Lash-Up

by Larry Bond

  Even while the flag officers and their staffs took in the spectacular news, Kastner jumped on it immediately. “Great job, Frank. We’re pressed for time, but I’ve got to know how you found this.”

  “We’re putting together a complete report right now, sir. You’ll all have it in a few hours.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “To answer your question: elimination and luck. The three active satellites were killed in the same area, just east of Okinawa. We assumed an easterly trajectory, as that requires the least amount of energy to get something into orbit. We then focused our radars on the GPS birds as they passed by that area during the night. We caught a glimpse of a projectile during the last attack, back-calculated its trajectory to its origin, and tried to find a launching site in the region. We got lucky because we figured they’d start with an established installation, and the Gongga Shan prison camp was on a rather short list. In hindsight, it probably never was anything but a construction site for the gun. We’ve been looking in all the wrong places for the last three weeks.” He didn’t sound proud.

  Kastner was complimentary but grim. “Well, Frank, I’m glad the intel community nailed it down. As they say, better late than never. But your work has just begun. We need to know a lot more about this weapon. First, is this the only one? It probably is, but I’ve got to know absolutely. Second, how many more satellites can they kill with it? And third, what would it take to stop it?”

  Overton nodded silently, his expression as grim as the chairman’s. Nodding respectfully to his boss and the other joint chiefs, he and his staff left. They had a lot of questions on their plate and not much time to get the answers.

  Kastner turned to the others. “Immediate impressions, gentlemen? After we finish here, I’ll wake the SECDEF. He’ll have to give the bad news to the president.”

  Casa McConnell

  San Diego, CA

  September 26, 2017

  The chime from his computer jolted Ray back to consciousness. Yawning, he looked at the clock on his desktop—two o’clock in the afternoon! He must have fallen asleep soon after he had sent out the “call to arms” by e-mail. Without thinking, Ray reached for the mug by his machine and took a big gulp. “Ugh!” he gasped, almost spitting the liquid out onto his laptop.

  “Cold coffee, bad choice,” choked Ray. Stumbling over to the kitchen, he put the mug in the microwave and nuked its contents on high. While the coffee returned to a drinkable temperature, Ray leaned over the kitchen sink and threw some cold water on his face. By the time he’d dried his hands and face, the sharp “ding” of the microwave signaled the completion of its assigned mission. Snatching the mug from the microwave, Ray headed back to his computer, sipping the old but now hot coffee. He grunted his approval as he sat down and pulled up his e-mail in-box. He liked what he saw on the screen.

  Twelve people had already sent a positive response to his “emergency” summons; they’d be at his house by 7:00 P.M. Several more expressed their disappointment that they were out of town and would miss the kickoff meeting, but each one reassured Ray they’d join the design team as soon as they got back to San Diego. Within seven hours of his e-mail going out, Ray had sixteen top-notch experts committed to helping him with Project Defender. The name he’d chosen was, admittedly, a bit cutesy, but it would help keep them focused on their goal—defending U.S. space-borne assets. It certainly wasn’t any worse than some of the corny names the Pentagon came up with.

  A quick review of the growing roster showed Ray he had a solid team in the spacecraft design, propulsion, communications, and mission-planning cells. But they were weak on command and control and payload (i.e., sensors and weapons). He’d suspected these areas would be harder to fill, as many of the best people wore uniforms, and he’d intentionally not sent the e-mail to anyone currently on active duty in the military. They could get into serious trouble if their chain of command found out what Ray was working on and that they were helping him.

  That decision had been particularly agonizing for Ray. He had many close friends in the armed services, particularly the air force and navy, who weren’t going to be happy with him for leaving them out of the loop, but he couldn’t risk jeopardizing their careers by sending them a direct e-mail that could be traced back to him. If they heard about this project through the grapevine, he’d deal with each individual at his front door.

  Ray shook his head as he looked at the command and control group; it was the weakest of the lot by far. He immediately thought of Jenny Oh. She was smart, motivated, and had the very expertise that Ray knew he desperately needed. But she was a naval officer, and that put her out of bounds. Taking Jenny off the Project Defender design-team list seemed to bother Ray more than it should have, and he was at a loss to explain why.

  Sure, she was as attractive as she was intelligent, but she was a relative newcomer to Ray’s circle of influence. She’d only been to two of his weekend BOGSATs, and both times she came with Jim Naguchi. In the grand scheme of things, she was little more than an acquaintance.

  The chime from his laptop forced Ray to focus his attention on a new e-mail. Another engineer had pledged his efforts to the cause. Excellent, he thought. “Maybe SPAWAR doesn’t have the talent, Rudy,” muttered Ray to himself, “but I know where to find it.”

  3

  Networking

  Casa McConnell

  San Diego, CA

  September 28, 2017

  Chris Champagne had gone to only a few of Ray’s BOGSATs. His “discussion groups,” famous throughout SPAWAR, were always worthwhile. Although Champagne would have liked to go more often, two preschoolers and another on the way severely limited his free time.

  Tonight, though, he’d made the time. In fact, his wife, Sandy, had almost ordered him to. After he’d described Ray’s sudden leave of absence and the rumors from the other coworkers, she’d urged him to go and get the straight story.

  Champagne was an antenna design specialist on Ray’s GPS team. He liked his very outgoing boss and had no trouble working for the man, even though McConnell could be a little fierce in technical “discussions.” Champagne was worried about their project, which was suffering in Ray’s absence, and about Ray. With the brass so upset about the GPS losses, and Rudy White foaming at the mouth over the final project report, it was no time for Ray to play “missing person.”

  The map on the car’s navigation console showed he was getting close. Ray’s street was just around the sharp bend ahead. Champagne signaled and started turning onto Panorama Drive. The last time he had visited Ray’s place was over a year ago, when he and Sandy had attended a reception for a visiting astronaut. That had been quite the occasion.

  But nothing like this. As he made the turn, Champagne saw the street almost completely lined with cars. This was definitely not typical for the quiet residential community. Champagne ended up parking a block away.

  As he hurried up the path, he heard the expected hubbub flowing out the open windows, but it didn’t seem as loud as usual. Stranger still, Ray didn’t answer the door, and everyone wasn’t reclining before the Wall. People seemed to be spread out all over the house. A group of four men huddled around a coffee table in the living room, and he could see another clustered in the kitchen. Ray appeared suddenly from one of the bedrooms, hurrying. He looked tired. As soon as Ray saw the stocky engineer in the doorway, he made a beeline over to him.

  “Chris Champagne! It’s great to see you.” Genuine pleasure lit up Ray’s face as he shook Champagne’s hand in greeting, but there was a distracted air to it. And surprise.

  Champagne saw no point in dissembling. “Ray, what’s going on over here? You haven’t been at work…”

  “I’ve got bigger fish to fry, Chris. Promise you won’t tell anyone what’s going on here? Unless I okay it?”

  “Well, of course.” Champagne wondered what he’d just agreed to. It couldn’t be anything illegal …

  Ray looked at him intently. “No, Chris, I mean it. You can’t tell anyone. T
reat this as if it were classified.”

  The word “classified” triggered reflexes. It made Champagne both cautious and curious. He studied McConnell for a moment, then carefully said, “I promise not to tell anyone what I see here.” He fought the urge to raise his right hand.

  Ray seemed to relax a little and smiled again. “You’ll understand in a minute, Chris.” Turning, he called over to the group at the coffee table. “I’ll be right there.”

  One of the men, whom Champagne recognized as Avrim Takir, a mathematician from the GPS group, popped his head up and answered, “Fine, Ray. We need another ten minutes, anyway.” Takir spotted Champagne and waved but quickly returned his attention to the laptop in front of him.

  Ray led his teammate down the hall into his home office. The desk was piled high with books, disk cases, and printouts. The center display, a big flat-screen monitor mounted above the desk, showed an isometric design for an aircraft—no, a spacecraft, Champagne realized.

  Used to polished CAD graphics where they worked, he was surprised. This one was crude. Some of it was fully rendered in 3D space, but parts of it were just wire frames. At least one section was a two-dimensional image altered to appear three-dimensional.

  “Defender isn’t pretty, but we’re a little pressed for time,” Ray declared. He had the air of a proud parent.

  Champagne, surprised and puzzled, studied the diagram, which filled the four-by-eight display. Data tables hovered in parts of the screen not covered by the vehicle. He started tracing out systems: Propulsion. Communications. Weapons? He shot a questioning look at McConnell.

  Ray met his look with one of his own. “Here’s a question for you, Chris. What’s the best way to protect a satellite? If someone’s shooting them down, how can you stop them?”

  “They haven’t confirmed it’s the Chinese…”

  “It doesn’t matter who’s doing it!” Ray countered fiercely. “Someone is.” He paused and rephrased the question. “Can you effectively protect a satellite from the ground?”

  Champagne answered quickly. “Of course not. You’re on the wrong end of the gravity well, even if you’re near the launch site, and you could be on the other side of the planet.”

  “Which we probably are,” Ray agreed. “Here on the surface, even with perfect information, we can’t defend a satellite until something is launched to attack it, so we’re always in a tail chase. If we’re above the launch site, with the satellite we’re trying to defend, Isaac Newton joins our team.”

  “And this is going to do the job?” Champagne asked, motioning toward the diagram. He tried to sound objective, but skepticism crept into his voice despite his efforts.

  Ray didn’t bat an eyelash; he seemed used to the disbelief. “It can, Chris. There’s nothing startling in here. The technology is all there: an orbital vehicle, sensors, and weapons.”

  “And you’ve been tasked by…”

  “It’s on my own hook, Chris. This is on my own initiative,” Ray admitted. Then he saw his friend’s question and answered it without waiting.

  “Because I can’t wait for the government to think of it, that’s why. The answer is obvious, but by the time they hold all the meetings, write the requirement, and submit a budget proposal, we won’t have any satellites left!”

  Ray sat down heavily, fatigue and strain showing on his face. “This isn’t about just the GPS constellation or the Chinese, Chris. Someone’s developed the capability to attack satellites in space. That means they could attack manned spacecraft as well. They can hurt us, or anyone else they don’t like. And we know they sure as hell don’t like us.”

  Champagne leaned back against the edge of a table and looked carefully at Ray. “So you’re going to design the answer to our problems.” He phrased it as a statement, but it was still a question.

  “Me and all the other people here,” Ray corrected. “Why not, Chris? I’ve got a good idea and I’m running with it. I might not be in the right bureau, or in the right branch, but I believe in this. Ideas are too precious to waste.”

  Inside, Champagne agreed with his friend, but practicality pushed that aside. “But you can’t build it,” he stated quietly.

  “Well, that’s the rub,” Ray said, actually rubbing the back of his neck in emphasis. “I’ve made a lot of friends over the years. I’m going to shotgun it out over SIPRNET—only within the system,” he hurriedly added, referring to the secret-level Internet system capable of handling classified material. “I won’t go public with this. It’s a serious design proposal.”

  “Which needs a formal requirement, funding, and research and development…”

  “And congressional hearings and hundreds of man hours arguing what color to paint it,” continued Ray sarcastically. “Look, a small group can always move faster and think faster than a large one. I want to present the defense community with a finished initial design, something so complete they’ll be able to leapfrog the first dozen steps of the acquisition process.” He grinned. “We can skip one step already. The bad guys are writing the requirement for us.”

  Ray stood and turned to face Champagne directly. “I know I’m bending rules, but they’re not rules of physics, just the way DoD does business. I’m willing to push this because it needs to be done, and nobody else is doing it.”

  Champagne sighed. “Ray, I gotta tell you: Rudy is breathing fire and brimstone. Jake is handling it okay, for now, but he’s not as adept at dealing with our div chief as you are.”

  “What does Rudy want now? I gave him everything he asked for, and more, and ahead of his revised due date.” Ray’s voice was strained with impatience.

  “He blew up when you didn’t come in today, claimed you were AWOL, and ranted about the corrections he needed you to make to the final report. Rudy said he sent you e-mails and tried to call your cell phone.”

  “I ignored them. I don’t have time to argue with him. But I did send the answers to the questions directly to Jake and asked him to put them in the report for me. And none of them were even remotely critical—just more of Rudy’s typical bureaucratic editing bullshit! Besides, I’m not AWOL! I filled out a leave slip before I left.”

  “But didn’t bother to wait and see if your request was approved,” challenged Champagne.

  “I assumed it would be a formality,” Ray replied with a sheepish look. “I’ve got more ‘use or lose’ leave time than I can shake a stick at, and the fiscal year ends in two days. I’m entitled to a few days off.”

  “Still, technically you’re on unauthorized leave,” Champagne concluded.

  Ray scowled, sighing heavily. “Technically, yes.”

  Champagne looked down and shook his head. His boss could be just as pigheaded as White, but the similarities ended there. He also knew that Ray McConnell had a knack for getting things done, even if it looked nigh on impossible on paper. Chuckling, he looked back at Ray and made a wide sweep with his hand. “So who’s working on your comm system?”

  Ray grinned. “They’re in the second bedroom. They’ve got almost all the electronics nailed down, but there’s still lots to do.” Ray led him down the hall. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Chris recognized one coworker from a different division in SPAWAR, another was introduced as an engineer from Northrup-Grumman, and the team leader was …

  “It’s good to see you again, Chris,” called out a woman’s voice. Champagne would need to be blind not to remember Jennifer Oh. She looked over at Ray, and he explained, “Chris is a comms specialist in my division, and SPAWAR is not using all his talents to the fullest.”

  Jennifer Oh beamed. “That’s great! With one more person, we can have two teams and assign each one…”

  “Wait a minute, please.” Champagne held up his hand. “Let me make a call first.” He stepped out of the room, looking unsuccessfully for a quiet spot to call from. McConnell saw his problem and motioned for them go outside. With Champagne ready to make his call, Ray started to step back inside, but Champagne stopped him and ask
ed, “Where’s Jim Naguchi? If Jennifer Oh is here…”

  McConnell shook his head. “It’s just Jenny. She’s shown up every night, and she even brings food. I tried to warn her off, because I don’t want to get any active service members in trouble. She didn’t take that very well. She insisted on helping and handed me my ‘chivalric ass’ on a platter. The woman is nothing if not determined, and I’m glad she is. Jenny’s a great engineer.”

  Champagne stopped dialing and closed his cell phone. “Wait a minute. She’s been here all the time, without Jim, and she even brings you food?”

  “Yeah, you saw. She’s leading the command and control group, and…”

  “Ray, did it occur to you that there might be another reason for her being here?”

  “Like what?” Ray asked, genuinely confused. He then saw Champagne’s incredulous expression and said, “No, Chris. Not possible.”

  Champagne ignored his protests and nodded approvingly. “She’s a real find, Ray. Brains and looks. Thinks for herself. Of course, we’ll have to overlook her poor taste in men.” Champagne’s brown eyes were twinkling with amusement; a grin ran from one ear to the other.

  “I don’t have time for that!” protested Ray.

  Champagne’s grin disappeared, and his expression became deadly serious. “She’s making time. Now it’s your turn, and if you blow this chance, you’ll never find another one like her. Now, beat it. I still have to make that phone call.”