by Larry Bond
General Ryan was Warner’s deputy chief of staff for logistics, installations, and support. Although this meeting was supposed to be about supporting the air force wings involved in the Chinese war, Warner had already asked twice about resources that could be devoted to the new Aerospace Defense Organization.
There were a lot of cynics and “experts” on Capitol Hill who called the new organization a bluff or a sham, political cover for the president’s failure to stop the GPS shoot-downs. They should sit in her chair and listen to the chief of staff, try to answer his questions, assist him in his search for talented people, and scrape together money for those people to work with.
Money was always scarce, and it was no different when the ADO was created. Warner had to “reprioritize”—Pentagon-speak for taking money away from someone to whom it had already been promised. There was some possibility of additional funding from Congress, which was angry over the Chinese attacks, but funding the ADO couldn’t wait for Congress to act. There wasn’t time.
But when the shooting started in Vietnam and then spread, the only thing that mattered was supporting the troops in the theater. Still, Ryan managed to find a few people who were smart enough but couldn’t join the fight. And they’d just have to get by with almost no money at all.
“And they christened her, just like a ship. It had to be the navy.” Warner sighed. “Well, we gave the B-2s names,” he said philosophically.
“What will we do if Defender is successful?” Ryan asked carefully.
“I’ll cheer along with the rest and give Barnes the medal he will certainly deserve.” Warner grinned. “Then try to lure him back to the fold. And if Defender fails,” the general added, “heaven help us all.”
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Area 1-54 Launchpad Complex
December 10, 2017
They trained aboard Defender now, testing the hardware and software at the same time as they drilled on the equipment they would actually use. From the point of view of the crew’s control panels, they were in space.
Defender’s control system was actually a large group of computers networked together. Systems or specific functions could be assigned to one machine or shared by several depending on the workload. And if one computer failed, another would automatically pick up the slack. While the crew trained, those computers were disengaged from the ship’s hardware and instead plugged into laptops that responded to the crew’s orders in the same way that the ship’s equipment did.
When Jim Scarelli, the senior pilot, fired the engines or reaction thrusters, the commands went from the propulsion computer to a laptop instead of the engines’ pumps and valves. The laptop reported that the engines were firing, and the propulsion-control system was none the wiser.
Although the laptops were not as powerful or sophisticated as a purpose-built simulator, they still allowed Biff to create equipment failures and insert artificial targets into the weapons control system.
Sometimes the crew decided ahead of time what the failure would be, and they’d discuss and practice until they figured out the best way to respond. At other times, Biff would just throw something unexpected at them and watch the fun.
Jim Scarelli sat in the traditional left-hand seat in front, with copilot Steve Skeldon on the right. This was purely tradition, since Defender did not have a window forward. This was part of the original VentureStar design and solved a lot of technical problems with the heat shield. Instead, the front end of the crew compartment mounted a large flat-screen display, which showed the view from several cameras, as well as the vehicle’s navigation system and flight instruments. Scarelli could view the information in separate subwindows or fuse it into one combined image. Ray wondered if it was the same brand as the one in his house.
Sue Tillman and Andre Baker, the sensor and weapons operators, sat in the second row, while Biff and Ray were in back. Having the mission commander in the rear let him watch the crew as well as his own displays. Ray had been designated second in command, over his protests that it should be Scarelli. But Ray had a better overall knowledge of Defender’s systems.
The six sat in padded chairs, not ejection seats. Not only was ejection and return from orbit impossible, but so, too, was a safe exit even when Defender was in the atmosphere, since it would usually be flying at many times the speed of sound.
The only door from the crew compartment lay behind and between Biff and Ray. It led to a passageway heading aft, past a microscopic bathroom on one side and an area for food storage and preparation on the other. The passageway had two exits: A pressure hatch led straight aft into an airlock and then into the cargo bay, and the other exit elbowed left to the hatch for external crew access. Although pressure-tight, it was not an airlock.
A locker with survival gear was located next to the hatch in the unlikely but hopeful event that the craft crash-landed in a remote location and the crew survived. In the equally unlikely event that they had time and were able to bail out from a damaged craft, another locker held six parachutes. An escape rail, similar to the one on the shuttle, would get them away from the vehicle. It was a nice thought, and Ray was glad it was there, but things happened pretty quickly aboard a spacecraft.
Ray glanced to his left at Biff, who was smiling, just a little. With Biff, smiling wasn’t always a good thing. It was time to check the systems again, anyway. With more time, more of the fault detection would have been handled by computers, but on this flight, the flight engineer would have to manually search for anything but the most obvious errors. And Ray wanted to catch any problem before it became obvious.
Ray checked his displays in what was becoming a well-practiced routine, systematically stepping down several levels in detail in each subsystem. Nothing was immediately apparent, but Ray saw Andre, working with the laser, and watched those subsystems in detail, then the attitude control system as Scarelli simulated using the reaction thrusters. There. Just after the thrusters fired, there was an overpressure. He announced, “There may be a problem with RCS number seven, starboard aft. Pressure is above norms.”
In the headset, he heard Scarelli’s voice. “I didn’t see any problems during the burn.”
“Which is good, but overpressure is not,” Ray answered. “Adjusting starboard RCS pump speed. Pressure will be lower, but still sufficient for a burn.”
Biff nodded, and his smile widened. “Twenty-three seconds to spot it, Ray. Nicely done.”
The simulated flight continued, their fifth of the afternoon. It felt good to be in the real spacecraft, practicing for what would soon be the very real thing, but it also gave Ray a surreal feeling. He tried not to think too much about his role in Defender’s creation, but it could surface in the strangest ways—for instance, at the christening ceremony, which had been held the night before she’d been towed to the pad.
* * *
While some work continued, there was a brief pause for many of the engineers and technicians, and they’d gathered near the nose. Secretary of Defense Peck and General Kramer had both flown in to actually see the vehicle and add their presence to the occasion. There’d been one very short speech by the secretary, who spoke on behalf of the president. Most of the off-shift workers had gathered in the hangar as well to watch the ceremony, and Peck told them that, although they were secret, they were not forgotten. Everyone in the government who knew about Defender was watching them, and in the not-too-distant future, the entire world would see what they’d accomplished.
Then he started singling people out. Biff Barnes was congratulated for his leadership, Geoffrey Lewes for making everyone’s life smoother, Colonel Evans for his “fierce protection of Defender,” and then finally Ray McConnell, “not only Defender’s inspiration and lead builder but now part of her crew.”
Peck clapped, and everyone there joined in the applause. Ray felt his face flush and knew he must be bright red. He was embarrassed because the praise was early, since they hadn’t flown the mission yet, and because everyone had be
en involved. Yes, it had been his idea, but Jenny was right. Nobody owned it. Or maybe they all did now.
A maintenance platform had been placed next to the starboard-side nose, and Admiral Schultz and his youngest daughter, Genevieve, who had been briefed into the program for this special purpose, climbed the steps that took them just over two stories above the hangar floor.
Near the platform, the white-painted hull of Defender was covered by a form-fitting panel, also painted white. White cloth also obscured the side of the ship almost back to the tail. An aide handed Schultz’s daughter a magnum of California sparkling wine, and, with a nod from her father, she gripped it with both hands and lined up on the panel. Her voice echoed in the hangar, but it was clear enough to hear her almost shout, “I christen thee Defender. May you fly high and far.”
The bottle shattered, and the panel dropped away, pulling the white covers off the side of the ship. Her name was painted on the front in glossy black letters, as close to the nose as the heat shield would allow. Farther back, the LOCKHEED MARTIN and NASA emblems had been replaced with UNITED STATES SPACE FORCE and an American flag. The hull next to the crew-access hatch listed the names of the six crew members.
Schultz gave the official photographer ten minutes before ordering work to resume, but he insisted Ray be in many of the photos. Jenny, smiling brightly, reminded him, “Once Defender goes public, these will be all over the Web.”
* * *
Ray tried to push it all to one side and focus on the engineering display. He didn’t want fame. Right now, all he wanted was to learn everything he could before launch time. He had a hunch things would be a whole lot more complicated after they launched. Please, Lord, don’t let me screw up.
www.Defenderwatch.com
Posted December 10, 2017
This will be my last post for the day and part of tomorrow. Don’t expect anything new until midafternoon Pacific Standard Time. Here’s the best picture I could find of Defender, now on her launchpad at Edwards Air Force Base. It’s from a series of twelve shots taken by a CNN photographer.
The FAA and military are still arguing about whether or not the plane violated the exclusion zone around Edwards, but it’s no accident that the plane CNN hired for the run was a surplus F-100F—a two-seater, owned and flown by a retired FedEx pilot who wanted to fly something more exciting than an Airbus. He gets gas money by doing movie work, so the rear seat was already fitted with a serious long-range camera.
Photos of the pilot, plane, and backseat rig are available here, and they have a coolness quotient just slightly less than the shots of Defender herself.
Luckily, the hardware surrounding the spacecraft is much reduced from the NASA/Saturn days. Instead of a huge gantry, there’s a simple erector. VentureStar was designed as a second- or even third-generation spacecraft, completely reusable and with a fast turnaround. It’s still a complex vehicle, but automation, improved design, and better materials have turned a one-shot rocket into what you and I would call an honest-to-God spaceship.
They make almost all the prelaunch preparations while the ship is horizontal and sitting on her landing gear. Once they’re ready, they’ll push her onto the erector and bring her to the vertical. Then they’ll fill her tanks with liquid hydrogen and oxygen, and she’s ready to fly. They’ll fill the tanks for the chemical laser with hydrogen peroxide and potassium hydroxide (her “ammunition”) after she’s upright, as well.
The CNN pilot must have planned his run like a recce mission in hostile territory. He had not only clear weather (not too hard in Southern California) but also the sun in the right position to light the ship well, so we got a good shadow.
Not that we can tell all that much. There are no obvious changes to the external configuration. Didn’t really expect anything there. All the good stuff is tucked inside the cargo bay. She’s surrounded by gear, but it’s all small stuff, the kind of thing you’d expect to see near a high-performance aircraft getting ready for a flight.
And note her position, members. She’s on the erector but still horizontal.
According to the accumulated wisdom of our posters (I love crowdsourcing), it only takes minutes to bring the vehicle upright, and only a few hours to fill her tanks.
So she could fly in as little as six hours from the time this photo was taken, which was yesterday afternoon. The Chinese have been regular as clockwork, sending up one Tien Lung a week, and it’s five days until the next one flies.
I believe Defender is ready, loaded for bear (or dragon, in this case), and will launch about the same time as the Chinese vehicle. And if that’s the case, then I’m outta here. I’ve got my camping gear, and I even bought a solar charger for my laptop and phone. I’ll be posting updates as events and power allow.
There are already a fair number of space-launch junkies parked along the highway. I’m meeting several posters along Highway 58, and we’ll take turns keeping watch. I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. BTW, is there such a thing as tarantula repellent?
Why am I going? Because it’s the first launch of a new space vehicle, or course, but more importantly because it’s the first U.S. move in a battle with the Chinese that will take place somewhere way over our heads. Defender’s crew won’t see or hear us when they launch, but we’ll be there, cheering our guys.
22
Anticipation
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
0600 hours
December 14, 2017
Biff Barnes knocked twice on Ray McConnell’s trailer door. The fighter pilot wasn’t happy. The trailer lights were on. When Barnes didn’t get a response, he tried the knob. The door was unlocked, and, as he opened it, he heard the sound of someone typing. Ray sat hunched over his laptop keyboard, pounding away in his pajamas.
“Ray, this is supposed to be a wake-up call. Remember?” admonished Barnes. “We had this discussion earlier, didn’t we? Something called ‘crew rest’?”
“I remembered something early this morning that I had to deal with,” Ray answered, his attention still focused on the screen.
“After working last night until one o’clock.” Barnes dropped onto the edge of the bed. “I need you alert and at peak for tomorrow, Ray. When did you wake up this morning?” His question had an edge to it.
“Four.”
“So you think three hours of sleep is enough?”
“Okay, I’ll take a nap after lunch.”
“That’s when we’re supposed to review the new sensor-handoff procedures.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Ray stopped typing, a grimace popping up on his face. He’d forgotten all about the procedure review.
“Join us halfway through,” Biff told him, shaking his head in frustration. “Now, get moving. I’ll see you at crew breakfast in fifteen minutes.”
Barnes left, and Ray quickly showered and got dressed. In spite of his fatigue, it didn’t take any effort to hurry, and Ray wondered what percentage of his blood was composed of adrenaline. He’d been running on nerves for way too long.
Feeling like an impostor, he put on the blue flight suit Barnes had given him. The left shoulder had a patch of the Stars and Stripes, while the left breast had a leather name tag with MCCONNELL, FLIGHT ENGINEER and U.S. SPACE FORCE on it in silver lettering. The right breast had a colorful patch of the spacecraft with a laser shooting out of the cargo bay, the name Defender embroidered underneath. Although the patch was attractive, if flashy, Ray didn’t remember approving the design. When asked, Barnes had told him that some things were better left in the hands of fighter pilots.
Barnes had insisted that Ray wear the flight suit at all times during the last week before the launch. “Of course it makes you stand out. You’re flight crew, and that makes you different. Let everyone see it. You not only supervised the design and building of Defender, you’ve got the balls to fly in her as well. That’s the ultimate vote of confidence, and your people will appreciate it.”
The
Hangar restaurant looked better and better. Geoffrey had changed the décor again, this time from Southwestern to a space theme. Posters of star fields and spaceships filled the walls, and the classical music was appropriately grand.
Ray hurried over to the crew table and was gratified to see he was not late. Steve Skeldon and Sue Tillman were also just sitting down. Both of them wore military rank insignia on their flight suits that made them look natural. Ray thought he probably looked all right, as long as he stood close to one of them. Inside, he still felt like a pretender.
Instead of going through the cafeteria line, Ray checked off what he wanted on an order form, and they brought his food to the table. The theory was that the crew should be doing useful work instead of standing in line, but Ray felt it was just another perk, a way of making them feel special. Biff had argued the minor distinction was good for everyone’s morale, not just the crew’s. Ray had agreed reluctantly.
They did do work while they ate, with Barnes drilling them relentlessly on safety procedures, equipment locations, technical characteristics, and each other’s duties. His favorite trick was to ask one question, then quickly ask another in the middle of the answer. The victim had to answer both correctly, and in order, within seconds.
At first Ray thought Biff was deliberately picking on him, grilling him repeatedly on engine-out procedures. Then after watching him work over the others, Ray thought Barnes might have been cutting him some slack.
The recital continued throughout breakfast, and Barnes prepared to take the crew to the simulator. Ray really wanted to go with them but knew there were many last-minute issues that still needed fixing.
Part of him couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning. The rest of him wanted the day to go on forever. He needed the time.
CNN Report
1000 hours
December 14, 2017
Mark Markin was as close to the Area 1-54 launch site as he could get, which meant standing just outside the far eastern end of Edwards AFB, fifty yards off U.S. Route 395. But the launchpad with the mysterious space vehicle still lay six miles to the west, just over the horizon. Farther to the west, far out of sight, lay Edwards Air Force Base proper, with the mythical USSF complex nestled safely within.