The Gotland Deception

Chapter Seven: Future of Naval Warfare

National Security Advisor Jim Batista sat rigid in his chair, reading the detailed outline of the unmanned combat vessels that comprised Task Group 79.2, “Jericho One.” His fingers traced the specifications as he recalled the first time he’d seen these vessels when they were just PowerPoint fantasies presented by his former employer, Palantir.

Batista had sat in on one of the meetings in the early 2020s, when the idea of UCVs had first been pitched. Admirals who had spent careers commanding billion-dollar manned warships had dismissed the concept of having unmanned frigate-class warships augmenting manned ships.

Whose side are they on? Batista had wondered. The US or China?

Still, the SECNAV had greenlit the program in the mid-2020s, and it had taken just six years to go from concept to operational deployment. That was a verifiable miracle, considering the Navy had started work on the DDG(X) program to replace the Ticonderoga-class guided-missile cruisers in 2022 and still hadn’t settled on the final requirements so a prototype could be built as of 2033.

The Navy wasn’t exactly known for efficiency as a general practice. Over the last couple of decades, it had taken over five years just to finish the designs for the Constellation-class frigates, let alone build any of them. It had nearly driven Batista to drink.

But change was coming, like a freight train. It had been ramping up for a while, actually. Batista thought back to the tour of Saronic’s facility in Austin he and his fellow Palantir employees had taken in 2025. He’d expected another dog-and-pony show — some Silicon Valley startup promising to revolutionize warfare with “vaporware” and venture capital arrogance. Instead, he’d found a converted catamaran production facility churning out Corsair-class vessels using automotive assembly techniques. Young engineers worked alongside grizzled Navy contractors, welding commercial radar arrays onto hulls built from the same aluminum used in F-150s.

He recalled Saronic’s CEO explaining, “We’re not building yachts.” They walked past workstations, where students fresh from MIT were installing targeting software originally developed for virtual reality video games. “Think of these things like iPhones that float and kill. When one breaks, you don’t fix it — you build five more.”

That philosophy had shattered forty years of Navy doctrine. Where a Burke-class destroyer was costing the Navy two and a half billion a ship and taking five to six years to build, a Corsair cost five to six hundred thousand dollars per ship and just seven to twenty-one days to build. Of course, the old guard of the five big Defense Prime companies that had controlled the US defense industry since 1993’s “Last Supper” threw a big stink. But Batista knew they were only howling because the Corsairs threatened their bottom lines.

Admiral Blackwood, the then-Chief of Naval Operations, had practically vomited his coffee during a Joint Chiefs briefing when Saronic pitched the idea to start building newer classes of large, unmanned autonomous vessels. Batista still remembered a captain on the admiral’s staff joking, “You can’t be serious — disposable warships? What’s next, cardboard carriers? Tupperware cruisers?”

Batista had wanted to choke the man. Instead, they listened as the Tech CEO explained the design for their 140-meter-long Doomhammer-class arsenal UAV. It would augment manned ships like the Burkes or a carrier strike group with a capable, long-range hypersonic strike and defense platform, capable of carrying 96 VLS cells and two 150kW directed energy weapons.

“With a large, modular, mission-capable UAV platform like the Doomhammer, the Navy will have a new way of projecting power into the Pacific… or wherever these UAVs are directed,” the CEO of Saronic had concluded.

Regardless of what the admiral and the Defense Primes thought, the math of the problem facing them was unescapable. The Jiangnan and Dalian shipyards in China had launched sixteen Type 055 destroyers between 2014 and 2032, while American shipyards had completed eighteen Arleigh Burkes in the same amount of time. The problem was that the PLA was also producing other highly capable destroyers, frigates, and submarines at a rate US shipbuilders had no means of keeping up with. In thirty years, the PLA Navy had achieved something unthinkable — numerical and tonnage superiority over the US Navy by the year 2032. No matter how anyone had rationalized it, the traditional shipbuilding the Navy had relied on for decades could no longer compete with the manufacturing powerhouse China had become. America had needed a new playbook — one written in code rather than steel if it had any hope of winning the wars of the future.

The DARPA Replicator program had provided the blueprint — not massive shipyards requiring thousands of skilled welders, but distributed production using civilian manufacturing. Anduril was mass-producing missiles and their Fury drones at production rates not seen since the end of World War II. Shield AI was now assembling underwater systems in plants that previously manufactured jet skis. Even traditional defense giants, while slow to adapt, had finally caught on. Huntington Ingalls was now operating “ghost yards” at the Toledo Shipyard in Ohio, at the General Dynamics NASSCO facility in San Diego, California, and at the Fincantieri shipyards of northern Wisconsin. They were dispersed far from vulnerable coastal yards the Navy had relied on the past couple of decades. With the introduction of modular construction techniques borrowed from prefab housing, the rate of construction of these unmanned combat vessels was beginning to outpace the rate of Chinese manned ship production.

The key to success with the ACVs was the constant reminder to the Navy brass that they weren’t meant to replace their treasured carriers or submarines. They were meant to augment them and overwhelm America’s enemies. Using swarm tactics backed by AI-battle managers, decisions could be made in nanoseconds. Lose ten unmanned surface vessels in a battle? Build twenty more before the end of the month. It was a change in how the Navy viewed its warships. No longer was it a race to match manned ship for manned ship with China. It was now a race to field more missile and drone platforms than China could hope to defend against. At least, that was the theory.

Now DARPA was several years into the Pentagon’s Replicator program as it scrambled to find ways to counter the Chinese Navy’s shipbuilding juggernaut. While Batista was generally optimistic about the changing trajectory, his jaw tightened as he reviewed current readiness levels. Theory required execution, and execution required hulls in the water. Every delay meant the equation shifted further in Beijing’s favor.

“Captain, that was an impressive video of each of these ACVs, but let’s dispense with the fancy projections of what these autonomous weapons are supposed to do and talk about why I’m looking at a task group that’s supposed to be fully operational but is currently at sixty-six percent strength,” grilled Batista, his voice cutting through the noise of the AC running in the background.

Hammond acknowledged the question as he tapped something on his tablet. The monitor displayed another slide, one highlighting operational vessels in blue. “Sir, two-thirds of our autonomous combat vessels are deployed with the USS Intrepid, currently homeported at Pearl. In a couple of days they will be conducting a simulated naval engagement and live-fire exercises near Adak, and the Bering Sea.”

Batista raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to ask. “Live fire, eh? OK, that doesn’t answer my question about the other third. Where are they?”

Hammond shifted uncomfortably. “Production delays—”

Batista’s hand slammed the table in frustration. “Unacceptable, Captain. I’m looking at a roster that shows your Pacific Task Group Jericho-1 at sixty-six percent. Atlantic Fleet’s Hazar-1 is at fifty percent. Your second Pacific group, Jericho-2?” He scrolled through his own read-ahead on his tablet. “Forty percent. These were supposed to be at full strength three weeks ago.”

Admiral Vos intervened. “Jim, I understand the frustration. No one is more irritated by these production delays than I am. We’ve been encountering some serious supply chain issues that we’re still trying to—”

“Sorry to cut you off, Admiral, but I’ve got to call BS on part of this. Six months behind schedule. That’s what this read-ahead says.” Batista’s voice dropped to a dangerous quiet as he briefly held his tablet up, then placed it back on the table. “I know the Navy’s already submitted requirements for triple the current production. How exactly do these companies plan to meet that when they can’t fulfill this first order?”

A woman in a tailored suit whose badge said Huntington Ingalls cleared her throat before interjecting. “Mr. Batista, we have been very open about the challenges our Newport News production facility has faced. From a critical shortage of skilled labor to materials needed for the construction of the Doomhammer arsenal. We’re back on track—”

“On track for what? The current order? Or the tripling the Navy needs? And who the hell is coming up with the names for these ACVs — Doomhammer? What is this, a play off of Warhammer 40K or something?” Batista retorted hotly.

A representative from Anduril Industries corrected him. “It’s World of Warcraft, not Warhammer.”

All eyes turned to the young-looking representative from Anduril, waiting to see how Batista would respond. “Huh, World of Warcraft… Aiden, is it?” Batista shook his head. “I think it’s been fifteen years since I played WoW with my kids. Let me guess, this is your CEO’s idea?”

The Anduril rep, Aiden, smiled and nodded. “It was. I suppose it could be changed if that’s really necessary. These platforms are basically software built to kill. He wanted to let the dev guys name the ACVs.”

Batista grunted but didn’t press the issue. He didn’t care about the names. What he cared about was that they performed as intended and that the shipbuilders could deliver in the time and numbers requested.

Fixing Aiden with a hard stare, Batista pressed on. “You and the Navy can call these things whatever you want, so long as you deliver. Now, speaking of production and specifically your company, is Arsenal-1 going to be able to keep up? You’re not just feeding the Navy. The Army wants more Roadrunners, and the Air Force is screaming for more Barracuda-500s.”

Aiden smiled confidently. “Sir, that won’t be an issue. Arsenal-2 in Texas went fully operational last month. Arsenal-3 in Kansas comes online next week and Arsenal-4 in Stuttgart is already producing.”

“Stuttgart?” Batista’s eyebrow rose in surprise.

“Yes, sir. We’re filling pre-position stocks as we speak. Dutch Harbor, Pearl, Guam, Sasebo, Robertson Barracks.” The rep pulled up production figures. “Even forward positions in Poland, Germany, and the UK. It’s actually one of the bright spots in the Replicator program,” Aiden replied.

Batista studied the numbers, his expression softening marginally. “Finally, some good news.” He turned back to Hammond and Vos. “So missiles we can build. Ships, still a struggle apparently. When will these task groups reach full strength?”

Vos nodded for Hammond to take the question.

“By end of summer, sir. We’ve been addressing the bottlenecks for more than a year. They’re clearing. Boeing’s Long Beach facility just doubled their Seeker-class production line. Shield AI opened two new autonomous underwater vehicle plants—”

“Whoa, hold up there,” Batista interrupted again. “You said end of summer?”

“That’s correct,” Hammond confirmed.

Batista looked around the room, then pulled up a production comparison he’d been briefed on by the DIA a few days earlier. “A couple of days ago the Defense Intelligence Agency was able to verify what I’m about to tell you. The Jiangnan Shipyard in Shanghai launched eight Type 058 autonomous corvettes in December. Eight of them in one month. That’s on top of their already insane building of conventional warships.”

The Saronic rep countered, “Mr. Batista, those are incredible numbers. I would like to point out our Defiant-class arsenal stealth ship uses our modular construction technique. This means once the new facilities in Toledo and northern Wisconsin are operational—”

“There’s that word again — operational. OK, when is it scheduled to be operational?”

“Six weeks for Toledo. Eight for northern Wisconsin. We should be cranking out ACVs a rate of four per month. That’s a fully autonomous stealth ship the size of a corvette with forty-eight VLS extended-range naval strike missiles.”

“We’re stuck with summer, aren’t we?” Batista sighed, frustrated by the delays and little he could do about it. “Listen, the Eurasian Defense and Economic Pact is going to be running the largest military drills since the height of the Cold War in the 1980s starting in early May. I’m a big believer in deterrence. So is the President. And in order for deterrence to work, you have to have a military force capable of deterring aggression. I’m not confident we’re there, and I don’t think the people in this room are either.”

Batista stood, gathering his materials. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Admiral Vos, the SecDef and I have to provide a weekly update to the President on this issue. That means I need a weekly update on the ACV Task Group’s readiness. Not a monthly progress report — a weekly report that’s being given to the President. Every vessel that comes off the line, I need to know about it. We are on the clock, Admiral; we need them fielded and ready immediately.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll make it happen,” the admiral confirmed, nodding to Hammond to make sure it did.

Batista turned to the industry reps. “For years, we’ve talked about reindustrializing the defense sector to build the weapons of war necessary to win the wars of the future. You’ve got distributed production beginning to come online, and that’s good. I want you to start drafting up contingency plans for those facilities. Ask yourself what happens if we lose those facilities on the coasts? Can the West Coast and the Great Lakes facilities pick up the slack? What about expanding production along the Mississippi? These are contingencies we should be thinking about and developing plans for just in case. It’s always better to have a plan and not need it than to need a plan and not have one.”

The reps nodded grimly, taking notes.

“Arsenal production of missiles and autonomous combat aircraft stays the priority next to shipbuilding,” Batista continued, looking at Aiden, the Anduril rep. “I don’t care if you have to run your factories on twenty-four-hour shifts. The one thing we’ve done right thus far is missiles. Keep it that way.”

“Understood, sir,” Aiden confirmed.

Batista turned to leave, then paused at the door. “One more thing. These live-fire exercises Intrepid’s running — I want real-world testing data. Figure out how well these systems will perform when Chinese EW tries to jam them. Do what you can to simulate what happens when a Seeker autonomous submarine goes up against Chinese Navy Type 039C AIP subs.”

Captain Hammond nodded. “I’ll coordinate with Captain Trammell personally.”

“Good, do that.” Batista’s expression softened slightly. “Look, I know I’m pushing hard. But if this exercise turns into something more… we could be in serious trouble.”

The room remained silent, the weight of his words settling over them.

“If this goes hot,” Batista continued, “these ACVs become our force multipliers. One destroyer captain controlling a distributed fleet of unmanned systems — that’s the kind of edge we need. But only if we have them built, deployed, and the bugs worked out.” Batista fixed each person with a final stare. “No more delays, people. We’re running out of time.”

Outside, Batista strode down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off polished floors as he headed toward the exit and the waiting vehicle. As he climbed into the SUV, his phone buzzed — a message from the President. How did the briefing go?

He paused, looking back at the building as his driver headed toward the flight line. He typed: Better than expected. But we’re cutting it close. That situation in the Baltic, that’s our immediate concern.

The President’s response came quickly: How concerned should I be?

Batista thought about what had happened, the discovery of the PLA Navy secretly obtaining targeting data of NATO member ports ahead of EDEP’s May exercise. He typed: Very. We need to meet soon, before I fly to NATO.

The President replied: OK, tomorrow. 10 a.m. See you then.

Batista breathed a sigh of relief. He sent a text to the others he’d wanted for the briefing as the driver pulled up to the aircraft. Tomorrow — we’ll figure things out tomorrow, he thought as he climbed the stairs to the government plane and returned to Washington.