boat skillfully cut off the warship at every turn. Peacetime Rules of Engagement did not permit Ross to ram it.

_________________________________________

            This was the last encounter between the two great powers over the junks. The following day, when satellite imagery suggested the port of Shauntou could hold no more, a score of the newly constructed patrol boats got underway, taking station all over the Taiwan Strait. Some aggressively shadowed any allied warships while the others conducted what were obviously anti-submarine warfare patrols. These were not China Coast Guard patrol boats. They were submarine-hunting naval corvettes.

            In Washington, President McCaffrey called the National Security Council into emergency session. He went straight to the point.

            “What is going on in the Taiwan Strait?”

            “Sir, the situation is rapidly developing …”

            “One might say, ‘deteriorating’ …”

            “Yes, Sir. There has been a surge of those small combatants out of Shauntou, harassing our warships and submarines.”

            “How much? How belligerent are they?”

            “Dangerously close to triggering a self-defense response from our ships. For now, Seventh Fleet has authorized Warning Red, Weapons Tight. The Chinese are swarming our destroyers with corvettes and drones. Their ASW units are saturating the strait with active sonar, leaving no refuge for our subs.”

            “What? Can’t they just go ‘under the layer’ as I think you call it?”

            “No, Sir. The Strait is so shallow, there is no thermal layer.”

            “What reconnaissance assets are we using?”

            “Right now, satellite imagery is all we’ve got.”

            “Director, what are the satellites showing?”

            “Quite a bit, but let me start with something too crazy to be true. It looks like all those super junks are being dismantled at their piers!”

            “Why would they do that? It makes no sense. They’ll sink their own ships pierside! Anything else?”

            “Those smoke plumes over Huangpu have dissipated. Satellite imagery shows nothing unusual.”

            “’At least not now’ you mean.”

_________________________________________

            “Bridge, Combat. Multiple surface contacts to the north, range to the nearest is 30,500 yards. Looks like a line of ships exiting the port of Shauntou.”

            “Bridge, Combat, TAO speaking! Sonar reports explosive detonations bearing Zero-Seven-Five. Sounds like depth charges!”

            “Combat, this is the captain. Warning Red, Weapons Free, I say again, Weapons Free!”

            “Weapons Free aye, Sir. OPREP-3 Pinnacle to follow.”

            “Very well! Officer of the Deck, sound General Quarters! Make your course Zero-Seven-Five, Ahead Flank, turns for thirty knots. If they’re attacking one of our subs, we’re joining the fight!”

            A strident voice came over the bridge speaker for the Primary Tactical frequency. “All units, this is Poseidon Two Five, have visual contact on numerous ships departing Shauntou. Small warships screening what appear to be troop transports or landing ships.”

            “Troopships?” Wondered the OOD. “Where’d they come from?”

            “Inside fake wooden hulls is my guess,” growled the captain.

            “Mayday, mayday, mayday! Any station, any station, this is Poseidon Two Five! Am under attack by fighter aircraft over Taiwan Strait …”

            The voice on PRITAC died. The 21MC crackled to life: “Vampires! Vampires bearing Three-Zero-Zero!”

            “Shit! Air action to port!”

_________________________________________

            The faces around the National Security Council’s conference table looked worn and worried. The Secretary of State broke the silence. “Beijing is warning us to stay out of what they call a strictly internal matter of the People’s Republic.”

            “Oh really,” replied the president. “Their attack on our naval and air assets demands a strong response, an iron-fisted reply. We will stand by our friends in Taipei.”

            “The military is at DEFCON One worldwide,” reported the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “What are your orders, Mister President?”

            “We will craft an appropriate response before we leave this room. The energetic self-defense measures of our ships and aircraft are a good start. But I hate going to war blind. The way the Chinese were able to keep this invasion under wraps the way they did, well, there’s no other way to describe it.”

            No one spoke.

            “This is probably the biggest intel failure since Pearl Harbor. How did we allow this?”

            No one made eye contact. Collectively they had failed.

            “It would’ve been nice to know what the Chinese were hiding with those smoke plumes. Which reminds me, didn’t we have some next-generation spyware in development? Panoptic-something?”

            “We did. The winning contractor pulled his bid, so we awarded the project to another. Unfortunately, that one’s still in R&D because it’s not stealthy enough,” confessed the Chairman.

            “We need answers and action. Can we look at making an emergency award to that first contractor? We all liked their concept.”

            “I’ll check but the answer is probably no. The contractor, Scythia, is focusing all its resources on developing a zero-carbon propulsion system for use in the fleet.”

            “What? We already have those! They’re called nuclear reactors. Now show me where our carriers are!”

Paul Viscovich is a retired Commander and Surface Warfare Officer with 20 years service. He graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1975 and earned a Master of Sciences degree from the Naval Postgraduate School in 1987. He writes a current events newsletter on Substack.com and is working on an anthology of short stories, many with a nautical theme. He lives with his wife Christine in Weston, FL.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.