Græsholm, Denmark
0700 hours
March 2nd, 2028
The wind was razor-sharp that morning, skimming along water cold enough to make the strongest men shiver and dream of home. Lieutenant Maksym Hordiienko thought for a brief second of his home in Mariupol, Ukraine, now savaged by invaders. He pushed the hatred in his heart down and shifted his attention back to the task at hand, emotions were bad on an operation, they fogged one's brain and often obscured the best way to accomplish the objective.
It was approaching zero hour, the Russian oil tanker was thirty minutes out. He looked out across the Danish waters from the island of Græsholm, these NATO waters where almost half of all Russian oil exports had been allowed to flow freely for six years despite Russia's outward hostility to the alliance.
The cowardice of the NATO countries had made his country desperate. Where once Ukraine was the image of stoic strength and fiery determination, now it was little more than crumbling defenses driven by mass desertions. The last year had been the breaking point, funding from the West had completely dried up as new right wing Russia-friendly governments in Germany, France, Hungary, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic had brought an end to EU funding, his country's last major financial lifeline. Shortly after the money stopped flowing in the winter of 2027, the front lines started to break.
The collapse began in the south, Zaporizhia was the first major city to fall to the Russians in five years. Then came the fall of Ukraine's second city in the east, the mighty Kharkiv, and the almost simultaneous collapse of nearby Sumy. Shortly after the Russians attacked from their proxy state Belarus and laid siege to the northern city of Chernihiv, while even now they were massing their forces north of Kyiv for another attempt to capture the capital. This time would be different than their first failed attempt in 2022, everyone knew it. There were no good ideas for how they could turn the war around. People spoke of when Ukraine would collapse, not if. Some said as soon as two years. Yet still their allies in the West refused to do anything more than send tanks that Ukraine didn't have the men to drive.
But where everyone else saw a pointless struggle, Maksym saw a sliver of hope, a path to save his country. It came in December 2027, when the Russian campaign to intimidate the last hostile powers in NATO had finally crossed a line. Russian Su-34 fighter jets in Danish airspace had been buzzed by Danish F-16s. The Russians fired first and at the end of the day the two F-16s were shot down and their pilots killed.
Moscow was unapologetic. Copenhagen was furious, they called for the closure of the Danish Straits to Russian oil and gas trade, but with a small navy they needed NATO to support the blockade. The response from the alliance showed how fragmented it had become. The governments in Germany, France, and even the US under the new isolationist President Ashbridge only called for de-escalation but refused to support a blockade. With the core of NATO's military power wavering in their policy towards Russia, most of the alliance, including Sweden and Finland, were taking the safer middle ground and refusing to support the closure of the straits with their navies. Others like Belgium and the Netherlands were still too reliant on Russian liquid natural gas shipped through the straits to take Denmark's side. The only NATO members that pledged military support were the UK, Poland, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, all countries with such long histories of aggressive Russia policies that their governments were happy for any opportunity to ratchet up pressure on Moscow.
It was because of that support that at the very least his plan had been greenlit. Those few NATO powers would not risk direct confrontation with Russia just yet, so they accepted Maksym's plan as a middle path. He was the commander of a Magura drone boat unit, the beautiful weapons that had allowed the Ukrainians to deny all of the Black Sea to the Russian Navy, sinking ships worth hundreds of millions of dollars with the remotely controlled bomb-laden boats worth a fraction of the cost. They were a clever use of asymmetric warfare that the British Special Boat Service had helped the Ukrainians set up right after the full scale invasion in 2022.
His plan was to have Ukrainian teams operate those Magura boats from Danish shores to incapacitate Russian oil and gas tankers as they transited the straits, using a specially designed light warhead that would disable their rudders, leaving them adrift and obliging their seizure by the Danish Navy on safety grounds. It would effectively deny the straits to Russian oil and gas trade without being officially endorsed by the Danes, who would claim ignorance. As far as deniable operations went, it was pretty poor cover, about as poor as all the Russian hybrid attacks on NATO in the Baltic Sea had been for years.
They had moved over a hundred of their specialized Magura drone boats to different locations throughout the straits, hidden away on container ships registered to unaffiliated countries but owned by British naval intelligence. He toggled his controls again, verifying connection to his Magura V8 drone boat as an English voice crackled over the radio, "Mother to Wraith One, clear to proceed to Omega point, over."
"Wraith One to Mother, copy," he responded.
The Russian tanker was ten minutes from the interception point now. He toggled his tablet and activated his swarm of Magura V8s, four of them, just in case the Russian marines on the tanker scored a lucky hit. He would only need one. They had drilled this attack for months. It was such an easy target, an easy target that had been there for years.
He saw the tanker now, a rusty Cold War-era relic like all Russian tankers in the "shadow fleet."
"Wraith One to Father, tally target, request approval to engage, over," he said.
The Danes would be the final approval, it was their waters after all. He knew that the area was suspiciously free of any Danish warships or planes so they could claim ignorance. But he also knew there was a British surveillance drone providing overwatch and that both militaries had quietly been brought to high alert for anything that would come after the operation began.
"Father to Wraith One, green light to engage, over," a voice responded.
He pushed one of his drones into lead formation; the other three trailing behind. He watched the old rust bucket grow larger and larger in his tablet's feed. He was prepared for defensive fire, it didn't come. Closer and closer. The onboard AI confirmed the proper path for landing a strike precisely on the rudder; his job was easy now, guiding his drone along the green lines like using a rear view camera on a car, it was a wonder they needed a human in the system at all. Thirty seconds to impact, twenty, ten. He saw muzzle flashes from the marines. Too late. His lead drone's feed went to static, his eyes switched to drone two, just four seconds behind the lead drone. He pushed it into the black hole of smoke created from his lead, then static on drone two's feed. He knew the rudder had been disabled, he could feel it.
He confirmed the loss of the tanker's movement with his last two drones and then programmed them to return to their container ship, one of dozens anchored nearby. His mission was just beginning, the first blow was landed.
Russian Baltic Command, Kaliningrad
2312 hours
March 5th, 2028
Rear Admiral Oleg Vasiliev rubbed his temples, it had been a long few days. On the wall display, a green light flickered to red.
"Another one?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. The Surgut-9 lost propulsion near Bornholm. Crew reports loss of steering after a strike from a drone boat. Same as the others. The frigate Neustrashimy was tasked to protect it, it's rescuing the crew now."
It was the eleventh tanker reporting a disabled rudder.
He had run out of helicopters to respond and track the drone boats, not that it mattered, they were always too slow anyways. Moscow was furious, but there was nothing they could do to defend the tankers. Each tanker was being escorted by either a destroyer, frigate, or corvette but they were useless to protect against those damnable Maguras. The drone boats simply moved too fast and were too small. The Black Sea Fleet had been defeated by those things, how were his ships expected to protect the old slow rust buckets transporting Russian oil and gas.
Of course the Danes were denying everything, saying they would investigate. Bullshit, it was so obviously bullshit. They had conveniently moved their warships further into the Baltic Sea, away from the strike points but closer to the Russian Baltic Fleet's headquarters in the Russian exclave of Kaliningrad, an outpost of incredible strategic importance wedged between the NATO countries of Poland and Lithuania. The fighter jets he had available were launching constant sorties to scare the Danish warships and the battle group of their new best friends, the British, but it did nothing. He felt powerless, anger welled up inside him.
He glanced at the map. The Danish Straits, his nightmare corridor. Almost half of his country's oil exports squeezed through these few nautical miles of NATO waters, and with a quarter of his government's revenues coming from its oil exports, they could not afford to lose it. The straits had always been a strategic vulnerability, there was simply no alternative to exporting the oil, the arctic ports and pipelines had been at full capacity for years. They had been overly reliant on Danish respect for freedom of navigation, never thinking they would challenge a power like Russia.
But now it looked like they had changed their policy, and what did he expect after those moronic pilots had fired on the Danish F-16s without commands to do so. Of course he had been forced to say he gave the order, better for the politicians to save face and say Russia was willing to use violence when challenged than to admit their pilots had made a mistake.
But now Moscow was breathing down his neck, he had just been berated on a call with President Solokov the day before. His mission now was to scare the Danes into stopping the attacks. So he looked down as his operational map, military intelligence was predicting another attack on a tanker sixty nautical miles east of Bornholm. There was a Danish frigate, the HDMS Iver Huitfeldt, another fifty nautical miles north-east of there.
"Move the corvettes Merkury and Stoikiy to intercept the Iver Huitfeldt, tell them to put the fear of god into the Danes," he told his officer.
Baltic Sea - Danish Frigate Iver Huitfeldt
0216 hours
March 6th, 2028
The radar signatures appeared—two corvettes, Merkury and Stoikiy, running hot at flank speed, right at them.
Onboard HDMS Iver Huitfeldt, the imposing Commander Kristoffersen leaned over her tactical console.
Her executive officer reported in. "Merkury and Stoikiy moving to intercept us, the oil tanker targeted for the strike has turned around and is making its way towards us as well."
Kristoffersen nodded. "They're daring us to attack the tanker while they have corvettes alongside us, bold."
"Orders for Wraith Team?" Her officer asked.
"Greenlight them. If the Russians want us to be there when the tanker gets hit then so be it," Kristoffersen said.
Up above, a British Royal Air Force airborne early warning and control E7 Wedgetail painted the Russian ships in infrared, silently relaying data back to the Danish frigate via encrypted beam.
Twenty-three minutes later the tanker was fifteen nautical miles north of their position and the corvettes 3.6 and closing fast.
The Ukrainian team's drone boats closed in on the tanker Volgograd Spirit, its ancient structure almost invisible in the darkness. Wraith Team called in another successful strike, it was the twelfth tanker disabled. The operation was going perfectly, the Russians had failed to develop an effective counter to the Ukrainian boats.
Then her display flashed: RUSSIAN CORVETTES - 2.9 nautical miles. The Russians were coming at them, not going for the tanker. So they wanted to flex their muscles, Kristoffersen thought, let them.
Baltic Sea - Russian Corvette Stoikiy
0242 hours
March 6th, 2028
"The Danish Frigate is warning us to not approach closer," Captain Turov's executive officer said.
"Fuck them, they're sinking our ships right in front of us! We are under orders to scare them into submission, tell them to change course back to Danish waters and put us on course to cut across their bow. Then fire a warning shot." Captain Turov spat out.
The executive officer responded. "Yes sir, message sent and plotting course now–"
"Radar contact! Small surface craft at bearing two one four! .7 miles out!" the sensor operator shouted.
Captain Turov squinted at the screen. The echo was faint, low-profile.
"Point defense can't get a solid lock!" shouted his executive officer.
"Engage!" he shouted, the radar signature had already closed to .6 nautical miles
The ship's 76mm gun roared. Tracers pierced the sea, several rounds bouncing off the waves.
It roared and roared. "Contact at .5 nautical miles!" .45… .4… BOOM a successful hit by the 76mm. A moment of relief crossed over his mind, then a shockwave sent him hard into the deck. The entire ship shook, half the crew were on the ground with him, then another shockwave kept them down. Impossible, he thought, the drone boat had been destroyed, he had seen it with his own eyes!
"Impact, starboard!" the executive officer shouted.
"Damage report!" he barked.
"Engineering reports flooding aft! We're losing power!" someone shouted back.
"Seal compartments! Damage control, now!" Turov barked again, gripping the railing as the lights flickered, the ship was already listing to starboard rapidly.
The first drone boat had been a feint. They never even picked up the real attack swarm on their radar.
Baltic Sea - Danish Frigate Iver Huitfeldt
0246 hours
March 6th, 2028
Kristoffersen's display erupted with red alerts. The Royal Air Force E7 Wedgetail reported that the Stoikiy had been hit hard twice, it was listing heavily to starboard. The Merkury was continuing hard towards them, it was only 1.2 nautical miles out.
"Jesus Christ," whispered his executive officer. "That was them, that was the fucking Ukrainians! Why the hell are they targeting the Russian Navy! Their Marguras aren't supposed to be equipped with warheads big enough–"
"The Merkury is painting us with radar!" the tactical action officer shouted.
"Hold fire," Kristoffersen responded firmly. "Reach out over radio, report the attack was not us, they should rescue their fellow sailors. Then tell the Wraith Team to–"
"VAMPIRE! Missiles from the Merkury! Bearing 166! Close in weapons engaging!" The tactical action officer shouted.
The frigate's point defenses roared to life, spraying thousands of bullets into the incoming missile barrage.
The last thing Kristoffersen ever thought was: "that was fucking fast."
The Merkury had unleashed its full complement of eight Kalibr anti-ship cruise missiles simultaneously. The HDMS Iver Huitfeldt defeated five of them with its point defenses, one missed, but two scored direct hits, with one obliterating the bridge and killing everyone inside instantly.
Danish Air Base Skrydstrup, Denmark
0311 hours
March 6th, 2028
"Trident one in range in two minutes," the officer reported.
General Rasmussen nodded, the order had just come in from the Prime Minister: eliminate the Merkury as soon as the British confirmed their F-35 squadron was airborne and en route for backup. Their own F-35 squadron had taken to the air seven minutes earlier, flying close to maximum speed at Mach 1.4; two were equipped with anti-ship Joint Strike Missiles. A direct response to the Russian attack on the HDMS Iver Huitfeldt was the only option, and it had to come fast before the Merkury could get within Kaliningrad's air defenses.
"Confirmation from British High Command, Royal Air Force F-35 squadron at base Marham is in the air and en route," the officer reported.
"Take the shot," he said.
"Trident One, engage target," the officer said over the radio.
The Merkury never stood a chance. Both Joint Strike Missiles slammed into its side at nearly supersonic speed. It sank faster than the Boiky.
Ministry of Defense, Moscow
0721 hours
March 6th, 2028
The news ripped through the high command of the Russian General Staff like a fire storm. Two corvettes sunk and 186 sailors killed. There was fury in the air, the Danes had shot first, and yet the Danish frigate was being towed back to port. It was not fair.
After consulting with an equally livid President Solokov, the General Staff ordered a series of Tu-95 strategic bombers to take off with two hundred kiloton nuclear bombs and skim the edge of Danish air space near the Faroe Islands. Their fighter jet escorts were ordered to cross into Danish air space deliberately, daring the Danes to take a shot and see what happened. The bomber crews had orders to respond to an engagement by incinerating the islands.
Danish F-16s trailed the Tu-95s and their escorts at a distance but kept the engagement to nothing more than stern words over the radio. They would not give the Russians another excuse.
The world watched, holding its breath.
NATO High Command - Secure Comms System, Belgium
0939 hours
March 6th, 2028
"We need American bombers flying near Russian airspace; we need to show the Russians we have your backing 100%" the British Air Marshal went on over the secure line, "you're the only power in NATO that the Russians fear."
US Defense Secretary Steele cut him off quickly. "Who told the fucking Ukrainians they could start attacking Russian warships in the first place?" We told you all that you launched this operation at your own risk. We're washing our hands of this, we're not going to get dragged into a nuclear war because you couldn't contain your Ukrainian dogs."
Danish Prime Minister Jørgensen spoke up. "We didn't want a shooting war but we can't turn belly up and act apologetic after they just killed fifty of our sailors. We need to demonstrate total resolve for such an act. We are going to officially shut down the straits with our navy like we should have done in the first place after they killed our pilots."
Secretary Steele looked sick at the suggestion.
Jørgensen went on. "But for that we need enough naval firepower to deter Russia from actually picking a fight. With the available assets of the UK's Royal Navy we have a combined twenty-one major surface warships that can be deployed, Russia has twenty-five in its Baltic Fleet right now. If they think they can win a full engagement they'll try it, they know we would never go nuclear first and they'll think we are too scared to actually fight without American backing. If you declare support and place a few ships in the blockade they won't dare attack us, it would reduce the chances of a fight."
Steele looked irritated. "Once again, you started this fight, it's yours to end however you see fit, but not with American sailors in the crossfire acting as your human shields," he said.
Jørgensen sighed. "Unfortunate to hear, Mr. Secretary. And what of Paris and Berlin? With your naval strength we could double the blockade's force to a level Russia would be loathsome to fight with its aging Baltic fleet," she said.
"Like Secretary Steele said, this was always your fight, not ours. It's your fault for being too friendly to the Ukrainians," German Chancellor Schmitz said with the French President nodding his support of the statement.
At this the Polish President, Owczarek, angrily spoke up. "The Russians will smell blood if we are so divided. They will surely attempt to force their way through the blockade and start another fight if they think they can win, especially after the embarrassing performance of their cruisers."
The Swedish Prime Minister coughed to cut him off. "Then don't blockade the straits. Without American support it's too risky. If there is a clash in the straits, Russia will bombard our cities with thousands of drones. We simply cannot match or mitigate their deep strike capabilities."
"How quickly you all turn against us in the most desperate time," Jørgensen said, almost choking on the venom in her voice.
The Baltic state leaders - Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania - all declared their support for the blockade and shook their heads in disapproval of the timid leaders who stood opposed. The Baltic states had always been the most vulnerable to Russian aggression and now they stood firmly behind Denmark.
"We must retaliate for the murder of our sailors, the straits will be closed to Russian trade whether the rest of you are with us or not," Jørgensen finished with a look of hatred towards those who had spoken against her.
The meeting ended quickly.
The alliance had fractured.
Korsør Naval Base, Denmark
1415 hours
March 6th, 2028
Danish Prime Minister Jørgensen was a figure of resolve as she addressed the world in front of the ruined hulk of the HDMS Iver Huitfeldt that had just been towed in. It was a powerful image, the blonde nordic leader stoically flanked by the British prime minister and Polish president who had flown in an hour beforehand to show a united front. The charred frigate dominated the background as a testament to the justification for what they were about to announce.
"Denmark and its close allies the United Kingdom, Poland, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania will not bow to Russian aggression and nuclear threats. Our resolve is steadfast and we are determined to defend our sovereignty. We will not quiver in the face of aggression. We are forming a coalition to close the Danish Straits. Any ship attempting to cross through them will be seized by the Coalition Navy. Any attack on the Coalition will be responded to in kind. The straits will be closed from 1600 local time, the exclusion zone has been announced. Do not test us," she spoke with a steely voice, her eyes piercing.
Agersø Island, Denmark
1437 hours
March 6th, 2028
"The last one is armed. Ready to launch," the agent codenamed Stravinsky said.
"Good, any minute now," the team lead, Borodin, said impatiently. He was in charge of a unit from the Russian 42nd Naval Special Reconnaissance unit operating from Agersø Island, just six miles from the major Danish naval base at Korsør. They had been monitoring NATO naval movements with surveillance drones and collecting signals intelligence, and by some magnificent stroke of luck the new coalition had decided to hold their conference at Korsør.
"Are you sure we shouldn't wait for a response from Baltic Command?" Stravinsky asked.
"Fucking hell, two hundred of our sailors killed by these American puppets and you think Baltic Command wants to make a damn peace offering?" Borodin shot back, "Our window of opportunity will be gone in an hour, the Danish whore will be in a bunker and we won't have another chance. The Americans haven't even sided with them, it's an obvious decision, command would say the same if they could get a message back. They'll praise us, maybe Solokov will even give us an award," he continued confidently.
Each of the coalition's leaders, including their target, the Danish prime minister, would depart the naval base by helicopter. Once upon a time taking it down would have been a challenge, having to get within eyesight of the helicopter with a man-portable air defense system. It was comical that it had been the Ukrainians who had taught the world how effective drones were against helicopters. He toggled the controls to his surveillance drone flying six miles west of the base with the radar signature of a bird, watching for the helicopter to start spinning up its rotor. Watching… watching… watching… there!
"Launch now!" he barked.
Stravinsky hit the controls and a second later three tube launched Serpent drones sprung into the air, their engines roared to life as they rapidly accelerated to 140 miles per hour, diving down low to skim just six feet off the water, using terrain to avoid radar. They were the latest short range strike drones Russia had deployed, and his unit had been one of the first to receive them as a "just in case scenario." Well, "in case" happened.
He knew the prime minister's helicopter would be off the ground in two minutes, his drones would cover the six miles in just over three. They would catch the helicopter after it had spent a minute ascending to a fatal drop distance, perfect timing.
He watched the feeds of his drones from the telecoms link; their actions were all automated. One minute passed, then two. He saw the prime minister's helicopter taking off from his surveillance drone's feed. Perfect, he thought, they hadn't picked the Serpents up on radar, they were flying too low. Forty seconds later his drones reached the shoreline and angled high, gaining altitude fast, their sensors locked onto the helicopter, which bucked to the side and started descending rapidly.
"Looks like they picked us up on radar, that was fast," he mumbled.
The Serpents were above the helicopter in seconds, and then they angled down into dive position. The helicopter was banking down steeply, pulling an aggressive turn to make interception harder. The Serpents were five hundred feet from the helicopter now, their sensors identified the rotor as the the target and they went for the kill. One of his feeds went to static, the other two of sky. One hit, two misses.
He looked over to his surveillance drone's feed, and watched with welling pride as a smoking carcass of metal dropped like a stone for several hundred feet before slamming into the ground and erupting into a fireball.
They had done it, they killed the bitch. His team let their breath out.
"Helicopter inbound!" agent Arensky, who had been on lookout, shouted over the radio line.
"Fuck that was fast," he said, "let's show these bastards a warm welcome" he shouted as he picked up his AK-12SP, doused his electronic kit in gasoline and lit it on fire.
They had clear orders not to be taken alive.