“Status report?” Hail requested.
Shana Tran was the first to respond, “Communications are five by five with both Led Zeppelin and Foghat.”
The term five by five was a radio communication expression that meant “loud and clear”. Tran, at one time, had explained to Hail that one five represented the S units of reception strength. The other five was a rating of signal clarity. Thus, five by five meant there was a good and clear signal.
Oliver Fox was the next to report that all systems were nominal.
Hail suspected that Oli didn’t know the difference between the term normal and nominal. He guessed that he had heard it used in a movie and had adopted the expression. The use of the phrase "all systems nominal" was a term used by NASA and indicated that the telemetry was reading as expected from historical data trends. Over the years, it had become a response that covered all parameters of flight systems and controls. However, normal and nominal meant two very different things. Normal reported the condition of the flight parameters when the machine was at rest. Nominal meant that the parameters were within flight specifications for the current mission with the drone underload.
Hail watched as the dark green patch on the ground grew closer. The dark green began to break up and pixelate into lighter splotches of green as the drone’s camera began to differentiate between bushes, plants and grass.
“Twenty-five feet until touchdown,” Dallas reported, pushing the pedals under his feet to change the angle of attack of the propellers.
“Do we have any company?” Hail asked Tanner Grant.
Tanner Grant was still on station flying Foghat in tight circles over the house below. He looked at his screen that showed Foghat’s Star SAFIRE HD FLIR system. He adjusted the multispectral SWIR system until it focused on the landing zone and the surrounding areas. Anything that was hotter than the ambient earth below would show up as a white light on his monitor.
“There is nothing in the immediate area except some wild dogs about a mile away. I’m going to reposition so I can scan the residence.”
Grant pinched and swiped and rotated his screen until he was happy with his view of Kim Yong Chang’s house, backyard, front yard and additional property on both sides of his home.
“Putting it up on big screen number three,” Grant told Hail.
Hail glanced over the control stations to see the new forward-looking infrared radiometer image that had appeared on the big screen.
Hail saw large rectangular objects, undoubtedly cars, in front of the house. The engines glowed brightly under the hoods. On the side of the house was a smaller box that glowed white as well. Hail decided that this was an air conditioning unit. The well-heated pool glowed brighter than the bricks surrounding the pool which had cooled in the night air. In the backyard, some smaller objects—some round and some square—were glowing but not with the same intensity as the cars or the air conditioner. Hail came to the conclusion that it was probably pool equipment–the pump, the motor and possibly a water heater.
“Does anyone think it’s weird that Kim Yong Chang doesn’t have any guards at his house?” Hail asked his crew.
Gage Renner, the mission aeronautics analyst and Hail’s close friend offered his two cents, “I don’t really see the need. I mean the entire country is guarded. No one gets in, and most of its citizens want to get out.”
Pierce Mercier offered, “The entire complex is surrounded by a twelve-foot chain-link fence. Look at the glow on that thing.” Mercier nodded up toward the big screen, “I don’t think a fence like that glows with heat unless it’s electric.”
Hail remained silent.
“And the fence has razor wire on top of it,” Renner added.
“And we have already seen that Kim is good with weapons,” Mercier said.
Hail agreed, “I guess so. I don’t think I’ll ever understand this country. It’s like a throwback to the sixteenth century with a bunch of nukes thrown in to make things even more complicated.”
Dallas got everyone’s attention with the words, “Three, two, one and touchdown.”
Hail checked the FLIR screen again and didn’t see any glowing moving objects. No people. No dogs.
“So far, so good,” Hail said, relieved the first part of the mission was successful.
As the crew looked at the FLIR screen, they noticed that another object now glowed in the darkness. It was Led Zeppelin. A few days before, the dead drone Eagles had scouted out the perfect landing zone for Led Zeppelin. Outside the wire of Kim Yong Chang’s property was a tangle of thorny bushes Mercier had called Poncirus trifoliata, known as the Flying Dragon. A circle of these thick, green bushes had naturally formed around a rocky area in its center. The stems of the Flying Dragon created a contorted and twisted thicket no person or animal would readily venture into. The landing site was perfect at one hundred meters outside the electric fence and completely hidden from view.
“Do you want me to fly Foghat back to the Hail Laser?” Tanner Grant asked Hail.
“What’s your fuel supply looking like?” Hail asked.
Grant double-checked his gauges.
“I have about six hours,” Grant said.
Hail did some math in his head and determined that Foghat could stay on station for about one more hour and still have plenty of fuel to make it back to their support ship.
“I’d like you to stick around until the hubs are deployed,” Hail told Grant.
“No problem, Skipper,” Grant said. He took his finger and drew a red circle around the top of the complex. He then set the Foghat’s autopilot to lock onto that hand-drawn path and to maintain its current altitude and speed.
“All right, Alex. You’re up,” Hail said. “Let’s make this clean and silent.”
Alex turned to his two junior pilots—Oliver Fox to his right and Paige Grayson to his left.
“Let’s do this like we planned,” Alex instructed. “I’ll go first, then Oli, then Paige. Are we good?”
The other pilots acknowledged Knox, and they began to prepare their aircraft.
Three grossly misshapen objects sat atop Led Zeppelin, which was the size of a mini trampoline and, in comparison to its smooth and conical black surface, the hubs that were connected to its top were bizarre in appearance.
One hub wasn’t even a shape. It was more like a blob of clay the size of a softball that had been overworked by an angry mental patient wearing oven mitts. It was brown and lopsided. A rough texture had been applied to its surface. A flat black area the size of a golf ball had been infused into one of its unnatural sides.
“OK,” Knox said in a predatory tone, “Undocking now.”
Knox checked his gauges, checked his cameras and verified his flight controls were working and said, “And liftoff.”
The brown blob hummed, its three small propellers spinning furiously as the machine rose from the back of Led Zeppelin.
“Put Aerosmith’s camera on big screen number two,” Hail requested.
Oli fulfilled the request, and the video appeared in time for Hail to see the small drone, code-named Aerosmith, clear the top of the Flying Dragon bushes. The bushes were green; the big berries on the bushes were green, but then so was everything that was shot by the night vision camera. The crew that wasn’t actively flying a drone watched the main monitor as the bushes became increasingly smaller.
“I’m at a hundred feet. Aerosmith feels good and is responding nicely,” Alex Knox commented.
“Well, as nicely as this hunk of wood can respond,” he added.
“Take it slow,” Hail told Knox.
“With the weird shape of this thing, I don’t think I have much choice,” Knox replied. “It’s amazing this drone can even fly.”
Knox worked the flight controls as the electric fence came into view. A moment later, the fence disappeared underneath the camera as the drone passed over it.
“OK, approaching the LZ (landing zone),” Knox said, looking worried.
“Oh, damn. Th
is is going to be harder than I thought; especially at night with nothing but this stupid green screen. Too bad I can’t light it up.”
“It is what it is,” Hail told his pilot. “You’re doing a great job. Just take it slow.”
Knox shook his head in disagreement.
“I can’t take it too slow, Skipper. Not if you want to get this drone back to Led Zeppelin tomorrow. I’ve already burned through 25% of my battery.”
Hail said nothing.
Aerosmith was quickly approaching a tall tree. Specifically, Mercier had told them during the planning meeting the tree was a Pinus densiflora, also known as the Japanese red pine. In the winter it became yellowish, but during the summer, it happened to be the exact same shade of brown as Aerosmith.
“Here goes nothing,” Knox said, tensing slightly on the controls as he made his final approach.
Not a single aspect of this mission had been left to chance. Eagles had scouted the landing zone, and the precise spot where Aerosmith would land had been predetermined.
Knox maneuvered Aerosmith between two limbs of the enormous red pine. Similar to the other hub drones, the propellers on Aerosmith were internal to the machine. Hollow on the inside, the propellers twirled internally in a chamber that resembled a cylindrical chimney, creating lift by blowing air down and sucking air in from the top of the drone. All of the electronics were built into a ring that circled around the interior chimney. The lithium-ion battery was circular as well. There wasn’t a centimeter of wasted space on Aerosmith. A microchip crammed in here, a servomotor stuffed in there—beautiful it was not. It was an amazing piece of flying technology.
The camera rocked to one side, taking a hard, jarring hit from one of the branches.
“Damn,” Knox cursed. “Man, it’s tight between these tree limbs.”
No one said anything. Knox knew what he needed to do. He had performed this landing flawlessly in the simulator a number of times, but doing it in real life was different. Unlike the simulator, he was experiencing lighting issues. In the live setting, the different shades of green were more diffuse and indiscernible than in the simulator. As he guided the drone between the branches, some of the smaller twigs were almost invisible on his monitor. Compounding his problems, there was a light breeze and small pine branches were fluttering in and out of his flight path. Right now, the design of the drone was saving him. Since the propellers were located on the inside of the aircraft, the small drone could be bumped around a little because there was no chance of the propellers coming into contact with the obstructions. Too much bumping would scramble the internal computer. The chip made thousands of tiny flight adjustments per second, keeping Aerosmith at the proper height and angle of attack. Too many unanticipated disruptions would overwhelm the computer managing the drone’s flight characteristics. At that point, the computer would reset. If that happened, then Aerosmith would drop to the ground like a log.
A few more damns were muttered by Knox as he closed in on the landing point.
“You are down to 55% battery life,” Gage Renner informed Knox.
“Almost there, just another foot,” Knox replied. “Almost there—”
The misshapen drone slowly lowered onto a thick limb of the red pine, centering itself over the widest part of the branch before gently touching down.
No one said anything.
Aerosmith joined the branch of the Japanese red pine—literally.
Everyone held their breath until the green video being sent by Aerosmith froze in place. It reminded Hail of when he had watched the old video of the first lunar landing on the moon in 1969 with his dad. Seconds before touchdown, a whirl of activity could be seen on the footage; movement, dust and shapes came into view before being cast aside for new shapes. And then, like someone had switched off a light, nothing but stillness. Tranquility Base. The Eagle has landed.
Hail let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding.
Knox let go of his control handles, changed screens and pressed an icon labeled DOCK.
A second later, four brown fish hooks dropped down from the sides of the Aerosmith, hooked into the tree and tightened, attaching the drone to the tree.
Aerosmith had been designed to look like a bump on a log. The drone was an illusion. Notched into its side was a shallow cavity that looked like a small limb had broken off. That circular dark section was a camera port that could be shuttered open or closed, depending on when the drone was actively streaming video. Aerosmith’s surface was so meticulously modeled with bark that from any angle on the ground, it was invisible sitting silently on its limb.
“Are we locked?” Hail asked.
“Yes, sir,” Knox said, leaning back in his chair. He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly.
“OK,” Hail said, turning his chair toward Oliver Fox. “Let’s bring in the next micro-hub.”
The term micro-hub didn’t have much to do with the size of the drones. It was nomenclature Hail’s crew used to refer to a drone’s heritage. The main drone was Foghat, which dropped off the hub called Led Zeppelin, its mini-drone. The next group of hubs released by Led Zeppelin was referred to as micro-hubs. If those hubs parented more hubs, then those would be called nano-hubs and so on until pico- had been used. Hail’s drone laboratories had never nested drones deeper than pico-, so there was no need for any further extended classification. The inventors of the metric system in 18th century France had little need for any terminology smaller than micro- because they didn’t have instruments fine enough to measure more minute increments. But in later years, pico-, femto-, atto-, zepto- and yocto- metric increments had been established and would be used when and if Hail’s team ever needed them.
Oliver Fox situated himself in his chair, placed his hands on his controllers and his feet on the pedals under his station.
Knox touched an icon that mirrored the green video being sent from Styx onto the big screen mounted directly over Fox’s control station. Now the entire crew could see the video being streamed by his drone.
“Liftoff,” Fox announced.
From the top of Led Zeppelin, an object that could only be described as a bird’s nest began to rise into the humid night. This micro-drone was a mass of plastic sticks woven haphazardly together to form a bird’s nest. The nest didn’t have any affiliation to a particular bird in the area. Unless one of Kim’s servants or girlfriends happened to be an expert in ornithology, it should go unnoticed.
Hail thought that Styx appeared to handle a little better than Aerosmith. It certainly climbed much faster.
“I’m at 100 feet and moving toward my LZ,” Fox told the crew.
The video looked the same as when Aerosmith had passed over the electric fence–green, murky, and not much on the horizon other than distant trees.
Having Fox fly a patch of sticks into a tree would have been a disaster. The sides of the drone would have certainly snagged on something. Thus, the landing point chosen for Styx was much easier to manage.
Fox smiled. “All right,” he said. “I’m over my touchdown point and the surface looks clear.”
Hail nodded and remained silent.
“Coming down, down, down—” Fox said as he nudged his foot pedals deeper into the floor.
The video streaming from Styx wasn’t as shaky as it had been with Aerosmith; therefore, the touchdown wasn’t as dramatic. Inch by inch, Styx descended until it came to rest atop a power pole that fed one-inch-thick electrical cables into Kim’s property. The pole was about twenty meters behind the pool in the backyard. The landing zone for Styx was in a perfect line of sight to the pool and the patio area.
“We’re down,” Fox announced with little fanfare. “Docking Styx now.”
Three thin brown fishing lines lowered three tiny brown, tri barbed fish hooks about an inch down the pole. A second later, the hooks were reeled back in, and each of the hooks dug into the weathered pole and secured Styx to the top.
“That’s the way to do it,” Hail told Fox. “Two in pl
ace and one more to go.”
Paige Grayson was up to bat. Without hesitation, Grayson pushed her feet into the flight pedals and twisted both of her flight controllers to the right. The micro-hub known as Stones rose into the air and hovered over Led Zeppelin. Grayson oriented the craft so its main camera was pointed in the direction of Kim’s compound. She increased the speed of the propellers and ascended quickly to 100 feet.
Knox patched Stone’s camera into the big monitor above Grayson, providing Hail and the rest of the crew a view of her drone’s streaming video.
Grayson navigated Stones along the same vector that Aerosmith and Styx had taken. First out of the bushes, then up higher and over the fence, and now down lower as Grayson brought the drone within twenty meters of its landing zone.
Above Hail, the image on two of the large monitors being sent from Styx and Aerosmith was still and only Stones’ video stream was on the move. The dark green pool came into view. It was surrounded by lighter green bricks. A spillway adorned by cement and rocks was cut into the side of the pool. The opening released water into a small brook that ran downhill. Rocks had been methodically placed in a specific pattern to create a babbling brook that meandered throughout the backyard. The brook terminated 50 meters downhill where a hidden pump sent the water back into the pool via a buried pipe.
“Almost there,” Grayson said. She kept glancing down at the bottom of her screen for her altitude. The other micro-hubs had never descended lower than twenty feet. Grayson’s drone was now only two feet off the ground.
Grayson glanced at her navigation screen.
“My X and Y show this is my LZ, but it looks pretty wet to me,” Grayson said. “What do you guys think?”
Hail shook his head. “How can you tell it’s wet?” he asked. “It’s all green.”
Grayson shrugged without taking her hands off the controls.
She said, “It looks like there is some luminescence coming off the rocks like they are reflecting the moonlight.”
Gage Renner, who had designed the drone, spoke up. “The hub can take some water, but it would be best if we set it down somewhere dry. It looks like there may be some water splashing from the stream right there, so why don’t we land to the right a few feet?”
Operation Hail Storm Page 8