Lash-Up
Page 35
Markin desperately wanted to set up his gear on the small rise to the south; from that vantage point, he’d have a clear line of sight to Area 1-54. Unfortunately, the hill was within the base’s fence line, and the Marines already had an observation post on that coveted piece of real estate.
The nearly empty landscape along the fence line was dotted with clusters of TV trucks and other vehicles. Markin had positioned his cameraman so that the sandbagged guard post, manned by heavily armed Marines, was visible in the background.
As Markin began his report, the camera shifted from the guard post to an approaching Humvee, then centered on the sentries as they approached the vehicle. It continued on its patrol route after the driver talked briefly to one of the guards.
“Following the attack ten days ago, the U.S. Army and Marine Corps detachments here have increased security to extraordinary heights. Civilian traffic on and off the base has been severely restricted, and most of the traffic into the base has been for official government business.
“All our attempts to contact senior Department of Defense officials regarding the damage inflicted by the Beaumonts have been fruitless. The Coalition Against Military Space, which claims responsibility for the action, says that the launchpad was destroyed and a nearby hangar damaged. Major Dolan, the Edwards Air Force Base public relations officer, still denies the existence of Defender and is therefore ‘unable to discuss damage to something that doesn’t exist.’”
A fuzzy, pixelated color image replaced Markin and the sentries. It showed a square building with rails leaving one side. They led to a flat rectangular area with the white triangular shape of Defender in the center. The image was skewed, as if the camera had been tilted well off the vertical.
“This photo was taken from a CNN plane flying just beyond the prohibited area near the base and has been viewed by millions on the Internet. Using computer enhancement, we were able to expand this image of the “nonexistent” hangar and launchpad. While there is little that can be seen at this distance, the hangar and pad appear intact. Presumably, Defender is also undamaged, since she has been moved into launch position. CNN news will monitor developments at the base closely and let you know the instant that there are any new developments.”
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Admiral Schultz’s Office
1010 hours
December 14, 2017
Admiral Schultz angrily turned off the flat-screen TV. There was little pleasure in pushing a button. What he wanted to do was push in Markin’s face. “War in a fishbowl,” he grumbled.
Colonel Evans, Defender’s security officer, heartily agreed. “Radar’s tracked several civilian planes flying just outside the prohibited area. There’s a good chance at least one of them is a CNN plane with a long-range TV camera aboard, waiting for us to launch.”
“Which is no surprise,” Schultz muttered. “But when Defender takes off, all they’ll really need is a pair of eyeballs and a cell phone.”
“But it’s the cameras that concern me, sir. CNN’s broadcast will be seen all over the world. The Chinese will have a front-row seat without having to risk another operative.” Evans seethed. “Allowing someone to tell the enemy what we’re doing flies in the face of every OPSEC technique I’ve ever been taught! I just can’t see the Chinese letting us put Defender in orbit and doing nothing about it!”
The admiral heard the frustration in Evans’s voice and was entirely sympathetic, but there was precious little they could do. It was completely impractical to cordon off an area that extended for over one hundred miles in every direction. Stewing, the two men sat in silence. But after a short pause, Schultz suddenly began smiling. “Then let’s give them something to look at.”
As Schultz explained his idea, Evans’s face began to light up.
“I’ll need to talk to the base commander, General Norman, and Commander Oh,” stated Schultz as he leapt from his chair.
Evans asked, “How about McConnell?”
Schultz shook his head. “No, he can’t help with this, and he’s got a busy day coming.” He stifled a yawn. “And once Defender is safely back home, I’m taking a long nap.”
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Battle Management Center
1030 hours
December 14, 2017
Schultz found Jenny Oh hard at work, testing and refining the tracking software so critical to the upcoming mission.
Now she sat at the chief controller’s desk, considering Schultz’s idea. She was tired and worried, but it was an intriguing plan, even if it complicated the last few precious hours.
“We’ve run similar drills, sir,” she replied carefully. She couldn’t give Schultz a resounding yes, much as she wanted to. She needed to think it through herself. “And my programmers could continue running their tests separately.”
“I don’t want to do anything that interferes with readiness for the launch tomorrow,” the admiral reassured her.
“It would mean transmitting on the launch frequencies,” warned Jenny.
“We have more than one set, don’t we?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, but only a limited number. Once they’ve been used, we have to assume the Chinese, or anyone else for that matter, will be able to monitor them.”
“But they’re encrypted,” Schultz replied.
“I don’t assume anything, sir,” Jenny answered firmly.
“You’re right, of course, but I believe this will be worth it.” He looked at his watch. “I want it nice and dark, so you’ll need to be ready by zero five-hundred hours.”
“Not a problem, Admiral. We’ll be ready.”
Gongga Shan
Sichuan Province, China
December 14, 2017
General Shen paced a racetrack in the launch center. The staff, familiar with the general’s moods, gave him a wide berth and paid attention to the preparations for the upcoming launch. Wisely, he left them to their work. Events were taking their own course. He was no longer in complete control of the situation, and he hated it.
The launch base, always on alert for attack, was now on a full war footing. Every man of the garrison had been turned out, and patrols went out twice as far as usual. Flanker fighters ran racetrack patterns overhead.
They had cause to be concerned. American strikes up and down the coast had hurt the People’s Liberation Army badly. Vital bases were damaged, ships had been sunk, and dozens of aircraft destroyed. The politburo had forbidden the services to discuss casualty figures, even among themselves.
The general was still trying to accept the fact that the Defender vehicle was actually going to fly, and, by every indication, probably very soon. Having his initial judgment proved wrong did not worry him so much, but wondering what else he may have been wrong about did.
He was an engineer. Building a gun that would shoot down satellites was easy compared to predicting your opponent’s behavior. He hadn’t been able to comprehend why the Americans were launching replacement GPS satellites, until he’d received the news about the American spaceship being sighted on the launchpad. They were not beaten, and they did not believe they were helpless. The Americans were waging a subtle delaying action—buying time to finish Defender.
There would be a fight in space; he was certain of that, but he and Dong had taken steps that should destroy Defender soon after her launch. But nothing in a battle was certain. Would the Defender vehicle attack them here? Shen knew they would if they could, especially since this was where the real battle lay. But he and Dong were not going to let the American crew live.
Shen was almost eager for the Americans to launch. Its appearance would resolve so much of the uncertainty he had lived with. Its failure would break their will.
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Defender Simulator
1700 hours
December 14, 2017
Barnes had driven them hard, training until an hour before dinner. He’d just finished his last critique when he suddenly declared, “That’s it. You’re ready.” Skeldon and Ray had both protested, suggesting, almost demanding, additional drills, but Biff had flatly refused. “You’re just as well trained as when I went up. Unless you can tell me exactly what the Chinese are going to do or what part of the ship will definitely break, there’s nothing more we can do to get ready.”
Ray had bristled a little at the suggestion that something on Defender might break, but he yielded to Biff’s experience. Barnes’s pilot wings had an astronaut badge in the center. That carried a lot of weight with Ray and the others. The other five would receive their astronaut insignia when they came back.
Biff gave them ten minutes to change and then ran them over to the volleyball court. They ran in the same arrangement they sat in Defender: Scarelli and Skeldon in the lead, then Tillman and Baker, with Ray and Biff in the rear. “We’ll play six-on-six today,” Biff shouted as they jogged. As they neared the court, Ray and the others could see a group waiting for them next to the net. It was more than six people, a lot more, although some of them were in athletic gear. Ray didn’t recognize them, but Scarelli, then Sue Tillman, suddenly called out and sped ahead of the group. A moment later, Andre Baker called out, “Helen!” and took off at a full run.
The two groups merged in a chaos of hugs and introductions. Ray was quickly introduced to a husband and grandfather, two wives, an uncle, and two sets of parents. Five of them had suited up in borrowed USAF sweat suits for volleyball, while one wore navy PT gear. “The major said you guys were soft and needed a good workout,” Sue Tillman’s husband explained, grinning. Lieutenant Brad Tillman was also in the navy—a SEAL. He was the crew’s most dangerous opponent, although the sheer distraction of the crew seeing their family members gave the newcomers’ team an edge.
In between sets, Biff pulled Ray aside and explained. “I invited Jenny, but she said she couldn’t break away and that you would understand.”
Ray nodded. “I do—and besides, let’s be fair. I’ve seen Jenny often during our time here. The rest of the crew’s been separated from their people for months.”
“She also said she didn’t want to crush your delicate male ego.”
“Too late,” Ray answered. “But wait a minute. Jenny has a clearance. These folks do not. Or were they all read into the program for this volleyball game?”
“Admiral Schultz said that as of your flight tomorrow, the wraps are off. He was the one who signed off on them coming here. They’ll stay on base until after we return,” Barnes reassured him. “As long as we don’t talk shop over dinner, it will be fine. Even if we did, Colonel Evans took all their cell phones and such, so they’re off the grid. Now that’s enough of a break. They’re waiting for us.”
In the end, they only had time for two sets before dinner. While the families rode in blue air force vehicles back to their quarters to change, Biff, this time in the lead, ran the others back, almost sprinting and daring them to match his pace. Ray and the others took the challenge, with Andre Baker coming in second. Ray was fourth, but he was not disappointed. A couple of months ago, a run like that would have killed him.
“The Hangar” staff had expanded the area for the mission crew to accommodate their families. After hearing stories about The Hangar’s food, they’d all decided to have a regular dinner from the cafeteria line, but Lewes and his staff had added some special touches: name cards, wine, and a fancy salad waiting on each plate.
Ray saw a card and a place for Jenny set next to his, but it was empty. He was beginning to feel a little alone, surrounded by so much family togetherness, but Jenny arrived while they were still working on their salads. Her “sorry, I’m late” was followed by a round of introductions and some slightly embarrassing questions, but Ray endured the interrogation quietly. He was just happy she could be there.
She seemed irritated at his relief. “A girl’s got to eat, doesn’t she?” she demanded, but Ray knew it had taken a huge mental effort to step away from the BMC. On the other hand, he was glad that she would also get a chance to clear her head, even if only for a short time.
Several family members started to ask questions about details of the mission, but by unspoken agreement, the crew steered them away from specifics. Biff shared many of his experiences on his single space flight, and between family news, base gossip, and stories about the coverage of Defender “outside the wire,” the meal rushed by, until the chef brought over a freshly baked apple cobbler for dessert.
Jenny, in an act of self-discipline on several levels, excused herself and returned to work. With her gone, Ray ate his dessert and listened to the conversation, but his mind was filled with tomorrow. One part of him wondered if the families’ presence might not be a distraction. He thought of the bomber crews in England in World War II, in the pub one day and over Germany fighting for their lives the next.
Ray firmly believed the risk of his screwing up was far greater than of his dying, either through Chinese actions or some system failure, but this was still a combat mission. Nothing was certain. But what was the risk of some spouse or relative saying the wrong thing or breaking down in tears compared to a chance for the crew to spend time before their mission with the ones they loved? And if, heaven forbid, it literally was their last night on earth, these memories would be all the more precious.
After the meal, the crew loaded their family members back into the cars and waved good-bye. As they walked back to their trailers, Ray wasn’t the only one yawning. “I see my diabolical plan is working perfectly,” Biff observed.
“Diabolical but obvious,” Ray responded. “And necessary. I’m trying hard not to think too deeply about tomorrow.”
“What’s to think about?” Biff shrugged, smiling. “We wake up; we go.” After a short pause, he added, in a more serious tone, “Events are in motion. Give yourself over to them. Accept them, focus on your part, and you’ll do well.”
“Is that what you did on your first space flight?”
“No, that’s what I wish I’d done. I was so worried about screwing up, I hardly got any sleep at all.”
Ray laughed softly and offered his hand. “I won’t let you down, boss.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Barnes said, shaking Ray’s hand. “Now go get some sleep, and no working tonight, mister. Clear?”
Georgetown
Washington, D.C.
December 14, 2017
Tom Rutledge sat in his study, flipping randomly from channel to channel. Coverage of Defender was ubiquitous and uniformly irritating. The media drumbeat reminded him of his defeat—no, his humiliation—by his own party.
He’d told his staff he’d be out of touch while he “considered his next move.” He might actually do that, eventually, but first he intended to get drunk. He wasn’t wasting honest whiskey on it, either. Vodka, with lemon and sugar. It went down easy, and he’d have less of a hangover in the morning.
Not that he had anything planned for the morning. Ben Davis and the others were under orders to respond “no comment” to any questions about GPS satellites, the Space Force, the air force’s program, and especially the upcoming Defender launch. If pressed, they could add, “We fervently hope that the GPS satellite shoot-downs can be stopped somehow.”
It just hadn’t worked. Usually there was enough political space for a “maverick” to carve out an issue and make it his. The whole Space Force–Defender thing had looked like a perfect ticket to the national stage. If you stay on message and sound authoritative, people start listening. Your influence grows. Pretty soon, they start asking you about other issues, and your power grows some more. Then someone with an issue to sell comes to you, asking for your support. And Mrs. Rutledge’s son never did anything for free.
Rutledge took another pull on his drink and flipped the channel again. Another cable news channel, another set of talking heads filling dead air, specu
lating, predicting, while the networks waited for the “money shot”: Defender blasting off. Then they could start with a whole new question: What was actually happening up there, in orbit? It would be a new kind of war, horrible and fascinating, but sure to raise ratings.
He flipped again. Nope, they weren’t waiting for the launch. Somebody had a computer-animated Defender firing a laser from its nose at an animated Tien Lung projectile. Nobody knew exactly what the Chinese weapon looked like, so they’d used something that looked like the shell from a gun, painted red, of course. The Chinese animation fired back at the American vehicle, and the show’s host was asking a question about damage to Defender’s heat shield from this hypothetical weapon.
If and when this thing actually flew, somebody would be sure to run a video of it blasting off, followed immediately by one of him blasting the administration. He was on the record calling the program “an idea bound to fail,” and a “deliberate waste of the taxpayer’s money.” More than on the record: He’d made it his signature issue.
And if he hadn’t been told to shut up and sit down, he might have been on that TV set, ambushed by the video, then trying to answer embarrassing questions like, “What do you think now, Congressman?” Those were a reporter’s favorite. Nothing helped ratings more than catching a politician with his position exposed.
Maybe the House leaders had done him a favor. He’d called Defender a boondoggle, the Space Force a money trap, and the air force’s new organization political cover for the Jackson administration. Normally, he didn’t regard being wrong as a great handicap, but being so completely and publicly wrong could condemn him to judging hog contests for the rest of his political life.
But, dammit, the whole space issue was perfect for him! It had no effect on his local base, and national-level interest a mile wide. Bottom line, he just hated seeing all that TV coverage wasted. He could have been in front of those cameras, except he’d picked the wrong message.