Kjetil looked down onto the fucked Hanacore weapons platform with a mix of resigned annoyance and the smug satisfaction of having been proven right, again. The consultants shipped the massive floating barge three days ago, and nothing about it had inspired confidence. After all, he had no idea how it worked, so anything he couldn't adjust in the setup wizard, he couldn't fix.

He looked at the last entry of the development descriptions titled "bugfixes and improvements".

The platform was supposed to be fully automatic, but Kjetil had heard from other stations that the v1 smart features were totally overstated. That release was three years ago. Since then, no contractual obligation, service agreement, or custom config optimization had been enough to even get it close to the initially advertised featureset.

Not that it mattered anymore. Kjetil's mind was mostly on the radio in his hand. A couple of good choices. He could radio is commanding officer and express his disrespect in colourful ways. He could call the project lead, spitting one final venomous I-told-you-so into the radio's mouthpiece. Or he could record some memorable final words to leave his loved ones and the world at large.

In an act of spite that surprised himself, he decided that neither of them deserved that minuscule effort, so he left the radio silent. Whatever, the arctic war was dumb, fuck you and fuck me he thought as the dashboard labeled Volume Denial dropped below 85%, and the incoming missile swarm saturated the last of the stupid platform's countermeasures.