“I think that’s the last of them,” Mack commented, watching as the final ROC operator descended the ramp. According to her roster, he should be Commander Tang Muyang, a submarine warfare specialist with ten years in Taiwan’s navy. Observing him, Mack noted how his eyes swept the hangar, cataloging exits, defensive positions, potential threats. It was the kind of automatic threat assessment that came from years of living next door to a hostile giant.
“That’s our lead student,” Mick noted. “Downloaded his file last night. Smart cookie. MIT exchange program, systems engineering.”
“Perfect.” Mack tapped her tablet, pulling up the training schedule. “He’ll need every neuron firing to handle what we’re teaching.”
The formation marched into the hangar, boots splashing through puddles. Up close, Mack could see the tension in their faces. Young men and women who’d grown up watching PLA destroyers probe their waters, counting missile batteries pointed at their homes. Last week’s vote in Beijing had stripped away any remaining illusions. The PRC’s declaration that Taiwan would be included in the new customs inspection routine under the guise of their new drug enforcement act was a blockade in all but name. It was still yet to be determined if the US and the rest of the international community would adhere to the inspection terms or test Beijing’s appetite for direct conflict.
“Welcome to Guam,” Mack called out, her voice carrying over the rain drumming on metal. “My name is Jodi Mack, but you can call me Mack. I’m one of the TSG trainers from a company called Anduril Industries. Prior to Anduril, I was a lieutenant in the US Navy, specializing in unmanned underwater vehicles. This is my TSG counterpart, retired Chief Warrant Officer Three Michael Matsin. He spent twenty-six years in the US Navy and is a encyclopedia of all things related to unmanned naval warfare.”
“Just Mick, or Chief,” he added. “Save the formalities for people who care.”
A few tight smiles cracked through the formation’s discipline.
“You’re here because your government bought the best unmanned systems money can’t normally buy,” Mack continued. “Seeker-class XLUUVs that can hunt subs autonomously for thirty days. Hammer Shark sprint torpedoes that’ll make a Song-class submarine look like it’s standing still. Zealot surface vessels that turn your coastline into a no-go zone.”
She paused, studying their faces. “But hardware’s just expensive junk without operators who know how to use it. That’s where we come in.”
“Ma’am” — Commander Tang raised a hand — “the systems you mentioned — they’re American designs. Will we have full operational authority?”
“Good question.” Mack appreciated the directness. “Short answer, yes. Long answer, you’ll have Lattice AI integration giving you tactical control while strategic oversight remains within your command structure. Think of it as Netflix for naval warfare — you pick what to watch, but the algorithm suggests what might kill you.”
Nervous laughter rippled through the ranks.
“Look, some decisions aren’t ours to make and have been forced upon us,” Mick interjected. “This latest decision by the PRC to include Taiwan in their drug enforcement act inspection regime is a case in point. But we’re not here to debate policy or what happens next. We’re here to train you on some equipment that gives your leaders some options and the PLA some pause.” His humor evaporated as he addressed the elephant in the room head-on. “We all know this customs inspection regime starting April fifteenth is a threat to the very survival of your country. Our job isn’t to decide what happens next. That’s a political question we elect leaders to decide. What Mack and I are here to do is make sure that if they try to enforce this blockade, they’ll be fishing ChiCom destroyers out of the Taiwan Strait.”
Thunder rolled across the airfield. The lights flickered, emergency power kicking in smoothly.
“Questions?” Mack asked.
A young petty officer, barely twenty-one by the look of him, raised his hand tentatively. “The vote last week… they really mean it this time?”
The hangar fell silent except for rain and distant thunder.
“They’ve meant it every time,” Mack said quietly. “Difference is, this time they think they can win. Our job — your job — is to make that calculation so costly they’ll choke on it.”
She gestured to the equipment containers being offloaded from the C-17, each one stenciled with cryptic designations: XLUUV-SEEK-7, CAN-USV-12, MINE-CAP-3.
“Ten days,” she announced. “That’s what you get to master systems that take our operators months to learn. We’ll run you eighteen hours a day. Sleep will be a luxury. Mistakes will be painful. But when you leave here, you’ll be able to turn the waters around Taiwan into a graveyard for anyone stupid enough to test you.”
“Including West Taiwan’s finest rust buckets,” Mick added with a wolfish grin.
This time the laughter was genuine. Even Tang cracked a smile at the joking reference to mainland China as “West Taiwan” instead of the People’s Republic of China.
“Ground rules,” Mack continued. “Everything you see here is classified beyond classified. The Chinese have assets throughout the Pacific trying to steal what you’re about to learn. Trust no one outside this group. Use only secured comms. And if someone approaches you offering money for information…”
“Report it immediately,” Tang finished. “We’ve had the briefings.”
“Good.” Mack stepped aside as ground crews began moving the first container into the hangar. “Grab your gear and follow Chief Reyes to billeting. PT formation at 1400. First classroom session at 1500. Tonight, you learn to think like the machines you’ll command.”
The formation broke, operators collecting seabags and equipment cases. Mack noticed how they moved — alert, professional, but with an undercurrent of urgency. They understood the stakes.
“Think they’re ready for this?” Mick asked quietly.
Mack watched Tang directing his people, organizing them into work details without being asked. “They better be. Clock’s ticking, and Skinny Poo’s not known for patience.”
“Speaking of which…” Mick pulled out his phone, showing her a news alert. “PLA Navy announced another ‘training evolution’ near Matsu. Three destroyers, carrier group standing by in reserve.”
“Pressure tactics.” Mack shrugged, but her jaw tightened. “Let them posture. In ten days, these kids will have the tools to make that carrier group think twice about entering the strait.”
The squall began to ease, sunlight breaking through in patches. Steam rose from the tarmac as tropical heat reasserted itself. Mack looked at her tablet one more time, reviewing the compressed training schedule. Ten days to teach submarine hunters how to command robot wolves. Ten days to help David sharpen his rock-slinging skills.
No pressure, she thought, then called out to the ROC contingent. “One more thing. Anyone here seen The Empire Strikes Back?”
Confused nods and raised hands.
“Good. Because, as Yoda said, ‘Do or do not, there is no try.’ Except here, ‘do not’ means your country drowns in landing craft. So let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”
She turned to Mick. “Think I should ease up on the movie quotes?”
“Nah.” He scratched his beard. “If you can’t find wisdom in eighties action flicks, what’s the point of defending democracy?”
Tang appeared at her elbow, having settled his people. “Excuse me, Mack, one question. These XLUUVs — they’re truly autonomous? No tether to a base?”