Category Archives: Fiction Week

Dropping Out of Sight West of Heligoland

Fiction Week

By 1st Lieutenant Till Andrzejewski, German Maritime Police

Lars Mueller was a little nervous. It was January 17, 2034, and his old cutter Samson had been pounding against the three-meter-high waves in the German Bight since noon. This winter they didn’t need him on the River Elbe, but around Heligoland, the sandstone island 30 miles from the mainland.

At 50 feet long, his ship was actually too small to be so far out in stormy weather. Since the government had also requisitioned smaller vessels and paid good compensation, he had offered his second home, a former surveillance boat from 1964, and had the conversion into a survey vessel paid for. But he usually sailed the North Sea only in the summer.

Two years before, Mueller and his crew were quickly prepared for work as assistant marine surveyors for the young German Coast Guard. Their task was to tow a sonar torpedo which was used to monitor critical undersea infrastructure. After the Nord Stream 2 pipeline exploded twelve years ago, there were constant attacks on pipelines and submarine cables throughout the Baltic and North Sea. In September 2026, a structured attack on several data cables caused an overload of Internet traffic with Scandinavia, which could not be compensated for due to simultaneous satellite jamming. As a result of the communication disruption, Russia took advantage of this opportunity and expanded its territory from occupied Svalbard to Bear Island and Jan Meyen. The area north of the GIUK Gap was under acute threat. The navies and coast guards of European countries were also deployed to the Norwegian Sea at that time, leaving a surveillance gap in the North Sea.

The British had taken precautions and built monopiles around their islands at an early stage, in the style of the old sea forts of the last world war. From there evaluations of what was happening on the seabed could be carried out using AI-based systems. The British Navy had their new naval base “Doggerbank” just where the EEZs of the United Kingdom, Denmark, The Netherlands, and Germany met. And another one on the Orkney Islands. Both of them served as the homeport for an entire fleet.

Ten years ago, Germany initially relied on its European allies. When the Dutch ended their military cooperation in 2027 due to their own security interests, the Federal Republic quickly produced a dock landing ship and two smaller landing craft. But larger survey vessels for a coast guard did not materialize, although there was no German Coast Guard at this time, only 17 federal and state authorities with seperate responsibilities. Then the federal states stopped their presence at sea for financial reasons. After the Dutch had recently concluded a 20-year charter agreement with three large standby safety vessel shipping companies, only a few special ships and private yachts remained for the German Bight. At the time, Mueller was happy to have a job again. His work as a sailing instructor had come to a standstill since the North Sea was no longer safe for sports craft, and he had his sister and two friends recruited with him.

Actually, he should already be west of the fellow light vessel German Bight to survey the gas pipelines Europipe 2 and 3, as well as two parallel data cables, which were all heading north. But the northwest wind was giving the cutter trouble and so it didn’t roll north at the level of the light ship, but northwest pitching against the waves towards the new Stribog 1 wind farm. The route was originally scheduled for next week, but that didn’t matter to Lars today. It’s better to have something than nothing at all, he thought and was amazed at himself. He had actually taken the job because of the money. But could it be that he cared about life in Europe and the people in his country? He did not know. He tried not to overthink it.

He tuned out everything around him for a moment and remembered the constant riots in his hometown and the massive police presence everywhere. He thought it was good to live in a land that tolerates the expression of all opinions. That it is okay that the government lets protests be and that they allowed elections. He did not feel that safe in his country at times, but felt that he could trust the government. Yes, this was it. One of the best democracies he could think of.

His sister Miriam sat below deck between cables and monitors. As a master in geographical sciences, she was the best at evaluating sonar and echo sounder images. When returning to Heligoland every two days, the collected data had to be transferred via USB stick to a coast guard computer in order to obtain an underwater situation picture. Neglect of the mobile phone network in maritime areas since 2010 made it impossible to quickly transfer large data packets.

Miriam also had the task of reporting important findings immediately. Satellite and radio connections were available for this purpose. Little did she know that she would need this connection today.

She chewed on her pencil and called out, more to Moritz, who was wedged in his bunk, rather than to herself, “Hey, what’s that?”

Moritz rubbed his eyes, stood up, staggered to the table and looked at the colorful screen. “There have to be no more wrecks here since the wind farm went online!” Miriam agreed. She called towards the wheelhouse and asked Lars to look at the pictures. Lars left his place at the autopilot and carefully came below deck, leaned over the monitor and was amazed. “I have never seen anything so big! Quickly take screenshots and establish the satellite connection with Coast Guard Command West.” Miriam turned on the VHF and switched to the channel for the communication with the Command West at Heligoland.

Lars went to Kalle, who was trying to open cans in the galley, and called him into the wheelhouse. “I need you up here now.” The two went upstairs. Every eight seconds a wave hit the bow, it literally splashed. Miriam shouted after the two of them that they could stay on course, the photo had been saved.

While Miriam wrote the data email and Moritz excitedly rocked his legs back and forth, the two seafarers continued their journey on shipping route 4. The were talking quietly, as if Miriam and Moritz were having a video conference downstairs, and for this reason background noise had to be avoided. At sea, it was slowly getting dark.

_________________________________________

About an hour later, as they were about to haul by, Moritz rushed up to Lars and shouted, “It’s chasing us!”

Lars was now really excited. He didn’t fully understand what Moritz was trying to tell him. But it dawned on him that the object previously captured underwater must be some kind of giant submarine that was now underway.

“The Navy is assuming a submarine. They are sending a reconnaissance, P-8 from Nordholz,” Moritz told them. The P-8 Poseidon should actually have been retired by now. However, the French asserted early on that the aircraft of the Franco-German Maritime Airborne Warfare System project should go to the French Republic first. “Let’s see if they discover more than we do,” Lars murmured into his brown beard.

On the one hand he found it exciting, but on the other hand he was also worried about what would happen next.

“Miri, what does it look like?” Lars asked. “I don’t know. I think he has located our sonar torpedo,” Miri replied. “Turn it off!” Lars sounded panicked. Sea swell didn’t bother him, although he had had better experiences in storms with his sailing ship than with the old steel cutter. He was allowed to call himself “Sea Captain 1st grade i.A.” (in the Auxiliary Coast Guard) for the duration of his employment. But he was not a police officer, not a soldier, not a tactician. And he was afraid for his crew.

“Moritz, Kalle, put on the suit. We’ll get the torpedo out of the water.” The two understood immediately. Nobody protested. It took them five minutes to put on the thermal suits and go out. In the meantime, Miriam had summarized and sent the most important data in an email and hoped that the connection would hold. The clattering waves were not good for the sensitive electronics. The on-board electrical system depended on historical converters that did not provide a total of 2 kVA.

Fifteen endless minutes passed in which Lars repeatedly turned aft and watched the two friends cranking the old winch. “Please don’t fall overboard, please don’t fall overboard,” he muttered, trying to avoid any rolling motion. Lars finally saw the sonar probe hanging on the makeshift crane and the two deckhands came in.

“For hells sake, what’s that blood?” Lars shouted at Moritz when he saw the red fluid mixed from blood, sea water, and grease dripping down his right arm. Miriam, alarmed by the shouts, immediately came into the wheelhouse and took Moritz down with her. Kalle said that Moritz must have gotten caught on the wire reel while winching up, but it might not have been a deep wound.

Just when everyone’s heads were focused on Moritz, Lars saw the Navy plane above them. They must have dropped a sonar buoy. He immediately hauled by and headed shorewards for Heligoland. Without towing the probe, they would be able to cover the 50 nautical miles in about ten hours and be on Heligoland early the next morning.

As a sailing instructor, Lars always enjoyed being out on the water. Since he dared to look below the surface of the sea, it often seemed eerie to him. Like when he was a little boy in Norway, when he paddled a kayak out into a fjord with crystal-clear water and then looked down as if from an abyss. Back then it was panic. Today it was fear.

But without the towed torpedo, he didn’t know whether this gigantic object would continue to pursue them, whether it would even attack them, or whether it would now quietly and secretly prepare an undersea operation that could have a significant impact on the prosperity of the european continent in a month, a year, or two years. Last sighting 1810 LT, he wrote in the ship’s log.

Lars asked from the messroom about Moritz‘s injuries and whether he should try to contact one of the few sea rescue units. Miriam said no, it was a flesh wound and she wanted to sew it up herself. Only a helicopter would be able to beat the critical time of six hours. Which they wouldn’t get. Not today. Not in this storm.

He didn’t feel like it anymore, it was tiring. The ship was too small, they were too few. He and his crew were always overfatigued. Two more years, he thought, and then we’ll stop. Then perhaps there will be more personnel for the coast guard again, then ships will be built and permanent structures will be installed. Secretly he knew it would be more like six to ten years. He missed being on his sailboat and teaching the trainees how to sail, how to live on a boat, how to love the sea.

The voyage back to Heligoland was quiet. Silent and depressing. Kalle was also in the wheelhouse and reported the Samson to Vessel Traffic Service Center twice. Both men didn’t say anything else other than responding to the VHF.

Lars stood at the helm, trying to avoid swinging in following swell and thought of Jules Verne, his favorite author. How come almost all states are coming behind his fiction, only we are still to live in the age of Captain Nemo, and what he proclaims about the sea: “Upon its surface men can still exercise unjust laws, fight, tear one another to pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial horrors. But at thirty feet below its level, their reign ceases, their influence is quenched, and their power disappears.”

Today I saw again how our reign stops below the surface of the sea. It’s just reaction, not prevention, Lars thought. At some point, really, he would be able to paint over the words “Auxiliary Coast Guard,” and retire. Then when we can finally live in peace again and no longer have to be afraid of the fathomless sea.

Till Andrzejewski is a 1st police lieutenant for the maritime state police of Lower Saxony (Niedersachsen), Germany. He is a coastal patrol boat operator and head of mission and investigation of a maritime police station. He has served in different police authorities, such as a police diving unit at the riot police, as an operations leader at the maritime police, and in the Joint Emergency Reporting and Assessment Center Sea (JERACS) in Cuxhaven.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Dawn’s Early Light

Fiction Week

By Ben Plotkin

Dusk.

The fish were finally biting. Not little fish—the big ones.

Luca looked over the side of the boat at the fishing line jerking vigorously as he began to reel it in.

There was the deafening roar of a jet. Luca turned to see the quick-moving dark fuselage of a low flying USMC F-35. It was so low, and now so close that Luca had to reach up to cover his ears.

The jet banked towards the fishing boat, and Luca could see its afterburners were fully lit. Another high-g maneuver as the F-35 performed a sharp break turn. The jet was flying no more than a few hundred feet above the surface of the Taiwan Strait. Luca was no pilot, but to him the maneuver seemed extraordinarily risky.

Two missiles were fast approaching, tailing and matching the violent turning and maneuvering of the F-35. The jet released a series of flares and cloud-like chaff as its afterburners blasted again and it accelerated towards the horizon. One of the tailing missiles exploded in the cloud of chaff close enough that Luca could feel the heat of the explosion and reflexively ducked to avoid any fragments.

The second missile exploded just behind the single rear engine. The effect on the jet was instantaneous. It performed a violent barrel roll and began spinning uncontrollably towards the water. The pilot ejected.

Too low, thought Luca. Too low, he’ll never make it. The ejection seat shot upwards, and immediately the chute deployed. Luca was close enough to see the limp figure of the pilot as he descended. He looked dazed or unconscious. A moment later the pilot and chute splashed into the water.

Before they hit Luca had already ditched the fishing line.

Hauling the limp wet body of the pilot onto the fishing boat proved to be difficult. This was complicated by the fact that he was still attached to the chute, which created a tangled web that took time to cut through. Fortunately, the flotation device wrapped around the pilot had kept his head above water.

Luca collapsed wet and exhausted on the deck next to the limp body. He stared up at the sky. It was a dark moonless night. He knew that once the sun set he had only a limited time to prepare for what was coming. His improvised search and rescue mission might have seriously compromised his timeline.

Luca worked quickly to remove the pilot’s helmet. His paramedic training kicked in and he ran through the drill. Check the airway, check for breathing, check the carotid for a pulse. He ran through these three motions mindlessly, quickly registering that the pilot was indeed breathing and that there was a pulse. It was only after he allowed himself a moment to relax, that he noticed the pilot was a woman. Her blonde hair which had been tightly pulled back was now disheveled. A large bruise discolored the left side of her face. Her left eye was swollen and her lip cut and oozing.

Luca performed a quick trauma assessment. He looked for signs of major injury or bleeding. He could see none. If there was any internal organ injury this was beyond his ability to detect. He ran his arms along her extremities feeling for any fractures, but found none. She was breathing, her chest rising symmetrically, she had a good pulse, and other than the facial injuries he couldn’t detect any other signs of injury. He raised her eyelids and shone a light at them. The pupils quickly restricted to pinpoints, a good sign. She should be okay.

Behind him he could see the faint glow of a few lights still left burning in Taichung. Luca thought the perhaps the Taiwanese could do a better job with their blackout discipline, but then he reminded himself that it likely didn’t matter, and it especially wouldn’t matter if his mission was a failure.

He looked at his watch again and stared towards the China side of the strait for what he knew would be soon coming.

_________________________________________

The warm tropical breeze and the gentle undulations of the waves were calming. The pilot flickered her eyes slowly and groggily opened them. The swelling about her left eye had increased and it looked as if she could barely see out of it.

Luca was quickly by her side and offered her a bottle of water. The pilot looked at him, obviously slightly confused, but she grabbed the bottle, took a long swig and then looked around, surveying her surroundings.

“Thanks,” she finally said. Her voice had the unmistakable drawl of a Texan. A drawl that was instantly recognizable and familiar to Luca.

“Anytime,” said Luca. He could see she was having hard time stringing a thought together.

“You’re American,” she finally said.

“Yes ma’am,” said Luca.

She took another slow sip of water, looking up at the sky she had fallen from then back at Luca.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Good night for some fishin’,” Luca said after a pause. “Good night for some fishin’.”

A rattling above signaled a barrage of incoming rockets from the mainland. Both Luca and the pilot reflexively looked skywards.

“You picked an interesting time to go fishing,” said the pilot.

“Never a bad time for some fishin’. They’re really bitin’ tonight.”

A series of violent rumbling explosions rocked the Taichung coastal plain. The red glare of the explosions briefly backlit the large wind turbines at Gaomei.

“What’s your name Marine?” Luca asked.

The pilot took a moment before answering, trying to shake of the brain fog.

“Miller. Jaime Miller. Captain.”

“Nice to meet you Captain Miller. I’m Luca. Luca. No rank, just call me Luca.”

Another flight of rockets flew overhead streaking toward the coast.

A larger explosion flashed further up the coast.

“Narrow escape you had there,” said Luca. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

A pained expression crossed the captain’s face as she seemed to relive the moment her plane was hit.

“Bastards,” she muttered to herself. “I splashed five of them before they got me though.”

“I guess that makes you an ace,” said Luca.

“My wingman didn’t make it.” Her voice cracked slightly as she finished the sentence. “Bastards.” Another long pause. “Two of us for five of them. Don’t think that’s a good ratio seeing what we’re up against.”

“Where you flying off of? There’s no Marine aviation on the island.”

She gave Luca an odd look, and he could tell she was deciding whether she should answer the question or not, or at least answer it honestly.

“I flew off the Wasp. Was our second sortie of the day, and I guess my last. Look Luca, this doesn’t add up. Just what are you doing out here?”

“I told you. Just a little fishin’. Stick around captain, you’ll see.”

_________________________________________

Luca looked carefully at his watch and for the hundredth time that night scanned the waters in the direction of the mainland. 

Miller was now standing up and resting against the railing as the boat gently bobbed in the waves. Each time Luca checked his watch, and then the horizon she noticed. She looked at her own watch. 0300. What was he waiting for? What was he looking for?

They both heard the noise. At first distant, but quickly growing louder, the unmistakable thumping of approaching helicopters. Luca didn’t waste a moment, he grabbed Miller by the elbow and helped her under the canopy covering the cockpit.

“Down,” he said. They both lay on the cockpit floor. Luca produced a compact pair of night vision binoculars and scanned the sky as the sounds grew closer and louder.

“I see them,” he said. Luca had scooted to the edge and was peering intently through the binoculars. “A flight of two, Z-19’s I think. Looks like they have a whole flock of drones keepin’ ‘em company.”

Luca passed her the binoculars.

The helicopters were getting very close, and even their small dark fishing boat would be visible to them. Luca had cut the engine and was letting the boat drift.

“Agree,” she said. “Armed with rockets and anti-ship kit. Wonder if they would waste them on a civilian target? They’ll see the heat signature of the engine.”

“Well,” said Luca slowly. “Maybe, but I’ve made a few modifications. We might be a bit lower profile than normal.”

Miller gave him a curious look, but said nothing.

The womp of the rotors was louder and they no longer needed binoculars to see the two dark helicopters with their accompanying drone swarm. They clearly had stopped at standoff distance and were assessing the new contact.

“I don’t know if you’re religious Captain, but now might be time for a good prayer if you’ve got one.”

Miller didn’t say anything.

The helicopters fired their rockets.

_________________________________________

Luca and Miller bobbed up and down in tandem, clinging to a large chunk of fiberglass wreckage from the fishing boat.

The helicopters had left, speeding towards the coast line. Luca could only hope the air defenses picked them off.

“You know Luca, this is not the day I expected to be having when I woke up this morning. I’ve now been shot out of both my plane and your boat. What’s next?”

Luca grinned at her. “Sharks,” he said in a deadpan tone.

“Are there really sharks?” she said.

“Of course there are sharks, but I doubt they’ll bother us tonight. We are goin’ to have a nice long swim back to the shore though.”

“I guess we should get going then,” Miller said.

“Sorry captain, not quite ready to leave. Have to take care of a little business first.”

“I don’t know how to break it to you, but I think your fishing trip has come to an abrupt end,” said Miller.

“I’m not sure they’re done biting just yet. Got a few more I want to bag before we head back. Plus we should rest for a bit, when the time comes, we’re going to need to do some fast swimming out of here. You a good swimmer captain?”

“State champion 200 fly,” she said.

“Good. We’re gonna butterfly all the way back to the beach then. But not just yet.”

“Whatever you say. Looks like I’m just along for the ride at this point.”

“And captain, if I may, you’re gonna appreciate this ride.”

_________________________________________

Luca checked his watch. 0400. At least the water wasn’t too cold he thought. It shouldn’t be much longer.

They bobbed in silence for long periods of time. Luca had retrieved a large waterproof duffel from the sinking boat. Over the last hour he had been retrieving and tinkering with various pieces of equipment, which he placed on the flat surface of the floating debris. Miller watched intently. One of the items he had retrieved for them was a candy bar.

“Eat it,” he said. “Extra caffeine, and maybe a few other things. Will keep us going for a bit longer. We’re going to need all the energy we got.”

She did as she was told and soon noticed she was indeed feeling much better. Her head still hurt and throbbed. Only now she didn’t seem to mind as much.

“What part of Texas you from?” Luca asked.

“Little bit outside of Austin, place called Fredericksburg. You?”

“Well, we’re practically neighbors. I’m from Round Rock.”

They shared a smile. Luca finished eating his chocolate bar and was setting up a laptop, which he was trying to precariously balance on a flatter piece of the fiberglass wreckage. The laptop looked like a hardened military version, was rubberized, and could clearly handle a little water without too much problem.

“Changing your profile to lost at sea” Miller smiled.

“Wouldn’t want my friends to worry,” said Luca.

Miller looked at the screen. It displayed a detailed oceanographic map of the Strait. There were multiple objects all with iconography she didn’t fully understand. She did, however, understand some of the overlays, which appeared to show real time positioning of aerial and marine contacts—both blue and red.

“Look Luca, you got to level with me. You’re no fisherman.”

“Yes ma’am I am. High school champion. Caught the prettiest bass you’ll ever see. 16 pounds. Tasty too.”

“Well that might be true, but you’re not out here fishing tonight.”

“Different type of fish tonight. Almost time. Look.” He pointed to the screen at a series of red dots that were almost right on top of them judging by their location on the map.”

“Those look big, bad, and like they belong to the wrong team, Luca. What are we expecting?”

“What we are expecting is the early morning ferry service.”

“Ferries?”

“See these four big red dots?” Luca zoomed in on a cluster. “Each one of those dots is ferry service from the mainland. They are fancy roll on, roll off ferries. Mega civilian ferries, but in this case packed with the majority of the men and material of their 3rd Marine brigade. Now heading this way. Right on time too. Tip of the spear if you will. Shore landing, seize port, you know the drill.

“Now, If we had some fancy goggles we could see them just out there,” he said pointing towards the waters in front of them. “Fortunately, we happen to have a pair of fancy goggles.” He pulled out a pair of night vision goggles and handed them to Miller.

Miller strapped on the weatherized goggles and looked towards the horizon.

“Magnification dial is on the side,” Luca said.

Miller dialed in the magnification, and sure enough coming towards them were four massive ferries surrounded by an escort of smaller ships. She flipped off the goggles.

“They’re coming,” she said. “Right where you said they would be.”

“You see these?” he pointed to a series of green dots just below the red dots of the ferry flotilla. Miller nodded.

“What we got there are what they used to call sea mines. And they still are, in a way. Although, these aren’t your grandpa’s mines. What you’re looking at is a dispersed network of semi-autonomous smart mines. Each individual one is not enough to sink a ship, but taken in aggregate, we will see what they can do. The beauty of these things is that they weren’t there yesterday when the minesweepers went over this route. A SEAL team placed them right after the minesweepers passed. They’re designed to sit on the sea bed until show time, which is right about now.”

“If these mines are so smart, what are you here for?” said Miller.

“Well, I’m what back at the farm they call redundancy. They can operate without any oversight, I’m just here to make sure the job gets done. We didn’t want them triggering on the wrong target. They’ve been earmarked for the ferries. As soon as they approach, I give them their final orders.”

Luca tapped hurriedly on the keyboard. “Like to do the honors captain?”

“What do I do?”

“Just hit enter. Easy peasy.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Luca said with a big smile.

Miller didn’t hesitate. She hit the ‘enter’ key with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. The laptop bobbed down and up again on its fiberglass flotation and seawater pooled around its base.

“What’s going to happen now is that our friendly little mines are going to start rising to the surface. They’re programmed to aggregate and attach themselves to the largest magnetic targets in the vicinity, which in this case are our ferry friends. They’re networked so they can see which target each mine has selected, a design specification to ensure that each ship gets an appropriate number snuggled up nice and friendly like.”

“That’s it?” said Miller.

“Told you, easy peasy.”

They watched as the ferry flotilla moved closer. It was heading on a course which left them just slightly to their port side. As they watched the small dots representing the mines, they began moving on the laptop screen, swarming towards the large targets. The ferries were generating undulating bioluminescent wakes which gave the panorama before them a ghostly vibe.

Luca looked at his watch. 0500. It was almost time.

“It looks like there are hundreds of those dots. How many mines are there?” Miller asked.

“888. They say that’s a lucky number.”

“That’s a lot of mines.”

“A wise admiral once told me, ‘When in doubt, overload.’”

They didn’t have long to wait.

A series of massive explosions rippled across the waters. The force of the explosions was so violent, the sea state changed and the rough chop almost knocked the duo from their fiberglass float.

The sky was beginning to lighten. They could clearly see the wreckage and devastation the mines had wrought. The four ferries were still afloat, at least for now, but they had unhealthy lists and were enveloped in thick black smoke, and flame.

“Not bad,” said Miller.

“Not bad at all,” Luca responded.

Sunrise was coming, and with the dawn’s early light, a four flight of low flying naval attack A-10s roared overhead, their pylons bristling with anti-ship armament, their fuselages a mottled grey-blue camouflage pattern. The lead jet waggled its wings as it passed. Luca responded with an informal salute.

“Clean-up crew,” said Luca pointing upward. “Think it’s time for that swim now.”

Miller smiled at him, and they began their long swim back to shore.

Ben Plotkin is a physician in southern California. He can be reached at [email protected].

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

OX-XO

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.

Dreadnought 2050

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.