by Larry Bond
Oh, he’s good, thought Matheson. Schultz didn’t have to mention that he would also report on NASA’s cooperation or lack of it. But Matheson wasn’t going to be bullied. Matheson didn’t report to Peck but to the president.
“I’d appreciate that, and perhaps the secretary could speak to the president about my request to meet with him. Once I’ve made my case to the president, we’ll see how many NASA resources are actually transferred to your ‘space force.’”
“I think you should understand that the president is briefed by Secretary Peck daily on the progress of our program…”
“Which means it’s certainly about more than just lifting GPS satellites into orbit,” Matheson interrupted.
“I expect you to keep any speculation regarding our program to yourself,” Schultz responded harshly. Then he added, “The secretary’s meeting with the president this evening will include our next round of transfer requests. In anticipation of that, I think you’d like to contact Ms. Garvey and give her as much warning as possible.”
“You mean Anne Garvey—the administrator at Dryden?” Matheson asked. “Well, at least you’re telling me before you tell her. What are you asking for? One of the test rigs at the Flight Loads Laboratory? Maybe the whole Fabrication and Repair Facility?” He tried to make it sound facetious, silly, but some of his anger was there as well.
“Actually, we’re taking over the entire facility. There are at least five resources at Dryden that the program can use immediately, and it’s less disruptive to leave the personnel and equipment in place, since it’s right there at Edwards. It’s also quicker, since NASA’s being so slow about the transfers.”
Matheson sat quietly through Schultz’s explanation and remained quiet for another moment but finally responded, almost automatically. “You can’t possibly think they’ll allow you to…”
“They’ve already approved it. I wanted to invite Anne Garvey to dinner tonight so we could get started, but I thought you’d want to call first. Of course, if she wants to stay with NASA, we’ll have to work on her replacement.”
“This is not…”
“I’m sure you’ll want to speak to the president about this issue, as well as the earlier ones. I’ll make my daily report to the secretary early and tell him about your concerns. He may be able to arrange a quick videoconference with the president. Can you stay there while I make the call?”
Matheson could barely speak. He finally managed an, “I’ll be here,” and Schultz broke the connection.
CNN News
October 13, 2017
Mark Markin’s backdrop for his scoop was an artist’s animation of the Chinese ASAT weapon, the “Dragon Gun” as it had been dubbed in the Western press. The artist had added a one-hundred-foot-long tongue of flame emerging from the barrel as a projectile spewed from the muzzle. Markin didn’t know if it was accurate or not, and it really didn’t matter. It looked dramatic and would get his audience’s attention.
“With the crisis now into its second month and six GPS satellites destroyed, continued inaction by the United States has been taken as proof of their helplessness. Their refusal to act to protect their vital space assets has been puzzling.
“But the situation may not be as it seems. Presuming that the administration would not stand idle, my CNN team has been running to ground numerous rumors that the U.S. military is acting after all. Residents near the massive Edwards Air Force Base have reported heavy truck traffic at the front gate, and air force cargo aircraft have been arriving at all hours.”
The image shifted to a picture of Edwards’s front gate. “On a visit to the base yesterday, we noticed increased security, and we were not allowed to take any photographs while on the base. There are also portions of the base we were not allowed to visit at all. All these provisions were blamed on an increased terrorist threat, but the air force spokesman could not tell me the source of that threat.
“There have also been stories of hurried requests at defense contractors for personnel and equipment, but these could not be verified.
“All this could be attributed to the activities of the air force’s new Aerospace Defense Organization; the timing of the activity closely correlates with the recent announcement of the ADO.”
12
Rumors
Gongga Shan
Sichuan Province, China
October 13, 2017
The smoke was still swirling out of the muzzle when they left the command bunker. The party was small, just General Shen and President Pan. Their aides followed at a discrete distance.
Pan Yunfeng was the President of the People’s Republic of China and the Chinese Communist Party General Secretary, a point General Shen continually reminded himself of as he answered the same questions he’d answered dozens of times before.
It was impossible to speed up the large cannon’s firing rate. The ablative lining inside the barrel had to be replaced after each launch. During tests, two-thirds of the projectiles had been damaged when the lining was reused, and there had been one near burn-through. Better lining would be more durable but required exotic materials that were unavailable in sufficient quantity.
No, assigning more men would not get the barrel relined more quickly. Although a kilometer long, it was just three meters in diameter, so only a limited number of men could work inside. Furthermore, all the old lining had to be removed and the barrel surface cleaned before each section of new lining could be installed. To ensure a good seal between the ablative panels, one section had to be completed and inspected before the next could be added.
Unlike many of China’s leaders, Pan was relatively young, in his late fifties. His hair was jet-black, and there was an energy about him that had been missing from some of the other men Shen had dealt with. His impatience personified the feeling of the entire Chinese Military Commission’s leadership. Why was it taking so long?
Now Pan stood on the side of the mountain, nudging one of the used liners with his shoe. The ten-square-meter section was one quarter of a circle, and several centimeters thick. The outside was smooth, marked with attachment points and dimples, which Shen explained allowed for some flexing as the projectile passed.
The inside curve of the liner told the real story. The concave metal surface showed hints of the former mirror polish, but the heat and corrosive propellant gases had pitted the lining. Some of the pits were deep enough that a man’s fingertip could easily fit in them. The different layers that made up the lining were visible, a mix of metal and ceramic and advanced fibers.
“Dr. Bull came up with this solution,” Shen had explained. “The best steel in the world can’t withstand the forces generated inside such a barrel when it fires. Instead, we just replace the liner after each launch.”
“Which takes a week,” the president remarked with a sour face.
“It’s not wasted time, Comrade President. We use the necessary pause to do maintenance on the control system, test the breech, even improve the antiaircraft defenses.” He pointed to a nearby hilltop, a new excavation on the side holding a massive billboard radar antenna.
“That radar is part of a new bistatic system designed to detect stealthy aircraft. We’ve also increased the depth of the surface-to-air missile belt and added more standing fighter patrols.”
* * *
Later, in the general’s office, Pan had questioned Shen even more, looking for any way to shave even a day off the interval between launches.
“We’re concerned about the time it’s taking, General. In any long-term campaign plan, we have to assume the enemy will take some action to counter ours. So far, the Americans have reacted as we expected. But I’m still concerned that the longer this goes on, the more likely they will depart from our expectations.”
Shen listened respectfully. “I’ve seen the intelligence reports. I’m expecting that the Americans will do something eventually, of course, but by then we will have already won the first battle. In a few months, we will have our upgraded versi
on of the Tien Lung ready. And when you approve the construction of the second Dragon Gun, we will be considerably less vulnerable.”
“But what measures have you taken in the meantime?”
“You know about the Long March booster modifications to lift a more traditional antisatellite kill vehicle. And our intelligence services are blanketing the Americans and their allies.” Shen tried to reassure the official. “All we have to do is deny them the use of space. It’s easier to shoot spacecraft down than it is to put them up. Have the Americans tried to replace any of the lost satellites? Have they launched any satellites at all since we started our campaign?”
Pan didn’t answer, but Shen knew they both saw the same information from the Ministry of State Security’s Second Bureau, China’s primary intelligence organization.
Shen pressed his point but was careful to keep his tone respectful. It didn’t pay to argue the party’s top official into a corner. “The Americans don’t have any good choices. They’ll either lose their valuable satellites or publicly acknowledge our rights as the regional power in East Asia. I think they’ll wait until the last possible minute to do so, but they’ll refuse to accept the inevitable for as long as they possibly can. When they do realize they’re backed into a corner, they’ll give in. Either way, America is weaker, and we become the ascendant power in this part of the world. No, Comrade President, time is on our side.”
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Hangar
October 13, 2017
The call came while Ray was inspecting the hangar. He’d been walking around Defender, née VentureStar, watching the small army of engineers and technicians as they labored to finish assembling the vehicle. The shift supervisor flagged him over to his office, lifting the phone handset high. It was Schultz’s voice, sounding resigned. “They’ve done it again. Check CNN.”
Ray brought up the CNN Web site on the shift supervisor’s unclassified computer. “… have confirmed the latest Chinese claim, made less than fifteen minutes ago. Another ‘American targeting satellite’ has been destroyed, and the Chinese renewed their promise to do the same to every American satellite unless they ‘acknowledge China’s regional interests.’”
The correspondent’s face was replaced by a press conference, while his voice added, “In response to growing pressure to act, U.S. defense officials today announced a new program.”
Ray’s heart sank to the floor. Had some fool decided to take them public? Automatically, without thinking, he started pacing, while still watching the display.
The official at the podium spoke. “To deal with this new threat to American commerce and security, an Aerospace Defense Organization has been established under the direct command of General Michael Warner, Chief of Staff of the Air Force. The other services will also take part. Its mission will be to defend American space assets against any aggression. Here is General Warner, who will take a few questions.”
By now Ray was walking quickly, almost jogging, making a beeline to Schultz’s office. In the background Ray heard Warner assuring the press that he had no intention of taking over NASA.
The admiral saw Ray and waved him in, with one eye still on the screen. The rest of the admiral’s attention was on the phone. “I appreciate the need for security, Mr. Secretary, but the effects on staff morale should have been considered. A little warning would have let us brief them. And I must have your assurance this will not affect our resources. Thank you. I’ll call tonight, as always, sir. Good day.”
Schultz hung up, almost breaking the little handset as he slammed it into its cradle. “Peck assures me this new organization is a blind, designed to distract attention away from us.”
“And reduce some of the heat DoD’s been taking,” Ray added cynically.
“For about one week, I’ll bet.” Schultz agreed. “As soon as the Chinese shoot down another satellite, they’ll be all over the good general, asking him why he hasn’t done something.”
“And what about resources?” Ray asked, concerned.
“Well, he’s going to need people, and money, and I have a hunch Warner’s going to take his charge seriously. I’d have to agree with him, too. I’m a belt-and-suspenders kind of a guy. So he might get people or gear we need.”
Ray asked, “Well, can we draw on his program? Use it as a resource?”
Schultz sharply disagreed. “No way. We don’t want any links with them at all. It’s bad enough they went public with this so soon. We might be able to hang the inevitable rumors concerning Defender on this new organization, but any contact between the two organizations carries the risk of being traced back to us. And if we start poaching, we’ll make enemies. We may have the highest possible priority, but we can’t throw our weight around with impunity. We’ve already used a two-by-four on Matheson; it’s not wise to smack everyone who pushes back with a sledgehammer. There are people in every branch of the government who would love to see us fail, if they knew what we were really trying to do.”
Ray sighed. “I’ll put a notice on the splash page, and I’ll speak personally to every department head, especially security.”
Schultz’s attention was drawn to the wall display. A new piece, labeled “Reaction,” was on. A congressman was speaking on the Capitol steps to a cluster of reporters. Schultz turned up the volume. “… done the math, this new Aerospace Defense Organization will have to act quickly or we’ll have nothing left to defend.”
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Office Annex
October 13, 2017
The classroom was chock-full of new people, most of them Geoffrey Lewes’s civilian support personnel. He stood in the back, leaning up against the wall, anxiously waiting for the security brief to be over and done with so he could get them started on their duties. For the past two days, Lewes had only had sixteen army quartermasters assigned to him, and while they were fantastic workers, there just weren’t enough of them to meet all the growing requirements being placed on his department.
The Defender project workforce had expanded greatly during the last two days, to nearly one hundred and fifty engineers, technicians, and administrative personnel, and Mr. McConnell estimated it would be twice as large by the end of the following week. Add in the army and Marine security detachments and Lewes was looking at feeding and providing other services for almost fifteen hundred people when all was said and done. Even with a full staff of seventy-five civilian and military personnel, they were still going to be bustin’ their rumps to keep up.
The former concierge smiled as he surveyed the class; he had some awesome plans for these new people. At first, the job had seemed daunting, but once he got started, his old habits as a first class petty officer kicked in, and he started delegating responsibilities to the army NCOs. They were good people and had risen to the occasion, allowing Lewes to do some long-range planning. Now, he had the manpower to bring some of those plans to fruition.
Lewes saw that the security presentation was starting to wind down. He knew he’d be up soon, and he started thumbing through the papers on his clipboard. A whispered, frustrating sigh escaped his lips; he’d left the duty roster back in his office. Brilliant, Geoff, he thought. That’s what I get for only having three cups of coffee. Lewes signaled the briefer that he had to leave and would be back in five minutes. A quick nod from the security officer had Lewes bolting from the classroom.
Arriving at his office, Lewes found a young man inside, rummaging around his desk, looking for something. Irritated by the intrusion, Lewes challenged the individual. “Excuse me, but is there a reason why you’re trashing my desk?”
The young man looked up, startled by Lewes’s appearance, but he recovered quickly and explained. “My apologies, Mr. Lewes. I’m Glenn Chung. I’m with IT support conducting the system install. I was looking for your installation order to see what network access you’re to have here.”
“Netw
ork access?” questioned Lewes, his ire subsiding. “To my understanding, Mr. Chung, I’m only to have NIPRNET access, since I’m outside of the SCIF.”
“Agreed, sir. But my work plan says I need to install a SIPRNET machine as well. Since that didn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense, I started looking for the install order to see what it had down.”
Pressed for time, and with the conversation fueling his impatience, Lewes walked over to his computer terminal and grabbed a sheet of paper taped to the tower. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked tersely, offering the paper to the young man.
Chung took the paper, scanned it briefly, and, as his face turned a nice shade of red, he said, “Yes, sir. That’s it.” He scanned it quickly. “And it doesn’t mention a SIPRNET machine, which is good. Now that that’s cleared up, I can have your unclassified machine hooked up and running in about thirty minutes.”
“That’s fine,” replied Lewes as he grabbed the duty roster from the jumbled piles. “I’ll be meeting with my new personnel for the next half hour, so I won’t need my office. Just do me a favor and don’t destroy the rest of it, please!”
Rayburn House Office Building
Washington, D.C.
October 13, 2017
Rutledge walked into his office wearing a huge smile. Not only did he get some face time on national television, the president had actually adopted one of his proposals. It didn’t matter that he had shotgunned numerous vague ideas out to the public in his press statements. When all was said and done, he only had to point to the one that had been adopted. Yes, Congressman Rutledge was in a fine mood.
“That went better than I expected,” Davis observed, pleased with his boss’s performance. “Your tone was spot-on, and I loved that you didn’t take credit for the idea on TV, gives the president a little room to maneuver, while at the same time the Washington insiders know who came up with it first.”