She glanced at Mick, still smirking at the nickname “Skinny Poo.” It had been born in 2013, when a photo of Xi Jinping and Obama walking alongside each other caught the attention of a savvy internet troll in Taiwan. He’d replaced the two with a caricature of Winnie-the-Pooh and Tigger. Xi was Pooh, obviously, and as the meme went viral, Beijing lost its mind.
They banned the meme, scrubbing search results and declaring Pooh an “enemy of the state” — but it was too late. Taiwanese netizens had already weaponized it into a national pastime. Subtle mockery was disguised as cartoon humor. These jabs, that censors couldn’t always catch and Beijing couldn’t laugh off, lived on.
When Xi died, his handpicked successor had inherited more than just the presidency. He’d inherited the meme. He was lankier than Xi, colder in demeanor, but no less authoritarian. When an internet troll called him Skinny Poo, the name stuck, like a middle finger dressed in honey.
“I think that’s the last of them,” Mack commented, watching as the final ROC operator descended the ramp. According to her roster, he should be Commander Tang Muyang, a submarine warfare specialist with ten years in Taiwan’s navy. Observing him, Mack noted how his eyes swept the hangar, cataloging exits, defensive positions, potential threats. It was the kind of automatic threat assessment that came from years of living next door to a hostile giant.
“That’s our lead student,” Mick noted. “Downloaded his file last night. Smart cookie. MIT exchange program, systems engineering.”
“Perfect.” Mack tapped her tablet, pulling up the training schedule. “He’ll need every neuron firing to handle what we’re teaching.”
The formation marched into the hangar, boots splashing through puddles. Up close, Mack could see the tension in their faces. Young men and women who’d grown up watching PLA destroyers probe their waters, counting missile batteries pointed at their homes. Last week’s vote in Beijing had stripped away any remaining illusions. The PRC’s declaration that Taiwan would be included in the new customs inspection routine under the guise of their new drug enforcement act was a blockade in all but name. It was still yet to be determined if the US and the rest of the international community would adhere to the inspection terms or test Beijing’s appetite for direct conflict.
“Welcome to Guam,” Mack called out, her voice carrying over the rain drumming on metal. “My name is Jodi Mack, but you can call me Mack. I’m one of the TSG trainers from a company called Anduril Industries. Prior to Anduril, I was a lieutenant in the US Navy, specializing in unmanned underwater vehicles. This is my TSG counterpart, retired Chief Warrant Officer Three Michael Matsin. He spent twenty-six years in the US Navy and is a encyclopedia of all things related to unmanned naval warfare.”
“Just Mick, or Chief,” he added. “Save the formalities for people who care.”
A few tight smiles cracked through the formation’s discipline.
“You’re here because your government bought the best unmanned systems money can’t normally buy,” Mack continued. “Seeker-class XLUUVs that can hunt subs autonomously for thirty days. Hammer Shark sprint torpedoes that’ll make a
She paused, studying their faces. “But hardware’s just expensive junk without operators who know how to use it. That’s where we come in.”
“Ma’am” — Commander Tang raised a hand — “the systems you mentioned — they’re American designs. Will we have full operational authority?”
“Good question.” Mack appreciated the directness. “Short answer, yes. Long answer, you’ll have Lattice AI integration giving you tactical control while strategic oversight remains within your command structure. Think of it as Netflix for naval warfare — you pick what to watch, but the algorithm suggests what might kill you.”
Nervous laughter rippled through the ranks.
“Look, some decisions aren’t ours to make and have been forced upon us,” Mick interjected. “This latest decision by the PRC to include Taiwan in their drug enforcement act inspection regime is a case in point. But we’re not here to debate policy or what happens next. We’re here to train you on some equipment that gives your leaders some options and the PLA some pause.” His humor evaporated as he addressed the elephant in the room head-on. “We all know this customs inspection regime starting April fifteenth is a threat to the very survival of your country. Our job isn’t to decide what happens next. That’s a political question we elect leaders to decide. What Mack and I are here to do is make sure that if they try to enforce this blockade, they’ll be fishing ChiCom destroyers out of the Taiwan Strait.”
Thunder rolled across the airfield. The lights flickered, emergency power kicking in smoothly.
“Questions?” Mack asked.
