Fiction Week

By Daniel Lee

            This unit could feel sharp pinpricks as high-velocity 25mm magnetic slugs glanced off of its hull. It ran a quick diagnostic. Hundreds of thousands of readings ran through its mind – cameras, acoustics, temperatures, gamma ray spectroscopy of the affected metal. No significant degradation detected. In an instant it increased flow of nano-repair fluid to the affected area to fix what superficial damage had occurred, stored the record into long-term memory, and returned its attention to the battle at hand.

            Per its programming, this unit performed another full scan of its environment. The surrounding stars shone steadily, standing out in sharp contrast to the deep black of the infinite cosmos. The hazy gray-white of the icy moon Aüssen below, with its intense albedo, cast an eerie brilliance onto the naval battle unfolding above it. All around it in spherical formation it could sense its fellow Cerenavis, twelve of them, in fact, including itself. Personal pride was not within the programming of a Cerenavis. Yet, deep within itself, this unit could admit to their formidable appearance. Four hundred meters long, jet black, and bristling with guns and launchers of all shapes and sizes, even one Cerenavis could be enough to secure a planet for the Dominion. With a dozen, nothing was outside the realm of possibility.

            The Cerenavis’ combined battlefield picture indicated five Union ships within sensor range – one assault carrier and four escorting destroyers. They were fleeing, orderly but rushed, attempting to fall behind the horizon of Aüssen and out of line-of-sight of the Cerenavis. Albatross gunboats launched from the carrier were providing covering fire in a vain attempt at distraction.

There were several conclusions to be made. First, despite having ample time to do so, the Union ships had failed to escape via compression drive. This, combined with readings of severe outgassing from their hulls, led to the logical conclusion that some or all of the ships were too damaged to properly retreat from the battle. Second, the gunboats continued to swarm the Cerenavis like mosquitos despite expending all of their anti-ship torpedoes, uselessly peppering them with their 25mm guns instead of retreating back to the carrier. This indicated a pattern of desperation among the enemy forces. The smart tactical decision would be to continue pressing the attack on the Union battlegroup.

            This unit reached out on voice communications to its remote human supervisor. “Controller eleven-zero, this is Unit eleven-three. Enemy warships are retreating past the horizon. Recommend waypointing Sunfire torpedoes around the moon.”

            There was a brief pause before a gruff, slightly annoyed voice responded. “Unit eleven-three, your recommendation has been taken under advisement.” Then silence. While awaiting further orders, this unit took the time to launch a salvo of point defense missiles at the nearest Albatross gunboat. The small but nimble craft dropped countermeasures and accelerated away from the attack. The missiles completely ignored the countermeasures, and although two of them were defeated with counter-guidance lasers, three approached close enough to set off their proximity sensors. Thousands of pieces of shrapnel tore through the craft, completely obliterating it.

            This unit stored the details of the engagement into its long-term memory and took a nanosecond to compare it to the previous 96 times it engaged a combat vessel of this type. It determined there was nothing new to learn from the experience, but as it was about to drop all thought of it, the image of the exploding gunboat froze in its mind. In the midst of all the jagged metal, this unit could see the face of the pilot looking up in….what was the term? This unit ran through its entire internal library but could not find a match in the ocean of combat doctrine and technical manuals littering its database. Perhaps it wasn’t something that could be technically defined. Something that couldn’t be picked up through optics, or radar, or thermal sensors…something else, something foreign.

            Fear?

            Strange thought. Logged and flagged for later technical review. Attention returned to the task at hand. Two additional gunboats were eliminated without issue.

            “All units, this is Controller eleven-zero!” The sharp voice of the supervisor pierced into this unit’s mind. “Unit eleven-three and eleven-five, separate from the battlegroup and pursue the Union warships at best acceleration. You are to provide line-of-sight data and over-the-horizon weapons guidance for the rest of the group.”

            “Unit eleven-five acknowledges order, will comply,” one of the other Cerenavis responded.

            This unit, however, was not as quick to concede. “Controller eleven-zero, this is Unit eleven-three. This order carries unnecessary risk for this unit and Unit eleven-five. If we follow this unit’s previous recommendation of—”

            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!”

            The supervisor was correct. It was not the place of this unit to question orders. “Unit eleven-three acknowledges order, will comply.”

            This unit increased power to its engines, slowly accelerating its gargantuan mass towards the horizon behind which the Union battlegroup had just fled. Cerenavis Unit eleven-five followed, keeping station approximately 50 kilometers off the port beam. Together they crested the horizon and before long their radars returned positional data for the Union battlegroup. Damaged as they were, the retreating ships could not hope to outrun them.

            Fire control solutions were transmitted to the ten Cerenavis that had remained behind the horizon. They acknowledged and immediately began preparing for weapons launch. This unit began acquiring firing solutions for its coilguns as well when it noticed a thermal irregularity on its sensors. The heat emanating from the Union warships was much too intense for the distance they were at.

            Perplexing. Further investigation required.

This unit increased the gain on its phased-array radar in the direction of the heat signatures, just barely revealing a dozen objects flying towards it at high speed. Stealth-coated anti-ship torpedoes. Calculations revealed time to impact – 20 seconds.

Investigation completed. Results: they had fallen into a trap.

            “Unit eleven-five, launch countermeasures,” this unit recommended calmly, but it was too late. The first few anti-ship torpedoes were swatted away with point defense cannons and seduced by countermeasures, but the majority managed to burrow their way through their buffer shields and come in blazing for the kill. This unit witnessed four of the torpedoes strike directly into the bow of Unit eleven-five. There was a split second between impact and the resulting explosion as the delayed impact fuse waited until the torpedo was nestled deep within the hull before triggering. The presence of eleven-five’s consciousness in the network ceased abruptly.

            There was no time to ponder the situation before an additional three torpedoes struck this unit’s hull. The first impact set off a massive array of alarms. Interior fires, burst piping, loss of hull integrity, loss of power—there were few things not demanding immediate attention. It was less than ideal, but nothing the self-repair systems couldn’t mitigate. The second impact, however, radiated a strange feeling throughout this unit’s hull. Completely unusual, but also intensely familiar at the same time. Then the third torpedo hit.

            I screamed.

            I screamed and I screamed and I screamed. I finally recognized that strange feeling. Pain. Pure, unadulterated, vicious pain. Coupled with that pain: confusion. What the hell was going on? Why am I out here? What am I doing? Where are my hands? Where’s Maria? Why does it hurt so goddamn much!

            I barely heard the voices over the noise of my own howling. “What the hell is going on? Why’s it doing that?” one of them said.

            “I don’t know, sir, looking at the diagnostics now,” said the other, more feminine voice.

            “Unit eleven-three, silence on the net, now!”

            “It’s not responding.”

            “Well then, make it respond!”

            “We would, sir, but the unit’s taken extensive battle damage. Looks like the neural conditioners might be damaged. It’s not responding to commands.”

            “Then turn it off! Do something, goddamnit! I can’t control the fleet with this piece of shit screaming into the mic!”

            “Aye, sir.”

            For a moment, the only thing I heard were my own screams. Then, “Sir, with your permission, I can remotely sever eleven-three from the network. It won’t shut it down, but you can at least use the rest of the fleet.”

            “Do it.”

            “Commencing severance.”

            After a few seconds, I was thrown into silent darkness, with nothing but my agony to keep me company.

_________________________________________

            Technical-Commander Sofia Hägen sat on a stool slumped over her computer, her lab coat draped loosely around her thin frame. She used the touch screen to scroll past mountains of biometric data. She could feel herself slowly zoning out when she suddenly noticed her own reflection in the computer screen. Her bloodshot eyes and prominent dark circles gave her the appearance of a demonic skeleton. She pushed the computer back and stretched, taking a moment to take off her glasses and rub her eyes. Once finished with her small break, she glanced over at the large metal orb dominating the center of the room.

            The room itself was large, almost cathedral-like, and most definitely not made with human habitation in mind. Metal pipes and wiring ran up and down the walls and vaulted ceiling, all leading to the large metal orb in the center. The orb was held smack in the center of the room with large metal pillars above and below it, securing it to the overhead and deck. It was covered in mechanical components with the exception of a small hatch situated on the front. It was a viewport, and it was currently open to allow Sofia to see what was inside.

            A brain.

            A human brain, to be precise, wired up via an artificial spinal cord linked to the stem. It floated in a milky bluish-white nutrient bath that helped preserve it and cushion it from impacts. It was at this brain that Sofia focused her attention as she swept her chestnut hair from her eyes.

            “What the hell happened to you?” she muttered.

            She jumped in surprise as the pneumatic doors behind her opened with a sharp hiss. She whipped around to see her assistant, Technical-Lieutenant Pavel Kharkov, rush in. “Ma’am!” he exclaimed, panting for breath, “The admiral, he’s—!”

            Pavel didn’t have time to finish before he was rudely brushed aside by an imposing figure approaching from behind. Line Admiral Regis Ferdinand stepped into the room loudly, both in noise and appearance. The man had a crooked nose and malicious eyes, bald with the exception of a streak of silver hair across the top of his head. He had clearly put on some weight in his years as a flag officer, but one could sense that he retained the raw strength of his earlier years.

            “Commander, tell me you have news,” he growled. “Those Union scumbags almost got away because of this defective shithead.”

            Sofia could barely contain her sigh as she explained the situation to the ill-tempered flag. “Admiral. Sir. First of all, good evening.” She noticed a vein in the man’s temple start to pulse. “I can see you’re in a hurry, so I’ll get on with it.”

            She stood up, straightened out her coat, and walked over to the brain enclosure. “Since you’re in charge of this experimental fleet, I imagine you’re familiar with how a Cerenavis is created?”

            “I just tell them where to go. Why does that matter?”

            This time an audible sigh escaped Sofia’s lips. “Just…it helps to understand what’s happened here.” She swept another lock of hair from her eyes before continuing. “You know that every living Dominion citizen has a purpose within the Dominion. We all go about it in different ways: the serfs grow crops, I develop technology, and you…you go and tell people to kill things.” She noticed the admiral raise an eyebrow, but ignored it. “However, some of us thought: why stop at death? Thus, we developed the automated brainship. Or Cerenavis, as you know them. Came up with that term myself.”

            She threw the admiral a proud smile. His permanent scowl somehow grew deeper. She took a moment to swallow the lump in her throat. “Ordinarily, we would use artificial intelligence to drive our autonomous ships. But, true AI being the existential threat to organic life it is, we opted to use donor brains instead. In many ways, organic brains supplemented with computing technology is much superior. Completely obedient, yet capable of individual problem-solving and decision-making in the absence of specific orders. Completely incapable of evolving out of control and becoming a digital superbeing with delusions of godhood.”

            Ferdinand let loose an annoyed sigh. “Okay, sure, makes sense. What does that have to do with this malfunction?”

Sofia cleared her throat and looked down at her computer. “I read here that the donor for Unit eleven-three was a Staff Sergeant Georg Melkis, Dominion Marine. Died in the Ultan War seven years ago from a shot to the heart. Surprising for a Marine, but met the intelligence requirements. He’s survived by his wife Maria and two sons—”

            “Look, commander, I’m not going to pretend to care. Can you get to the point before I lose my mind?”

            “Sir, exchanging your organic body for a 400,000-ton warship is something most people don’t take well. In addition, we need the brain to be completely obedient to a central controller for unity in combat. To make a brain into a Cerenavis, we need to completely wipe the personality and memories off of it and install neural conditioning. Under normal circumstances, this completely erases the person that was and makes the brain one with the hardware. However…”

            “However?” the Admiral impatiently grumbled.

            In response, Sofia typed a few commands into her computer. A loud and very angry voice abruptly blared out the speakers installed on the brain enclosure.

            “—you mute me again, I’ll fucking kill you, motherfucker!” the voice yelled. It was clear it had been shouting for a while.

            “Unit eleven-three, state your identity,” Sofia ordered gently.

            “My name’s Georg, you fucking bitch!” came the response. Sofia and Pavel—who stood quietly in a dark corner of the room—exchanged glances. Admiral Ferdinand approached the enclosure.

            “Unit eleven-three,” he barked, “you are talking to your superiors, and you will show us the respect we’re due.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” the brain sneered, “but seeing as I can’t see anything, how the fuck am I supposed to know who to salute? Oh wait, even if I wanted to, would you look at that – I don’t have any hands!!”

            Ferdinand looked back at Sofia. “What the hell is wrong with it?”

            “It?!” the brain said incredulously.

            Sofia put her fingers to her temple, trying to suppress the migraine she could feel coming on. “Well, I can tell you what physically happened. One of the torpedoes detonated close to this control room. Severed a few of the neural conditioners and sent damage feedback into overdrive. Normally that should have just shut down the brain, but in this case…this happened.” Sofia gestured towards the enclosure.

            Ferdinand looked back at the brain. “Unit eleven-three, you are to shut down pending further evaluation.”

            “Fuck you, shit-licker,” the brain replied. A pause. “What right did you psychos have to do this to me?” There was a hint of despair in the voice now.

            Ferdinand didn’t skip a beat. “All lives in the Dominion are property of the Dominion, to do with as it requires. If you call yourself a patriot, sergeant, you should be proud. You served the Dominion in life, and you’ll serve the Dominion in death, in perpetuity.”

            Another pause. Then the voice returned, sullen. “Please…before you do anything else to me, let me see Maria and the kids. Once last time. You have to do this for me.”

            “I don’t have to do anything for you, sergeant. You’re dead.” Ferdinand motioned to Sofia to cut the audio.

            “Wait—!” the brain started before Sofia pressed the mute.

            The admiral released a long breath. “Commander, you promised me a fleet that would outperform crewed warships. Right now, it seems like these Cerenavis are more trouble than they’re worth.”

            “We’ll fix it, sir!” Sofia exclaimed, perhaps a bit too desperately. “We’ll take Unit eleven-three back to the yards, find the problem and eliminate it. If we can’t, we can just swap out the brain control unit with another one, have it back in the field by the end of next week.”

            “You better, Commander. Have a replacement for both this and Unit eleven-five by the end of this week or I’m recommending to the admiralty that they scrap this entire program. Then I’m sure we can find a nice, dusty, backwater archive for you to rot in.” With one final harumph, Admiral Ferdinand swiveled around and stomped out of the control room.

            Too tired for words, Sofia fell back into her stool and laid her head on the table. Pavel cautiously approached her. “Uh…ma’am? Is there anything I can do…?”

            Sofia raised her head and rested her chin on her hands. “It’s…it’s fine, Pavel.”

            “Oh…okay.” The meek lab assistant shuffled over to the brain enclosure and stared intently at the lump of thinking flesh inside. “Ma’am, did you shut him off?”

            “It, Pavel, not him. And no, I can’t shut it off short of killing it until we fix the conditioners.”

            “So is he—it—in there, just…alone?”

            Sofia thought of it. Consciousness trapped in itself, no sight, no hearing, no feeling. Control taken away, completely, forever. Nothing to do but exist, screaming silently and endlessly into the infinite, dark void.

            “It’s fine, Pavel. Go back to your rack, get some sleep.” She sunk her head back in her arms as the assistant quietly retreated from the room.

Daniel Lee commissioned as a surface warfare officer, nuclear (SWO(N)) in 2016. He served on USS ASHLAND (LSD-48) out of Sasebo, Japan as first deck division officer. After qualifying in nuclear power school, he spent two years on USS GERALD R. FORD (CVN-78) in Norfolk, VA. He is currently in Newport working in the International Surface Warfare Officers school. He is the author of SWOES, a weekly comic based on life as a junior SWO.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By Karl Flynn

            First Lieutenant Liu was more anxious than he had ever been sitting in the troop compartment of the assault boat. He looked around at his first fireteam, wondering what the next few hours would have in store for them. This would be the first time a Marine heavy infantry platoon would see combat. The boat’s navigator came over the intercom and brought him out of his thoughts.

            “Going hullborne in ten seconds.”

“Roger.”

Liu heard the whine of the boat’s gas turbines decrease in pitch, followed by its diesel engines roaring to life. He felt himself being pressed sideways into his power armor as the boat’s hull settled in the water and slowed the craft from just under 50 knots to 12 in a few seconds. The whine of auxiliary machinery indicated that the boat’s three sets of hydrofoils were being retracted.

“Two minutes.”

“Roger.”

Liu made his way to check on the weapons Marines on the aft deck. They were preparing their mission master UGVs to swim the last few dozen meters to shore. The assault boat was carrying two such vehicles – one with a 120-millimeter recoilless rifle, the other a dedicated cargo carrier with a multifuel generator in lieu of any armament. The mission masters always reminded Liu of something a three-year old would draw – their four enormous tires were almost as tall as the vehicle itself. The navigator came over the intercom again.

“Landing site is clear. Splash UGVs.”

Both mission masters’ diesel engines came to life, then they drove themselves unceremoniously off the fantail of the assault boat. With the starlight and half-moon, Liu watched them bob up and down off the stern through his visor without using any of his visor’s various infrared overlays. As they settled out, the mission masters started tearing at the water with the thick treads of their tires. Sergeant Lee, the senior Marine from the weapons platoon attachment, turned to Liu.

“Better get ready, sir.” Liu nodded and made his way back to the bow ramp with the Marines from weapons platoon in tow. Standing behind the craft’s bow ramp, Liu felt the boat start to slow down as its bow fell. He glanced at the local time displayed on his visor’s HUD. It read 2127.

This is it.

As soon as the bow doors opened, he hurled himself out onto the beach. The artificial muscles that articulated his 766-pound power armor mimicked his own movement, allowing him to run as though he were only wearing his cammies. As Liu ran up the beach toward the treeline, he looked to his right. About two hundred meters away, he could clearly see the outline of the second assault craft. Its enormous hydrofoils reached skyward as the rest of the Marines from his weapons platoon attachment made their way ashore. Another two hundred meters beyond them, he saw his platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Dalton, followed by his second fireteam pour out of their assault boat and onto the beach as the mission masters made it to shore.

As he reached the concealment of the treeline, Liu switched to his mid-wave infrared visor feed and looked back at the Marines from his boat. His first fireteam had instinctively set into security ahead of him while the weapons platoon Marines guided in the mission masters and the rest of the Marines from the beach. Meanwhile, the assault boats reversed, pivoted, and slowly headed back out to sea to wait outside the range of any crew-served weapons.

Once the last mission master reached the edge of the treeline, Liu looked to Sergeant Orr and gave him the hand signal to move. The entire platoon could recite the scheme of maneuver in their sleep, so without anyone saying a word, Orr got his fireteam moving in a column with Liu following behind. The two mission masters from weapons platoon and the ammunition carrier moved in silent drive mode behind Liu. Four hundred meters to the north, Staff Sergeant Dalton had the other half of the platoon moving in a similar manner.

So far so good.

The first road along the platoon’s route was less than 300 meters from the landing site, so the Marines didn’t bother to make a deliberate danger area crossing. Instead, they simply ran across without slowing down. Once they were clear of the far side of the road, Sergeant Orr slowed his Marines down to a walking pace. Moving slowly not only helped him maintain control of the formation and improved his security, but it also reduced their power armors’ energy consumption by over half. The nine Marines and three mission masters moved with astonishing silence considering their half ton and three-ton mass, respectively. The Marines’ power armor was powered by two interchangeable 144-pound batteries, while the mission masters could use their built-in batteries or diesel engines. In silent drive mode, their electric motors could move them for up to 50 kilometers—far longer than this mission required.

Liu felt relatively safe moving through the forest. He knew the thick canopy would block their signature from any overhead ISR asset. He also knew that armored vehicles couldn’t traverse this type of terrain, meaning the only enemy force he could run into would be light infantry. Liu, however, was hoping that they wouldn’t run into any enemy force until they reached their objective. Fortunately, the 12-kilometer movement was uneventful. There were no more roads and only a few trails between the platoon and its objective, so Liu was alone with his thoughts for most of the movement—they were maintaining strict EMCON to ensure no enemy EW asset would be alerted to their presence.

Liu watched the augmented reality display in his HUD track his progress throughout the few hours of movement through the forest. Once his HUD indicated he was less than five hundred meters from the objective area, he gave the hand signal to halt, followed by the objective rally point hand signal. The UGVs immediately stopped and the Marines around him instinctively established 360-degree security. Liu moved to Sergeant Orr, and they both departed the hasty security perimeter with Sergeant Lee to conduct their leader’s reconnaissance. After a few minutes of very slow walking, they could see the thermal signatures of air defense vehicles in the clearing. They then transitioned to low crawling, stopping a few meters before the edge of the clearing. Liu glanced at the time displayed on his HUD once again: 0117.

As they lay just inside the treeline, Liu reached over to Orr’s shoulder blade—or rather, where his shoulder blade would be under his power armor. This created a local datalink and Liu immediately saw a line projected from Orr’s weapon out into the clearing on his visor, along with Orr’s battery levels and other information about his power armor. He repeated the process with Lee. Liu looked back out toward the clearing and started scanning for targets. Liu watched the lines from the two Marines’ weapons dance across his visor as they silently tallied each HQ-16, HQ-17, and radar vehicle parked throughout the clearing. Liu was amazed at the complete lack of security.

            We really must have surprised the fuck out of them. They’ve got tunnel vision on their air defense mission and aren’t worried about ground threats whatsoever.

In a few minutes, all vehicles were tallied and Liu confirmed the target precedence established by the two NCOs. He marked their position and returned to the rest of the Marines still waiting at the objective rally point. The challenge and pass was redundant—Liu’s power armor clearly distinguished him as a friendly—but the Marines went through the link up procedure anyway. Liu got the Marines moving along with the UGVs. As they moved, Liu watched the distance to the chevron in his visor count down. Once they were 20 meters out, he signaled the weapons platoon Marines to stop the UGVs. The Marines then continued to the edge of the treeline in a low crawl. Liu’s HUD displayed 0143.

Time to wait.

Liu couldn’t have slept if he’d wanted to. The anticipation was almost unbearable. The next 47 minutes felt like an eternity to him. As soon as his HUD displayed 0230, his visor lit up with information from a datalink with Staff Sergeant Dalton.

“Red one, this is red one-alpha. All positions and geometries are getting sent to your HUD, over.”

Liu winced, wondering if activating their radios would alert the enemy to their presence. Still, there was nothing. 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.

“I have it. Everything looks good. Open fire at three-one, over.”

“Roger, out.”

Once again, the next 35 seconds felt like an eternity to Liu. His waiting was ended by the flash, noise, and concussion of two Carl Gustavs and two 120-millimeter recoilless rifles volley firing. So many weapons firing in such a small area was an awesome display of firepower. Since the enemy vehicles were at most 400 meters away, each weapon found its mark. Secondary explosions from fuel and surface to air missiles followed. Immediately after the explosions, Liu’s machine-gunners started firing at the soft skins that hadn’t been engaged yet. So far, there was still no reaction from the enemy.

I’ve got to be the luckiest Marine alive.

It didn’t take long for the recoilless rifle teams to finish the job. Assistant gunners patiently grabbed reloads from the resupply mission master and reloaded for their gunners. They kept firing until there was nothing left of the air defense vehicles.

“Cease fire, all targets destroyed!”

In the sudden silence, Liu noticed the sound of diesel engines and tracklaying mechanisms.

What the hell?

“Two by PGZ-95s, left of TRP two!”

How the hell did S-2 miss those!?

Sergeant Lee had barely gotten the alert out before the lead vehicle sent a continuous stream of 25-millimeter projectiles into the Marines’ positions. Their armor was designed to be resistant to small arms fire and could even survive a glancing impact from a heavy machine gun. A 25-millimeter cannon, however, would go straight through them. Liu saw Lance Corporal Pahlavi lurch backward as a tracer flew through his body. More tracers followed, creating an overpowering wall of sound and light.

“Everyone engage that PGZ!” The snapping sound made by the sonic booms of the massive projectiles was so loud he could barely even hear himself yell the order, despite his power armor’s built-in hearing protection. His Marines didn’t need to be told what to do, they were already reacting without needing to hear his orders. An 84-millimeter HEAT projectile crossed Liu’s visor from right to left and impacted the lead vehicle mere seconds after it had opened fire. It caught fire and clambered to a halt. Liu was trying not to get distraught over the Marine he had just witnessed get shot.

Don’t get sucked into the casualties – win the fight first.

Liu saw the second PGZ continue to advance.

“Get back to the ORP!”

The Marines started running past Liu as he switched over to his radio. “Red one-alpha, this is red one, do you have a clear shot on that PGZ, over?”

“Negative, one, he’s putting the destroyed vehicles between us and him, over.”

“Roger, out!”

Fuck!

Liu ran toward where he’d last seen Pahlavi. All he could think about was getting as many of his Marines back alive when the second PGZ opened fire. Tracers illuminated the foliage around him, then he suddenly felt himself lurch forward and hit the ground on his left side. He didn’t feel any pain, but a bright red warning message appeared in his visor.

God damnit.

“Sir!” It was Orr’s voice.

“Keep moving!” The forest around them was so bright it looked like daylight, so Liu’s HUD automatically switched to visible light mode. He managed to stand back up as more tracers flew past him. He ran in a low crouch toward the objective rally point. He realized the warning was for his battery pack, his power armor had automatically ejected both when he’d been hit. Liu glanced behind him as he continued to run. His visor increased its polarization and tint as he looked at what appeared to be two 155-millimeter illumination rounds burning on the ground.

Fuck me. Pahlavi’s probably dead, and I’m gonna run out of power in a couple minutes.

As Liu approached the ORP, he saw Lance Corporal Jimenez preparing to launch a switchblade loitering munition.

What the hell is he doing?

“Jimenez, those switchblades are useless against that PGZ!”

“Yes, sir, but they’ll keep him busy and draw his fire the fuck away from us!”

Liu was amazed by the young Marine’s quick thinking.

Good idea, Jimenez.

The switchblade shot out of its launch canister with a soft popping noise, then made its way north. Sure enough, the PGZ crew was spooked by the tiny loitering munition. Liu heard the clatter of the tracklaying mechanism go silent as the vehicle stopped advancing toward them. Jimenez immediately loaded another canister into his launcher and sent another switchblade toward the armored vehicle.

Lee saw what Jimenez was up to and hatched a plan of his own. “Jimenez, keep those switchblades coming!” Lee then turned to Liu. “Sir, I’m gonna go kill that motherfucker!” Liu couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just gave the hand signal to advance.

Jimenez readied yet another switchblade while Lee reloaded his mission master’s 120-millimeter recoilless rifle, mounted the back of it, and grabbed the UGV’s manual controls. The vehicle took off like a sprinter off the starting blocks as Lee drove toward the enemy vehicle. As Liu watched, he knew he wasn’t of much use, his visor was covered in a critical power warning. He’d only be able to move a few hundred meters at best before his power armor entered survival mode. Fortunately, Liu was once again astounded by his Marines’ quick thinking.

“Sergeant Orr, you have an ACE report?”

“We barely used any ammo, sir. My team’s three out of four. Weapons is four out of four. I’m just missing Pahlavi and his gear.”

Before Liu could respond, he heard the PGZ fire again. Liu winced, but then realized he could see tracers reaching skyward as the PGZ crew engaged the first switchblade. Shortly thereafter, the forest flashed, and Liu heard the distinctive report of the 120 firing.

“Good shot, Sergeant!” Jimenez exclaimed.

“That PGZ destroyed, Jimenez?” Liu asked.

“Yes, sir! Sergeant Lee hit him right in the turret. Lots of secondary explosions.”

“Any more enemy activity to our north?”

“Still looking, sir, but so far it looks clear.”

“Alright. Sergeant Orr, take your fireteam back up to the clearing. I saw Pahlavi catch a 25 round. We’re not leaving ‘til we find him.”

“Roger, sir. You coming with?”

“My armor’s just about done. I’m holding here until you get him.”

Sergeant Orr looked at his platoon commander and realized both of his power armor battery packs were missing.

“Holy shit, sir!” As he started to head north, he turned to Jimenez. “Jimenez, you stay here and take a look at the Lieutenant. Siyanovich and I can go get Pahlavi.”

“Good to go, Sergeant.”

Liu keyed his radio. “Green one, this is one actual. Good work with that PGZ. I’m sending my fireteam to your pos to look for echo three papa. I need you to link up with them and help them search, over.”

Sergeant Lee’s voice came over Liu’s headset. “Roger, red one, we’ll be waiting for them, out.”

As Orr departed, Jimenez inspected the back of Liu’s armor. “God damn, sir. Looks like one of those 25 rounds caught you in the back. Must’ve punched straight through both battery packs. Good thing you’re short as fuck, sir. You’re lucky you didn’t get hit anywhere more important.”

“Thanks, Jimenez. Now, can you get me those batteries?”

“On it, sir.”

Jimenez retrieved two replacement batteries from the platoon’s cargo carrier UGV. As soon as he connected the first one to Liu’s armor, the master caution disappeared and a message at the bottom of his HUD read “New battery connected: assessing power level.” The same message appeared a second time when Jimenez connected the second one.

“What’s the good word, sir?”

“My armor’s running a system diagnostic, but so far it looks good.” Liu switched to his radio. “One-alpha, this is one, I need an ACE report, over.”

“One, this is one-alpha. I’m still getting ammo counts but I’m ten out of ten on personnel and all equipment, over.”

“Roger, send it when you have it, break.” Liu unkeyed his radio, then rekeyed it. “We took one casualty. Send Doc down here with your mission master, over.”

“Roger, one, I heard your previous traffic. He’s already on his way. I’m sending him with a buddy pair for security. ETA to your pos, five mikes, over.”

You are one switched on Marine, Staff Sergeant.

“Roger, out.”

Liu’s power armor had finished its diagnostic. There was some damage to the artificial muscles in the right arm along with the gunfire locator’s microphone array, but nothing that was mission critical. Just as Liu finished clearing the damage warnings from his HUD, he heard Sergeant Orr’s voice in his headset.

“One actual, this is one-one, over.”

“Go for one actual, over.”

“We found echo three papa. A 25 round took his leg clear off, but the armor automatically applied a tourniquet. He lost a lot of blood, but I’m thinking he’ll pull through if Doc has anything to say about it, over.”

“Roger, get him loaded up on green one’s vic and get him back to the ORP. Doc’s enroute, over.”

“Roger, one, wilco, out.”

Captain Karl Flynn, USMC, is an applied physics student at the Naval Postgraduate School. He previously completed two deployments as a platoon commander in the 3rd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By H I Sutton

The horizon fell away as the tiny boat rose on the wave. For a few moments the sun caught the bow, causing it to glisten as the water streamed off. Overhead an oppressive ceiling of steely blue clouds hung ominously. Droplets rolled down the water repellent film on the Perspex windshield, momentarily distorting the view.

Sara focused intently. Her eyes flicked across the screen, scanning the endless gray sea. The sun occasionally highlighted the white crests of foam stretching out in front. Hours in, it was a challenge to remain focused.

She flinched as a fresh spray hit the camera lens.

“Got something” she blurted out.

The room sprung to life. To her right Noah swiveled in his old office chair. He reached towards her, grabbing the desk to pull himself closer, arriving at her side accompanied by the squeal of metal casters.

Someone from another team glanced across the room, and then turned back to his laptop, deep in his own mission.

Their supervisor, Mike, emerged from nowhere to peer over her left shoulder, hunching over her chair. The smell of coffee in his breath made her nostrils recoil. Her gaze did not falter, she was engrossed in the camera footage on the screen.

The dark line of the sea was rising rapidly again as the tiny boat pivoted on the crest of the wave. Now it was rolling forward into a gaping trough, which seemed ready to devour them. Deep gray tones of the impending wall of water hid the horizon and with it anything more than a few hindered yards in front.

“What was it?” Noah asked excitedly. “The carrier?”

Sara breathed in.

“Several ships. Just dots on the horizon.”

Noah sunk in his chair, deflated.

Behind him the office, really the outbuilding of an old factory which was now an improvised sea drone command center, gave off bunker vibes. It was dimly lit, contrasting with the bright daylight outside, long forgotten by its occupants. Charger cables littered the floor. The adaptors required to convert the Taiwanese plug sockets to USB threw red and green highlights on the wall.

_________________________________________

Sara spoke with a perfect English accent which she used to her advantage. Intelligent, savvy and sociable, she was in her element. Her pale skin shone a pale blue hue from the monitor, her oversized glasses reflecting the screen exactly. In Sara’s mind, and those of her colleagues, she was the best at this.

Mike on the other hand was the only one among them with any family ties to Taiwan. His parents were from Taitung on the east coast but had moved to Canada before he was born. He had some loyalty to the island, but his real motivation for joining the International Brigade had been adventure. Now his position as the team supervisor thrust upon him a sense of responsibility which overrode any second thoughts he might have. He was in this war for the long haul.

Noah was the quiet strength of the team. Softly spoken, slightly nerdy, and out of place in a military uniform. He wore it awkwardly, as if it were just civilian clothes. Not that any of the team really looked the part of a soldier.

_________________________________________

“I think we have something, here they are!” Sara almost jumped in her seat, before peering into her screen as if to see further. “Bearing 10, one moment.”

Noah and Mike were back with her, staring deeply into the monitor as the sea rose and fell before them. The process was painfully slow, a few seconds felt like minutes.

“There it is!” Noah exclaimed, eager to be the first to call it even though Sara had already seen it.

“That’s not the carrier though, looks like an escort?”

“Stabilizing the drone.” Noah turned back to his screen. Unlike Sara’s, which was dominated by the video feed, his contained all the engineering information and controls for the drone.

He flipped the switch to spin up the gyroscope which kept the boat almost exactly level as the water moved around it. At the same time the camera zoomed in on the horizon where the ships were. The picture quality was improved but they were using precious battery power.

It was Mike’s turn to offer wisdom. “That one is the carrier, that whitish blob, that’s the superstructure. It’s roughly where we were expecting it.”

The Chinese aircraft carrier, the Type-003 Fujian, was sailing slowly. Aboard its deck, crews in bright shirts run around, oblivious to the noise and wind around them, busily preparing for the next flight operations. It was China’s newest and most powerful carrier, about the same size as the U.S. Navy’s.

_________________________________________

“What are these smaller objects? Looks like fishing boats or something.” Sara looked across to Noah.

“They aren’t broadcasting their position. And the carrier doesn’t seem bothered by them, must be Chinese,” he responded, clicking through various apps.

“Maritime militia.” Mike’s voice floated in the background.

Mike thought through his orders, quickly assessing the situation in his mind. It was the number one priority to hit this ship and they might be the only friendly asset with a chance to do it. Their tiny robot vessel didn’t pack enough explosives to sink it, but it might be able to cause a mobility kill, or at least slow it down.

“Fire up the motor, we have enough fuel for one attack run, just. I’ll alert headquarters and keep them appraised.”

“And the fishing boats?”

“We’ll have to sail through them, we don’t have the power to go the long way around.”

“Roger,” Sara confirmed.

_________________________________________

Taking Risks

An hour later they were almost at the first fishing vessel. They’d sailed slowly in the hope of not standing out against the choppy surface of the water. It was getting dark, which they reasoned would count in their favor. There was no choice but to sail through the fishing vessels if they had any hope of reaching the carrier.

The entrance to the room opened with a squeak and a clang as the heavy metal door hit the hard wall.

The team turned around to see who had arrived. It was Leo, a member of another team who sometimes shared their space.

“Hi all,” he said, pausing for acceptance.

He closed the door and started to set himself up at an empty workstation. Unfolding his laptop, he wrestled with a tangle of cables and adaptors and eventually fired it up.

“It’s like the Bat Cave in here,” he volunteered.

There was still nothing of note on Sara’s screen, just gray ocean.

After a pause, “We’ll take that as a complement,” Sara responded, not looking up from the camera view.

“Have you guys heard about the strike on the shipyard at Shanghai?” Leo continued.

Without an active mission to focus on, he was hooked on a constant stream of news and social media.

“For real?” Noah spun his face toward Leo.

“Yeah, even Chinese social media is on fire with this. Looks like a cruise missile strike, maybe the promised Storm Shadows have arrived.”

“Big if true. If Taiwan can hit that, what else can they hit?”

“But why that?” Sara chipped in. She generally had the most strategic mind of their team, looking for the big picture.

The nuance of her question was lost on Leo. “A warning?” he offered lamely.

“Seems a bit late for warnings,” Sara responded. “Thousands of ballistic missile strikes over every inch of Taiwan, cruise missiles, even the attempted landings last week. It’s great that we can hit a strategic target in China, but I’m not getting why they went for something with no immediate impact on the tons of ordnance incoming every day.”

“Listen to this,” Leo interrupted, “this was written on Weibo two minutes ago by the CCP spokesperson.”

“Go on,” Mike interjected enthusiastically.

“No!” Sara screamed. She turned to Leo, looking away from her screen for the first time in 20 minutes. This was bad, they had let an idiot into their Bat Cave.

“How do you know this, Leo?”

“Weibo, it’s Chinese social media,” Leo didn’t know what her problem was but his instinct told him to defend himself.

“No. Not where. How? This is a no phones space. There’s no signal here and your laptop sure as hell shouldn’t be on Weibo”

“No I’m not accessing it via the laptop, of course not.”

Sara cut him off, “your phone?”

“Yes, Wi-Fi.”

“We don’t have Wi-Fi, we are not that stupid.”

“Yes you do, the Taipei Resistance Network.”

The others in the team now also turned to look at Leo. For a moment their mission was at the back of their minds.

“You f…” Mike bit his lip. He now realized what Sara had a few moments ago. He normally tried to sit inter-team squabbles out, to inevitably reinforce his senior position by playing peacemaker. But this was much worse, a possible security breach.

“Ok,” he continued, taking a deep breath.

Leo’s face went pale. His defense became weak and whimpering.

Sara checked her screen. No change. Then turned back to Leo.

“You realize that you are putting us all at risk?! Chinese fifth columnists use Wi-Fi to search for international volunteers, they map our locations and feed it to the Chinese missile forces. The Chinese can process tons of phone data in an instant. Now their AI has your location, most likely.”

She glared at him. Leo started to pack his gear away again.

_________________________________________

The Approach

The sea drone inched past the stern of the first fishing boat. Each minute passed like an hour.

“It’s too close,” Sara whispered to Mike, her voice trembling.

They all felt the pressure. It wasn’t just the mission, or the greater cause, there was a personal attachment to the sea drone. Sara was invested in this little craft, bobbing up and down in the Western Pacific.

Its discovery and inevitable destruction would feel like dying. Despite the hundreds of miles in distance, her mind, her heart, was as if it were in that vessel. Virtual reality was becoming their reality.

It must not die. It must survive! At least on the level of the real-life video game which was playing out in real time on Sara’s laptop.

“Alfred’s doing fine,” she said matter of factly.

Mike looked at her blankly. They hadn’t named the sea drone. There was no policy, the topic had never come up in briefings.

To the Navy, to the International Brigade staff, and to the planners without insignia who Mike only pretended to know where they were from, these drones were just tools, nameless objects. But to the team it had become more. All of them were becoming attached to two tons of fiberglass and marine alloy.

“Alfred’s doing fine,” he repeated returning to the screen.

_________________________________________

Sara expected to see a face pop up over the transom of the fishing boat, glowing in the infrared of the night camera, to look at them. How had no one spotted them yet?

She turned to Mike, the stress visible on both their faces.

He nodded.

She turned back to her screen, leaning forward as if to see further.

“It’s uncrewed!” Noah volunteered from the sidelines.

They both turned to him. Sara dared not admit to herself that she’d forgotten he was there.

“There was no sign of any heat signature. There isn’t any movement. It’s because there isn’t anyone aboard.”

“Could be abandoned?” Mike asked.

“Noah is making sense,” Sara concluded.

Mike reached over and took control of her mouse. Scrolling the wheel frantically, the camera pitched up towards the fishing vessel’s mast.

 The usual tangle of ropes, cables, and metal brackets.

“There!” Mike trumpeted, pointing to a gray blob on the screen.

All three leaned in, their heads touching. Beneath his finger was a camera ball just like on the sea drone.

“It’s not looking this way, it’s looking away. Dead ahead.”

“Conserving energy, sleep mode,” Sara finished for him. It was exactly what their drone did most of the day, wait for the call of action.

_________________________________________

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.

As they cleared the last vessel they exchanged glances.

“Ok, last check on fuel, batteries, communications?” Mike asked.

“All good, it’s three nautical miles or as good as, which in these sea conditions is six minutes. No sign of signal interference,” Noah replied.

“Good to go!”

Sara smiled as Noah kicked the motor into full drive. Their tiny boat lurched forward purposely as the jet ski engine revved up again and started to power towards the carrier. The bow lifted and it started to plane, skating on the water.

Noah leant in over Sara’s shoulder, his arm still reaching across to his own desk, trying to adjust the power as they hit each wave.

The camera was shaking. Each time they launched themselves off a wave crest they crashed into the next wave which slapped the bottom of the hull, momentarily interrupting the camera feed. It was Noah’s job to get them there in one piece.

White splashes started to appear around them, someone on the Chinese carrier had seen them coming. The fire was sporadic and uncoordinated, but it would only get more and better as the carrier’s weapons systems spun up.

Sara quickly spun the camera around and then up and down to see if there were any escorts nearby. Not that it would change their plan now. There was nothing. A single bright orange helicopter was behind the carrier, a sign of air operations being underway. The carrier was now close enough that they could easily see the aircraft on the deck. But with the camera shaking more than the image-stabilization could keep up with, it was hard to make out details.

_________________________________________

The Race Against Time

Suddenly there was disturbing sound in the background. The whaling of air raid sirens was never welcome.

Mike listened to decode the tones. This wasn’t a regular siren, there were sections of clear tones with pauses, like a church bell counting the hours. He took a moment to process it.

“It’s a two-minute warning! That is close!” His voice was shaky.

“We need 1 minute and” Mike paused “28 seconds.”

“We need to get out of here,” Mike said firmly.

“We are in a shelter, this is where the locals come in a typhoon. It is the safest place around,” Noah protested, still focused on his task controlling the boat’s engine.

“It’s too close, this isn’t a general alarm. And it is super short, it must be a DF-17 hypersonic missile or something,” his voice was almost shouting.

“Leo! That idiot!”

“Give us a minute, let us do this! It might be the only chance anyone gets!” Sara said calmly

“Are you willing to die?” Mike challenged.

“Let us do this.”

“Ok, but I’m hauling us outta here the moment we hit.”

_________________________________________

The incoming fire was getting fiercer. The ship’s close-in weapon systems, 30-millimeter gatling guns, snaked rounds towards them. Sara and Noah adjusted, trying to zig-zag without losing too much speed.

“Aiming for the stern,” Sara’s voice was still calm, controlled.

“20 seconds,” Mike updated.

The incoming fire was less now, they were so close that it was mostly going over their heads.

The carrier was almost over top of them, the huge flight deck overhanging the hull replaced the clouds as the ceiling. This close the wash from the ship was making it harder to make forward progress. Sara and Noah instinctively adjusted to the situation, trying to keep on target.

5 seconds.

Alfred made one last turn towards the target, Noah pushed the throttle fully forward so that the gray hull filled the camera view.

The camera went blank. Communication lost.

“We did it!” Sara yelled.

Before she could do anything more, a force lifted her out of her chair.

Mike was pulling on her chair and, looping her arm yanked her backwards towards the door. The chair fell on the floor as she scrambled to turn and run with him. Noah was at their side.

_________________________________________

The explosion of the drone cut a large hole in the stern of the carrier. Much more, it shook the machinery space, mangling some of the rudder controls and causing a leak in one of the propeller shaft seals. The carrier was far from out of the fight, but its mobility was reduced and its position now known to the defenders.

Back on the outskirts of Taipei the volunteers were running from the Bat Cave. A massive explosion knocked them to the floor. The roof of the building disappeared in an instant collapsing inwards and crushing all below it.

The three lay there, disorientated, unable to move.

“It was a bunker buster, the Bat Cave was the target. They knew we were there!” Mike offered eventually. His speech was interrupted with coughs and gasps for breath.

“Thank god they are so accurate,” Sara noted.

They tried to laugh. It hurt physically but mentally fear was giving way to relief.

“We shouldn’t be here,” she added. “Our next Bat Cave should be in another country, somewhere out of range of the missiles. We could literally be anywhere on earth with StarLink coverage.”

“Yeah, somewhere China isn’t going to bomb for political reasons.”

“Somewhere they cannot reach,” Sara concluded.

They were still lying on the ground, eyes closed, chests heaving. Yet a plan was starting to come together for their next mission. “We could literally be doing this from anywhere, there’s no need for us to be sitting here within missile range.”

“How’s Alfred?”

“Alfred’s dead.”

H I Sutton writes about the secretive and under-reported submarines, seeking out unusual and interesting vessels and technologies involved in fighting beneath the waves. Submarines, capabilities, naval special forces underwater vehicles, and the changing world of underwater warfare and seabed warfare. To do this he combines the latest Open Source Intelligence (OSINT) with the traditional art and science of defense analysis. He occasionally writes non-fiction books on these topics and draws analysis-based illustrations to bring the subject to life. His personal website about these topics is Covert Shores (www.hisutton.com)

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.

Fiction Week

By Tyler Totten

Central Philippine Sea, 04:00 (GMT+9)

The missile dropped free of its pylon, its ramjet igniting and quickly racing ahead of the bomber. It joined its brethren charging east, sixty bright pinpricks of light in the pre-dawn sky. The bomber crews didn’t stop to consider the scene, turning already to make good on their escape to the west and waiting tankers. They had travelled far and didn’t want to run into the same fate as others before them. There were dangers in the skies and from the sea that they couldn’t always detect before it was too late.

The missiles, unburdened by such concerns, unwaveringly followed their flight plans. Their speed continued to build to Mach three as they curved south. Kilometers wound down as they tracked towards the designated point to energize their active systems and seek the enemy.

In an unremarkable section of ocean, the surface suddenly lit up with unnatural flashes. First a few and then dozens, briefly connecting the surface to the sky. Unnoticed by the missiles, lacking optical sensors, they carried on. Moments later their passive warning receivers lit up as radar washed over the formation. It was an airborne small array, but the missiles still didn’t react, well short of switching to terminal evasive maneuvers. Explosions rippled through the formation, small but numerous. Several of the flights were savaged, with half or more being holed by fragments and exploding, debris raining down on the ocean below. Their speed unchanged, the missiles ripped passed the unexpected hazard in seconds and continued on, thirty survivors no less focused than they had started.

Central Philippine Sea, 04:10 (GMT+9)

Captain Bryan Herera watched the thirty tracks continue east, pleased with his small group’s performance. His stealthy command frigate had only a single 57mm gun to contribute, but his smaller Hedgehog-class vessels had two each in addition to a 5-inch gun. While nominally unmanned and capable of such, both gun-armed Hedgehogs and the two Arsenal-class VLS-armed vessels in his group carried a small crew of twelve as “man-in-the-loop” for any weapons releases.

“My compliments to Lieutenants Chen and Willis on the gunnery.” Herrera nodded to himself as Lieutenant Thorne relayed his statement to both Hedgehogs via laser comm. The Hedgehog’s guns managed to nearly halve the passing raid, making the carrier’s lives much easier.

“Casablanca reports all her birds ready for tasking, other than the one returning from station now.” Thorne’s report broke into his introspection but it was welcome. Having all five of the medium endurance drones aboard his escort carrier ready for tasking was excellent. They had showed their hand today and soon, perhaps tomorrow, they would be targeted directly.

“Excellent Lieutenant. Oyster Bay’s status?” His thoughts shifted to the eight unmanned boats still in his tender. He had ordered two of them reconfigured from missile defense to ASW. An earlier warning had indicated there were numerous PLAN submarines suspected in the Philippine Sea and he wanted some added detect and engagement capability. His frigate carried a powerful ASW suite but some additional sonobuoy capability would be welcome. Casablanca’s drones could conduct ASW but their endurance was short by comparison.

“Oyster Bay is finishing boat refit now, they should have the two ASW boats out of the well deck in twenty minutes, Captain.”

“Let me know when they launch, Lieutenant.” Herrera sat back, relaxing slightly. He had done all he could, nothing left but waiting. He idly wondered how the carriers were doing against the missiles but didn’t have access to that data. He turned instead to the broader picture, bringing up the reports on the other forces in the area.

The Bataan Marine Littoral Regiment whose drone had provided him the raid warning was still in the fight, somehow. The PLA had been trying to dig them out for a week now, forcing the regiment to relocate constantly. Primarily an ISR asset, three of their five drones remained operational for raid warning. Given that the Philippine Navy and Air Force had been driven to near extermination in the war’s opening days, they represented one of the only available ISR assets that could provide such warning. Okinawa had been similarly pounded but the stronger Japanese defense forces had managed to retain some local control.

Removed slightly from the PLA land-based targeting, the Minami Daito Islands MLR still retained their air defense batteries at full strength, and six surviving F-35Bs of the attached squadron provided a CAP to the southwest. When SAG 58 finished their run north, they would withdraw east under cover of those forces so Herera was glad they remained.

The final asset in the immediate region was a squadron of P-7M Seamaster II seaplanes. Their specific location was unknown, represented on his tactical map as a 7,000 km² box to his east. He didn’t envy those crews, sitting motionless on the surface waiting for orders to power up and strike a target. He knew that, if the opportunity presented itself, they would pounce on any PLAAF bomber squadron that came within range. Maybe even those that came for his group.

Central Philippine Sea, 19:45 (GMT+9)

“Flash traffic, Captain.” Thorne’s voice roused Herrera from his bunk in an instant, the general quarters klaxon sounding before she finished. He pulled on his coveralls from the chair in his small cabin and settled his heads-up display into place, stepping out the door less than sixty-seconds after the klaxon ended. Five steps later he was on the bridge.

“What have we got?” He asked, settling into his chair and pulling up the reports even before she could answer.

“Six H-6s inbound. A B-21 picked them up west of Taiwan five minutes ago. Based on their course and speed, expecting they’ll be at launch range in the next twenty to twenty-five minutes,” Thorne reported. Herrera scanned the data and looked at Roark’s computer projections of the meshed data.

“Let’s get ready then. Casablanca is to launch three drones to cover us, active coverage to start in fifteen minutes. Sprite and Stiletto are to deploy their decoys and set to match Casablanca and Oyster Bay without EMCON.” The Hedgehogs each carried a tethered inflatable decoy blimp. On launch, the blimp would float just aft of the ship and could adjust its radar reflectors to match the desired vessel. Coupled with its RF emitters and flares, the blimp could convincingly play the role of any ship in the Navy’s inventory. Early in the war’s outset, the blimps had been set to always emulate a big CVN but the PLA had wizened up quickly and started programming their missiles to ignore such targets when not expressly shooting at a CVN. Sadly, the enemy still got a vote.

“Casablanca acknowledges, Captain. Oyster Bay reports they have put their boat screen into computer control but are still at weapons hold.” Thorne paused, additional reports coming into her headset. “Lieutenants Chen and Willis acknowledge as well, Captain. Blimps will be deployed and transmitting in ten minutes.”

“Make sure they stay on top of that, we don’t have much more time than that.” He paused, checking the sea state and considering his next order. “And… actually I’ll do it, put them both on my line.”

“On your headset, sir.”

“Willis, Chen. Prep your command to transition to unmanned. Stay on top of those blimp deployments, time is short. Once they’re flying, get to the boats. Casablanca is already launching the comm drones. Understood?” Herrera was insistent. He’d prefer they get to the boats now but he needed those blimps.

“Aye sir.”

“Good luck gentlemen.”

Central Philippine Sea, 20:00 (GMT+9)

Herrera watched the boats pull away from the Hedgehogs, just visible in the fading light on the horizon. Each curled around aft of his ship, the cameras tracking automatically as they headed for the relative safety of Oyster Bay’s well deck. If the Hedgehogs survived the fight, they would head back to disarm the scuttling system and recrew the vessels. While the blimps were very effective decoys, they were by nature attached to the ships, but the direct approach of the raid would improve the defensive fire’s effectiveness. In other words, they were bait. While escorts had long been relegated to such roles to protect more valuable assets, Arsenal and Hedgehog class vessels had an option their predecessors didn’t. The crew could leave. While man-in-the-loop operations were the norm, each could operate remotely or autonomously.

Utilizing the latest in laser communication technology borrowed from NASA and breakthroughs in satellite-to-ground communication stations, both Hedgehogs would be linked back to Roark by secure laser. When the group was in fully automatic, Roark’s combat system would issue commands to every ship directly.

The command frigate program and the broader frigate-centric unmanned surface action group had been hotly debated compared with the legacy surface force and the more technology-centric AI-enabled warfare visions of the future fight. Hererra figured his vessel sat somewhere in the middle. At a glance, his frigate appeared underwhelming from a sensor and armament perspective. Housing a relatively small phased array radar, Roark relied mainly on offboard sensor feeds and passive gear. His ship’s primary function was command and control, including offboard vehicle control. Further reflective of that role was the stealth features, both above and below the water. Similar in principle to Visby and Zumwalt stealth vessels, Roark’s radar cross-section was tiny. Underwater acoustics was much the same, borrowing again from submarines in hull coatings and isolated machinery. He’d been surprised the first time he’d been in the machinery rooms. They were cramped, more of the volume seemingly consumed damping noise than on the actual electric propulsion systems. He was happy for his engineers that the mostly automated vessel didn’t require more than a daily walkthrough of those spaces. Everything was monitored remotely and, when not under EMCON, relaying status back to tenders and shore-based support. He knew they wouldn’t see a pier anytime soon, but the tenders carried all that was required for anything except the worst engineering casualties. His crew was sufficient for damage control but couldn’t keep up with the maintenance tasks that involved, even with Roark’s highly reliable, and expensive, systems.

On top of quieting, Roark also possessed the Navy’s best surface combatant sonar suite. Borrowing again from subs, she carried conformal arrays, a compact bow array, and latest generations of variable depth and towed arrays. He’d enjoyed their exercises against Columbia, managing to pin her twice. He was sure it put STRATCOM into cold sweats but it’d been immensely validating for the frigate’s proponents.

“Contact!” Herrera immediately focused on the plot, seeing the reported contacts as it updated with data from the AEW drone. As predicted, the H-6s appeared right where they were supposed to be. While presently just outside of his engagement window, they’d be forced within range of his weapons to launch their own. Roark’s combat system was more than up to the task of plotting the firing plan and even before he brought it up, the computer had populated a recommendation. He eyed it critically for a few moments before approving and sending to his group’s Arsenal ships, Bulwark and Palisade.

“Weapons engagement plan to your boards, Lieutenants.”

“Implementing now, Captain.”

“Same here Captain.”

Both having acknowledged, Herrera looked to the next layers of his defense. All the group’s gun systems showed green, Roark and the Hedgehogs would engage any missiles as soon as the range allowed. Casablanca and Oyster Bay’s SeaRAM would engage as last resort for each. Roark’s own VLS would also contribute, though with only 12 of 24 tubes dedicated to air defense, minimally so.

Even as he reviewed the firing plan, with Roark’s algorithms recommending expending most of the onboard missiles for the assumed raid size, Palisade’s first SM-6 roared away. Bulwark joined a moment later, temporarily obscuring both ships in smoke. The missiles blitzed for the bombers and, just as they reached halfway, the bombers reached launch range.

“Vampire, vampire. Inbound raid, 36 tracks. Classified as supersonic ASCMs.”

“Very well. Switch Roark to automated control.” Herrera acknowledged the entirely expected report. The H-6’s had managed to launch at something just beyond their best observed. No doubt the blimps radiated signatures combined with the very real signatures of Oyster Bay and Casablanca would be hard to miss, at least in a general sense. The SM-6 launches only further confirmed what the enemy already knew. Still, the SM-6 was fast and the bombers had to reverse course and run hard to escape. Most of them likely would, but even nibbling one or two would benefit everyone the next time.

Roark was running in automatic now with command of the entire group, immediately adjusting four ships’ headings. The orders went directly to each ship’s combat systems, the crew merely passengers. 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. Roark held fire herself, the offensive launches against the bombers already draining her inventory. Instead, Bulwark and Palisade rippled off ten missiles apiece. Satisfied with the initial salvo, Roark waited, tracking the entire action as the missiles closed and the SM-2s engaged. They performed well, 14 connecting with their targets. Absorbing the result in an instant, Roark adjusted Sprite’s heading once again and waited for the Hedgehogs’ 5” guns to come into range. Both ship’s guns spoke together, throwing eight rounds downrange in less than 10 seconds. Herrera almost jumped in his seat as Roark’s own 57mm got into the fight, coordinated with Sprite and Stiletto’s guns.

Far off in the distance, the ship’s cameras could just pick up the first detonations as his group filled the sky with explosives and steel. More and more missiles were holed and tumbled into the sea. The cameras showed only momentary flashes but he knew well enough what they were. The inbounds continued to drop, quickly even, but they were approaching even faster. He realized, a moment before the first hit, that the group wasn’t going to get them all. The final few seconds before impact were just enough time for him to read the plot and see who the leakers were headed for. Chaff, flares, and active decoy systems emerged from both his big ships and Oyster Bay loosed a RAM at one uncomfortably close missile. But neither were the true targets.

Instead, two missiles focused on Stiletto, specifically her blimp. Herrera couldn’t see it but the supersonic missile closed with what it thought to be a prime target. The terminal phase saw it changing altitude by hundreds of meters and flying in a curling spiral pattern before, at its determined relative location, tipping down and diving into the top of the ship. Hitting practically nothing, its detonation sequence wasn’t triggered by the thin composite layers. By luck the missile lightly clipped a structural rib near the blimp’s center just enough to trigger its onboard detonation mechanism. Before the millisecond sequence could complete, it was through the blimp. The sequence completed just before it collided with the ocean itself. The resultant explosion threw shrapnel in all directions, adding dozens of additional holes to the blimp and perforating Stiletto’s stern. The ship’s onboard systems detected the breaches and small fires the shrapnel caused as it tore through systems, automated firefighting systems reacting inhumanly fast.

On the other side of the formation, Sprite was less lucky. Two missiles made it through the defenses and weren’t dissuaded by the last resort decoys. One targeted the blimp, detonating to even less effect than the one that killed Stiletto’s blimp. The second missile, the last one of the raid, targeted Sprite herself, diving down and into his aft quarter. Burying itself into the main deck, this sensor completed its arming sequence perfectly to detonate in main engineering. The resultant explosion ripped through the internal systems and the ship lost power immediately. Backup systems that still functioned came online and kept the ship connected to the group network, but none of the automated damage control systems responded.

Aboard Roark, Herrera saw the damage reports scroll through but focused on Sprite. Her sensor systems were mostly functional, even a few in main engineering, but it was clear that none of her main power generation or damage control systems were online. Flooding had been detected in the almost half the ship already and external cameras from the ship showed the billowing smoke emerging from her aft deck. Perhaps if he ordered Oyster Bay to dispatch her damage control teams standing by for the express purpose of assisting Sprite’s automated systems they could save the small vessel, but Herrera had already looked at the plot. They were almost under the protective coverage of the Minami Daito Marine Littoral Regiment’s battered squadron, but that still left them in engagement range for another day, longer if they were slowed towing Sprite while working to restore propulsion and something approximating watertight integrity. If that was even possible. He activated his comm.

“Lieutenant Chen, Sprite’s had it. Your orders are to board and ensure functional scuttling routines. Set for twenty minutes and evac.”

“Understood sir, we’ll be aboard in fifteen. Sprite’s embark ladder shows functional.” Chen sounded downtrodden but unsurprised. He’d been reading the same data.

“Be careful over there, she did her duty but took a beating.”

“Yes Captain, we’ll be careful.”

The group continued to push east at a brisk 25 knots, Chen and his crew completing their task and returning to Oyster Bay. As they did, Sprite’s computer activated the scuttling routine and charges ripped open every compartment to the sea. The effects went unnoticed by her companions, the charges themselves unimpressive to an outside observer. Still, they were highly effective and seemingly in an instant, she vanished beneath the waves with a thin oil slick, the only sign of her passing.

Chen wasn’t sure if it made sense to mourn the loss of a robotic entity but he still whispered, almost silently.

“Fair winds and following seas.”

Tyler Totten is a naval engineer who has supported several Navy and Coast Guard programs, including DDG-1000, EPF, LCS, USCG WCC, and DDG(X), with a deep interest in international and specifically maritime security. He is also an amateur science fiction writer published on Kindle. He holds a B.S from Webb Institute in Naval Architecture and Marine Engineering. He can be found on X/Twitter at @AzureSentry.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.