by Larry Bond
“That much is obvious,” Norman agreed. He’d finished the baked chicken and tried the fish. Both were quite good. “I also heard they’re acting as drivers and messengers. Which is fine. But what are they guarding?”
This time Ray answered. “We’re restarting the VentureStar program, General. We’re going to equip it to lift a new generation of replacement GPS satellites into orbit. There will be a lot of them to lift, so it’s cheaper and quicker to use VentureStar than a lot of expendable boosters.”
“How long will you need them for?”
“At least seventy days. We’ll stand up our own security force as soon as we can.” Evans nodded agreement as Ray spoke.
“And what areas are they responsible for?”
“Here, the launchpad at Area 1-54, and a hangar at the north end of Edwards where VentureStar’s being reactivated. We’ve got over two hundred people working at all three sites, round the clock. There are more coming in every day.”
Norman was incredulous. “Around the clock? With two companies of Marines? That’s not nearly enough, even if you stop using them as drivers and such. You need twice that many, which is a battalion, which would be good because then you’d have the headquarters platoon to manage them. Who’s doing it now?” Norman asked.
Ray answered, “Colonel Evans is running them out of his security office.”
Norman frowned. “Colonel, I’m sure you’re doing your best, but that’s simply not enough men to establish a secure perimeter around so many dispersed facilities.”
Evans looked unhappy but nodded his agreement. “They’re stretched pretty thin, sir.”
During the conversation, Norman almost finished his meal. All that was left was some eggplant parmigiana. He studied it carefully, measuring his dislike of eggplant against his dedication to the Corps.
Someone approached the table, and, out of the corner of his eye, Norman saw a khaki uniform and four stars. Happy to abandon the eggplant, he stood and turned to greet the new arrival.
They were both inside and uncovered, so he didn’t salute, but the newcomer offered his hand, and Norman took it. “General Norman, welcome. I’m Bill Schultz.” He turned to McConnell. “Thanks for the message, Ray.” Schultz also shot a look to the colonel, and Norman knew that the security chief had slipped up.
As they both sat, Ray explained about the general’s visit and their discussion about the need for an increased number of Marines. “I’d agree with the general’s assessment, Ray.”
He turned to Norman. “I’ll put in a request for that battalion. It will be on your desk by tomorrow morning.”
Norman immediately shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve got operational commitments. We’re glad to help, but it can’t conflict.”
“This would be an operational request.”
“Refurbishing a space-launch vehicle? No disrespect, sir, but I don’t see how.”
Schultz nodded. “In that case, I think it’s only fair that we brief you into the full program. Mr. McConnell only has the authority to tell you our cover story. You’ll have to sign some security forms.”
“Of course,” Norman answered, now intrigued. Schultz glanced over to Evans, but he was already leaving.
As Schultz explained the Defender project and its goal, Norman sat quietly, absorbing and processing the information and its implications. Once Schultz had finished, Norman said, “Sir, if you’ll let me use your secure communications before I leave here, I’ll get the rest of the battalion spooling up tonight. They’ll be on the road tomorrow morning. Norman added, “Most of my commitments are contingencies. If one of them becomes real, I’ll figure out what to do then. But I’ll still need your operational order.”
“You’ll have it, General,” Schultz assured him. “We’re not a rogue operation.”
Evans reappeared with a clipboard, and Norman studied the form long enough to make sure he wasn’t signing a bar bill. As he signed his name, the possibilities began to form in his mind.
“We can make this work,” Norman said, with growing enthusiasm. “We’ll rotate my battalions through two weeks at a time and treat this as a force-protection exercise.”
“We’ll have to scramble to find housing for them,” Schultz cautioned.
“Not a problem. There’s lots of open area for the tents, although my battalion commanders should set up with Colonel Evans to ensure close coordination. We’ll take care of mess arrangements, although we might use visits to your ‘restaurant’ as an incentive.”
Ray smiled. “That’s high praise, General. I’ll make sure the staff hears about it.”
11
Beginning
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Hangar
October 12, 2017, 0430 hours
They’d scheduled the arrival carefully. You couldn’t count on cloud cover, especially in the California desert, so they’d chosen a satellite-free window well before dawn.
They all got up early. Ray, standing by the end of the runway with a cup of coffee, saw them show up in ones and twos, walking slowly over to the tarmac. Lewes had set up his customary table with coffee and breakfast, but this time outside the hangar. For the moment, he was using a big tent borrowed from the Marines, but there was a hand-lettered sign over the entrance: THE HANGAR.
Since this was a special occasion, Ray had decided it was a doughnut morning. Now, while he waited, he alternately brushed colored sprinkles off his jacket and warmed his hands with a mug of coffee.
The handling crews were ready, and General Norman had arranged for a nighttime base-security exercise that filled the area with patrols, as well as kept the route clear. The base fire department had also sent their equipment. Ray approved, but thinking about them made a small knot in his stomach.
A voice behind him said, “Thanks for the flowers, Ray.” He could hear the smile in her tone, and he turned to see Jenny walking toward him.
He automatically answered, “You’re welcome.” Some of the fatigue left him, and he kissed her good morning. Then the two stood silently together for a moment. They’d been so busy since coming to Edwards that they’d barely spoken, much less had any time together. He was content to simply enjoy her presence and didn’t want to do anything that would end the moment.
Finally, after they’d both stood for a minute, she asked, “Is it going well?”
Ray nodded. “They left the north hangar seven minutes late because someone spotted what looked like a problem with one of the tow bars. It’s okay, though. They’ll make up the lost time along the way.”
“How big is the window?”
He laughed. “Not very large. By the time you factor in the Russians, the Chinese, and the commercial satellites, we get forty-two minutes with nobody overhead. Which is why we’re letting the tractors go up to five miles an hour. It’s one point two miles, and the route’s surface has been inspected three times by three different groups of people. And there’s virtually no traffic this time of day, so…” He shrugged. “We plan for disaster, and hope for the best.”
Jenny almost sparkled with excitement. “I never had time to go to the north hangar to see her.”
“Well, it’s good you waited. She looks better than she did just a few days ago. She wasn’t pretty, covered in plastic and surrounded by crates and dust.”
Hugh Dawson came up, a walkie-talkie in one hand. “She made the first turn just fine. They slowed during the turn, of course, but she took it smoothly. Peters wants permission to raise the speed to five and a half miles an hour.”
Ray answered thoughtfully, “We’d talked about it.” He considered the request for only a moment, then said firmly, “Yes, go to five and a half. It will help make up those seven minutes.”
Schultz, approaching the group, heard Ray’s order. “Then it’s going smoothly?” he asked. Jenny turned and snapped off a sharp salute, which Schultz returned. She wore the alternate working uniform this morning, the blue-and-gray
digital camouflaged battle dress. Ray still hadn’t gotten used to her wearing it. She looked much better in khakis or dress blues, but battle dress was warmer in the desert predawn chill.
“As well as moving something that weighs two million pounds can go,” Ray answered. “Thank heaven for Edwards’s flat landscape.” He turned to Dawson. “Remind them to allow extra distance to slow down before the turns.”
Dawson nodded and said, “Understood,” and he relayed the order.
Schultz turned to Jenny. “And good morning, Commander Oh, Mr. Dawson.” The admiral asked Jenny, “Are you settling into your assignment?”
“Setting up the command and control infrastructure for an entire space program?” She laughed. “I could have waited ten years for that kind of job, if I ever got it at all.” She knew what he really wanted to know, and told him before he could ask. “I can do this, sir. I’ve had to expand my consciousness a little, but I can see what needs to be done.”
Dawson’s walkie-talkie chirped, and a minute later he reported, “They’ve made the second turn. We should be able to see it soon.”
“Another benefit of Edwards’s flat landscape,” Ray observed.
As they waited in the predawn darkness, Dawson would get periodic reports as they passed landmarks. He compared the planned arrival time with their real progress. They’d made up a few minutes. Ray had helped create that schedule and knew it by heart.
“A tire’s blown on the lead tractor,” Dawson relayed abruptly, concern on his face. “A piece of rubber clipped one of the ground guides. The medics are with him. He’s okay, but they’re going to x-ray his arm.”
Ray grimaced. “I should have had them check the tractors more carefully. I didn’t give them any guidance about the tires.”
Schultz saw Ray’s expression. “They can disengage the lead tractor, and we can still pull the vehicle with only two. It’ll take longer, but that’s why we built in the extra time,” Schultz reminded him. “The crews probably did the routine tire check. It just wasn’t enough in this case. Take it from someone who’s been there. You can’t think of everything. That’s why you have to have good people working for you.”
“I just don’t like the idea of slowing down,” Ray answered emphatically, looking at his watch. “But we’ll still get her into the hangar before sunrise.”
Dawson asked Peters for their status. Ray could hear his voice over the radio: “The tractor has been disengaged and is clear, starting back up again.”
Ray waited impatiently. They’d lost more time, and it couldn’t be made up.
“They’re building up to three miles per hour,” Dawson announced.
The eastern horizon was just beginning to show color, which caused Ray to pace nervously.
“Here she comes,” said Schultz softly.
Ray turned as Schultz spoke, his attention drawn by the flashing lights of the escort vehicles as the convoy came into view. A base-police vehicle, red and blue lights flashing, was a hundred feet in front of the tractor. Two gray pushback tractors, each capable of towing a C-5, had been ganged together. Immense as it was, a fully loaded C-5 only weighed 385 tons, while VentureStar was almost one thousand tons empty.
VentureStar was the prototype for a fleet of commercial single-stage-to-orbit space vehicles. In development since the early 1990s, an experimental small-scale version, the X-33, had successfully completed testing just after the turn of the century.
Like the space shuttle, VentureStar carried its payload in a big cargo bay, fifteen feet wide by fifty feet long. It used the same fuel as well: liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen. But the shuttle took months to prepare for a launch and used expendable boosters that had to be reconditioned after each launch. VentureStar launched using only her own Aerospike engines and landed conventionally, like the shuttle. She could take fifty tons to low Earth orbit after a two-week turnaround.
Two Marine HMMWVs, or Humvees, flanked the convoy on either side, keeping a sharp watch out for trouble coming from the dark landscape. They were well clear of the spacecraft, but close enough to sing out and move in if they spotted something wrong.
Jerry Peters, in charge of the evolution, was actually bringing up the rear. Followed by a truck, Peters was alternately walking and trotting right behind VentureStar, watching the gear, the underside of the spacecraft, even checking the road surface for signs that the tires were breaking through.
At the final brief last night, one joker had given Peters a broom and a bucket, “to retrieve anything that fell off.” Peters had put them in the truck, just in case.
Lights mounted on the tractors and escort vehicles shone on VentureStar’s landing gear, but the black heat shield on her underside absorbed every bit of illumination. From the side, the vehicle’s white sides and top reflected the quarter moon well enough to show the overall shape and size, but the bottom half was invisible and had to be filled in mentally.
With a clear side view of the spacecraft, Jenny exclaimed, “My God, it’s huge.”
“As long as the shuttle and wider at her base than the shuttle with the SRBs attached,” Dawson said proudly. It was a smooth, blended wedge shape, and two short wings jutted out from the back, angling up. It had twin tails almost as large as the wings, or maybe the wings weren’t much bigger than the tail fins.
Despite all his engineering experience, Ray still had problems watching as VentureStar was towed on her landing gear. It just looked wrong. Those gear struts were strong enough to take the shock of the spacecraft landing at over two hundred knots, but to him they looked fragile and completely inadequate to bear its weight.
Schultz added, “I’m amazed the thing can be moved, much less fly.”
“That’s what I like, a positive attitude,” McConnell groused.
Dawson announced, “Next turn coming up,” and Jerry watched the procession slow. Then the moonlit shape of the vehicle changed as the nose swung toward them. Finally, a snowy white wedge was pointed straight down the road, slowly growing in size.
Ray was suddenly afraid, and his insides tightened at the thought of its going off the road surface to either side, but he fought the idea and focused on its smooth progress.
A few cameras flashed, and Jerry hoped Evans’s security people were on the ball. He’d authorized two staff members to serve as official photographers for the move, but the images would be classified until after the launch. At his direction, Evans had drilled everyone on the “no photos” rule.
He could smell the diesel exhaust now, and the convoy, as planned, shifted. The Humvees formed a protective circle around the hangar as the tractors maneuvered VentureStar to face away from the hangar, and then they began backing her in.
The vehicle came to a stop, and the tractors began unhooking from the landing gear. Scattered cheers and applause continued until the hangar doors began closing. The sky was glowing brightly, and when Ray glanced at his watch, they still had four minutes in the window.
Schultz saw him checking the time. “We’ve got a lot of people out here. Why don’t we form letters they can see from space and spell out something rude? Of course, it would have to be in Chinese.”
Ray began to laugh so hard he had to fight for air. He could relax a little now. It was an important milestone, but only the first.
Jenny looked at the huge spacecraft and watched as the hangar doors came together. “This makes it real, doesn’t it?” Her tone was half pride, half awe.
Ray caught himself about to say something stupid, about his idea coming to life. But that was bragging. It only took one man to have an idea. It had taken many more to get it going and would take considerably more than that to finish it.
“It’s starting to be real, Jenny.” He wanted to stay, and talk, and he could see she would if he wanted to, but that wasn’t why they were here.
Wishing each other good luck, they went back to work.
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Office Annex
>
October 12, 2017
Biff Barnes was now out of the C-20 and working in his office. As much of the Defender program was classified, the upper two floors of the Building 151 office annex were certified as a SCIF, electronically isolated from the rest of the building, and the base for that matter. Without the shielding, not only were they vulnerable to network-style spying, but eavesdropping equipment nearby might be able to record the keystrokes as everyone typed.
And in spite of the certification, a large part of Evans’s staff would continue to monitor the area for unusual transmissions or electrical activity where there shouldn’t be any.
Barnes’s small office was almost barren. He sat at a desk occupied by three tower computers, a shared flat-screen display, and several neatly organized stacks of documents. A printer and boxes of paper sat in a corner, and there was almost nothing else in the room. He’d been too busy to decorate the walls.
He saw Ray come in and pushed an office chair toward him. “Thanks for coming by. I sent you that message because, although I’ve just started, I’ve already found something useful. I don’t think it can wait.”
“More useful than the improved fuel cells and the radar encoding?”
“Definitely,” the pilot responded. “If you’re going to use this, and I think you should, we need to move on it right away.” He handed Ray a brightly marked folder. “This is the only copy of this information. I’m keeping everything on paper, or up here.” He tapped his forehead. “Nothing goes on even the classified server.”
Ray was surprised. The whole point of having a classified server was to store information like this. “You’re being a little extreme, aren’t you?”
“I’ve already been through more compartmented programs than most people see in their entire careers. I’m going to have to burn my brain after this is over.”
“Can I help?” Ray asked cheerfully.