By Ben Plotkin
/ˈɑnːɑ pɑˈlɑː/ — Finnish, idiomatic interjection
Literal: “let it burn” (anna = “give/let,” palaa = “burns”).
Idiomatic sense: “go for it,” “bring it on,” “hit it,” “keep it coming.”
Raahe
West Coast Finland
The near future
Seppo took a long inhale from the gilt vape pen and felt the immediate adrenaline rush from the custom blend of nicotine, amphetamine and menthol spreading its barbed tendrils pleasantly through his body.
Anna palaa!
The loud drum beats from the old Killers song throbbed through his oversized headphones, enveloping him in an aural bubble.
Time to get to work.
Outside was Arctic winter. The cold that went to the bone, to the marrow. Freezing, bleak, and forever dark.
Inside the dark room, the wall was covered with a bank of glowing monitors. A single metal-framed window provided a view of the small harbor. A two-toned grey corvette lay at berth, lit by the orange glow of a sodium-vapor dock light.
On the monitors Seppo tracked the approaching flight. They thought they were undetected as they crossed the border and flew low over the Finnish countryside, but Seppo had been tracking them since they had left Murmansk. Thanks to a well-placed asset, Seppo knew their route and loadout.
They were a trio of coaxial Ka-97 “Bereza-M” assault helicopters (NATO: HAG), designed for stealth and deep penetration assault missions. Each could be piloted by a single human, or capably controlled by the internal AI node. It was standard practice to have at least one human pilot in nominal command of a flight, although this was redundant. The HAGs were equipped to carry an interchangeable mix of men, machines, and weapons. This flight carried an offensive and defensive drone mix: 72 Skvoret and 36 Sapsan.
The Skvoret were assault drones. They carried a small charge and had just enough brain power to operate independently although they were more effective when mesh-linked with the command node aboard their HAG mothership. The Sapsan were interceptor drones. They handled short-range air defense with a small warhead, flechette guns, and a micro-EW suite. In addition to the drones, each HAG carried two Kh-86U “Rusalka” light air-launched anti-ship missiles.
Seppo knew they were dangerous creatures.
The custom keyboard off to his side was marked with a series of brightly color-coded buttons. He queued the kill-macros and waited. It wouldn’t be long.
Seppo leaned back in his chair and took a sip of now cold coffee from the black and red Robert’s Coffee cup. He didn’t notice the taste. The red blips on the screen got closer.
Seppo looked out the window. The Kemi-class corvette, Oulu, was tied at the quayside.
A tangle of umbilical lines linked ship to shore. Protective RF-mesh anti-drone netting tented the ship. A quintet of interceptor drones languidly patrolled the perimeter of the harbor.
Kemi-class corvettes were built for surveillance and interception in the narrow Arctic skerries and confined Baltic waters. They hit Russian intruders so hard that their patrol boxes turned to ghost zones. Moscow prioritized their destruction.
Seppo finished the last of the cold coffee, cracked his knuckles, looked at the screen and readied himself.
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The three HAGs approached from the northwest. After crossing Lapland they tracked southward along the Bothnian coast weaving around the small rocky islets. The AI nodes precisely flew each craft within 15 meters above ground level, occasionally popping higher to avoid poles and the trees.
Chameleon composite IR damping nanotiles coated the HAGs, morphing and mirroring the bleak winter palette. The coaxial rotors ran individual blade control—piezo flaperons twisting each blade to kill harmonics at the source—while higher-harmonic control flattened the acoustic lobes. Their rotor signatures muted to a murmur. Skimming the frozen flats, the three helicopters were almost invisible and unnervingly quiet.
Five kilometers out from their targets, the HAGs slowed and deployed their drone swarms. The Sapsan fanned out in an equidistant shield covering the frontal aspects of the attack formation.
The Skvoret formed up near the center awaiting their targets.
The Raahe harbor lay quiet. An ephemeral fog flitted across the shore. The darkness broken only by a few streetlights.
The starboard side of the corvette Oulu was dark, mirroring the blackness of the bay. Its superstructure obscured by tarps, the port side dully reflected the orange glow of the lone quayside lamp, its protective netting nearly invisible in the winter night.
Pavel was a veteran. This was his 13th deep penetration raid. Lucky number, he thought. He checked his displays to ensure all was as it should be, then took the controls and began the assault run. He reflexively glanced to either side for his autonomously piloted wingmen. The other two HAGs were barely visible in the dark winter night. He locked onto his target, one of the hated corvettes, and tapped his screen, designating targets and issuing commands. There was little left to do but watch. He thought about smoking, but decided he would save it for the long dark flight home.
The assault drones divided into three wings and each began their attack run. One group had been designated to take out harbor defenses while the other two would approach the corvette from bow and stern.
The small group of defenders rose from the harbor to meet the attacking swarm, but Pavel’s briefing had assured him their numbers were limited and only a single reserve Maakuntajoukot defense platoon was tasked with providing security for the corvette. They would pose no trouble.
The flight of five Finnish Kotka drones formed up and headed toward the attackers. Each was armed with short range micro-rockets, miniguns, and self-detonating charges. Ukrainian designed, Finnish built, workhorse general purpose defense drones.
Five against a hundred and eight. The Finns were used to those odds. They rather liked it that way.
A continuously undulating screen of mesh-linked Russian drones awaited the small band of Finnish attackers. Pavel smiled. Too easy, he thought. All too easy.
The Finnish Kotka drones pressed forward. They flew straight into the cloud of defenders, penetrating toward the high value HAG targets. The Kotkas launched a swarm of guided micro-rockets. Scores of rockets gyrated, twisted, and exploded as they found their marks.
Dozens of Russian drones fragmented and fell into the waters of the icy bay. The center of the swarm fell back, allowing the Kotka drones to penetrate further toward the massed assault drones and the controlling HAGs.
Flechette rounds filled the sky. The armored Kotka drones shrugged off most of the impacts, motors were sliced away, but built-in redundancy kept them flying forward, in a constantly charging erratic jig of evasive maneuvers.
The defensive screen thinned, creating a pocket through which the Finnish drones pressed on. The Kotkas penetrated further into the defensive cloud, pushing through a disintegrating storm of defending Russian drones. Then the two flanks of the Russian interceptors closed around them. The Kotkas were surrounded and trapped as the flanks of the Russian drone shield completed their encirclement. Using short range peroxide micro-thrusters, the interceptors surged toward the rear of the penetrating Finnish wing. Small talons emerged and they impaled themselves into the flanks and rear of the Finnish drones before detonating.
Shards of metal, plastic, and smoke filled the dark night sky.
A lone Kotka survivor surged forward, its target HAG almost within range. Three guided missiles locked on its rear, accelerated, closed and detonated. The Kotka disintegrated in debris and flame.
Pavel smiled, and rolled the cigarette between two fingers. If that was all, he might just light up now.
An alert flashed on his screen. He dropped the cigarette and silently swore. Pavel’s sensor-fusion display bloomed with range rings from his six, counting over a hundred tracks. The camera panels and EO/IR feeds showed only snow and dark, yet the millimeter-wave radar painted menacing tracks.
Where had they come from?
Overriding the AI node, Pavel swung his HAG around to face the threat. His two AI-controlled HAG wingmen followed pirouetting in a perfect pattern. The HAGs’ front-mounted minigun unleashed a wall of lead into the dark night sky targeting the cloud of new threats.
From the pylons of each HAG shrapnel-filled rockets fired and detonated in clouds of lethal metal. When the minigun ammunition had been nearly depleted, Pavel ordered the drones forward to mop up the survivors.
Pavel glanced down at his display. The Finnish attackers looked to be pressing forward undeterred. Not a single one seemed to have been hit. The range was closing quickly and they would soon be a threat. Pavel didn’t understand. He scanned the night sky with his goggles, but could see nothing. No attacker. No contacts.
His defensive drone swarm buzzed angrily ahead but found nothing to engage. Pavel cursed, and suddenly realized he had been deceived. It was too late.
In his small room Seppo watched and smiled. His hack had perfectly spoofed the sensors of Pavel’s HAG. The ghost contacts vanished, they had done their job.
The four stealth missiles fired from a concealed rooftop cell now rapidly approached the HAG trio, precisely aligned along their aft sector blind spots. Two targeted the lead HAG, the others split, each targeting one wingman. Nearly simultaneously they closed and detonated. From outside his window Seppo grinned as he saw two fireballs bloom in the dark sky.
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The blast that blew in the front door nearly knocked Seppo from his chair. Even through his music-filled headphones it was deafening. The alarms sounded. Useless, thought Seppo, after someone had just blown a hole through the front.
Quickly recovering his composure, Seppo jabbed at the specially colored keyboard enabling a series of defensive mechanisms. From under his workstation he pulled his old Glock and chambered a round. As he did, he saw that to his exasperation one of the HAGs had survived and was still pressing forward with its swarm of drones.
“Vittu,” he muttered. Must be damaged though, he thought, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. Seppo had shot his bolt. It was all he had, his ambush had only been partly successful.
Three heavily armed operators rapidly entered the main entry room in staggered formation.
The leader rolled a stun grenade through the far doorway.
Seppo’s control room lay off an L-shaped corridor from the main entry. He saw the flash and heard the bang, but now he was ready.
Seppo knew they were a deep infiltration Spetsnaz team. They had been a constant bane, targeting equipment, individuals, and command centers across NATO’s rear areas. How had they found him?
Another grenade rolled through the corridor with a flash and blast. Seppo didn’t have time to figure out where he had screwed up. Survive first, then assess. Glancing up at a monitor he saw the three Spetsnaz operators slowly clearing the room. Three against one. I like those odds, he thought.
The lead Spetsnaz operator stepped forward and edged into the corridor. Seppo watched. The operator crouched and swung into the corridor. The small autonomous defense unit fastened to the ceiling fired an aimed cloud burst of jagged fragments into his head. Seppo saw a quick mist of flesh and blood and the operator crumpled to the ground.
The remaining two fired into the corridor, wildly spraying rounds from their short-barreled assault rifles. The small defense node’s last shots harmlessly impacted the body armor of the second Spetsnaz operator as he attempted to cross the corridor to the adjoining room. He fell backward, stunned but unharmed. His companion rapidly aimed and fired a long controlled burst toward the ceiling shredding the defense node and gouging huge holes in the ceiling. Two small drones hovered into the corridor spraying restraining foam. The compressed foam when released, instantly expanded in an explosive exothermic reaction creating a hardened cocoon nearly impossible to escape.
The drones were quickly dispatched, but not before one of the Spetsnaz had his foot tacked to the floor immobilizing him. He cursed loudly in Russian and called for his comrade. The other operator continued down the hall toward Seppo’s control room, constantly firing controlled suppressing bursts as he advanced.
Outside, the surviving swarm of assault drones spread out across the harbor and detonated around adjacent infrastructure and defense points.
The last Spetsnaz operator rolled a grenade down the hallway detonating astride the door to Seppo’s command center. The blast was deafening in the narrow confines, and the room filled with smoke, but the ballistic walls prevented any major damage.
Well, this is it, thought Seppo. He balled up into a compact shooting crouch and pivoted around the doorjamb. The acrid smoke caused him to cough and he had difficulty sighting the advancing Spetsnaz—a blurry dark form in the chaotic hall. He emptied the magazine, trying to maintain control and discipline as he fired each round.
Click. The magazine emptied.
He tried to retreat into his control room but a well-aimed shot slammed into his left shoulder and knocked him backwards against the wall. He dropped his Glock and let out a reflexive cry. The more rational part of his mind continued with an internal damage assessment—not good, not fatal but clearly fractured.
Before he could react, the operator was standing over him, his black rifle aimed at Seppo’s head, the targeting laser barely bobbing. His face was masked. Seppo yelled the worst Russian curses he could.
The operator pulled one hand away from his rifle and pulled off his mask. He had short-cropped blond hair, and an incongruous young face, almost like a model.
Seppo flipped him off.
The operator’s finger tightened on the trigger. There was a series of sharp concussive cracks.
Seppo closed his eyes. A loud thud. Seppo looked up—the man lay sprawled across the floor, a pool of blood leaking from a well-placed headshot.
At the end of the corridor stood another figure, rifle held at ready. The figure lowered the rifle and stepped forward. Seppo could see the man stuck to the floor by the foam was dead, bent against the wall at an unnatural angle, one leg still planted to the ground.
She wore the uniform of the regional defense forces. She was young, long blonde hair wrapped tightly back in a series of braids. Soot and smoke smeared her face—her eyes were wide with fear.
Seppo smiled at her. Her face remained a tightly controlled mask. An explosion from the quayside rocked the building. Seppo ran back into the control room and looked out the window. Where the ship had been was now a burning conflagration.
The soldier followed him. Seppo saw the flames mirrored on her pale face—a face plainly writ with anxiety. He smiled at her again. She seemed confused.
Seppo picked up the vape pen from his desk and took a long inhale.
“Decoy,” he slowly said. “Not the real ship, dressed up old barge. Just bait.”
It took a moment for the soldier to understand, then finally she smiled too.
The surviving AI-piloted HAG began its egress from the flaming quay accompanied by its remaining drones. Thick black smoke belched from its wounded rotor hub.
On a rooftop along the edge of Raahe, another young reservist stood and fired a MANPADS at the fleeing helicopter.
He watched in satisfaction as it spiraled into the sky and detonated against the HAG’s underbelly.
Anna palaa!
Ben Plotkin is a physician in Southern California. He can be reached at phaenon@gmail.com.
