The
Elena Bell checked her dive watch — 0500 hours. High tide was in ninety minutes. Through the warehouse’s salt-crusted windows, she counted seventeen fishing boats preparing for the morning catch, their diesel engines warming in the predawn drizzle.
The old salt processing warehouse smelled of rust and brine. Once, Budai had supplied salt to half of Taiwan. Now the abandoned buildings served a different purpose. Elena ran her hand along a Zealot USV’s sleek hull, marveling at the engineering. Eight months ago, she’d been piloting these USVs for the Navy. Now, she was hiding robotic boats in Taiwanese fishing villages and getting paid handsomely by TSG for her efforts.
“Coffee?” Ensign Lin appeared at her elbow, offering a thermos. The kid couldn’t be older than twenty-two, but his eyes held the intensity of someone who understood the stakes.
“Thanks.” Elena accepted the cup, noting the Tsoying Naval Base insignia on his jacket. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Too excited.” Lin’s English was flawless, probably perfected at one of Taiwan’s military academies. “First real deployment of autonomous systems. We’re making history.”
“History’s overrated,” Elena muttered, sipping the bitter brew. “I prefer boring deployments where everyone goes home.”
A door banged open. Master Sergeant Sun materialized from the rain, his marine recon team ghosting behind him. The sergeant’s expression suggested he’d rather be anywhere else than babysitting American contractors.
“Perimeter’s secure,” Sun reported in accented English. “But we have a problem.”
Elena’s hand instinctively moved toward her concealed sidearm. “Define problem, Sergeant.”
“Old Tau from the morning market says strangers were asking about ‘new equipment’ at the harbor. There were two men, mid-twenties with mainland accents. They left before dawn.”
“Hmm, could be nothing,” Ensign Lin offered hopefully.
“Yeah, or it could be a ChiCom SOF unit conducting surveillance of the area,” Elena countered. She activated her encrypted comm. “Morning, Mick. You got a minute?”
Mick’s voice crackled through her earpiece from Penghu. “It’s early, and I haven’t had my coffee yet, but go ahead, Shark Two.”
She smiled, stifling a laugh before turning serious. “Our Marine overwatch may have detected a possible compromise. He received a local report of a pair of military-aged males with mainland accents showing interest in our activities.”
A pause followed. “Your call, Elena. You’re on scene,” Mick advised.
She weighed the options. Abort, and they’d lose weeks of preparation. Continue, and they might walk into a trap. Through the window, oyster farmers were already heading out, their flat-bottomed boats loaded with cultivation gear.
“Mission’s too important and we’re short on time. We’ll proceed,” she decided. “But we adapt. I’ll update you if anything changes. Shark Two out.” Elena disconnected the call, then turned to Ensign Lin. “Can your mesh network handle distributed activation?”
The ensign’s fingers flew over his tablet. “Yes, ma’am. Each USV can activate independently based on proximity triggers. No central command signal needed.”
“Good. We scatter the units more than planned. Make them find all of them.”
Master Sergeant Sun grunted approvingly. “Finally. Someone who thinks like a marine.”
The warehouse doors rolled open. Chief Petty Officer Chang of the Coast Guard entered, water streaming from his rain gear. Twenty years of service showed in his hardened face and careful movements.
“Weather’s getting worse,” Chang announced. “Northeast monsoon’s picking up. Seas building to two meters.”
“Perfect,” Elena said. “Rough seas mean fewer observers.”
Chang’s expression soured. “Also means more danger for my fishermen. These aren’t Navy crews, Ms. Bell. They’re civilians with families.”
“Who volunteered to help defend their homes,” Captain Koh interjected, entering behind Chang. The fishing cooperative leader moved with a destroyer captain’s bearing despite his seventy years. “My boats, my choice, Chief Chang.”
Elena watched the tension between the two men. Chang was sworn to protect civilian maritime traffic. Koh, on the other hand, had an understanding that sometimes civilians had to become warriors.
“Gentlemen,” she interrupted. “We have six hours to position forty USVs along twenty kilometers of coastline. Let’s focus.”
She pulled up the deployment map on a waterproof display. Budai’s coastline appeared in detail — oyster platforms extending two kilometers offshore, abandoned salt pans creating a maze of channels, and fishing ports dotting the shore.
