Lash-Up

21 The Reveal

Apologies to all for the site being down yesterday. It was another cyberattack, but we’ve gotten a lot of practice recently at protecting our files and recovering from misguided hackers. At least it wasn’t the Chinese. Nothing blew up.

For the people who haven’t bothered to read the FAQ, let me say it here:

We really don’t care.

So leave us alone and go shout at someone who gives a frack.

People interested in discussing these extremely controversial topics can click here for a list of appropriate forums.

The only position this site does take is that Defender exists and is being built in California at Edwards Air Force Base.

Thanks to the leaked Defender design document, we have a fair idea of the spacecraft’s characteristics, although those of us with experience in the aerospace community know that there can be, and usually are, many changes between the drawing board and the runway (or in this case, launchpad).

Many of the postings lately have been about when big “D” will fly. Estimates range from weeks (the Krazy Glue and duct-tape crowd) to months to never. Instead of trying to guess when, let me ask a better question: How will we know when they’re getting ready to launch? Personally, I’d like to be as close to Edwards as they’ll let me if and when she flies.

Since the Beaumont incident, the impressive security at Edwards AFB has been tightened still further, and getting into the not-supposed-to-exist “U.S. Space Force” base inside Edwards is virtually impossible. My friends in the industry with access to Edwards say the area around the old Airborne Laser Program facility looks like a Marine firebase. There are no signs saying USSF, by the way.

An aside to potential “truck watchers:” Since the appearance of the Defender document online, people with more spare time than sense have attempted to get clues about the activity at the USSF base by monitoring truck traffic in and out of Edwards, recording license plates and company logos, as if they’d spot a rocket engine hanging out the back. I’ve had posts from four individuals saying they’d done this, and all four have been questioned — and three briefly taken into custody — by federal agents who have absolutely no sense of humor.

Let me explain this to you all. Remember that Edwards is an air base. They have runways, lots of long runways. Anything big or important will be flown in. At night.

The launch, especially at night, should be visible from as much as one hundred nautical miles away, so that includes Bakersfield to the northwest, Riverside to the west, and possibly Los Angeles and Long Beach to the south, depending on the pollution and sky glow. Barstow is fifty miles to the east, and should provide an excellent viewing spot, given that the vehicle will arc eastward as it climbs. One California poster is already looking for good spots along Highway 58.

But he needs a little warning time to get in position. So I’ve created a new thread in the forum: How will we know when they’re close? Contributions from Chinese sources are welcome.

“You know, moving her at night isn’t going to make any difference. As soon as she’s on the pad, she’ll be seen,” Barnes observed critically.

“It gives us a few more hours,” Ray answered. “We kept her in the hangar for as long as possible, but she has to go to the pad now.”

They watched as Defender was slowly towed from her hangar down Taxiway A toward the launch complex in Area 1-54 some twenty miles away. Everything was going smoothly. The recently repaired concrete apron in front of the hangar had held, and Jerry Peters’s crew had marked the turn points along the route in paint. Security was tight, with armed fighters patrolling overhead and Avenger air defense vehicles in front of and behind the procession. They were camouflaged, of course. And in the darkness, they looked like utility trucks, until you spotted the box missile launchers pointed skyward.

“I don’t like what it’s doing to the training schedule,” Barnes complained. “I agree that the flight crew needs to be involved in bringing her to the pad, but they’re losing a lot of sleep. It’ll be well past dawn by the time she’s in position, so they won’t be able to get any sleep.”

“What is this ‘sleep’ you speak of?”

“Ray, don’t joke. I don’t often agree with the flight surgeon, but stuff like this can mess up your circadian rhythm, and the effects last. You’re dragging for the next few days, no matter how much sleep you get the next night. You haven’t been in the astronaut program for very long. We make an effort to keep ourselves as close to perfect health as possible. You can’t ignore the physical demands…”

“Biff, I understand, really. Was there a better way to do this? You didn’t suggest one when we planned this out.”

“No,” Barnes admitted.

“Then why are you complaining?”

“Because I have to complain to someone, and complaining might make them not like me. You already don’t like me, so there’s no harm done. Besides, you’re handy.”

The two were following the convoy and Defender as it moved at a brisk walking pace. They’d become separated from the rest of the group, mostly department heads, who were either walking or riding farther back. Jenny was in the BMC, using this opportunity to test communications.

Barnes seemed glad for the late-night exercise. Not content to simply follow the convoy, he would go to one side of the road and then the other, looking from different angles, all the while monitoring Peters’s radio communications. It kept him at a half jog.

“Would you like to take over for one of the tractors?” Ray asked. “Or would you just like to push from back here?”

The pilot laughed and nodded. “I normally don’t feel like this until just before a flight — I mean, in a fighter. It’s when I’m prepping, when I’m going through my preflight routine. I get pumped, and I expect it. I want it. I can use the adrenaline.”

“At least you’ve been in space before.”

“Not on a combat mission. Not with so many unknowns, and not with so much at stake.”

“I think my nervousness is more about how I will react to space flight. I’ve read enough about it, heaven knows. Some can’t handle it.”

Barnes nodded. “It happens, rarely. But since we’re likely to be shot at as soon as we’re in orbit, you’ll be too busy to throw up.” He grinned. “Or down. In space the direction’s irrelevant. But aren’t you worried about Defender?” Barnes asked.

“Not really,” Ray stated firmly. “I’m confident she’ll fly and do well; the other stuff, not so much. But what about the rest of the crew? You’ve spent more time with them than I have. Are they as wound up as we are?”

“As you are,” Barnes corrected him. “Scarelli’s a test pilot. He’s coping by memorizing every fact about Defender he can lay his hands on. Steve Skeldon’s got one combat tour in Super Hornets. He’s like a kid waiting for Christmas. I had to chase him out of the simulator last night. And Andre and Sue won’t stop asking me questions about my own experiences in space.”

Ray didn’t say anything for a minute, silently following Defender, then declared firmly, “Biff, we need to change the training schedule. Let’s add some group games: basketball, soccer, stuff like that.”

“The six of us? And I suck at soccer.”

“Then baseball,” Ray suggested.

“Seriously? Three on three? You’re just trying to get out of weight training.”

“I am not,” Ray insisted indignantly. “We need to get rid of these nerves, or we won’t have an edge at all. Physical activity as a group is a great stress reliever. Just consider it.”

Barnes was silent for a dozen steps. He said, “We don’t have the time,” but he said it softly, as if debating with himself. Then, “What if someone gets hurt?” And again, “There’s no time!”

Finally, Barnes announced, “Volleyball. Twenty minutes right before lunch. We’ll play a couple of fast nine-point games. It’s a big, relatively soft ball, and the risk of injury is low. And Sue can play with the five men on equal terms. She’s taller than everyone except Jim.”

“Okay, but I haven’t played since grade school,” Ray admitted.

“Then you’ll probably lose a lot, but that’s not really the point, is it?”

Senior Agent Wen seemed almost breathless when he appeared at the door to General Shen’s office. It was a long flight from Beijing, even in a high-performance jet.

Shen didn’t wait for him to speak. “I know. The Americans have moved the Defender vehicle into launch position.”

Wen nodded. “Yes, General. My superiors are asking for your opinion on when she will be ready to launch.”

“My opinion?” Shen asked sarcastically. “I didn’t think anybody in Beijing cared what I thought.”

“General, with respect, the Ministry of State Security did not take sides in your ‘discussion’ with the Central Military Commission. Our task is to gather, analyze, and share information.”

Shen sighed. “Can you tell me anything new about the vehicle’s status? Systems that aren’t operating properly, or equipment that hasn’t been installed yet?”

“No, General, there’s been no new information for some time now.”

“Your source has been arrested then,” stated Shen.

Wen nodded sadly. “It’s likely he is lost to us. We haven’t been able to reach his handler for over a week. In such cases, standard procedure is to send a message directly to the agent, through a safe channel, of course. The agent is supposed to respond within twenty-four hours.” After a small pause, Wen reported, “He has not responded.”

“So we can expect nothing more from that source,” Shen concluded.

“And our technical means are extremely limited,” Wen added. “Is there any chance that this is a deception plan, a bluff of some sort?”

Shen almost laughed out loud. “What? To what end? I thought that issue was settled earlier.”

“Please excuse the question. My superiors were instructed to explore every possibility. The entire politburo is now convinced that the American vehicle is a credible threat.”

“And faced with the reality, they’re scared. They’re still looking for some way to make it disappear.”

“But we come back to the basic question. When can the Americans launch?”

The general scowled. “Considering I didn’t think they’d be ready for nearly a year, I may not be the best man to ask. But, practically speaking, the original VentureStar vehicle was designed to simplify launch preparations and reduce turnaround to a minimum. There’s no booster or strap-on fuel tank. If the modifications the Americans intended to make are complete, then all they have to do is fill its fuel tanks, and they’re ready to go.”

Wen observed, “Normally, a country making a space launch is required to publish a Notice to Airmen and Mariners in advance, but there has been a standing notice of ‘tests’ over Edwards for some time now.”

Shen smiled and shook his head. “The Americans wouldn’t make it that easy.”

The security agent added, “We have increased our monitoring of cell phone traffic in the region, but so far it has not provided any useful information. We may get lucky, but we can’t depend on it.”

“The only thing we can depend on,” Shen replied, “is that we will know when it is launched. They can’t hide that. With the media hovering like they are, it will be broadcast over the news channels in moments. I’ve already instructed Dr. Dong to expedite the preparations at Xichang, and, of course, we’re also getting another Tien Lung ready for launch. I do have one thought, however.”

Shen gestured to a timer on the wall of his office. It read “134.28.12.” The numbers were counting down. “The Americans know as well as we do when we will launch the next Tien Lung. If they want to stop us, they’ll have to launch by that time, or wait another week for the next cycle. And I’d wait until right before we launch, so we won’t have time to react.”

Wen nodded his understanding. “If they don’t launch by the time we do, we kill another American satellite, and there’s no reason to launch for another week. But if they launch too early, before the Tien Lung, it gives us time to react to their presence.”

“Precisely,” the general replied. “If they wait until we launch and commit to a target, and then take off themselves, it gives them the best chance of intercepting and destroying the Tien Lung vehicle.”

Wen stood and bowed. “Thank you, General. I will report your conclusions to my superiors. I’m sure the politburo will find them very helpful.”

After the agent left, Shen grumbled, “Now they listen.”

“You know they’ve moved her to the pad.”

“Yes, sir.” General Maureen Ryan couldn’t tell whether her boss was pleased at their progress or disappointed. Everyone knew that General Warner would never wish the Defender team to fail. Not only were they working to defeat the Chinese, they’d also acquired a large following who admired their daring. For a generation that had been raised on NASA’s methodical, almost exhaustive thoroughness, the Space Force’s speed and innovation were breathtaking. But it was clear that General Warner wished they were part of his air force.

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.”

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 been 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.

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.