Lash-Up

16 Setbacks

Ray usually met Biff Barnes about fifteen minutes before the crew training sessions began. There was always business to go over, and they both liked to get it cleared away so they could focus on training.

When Biff didn’t show up as usual, Ray went looking for him, first in his trailer, then his office. He found Biff slouched in front of his computer screen, watching a grainy black-and-green video. When Ray knocked on the door frame, Barnes looked up, surprised. His face was puffy, and he hadn’t shaved.

“You look like hell,” Ray observed. “Were you here all night?”

Barnes didn’t bother answering but gestured at the screen. “Results from the first strikes near Lang Son.”

“How does it look?”

“It could look a lot better,” Biff answered grimly. “I’m seeing way too many misses. This area is a nightmare for an attacker — mountain valleys with only one road. We should be clobbering them. The Vietnamese are doing their best to hold them south of the river, but we were supposed to be attacking the Chinese rear areas. It’s the obvious move, though, and they’ve brought in enough antiaircraft guns and SAMs to shoot down Wonder Woman.”

Barnes clicked on a video. “This is a reconstruction of a strike on a SAM nest near the Khon Pat Bridge. They’ve got HQ-9 long-range SAMs, with HQ-7 and HQ-17 shorter-range systems covering the immediate area, and mobile and fixed guns from twenty-three all the way up to one hundred and thirty millimeters.”

Ray could see a string of symbols laid out over a hilly landscape. A single two-lane highway crossed a trestle bridge at right angles. The bridge was down, but it looked like the Chinese were constructing a replacement pontoon bridge a short distance to the west. He wasn’t familiar with the ground-unit symbology but could pick out vehicles filling the road north of the river and what were likely defenders arrayed on either side of the road. Biff pressed the “play” arrow, and new symbols appeared at the edge of the display. “Those are four F-22s, each loaded with eight Small-Diameter Bombs. Watch.”

A few moments after the planes entered from the south, dozens of red circles appeared on the map. “Those are the targets for the F-22 weapons — the SAM batteries and gun radars,” he explained.

The letters IP appeared and then, a few moments later, RELEASE. The aircraft symbols suddenly reversed course. “They’ve done a zoom climb and released their loads, then pulled out facing away from the target. Perfect delivery.” Ray could hear the admiration in his voice. “While the Raptors are safe and heading away, the bombs are using their GPS guidance to correct their trajectory. Flight time with a nine-mile release was just under a minute.” Ray noticed a timer in one corner, counting down the seconds.

“There.” The circles flashed, then either turned bright red or black. There were more blacks than reds.

Barnes sighed heavily. “That strike should have taken out at least every radar and the short-range SAM vehicles. Instead, we got about half. We even doubled up on the HQ-9’s radars, but they all missed!” He sounded disgusted. “Stealth got the planes in and out safely, but the only air-to-ground weapons the F-22 carries are GPS-guided. The Chinese have pulled their teeth. There was a squadron of Super Hornets thirty seconds behind the Raptors. The plan was to bomb the crap out of all that armor once the air defenses had been removed. The Hornet squadron commander had to abort, and the entire chain of command’s saying he made the right decision.” Barnes shrugged. “They had to try it, just to see how bad it would be.”

Ray pointed to his watch. “Crew training in three minutes.”

Biff stood up quickly, then paused for a moment and ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “One second. I can’t show up like this.” He pulled open a drawer and took out an electric shaver.

As Barnes removed his overnight growth, Ray asked, “Would you have called for the abort?”

After a thoughtful moment, the captain answered. “Yeah, probably. It’s too early in the fight to take that kind of risk. We could have lost four, maybe six, aircraft.”

“And it could have been you in one of those Raptors — if I hadn’t shanghaied you.”

“I dunno,” Barnes answered as he put the shaver away. “But, yeah. If I were in that squadron, I’d be out there, of course. And if the air force calls, I don’t know what I’d say right now.” He headed for the door and the stairs down, with Ray close behind.

Ray ventured, “You can do a lot more damage to the Chinese as Defender’s mission commander.”

They clattered down the stairs. “I’ll keep telling myself that. You just make sure that thing will actually fly.”

After the crew training was finished, Ray had decided to visit Jenny. Originally, she had been assigned to set up the command and control network that would support the mission. It was an immense job. She had to integrate links between the air force’s Space Command, navy tracking stations, NASA, and even some civilian facilities. It had to be done quickly and with the real purpose secret.

All that data would be fed to a single point, the Battle Management Center, and her task had such an impact on the center that she ended up taking that over, too.

She’d done both jobs well, almost elegantly, but her progress reports had recently become pessimistic, and she’d missed her last milestone by two days. It was not a good trend.

They’d set up the Battle Management Center in a purpose-built prefab building. Located a short walk from the hangar, the BMC was separated from the rest of the facility by a double chain-link fence, reinforced by rows of concrete Jersey barriers that would stop a charge by anything but an armored fighting vehicle. The single gate was manned by armed Marines at all times, and there were spots on the roof for Stinger teams and heavy weapons.

Although work was well under way inside, more still needed to be done before the BMC was finished. Engineers were adding emergency diesel generators and a buried fuel tank, and technicians were doubling up the center’s communications and data lines. Jenny was still debating the merits of a separate backup computer, at a different location, in case of a hardware problem with the system here.

The building itself already looked weathered and misused. The metal walls were primed pale gray but not painted, and modifications to the exterior were only roughly finished.

Jenny had met Ray at the door, standing proudly under a hand-painted sign that read BATTLE MANAGEMENT CENTER. He was glad to see her, of course. He’d smiled, and she smiled back, but it was a tired smile. He hadn’t seen her in several days, and she seemed different. He realized she looked a little thinner, and wondered if the strain showed on him as well.

Ray tried to stay focused as Jenny Oh explained the BMC’s status. He found her presence distracting and feared missing details as his mind wandered, but she was maintaining a professional attitude. He did his best to follow her example.

Jenny then led him down the main hallway, past security, past rooms crammed with electronic equipment or people hunched over workstations, into a large two-story open area surrounded by support spaces and offices. The central space held the main command displays. There was more security at the door to the operations center, and a vestibule that served as a security checkpoint.

An elevated scaffold had been erected that ran around three sides of the room. It was about fifteen feet wide, with a waist-high rail on the inside edge. The fourth wall was lined with gray equipment cabinets, and Ray could see more boxy shapes tucked under the scaffolding.

Jenny trotted up the steps to the scaffolding, putting them one story up, then led Ray along the walkway. Desks lined it, facing the center, with an aisle behind them. “This section’s communications, that’s electronic warfare, that’s intelligence.” They turned the corner. “This wall is spacecraft systems. We don’t get a third of the telemetry that NASA gets, but we still monitor critical systems.”

They turned the last corner, and she pointed to the final station, on the third side. “Admiral Schultz and his staff will sit here. I’ve got communications rigged to the White House, the NMCC, and to all the major commands.”

He looked around the space. Everything was neatly arranged. The cabinets were fully installed. They’d even taken the time to paint safety warnings near the stairways. “It looks great, Jenny. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Don’t praise me yet,” Jenny replied. “It’s looked like this for almost a week. The real test is to see if the stuff inside works.”

She walked over to one of the desks and picked up an augmented-reality headset. A headband held a clear lens in front of her right eye, and a small microphone came down the side. She slipped it on easily, and Ray heard her say softly, “Start test three bravo.”

There was enough light in the center bay to see a smooth light-colored sphere, easily ten feet across. It hung in the air halfway between the floor and the ceiling, suspended on a monofilament line.

The projectors came on, and Ray barely had time to see it was white before it changed color, becoming a deep blue. Patches of blue lightened to a medium shade, then lightened more, shifting to brown and green. He realized he was watching the world being built, starting with the deepest part of the ocean. Then higher elevations were added, one level at a time.

Points of light appeared on the surface, and Ray recognized one as Edwards. Lines appeared circling the earth, and he knew they were satellite orbits.

Visually, it was stunning. The implications for command were even more impressive. It was the situational awareness a commander needed to fight a space battle.

“Here’s the hard part,” Jenny announced. A flashing symbol appeared in southern China, becoming a short red-line segment. A transparent red trumpet appeared around the symbol as it quickly climbed toward orbit. “This is a recording of their latest intercept,” she told him. “Here’s what we added.”

A new point of light flashed, at Edwards. It started to rise, but then the display went dark.

The sudden blackness left Ray momentarily blind, and he heard a loud, “Damn it! I wanted that to work.” He could hear the frustration and fatigue in her voice.

“The hardware was a piece of cake,” she explained. “This display duplicates the one at Space Command, and I could get off-the-shelf components for nine-tenths of what we needed. Hooking it up was straightforward.

“But the software to support the new systems has been a pain in the ass. We have to be able to track Defender in real time. The display was originally designed to show a friendly unit’s location based on GPS data. We can’t depend only on that, so we’re using radar and optical sensors all over the world to track her position. That information has to be collected, fused, and then sent to the display. That software is all brand-new.” She smiled a lopsided smile. “I hear they’re having a few problems at Space Command as well.”

Ray waited for a moment, then asked quietly, “Is there anything we can get that will help you finish on time?”

She shook her head. “I wish I knew what to ask for.”

Her tone shook Ray. He heard someone near the end of her rope. She’d accomplished miracles, but this gear had to be rock-solid. Defender needed guidance from the Battle Management Center. They didn’t have the onboard sensors to see the entire engagement from the ship. Their upcoming fight would cover half the world. Information from the BMC would warn them of threats and tell them the results of their attacks.

He couldn’t bring in more people. Not at this late date. They’d need time to get brought up to speed — time they didn’t have. Jenny certainly didn’t need any more gear. If she had the resources, then it was all about leadership.

“You can do this,” Ray said carefully. “I can’t give you a sunshine speech. Nobody’s more committed to Defender than you, but I think you’re afraid of failing. You care so much about the project that the fear of not making it is tying you up in knots.”

She almost shook as she nodded. “I don’t like to fail. I never have, more so than most. And this is important, really important. Peoples’ lives will depend on it … including yours.” Jenny’s fatigue was more evident now as she leaned heavily on the rail.

Gently taking her arm, Ray led her over to a chair and sat her in it. He sat on the edge of the desk. He looked at her steadily.

“You’ve been a rock for me since the day this began. But also since that day, there hasn’t been the time I’d like, for us. I’ve had to stay focused, and that’s meant putting my feelings for you in deep freeze, until this is over. Your belief has kept me going. I hope my belief in you can do the same.”

She smiled and looked up at him. “I want it to.”

“Then it will.” He stood. Ray tried to sound positive without being too enthusiastic. “We will make it, Jenny, and I’m glad you’ll be here in the BMC when I’m up there.”

Glenn Chung’s coworkers thought he was a good supervisor. Technically skilled but willing to delegate, he was interested in anyone he met. He loved camp gossip but was never mean or petty. He was a “people person” and would certainly be given more responsibility as the program developed.

He was obviously proud of his ethnic Chinese background. Chung often spoke of his extended family, spread throughout California and the western United States, as well as his grandmother and her immediate family, who now lived in Taiwan, after being forced to leave Vietnam. In fact, he’d heard there were still distant relatives living in northern Vietnam and spoke hopefully of getting them out, somehow. If they did exist, they would be way too close to the fighting.

It was not unusual for him to be seen all over the compound. His exercise of choice was power walking, and he’d often start his day crisscrossing the area several times. During the day, he could be found anywhere, expanding or fixing one of several networks that linked the Space Force with the outside world or that supported its internal workings.

Right now, Chung was toting his golf bag. After a ten-minute walk to the gate, he caught a shuttle to the Edwards main exchange, then a base shuttle bus to the golf course. He had time for practicing his swing.

One would think a golf course would provide thousands of possible spots for a dead drop — just pick a spot off one of the fairways. A couple of the earlier drops had done just that, but the groundskeepers were everywhere, not to mention seekers of lost golf balls. Eventually, he’d chosen the driving range, which could be crowded to capacity on the weekends or nearly deserted during weekday working hours. And thanks to his flex-time work schedule, that suited him perfectly.

Another advantage to picking the driving range was that all types of golfers used it, both good and bad. This was ideal for Chung. He really wasn’t very good, and he’d attract a lot less attention whiffing shots there than on the fairway.

There were two retirees practicing, and Chung greeted both before starting on his basket of balls. He had time, and, sure enough, both occasionally checked their watches. He practiced patience, as well as trying to get some consistent loft, and just before the half hour, they both picked up and headed for the first tee. He waited another five minutes, then took a break, drinking from a water bottle and stretching. Nobody was moving near the pro shop, much less coming in his direction.

The problem with choosing a dead drop was to make it easily accessible, but at the same time secluded. It should be possible to place or retrieve an item in seconds. The operative must be able to reach it quickly. Any special effort might draw attention. And while it must be easy to reach, it should be a place nobody would ever think to look.

The driving range was lit for nighttime practice. It looked perfectly natural to lean against one of the light poles, and, sure enough, the supports were hollow. A drain hole at the base provided a perfect-sized opening, and the rough edges discouraged casual exploration.

Going to one knee to retie his shoe, he’d already palmed the metal case containing the flash drive; he took one more scan of the area. All clear. In one careful motion, he fished inside the support and found an identical metal case. He drew it out carefully, being careful not to gouge himself on the unfinished edge. The new case was inserted in the next instant. Both were rough-surfaced and colored a dirty brown. Chung fought the urge to look around again and see if he’d been noticed.

Retying his shoe, he stood and pocketed the new case, then went back to hit a few more balls, both for appearance’s sake and to work off the adrenaline.

By the time he was back at the Space Force complex, the case was tucked into a fold in the lining of his golf bag. When he entered the compound, his bag was checked, but the case wasn’t found.

Chung had timed his trip so his roommate would still be working, and the trailer was empty. He still took the time to put the golf bag away and set up his tell-tales before opening the case and plugging the flash drive inside into his laptop. The flash drive he’d sent had been virtually full of information. Names, work, and even housing assignments were included, along with more technical data and software samples.

The new drive had only one file, and it decrypted normally, revealing a single short text file.

Chung automatically hid his surprise, even though he was alone in the trailer. First, he’d received rare praise. His last report must have made a real splash. Most communications from Beijing simply gave a list of desired information or collection targets.

The instructions were simple enough. He readily agreed with the last one, would do what he could about the first, and as for the second — he’d never used explosives in the field, although he’d had some training in their use. He was not a demolitions expert, though. He had other skills.

But their intent was clear. Defender must be stopped.

Commander Ian “Smurf” Murphy was trying to change the way his squadron did business and was learning more about orbital mechanics than he ever wanted to know.

The first question on everyone’s mind was now, How many satellites will be in view during the strike? It dominated their tactics, even their navigation. Low-level approaches at night and bad weather were a lot harder now.

Everyone was frustrated and unhappy about having to abort their last attack. They’d tried a strike at night on a mechanized infantry division near Khon Pat, bunched up and waiting for a pontoon bridge to be finished.

A mobile armored formation was just about the hardest thing you could attack. Hundreds of individual armored vehicles, spread out across the countryside, many so tough that a bomb going off a few meters away might only scratch the paint. It had its own mobile AA guns and SAMs. Catching them at a river crossing was not a chance to be wasted.

The radar in Murphy’s Super Hornet could see ground targets dozens of miles away. Because of GPS, the computer in his plane knew his exact position, and because of the radar, it knew the exact position of the targets. It would then tell the weapons where to fly. At least that was how it was supposed to work in theory.

In reality, it turned out to be a complete cluster. The Super Hornets couldn’t launch their weapons if the GPS input sucked, and there were still a lot of operating SAMs in the area. The Raptor strike hadn’t done the job, and with the air defenses still intact, he’d called his squadron’s attack off. Murphy detested air defenses and did not consider them career enhancing, but aborting the strike was the hardest decision he’d ever made. The fact that he’d been correct was little consolation.

He was now planning for the next one. The Raptors would not be available for a restrike. The next attack would be in the daytime, but this time they would have full GPS 3D coverage. They would give up the concealment of night, but gain full accuracy for their weapons. They couldn’t limit themselves to just one part of the day with adequate GPS coverage or the Chinese would be ready for them every time.

This time, a Tomahawk cruise missile strike would go in first, with his squadron following. The Chinese would either have to engage the cruise missiles, which would make them vulnerable to the antiradar missiles his planes would carry, or stay off-line and watch the Tomahawks carpet the area with antiarmor submunitions.

Almost a third of his planes would be tasked with destroying the Chinese SAMs and guns — not just “suppressing” them, but wiping them out. The PLA didn’t have an infinite number of antiaircraft missiles, just a lot. And the Raptors had done some damage. His squadron would have to do the rest.

But since Smurf’s squadron was flying in the daytime, he had to assign at least a flight of four planes as fighter escort. The Kestrels could take on any Chinese fighter that flew, but he wouldn’t underestimate them, either. A fully loaded Super Hornet would be at a disadvantage against a Flanker.

So even with full GPS, planes that could have been destroying tanks or troop carriers would instead be hunting mobile guns and SAM launchers. Annoying, to be sure, but Murphy wouldn’t send his strikers in on a target unless he was confident they had a reasonable chance of making it back safely.

It was a more complicated plan, and it reduced his squadron’s striking power by at least a third, but if he did his job properly, his squadron would come safely back to the ship.

Murphy was also lowering his expectations. Survival in this type of environment was not a given. Mission accomplishment was worthless if he lost too many people, and in his mind one was too many. But with so many limitations, and Chinese air defenses operating at full effectiveness, one mistake or plain bad luck could cost him a lot of his guys.

Rutledge’s speech had been touted as discussing the common issues facing businesses in Nebraska, Iowa, and the other Midwestern states. He’d been spending a lot of time in Iowa. Not too much, though, because the elections were still a long way off. But he wanted Iowans to know who he was, and he wanted to have a well-established track record long before any of the other possible candidates showed up in the state.

The congressman gave them about three minutes on Midwest business issues before segueing smoothly into the potential economic effects of what was still being called the Vietnam War, in spite of historians’ protests.

“Unfortunately, the biggest uncertainty facing the Midwest’s economy, indeed the entire nation’s, is the administration’s reckless foreign policy. President Jackson has plunged us into a war with one of our largest trading partners and our biggest creditor. Is this supposed to be his answer to the Chinese attacks on our GPS satellites? That’s like setting your neighbor’s house on fire after his dog’s peed in your yard.

“By the way, those satellites are still being shot down, one a week, with the cost of replacing them half a billion dollars each. Now, think about it, folks. The biggest problem with losing the GPS satellites is that our military can’t fight as well. So what does the president do? Send our military into a fight with another superpower with one hand tied behind our back. And over a country that is not really a U.S. ally?”

Rutledge paused for a moment, taking a drink of water. “And while the president sends our brave men and women into combat, with the weakest of reasons and inadequate tools, his only answer to the original problem is a double boondoggle — a whole new air force command, and a secret ‘space force’ with some wonder weapon pulled out of thin air!”

Rutledge had worked on that line, polishing not only the wording but also the tone — mixing amusement with indignation.

“So as business leaders, while I would like to say we’re in a great position for expansion and steady growth, thanks to the Jackson administration, you can expect your taxes to go up and the U.S. economy to become a target for Chinese cyberattacks and who knows what else. If you were selling U.S. products to China or selling to someone who does, well, that market went away with the first inaccurate bomb we dropped.”

The visitors from the Ministry of State Security’s Second Bureau arrived precisely on time but were from a different branch than Shen Xuesen had dealt with before. The general had worked closely with MSS in the past. They had provided valuable technical information vital to building the Tien Lung, but that had always come from the Thirteenth, or Technical Investigation, Bureau. The individuals before him were from the Second Bureau’s Operations Division, not that they volunteered that information. A colleague in Beijing had warned Shen of the impending visit. And while the men had not identified their organization, they did come bearing impressive gifts: a complete detailed technical description of the American Defender vehicle and its launch facilities.

General Shen’s intelligence liaison protested that the information should have come through them, but the ranking intelligence officer, Senior Agent Wen Jin, brushed his objections aside. “I’m sure it will arrive in your office eventually, but we don’t have time to wait for you paper warriors to wake up from your naps. This is an operational matter.”

Wen’s response confirmed what Shen had already been told: These men were responsible for directing the actions of agents in foreign countries. Senior Agent Wen then turned to Dr. Dong. “We’d appreciate it if you would take a look at these plans. As an engineer, we need you to identify places where a small explosive charge could be placed to cause the most disruption.”

“You mean, while it is on the ground?” Shen asked. “Wouldn’t that put your operative at risk?” He couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“Do not speculate on that, sir,” Wen replied sharply. Shen ignored the disrespect. “Assume a small charge, a few kilograms at most, with a timer that allows whoever placed the charge the opportunity to clear the area. We need your recommendations as quickly as possible.”

With that, they had the general sign for the documents and left. Shen’s intelligence officer left as well, probably to complain to his superiors. Alone in his office, the general leafed through the pages, thinking about the agents’ questions and what those questions meant.

Did the CMC now believe that Defender was a real threat? His own judgment, and that of Dr. Dong’s, was that the vehicle would take at least a year to build, and that assumed everything went perfectly for the Americans.

After his confrontation with General Li, Shen definitely thought of the CMC as “them.” Did they know something he didn’t? He was not naïve enough to believe they’d tell him if there was a threat to the Tien Lung. There were still some in Beijing who’d love to see him fail, even now.

A chill ran down his back, and he tried to tell himself they were just covering all the possibilities. In any case, he’d give this new assignment his best effort.