Dahl made his decision. “XO, launch the boarding team under standard inspection authority. If we get ROE escalation from MARCOM, we’ll shift to full combat protocols..”
Algotsson was already moving. “Aye, sir!” He grabbed the intercom. “Flight Deck, Bridge. Spin up the helicopter. Combat launch, hostile boarding. Six-man team, full tactical loadout.”
The response was immediate. “Flight Deck, aye. Spinning up now.”
Through the bridge windows, Dahl could see the hangar doors sliding open. The NH90 helicopter emerged on its handling system, rotor blades beginning to unfold. The boarding team sprinted across the deck in full combat gear — helmets, body armor, MP5 submachine guns, and tactical radios.
“Helm, increase to twenty knots,” Dahl ordered. “Put us in optimal position to support the boarding.”
“Twenty knots, aye.”
The Lulea-class corvette surged forward, her gas turbine joining the diesel engines. The distance to the Chinese freighter shrank rapidly.
“Hai Qing is accelerating,” the radar operator reported. “Now making eight knots… ten knots.”
They were running. That confirmed Dahl’s suspicions — innocent vessels didn’t flee from lawful inspection.
“Time to cable?”
“Forty-two minutes at their current speed.”
On the flight deck, the NH90’s rotors reached full speed, the downwash creating a localized storm of spray. The boarding team leader gave a thumbs-up to the deck officer.
“Sir,” the communications officer interrupted. “Flash traffic from MARCOM. Rules of engagement confirmed. We are authorized to use all necessary means to prevent damage to critical infrastructure.”
“About time,” Dahl muttered. He keyed the intercom. “Flight Deck, Bridge. You are cleared for launch. Execute hostile boarding. Stop that vessel.”
“Flight Deck, aye. Launching.”
At 0608 hours, the NH90 lifted off in a thunder of rotors, banking sharply toward the fleeing freighter. Through his binoculars, Dahl spotted the six-man team checking their fast-rope equipment. Lieutenant Jonas Eriksson, the boarding team leader, was one of Sweden’s best. If anyone could stop the Hai Qing, it would be him.
“Sir,” Algotsson said quietly. “If they resist?”
Dahl didn’t lower his binoculars. “Then we do whatever it takes to protect that cable. The diplomatic fallout will be someone else’s problem.”
The helicopter raced across the gap, closing on the Chinese vessel like a predator swooping on prey. In the morning light, Dahl could see crew members on the Hai Qing’s deck pointing and gesturing at the approaching aircraft.
Forty minutes to the cable.
The race was on.
Within four minutes of lift off, the NH90 was hovering twenty meters above the freighter’s deck, rotor wash sending loose debris skittering across the containers. Lieutenant Jonas Eriksson gave the signal — two fingers pointed down — and his team began their descent.
Petty Officer Lars Andersson slid down the rope fast, boots hitting the deck hard. He immediately moved left, his B&T carbine up, covering the approach from the bridge.
Corporal Nina Holm dropped beside him, sweeping right toward the container stacks. The Karlsson twins, Erik and Magnus — landed simultaneously, spreading the perimeter. Petty Officer Mikael Lindqvist rolled behind a ventilation housing, scanning for threats.
Eriksson grabbed the rope, ready to follow his team down. Through the helicopter’s open door, he could see Sergeant Johan Svensson preparing to descend after him.
The first muzzle flash came from the bridge wing.
Three rounds punched through the NH90’s thin aluminum skin. Eriksson heard them impact — sharp metallic cracks that made his blood freeze. Then came the sound every soldier dreaded: turbine failure.
The engine coughed, then sputtered. Black smoke billowed from the exhaust port.
“Taking fire!” the pilot shouted over the intercom. “Engine hit! Losing power!”
There were more muzzle flashes. The shooter had an AK-pattern rifle, firing short bursts with trained precision. Bullets sparked off the helicopter’s fuselage, spider-webbing the cockpit glass.
Eriksson dropped. There was no time for the rope — he hit the deck hard, rolling to dissipate the impact. Pain shot through his left ankle, but he forced himself up, weapon ready.
Above him, the NH90 lurched sideways, the pilot fighting dying controls. Black smoke poured from the engine compartment in thick, oily clouds. The helicopter spun, its tail rotor struggling to maintain authority.
“Get clear!” Andersson screamed.
The boarding team scattered as the NH90 descended in a barely controlled crash. The pilot managed to level out momentarily, trying for the open deck space between container stacks. For a heartbeat, it looked like he might make it.
Then the main rotor clipped a container edge.
The blade shattered with a sound like breaking thunder. Composite fragments exploded outward in a lethal cloud. The helicopter pitched violently, rolling onto its side as it slammed into the deck.
Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The fuel tank ruptured.
The explosion came a half second later — a ball of orange flame that climbed thirty meters into the morning sky. The shockwave knocked Eriksson flat, heat washing over him like a physical blow.
“Contact left!” Holm’s voice cut through the chaos.
Two figures emerged from behind a container stack, rifles raised. Chinese military — not crew. They moved with tactical precision, using the smoke and flames as cover.
Eriksson’s team reacted instantly. Trained reflexes took over. B&Ts barked in controlled bursts, the disciplined fire of professionals. The first Chinese soldier spun and fell. The second dove behind a cable spool, returning fire.
“Bridge shooter still active!” Lindqvist called out, then grunted as a round caught his shoulder plate. The armor held, but the impact drove him to one knee.
More automatic fire erupted from the superstructure. How many hostiles? The intelligence had said civilian crew, maybe a small security detail. This was a military operation.
“Andersson, Magnus — flank right!” Eriksson ordered, ignoring the spreading flames from the crashed helicopter. “Everyone else, suppress that bridge position!”
As the smoke swirled around, he spotted movement through the windows near the forward deckhouse. Two figures dressed in civilian clothes looked like they were bashing some sort of equipment with hammers. Then he spotted a flash mixed with sparks. He realized whoever was inside the deckhouse was there for sabotage. Then he spotted a second flash, then a third.
“Lieutenant! It looks like they’re trying to destroy equipment!” Holm shouted, tracking the new targets.
Eriksson knew if those were thermite grenades, the ship was in for much worse trouble than the fire currently burning on its deck. A thermite grenade generated a chemical fire that burned at over 2500 degrees Celsius, hot enough to melt through steel, certainly hot enough to reduce computers and hard drives to slag. The real problem, Eriksson realized, was how they would put it out once they had secured the ship.
Another burst of rifle fire from the bridge forced Eriksson down behind a bollard. Rounds sparked off the metal inches from his head. The Chinese had turned their merchant vessel into a kill box, and his team was caught in the middle.
Behind him, ammunition in the crashed helicopter cooked off — small explosions that sent tracers arcing across the deck in random directions. The fire was spreading, feeding on spilled aviation fuel that ran in burning rivers between the containers.