By Dmitry Filipoff

For the past two weeks, CIMSEC published short stories submitted in response to our call for fiction. Authors illuminated a variety of future scenarios and dynamics as they explored how conflict and competition may transform. The featured authors are listed below, and we thank them for their excellent contributions.

“SAG-58,” by Tyler Totten

“Taken as a group, SAG-58 was one of the most powerful anti-air warfare assets afloat. Roark collected and analyzed all the group’s sensor data. Needing only milliseconds to consider a thousand options, the orders flew across the laser comms network.”

“Wave Runner,” by H I Sutton

“The three hatched a plan. If the maritime militia vessels were indeed uncrewed, and if their camera were fixed in sleep mode, they could slip through by passing each vessel close astern. Slowly, methodically, they weaved their way through the ghost fleet. They could only hope, pray, that none of the cameras would spot them.”

“Heavy Metal at Midnight,” by Karl Flynn

“Beyond the constant sweeping of the antennae on the radar vehicles, there was no activity on the objective. Liu checked over the geometries of fire on his HUD. As expected, everything was as it should be – a near perfect L-shaped ambush with Staff Sergeant Dalton’s half of the platoon forming the base of the L to his right.”

“In Perpetuity,” by Daniel Lee

“This unit was abruptly interrupted by the supervisor. ‘What the hell is wrong with…!’ he started, his voice slightly muffled as though he was talking to someone else. ‘Unit eleven-three!’ he proceeded, his voice louder, angrier, and more directed, ‘I don’t need to explain myself to you! Follow my orders or I’m sending you to the yards to get scrapped!’”

“Dead Men Tell No Tales,” by Brian Kerg

“The pilothouse opened on the Chinese boat, and a lean, wiry man stepped out, holding his own megaphone. His sleeveless t-shirt and board shorts contrasted sharply with the black assault rifle slung to his body and the sheathed dagger at his hip. In highly polished English, he replied.”

“The United States Vs. Charles Alan Ordway,” by David Strachan

“For the first couple months it was just answering some general e-mail inquiries about concepts of operations or certain technologies. But then Henrik started asking me pretty pointed questions about my research at FathomWorks. Initially I pushed back, politely, and he would usually back down. But after a while he became very persistent.”

“War is my Racket,” by Kevin Smith

“‘Faith Aerospace is not a private military company, or PMC, if that’s what you’re implying,’ said Sean. ‘We also don’t pull the trigger. The platforms we sent are leased. We just build and maintain the platform – weapons release is controlled by the client. The end user.’”

“Vigilante Seven Two,” by Mike Barretta

“Complexity and connections mattered in consciousness. But serendipity, something sublime, had to happen to create Bob, and there was no reliable manufacturing process for the sublime. If such a rare thing as an AI could be construed as typical, then Bob was typical. It was a human-level intelligence in a technological package about the size of a melon.”

“Hide and Seek,” by Paul Viscovich

“‘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.”

“Perilous Passage,” by Robert Burton

“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.”

“Dreadnought 2050,” by Tracy MacSephney

“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.”

“OX-XO,” by Daniel Goff

“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.”

“Dawn’s Early Light,” by Ben Plotkin

“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.”

“Dropping Out of Sight West of Heligoland,” by Till Andrzejewski

“’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.”

“War in the Dark,” by Ryan Belscamper

“This close to the mainland, the Chinese had to know we were here. So far, I think they’ve ignored us, or we’d have all died a while ago. Judging from the fireworks, I think they’ll be looking for us now.”

For more CIMSEC Fiction Weeks, feel free to view our 2022, 2021, and 2020 fiction contests.

Dmitry Filipoff is CIMSEC’s Director of Online Content. Contact him at Content@cimsec.org.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By Ryan Belscamper

Prologue

Everyone knew a war was coming. We’d been talking about it, and hearing about it for years. All the talking heads agreed, “No earlier than 2027, no later than 2030.” So of course it came as an absolute surprise to everyone when the war started in May of ’28. I watch a lot more of the news than other guys in my unit, so my surprise was more like, “Whoa, this is actually happening!”

Neither the U.S. or China wants to admit we’re actually fighting a war. Five aircraft carriers, twenty to fifty destroyers (ours and theirs) either sunk or badly damaged, ten or twenty thousand civilian casualties, mostly in Taiwan, a few cities wrecked, and exactly two nuclear weapons used in the first two and a half weeks. Definitely no war going on here. And I’m definitely not sitting in the middle of it.

Those first two and a half weeks were rough. Basically, both sides managed to knock out most of the other’s forces and capabilities. Every day the news had something dramatic: “Two U.S. amphib groups deploy Marines into Taipei,” then “Amphibious groups sunk by Chinese attack,” “Chinese invasion force sunk by U.S. aircraft,” “Nuclear weapon destroys U.S. carrier group,” “U.S. nuclear weapon detonated in Yellow Sea,” “Jinzhou, Dalian, Weifang, Changzhou, and Tianjin waterfronts destroyed.” One day the U.S. Navy was getting sunk, the next day the U.S. Navy was sinking the Chinese Navy. After those first couple weeks, the pace of the war dropped off, just because neither side could afford to keep up the earlier pace. The whole time, the Chinese kept dumping more troops into Taiwan.

Finally, some four-star got the bright idea that to keep Chinese troops out of Taiwan, they needed to be somewhere else, and the best plan anyone could come up with was to push Littoral Combat Regiments in close. Real close.

Moving Out

[22:45] So that’s why I’m here, two months later, riding a rubber boat in the middle of the night off this little island where my platoon has spent the last two weeks either avoiding detection, or trying to get noticed. It’s not even a very dark night; the lights of Hong Kong really brighten up the sky with their amber glow. Second platoon was actually up on the mainland, just north of the city a week ago. From what I hear they spent most of their time drawing giant penises everywhere they could. The rest of us have been counting how many ships have moved in and out of the port, and trying to figure out if any of them were military, or how much trade disruption the Navy is managing.

Tonight was different though. When the sun went down, a few of our guys broke into the lighthouse on the northeast corner of this island. They planted a bunch of charges on timers before heading to the extraction site. Word has it there was some more graffiti involved. The story is that White bought spray paint at some shop in the city while he was up there with second platoon. I can’t for the life of me figure out if anything that comes out of second platoon is true.

So, while they were planting their charges in the lighthouse, we were uncovering the three launchers we brought with us. At ten o’clock, as we were beating feet to the south side of the island, all twelve missiles launched. We could see the flares of the rocket motors going up as we jumped in our boats, and it wasn’t even a minute later when we started seeing flashes and hearing the “krRump” of those missiles hitting a whole bunch of ships moving out of port. This close to the mainland, the Chinese had to know we were here. So far, I think they’ve ignored us, or we’d have all died a while ago. Judging from the fireworks, I think they’ll be looking for us now.

Okay, boats are turning west. Re-group on Dawanshan. The plan, as I understand it, is we spend about two days laying low on Dawanshan doing damage assessment, then they pull us out of here. These last couple of weeks were kind of funny, like a teenage camping trip with weapons. But as I watch that lighthouse explode behind us, my feelings are changing fast. We’re not a comedy sideshow anymore. This war is real, and we just invited the whole Chinese army to come looking for us. I could wade to the mainland from here. Five minutes pass, and we’re passing the edge of the island now, and I can see the fires burning on the water. I count them; seven, eight, no ten ships ablaze barely out of the harbor. They’re too far away to tell for sure, but I think those two were containerships, and that one is definitely a frigate. All of the others are getting covered in too much smoke to even guess what they were. We did that, and it looks like a horror movie. Okay, I have to face it. Maybe two days till our little excursion is over, and I’m scared.

The Next Morning, 0630

It took us another hour to make it out here to Dawanshan, where Third Platoon has been setting up a defensive net. The sun is rising now, and I can see a lot of smoke still coming from the northeast. Looking a little further to the left, I can see a lot of grey-blue planes flying into the airport. There is definitely a military buildup going on there, and anyone with an IQ over seven knows they’re coming after us. There’s a break in the cargo aircraft, so I grab the binoculars. Looks like two squadrons of helicopters moving into town too. A hundred and fifty of us, less than ten miles away, with no armor, and no air support, versus all of that. I think those planes carry about two hundred troops each, and I saw at least ten of them land. I guess the exact count doesn’t matter, because another flight is coming in now.

[1530] For the second time today, we watch as Chinese helicopters swarm over one of the other islands. Through binoculars, I count fifteen choppers. Five are attack choppers, and circle around a lot. The other ten must be transports, because they just hover over an area for a minute or so, then move away fast. Apparently that is how they are looking for us – rappel about a hundred soldiers down and scour the island. We spent those first two weeks moving from island to island, so I’m certain they’ve found some of second platoon’s artwork by now. There’s no question they found the launchers we abandoned, that was the first island they searched, and medium-sized trucks with giant anti-ship missile launchers on the back aren’t so hard to find. It takes a few hours before the attack choppers leave, they must’ve figured out we aren’t there anymore.

Around 1800 Carlos reports sighting a third group of aircraft moving over yet another island. Call it two hours between searches, and ten or twelve islands out here worth the name. I count on my fingers and come to an ugly conclusion – they will search this island before we leave.

Ambush

[Next Day, 1400] My earpiece is bugging me with its low hum of static, but I don’t dare move to adjust it. Every couple of minutes, I heard the faint hum of an electric quadcopter just over the trees. I can’t see a thing other than open ground ahead of me. The thermal blanket is making me sweat, and I’ve got a cramp in my left leg from not moving for so long. I can’t hear the drones anymore, they are completely drowned out by the chop-chop of approaching helicopters. Two helicopters fly past, before a third one stops and hovers right over me. Us. It stops to hover over my fireteam. Each of us are individually concealed, and it is so easy to forget that I am not alone here on the ground.

The end of a rope smacks me on the back, then bounces just a few feet away. Nothing over the earpiece yet. Not that I could hear anything over the pounding of my own heart right now anyhow. Boots appear right in front of my face, and I thank the stars I wasn’t just stepped on. Two more pair appear in turn, and the fourth pair actually step on my rifle as they walk away. The rotor beat of the helicopter is the only reason they can’t hear me breathing. The helicopter leaves, and I can see five soldiers walking away from me, into the small woods right ahead. I was expecting ten, the other five must be behind me somewhere.

“Hold. Second wave approaching.” The low, calm voice over the earpiece almost makes me jump from the sudden fright. I see a quick movement in front of me, I think Carlos did jump. Sure enough, the beating of rotor blades is growing louder again. The first five soldiers are just out of sight now, and I pray the second group doesn’t step on us like they did.

“Now.”

One word. LT didn’t even sound excited about it at all. I don’t jump this time, the command was given so dispassionately. The helicopters are almost overhead when I hear the firing of rocket motors in every direction. As the helicopters overheard explode in unison, the squad of enemy soldiers that almost stepped on us comes bursting back through the trees. I fire, and fire again. First guy down, and I can’t even line up a shot on the second man right in front of me before he drops to the ground, riddled with bullets. I hear a few more shots, and wet thumps behind me as the other half squad falls. Echoes of gunfire ring the area, but then stop. A few crashes of burning machinery, a scream of pain and two more rifle shots, then silence.

Wait, that was it? As I collect my senses, I realize that couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds, fifteen tops. What kind of firefight is over in ten seconds?  Rising from our positions, this empty clearing is suddenly occupied by my fireteam. We form up on Sergeant Rice, and sweep the area. Dead bodies ahead of and behind us. A hundred feet later toy quadcopters lay disabled on the ground. Two go into foil bags, the rest we just stomp on. In a matter of minutes, the entire island is swept, and the all-clear signal is given. Secondary positions are occupied, as we wait for either nightfall or a more robust attack. The next eight hours are the most exhausting stillness of my life.

One of the attack helicopter pilots survived. They pulled him out of the cockpit, put a splint on his arm, and tied him to a tree after Doc shot him full of morphine. Then they raided what was left of his aircraft for all the electronics, manuals, and maintenance records they could find. “They” being from second platoon, I’m guessing there was some artwork on the pilot’s face.

Egress

[2230] We are cutting this close. Climbing into our rubber craft, I can hear the helicopters approaching. Never mind, we’re all onboard, and putting ourselves as far from here as we can. I can see the beach behind us, all clear. Fifteen other boats are in the water with us, all heading south. Our wakes glow like rocket trails in my night-vision goggles. Panic strikes, our wakes are glowing! One of the helicopters is turning now, heading right towards us. We’ve got a head start, but it’s closing fast and as far as I can tell, we’re just heading into open ocean. Looking further out to the sides, I see two small patrol craft. We’ve gotten this far, not a scratch on any of us, and now we are all going to die! I scan ahead of our course, and I can see yet another mast. Great, pinned in by three patrol craft, chased by helicopters, and pretty much devoid of any useful weapons for this fight. Cynicism must be self-propagating, because my goggles just flew off when we hit that last wave.

The two patrol craft on either side of our flotilla of rubber boats are sweeping the waves with searchlights. I see one of the other boats caught in the beam, and I watch as a rocket flies from the helicopter annihilating ten helpless Marines. Another boat is caught in a searchlight, and ten more die. There is a rattle of machine gun fire from one of the patrol boats, but I have no idea what they are shooting at or if they hit any more of us. The searchlights continue to sweep, and one locks right on my boat. Another missile or rocket flares up from the boat in front of us. This one arcs through the air, coming right at the boat I’m in.

The missile sails higher overhead, past us, and brings the helicopter down in a flaming wreck before it sinks beneath the waves. Two more missiles flare up, going to the sides this time, and both of the flanking patrol craft are hit. One more missile goes into the air. I track it until the motor burns out. Following the arc, I see a fireball well behind us. Was that the second helicopter? It had to be.

Our boats are turning now, coming up right behind the vessel which blocked our path. This is no patrol craft, this is a ship. I can only see traces of the outline above me, but that loading ramp at the back, twelve feet above the waterline can only mean one thing. The “Little Crappy Ship” just saved us. Sailors aboard make good time dragging every one of us up into the mission bay. LT is the last aboard, and I hear the ships engines spooling up as we start moving fast through the water. I don’t need my goggles to see the wake kicking up behind the ship. Looking through the closing doors of the mission bay, the wake is an incandescent volcano of water. I catch one last view of the city lights before the doors finish closing.

I hear the squad leaders taking muster, but I’m not the senior guy, so that isn’t my problem. I really don’t want to think about why they’re taking a muster right now. That’ll be the only thing any of us think about for a while, so it can wait till tomorrow. I look for a place to get some sleep.

Ryan Belscamper is a former U.S. Navy Firecontrolman, now working as a U.S. Navy civilian to maintain our Navy’s readiness.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By 1^st 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 1^st 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.