The Gotland Deception

Chapter Thirty-Six: First Blood

The emergency klaxon shattered the predawn quiet of the Joint Operations Center, its piercing wail cutting through the low hum of electronics and hushed conversations. Major General Yen Jiachun’s coffee mug froze halfway to his lips as the main display wall erupted in cascading alerts.

“We’re receiving an emergency transmission on VHF channel sixteen!” Captain Hsu Lichung’s fingers flew across his console. “It’s a Filipino merchant vessel — three-five nautical miles west of Magong Harbor.”

The speakers crackled to life with heavily accented English. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! This is Motor Vessel Kalayaan Spirit, Philippine registry. We are requesting immediate assistance. We have Chinese warships attempting to board us. My God, they’re firing warning shots at us! We need help! We are in Taiwan territorial waters! We are requesting immediate assistance. Can anyone hear us?”

General Yen set his mug down with deliberate calm, though his pulse quickened. They had known this was a possibility. Still, they had somehow hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Now that it had, they had to deal with it.

“This is unacceptable!” Yen exclaimed. “In our own territorial waters at that. Get me a visual of the situation, if it’s available. Let’s get it on main screen,” Yen ordered, whipping the JOC into action. “All stations — Navy and Air Force, give me a tactical picture of what we’re looking at, now!”

The Joint Operations Center, manned by officers and senior NCOs from the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and now TSG, moved with practiced efficiency. Monitors populated quickly with real-time data from Manta One, their Zephyr S pseudosatellite, maintaining its silent watch from its perch at seventy thousand feet over southern Taiwan. The infrared feed painted the Taiwan Strait in ghostly whites and grays, each heat signature tagged and tracked by the AI-assisted targeting system. It identified eleven PLA Navy vessels, denoting them as angry red diamonds, arranged in a loose crescent around a single blue square — the Kalayaan Spirit.

More data concerning the situation continued to flow into the JOC from a P-3 Orion, which had just completed its third pass of the area since coming on station two hours ago. Seconds later, a live video appeared on a monitor; the feed had been piped in from one of their Teng Yun UAVs, circling above Magong Naval Base.

“Get a confirmation of that PLA surface composition. I want to know what we’re dealing with,” Yen directed, focusing his operators’ attention.

The naval liaison officer, Commander Qiu Shaozheng, stared intently at his monitor before speaking. “I’ve got it. We’re looking at one Type 055 destroyer, designated Zunyi. Two Type 052D guided-missile destroyers. Four Type 054A frigates.” He paused, double-checking his screen. “Four Type 056A corvettes. Plus… damn, twelve maritime militia trawlers on top of it… and they’re moving in closer, possibly going to attempt to board them.”

“Unbelievable. They really think they can just violate our territorial waters like this.” Yen’s voice carried the shock of the moment and the weight of the reality that this was really happening. A total of twenty-three foreign military vessels had entered their territorial waters in pursuit of a single merchant ship.

“What’s the air picture looking like?”

Major Ke Jianhao, the Air Defense Coordinator, spoke up from his station. “We are tracking six J-10s inbound from the northwest, bearing three-two-zero. Currently ninety miles out, on intercept vector for our P-3 and our fighters on combat air patrol over Penghu,” he calmly replied before his brow furrowed. “Um, we’re also getting intermittent returns from the Patriot’s phased array tracking radar at Penghu Airport. It’s probably a stealth contact — maybe J-20s, but they’re ghosts for right now. We can’t get a confirmation yet.”

The J-20s were China’s fifth-generation stealth fighter, a counter to the American F-22 Raptor and the F-35 Lightning IIs. Until they engaged another fighter, dropping their stealth profiles to fire their missiles, they were phantoms.

Another burst transmission on the emergency frequency aired over the radio. “Chinese Navy vessel. This is Kalayaan Spirit. We are a civilian bulk food carrier in Taiwan waters. We will not submit to your boarding request or—”

A new voice cut in, speaking accented but clear English. “Motor Vessel Kalayaan Spirit, this is People’s Liberation Army Navy vessel Zunyi. Under provisions of the Drug Enforcement Act of China 2033, you will stop your vessel immediately and prepare to be boarded for customs inspection. Any attempt to ignore these instructions or proceed to your destination will be considered a hostile act and treated accordingly.”

Jodi Mack looked up from her station, clearly shocked by the brazenness of the command. In the days leading to this event, Admiral Han had personally requested to have a TSG liaison embedded in the JOC. Her expertise in the autonomous systems with which TSG had augmented the Navy and Marines had made her the go-to advisor.

Jodi seemed to shake off the surprise of the situation. Her fingers danced across her workstation as she correlated data feeds from the numerous sensors surrounding Penghu. “General, we have vessels in the area,” she called out. “They are already responding.”

She cast her screen to one of the monitors on the wall. “Sir, Shark One at Magong confirms we have the frigate Chen De and the corvettes Wan Chiang and Fu Chiang on patrol nearby. They’re redirecting now to converge on the merchant’s position.”

“Time to intercept?”

Commander Qiu checked his plot. “Eight minutes for Wan Chiang; she’s closest. Chen De is twelve minutes out. The Fu Chiang is bringing up the rear at fifteen.”

The math wasn’t on their side. The PLA boarding teams could be on that merchant in five minutes and at least one of the fishing trawlers was already practically on top of them.

“Sir!” Master Sergeant Lin Meiqing half-stood at her console. “We’re detecting an electromagnetic spike from the PLA formation. They are going active with their fire-control radars.”

The Kalayaan Spirit’s captain came back on the radio, fear bleeding through the static. “To anyone who can hear this, we are a civilian vessel in Taiwan waters! Chinese Navy ships are attempting to board us. This is an act of piracy! We are requesting help immediately!”

General Yen’s jaw tightened. Listening to the calls for help and not being able to do anything about it was killing him inside. He wanted to scream but knew it wouldn’t change anything. Every second this situation went unchecked meant lives at risk.

“To hell with it,” he muttered to himself. The legal justification was clear.

“Get me Shark One,” Yen ordered.

“Sir, Shark One is online,” Captain Hsu confirmed seconds later.

“Shark One, Fortress Actual. How copy?”

“Fortress Actual. Good copy. Go for traffic,” came the cool, professional response from Mick. While Jodi remained in Taipei, Michael Matsin had stayed on Penghu to assist Commander Tang and his sailors in manning the various autonomous vessels deployed around the Penghu Islands.

“Shark One, what’s the status on your unmanned systems? Do you have something in play near the civilian ship in distress?” General Yen asked.

Mick’s gravelly voice came through clearly. “Affirmative, Fortress. We have six Seeker XLUUVs deployed and loitering on station. We have another twelve Zealot USVs holding at launch point Huay-Two. Just say the word, and we’ll engage.”

The autonomous systems were their hidden edge against the PLA Navy. Months of secret training with TSG were about to pay off. But once revealed… their surprise would be gone.

“General.” Mack’s voice carried urgency. “Sir, we have confirmed submerged contacts entering the battlespace. Two Type 039C diesel-electrics, based on acoustic signatures. They’re positioning to cut off our surface units from Penghu.”

General Yen was about to respond when his air liaison officer called out a new threat.

“New air contacts!” Major Ke called out. “Dragon-Eye is reporting those J-10s accelerating and being vectored toward Penghu. Time to merge with our combat air patrol — six minutes.”

“What alert fighters do we have on deck?” Yen asked.

“We’re launching four Vipers from Penghu Airport. Another six IDF fighters are launching from Tainan.” Ke’s hands flew over his console as he continued to call out the status of the fighters on strip alert. “But, General, those ghost returns of possible J-20s — we’re starting to get some better returns on them. Nothing we can lock up, yet, but there’s definitely something stealthy out there.”

“Sir, should I alert Admiral Han and General Tseng?” interrupted Captain Hsu.

“Yes. Immediately. I want full command staff to the JOC now!” General Yen ordered as he watched the converging forces on the display. “And set Readiness Condition Two across all commands and facilities.”

The radio crackled again. Commander Qiu looked up sharply. “Sir, our frigate the Chen De — they’re reporting the sight of PLA helicopters launching from the PLA frigates. It looks like a pair of Z-9s in assault configuration.”

“Weapons status on all forces?” asked General Yen.

“Currently weapons hold, per standing orders,” Commander Qiu replied.

Yen felt the weight of this moment. Being the first to fire meant bearing responsibility for starting the war. But in their own waters, with a civilian vessel under threat…

“Maintain weapons hold,” he ordered. “But all units, prepare for defensive action. The moment they—”

“Vampire, Vampire, Vampire!” Commander Qiu’s voice cut him off. “We have missile launch from PLA corvette Tongling! It’s a C-803 heading for Wan Chiang!”

The JOC erupted. On the main display, a red line streaked from one of the Type 056As toward the approaching ROC corvette.

“Wan Chiang attempting evasive maneuvers,” Qiu reported. “Deploying countermeasures—”

The red line merged with the blue triangle representing Wan Chiang.

“Direct hit!” Qiu’s voice cracked. “Wan Chiang is hit amidships. She’s reporting heavy damage, fires onboard.”

Yen’s decision crystallized in an instant. “All units, weapons free! Repeat, weapons free! Engage all PLA forces in our territorial waters!”

The tactical display exploded into chaos. Blue lines — Hsiung Feng III missiles — erupted from Chen De and Fu Chiang, racing toward the PLA formation. The Type 052D destroyers responded with their own volleys, HHQ-9 interceptors rising to meet the incoming threats.

“Shark One, execute Piranha Protocol,” Yen commanded. “All autonomous systems, prosecute submerged contacts.”

“Copy, Fortress. Seekers going active. Zealots launching now.”

On the display, six new blue dots appeared beneath the surface as the XLUUVs abandoned their silent runs and went to attack speed. Twelve more streaked from Penghu’s hidden coves — the Zealot USVs racing toward the PLA surface formation at sixty knots.

“Sir, GPS interference increasing,” Captain Liao Renjie reported from the EW station. “BeiDou constellation is attempting to override civilian signals.”

“Execute jamming protocols. Deny them satellite navigation.”

“Dragon-Eye is defensive!” Major Ke shouted. “J-10s attempting missile lock. Our CAP is engaging.”

The main door burst open. Admiral Han Ji-cheng strode in, still buttoning his uniform jacket, with General Tseng Zhaoming right behind him. Their eyes took in the tactical display — a maelstrom of missiles, countermeasures, and maneuvering forces.

“Who fired first?” Han demanded.

“PLA corvette Tongling launched on Wan Chiang,” Yen reported. “Direct hit. We are now weapons free in defense of our waters.”

On the screen, one of the red diamonds suddenly flashed and disappeared.

“Splash one!” Commander Qiu announced. “Qinzhou is hit. Multiple Hsiung Feng impacts. She’s breaking up.”

But the PLA response was swift and overwhelming. More missiles filled the air, and the ghost contacts Major Ke had worried about suddenly materialized.

“J-20s dropping stealth!” Ke warned. “Four bandits, they’re on our CAP flights!”

The calm before the storm was over. In the space of ninety seconds, the Taiwan Strait had become a killing field.

The tactical display erupted in crimson as the first C-803 antiship missile streaked across the screen. Mick Matsin gripped the edge of the console, watching the inevitable unfold in real time.

“Impact in five seconds,” Commander Tang announced, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. The secure operations center beneath Magong Naval Base hummed with controlled chaos — operators called out targets, electronic warfare officers jammed frequencies, and the constant ping of sonar returns from their deployed assets rounded out the cacophony.

The red line merged with Tajiang’s icon.

“Direct hit,” Tang confirmed. “She’s taking water. Damage control teams responding.”

Vice Admiral Lo Hua stood rigid behind them, eyes locked on the master display. “Return fire. All units, weapons free.”

Mick’s fingers danced across his control interface, managing six Seeker-class XLUUVs prowling beneath the churning waters. Each autonomous submarine carried three Copperhead-500 AI torpedoes, their neural networks trained on PLA acoustic signatures. “Shark One confirms Piranha Protocol active. My girls are hunting.”

“Dragon-Eye is taking fire!” The air defense coordinator’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Multiple Fox Threes inbound!”

On the display, six J-10s bore down on the lumbering P-3 Orion. Four F-16s broke formation, afterburners blazing as they moved to intercept.

“Vipers engaging,” someone called out. “Fox Two, Fox Two!”

The aerial ballet played out in digital clarity. Sidewinders and PL-12s crisscrossed the sky. Two J-10s exploded immediately, then a third. An F-16 took a missile to the port wing, spiraling down in flames. The remaining Vipers pressed their attack with savage precision.

“Splash four, five, six!” The air coordinator’s excitement died in his throat. “New contacts — fast movers from the northwest. Stealthy signatures resolving—”

“J-20s,” Admiral Lo said grimly. “Four of them.”

Mick watched the stealth fighters materialize on the scope like phantoms becoming solid. They’d waited, let the F-16s expend their missiles on the J-10s. Now they’d struck.

“Dragon-Eye is hit! She’s going down!”

Three more F-16s vanished from the display in rapid succession, overwhelmed by the J-20s’ beyond-visual-range missiles. But Penghu’s defenders weren’t finished.

“Patriot battery has lock,” Tang reported. “Birds away!”

Two PAC-3 interceptors roared skyward. The J-20s, caught transitioning from stealth to attack profiles, tried to evade. Two weren’t fast enough — orange blossoms marked their deaths at thirty thousand feet.

“Chen De is launching Harpoons,” Tang called out, tracking the ROC frigate’s desperate counterattack. Eight anti-ship missiles leaped from their canisters, racing toward the PLA formation.

The response was immediate and overwhelming. The Type 055 Zunyi and her escorts filled the air with HHQ-9 interceptors. Most of the Harpoons died in flight, but two punched through, slamming into a Type 054A frigate.

“Qinzhou is burning,” someone reported. “But Chen De—”

The Kang Ding-class frigate never had a chance. Four YJ-83s converged on her position. Her CIWS sprayed tungsten desperately, claiming one missile. The other three found their mark.

“Chen De is gone.” Tang’s voice carried no emotion. Just fact.

The last Tuo Chiang corvette, Fu Chiang, fought like a cornered wolf. Her crew launched every Hsiung Feng III in her magazines before the Type 054As bracketed her with concentrated fire. She rolled over and sank in less than ninety seconds.

“Sir!” An intelligence officer pointed at his screen. “Massive launch detection from the PLA destroyer group!”

Mick’s blood chilled. He knew what was coming. “Cruise missiles. They’re going for the base.”

The display lit up with new tracks — twenty-four CJ-10 land-attack cruise missiles in the first wave, their turbofan engines pushing them at six hundred miles per hour toward Magong.

“All defensive systems online,” Admiral Lo commanded. “Weapons free on all incoming vampires.”

Patriots roared off their rails. The new Roadrunner-M interceptors — Anduril’s latest counter-cruise missile system — streaked skyward at Mach 5. The sky above Penghu became a killing field of intersecting vapor trails.

“Fifteen vampires destroyed,” the air defense coordinator reported. “Nine leakers inbound!”

“Second wave launching,” someone else shouted. “Another twenty-four cruise missiles!”

The command center shook as the first CJ-10s found their targets. Lights flickered. Dust cascaded from the ceiling. The deep boom of explosions penetrated even their hardened bunker.

“Roadrunner magazine is empty,” Tang reported. “Patriots engaging second wave.”

More intercepts. More leakers. The bunker shook harder this time; a monitor crashed from its mount. The lights died for three seconds before emergency power kicked in.

“Surface radar is gone,” an operator called through the smoke. “We’ve lost Pier Seven and the fuel depot!”

Another explosion came, this time closer. The floor bucked beneath their feet. Admiral Lo steadied himself against a console, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead where debris had struck.

“Enough,” he growled. “Commander Tang, Warrant Matsin — unleash the sharks.”

Mick had been waiting for those words. His fingers flew across the interface, transmitting new targeting priorities to his three assigned Seekers. “Shark One prosecuting surface targets. Seekers-1 through 3 going active.”

On his screen, the XLUUVs abandoned their silent stalking. Pump jets engaged, pushing them to forty knots as they closed on their targets. The AI-assisted fire control systems had already computed optimal attack angles.

“Seeker-1 has firing solution on Type 052D, hull number one-seven-three,” Mick announced. “Launching Copperheads.”

Three torpedoes separated from the XLUUV, their own AI brains taking over as they sprinted toward the destroyer. The PLA ship detected them immediately, launching decoys and maneuvering hard. But the Copperheads had trained for this, their neural networks processing acoustic returns faster than any human operator.

“Impact in thirty seconds,” Mick reported, already shifting Seeker-2 toward a pair of Type 056 corvettes. “Seeker-3, target that damaged 054A.”

Beside him, Commander Tang worked his own trio of Seekers with equal precision. “Submerged contacts identified. Two Type 039B diesel-electrics and—” He paused, double-checking the acoustic signature. “One Type 093A nuclear boat. Bold of them.”

“Not for long,” Admiral Lo said through gritted teeth.

The first explosions erupted beneath the PLA formation. The Type 052D Nanjing took two Copperheads amidships, her hull cracking like an egg. She listed immediately, secondary explosions rippling through her magazines.

“Scratch one destroyer,” Mick announced. “Seeker-2 engaging corvettes.”

But the PLA had awakened to the threat. ASW helicopters dropped sonobuoys in frantic patterns. The Type 056A corvettes, designed for antisubmarine warfare, began active pinging with their hull-mounted sonars.

“They’ve got Seeker-2,” Mick reported as his display showed the XLUUV caught in overlapping sonar beams. “She’s running, but—”

A Yu-8 rocket-assisted torpedo found its mark. Seeker-2 died in a flash of pressure and flame.

“Seeker-2, snapshot on that corvette, bearing two-seven-zero,” Mick commanded. The last of his XLUUVs fired desperately before diving deep. One Copperhead found its target — the Tongling, already damaged from earlier fighting, broke in half and sank.

Tang’s submarines were having better luck with the submerged targets. The Type 039Bs, optimized for coastal ambush rather than open water maneuvering, couldn’t match the Seekers’ speed or AI-driven tactics.

“First Type 039 is breaking up,” Tang reported clinically. “Seeker-5 has the nuclear boat. Launching all torpedoes.”

The Type 093A fought hard, launching countermeasures and diving for the thermocline. But three Copperheads with networked targeting were too much. The nuclear submarine imploded at four hundred meters, taking ninety-six souls with her.

“Zealots engaging surface targets,” another operator announced.

Mick switched his display to track the twelve USVs racing at sixty knots toward the PLA maritime militia. The unmanned boats split into wolf packs, their Hellfire missiles reaching out toward the converted trawlers. But the PLA had learned from Ukraine’s maritime drone attacks. Type 056 corvettes moved to screen the militia vessels, their 30mm cannons and HQ-10 missiles creating walls of steel.

“Zealots-3 through 7 are gone — 8 and 9 are pressing the attack,” someone reported.

Two trawlers exploded as Hellfires found their mark. Another took a suicide charge from Zealot-Twelve, the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound warhead turning the vessel into flaming wreckage. But it wasn’t enough. Nine of twelve USVs died in the attempt.

The command center shook again as another cruise missile found something topside. Emergency lighting flickered. Smoke thickened despite the ventilation system’s efforts.

“Damage report,” Admiral Lo demanded, wiping blood from his eyes.

“We’ve lost the main radar array, two Patriot launchers, and the northern pier complex,” his aide reported. “Casualties are… significant.”

Mick looked at his display. Three Seekers were still operating, out of six. Three Zealots limped home. Against that, they’d sunk one destroyer, three corvettes, two diesel submarines, and a nuclear boat, plus several militia vessels.

He locked eyes with Commander Tang. Both understood the grim calculus. They’d bloodied the PLA’s nose, proven their autonomous systems could kill. But the base was burning, the ROC surface fleet was decimated, and this was only the beginning.

“Sir,” the communications officer called out, voice cracking. “Flash traffic from Fortress. The mainland has launched ballistic missiles. Impact time… eight minutes.”

Admiral Lo closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, they burned with resolve.

“Sound general quarters. All remaining assets to maximum readiness.” He looked at Mick and Tang. “Gentlemen, we’ve just started World War Three. Let’s make sure we’re still here to finish it.”

The tactical display painted a grim picture as damage reports flooded in from across northern Taiwan. Jodi Mack’s fingers flew across her console, correlating data from surviving assets. Red damage indicators spread like blood across the digital map — Penghu burning, the northern naval bases under bombardment, aircraft falling from the sky in uneven exchanges.

“Magong Control, this is Fortress. Report your status.” Major General Yen’s voice carried forced calm as he attempted contact for the fourth time.

Static answered. Then a burst of interference took hold of the line before a haggard voice broke through. “Fortress, this is… this is Commander Tang, Magong Control. Admiral Lo is KIA. We’ve lost primary C3 capability. Multiple cruise missile impacts. Base is operational but degraded. Shark One — Matsin — is wounded but functional.”

Jodi’s stomach clenched. Mick had survived, but barely. The entire TSG control element at Magong had taken a beating.

“Aquarium.” Yen appeared at her shoulder. “Can you take control of the Shark assets?”

She was already pulling up the authentication protocols. “Give me thirty seconds to establish uplink.” Her fingers danced across the interface, rerouting command authority through backup satellite channels. One by one, the surviving Seeker XLUUVs checked in. “I’ve got eight operational units from the original eighteen. Six are damaged but mobile. Four, no response — presumed destroyed.”

Admiral Han Ji-cheng moved behind her, studying the underwater battlespace. “Lieutenant Mack, you now have full undersea warfare authority. Whatever those things can do — do it.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” The old Navy acknowledgment came automatically. She’d been out for three years, but muscle memory died hard.

“Air picture update!” Major Ke Jianhao’s voice cut through the controlled chaos. “Six IDFs from Tainan intercepting PLA fighters over Penghu. Four F-16s joining from Chiayi.”

The aerial engagement unfolded with brutal asymmetry. The newly arrived J-20s, invisible until they chose to engage, struck like phantoms.

“Multiple missile launches detected,” Ke reported, voice hollow. “IDFs are defensive — no lock on the J-20s. They can’t see them to shoot back.”

One by one, the indigenous fighters vanished from the display — fourth-generation aircraft helpless against fifth-generation stealth. The F-16s fared no better, their radars finding only empty sky until the moment PL-15 missiles appeared on their threat receivers.

“All aircraft down.” Ke’s words fell like hammer blows. “No kills on the J-20s. They’re already extending, probably Winchester on missiles.”

“Northern sector reporting!” Commander Qiu Shaozheng called out from his navy liaison station. “Multiple surface engagements. Chi Yang is gone — magazine detonation. Kee Lung took three YJ-83s, breaking up. Missile boats Hai Ou, Hai Ying, and Hai Peng all confirmed sunk.”

The numbers were staggering. In less than ninety minutes, the ROC Navy had lost a third of its surface combatants.

“Vampire, vampire!” Captain Hsu Lichung’s warning snapped everyone’s attention to the main display. “Thirty-six cruise missiles inbound — northern vector. Targets appear to be Keelung Naval Base and Weihai Camp.”

“All AMD assets, weapons free,” Major General Yen ordered. The Air Force commander had been quietly coordinating the air defense battle, but even his composure was cracking.

Patriots and Roadrunner-M interceptors rose to meet the threat. The engagement played out in compressed time — explosions blooming across the sky as the defensive systems found their marks.

“Thirty intercepted,” Hsu reported. “Six leakers. Impact in twenty seconds.”

They could only watch as the remaining CJ-10s found their targets. Two slammed into Weihai Camp, the army facility disappearing in twin fireballs. Four more hit Keelung — the naval logistics hub and 131st Fleet Command building taking direct hits.

“Ma’am, I’m tracking massive acoustic activity,” Chief Petty Officer Zeng Minghui said from his station. “PLA submarine surge. They’re pushing everything they have through the strait.”

Jodi’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, tasking her Seekers. Eight operational units against what looked like an entire submarine fleet. But the XLUUVs had one advantage — they were already in position, silent and waiting.

“Executing Wolfpack Seven,” she announced. “All Seekers going active. Time to earn our pay.”

The autonomous submarines revealed themselves simultaneously, their AI-driven targeting systems processing multiple contacts. Song-class diesel boats, built for coastal ambush, found themselves the hunted rather than the hunters. The older boats, some dating back to the 1990s, had no answer for the Copperhead-500s’ advanced guidance.

“Seeker-7 confirms two Song kills,” Jodi reported, watching the acoustic returns. “Seeker-9 has three more. These boats are sitting ducks.”

The Yuan-class submarines, more modern with air-independent propulsion, tried to fight back. But the Seekers had been designed specifically to counter diesel-electric boats — their AI trained on thousands of hours of acoustic signatures.

“Six Yuans down,” Jodi reported, her voice steady — professional satisfaction tempered by the sobering scale of destruction. “Seekers-13 and 14 have expended all Copperheads. I’m routing them to an alternate rearm and refit site near the northern coast — possibly Port Shen’ao or, if needed, they’ll swing south around Taiwan to a secure harbor on the East Coast,” she added. Her autonomous undersea hunters had just sunk more enemy tonnage in a single engagement than any force had achieved since the Second World War.

As several of Jodi’s Seeker-class XLUUVs slipped away, their torpedoes expended, she shifted control to another Seeker that had been loitering near Pengjia Islet. Few outside the upper echelons of naval intelligence understood the strategic importance of this tiny outpost, located just sixty-three kilometers northeast of Keelung City. The remote ROC Navy installation formed a critical node in the US — Japan — Taiwan undersea surveillance network, commonly referred to as a regional SOSUS grid. Arrays of seabed-mounted hydrophones and passive acoustic sensors monitored PLA submarine movements as they transited the Miyako Strait — a vital gateway into the Western Pacific and the contested waters surrounding the Ryukyu Islands, including Okinawa.

As Seeker-11 synced with her workstation, Jodi leaned forward, eyes narrowing on the display. The autonomous unit had been shadowing a pair of Type 054A Jiangkai II-class frigates for several hours. Sensor readouts confirmed the ships had recently fired multiple salvos from their H/PJ26 76mm deck guns — likely targeting the ROC Marine garrison defending Pengjia Islet’s maritime and aerial surveillance towers.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the acoustic and thermal traces. The Seeker’s hydrophones had detected the rhythmic blade signatures of rotary-wing activity — probably Harbin Z-9s or Ka-28 Helix ASW helicopters — launched from the frigates’ flight decks. Jodi suspected an assault force may have been inserted to seize the island’s critical sensor infrastructure.

She pushed the thought aside. That fight would be someone else’s problem — hers was beneath the waves. Her mission was clean, cold, and lethal.

She queued the firing solution. With three Copperhead-500 AI-guided torpedoes loaded, she reserved one for contingencies and released the other two. The Type 054As were decent antisurface platforms with respectable air defense capabilities, but their antisubmarine warfare suites were notoriously underpowered — an exploitable weakness. Moments after launch, the torpedoes arced into intercept vectors, their onboard targeting AI adjusting course to exploit known vulnerabilities: the zones closest to the VLS magazine compartments.

The first detonation sent a geyser of flame and steel punching skyward. The second torpedo hit just aft of the bridge. Both frigates erupted within seconds, the blast patterns consistent with internal magazine detonations. Two more enemy warships reduced to burning wreckage.

Jodi exhaled slowly. She found herself wishing absurdly that the Seeker had a camera feed she could save — something to mark the moment. Not for glory. For proof. For memory.

“Hot damn! Nice shooting, Jodi!” called out Chief Petty Officer Zeng Minghui from the adjacent console, his voice rising above the rumble of status updates.

“Don’t thank me yet, Chief,” she replied, her cheeks warming with a mixture of pride and dread. “Seeker-12 just flagged a new contact — Type 052D destroyer. It’s practically begging to become an artificial reef.”

A dry chuckle rose from Commander Qiu Shaozheng, seated a few consoles down. “If we weren’t living through the end of the world, ma’am, I’d say that’s the funniest damn thing I’ve heard all week.” His jaw unclenched slightly, the tight lines of tension softening at her remark.

She placed Seeker-11 back in autonomous loiter mode and jumped to Seeker-12 and resumed the next hunt. As the battle beneath the waters of Taiwan churned from robotic death, Jodi began to feel a surge of hope with each passing victory. The autonomous systems she’d mastered during her time in the Navy were proving their worth around Taiwan. You know, maybe we can —

“General Yen!” Captain Hsu’s voice interrupted her thoughts, his voice raw and shaky. “Manta Two is reporting launch detections from the mainland — they’re ballistic missiles. Oh God. There’s lots of them.”

The main wall display shifted to show the stratospheric ISR feed aimed in the direction of mainland China. Launch plumes bloomed from multiple known launch locations across China’s eastern provinces like deadly flowers arcing into the sky.

“Someone confirm those launch sites and what kind of missiles those are,” General Yen ordered forcefully, though the color from his face had already drained, along with Jodi’s hopes.

“Stand by. Confirmation coming in now — Base 96166 near Guangzhou. We have twelve DF-16 missile tracks,” responded Hsu, his voice growing more strained with each report. “Base 96111 at Puning. Sixteen launches confirmed, DF-17 hypersonics.” Hsu paused for a second as more data continued to come in. “Here comes another volley, this one coming from Base 96421 at Yong’an. Looks like twenty DF-21Ds. We have launches coming from Base 96417 at Huidong — appears to be a total of eight DF-26s.”

Admiral Han stepped forward, his face granite. “Total count. What are we looking at?”

Captain Hsu didn’t look up from his screen. “Still compiling, sir. It’s heavy — but not saturation-level.”

“It’s confirmed. Two hundred thirty inbound tracks,” Hsu said, voice flat. “Mixed load — ballistic and cruise. DF-16s, — 17s, — 21s, — 26s, plus CJ-10s. Time to impact: eleven minutes for the hypersonics, fourteen for the rest.”

The JOC fell silent. Fingers hovered over keyboards. Radios hissed.

“No signs of mobile launchers redeploying,” Hsu continued. “No bomber launches. No MRLs on the move. Could be a single-phase strike.”

Han’s eyes shifted to the main monitor. “Any tracks on Okinawa? Guam? Are the Americans or Japanese being hit?”

“Negative, Admiral,” Hsu said quickly. “No second-theater expansion. No launches toward US or JSDF assets.”

A ripple of restrained relief moved through the room.

“Targets?” Han asked, eyes still locked on the growing constellation of missile arcs.

“They’re coming in now,” said Major Ke Jianhao, scanning the filtered trajectory data. His voice sharpened with each word.

“Zuoying Naval Base. Adjacent Tsoying Shipyard. Leshan Long-Range Radar. Dongsha Island Garrison. Anping Naval Base, Tainan. The Army Command HQ, Taoyuan. Army Special Forces Command — Longcheng Barracks complex.”

He hesitated — one more line of data was populating.

“And the Longtan Combined Maintenance Depot. That’s under Third Regional Support Command. Also in Taoyuan.”

Everyone in the room exhaled, like they’d been punched in the gut.

“Damn it,” Han muttered, jaw clenched. “They’re gutting our second strike.”

As the seconds stretched for what felt like minutes, the missile tracks continued to advance toward them. Each of the glowing red tracks was hundreds or even thousands of pounds of explosive power racing toward them.

“OK, we have trained and prepared for this moment,” General Yen began. “We all knew this day might come, and now it has. This is no longer a drill. This is real. I want all missile batteries active, Patriots and Sky Bow IIIs, even the new Roadrunners-Ms. All ballistic and cruise missile defenses are weapons free to engage targets at will, maximum rate of fire. Do what we can to protect the targets in Taipei — Ministry of National Defense Headquarters, and the Hengshan Military Command Center. Kaohsiung and the Zuoying Naval Base, and the Army Command HQ, Taoyuan, are the priority targets we should focus our efforts on defending,” General Yen ordered.

Yen received a nod of approval from Admiral Han as he took charge of the missile defense situation, reminding everyone they had a job to do.

As the situation continued to unfold, Jodi found herself standing, staring at the hundreds of missile tracks bearing down on them. It suddenly became real. More than a dozen of those tracks were heading for the building above her — if those Patriots missed, she could die in the coming minutes. For the first time in a long while, she began to pray.

“First intercepts in ninety seconds,” someone announced.

Jodi met General Yen’s eyes. The old soldier managed a tight nod — acknowledgment of her contribution, and what they’d achieved today despite what might happen next. She’d bloodied the PLA Navy today, sending more tonnage to the bottom of the ocean than anyone since World War II. But now, in this moment as missiles closed in on them, none of that mattered.

“Impact in thirty seconds!” shouted someone.

“Oh God — brace for impact!”