McTavish looked out the car window at the gray streets of Glasgow. Independence brought not only freedom and opportunities but also global chaos and danger. The old barriers had disappeared, new ones had yet to be established, and thus, everything surviving on the edge of order sensed the opportunity and rushed in.
"Notify John McLean," he said to Callum, "have him pick a few trustworthy and tight-lipped people from the Self-defense Army to form a special investigation team. Without involving the police, secretly investigate the 'Black Pearl' and those theft attacks. Focus on suspicious individuals who suddenly appear in Glasgow with a Latin Arican or military background. Rember, conduct this secretly. Don't startle the snake before we can figure out who they are and what they want."
He needed a hand that wasn't officially on the books, capable of doing the dirty work. And forr SAS mber John McLean, along with so other veterans who were equally tired of London and turned to Scotland, were the most suitable candidates.
...
North Sea, Norwegian Sea, international waters.
The US Navy Arleigh Burke-class destroyer "Michael Murphy" (DDG-112) was cruising westward. On the bridge, Captain Warren Coles, Lieutenant Colonel, stared at the radar screen showing the green outline of the Norwegian coastline and further west, a dashed area representing the sea of the Scottish "autonomous kingdom".
"Captain, sonar contact," the sonar officer reported, "bearing 310, distance 20 nautical miles, depth about 200 ters. The target is very quiet, features... do not match any known types in the database. It could be a new type AIP submarine."
"Sweden's 'Gotland' class?" the executive officer asked.
"Unlikely. The acoustic signature is cleaner, the pump-jet noise characteristics are different." The sonar officer shook his head, "It's performing slow zigzag maneuvers, as if... monitoring us, or deploying sothing?"
"Maintain tracking, increase alert level," Coles ordered. His public mission was "routine freedom of navigation patrol," but the actual directive was to "demonstrate presence, gather intelligence, particularly on the Scottish Navy and possible xican underwater assets in the area."
"Captain, received a radio inquiry from the Norwegian Coast Guard, requesting to know our intentions and course," the communications officer reported.
"Inform them it's routine training, an innocent passage," Coles replied. He wasn't concerned about the Norwegians, they would, at most, express so "concern." He was more interested in that underwater ghost and what else might be lurking in darker places.
"Captain! Sonar contact lost! Repeat, target disappeared!" The sonar officer's voice was filled with amazent, "Last bearing 315, range 18 nautical miles. It subrged, or... shut down all active sources, complete silence."
Coles walked to the sonar console, the screen now only showing the fluctuation of ocean background noise. Such an advanced submarine could disappear completely at such a close range, a technology unsettling. Was it a "gift" from xico to the Scots? Or was it a xican submarine in action?
"Deploy the anti-submarine helicopter, drop a sonobuoy array. Expand the search area," Coles commanded, but he knew well that finding an advanced submarine determined to hide in the vast Norwegian Sea was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Just then, the radar officer shouted, "Captain! Aerial contact! High-speed target coming from the direction of Scotland, extrely low altitude, speed... Mach 1.2! Range 50 nautical miles, still approaching!"
"Identify!" Coles' heart tightened.
"Unable to identify! No response signal received! Profile... appears like a fighter jet but smaller than an F-16 or 'Tornado'!" the radar officer's voice was urgent, "It's heading towards our ship! 30 nautical miles! 20 nautical miles!"
"All hands to battle stations! Prepare anti-aircraft missile systems! Electronic warfare activated!" Coles gave a series of commands. If it was a live attack, this distance was already very dangerous.
However, the high-speed craft, at about 15 nautical miles from the "Michael Murphy," suddenly made an almost vertical climb, instantly breaking through the clouds and disappearing into the sky. A few seconds later, a calm, chanically synthesized voice speaking English ca over the public radio channel:
"United States naval vessel, this is the Scottish Self-defense Army Air Force Control Center. Your ship has approached the edge of the Scottish Kingdom's air defense identification zone. Please be aware of navigation safety to avoid misunderstandings. Over."
No provocation, no warning, just a notification. But paired with the dive-climb maneuver of the unidentified high-speed craft, this "notification" was full of demonstrative intent.
Coles looked displeased. The other side had demonstrated they possessed so kind of high-speed, stealthy aerial platform, and could accurately grasp the position of his ship. And his expensive destroyer only detected their presence when it got within 20 nautical miles.
"Reply: Received. The US Navy is conducting routine navigation in international waters," he said solemnly. Then turned to the executive officer: "Record: Encountered unidentified high-performance aerial target and suspected advanced submarine. The Scottish side has demonstrated surveillance and deterrence capabilities beyond expectations. Recomnd enhanced intelligence gathering on this area's technological sources (xico) and reevaluation of the actual level of Scottish ard forces."
He looked towards the increasingly closer dotted area that belonged to Scotland's sea. The waters here were deeper and darker than he, or those policymakers in Washington, had imagined. New players were not only on the table but also held so cards that were difficult to see through.
...
xico City, top floor strategy room of the "Feathered Serpent Temple".
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