Lash-Up

by Larry Bond

  “I’m not advocating war, Ben!” Rutledge snapped back. “Lord knows we don’t need to become involved in another major conflict. What I’m looking for is some tough words on things we should be doing. Don’t provide any details—leave it vague—but get me a couple of plausible options that we can throw out. If the president won’t get off the dime and do something, then we should capitalize on this opportunity.”

  Davis suddenly became hesitant, a look of concern flashing on his face. Rutledge saw it immediately and asked, “What’s wrong, Ben?”

  “Tom, Rep. Urick stopped by on Friday. He had a message for you to tone down the rhetoric. Your last missives were viewed as being ‘counterproductive’ to the president’s agenda.”

  Representative Russell Urick was the Democratic Party’s whip, and he was often used to deliver unpleasant messages from the party’s leadership to the rank and file. Clearly, the House minority leader had issues with Rutledge’s last press release.

  “Really?” Rutledge asked with feigned surprise. “Well, we certainly can’t ignore a visit by the party’s whip. I guess I’ll keep my golf date with Thad Preston after all. Perhaps he can enlighten me as to his concerns. But get Bill in here nonetheless, and get started on that press piece. Tell him to throttle back a little, but I want something in the hopper for this evening.”

  Carlsbad State Beach

  San Diego, CA

  October 8, 2017

  Jenny Oh always enjoyed an early-morning run on one of San Diego’s many sunny beaches. With the sun just popping up from behind the hills, she had the luxury of having it all to herself—there wasn’t another soul in sight. And that was just fine with her. No need to worry about the traffic, parking, or crowds. There was a slight breeze coming off the ocean, and the only sounds were that of the surf and seagulls. As far as Jenny was concerned, this was the closest thing to heaven on earth.

  She was on the back half of a five-mile run when her phone started vibrating. Irritated, she glanced at the display to see who dared to interrupt her much-needed solitude. But when she saw that it was a text message from Ray, she came to a quick stop and touched a button. The message that popped up on the screen was at best vague.

  YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED. PIGS CAN FLY. CALL ME WHEN YOU GET A CHANCE.

  8

  Scramble

  The Pentagon

  October 8, 2017

  Secretary Peck left as quickly as he’d arrived, and, after a moment’s pause, Ray found himself next to the most popular man in the room. He did his best to get out of the way as the service chiefs surrounded the new four-star admiral. Schultz, still a little glassy-eyed from the surprise promotion, gracefully accepted congratulations and good wishes, deferred all questions, and tried to gather his notes with his one free hand.

  Ray was still absorbing the news. A “space force.” Well, why not? And if Schultz was going to be in charge, then his baby was in good hands.

  Schultz broke free of the scrum and gestured to Ray as he headed for the door. Ray followed, speeding up to match the admiral’s fast pace. Once Ray had caught up, Schultz explained, “General Warner’s promised us a C-20 for our use.” The C-20 was a military version of the Gulfstream executive jet adapted for VIP transport. It was loaded with communications gear and conference facilities.

  They were headed back to the admiral’s office at a fast walk. Schultz spoke almost as quickly. “It will be ready for takeoff in an hour or so. Where do we fly, Ray? Where’s our headquarters going to be?”

  Luckily, Ray had asked himself the question already. Prompted by Secretary Peck’s comment, he responded quickly, “It has to be Edwards, Admiral. That’s where the VentureStar prototype is stored, and where the pad is. Building another pad doesn’t make sense, and we don’t have the time anyway. Besides, this way we don’t even have to move the vehicle.”

  Both understood that Ray meant Edwards Air Force Base in Southern California. The prototype was mothballed there, near the never-used launchpad. Edwards was a major test center. Parts of the base were designated as historical sites because of their role in aviation history.

  The admiral nodded. “Edwards will be a good place to set up shop. We’ll have NASA’s Armstrong Flight Research Center, the Air Force Research Lab’s Propulsion Directorate research site—all those test facilities could come in real handy.” He grinned. “It’s also close to the Skunk Works in Palmdale and, of course, Los Angeles, not that you’ll have much time to go there.”

  A little confused, Ray started to ask what he meant, but they’d reached the door to Schultz’s office. As Ray opened it and followed the admiral in, a wave of applause and even a few cheers washed over them. Ray had to stop short as the admiral was again mobbed by well-wishers.

  Captain Levin, Schultz’s aide, explained. “One of Secretary Peck’s aides called and told us the good news, sir.”

  “Are we ready?” asked a voice behind Ray.

  Schultz spun around and saw a gaggle of flag officers pouring into the room. In the lead was the CNO, Admiral Kramer, followed by the vice CNO, the commandant of the Marine Corps, and several others.

  “Yes, sir,” said Levin.

  “Very well. Let’s get this man promoted so he can get to work,” ordered Kramer.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Levin replied, then, turning to a woman nearby, “Dorothy?”

  A little breathless, the woman handed the CNO a small box. Levin, raising his voice a little, called “Attention to orders!” There was immediate silence, and those in uniform came to attention. Even Ray braced, his old air force habits kicking in.

  Kramer issued the oath of office and then took one side, while Dorothy took the other. They unfastened the three-star insignia from the collar of Schultz’s khaki shirt and replaced them with four stars. Flashes from phones and one actual camera recorded the moment.

  “Thanks, John.” Ray could see Schultz’s pleasure. It was a moment most officers could only dream of.

  “Congratulations, Bill!” exclaimed Kramer. “However, in light of your new responsibilities, we’ll defer the wetting down for now. Note, I said defer, not abrogate, negate, or cancel. You’re still on the hook to buy a round or two of drinks.”

  Schultz snapped his fingers in feigned disappointment. It would be quite the bar tab.

  Each of the accompanying flag officers congratulated Schultz, shook his hand, and, with the traditions of the U.S. Navy satisfied, departed.

  As Levin shook the admiral’s hand, he remarked, “The aide said there was some more news, but that it would be better if I got it from you directly. He sounded very mysterious.”

  The admiral’s smile didn’t disappear, but it changed shape. “You’re gonna love this. I need you in my office.” He turned to Dorothy and said, “Hold all my calls, but tell Admiral Drake I need to see him here, ASAP.”

  She answered, “He’s out at Pax River today for that…”

  “Whatever he’s doing,” Schultz interrupted, “this is more important. As quickly as he can, Dorothy.”

  She nodded, but Schultz was already headed for his office.

  Once inside, Schultz filled in Levin, and surprised Ray by telling his aide that Ray would be the project’s technical director. Ray protested immediately. “I don’t have the seniority for that…”

  “You will by the end of the day, Ray,” Schultz answered quickly. “Don’t worry about bureaucratic limitations. Those are man-made. Our only barrier is the laws of physics, and I want you to bend as many as you can.” He paused, then observed, “I never did ask you if you wanted the job or not.” He smiled. “There’s a nontrivial pay bump, but I hear the hours are brutal.”

  Ray answered without hesitation. “Yes, Admiral, I want it,” eagerly diving into the great unknown.

  “Then start drafting a message to Secretary Peck telling him we’re picking Edwards and would he please tell the base commander to expect us? And we’ll need another from Peck to Lock Mart telling them that their VentureStar pr
ogram’s been funded again. Go.”

  While Ray sat down and began typing, Schultz told Levin, “Anyone from my staff who wants to come with me can come, but will have to move to California. We’ll have temporary housing at Edwards.” Levin started to speak, and Schultz quickly added, “Of course, you can come, Jeff, but not right away. I need you here to get Admiral Drake settled in, and be my man in Washington.”

  Ray half-listened as he worked. Schultz’s main headquarters was at Patuxent River, in Maryland, about an hour and a half southeast of Washington by car. The Naval Air Systems Command was responsible for everything in the navy that flew: aircraft, missiles, and UAVs. It was a sizable fraction of the service, and Levin quickly made notes as Schultz fired off instructions about people and projects that his deputy, Rear Admiral Drake, would need in order to ensure a relatively smooth turnover.

  There were a hundred details, but Schultz remembered “… and send someone over to Ray’s hotel to pack up his stuff. Send it to Andrews along with my travel bag. Ray, how are those messages coming?”

  “Just finished, Admiral. I kept them short.”

  “Good thinking. Peck’s a busy man.” Levin took the files and promised they would be sent within minutes.

  “All right, then. Let’s get over to Andrews,” Schultz announced. The plane will be ready by the time we get there.”

  Even Levin was surprised. “What about Admiral Drake?”

  “You take care of the turnover, Jeff. Don’t tell him anything about the Space Force or Defender—just that I’ve been promoted and assigned to new duties and he’s got the ball. He won’t like it, but he’s now acting NAVAIR. Get my car over to the south entrance.”

  * * *

  Back in the NMCC, Biff watched General Warner congratulate the newly promoted four-star admiral and wish him Godspeed. “Anything the air force can do for you, just ask.” As the other service chiefs filed out, he followed the air force group. Nothing was said in the hallway, not only because of security, but because, like the others, Biff couldn’t think of what came next.

  Warner led them back to the conference room they’d used to prepare their proposal. He ordered, “Take a chair, everyone,” and the officers sat down, still silent, at a table littered with papers and coffee cups. Biff could feel the mood, somewhere south of glum, bound for despair. He felt it personally. He’d put everything he could into that proposal, cheered on by the highest-ranking officers in the air force, and it hadn’t been enough. Hell, they didn’t even get the opportunity to try!

  Warner took them in with a glance and said, “Nothing’s changed.” He let that sink in, then continued, “Does anyone here think that this new Space Force will be able to get a civilian spacecraft out of mothballs, arm it, and launch it on a combat mission in seventy days?”

  They were still silent, but there were a few rueful smiles, and almost everyone shook their heads. Not a chance. It was impossible.

  The general said, “I want them to succeed, and anything the air force can do to support them, we will. But even with every resource, their chance of success is somewhere between slim and none. It’s more likely that the whole thing will quickly implode, and the U.S. will be back at square one.”

  After another short pause, Warner declared, “The air force belongs in space, and while the Chinese attack on our GPS satellites is a terrible thing, it’s a clear demonstration of why we need to be there. As of this moment, we are reorienting the service to meet that need.”

  He saw the questions forming on some faces and explained. “If and probably when the Defender project fails, the air force becomes plan B, so I want a plan in place, not just to stop the Chinese attacks but to establish us in space permanently.” He turned to General Ames. “Cliff, get us started. We need to make this happen.”

  While Ames gathered Warner’s staff, the general pulled Biff aside. “We never got our chance at bat. You did well, Clarence, and I’ll be sending Major Pierce an endorsement for your performance report.”

  Barnes winced at the general’s use of his given name. He risked saying, “Please, sir, just ‘Biff.’”

  Smiling, Warner said, “Then ‘Biff’ it is. I’ll be keeping my eye on you, Captain.”

  Joint Base Andrews

  Washington, D.C.

  October 8, 2017

  As the plane taxied for takeoff, Ray McConnell listened to Admiral Schultz as he argued with the Office of Personnel Management. Technically, as a civil servant, Ray worked for them.

  “Of course I understand that you’d want to verify such an unusual order,” he said calmly, almost pleasantly. “It’s now been verified. And I need you to process it immediately. I know you’ve spoken to your director.” His voice hardened a little. “I’m sure I won’t have to speak to the director as well.”

  Schultz smiled, listening. “Certainly. There will be other personnel requests coming through this same channel, possibly quite a few. I’m certain you’ll be able to deal with them all as swiftly as this one.”

  He turned off the handset and turned to Ray. “Congratulations. Say good-bye to Ray McConnell, SPAWAR engineer, and hello to Ray McConnell, technical director, U.S. Space Force.”

  It still didn’t feel right to Ray. “I’m not senior enough…”

  The admiral cut him off. “You’re as senior as you need to be. You’re now a Senior Executive Service, Level 3, according to OPM.” Schultz saw Ray’s stunned look and smiled. “It’s not about the money. You’re going to be doing the work of a Technical Director, and you’ll need the horsepower of the pay grade. If there was ever a test of the Peter Principle, this will be it.”

  Schultz leaned forward and spoke softly and intently. “Listen, Ray, you’re going to have to grow quickly. I offered you this job not because Defender was your idea, but because you had an original idea and put the pieces together to make it happen. Now you’re going to have to do a lot more original thinking. You’re going to build Defender and set speed records doing it.”

  Schultz leaned even closer. “I’m also going to give you this to think about. This isn’t just an engineering problem. You’re going to be dealing with people—a lot of them—and you can’t expect them all to automatically commit to Defender the way you have. There’s a transition everyone in charge goes through as they increase in rank, from foot soldier to leader. Foot soldiers only have to know their craft, but leaders have to know their people as well.”

  He straightened up in his chair. “End of lecture. We’re due to land in Edwards in five hours. Your first job is to set up your construction team. Use names if you can, or describe the skills you need and let the database find them. After that—” He paused. “Well, I’ll let you figure out what to do next.”

  * * *

  Ray had no trouble coming up with plenty of things “to do next.” During the flight, he found himself searching thousands of personnel records, balancing the time it took to review the information with the need to fill dozens of billets. Taking a page from his experience in the NMCC, he was careful to take people from all the military services and to look for key phrases like “team player” as well as professional qualifications. He also included people from NASA, the National Weather Service, and even the Federal Communications Commission.

  Then he went outside the government, requesting people from private industry. The government couldn’t order them to participate, but if he had to, he’d hire them out from under their employers.

  Remembering the JCS meeting and Captain Barnes, he called up the officer’s service record. Eyes widening slightly, Ray added the captain to his list. He could find a use for a man with his qualifications.

  Then there was Jenny. He needed command, control, and communications specialists, and he’d never have to wonder about her commitment to the project. But there were rules about that sort of thing.

  Schultz was scribbling on a notepad, and Ray waited for him to finish his thought before asking, “If I hire Jenny, will there be a problem?”

 
; The admiral responded, almost automatically, “Not unless you two create one.” After a pause, he added, “I doubt if you’ll find the time. She’s smart and a clear thinker. And since you won’t be writing her FITREP, most of the rules don’t apply. She’d be a good addition, but will having her nearby distract you?”

  Ray paused thoughtfully, then answered. “I think it will be less of a distraction than her being far away.”

  Schultz shook his head, smiling. “You’ve got it bad, son. Hire the lady and move on.”

  Ray took five minutes to call Jim Naguchi at work. Ray had decided not to include Jim on the list. Although he was a good friend, he was very much involved with his own project, designing a new naval communications system. Naguchi had never shown up for any of the design sessions, either, although he knew all about Defender. Ray had been a little disappointed, but not everyone was as crazy as he was.

  It was just before nine in California, and Ray caught the engineer at his desk. “Naguchi here.”

  “Jim, it’s Ray. I need you to clean out my office for me and keep the stuff for a day or two. I’ll send someone around to collect it.”

  “What?” Naguchi sounded surprised and worried at the same time. “I knew Carson was pissed. Did he bar you from the building?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that, Jim.” Ray almost laughed. “I can’t tell you much. It’s good news, but I’m going to be very busy for a while.”

  “Okay,” Jim agreed. “As long as someone doesn’t think I’m ripping you off.”

  “No, I sent an e-mail to Rudy. He’ll know. And don’t tell anyone else about this.”

  “Okay, but later you have to explain what’s going on.”

  “I promise.” Ray hung up and sat, holding the phone. He had a hundred things to think about, but Jenny kept on moving to the top of the pile. Deal with it, Ray, he said to himself.

  He used his phone to send her some flowers, with the message, “You’ve saved Defender.”

  * * *

  About an hour into the flight, an air force communications tech reported, “Admiral, I’ve got the telecom with Edwards set up.”