The Gotland Deception

Chapter Five: Baltic Disaster

The Baltic Sea lay shrouded in predawn darkness, its surface disturbed only by the gentle wake of merchant vessels following the invisible highways of international shipping lanes. Twenty-three nautical miles southeast of Gotland, Sweden’s strategic island fortress, the HSwMS Lulea maintained her patrol station.

The Lulea was a cutting-edge warship, barely three years out of the shipyard. At 2,400 tons and 110 meters in length, this corvette represented Sweden’s leap into next-generation naval warfare. Her sleek hull incorporated the latest in signature management technology, while her combined diesel-electric and gas turbine propulsion system balanced efficiency with a sprint capability exceeding thirty-two knots. Armed with RBS-15 Mk4 antiship missiles, a 57mm Bofors gun, and the latest Saab 9LV combat management system, she was built specifically for the confined waters and complex threats of the Baltic.

Tonight, she ghosted along at eight knots on electric power alone, her passive sensors cataloging the electronic heartbeat of every vessel within sixty kilometers.

Lieutenant Commander Mats Algotsson hunched over the communications console in the state-of-the-art combat information center, his face illuminated by the blue-white glow of LED displays. The flash priority header from NATO Maritime Command made his stomach tighten. He read the message twice, then grabbed the internal phone.

“Bridge, CIC. Wake the captain. Immediately.”

Captain Henrik Dahl arrived on the bridge at 0441 hours, his uniform crisp despite the hour. Twenty years in the Swedish Navy had trained him to transition from deep sleep to full alertness in seconds. The concerned expressions on his officers’ faces gave him an additional boost of adrenaline — something was up.

“Talk to me, XO.”

Algotsson handed him a tablet displaying the encrypted message. “MARCOM alert came in twenty minutes ago. High priority. A US Air Force RC-135 Rivet Joint detected anomalous electronic emissions from a Chinese-flagged vessel approximately forty kilometers from our position.”

Dahl scrolled through the report, his expression hardening. The American surveillance aircraft, bristling with signals intelligence equipment, had picked up military-grade radar emissions from what should have been a civilian freighter. They were short bursts, precisely timed — the kind of pattern used to test targeting systems.

“Which vessel?” asked Dahl.

“MV Hai Qing 678, sir,” Algotsson replied. “Bulk freighter, sixty thousand tons. Departed Saint Petersburg thirty-six hours ago, declared destination Shanghai via the Suez Canal. Currently making ten knots on bearing two-three-five, following standard shipping lanes through the Baltic.”

Lieutenant Stefan Lindström added from the navigation plot, his fingers tracing routes on the holographic display, “Sir, at her current course and speed, she’ll pass directly over the GosNet-1 cable junction in approximately three hours.”

Dahl felt his jaw tighten. The fiber-optic lifeline connected Gotland to Sweden and mainland Europe, carrying everything from civilian internet traffic to military communications. Damaging it could cripple the island’s digital infrastructure for weeks.

“Pull up her history,” Dahl directed.

Lindström’s fingers flew across the haptic interface. “Chinese registry, home port Shanghai. This is her fourth Baltic transit in eighteen months. She always travels along the same route — picks up cargo in Saint Petersburg, usually grain or timber, then returns to China.” He paused, highlighting a section of data. “Sir, she was in the vicinity during the Estonia-Finland cable incident last October. One of three vessels that could have been responsible.”

“Never proven,” Algotsson added quietly.

“No,” Dahl agreed. “But suspicious enough.” He moved to the large tactical display dominating the bridge’s forward section. The Baltic stretched before them in three-dimensional representation — shipping lanes marked in blue, territorial waters in various shades, critical infrastructure pulsing red. The Hai Qing appeared as a yellow icon, plodding steadily toward their cable.

“Range?” asked Dahl.

“Thirty-eight kilometers, sir. She’s approaching Fårö Island to our north.”

Dahl studied the geometry of the intercept. The Lulea-class’s powerful MTU diesels could close the distance in under an hour — but doing so would light them up on every sensor in the Baltic. Stealth took priority. That meant the Chinese freighter would have time to finish whatever it was doing and cover its tracks.

“Helm, come to course two-seven-zero. Increase to fifteen knots on electric drive only. Let’s position ourselves for a closer look without lighting up our heat signature.”

“Two-seven-zero, fifteen knots electric, aye, sir.”

The corvette’s advanced electric motors increased power smoothly, her hull cutting through the calm seas with minimal noise. Through the bridge’s panoramic windows, Dahl could see the first hints of dawn painting the eastern horizon deep purple. The morning twilight would help — that gray zone between night and day when visual identification became difficult.

“Sir,” the electronic warfare officer called out from her station. “I’m picking up intermittent signals from the Hai Qing’s bearing. Same characteristics as the MARCOM report. Seven-second bursts at irregular intervals.”

“Can you classify them?”

“Running them through our database now, sir. Preliminary analysis suggests fire control radar. Specifically matching Chinese Type 366-2 characteristics — that’s their latest maritime targeting system.”

Fire control radar on a cargo vessel returning from a routine grain pickup. Dahl felt the pieces falling into place. This wasn’t just intelligence gathering — someone was testing targeting solutions on every naval vessel, platform, and critical infrastructure node they passed.

“XO, what’s our rules of engagement regarding suspected threats to critical infrastructure?”

Algotsson had already pulled up the relevant orders on his tablet. “Under NATO Baltic protocols and Swedish maritime law, we’re authorized to investigate any vessel demonstrating hostile intent toward undersea cables. Visual inspection, query, and if necessary, boarding for inspection.”

“But only if we can establish probable cause,” Dahl added. He knew the game — international waters meant international law. One wrong move and Sweden would face a diplomatic nightmare with China.

“Captain,” Lindström interrupted. “Recommend we maneuver to position ourselves along her port side as she approaches the cable. Best angle for visual inspection of her hull and any deployed equipment.”

Dahl nodded. “Make it so. But maintain EMCON — no active sensors until I give the word. I want to see what she’s doing before she knows we’re watching.”

“Understood, sir. Computing intercept course for visual range at first light.”

The bridge settled into focused efficiency, each officer bent to their task. The Lulea-class’s advanced automation meant a smaller crew could fight the ship, but it also meant each person carried greater responsibility. Outside, the Baltic began to lighten, revealing scattered fog banks that would provide perfect cover for their approach.

“One more thing,” Dahl said quietly to Algotsson. “Have the boarding team prep their gear. Full tactical loadout. If this goes sideways, I want options.”

The XO nodded and reached for the intercom. Below decks, six of Sweden’s best maritime interdiction specialists would soon be checking weapons and rehearsing procedures they’d practiced a thousand times.

Dahl returned to the tactical display, watching the gap between hunter and prey slowly shrink. The Chinese freighter continued her steady advance toward home, her crew likely thinking of families waiting in Shanghai, unaware that Swedish eyes now tracked their every move.

In ninety minutes, they’d have visual confirmation of whatever the Hai Qing was really doing out here.

He just hoped they’d be in time to stop it.

Seventy minutes later, after a slow and stealthy intercept, the corvette finally closed in on her target.

“Visual range in thirty seconds,” Lieutenant Lindström announced.

Captain Dahl raised his binoculars as the first rays of sunlight painted the Chinese freighter’s hull rust-orange against the pewter sea. The MV Hai Qing 678 moved steadily through the calm waters at a sluggish five knots, her deck stacked with containers bearing the logos of various shipping companies. Black smoke drifted from her single funnel. She was an older vessel, and probably burning cheap bunker fuel.

“Anything unusual?” Algotsson asked, scanning with his own optics.

Dahl systematically examined the freighter from bow to stern. Nothing seemed out of place. Standard navigation lights, proper flag display, crew moving about their morning duties…

“Wait.” He fine-tuned the focus. “Port side, amidships. What’s that?”

A thin line ran down the ship’s hull, barely visible against the rust-streaked metal. As the Hai Qing rolled gently in the slight swell, the line alternately tightened and slackened, creating a subtle disturbance in the water.

“I see it,” Algotsson confirmed. “Looks like… cable?”

Lindström enhanced the corvette’s optical sensors, throwing the magnified image onto the bridge display. The line appeared to originate somewhere near the anchor housing, running down the hull at an angle before disappearing into the water. The wake it created was barely noticeable — unless you were looking for it.

“Sir,” Petty Officer Erik Nilsson spoke up from the sensor station. “I read an article a few weeks back about a similar incident. A Chinese vessel cut a fiber-optic cable between the Philippines and Taiwan. Filipino Coast Guard spotted a cable hanging from the anchor housing, creating a wake just like that. Only noticed it because they were running fast enough to make it visible.”

Dahl felt his blood run cold. “Distance to GosNet-1?”

“Eighteen kilometers on her current course. At present speed, she’ll cross it in… fifty-three minutes.”

“Not on my watch.” Dahl turned to his communications officer. “Get me a channel to that ship. International bridge-to-bridge.”

“Channel sixteen open, sir.”

Dahl grabbed the handset. “MV Hai Qing, MV Hai Qing, this is Swedish warship Lulea. You are ordered to stop immediately and prepare for inspection. Acknowledge.”

Silence.

“MV Hai Qing, this is Swedish warship Lulea. Stop your vessel immediately. This is not a request. Acknowledge.”

The radio crackled. A heavily accented voice responded in English. “Swedish warship, this is Hai Qing. We are in international waters conducting lawful passage. We have done nothing wrong. We will continue our voyage.”

Dahl’s jaw tightened. “Hai Qing, you are suspected of preparing to damage critical underwater infrastructure. You will stop immediately, or we will take necessary action to stop you.”

“Negative, Swedish warship. We are peaceful merchant vessel. Any interference is act of piracy. We continue to China.”

The transmission ended with a decisive click.

“They’re calling our bluff,” Algotsson said quietly.

“Then let’s show them we’re not bluffing.” Dahl turned to his weapons officer. “Light them up. Full targeting radar. Let them know we mean business.”

“Fire control radar active, sir. Locked on target.”

On the bridge speaker, they could hear renewed chatter from the Chinese vessel — urgent voices in Mandarin. But the freighter maintained course and speed.

“Sir,” Lindström called out. “At current rate, we have forty-eight minutes before they reach the cable.”

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.

Screams came from inside the wreckage. Someone was still alive in there. Eriksson’s heart clenched — the pilots, maybe Svensson if he’d been caught in the crash. But there was no way to reach them through that inferno.

The ship’s deck had become a vision of hell — flames, smoke, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the acrid stench of burning metal and flesh. And somewhere beneath it all, that cable still dragged through the water, counting down the minutes until it reached GosNet-1.

Time was running out.

Eriksson’s earpiece crackled through the gunfire. “Jonas, this is Lulea Actual. Priority message.”

He pressed deeper into cover as another burst from the bridge showered him with paint chips. “Go ahead, Actual!”

“You need to reach the pilothouse immediately. Turn that ship — she’s twelve minutes from the cable. Whatever it takes, Jonas.”

“Copy that.” Eriksson quick-peeked around the bollard. They were twenty meters away from the superstructure. The bridge was two levels up and there was at least one shooter still active up there.

“Moving to bridge!” he shouted to his team. “Holm, Lindqvist — base of fire on that shooter. Andersson, twins — we’re going up the starboard ladder. Move!”

The team reacted instantly. Holm and Lindqvist opened up with their ACP556 PDWs, the Swiss-made weapons chattering in precise bursts. The compact 5.56mm carbines were perfect for shipboard operations — short enough to maneuver in tight spaces but packing enough punch to penetrate cover.

“Go, go, go!”

Eriksson sprinted across the open deck, his team tight behind him. Rounds cracked past, but Holm’s suppressing fire was doing its job. They reached the external ladder and started climbing, taking the steps two at a time.

A figure appeared at the top — a Chinese sailor with a rifle. Magnus Karlsson’s ACP556 barked twice. The man tumbled backward.

They burst onto the bridge wing. Through the windows, Eriksson could see two men at the helm, one wrestling with the wheel while another worked frantically at a laptop. The bridge shooter spun toward them, bringing his rifle around.

Eriksson fired through the glass. The window exploded inward, his rounds catching the gunman center mass. The man crashed into the chart table and went down.

“Bridge secured!” Andersson called out, sweeping the space with his weapon.

But Eriksson was already moving to the helm. The Chinese helmsman backed away, hands raised. The officer with the laptop made a final keystroke, then threw the computer over the side through the shattered window.

“Off! Everyone off!” Eriksson commanded in English, gesturing with his carbine.

Through the forward windows, he could see their salvation — a rocky outcropping marked on the chart as Rute Misslauper Sälområde. It was maybe three kilometers away.

If we could beach the ship there…

Eriksson spun the wheel hard to starboard. The freighter responded sluggishly, its sixty thousand tons of steel reluctant to change course.

Come on, come on!

“Engine telegraph to stop,” he ordered Karlsson. “Kill the engines.”

The twin fumbled with the controls for a moment due to the Chinese labels — then found the right lever. The vibration beneath their feet changed, then ceased. Momentum would have to carry them now.

Fire had spread across the main deck. The crashed helicopter was an inferno, and the thermite-ignited blazes in the deckhouse were merging into a single conflagration. Black smoke poured from ventilators and hatches.

“Sir!” Holm barked through his earpiece. “The fire’s spreading below decks. We’ve got maybe five minutes before this whole ship goes up!”

Eriksson checked their heading. The rocky shore of Rute Misslauper Sälområde was dead ahead, growing larger. They were two kilometers away. He calculated how long it would take to get there at their current speed.

He made the hardest decision of his career. “All call signs, abandon ship!” he ordered. “I say again, abandon ship. Rally at the stern, starboard side. Move!”

He gave the wheel one last adjustment, lashing it in place with a length of rope from the flag locker. The ship would hold this course now, driving itself onto the rocks.

The team gathered at the stern rail, the heat from the advancing fire growing intense. Below them, the Baltic stretched cold and dark. Eriksson could see the Lulea racing toward them, maybe eight hundred meters out.

“Inflation on my mark,” he commanded, hand on his life vest’s CO2 cartridge. The team lined up along the rail. Through the smoke, he glimpsed Chinese crew members doing the same on the port side — the fight forgotten in the face of the growing inferno.

“Mark!”

They jumped.

The Baltic in January hit like a sledgehammer. Even through his dry suit, the cold was paralyzing. Eriksson pulled his inflation toggle. The vest expanded with a sharp hiss, yanking him back to the surface.

“Sound off!”

“Andersson!”

“Holm!”

“Erik here!”

“Magnus — good!”

“Lindqvist — wow, that’s cold!”

Five, thought Eriksson with sadness. They’d lost Svensson in the helicopter crash, along with both pilots. Three good men were dead. But five had survived.

It was 0633 in the morning when Eriksson finally turned in the water to see the ship they’d just abandoned. The Hai Qing 678, trailing flame and smoke like a dying comet, drove itself onto the rocks of Rute Misslauper Sälområde with a grinding screech of tortured metal. The bow lifted, crumpling, and the vessel shuddered to a halt, hard aground, flames reaching into the morning sky.

Had they not diverted the Hai Qing when they did, it would’ve reached GosNet-1 and severed a critical communication link connecting Gotland and the Nordic States to the Continent. Now, the cable was safe, but it had cost the lives of three Swedish sailors — sailors with families who were about to be notified in the coming hours their loved one had paid the ultimate price in the protection of their freedom. It was a price those families would now feel, and Eriksson and his survivors would carry with them for the rest of their lives.

As Eriksson floated in the water, waiting to be picked up. He hoped for all of their sakes their leaders in Stockholm would understand the sacrifice they’d just paid and send a message to Russia and their Chinese cronies this type of behavior would not stand.

Turning to the sound of motors approaching, Eriksson saw the Lulea’s RHIB was bouncing across the waves toward them. Squinting against the morning light, Eriksson could see Captain Dahl on the corvette’s bridge wing, watching through binoculars as the ship moved closer.

Soon, hands were pulling him from the freezing water. Eriksson allowed himself one moment of satisfaction. The cable was safe. The mission, despite everything, was complete.

But three empty spaces in the boat were a reminder of the cost of freedom.

“The Swedish government expresses profound regret for the loss of life during the incident involving the Chinese-flagged vessel MV Hai Qing 678 in the Baltic Sea on Tuesday. However, we firmly assert that our naval forces acted decisively and lawfully to protect critical national and European infrastructure. The vessel was intercepted based on credible intelligence indicating an attempt to damage the GosNet-1 undersea fiber-optic cable, a vital artery for Sweden’s communications network. When the vessel refused to comply with lawful orders and subsequently fired upon our NH90 helicopter, resulting in the tragic loss of three Swedish servicemen, our forces took necessary measures to neutralize the threat, prevent further damage, and redirect the vessel away from sensitive infrastructure. We commend the bravery of our personnel, who, despite significant risk, ensured the safety of our nation’s strategic assets.

“Sweden is committed to transparency and will conduct a thorough investigation into the incident, including the role of suspected People’s Liberation Army Navy personnel operating covertly aboard the MV Hai Qing 678. We call on the Chinese government to cooperate fully in establishing the facts, particularly regarding the vessel’s activities and the use of military-grade equipment, such as thermite grenades, which escalated the situation. The protection of undersea infrastructure is a shared European priority, and Sweden’s actions were consistent with international law and our obligations to safeguard regional security. We urge all parties to exercise restraint and engage in dialogue to prevent further escalation, while reaffirming our resolve to defend our sovereignty and critical infrastructure against any threats.”