2:17 PM, Eastern Mediterranean, twelve nautical miles off Squid Territory.
In the bridge of the "Independence," the communications officer's headset suddenly burst with a piercing static noise. He frowned as he tuned the frequency, the noise gradually becoming clearer and transforming into a rhythmic pulse signal, not Morse code, but a more complex encrypted format.
Admiral Morales stared out the port window at the barely visible line, twelve nautical miles, Squid Territory, push two miles further, and it's an act of war.
The communications officer took off his headset, his face changed: "General, we've intercepted Squid military internal communications, they... they're discussing a preemptive strike."
Everyone's gaze in the bridge was focused on Morales. He showed no change of expression, simply walked to the chart table and looked at the blue area marked with dense routes and depth data.
"Which unit?"
