A new slide showed force dispositions across Eastern Europe.
“The Iranians are reportedly furious. They signed up for an exercise, not what they’re calling ‘Chinese adventurism.’ Our assessment is that Beijing may have overplayed their hand, creating fractures in the alliance before the exercise even begins.”
The briefer paused, letting that sink in before moving to the Pacific situation.
“Meanwhile, the CCP voted unanimously yesterday to implement their ‘civilian customs inspection’ regime for Taiwan-bound vessels. Starting today, randomly selected cargo ships will be directed to mainland ports for inspection. Noncompliance risks boarding and seizure.”
The reactions came rapid-fire through diplomatic cables displayed on screen:
“Taiwan’s President called it ‘a blockade by another name.’ Japan’s raised their alert status and begun consultations with allies. The Australian PM urged calm while warning Beijing they’re pushing toward conflict. Most dramatically, the Philippines revealed documents from a captured PRC intelligence operative detailing plans for seizure of the Palawan Islands as part of a broader First Island Chain Strategy.”
Mercer watched Lieutenant Colonel Brenner lean forward at that last piece.
“Secretary Hallsworth reminded Beijing, quote: ‘The People of China prosper through international cooperation, not isolation born of aggression.’ Strong words from State.”
The briefer clicked to his final slide.
“EUCOM and NATO assessment remains that EDEP is a psychological operation, saber rattling on an unprecedented scale, but still theater. We’re maintaining current readiness levels while monitoring for escalation indicators. Questions?”
Silence greeted him. After he departed, Brenner stood.
“All right, maybe Brussels is right. Maybe it’s all for show.” His voice carried the skepticism his face showed. “But we’re not betting lives on ‘maybe.’ New training priority effective immediately — every soldier drills medical response daily. Casualty evacuation, pressure dressings, tourniquet application. If bullets start flying, I want muscle memory saving lives.”
He continued, pacing now. “Counterdrone procedures at every level. Yes, our systems have degraded their effectiveness, but assuming the enemy won’t adapt is how you end up dead. Personal jammers, Leonidas systems, manual tracking, I want you to drill it all.”
Colonel Lindqvist stood as Brenner finished. “The Americans prepare for the worst, and so will we. Home Guard increases surveillance of unusual activity, strangers asking questions, people where they shouldn’t be, you know what to look for. Our air-defense units will integrate fully with the Patriot battery, ready to respond within seconds, not minutes.”
He looked directly at Captain Bertil. “Your people know this island better than anyone. They are our eyes and ears. Tell them to trust their instincts — if something feels wrong, report it.”
As the meeting broke up, Mercer walked back to his vehicle in the strengthening morning sun. The contrast struck him — peaceful Swedish countryside, farmers tending fields, children waiting for school buses, while he carried knowledge of gathering storms across half the globe.
Back at Grönt Centrum, he found his platoon leaders conducting PT, soldiers calling cadence as they ran past the old barracks. Normal military routine on an extraordinary day. He wondered how much to share, how much would help versus hurt.
First Sergeant Tanner appeared at his elbow. “How was the briefing, sir?”
Mercer watched his soldiers for a moment, young faces, eager, trained, but untested in what might be coming.
“Informative, Top. Let’s you and I grab coffee. We need to adjust some training priorities.”
For now, he’d give them what they needed to survive. The bigger picture about the Chinese bases in the Baltic, possible fracturing of alliances, and blockades disguised as inspections, they could wait. His job was to keep these soldiers alive and fighting when abstract threats became concrete reality.
If EUCOM was wrong, if this exercise was more than theater, they’d find out soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Black Tracks, Cold Steel
The tanks thundered across the field in a bounding overwatch formation, with one group of tanks covering the others while they advanced. The roar of tank engines echoed through the valley as Alpha Company assaulted a simulated defensive belt. Muzzle flashes lit up the night as they reached the first obstacle line — rows of dragon teeth anti-tank obstacles interlaced with barbed wire in front of a tank ditch deep enough they’d need specialized engineering vehicles to cross.
Surging forward from behind Torres’ platoon came a trio of engineering vehicles with attached Sapper teams — combat engineers trained in breaching complex obstacles and fortified positions.
The four Abrams tanks in 2nd Platoon laid down suppressive fire as a pair of M5 Ripsaws flanked out ahead, scanning the trench line for enemy ATGM teams with thermal optics and LIDAR pings.
“Loader, AMP!” Torres barked as he spotted a target his gunner should have.
“Gunner, shift — bunker complex, eleven o’clock, six hundred!”
“Identified!” Burke’s Cajun drawl cut through the noise.
“Fire!”
“On the way!”
The 120mm main gun cracked. A moment later, the target bloomed in a flash of simulated fire and smoke — another OPFOR strongpoint taken off the board.
Live rounds punched into earthen berms behind the targets. The crack of tank cannons mixed with the steady hammer of coaxial machine guns. Overhead, illumination rounds burst like miniature suns, casting stark shadows across the obstacle belt.
“Sapper element is moving up,” Lieutenant Novak reported from Alpha-21. “Assassin Two-Three and Two-Four, suppress flanks. That tree line’s hot.”
“Gunner, coax — fixed fire, trench line, ten o’clock,” Torres ordered, eyes locked on the flickering IR signature along the berm line.
“Identified,” Burke replied.
The M240 coax opened up with a stuttering burst, red tracers stitching the edge of the trenchworks. Alongside, Alpha-22 and -23 joined in, hammering suppression with coax and .50-cal fire from the commander’s remote operated weapon station. The engineering vehicles surged forward under the covering fire from Torres’s platoon.
Moving abreast of them, a pair of M1150 Assault Breacher Vehicles advanced in staggered formation to the obstacle line. One of the ABVs fired its MCLIC, a rocket-dragged line charge that arced high before slamming down across the dragon teeth and tangled concertina wire.
“Fire in the hole!” an engineer called over the company net.
A concussive blast ripped across the obstacle belt — flame, dust, and shrapnel shearing through the concertina wire and dragon teeth. Smoke hung low as the breaching lane began to take shape. Without delay, a Joint Assault Bridge vehicle crept forward, aligned with the cleared gap. The JAB vehicle deployed its bridging array across the shallow anti-tank ditch. The span locked into place with a metallic clank.
“Assassin Two-Two, Castle Two-One,” came the call over the company net. “Lane is clear. Bridge set. Passage open for armor.”
“Copy, Castle. Alpha Two-Two moving,” Torres replied, keying his throat mic.
To his left, an M5 Ripsaw crossed the newly created bridge and pushed out toward Phase Line Dallas, its turret sweeping side to side. Torres tracked it on his multi-function display. A thermal ping bloomed behind the far berm — a small, fast, humanoid heat signature.