Well, well, well. If it isn't the Black Sea turning into a particularly aggressive game of Battleship. According to the chaps at British maritime intelligence, Vladimir Putin is absolutely livid that Ukraine has had the temerity to actually sink some of his precious cargo ships. And by 'livid', I mean he's probably been pacing around that absurdly long Kremlin table, muttering about 'escalation' while his advisors frantically Google 'how to look tough when your navy is a rust bucket.'
Yes, dear reader, the very same British intelligence that brought us the phrase 'the threat is credible but not imminent' has now wargazed upon the Black Sea and declared that Russia is about to double down on its maritime mayhem. Because nothing says 'strong response' like attacking commercial vessels with the subtlety of a drunk elephant in a china shop.
The story, as it unfolds, is a masterclass in geopolitical theatre. Ukraine, presumably bored with blowing up tanks, has turned its attention to Putin's precious cargo. And the Kremlin, pathologically incapable of taking a hint, has responded by threatening to 'neutralise' shipping routes. Which is diplomatic speak for 'we're going to start torpedoing anything that floats, regardless of flag or cargo of gin.'
Now, as a man who has spent more time on boats than in boardrooms, I can tell you that this is a spectacularly bad idea. The Black Sea is not a bathtub. It is a notoriously grumpy body of water, and the addition of naval mines detonated by irate Ukrainians does not improve its temperament. But Putin, bless his cotton socks, has never let a little thing like 'maritime law' or 'basic human decency' stand in the way of a good sulk.
British intelligence's warning, delivered with the usual stiff upper lip and a side of understatement, suggests that Russian forces may now target commercial shipping as 'collateral' or, indeed, as 'primary targets.' This is, if you will forgive my nautical terminology, a complete cluster. For cargo ships are not warships. They are not even particularly robust pleasure craft. They are floating warehouses, crewed by people who did not sign up to become targets in a land war that no one asked for.
But let us not forget the real tragedy here. The gin. Yes, fellow travellers, the disruption to trade routes could lead to shortages of everything from grain to, God forbid, quality spirits. I shudder to think of a world where my Bombay Sapphire is rationed because some admiral in Sevastopol decided to play 'spot the merchant vessel.'
And what of the response from the international community? The usual, I fear. A flurry of strongly worded statements from NATO, a few ships repositioned in the Mediterranean (because that always helps), and a general air of baffled concern from the sort of people who wear tweed and say 'jolly good.' Meanwhile, the actual humans on those cargo ships will continue to pray that their radar picks up the incoming missile before their career does.
Of course, the Russian narrative will be different. They will claim that Ukraine is the aggressor, that the cargo ships were actually secret drone carriers, and that the whole affair is a Western conspiracy to deny Russia its rightful place as the world's premier exporter of passive-aggressive threats. They might even dust off the old 'denazification' folder and give it a new lick of paint.
But the truth, as ever, is simpler. Putin is losing. His army is stuck in the mud of Donbas, his navy is a collection of submarines that keep accidentally crashing into things, and his economy is held together by the rubber bands of Chinese loans and Soviet nostalgia. So he lashes out. He threatens the unthinkable. And the world holds its breath, waiting for the next headline.
As for me, I shall be raising a glass of whatever maritime-route-proof gin I can find. To the cargo ships. To their crews. And to the absolute certainty that somewhere, in a London intelligence office, a man in a suit is calmly noting that the situation is 'fluid.' Which is bureaucratese for 'we have absolutely no idea what happens next.'
Stay safe out there, sailors. And keep your periscopes up.
