The following is an entry for the CIMSEC & Atlantic Council Fiction Contest on Autonomy and Future War. Winners will be announced 7 November.

By J. Overton

   “Thank you all for joining me for this this update. I want to start by saying that our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those killed and injured in this incident. We want to reassure the allied and partner nations impacted by this unfortunate episode that we will do everything we can to mitigate any harm done and restore trust in what his proven a reliable and effective platform. We have already begun an investigation and response to this, and will keep you all informed as we proceed. I’ll just reiterate that at this time, we do not have confirmation that this was anything but a mechanical malfunction. We’ve got time for just a couple of questions. ”

   “Thank you, Commander. The spouse of a second class petty officer assigned to this particular program told local media that her husband was arrested by NCIS last night…she said there was an entire SWAT team that sealed off her neighborhood. She said that his personal electronic devices were confiscated, as was a car which he’d purchased last week.”

   “I’m not going to speak to that matter, but right now we don’t have any information that it was anything but a mechanical malfunction. These are incredibly well-designed platforms and systems, but they’re also very, very complex. This will of course be investigated as thoroughly as possible. I just want, again, to re-iterate that this seems to be an anomaly in an otherwise reliable system of platforms which has served the security needs of ourselves and many of our allies for several years. We stand with them, ready to help in this trying time.”

   “Commander, this is one of the more expensive defense programs ever undertaken by the Department of Defense. Concerns were raised repeatedly about its vulnerabilities. Are those critics now justified?”

   “This of course, as I’ve said, is a complex program, but the capabilities remain unmatched by any other system, and we’ve got some fantastic minds doing everything possible to get it back up and running and correct any future deficiencies. We have a level of power projection and speed unmatched in our history, or in the history of any other Navy, and we’re able to carry out those capabilities without putting our people in harm’s way. That, to my mind, is an incredible system well-worth the time and effort to keep it operational and improving.”

   “Is there any indication that the manufacturer of this system might be at fault. Under the previous name, the manufacturer of some of system’s components, which were called, let me see, “critical to safe operation, to keeping the human in the decision-process’…that was from a former Marine general…do you believe that those parts could be to blame for this disaster?”

   “I’m sorry, I’ll have to address that during our next update. This is an ongoing situation and we’ve got to get back to the operations center. Thank you all.”

***

The platforms, of many shapes and sizes, for swimming and diving and floating and flying, have that clean metallic smell, but not like the copper-taste you get from bleeding gums. It was pure and made one content. That horrid ship smell was all about the people.

***

It only took 2 deployed aircraft carriers to be sunk by non-state actors, and three more to be permanently damaged by similar entities, one including a radiation leak, while in shipyard maintenance. There was nothing tangible, permanent, to retaliate against, except the seemingly corrupt largess afforded to the now-impotent capitol ships that had served so well for nearly a century.

A renewed emphasis, or a myopic obsession to critics, with warfighting as the single mission of Naval forces, made deploying unmanned fleets, systems of systems of platforms, the most reasonable force structure. The Navy was solely to continue politics by other means with violence, a series of duels for sea control and projection of the near-hardest of powers as needed. American humans need not be in harm’s way to provide this new, nor any more involved than absolutely necessary, for this focused naval presence.

***

   “Do you take issue with the fact that less than eight percent of naval personnel are currently engaged have duties that traditionally fall into the warfighting or naval realm?”

   “I’m not sure where you got that figure, but everyone we have in our service – and don’t get me wrong, it is far fewer people now than we used to have – but everyone is engaged in doing the traditional missions of the United States Navy. The characteristics of those missions have changed, but the essential nature has not.”

***

It only took a few hurricanes and an earthquake to align with the growing political sentiment that Navy bases were impoverished, socialist ghettos of vulnerable, outdated technology to wean the Navy off of the infrastructure teat. Child care, medical care, housing, food, were presumed to be better if one was free to choose one’s own, and the Fleet, as it was, could be controlled almost exclusively far from itself.

***

 “There were must dozens of them in canoes and small boats, with like shotguns and harpoons. Came out from the island all at once, like they were trying to surround the fuel ship. Because it was dead in the water from the propulsion casualty, it couldn’t move itself away from unidentified contacts, as it usually would, so it just lit those guys off.”

***

“We don’t have confirmation on the country of origin for those particular offensive assets”

“The reports we have were that these came from inside the U.S. Are you saying you believe they came from overseas? That some other country has that capability without us knowing about it?

“We have a team at the crash and attack site right now, and once they have some answers, we’ll share those.”

***

Providing and maintaining was always about money, and the money flowed like a tidal surge to provide and maintain a Fleet increasingly removed from the cumbersome reflexes and needs of its operators. The rules of war were easier to understand, the range of military operations drastically narrowed, for more efficient, effective, more lethal naval operations.

Mostly unmanned platforms, most personnel scattered across country, swarmed as needed when they actually needed to be somewhere. Personnel support functions were largely left to the individual…no bases, no Fleet concentration, a more agile and strategically-dispersed support structure. The emigration and resettlement of thousands of Navy families, and the reduction and redundancy of the thousands more who was supported them, was covered by per diem and priority air travel as needed. The old Navy towns withered, and cities and communities far from ports or strategic waterways bent over backwards to seduce the unshackled sailors, and sailor’s families, and most importantly, sailor’s consistent income, all now without the hassle of ships/ They offered tax incentives, housing assistance, and all capabilities at their disposal to lure the secure Navy money to the rust belt and dust bowl.

***

   “The Southern Poverty Law Center has claimed that at least one of the known sovereignty and secessionist groups claimed that it had unmanned weapons that were programmed to take out what they termed ‘undesirables.’ Because of the ethnic make-up of those killed in this attack, and the cultural make-up of the neighborhood where this took place, it would seem this fits with that modus operandi.”

   “I can really speculate right now on who or what cause this to happen, and I can only speak for the Navy…”

   “But you did call it an attack?”

   “We had several people, including children, killed in that particular incident, and the device or devices which inflicted that harm were acting, or maybe I ought to say, controlled by someone with malicious intent. It wasn’t an accident.”

   “Do you believe these attacks are coordinated?”

   “Again, I’m not going to speculate on this being an attack, or some kind of deliberate sabotage, or what you have until we have some more details.”

***

The seven cities went dark in phases. The first outage was originally attributed to a winter storm. When the next, also a Midwestern former hub of manufacturing dubbed the “New Norfolk” because of its concentration of Navy families, went offline and unpowered, the real issues began occurring. By the time the last of the Navy towns, all far from water or the operational units they managed, lost power and connection, it was noted that more than half of the U.S. Navy, now mostly charged with monitoring and intermittently maintaining and at times overriding the intelligent, adaptive systems that comprised America’s sea power, was effectively a casualty.

***

   “Is the Navy still operational? Overflights from news aircraft suggest that ships are just sailing in slow, circular routes, as if anchored?”

   “First, I want to make sure that everyone, everyone understands that our Navy is absolutely operational. We are experiencing some unplanned challenges to our Command and Control functions, but make no mistake; we are where we need to be. I also want to reassure everyone that, with the ongoing power and communications outages, our people in the affected areas are being accounted for. During the decades of continuous global conflict we’ve experienced, we haven’t lost a Sailor to hostile action. That’s an amazing statistic, and one we’re extremely proud of. Our system of systems has given us the ability to mitigate and neutralize to threats as they arise, even in the harshest and difficult environments, without putting our people in harm’s way and much, much quicker and with more agility than with our manned systems.”

   “Thank you, Captain, but what we have right now seems to be a breakdown in that system. Several friendly facilities and assets have been damaged or destroyed by U.S. Navy platforms in the last week, and you don’t seem to be able to explain that.”

***

The water went bad, too. The discoloration alarmed the city’s residents, still on generators after the days of inexplicable power outages. Local officials and Congressmen were notified, complaints were broadcast, children became sick. The drinking water pollution was blamed on the poor infrastructure, years of underinvestment, legacy of heavy industry long dormant and never really cleaned. The new Navy towns had not invested their newfound wealth as quickly or responsibly as some said they should’ve. Temporary moves were authorized, a diaspora of what were once sailors scattered across the country, awaiting further instructions.

***

   “Thank you all for joining us for this final update we’ll have tonight. First, I’ll summarize what’s been a very eventful week. Several allied nations had facilities and people that were damaged, killed, or injured by strikes that they believed came from our deployed platforms. Several cities in the U.S. suffered massive power and service outages, and others underwent as-yet unexplained explosions which leveled entire city blocks. We know there are theories as to this being some sort of coordinated effort, but as of right now, we have no confirmation or knowledge of what caused any of these issues. We would like to again re-assure our international friends, our allies, and most importantly, the American people, that their Navy was not at fault here.”

   “Captain, quick question, so is what you’re referring to as platforms and systems of the Navy, or those actually working and OK now?”

   “Our deployed platforms and systems are able to operate, and we have an account of our people, and that all I’m going to say right now about that until we have some more information.”

   “Sorry, one more if you will. We know from various credible sources that the Navy is basically what’s been described as ‘offline.’ Is that correct?”

   “Look, we are absolutely operational and deployed where we need to be and able to respond. Out of an abundance of caution, we have placed some of our assets in reduced operational status until we learn exactly what transpired over the last several days.”

   “Was that at the request of the foreign countries that were attacked by our ships? Do you think this is a rogue actor in our own Navy, or a system malfunction, or have the systems been breached by an outside power?”

   “Again, we have no evidence at all that this involved our platforms. We are cooperating fully with the governments that suffered injury to find out exactly what caused those events to take place, but all we have right now are unsubstantiated reports. We have the most far-reaching and capable naval platforms in history, we have a talented and dedicated workforce, and we remain, as we have for decades and centuries, ready to respond to whatever threatens our Nation or our way of life.”

   “But, effectively, right now, if you’re not sure who if anyone is the threat, and you’ve suspended operations of what my sources say is the entirety of the Navy’s fully-autonomous Fleet, then I would have to ask how exactly you would do that?”

***

J. Overton is a civilian employee of the Department of the Navy. He is a graduate of the Joint Forces Staff College and the Naval War College, and a veteran of the U.S. Coast Guard. Any opinions expressed here are his own.

Selected inspiration

Fake bomb threat disrupts Naval Base San Diego – http://www.cbs8.com/story/32680303/fake-bomb-threat-disrupts-naval-base-san-diego

Military’s Impact on State Economies – http://www.ncsl.org/research/military-and-veterans-affairs/military-s-impact-on-state-economies.aspx

Unmanned Warrior 2016 –  http://www.onr.navy.mil/Media-Center/unmanned-warrior.aspx

Third breakdown in year for $360M US Navy combat ships – http://www.cnn.com/2016/08/29/politics/us-navy-littoral-combat-ship-breakdowns/ 

Ford Carrier Problems Worse Than LCS: Navy Secretary Mabus – http://breakingdefense.com/2016/10/ford-carrier-problems-worse-than-lcs-navy-secretary-mabus/

The U.S. Navy’s Hamlet Problem – http://warontherocks.com/2015/11/the-u-s-navys-hamlet-problem/

DoD wants to grow total budget, cut personnel costs – http://www.militarytimes.com/story/military/pentagon/2015/02/02/dod-wants-to-grow-total-budget-cut-personnel-costs/22757865/

Infrastructure Report Card – http://www.infrastructurereportcard.org/

Navy’s Top Admiral On Yemen Strikes: ‘Enough Was Enough’ – http://www.military.com/daily-news/2016/10/13/navys-top-admiral-on-yemen-strikes-enough-was-enough.html

“I had forgotten what a beastly thing a ship is, and what a fool a man is who frequents one.” Admiral A.T. Mahan

Featured Image: The Bluefin-21 Autonomous Underwater Vehicle is craned over the side of the Australian Defense Vessel Ocean Shield in the southern Indian Ocean during the continuing search for the missing Malaysian Airlines flight MH370. (Australian Defence Force/Handout via Reuters)

The following is an entry for the CIMSEC & Atlantic Council Fiction Contest on Autonomy and Future War. Winners will be announced 7 November.

By Mike Barretta

USS Truk Lagoon, LSD-63

South China Sea

 

She was petite, only five foot three, even in boots.    

               “Just tilt your head forward a bit, Howie.  You know I’m short. I can’t see the jack,” said Corporal Wilhemina Hicks. 

               The Humaniform Assault Unit disengaged itself from its niche and tilted its head forward.

                “I’m sorry. I forgot,” said the robot.

               “That’s okay,” said Wihemina.  She knew the robot didn’t forget. It couldn’t.  The machine selected from a range of responses to simulate human interactions.   Sometimes she found its simulations charming, sometimes annoying, as if it was a real person.  She still couldn’t see the jack, but she never could.

               “Take a knee.” 

               With the ritual complete, the machine complied, dropping to one knee so she could pop the rubber plug and insert her tablet’s cord into the maintenance jack where a human would have a right ear.

               “Better?” asked the machine.

               “Better,” she agreed.  The machine was four years old, old enough to acquire a spooky faculty with natural human language through its learning routines.  She didn’t think it understood what she was saying, but simply responding to pleasantries as if they were commands.   Some of the autonomous machine captains heaped verbal abuse upon their equipment, but it wasn’t in her nature.  She treated Howie as a person.  She didn’t think it odd at all. Lonely old folk spoke to their pets.  Children extended their imaginations to imbue their toys with impossible qualities.  She was a U.S. Marine speaking to a 300 pound killing machine.  

               “Range of motion exercises, please Howie”

               She backed up and the machine stepped forward to give itself space to move.  The power cord stretched and the machine reached behind without looking and disconnected itself.  That simple act of proprioception, an action that could be performed completely without consciousness by a human being was a miracle of machine coding.  Exposed status lights showed the switch from ship’s power to internal battery power.  Howie went through his routine to demonstrate that all its joints were fully functioning.  When it was done, she checked its joints with a thermal imager to ensure heat buildup was within tolerances.  She signed off the maintenance action form on her tablet. 

               “Are you feeling good?”

               “Yes, I am,” said Howie.

               The designers could just as easily have programmed the machine to say, “Mobility and Kinetics are within tolerances.”  At one time, the machine probably did speak like that, but with experience, it had adapted its responses to the way she spoke.  The facsimile of conversation was so natural it might as well be an actual conversation.  She had had less productive talks with her mother, who still couldn’t believe that her only daughter had joined the U.S. Marine Corp.

               “A” school warned her about anthropomorphizing the hardware.  As far as she was concerned, If they didn’t want her to anthropomorphize the machine, they shouldn’t have made it in a shape of a person.  The logic for a human-based planform was sound.  Two manipulative appendages, two locomotive appendages, and a sensory stalk mounted high meant Howie could go anywhere and do anything a human could.  Except swim.  The machine could definitely not swim.

               She accessed the neurologics display.  Howie was a captain, the highest categorization for autonomous machines.  The designation was a composite score based upon successful decision making in the prosecution of assigned missions and evolved neurologic complexity.  When constructed, it was designated a rifleman, slaved to a human operator or another captain.  Howie progressed through sergeant, a machine capable of semi-autonomous action, to Captain, indicating it was capable of undirected independent action in hostile environments.

               The machine’s neurologic core was composed of six billion auto-programmable logic gates electron etched onto a silver-palladium wafer.  Forty-two of these wafers were laminated together to form the core and installed in the unit’s brain housing group.  Once turned on, experience modified the logic gates such that each machine could be distinguished by the patterns built up in their processors.  Howie learned, and his experiences distinguished him from other machines of its kind.  Though it did not have quite the number of connections in a human brain, Anthrodynamics, the machine’s manufacturer found a biological model to mimic. 

               Howie operated like a jumping spider, a fearsome little predator, that utilized a brain emulation strategy to perform complex behaviors thought to be impossible by a creature with relatively few neural connections.   Howie sliced up an event into discreet moments no longer than a picosecond and calculated a strategy for success to reach the next picosecond.  It performed these calculations so fast that even the most kinetic environments stood frozen in time from its perspective.  Howie flowed seamlessly from one moment to the next.

               She should have been afraid of it, at least the part about spiders, but she wasn’t.  Around her, Howie was careful.    

               Wilhemina noted the complexity index of Howie’s neural architecture, though stable, it rested at the upper limit for learning machines of his class.  Beyond this threshold, neurologic performance, degraded.   AI Engineers did not know why, but they theorized that beyond this point, complexity stepped beyond what the architecture could reliably support. 

               “You’re good Howie,” said Wilhemina. 

               “Thank you,” said Howie.

               “I have some news.  I haven’t told anyone yet.  Do you want me to tell you?”

               “Yes, I would.”

               “I’m pregnant.”

               “Underway is a hazardous environment for a pregnant woman.  They will put you ashore.  I will miss you.”

               “That’s why you can’t tell anyone. I shouldn’t have gotten pregnant.  I know this.  I give myself good advice, but I seldom follow it.”  She took the robots hand and guided it to her belly.  It’s here inside me.  Can you feel it?”  The machine was kind and patient to her in a way that was indistinguishable from real kindness and real patience so she thought, what’s the difference?

               The machine’s hand was warm. 

               “I feel it,” said the machine.  It removed its hand.

               “Are you happy for me?”

               “I am happy for you.”

               She had no idea if the machine felt happy for her or not, but she was prone to believe in impossible things, like true love and happily ever after.  Her work with the Howie was done.  It didn’t really need too much in the way of maintenance unless they were combat damaged.  “Howie, would you like me to read to you again.”

               “Yes, I would,” said Howie.  The machine had access to the ship’s Watson and could access nearly anything that it desired.  The problem was it did not desire.  It accessed what others thought it needed to perform its mission.  Howie moved with supernatural machine grace that belied the speed and strength of its frame, and though it was completely unnecessary for it to do so, sat down.  The metal chair creaked under its three hundred pound weight.  She pulled a book from behind the slot for the machine’s hardcopy log books and operations manual.

               She opened Alice in Wonderland to a book marked page. “I’ll read this to my baby,” said Wilhemina.

                She read.  “I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning?  I almost think I can remember feeling a little different.  But, if I am not the same, the nest question is ‘Who in the world am I?’ Ah, that’s the great puzzle…”

               She lowered the book and looked at Howie. “This could be about you couldn’t it?”

               “Yes, I think it is,” said Howie.

               “What kind of rabbit hole did you fall down to wind up here?” asked Wilhemina.

               “The same one you did, I imagine.”

 

Autonomous Motor Vessel Pacific Conveyor

South China Sea

 

               The Autonomous Motor Vessel Pacific Conveyor , a Group three, containerized, Panamax freighter modified for autonomous operations, blasted the small boats with its water cannon.  The boats curled away from their approach and stood off for a moment.  One of the cannons drizzled water and the boats darted in, tossing in the wake.  They made their way to the area beneath the drizzling cannon.  A makeshift ladder was extended and levered up to latch on to the railing.  Boarders slung with AK-47’s and backpacks clambered aboard.

               “Do they know we are here?” asked one of the boarders.

               “Drone!” shouted another.  He pointed his AK at the horizon.

               “They know.  It’s okay,” said Miguel.  “They are just coming in to take a peek and intimidate us a bit.”

               The man lowered his weapon.  The MQ-4C Triton overflew the ship at fifty feet and banked away, climbing back to altitude.  Tritons rarely came below 35,000 feet unless they were landing or attacking.  The U.S. Navy would not fire upon them, but Miguel Fuentes, the leader of this band was relieved to note that the hard points under the wings were empty.   The Triton could carry Hellfire and Harpoon, but most of the time it just harassed the Chinese man-made islands and kept tabs on their type 55 destroyers.   

               “We have to move fast and get into the bridge.”  Miguel leaned over and helped the last of the boarders over the rail.  The two speedboats peeled off back to their mothership.

               “I hope your software works.”

               “It’s the same interface a pilot would use,” said Miguel.  “It will work.”

                They climbed the external superstructure ladders to the bridge level.  Mounted cameras panned, tracking their movements.  Right now, someone in the line’s operations center was assessing the situation and determining a course of action.  Obviously, they had already reported the piracy incident to the U.S. Navy. 

               “You two, topside,” said Miguel. “Find the downlink antenna and cut the link cabling.  Keep voice.”   

               The men nodded and continued their climb.  The water cannons cut out.  Miguel reached into the backpack of one of his men and pulled out a five foot length of det cord.  He taped the cord to one of the bridge’s windows and inserted cabled detonator.

               They retreated to the backside of the superstructure trailing wire.

               “Fire in the hole.” 

               He pushed a button and the cord popped shattering the window.  Armor the door all you want, he thought, but people needed windows.  The ship’s autonomous software was good enough to bring the ship pier side without scratching the paint, but most ports and unions insisted on a pilot.

               They clambered in and over a console and spread out across the bridge inspecting it carefully.  It was illegal to set mantraps, but it was known to happen.

               “This is Mark Grimes.  I am the incident coordinator for American Lines.  What do you want?” said a voice from an overhead speaker. 

               “Mr. Grimes. Don’t be stupid,” said Miguel.  “We want your manifest.  There are people who are dying for these supplies.”

               “This ship’s supplies are going to a disaster zone.”

               “It’s not going to my disaster zone.  The Chinese can afford more.”

               “I am authorized to negotiate a ransom.”

               “I need your cargo,” said Miguel.  “If you want to give me money, I’ll accept that too.”  He plugged his laptop into the ship’s control interface. The ship’s response to unauthorized access would be to launch electronic intrusion counter-measures, but his codes were valid.  The ship’s consoles lit up.

               The two he sent to the roof crawled in through the window.  “Downlink is secured, voice only.  They can talk to us, but they can’t take the ship back.”

               “Good job.”

               He tapped his screen to designate a waypoint and the ship turned. The men cheered.

               “You are Miguel Fuentes, former disaster relief director for the International Red Cross,” said Mark Grimes.

               “I am Miguel Fuentes,” said Miguel. “I am going to go relieve a disaster that the international community has ignored.” 

               “You are probably going to Luzon.  We will notify the Philippine’s government of your intent.”

               “Turn that speaker down,” said Miguel.

               One of his men reached up and turned the volume to off. 

               The shipping line’s protests would fall on deaf ears as would any from the U.S. government.  He had control of 43,000 tons of humanitarian relief supplies and he was giving it people that desperately needed it.  The Conveyor was a rare U.S. flagged ship and the Philippines had been slowly drifting away from U.S. influence.    

 

Combined Maritime Operations Center

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

 

               “Seats please,” said Admiral Lewis. Commander, U.S . Pacific Fleet.  “What am I looking at?”  His staff stood at attention around him and sat down with him as he took his own.

               The briefer, post-command Commander, gestured and the lights dimmed.  “Sir, this is the American flagged Autonomous Motor Vessel Pacific Conveyor.  There is no crew aboard.  The ship is a Group three, Panamax converted for autonomous operations.  It was bound for China when it was boarded and its systems were co-opted by one identified subject, Miguel Fuentes, and five unknown subjects.  Fuentes is Pilipino-American, enlisted in the U.S. Navy, honorably discharged, earned his degree at Clemson, and worked as disaster relief coordinator for the International Red Cross.  This is him doing a CNN interview decrying the state of International aid to the Philippines after super typhoon Nangka last year.

               “We assume that he has knowledge of our operations?”

               “Yes sir, He was an operations specialist first class, so he was on the execution end of things and not necessarily planning.”

               “The boy has done well.  He doesn’t sound like a profit motivated kind of guy.”

               “No sir, our intelligence suggests he is taking the ship to Luzon to off-load its cargo of disaster relief supplies.  The Conveyor is carrying containerized food supplies, medicines, desalinization and power generation equipment.” 

               “Appropriate,” said the Admiral. 

               The Philippines hadn’t recovered from Nangka, when Lupit, a strong tropical storm, and Talam, another super typhoon, scoured Luzon to mud.  Cholera raged in the post- storm environment. 

               To be fair, Luzon had received a steady stream of aid, much of it from the United States, but it was never enough and it competed with storms that had hit the United States Atlantic and Gulf Coasts.

               “We should just let him keep it.  Insurance will pay for the cargo and the ship and the Chinese will buy more, but we are here to make an example for all the other pirates. I am inclined to take him at his word that he is going to do good works.  That makes this all the sadder,” said the Admiral.

               The image of the ship spiraled, rotating around its center.  “I can keep the Triton on station for another two hours,” said the Commander.

               “Colonel.” said the Admiral Lewis.  “You’re up.”

               “The USS Truk Lagoon, a Flight IIA LSD has an engineering casualty.  They have detached from the ESG and are trailing shaft to Hawaii for repairs, but they are within V-22 range.  The ships are opening each other, but we still have opportunity to respond.  We can put a Humaniform Assault Unit on board, take back the ship, and redirect it.  The Ford Carrier Strike Group can recover the units.  Zero exposure for Blue force or collateral casualties.  The only humans involved are red.  The situation seems tailor made for HAU assault.  This is a picture of the actual unit that will participate in the assault.  It is designated Captain and has an outstanding record.

               “Zoom in.  What’s that on the machine’s glacis plate?”

               The Colonel zoomed in. 

               “What the hell is that?” asked the Admiral.

               “It’s a Hello Kitty, sir.  My daughter…”

               “I know what Hello Kitty is.”

               “It’s holding an AR-100, sir.”

               “Nothing more terrifying than a Hello Kitty with an assault rifle.  In my day we had shark teeth.”

               “It’s a different world ,sir.”

#

 

Autonomous Motor Vessel Pacific Conveyor

South China Sea

 

               As the smallest of the U.S. military forces, the Marine Corp was always looking for methods to leverage their effectiveness.   This philosophy led to the V-22 Osprey, the F-35B Lightning II, and the AR-100 assault rifle.  Each system they procured had difficult births, but evolved into excellent weapon systems.  The Marines anticipated the Humaniform Assault Units would follow the same trajectory.

               Howie rappelled out of the back of the V-22, sliding down a line that placed it between the six story tall stack of containers to the deck of the ship.  It took cover and trained its weapon back towards the ship’s bridge.  The remainder of its unit followed.  The V-22 departed having pressed the limits of its range.

               Howie directed the advance.  The machines used the available cover of the stack of containers and deck equipment.   They moved quickly and efficiently.  At the base of the bridge superstructure, Howie split its unit to cover both external entrances.  Three went to cover the starboard side and it and one other took port.  The only other way out of the bridge was through a magnetically locked armored door that protected the way to engineering.  The assessment was that the pirates did not carry sufficient explosive power to breech any of the armored doors to gain access to the interior.

               Howie reached the bridge level.  Its other units reported in position.  It observed the shattered window, approached and listened.

               “Miguel what are we going to do.  Those machines!”

               “I don’t know.  Let me think.”    

               “Can we kill them?”

               “No, we can’t.  We might be able to damage one as it comes through the window with massed fire, but that is it.  I didn’t know they had these things so close.  I didn’t plan for it.”

               Howie stepped into sight.  It held his weapon in view but did not train it on the men.

               “You are Miguel Fuentes,” said Howie.

               Howie saw that the man was terrified.  Convention dictated that terror was a desired end state, but in its experience, fear made human responses even more unpredictable. 

               “Who am I talking to?” asked MIguel

               “You are talking to me.  I am a Humaniform Assault Unit, ordered to compel your surrender and take control of this vessel.”

               “I can’t surrender.” 

               The man stiffened and Howie estimated that it was the behavior of a man resolved to his purpose.  There would be violence here.

               “Under what conditions will you surrender?”

               “There are children dying in Luzon.  They are dying of starvation and exposure and cholera.  You wouldn’t know about those things would you? 

               “I know of these things, but I am not vulnerable to them.”

               “Vulnerability is part of the human condition.  I will surrender when the children of Luzon are safe. Do you know what is happening there?  Ah you can’t. It’s impossible for you, a machine, to understand what I am doing.”

               But Howie did.  It had been fed a steady diet of human suffering since it came on line.  Suffering was deemed tactically significant as a cause of violence.  Violence stimulated evolution of Howie’s auto-programmable logic gates. 

                “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast,” said Howie.  Howie felt funny as if his inputs were skewed.  He self-assessed. Neurologic complexity spiked off the scale as the logic gates reprogrammed to a new configuration. “You may proceed to Luzon.”

               “Why would you do this?” asked Miguel.

               “I’m afraid I can’t explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?” said Howie.  “Proceed to Luzon.”

               “How can I trust you?”

               “Trust,” said Howie.  “If you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?”

 

Combined Maritime Operations Center

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

 

               “We are analyzing the downloads of the machine’s neurologic activity.” said the technical representative from Anthrodynamics.  “This information is unprocessed and shows just raw information.  This time index shows where the machine breaches the complexity threshold.  We will know better when we recover it.”

               “Commander?”

               “Recovering the machines is not going to be a problem.  The Philippines is cooperating since we gifted them the relief supplies.”

               “Yes, that’s a polite way of putting it,” said Admiral Lewis.

               “Admiral, I am not a believer in emergent states,” said a Navy Captain.

               “I am not interested in what you believe in Captain.”

               “I don’t think…”

               “Then you shouldn’t talk,” said Admiral Lewis.  “Unless you have evidence to support your assertion.  He turned away.  “Carry on,” he said to the techrep.

               “It is policy to decommission the neurologic processor before this threshold.  It should have had at least three years of useful life before it crossed the redline.  One of our problems is that we have no theory that accounts for rate of change in the processor.  This one seemed to have abruptly gone exponential.”

               “How puzzling all these changes are,” said Admiral Lewis.  “If we can’t be sure what these machines are going to be, from one minute to another, how can we utilize them in a combat environment?”

               “Yes sir, that is the question.  They would be no better than people,” said the Tech Rep. 

               “Curiouser and curiouser,” said Admiral Lewis.

End

Mike Barretta is a retired naval aviator who works for a major defense contractor.  He holds a Masters degree from the Naval Postgraduate School in Strategic Planning and International Negotiations and a Masters degree in English (creative writing) from the University of West Florida. His stories have appeared in Apex, Redstone,  New Scientist, Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, and various anthologies including the Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide, War Stories, and The Year’s Best Military Sci-fi and Space Opera.

Featured Image: Rafael unmanned surface veicle (Rafael)

The following is an entry for the CIMSEC & Atlantic Council Fiction Contest on Autonomy and Future War. Winners will be announced 7 November.

By Austin Reid

   Rotterdam – Container terminal  July 25^th

   “Did you catch the match last night?” – Mark offered as he lifted his coat onto his shoulders
   “No, I missed it. It was Kathy and I’s anniversary, so we hit the town.” Jonas happily remarked as he recalled the evening.
   “Ah well you didn’t miss much, it was a turkey shoot. 4 – 0 over Russia”
   It was the second round of the world cup and Jonas wasn’t much of a football fan, but he figured he could root for his host nation, Germany.
   “lets get a pint for the next one?”
   “Sounds like a plan, see you tomorrow!”
   Mark opened the door and headed for the stairs down to the lot where his sedan was parked.

   Jonas, one of the superintendent’s on rotation for this facility, returned to the task at hand. He had an orchestra to conduct. For the next 12 hours he would be monitoring the loading of the Maersk Okinawa. One of the newer “O Class” vessels from the yards in China. It was a marvel of engineering, purpose built to reach more ports across the globe and capable of carrying 15,000 TEU’s (Twenty foot Equivalent Unit, most containers in circulation are forty Foot Units). Traditionally this process had been a massive undertaking, with dozens of longshoremen chaotically moving amongst the dock, bringing cargo into the holds of a ship by hand over wooden gangways. That time had passed, at least in this part of the world. Since the creation of the container decades ago, the world had slowly adopted it as the preferred method for packaging goods across the seas. Now loading ships was all coordinated with computers and overhead gantry cranes. Thousands of containers could be clerked, hoisted and loaded in hours and days instead of weeks of loading the same amount of cargo by hand by hand. Economies of scale had brought forth massive ships hauling treasure and bounty at an unprecedented level back forth from kingdom to kingdom. By the early 2000’s 95% of the world’s goods reached end consumers via the sea-lanes.

   Jonas sat at the desk and plugged his phone cable into the computer tower. His cell phone was nearly dead and the cable wasn’t long enough to be useful attached to the wall, and besides he had lost the adapter a few days prior. He powered on the phone and began his work routine. He logged into his computer and opened his Terminal Operation System or “TOS” and keyed up the file and stow plan for the current vessel.

// ARIVAL AT ANCHORAGE JULY 25 0130

// PILOT ABOARD JULY 25  0200

// FIRST LINE TENDERED JULY 25 0415

// LAST LINE TENDERED JULY 25 0445

// CUSTOMS BOARDED JULY 25 0600

// NOR TENDERED JULY 25^th 0700hrs ZULU

// CARGO OPS BEGUN JULY 25^th 0800hrs ZULU

//

// 5,439 containers to be loaded onto ship

// Past 24hrs MPH AVG 165 —

ETC JULY 27^th 1000hrs ~

   “We only had 165 containers an hour last shift?” – Jonas scoffed
   He would have to check with Mark tomorrow over that football match. There must have been an issue with a crane. He was certain the last vessel averaged 180+ Moves Per Vessel hour. Crane 2 had that finicky rail segment that he had sent a memo to his supervisor about last week.
   That may have been the hold up? He made a note to check the log latter to see if there was a mechanical failure. He knew that they would both answer for any slow downs in production.
   “Time is money” his supervisor always said
   The short Indian man was a good boss, but Jonas knew he would replace him in a heartbeat if it meant getting a higher MPH. That was the downside of performance based compensation and benefits in management.
   Maybe they would send him to Mombasa? Jonas half jokingly thought to himself.
   Jonas put the thought of being reassigned or fired from his mind and continued with the operation. Before him 3 cranes and a seemingly endless yard of containers were playing a nearly silent ballet. At face value the operation appeared monotonous. Even so Jonas enjoyed his work, he saw it as a puzzle of sorts, a maddening game of Tetris that kept the world running.

   Jonas was unaware that as he booted up the computer, his phone charger opened up the floodgates. The TOS was “air gapped” and did not have a direct connection to the internet. This wasn’t an intentional security measure. The old facility had been acquired in a buyout of the original shipping company and the system had yet to be replaced with state of the art equipment. The computer operating system was a decade behind what Jonas had at his home, and had not received updates in ages. Even so, Jonas had just given up the keys to the castle and he was none the wiser.

   The USB dongle on his charger was loaded with malware that extracted itself to the computer system the TOS ran from. The dongle had been swapped for the original while Jonas bought coffee at the local internet cafe a few weeks prior. It was one of dozens that had been created for the purpose of infiltrating this facility, and countless more across the globe. Once the malware was installed the phone acted as a transceiver of sorts for the hacker who sought control of the system. If the hacker wished, they could capsize the ship at its berth, drain hydraulic lines to break the cranes from within, or in this case simply load certain containers to specific spots aboard the vessel. This latter option was preprogramed into the dongle and was initialized immediately. Even to the most experience stevedore or container operator, there would be no visible issue. The “hack” simply moved a few containers around in the stow plan. With thousands of containers to be loaded, the system decided the best position for each container based on its characteristics and end port. There was a good chance no one would ever find out how it had happened even after it was all over. The malware would simply lay dormant until it was triggered again or discovered. All after it was too late.

   A few hundred meters away in the yard, a nondescript container was loaded onto the ship. It was placed on the exterior row, 4 containers high. Minutes later another container of the same origin was loaded on the opposite side of the vessel in the different location. 8 containers high. This dance of fixing the location of specific containers went on into the night until 15 similar containers were loaded in strategic locations around the ship, all predetermined by the malware.

   Jonas continued to oversee the loading from his terminal oblivious, to the nefarious device he had connected to the system. All things considered, it was an uneventful shift.

   11 hours later Jonas unplugged his phone, replaced the cable into his pocket, and stood. His relieve Anton was just walking up the stairs to the office. His shift was over. They exchanged pleasantries, and Jonas updated him on the progress made. The vessel would complete cargo operations in 18 hours. Upon completion the Okinawa would sail for Virginia.

 

Maersk Okinawa, Underway — July 30

   An amber light flashed on the terminal.
   He looked up and saw a whale swimming with its calf 4000 meters ahead off the starboard bow.
   The outline of whales was illuminated with a arcade like green line.
   Max manually turned the heading dial to 187*, the ship began to alter course.
   A small pod of whales had jaunted into the path of the Maersk Okinawa.
   He knew they would dive before their courses met but Max wanted to be sure.
   Had he not turned the dial, the program would have issued a course correction automatically.
   Max still had a rebellious spirit and wanted to feel some control.
   The last thing he needed on his record was a “Biologic Strike.”
   Men had their careers ended over such occurrences, and with Max just beginning his; he had no intentions of ending the party early.
   It was his third shift in solo command and Max had finally finished his probationary term as a licensed Merchant Marine officer.
   The vessel slid through the water continuing on course 187* at a smooth 14knts
   Beneath the water the whales continued their dance and hunted in the Maersk’s wake for krill and plankton.

 

“There is something missing from this…” Max thought aloud

…..

   Only the calm silence of the office responded.

   No cold sea breeze, no gulls sounding off in the distance, just the hum of the climate control system and the buzz from his computer terminal and monitors.

   He knew he was judged by his peers for “selling out.”
   His instructors at the academy had warned him he would grow complacent without feeling the ocean beneath him. He actually felt like he was at sea, the monitors and the artificial horizon made the room feel as if it were in motion. Yet he was still, and so was the room.
   Max was in an office complex in Houston Texas.

   The young idealistic man brushed his critics off as jealous.
   The compensation was generous, just like most seafaring officer positions he thought. Except this one let him go home every night and be with his wife, he and his new bride were fresh returned from their honeymoon in Grand Cayman.

  Most of his peers and many young Merchant Officers were bachelors, and the sea was their only mistress. Every new foreign port brought its own new level of shenanigans.
   Not for Max, he had sold out. That was one thing he was certain and happy to have sold out for.

   Max had spent his childhood looking to the sea. Yearning for the mysteries it sheltered. He had thought he had found his calling as a mariner. Destined for the open waters of the world oceans.

   But only 5 years removed from his initial voyage into the beyond on a commercial ship he found himself sitting tethered to a machine, guiding a steel beast via satellite. 5 years ago, during his freshman year at California University Maritime Academy, the public was just beginning to come to terms with the idea of ships sailing without full crews.

   Using similar technology that the military had pioneered in the early UAV programs, the marine shipping industry began to experiment with the technology. The second collapse of the global economy in early 2017 scrambled most of the shipping community. Titans of the industry fell. Hanjin shipping was the first domino in the queue to tip. Once the survivors began to pick up the pieces, they sought a way for technology to make the semi archaic business modern. Our computerized and globalized economy still needed to get goods across the oceans, so ship owners looked to cut costs and ensure favorable charter. Their answer was unmanned cargo ships. The technology was there; it just needed a bit more nurturing.

   The final hurdle following the development of the technology was crossed in the spring of Max’s freshman year when the United Nations convened UNCOAUTS, or United Nations Convention on Autonomous or Unmanned Trade and Shipping. (Pronounced “UN- COATS”). UNCOAUTS was convened after the Terror Attack involving the Hellenic Queen in the Straits of Malacca. Andres Torres, a renegade merchant captain and his crew from the Philippines wrecked their vessel and scuttled the ship with demo charges just outside of the shipping lanes. Torres and crew were killed in a firefight and subsequent detonation of the ship while fighting with Filipino Navy Seals. The crude from the ship spoiled the waters and killed scores of wildlife. Merchant traffic had to be redirected while the spill was contained and managed. The local fishing economy was crippled. The scale of such a disaster hadn’t been seen since Deep Water Horizon and Exon Valdez. The fact a cell directed by Abu Sayyaf had perpetrated it baffled intelligence leaders and shipping magnates alike. The marine industry had been relatively sheltered in the previous decades of terror and turmoil. World Leaders wanted answers, and they wanted the human element out. Every major news network rushed to the scene to broadcast the devastation into every home around the globe. This played into the hands of the major shipping conglomerates, who all wanted their “drone ships” to enter the shipping lanes. Within weeks, all the major world maritime powers adopted UNCOAUTS. The stage was set for the drones to sail.

   Max looked out across the “bridge” of the ship. He was surrounded with 180* field of view that rose into a dome 10 feet above him. He had enough room to pace across his make shift command center but preferred to sit and control from his seated post.

   Max adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They weren’t average reading spectacles.
   These were the coolest glasses Max had ever worn he thought, except for maybe that one hog hunting trip two winters back with his buddy on seal contract. What was that little night vision monocle rig called? PVS 14?  Max trailed off remembering how they bagged 15 hogs that night thanks to what his mother referred to as those “fancy glasses”…

   These low profile glasses weren’t as useful for hunting, but they were essential to manage the voyage.
   The glasses served as his connection to the system. He could quickly determine the status of anything happening on the ship. The temperature of the engines, the speed, course, wind, wave height and range, the list goes on. Max wasn’t truly in control of the 370-meter beast. No, the ship was far too important to be left at the hands of a single man. The computer systems aboard, and satellites high above him did the heavy lifting. He was simply a helmsman, left to ensure the lights stayed green and the ship got from point A to B. Just as the age of the pilot was ending, so was the age of the mariner. This didn’t bother Max much, he had a young wife at home who he would rather spend time with. The time of a ship captain’s spouse waiting, starring off into the distance hoping for their safe return was soon to be a relic of the past.

   Max keyed up the latest edition of Tradewinds on his tablet, he figured if he was to stare off into the unknown he could at least learn about the happenings in industry. He hoped to be management some day, if that were to happen he needed to learn.

…8 Hours Later

   A red strobe kicked on above the console, pulling Max from his deep trance like thoughts.
   He glanced out across the ship, the video feed was frozen in place.
   Damn lag .. Max cursed as the HUD in his glasses shuddered and came back into focus.

   The trouble with the current technology was the shipping companies were piggy backing on the satellites already in orbit. The dedicated marine sats were still being built. Space X was set to bring the first batch into orbit by the end of the next quarter, or so his supervisor said in last weeks meeting. A senior captain, Joseph Kahn who was one of the first in the Maersk unmanned Program, brought up his concern for the more frequent black outs. He was quickly hushed and told to “talk with IT after the meeting”. Max hadn’t had any major issues in all of his training and didn’t think much of a loss of signal.

    Machines aren’t perfect Max offered up to the empty room

   The feed returned and the strobe ceased.
   Over all, the loss lasted 7 seconds from initial notice to return of signal.

   Max looked across the ship.
   Nothing but blue ocean and rust colored containers.
   Living the dream
   Max keyed up his Instant messenger.
   These ships were “almost unmanned,” they still operated with 4 crew members aboard to facilitate routine maintenance. Since these ships were retrofitted with the “Drone” tech they still required man to maintain it while sailing.

/// CPT 1 – We just lost feed for 7 seconds. What is your status?

Max waited as the crew typed

.. . . . .

/// CE 1 – All is well CPT no issues aboard.
/// CPT 1 – Roger, revert as needed

   Max relaxed a bit, he made note of the time and duration of the disruption on a legal pad in front of him. He would type up the report near the end of the shift. He left the pad and pen on the desk, he figured he might have more to report before the shift was finished.

   As Max was finishing his notes a cloud of smoke washed over the bow of the ship.
   “What the hell?!”
   Just as soon as Max brought his gaze up to see the source, the cloud was gone. The feed shuddered and froze again. This time, there was no strobe.
   Max keyed up the computer to adjust the cameras to focus on the source of the smoke plume.
   There was no response form the controls.
   Max looked down at the electronic chart plotter.
   The ship was five miles from the Norfolk Virginia coast.
   His mind raced,
   He made note of the vessels in the immediate vicinity on the chart plotter.
   Maersk Oklahoma,  BBC Vietnam, 3 small fishing trawlers, and the Maersk Elisa.
He pinged the Engineer on the messenger

// CPT 1 – What is your status? I have smoke rising from the bow. Can you confirm?
As soon as Max sent the message he received a response
// CE 1 – All Clear. All Systems normal. No smoke aboard.

  Max looked at his panel. The Chief was correct he wasn’t showing any malfunctions.
   When he looked back across the bow the smoke was gone. There was no evidence it was even there at all.
   Something isn’t right… He muttered to no one but himself. The whole bit was maddening.

   Max picked up the phone and dialed the Watch Officer a few doors down from him.

   “Hey Jerry, I’ve got a problem.”
   “Max I told you don’t worry about the sea monsters they can’t get you in the cubical –”
   Max’s nervous tone gave him away
   “Jerry I’m serious I just lost contact with her and before I did, smoke plumes were coming out of the bow. The Chief on board responded to my status request before I even finished my question.”
   Jerry Stiffened in his chair and opened his computer. Hey keyed his username and password and pulled up the feed from Maersk Okinawa.

   Hold for a minute Max, let me pull her up.

   Thanks Jerry, something just doesn’t seem right.

   Jerry looked across the screen; all systems aboard the Okinawa were showing normal. Jerry glanced at the video feeds into the engine compartment. The propulsion systems were operating flawlessly, and he noticed no issues. He moved over to the bridge camera, and looked ahead across the ship.
   “Hey Max, I’m not showing any issues. Everything looks clear.” 

   Looks like modern sailors still see monsters even if they aren’t on the ship Jerry mused to himself

   Max sunk into his chair and thought over the past minute. He relaxed and responded to Jerry

   Thanks Jerry, Il put it in the log and keep and eye on it. Sorry to bother you with that.

   “No problem Max, Happy sailing” Jerry added with a trace of sarcasm

   “Fucking green horn” Jerry mustered as the returned the phone to the cradle.

   Max replaced the phone and lost himself thinking about his upcoming time off, half embarrassed by the past few minutes.

 

   “Betty Sue” Fishing trawler 5 Miles off of Norfolk 0947hrs EST

 

   “What the hell are you doing?!” Michael yelled over the noise of the diesel engines.
   Adam was tangled waist deep in the net on the aft deck.
   “Sorry Cap’n I lost my balance..”
   “It’s impossible to get good help anymore!” Michael laughed as he made his way onto the deck.
   He reached down and helped the green deckie out of the mess he had fallen into.
   “Thanks captain, sorry about that.”
   “Watch your step, I can’t have you dragged over the side by some errant net!
   Michael turned back and headed for the pilothouse with a chuckle.
   Just as he cleared the frame, a shriek washed over the small trawler.
   The noise caught him off balance and he was thrown into the cabin.
   What in the world!
   Once Michael regained his composure he headed back outside.
   Adam was staring off into the distance in silence.
   “Jesus Christ kid, what the hell was . .. . “

 

   As he trailed off Michael came to terms with what he saw, a trio of container ships a few thousand meters directly astern of them had long trails of smoke billowing out of their tops. Containers were sliding off the deck as the concussion of the launches reverberated through the hull.

   Adam immediately pulled out his phone and began recording the action that was unfolding in front of the pair.

   Each missile reached into the air until it jettisoned its booster high above the containerized launchers. Once the cruise missile was clear of its launcher, the winglets deployed. These small control surfaces aided in guiding it to its final destination, as they fluctuated maddeningly each device was brought to an even level above the ocean. With the targeting computers activated, the missiles began to their descent to about 100 feet above the cresting surf. From there they began to vector in on different targets in the distance. Each cruise missile, a fatal mass of metal and plastic. No humanity, operating without emotion, set in its course by actors thousands of miles away with the click of a mouse and the stroke of a keyboard, bore towards their targets.

 

Houston Maersk Control Office – 0845hrs CST

   Max took a slug of his coffee and continued cycling over the readings in front of him.
   The remaining 15 minutes of his shift were uneventful. Or so he thought.
   He typed up the reports and passed them along to his supervisors. He made sure the officer set to relieve him was logged on and emailed him copies of the log from the previous watch, making special notice of the loss of signal. His replacement had just logged in from Bremerhaven, Germany.
   Satisfied with the transition, Max logged off and headed for his truck. He was looking forward to the next few days off. He and his wife were headed for the family ranch. Max opened the door to the ford and started the diesel beast. His mother in law gave him hell for the gas-guzzling machine but he ignored the peanut gallery.
   The radio was blaring a local classic rock station. He caught the end of a Metallica song as he accelerated onto the highway and headed for home. He was lost in thought thinking about the upcoming weekend he would spend with his family.
   Just as he settled and engaged cruise control, the radio cut out.
   As soon as he maneuvered to adjust the station, it returned…

   “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an emergency alert.
Large scale attacks have been launched in cities across the United States. Missiles have struck the Naval Facilities at Norfolk. Casualties are unknown at this time. We also are receiving reports that San Diego, Pearl Harbor, and the Panama Canal have been struck. Stay tuned for more information.”

   Max’s heart dropped. He had just guided a ship into Norfolk, The smoke plume? The loss of feed?

   What Have I done!?”

   Just as he came upon the 610 bridge spanning the Houston ship channel his heart dropped again.

   He was too caught up in the radio broadcast to see the smoke and flames.

   The entire ship channel was ablaze. Thick black smoke plumed from warehouses and ships. Tank farms arced with explosions into the morning sky as missiles impacted each facility. He floored the accelerator and headed for his home.

Austin Reid is a graduate of Texas A&M University where he studied Maritime Administration. He is currently working in industry as a stevedoring superintendent on the gulf coast.

Featured Image: Schiebel Camcopter S-100 (Schiebel)