“Exactly.” Mick pulled up a new display showing the full undersea battle space. “Each Seeker can deploy sixteen micro-mines from its payload bay. Create choke points. Channel the enemy where you want them.”
Outside, dawn painted Apra Harbor gold. Through the trailer’s reinforced windows, they could see the actual Seeker units in their cradles, technicians running final checks. Each one cost twenty-eight million dollars — less than a tenth of a manned submarine but with similar capability in confined waters.
“Let’s talk real-world employment,” Mick continued. “Your coastline has three major approach routes for amphibious assault. The Penghu Channel, the north approach past Keelung, and the southern route through the Luzon Strait. How many Seekers would you need for effective coverage?”
The room erupted in discussion. Some argued for concentration of force, others for dispersed operations. Tang let them debate before speaking.
“Twelve per approach, minimum. But that assumes perfect coordination.”
“Which brings us to Lattice.” Mick activated the holographic display, showing a three-dimensional network of interconnected nodes. “This isn’t just a command and control tool. It’s a hive mind for your robot fleet. Each platform shares data, learns from others’ experiences, adapts tactics in real time.”
He highlighted vulnerability points. “But it’s also your greatest weakness. The PLA’s been developing quantum computing specifically to crack AI networks. They hack their way into Lattice, they own your fleet.”
“Ouch. Countermeasures?” Tang asked.
“Compartmentalization. Firewalls between tactical and strategic layers. And this.” Mick held up a physical key. “Manual override, hardwired into each platform. It’s a Stone Age solution to a Space Age problem.”
Petty Officer Liang raised his hand. “Sir, the battery limitation. Six hours seems…”
“Inadequate? Yeah, it is.” Mick shrugged. “That’s why you rotate. Always have a third of your force charging, a third in transit, a third on station. Or…”
He pulled up another slide showing modified Taiwanese fishing vessels.
“Tender ships. Disguised as trawlers but carrying charging stations. The Seekers surface at night, quick charge, and they’re back in the fight.”
“The PLA will target them,” Tang observed.
“Of course they will. Which is why you defend them with these bad boys.” The display showed Zealot USVs, bristling with missiles and autocannons. “Surface escort for your subsurface hunters. Combined arms, autonomous style.”
The morning wore on. Scenario after scenario, each more complex than the last. The ROC operators began thinking less like traditional sailors and more like orchestra conductors, managing a symphony of autonomous systems.
During a break, Mick found himself outside with Tang, both men watching the actual Seekers being lowered into the harbor for afternoon live trials.
“Your thoughts, Commander?”
Tang was quiet for a moment. “It changes everything. For decades, we’ve planned for heroic last stands. Brave men dying to slow the invasion. This…” He gestured at the robots. “This gives us a chance to win.”
“Only if you use them right.” Mick lit a cigarette, ignoring base regulations. “The PLA’s not stupid. They’re developing countermeasures as we speak. Drone swarms to overwhelm your Seekers, EMP weapons to fry their circuits, cyberattacks on Lattice.”
“Then we adapt faster.” Tang’s jaw set. “We have to.”
“Exactly. That’s the spirit.” Mick flicked ash into the harbor. “Tomorrow we run the nightmare scenario. Full invasion fleet, contested electromagnetic environment, degraded communications. Think your people are ready?”
“They’ll have to be.” Tang watched his sailors through the trailer window, bent over their consoles with fierce concentration. “That vote in Beijing last week… it was meant to end us.”
“Then let’s make sure they choke on the attempt.” Mick crushed out his cigarette. “Yoda was wrong about one thing. There is ‘try.’ And trying to invade Taiwan after we’re done here will be the PRC’s last mistake.”
They headed back inside. The next scenario was loading — a hundred PLAN vessels approaching with their barge bridges and civilian vehicle ferries loaded with battalions of armor and infantry fighting vehicles, hundreds of PLA aircraft, communications jammed, satellites offline.
Time to teach these kids how to fight blind and mute.
Chapter Twenty-Two:
Steel Horizon
“Assassin Two-Two, this is Assassin Two-Seven. I’ve got eyes on ridge. We’ve got FPV drones above and in the tree line,” Torres’s voice crackled over the internal comms. He’d barely called out his warning when, a second later, the Leonidas-equipped Ripsaw on the flank fired a directed pulse into the sky. Torres watched through his commander’s independent thermal viewer in satisfaction as the pair of commercial-grade quadcopters dropped like flies into the Polish mud. The threat had been eliminated before it could ruin their day.
Unlike conventional weapons, the electromagnetic pulse made no sound when it fired. There was no crack of the sound barrier breaking, no swooshing sound of a rocket motor or missile accelerating — just a faint electrical hum, then silence where rotors had once buzzed.
“Assassin Two-Seven, Romeo One-Alpha, targets eliminated, targets eliminated,” Warrant Officer Marrick announced over the battalion net. “Shifting autonomous patrol route to Grid November-Kilo-Four-Seven.”
A sharp crack split the air. Then another. The M5’s 30mm autocannon tore into a drone-controlled target vehicle disguised as a Russian BMP-3. The unmanned target erupted in a shower of sparks and shredded composite material before igniting, adding to the realism.
“Holy—” Private First Class Munoz jumped in surprise from the sudden eruption of machine-gun fire and cannons going off outside as the exercise got underway. “Whoa! Those are live rounds that Polish watchtower is firing over top of us!”
“Damn right they are,” Torres growled from his commander’s station. “They’re firing well above us to simulate what it will sound like when it’s the real deal, Private. We train as we fight. No do-overs when Ivan comes knocking. Now stay focused. Head in the game, guys.”
Their tank moved with the rest of the platoon as they advanced further into the training range. The whole scene was surreal, far more realistic than the range they’d trained on at Bliss. As they approached a wooded area, the hairs on the back of Torres’s neck tingled. He keyed his mic. “Gunner, traverse right. Watch that wood line.”
“Copy that,” Sergeant Burke replied. The turret whined as their 120mm smoothbore cannon tracked to the right of the scarred training area. More tracers arced overhead — red streams of 7.62mm mixed with the stuttering bark of the louder .50-cal, firing somewhere to their left.
A pyrotechnic artillery simulator exploded nearby, adding yet another layer of realism to their training. Some crazy Polish engineers had rigged canisters filled with loose rocks and dirt to be thrown into the air to rain down on their vehicles as they drove by. It greatly increased the pucker factor of their training.
“Assassin Two-Seven, this is Assassin Two-Six.” Lieutenant Novak’s voice cut through, trying to project calm over the chaos. “Polish element reports movement along grid Papa-Romeo-Two-Eight-Eight-Seven-Six. Probable OPFOR armor.”
Another explosion erupted, closer this time. Smoke canisters popped along the ridgeline, obscuring thermal sights with thick gray clouds.