Lash-Up

25 High Ground, Part II

“It’s a brute force denial-of-service attack, Commander.” Chris Brown sat surrounded by display screens. Some showed packets of invading data. Others listed tables of statistical data — numbers of packets sent from each site, numbers rejected by the filter, amount of processor time lost, and many other values.

“They don’t have our encryption completely broken, but they’ve learned enough to get through occasionally. See,” he said, pointing to two invading data packets. “The body of the message is the same. And most of the header data is valid. All they have to do is vary the part they don’t know. And they’re getting better at it. Look at this curve.” It showed the percentage of successful penetrations since the attack began, and the number steadily increased.

Jenny forced herself to think clearly, to ignore the rest of the center and the craft in space above her. This was a battle of minds.

“The encryption key is time-based,” Jenny said. “To mimic it at all, they’d have to be monitoring our communications in real time.”

“Then that’s what they’re doing,” replied the computer analyst.

“But all of the communications from the ground stations are line-of-sight to the Tracking and Data-Relay Satellites. You can’t receive the signals being sent to them from Earth.” Jenny had insisted on that, for obvious reasons.

“They must have satellites within the field of view to monitor the comms stream. They can then upload spurious data directly into the TDRS system from ground stations in China,” concluded Brown.

“And we can’t shut the system down without losing contact to the ground stations and Defender,” finished Jenny. The access to the worldwide data links and the ability to feed processed information to Defender were the reasons for the Battle Management Center’s existence. She visualized the data flow: It went out from the ground station, intended for the BMC, but it was also picked up by an intercept antenna somewhere in space; the Chinese then fed back bogus information directly to one of the TDRS birds from SATCOM transmitters deep in China. The Chinese were using America’s own relay satellites and codes against them.

“Chris, we have to change the encryption key.”

“That won’t help, ma’am. It would take too long to get all the stations switched to the new encryption key and the data links resynched. By the time we were done, the Tien Lung attack would be long over.”

Jenny slammed the console with her fist. A Chinese ASAT weapon was hurtling toward Defender, toward Ray and the others, and she seemed powerless to do anything about it. Her thoughts raced as she tried to think of a way to reset the encryption in time. Then it struck her: Screw the encryption.

“Then I have an idea. Go ahead and start changing the encryption keys, but also instruct the ground stations to parallel their transmissions in the clear.”

“In the clear, ma’am? They’d be completely vulnerable. The Chinese would see that…”

“Yes, I know. But it will take them a little time to realize it and react. In the meantime, we use the clean data to update Defender’s computers.”

Brown’s face lit up. “I get it! I reset the firewalls to reject all encrypted data; that’ll cut off all the Chinese bullshit flooding our system. But that may work for only five, maybe ten, minutes.”

“That’s all we’ll need, Chris. Use the secure voice channel and get the word out to all the tracking stations.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m on it,” the analyst sang out.

Jenny hurried back to her own console, keying her handset as she went. “Good news, Admiral. I believe we have a temporary solution to our problem.”

“How temporary, Commander?” Schultz’s voice sounded stern and hopeful at the same time.

“Long enough to get us through this engagement.”

“That’s good enough, Jenny.”

Jenny’s unorthodox tactic had an immediate effect. Cut off from the BMC, Defender’s computers had been displaying the estimated position of the second Tien Lung. It had been close, but the uncertainty of the estimate had prevented them from taking any action.

Now the display flashed with the real position of TL2. A red arc showed its track history, a red dot its present location, and a red cone its possible future position. Defender’s orbit lay square in the center of that cone, and another flashing symbol showed the intercept point.

Intercept was only five minutes away. They couldn’t hope to set up and kill it with the laser before it reached them. Barnes ordered, “Andre, countermeasures!” and then told the pilots, “Retract the turret and close the bay doors. Execute orbit-plane-change maneuver; assume this vector, full thrust, fifteen-second burn.”

Scarelli’s nav display showed the track that Barnes wanted him to fly. Ray watched as the radar decoys left the ship, a cluster of simple radar-reflecting corners, based on the intelligence community’s best estimate of the design of the kill vehicle’s sensors. Then the bay doors began closing.

They weren’t armored, but the doors might protect the turret and other equipment in the bay against small fragments from the Tien Lung if it did detonate.

Big fragments were another issue. More than ever, Ray felt grateful for the data link. Without its warning, the Chinese vehicle would likely have killed them all. They weren’t out of danger, but at least they could try and evade.

Scarelli had oriented the spacecraft so that its upper side faced the Tien Lung. They’d argued about it during one of the many strategy sessions and decided they’d rather have fragments in the doors and upper fuselage than in the heat shield. They could live without weapons and sensors, but they couldn’t reenter without the heat shield.

Ray watched the indicators for the turret and the doors. The instant the turret locks showed green, Scarelli fired the main engines.

Ray saw the stars swing again, then felt pressure against his back as Defender’s engines came to life. They quickly increased to full power. The acceleration, a full-thrust maneuver, was stronger than takeoff, and this time mixed with uncertainty.

He watched as the line of Defender’s projected course slowly slid away from the Chinese track. The engines stopped, and Ray saw that they were just outside the Chinese intercept cone.

The arc carrying the Tien Lung did not change for two long minutes. It finally started to shift back toward an intercept on their new course. “Look at that,” Barnes said, pointing to the display. “Their reaction times are very slow.”

He waited for a moment longer, then announced, “They’re not buying the decoys. All right, pilot, execute another orbit-plane-change maneuver; assume this vector, full thrust, thirty-second burn. Stand by for a long burn, people.”

This time Ray was ready for the acceleration — and, better still, welcomed it. The Chinese lag in controlling the Tien Lung would be their undoing.

Barnes’s new course zigged Defender away from the Tien Lung, exactly opposite to the course correction the Chinese vehicle was making. Defender’s engines were far more powerful than the Tien Lung’s thrusters. The Chinese vehicle had been designed to engage satellites, not maneuverable spacecraft.

“Past closest point of approach!” the copilot reported. Skeldon didn’t sound relieved. The Chinese could always command-detonate the warhead if they felt there was a chance of damaging them.

They did, after another twenty extra seconds of distance. There was no sound of an explosion, but two sharp bangs, like rifle shots, sounded over their heads, and part of Ray’s board went from green to red and yellow. One corner of his eye noted that the symbol for the second Tien Lung was now gone from the screen.

Ray reported, “We’re losing pressure in hydrogen tank two.”

“Continue the burn,” Barnes ordered. “Move as much hydrogen out of tank two as you can before it escapes.”

“Doing it,” Ray responded. “It’ll screw up our center of gravity,” he warned.

“Compensating,” responded Scarelli. “What about that other hit?” the pilot asked. “I’m losing thrust in engine number two.”

“I’m trying to sort it out. Give me a minute,” Ray replied.

Part of the electrical system flashed red, but what was the problem? Was it a component, or the wiring? They’d installed redundant lines on all critical systems. It was time to see if it was working. He started isolating components one at a time. His mind focused on the technical problem; he hardly noticed the acceleration.

There it was. “We’ve lost the number-two hydrogen pump,” reported Ray.

But something else aft still had a red alarm indicator.

“That figures. Explains why we lost the number-two main engine,” Scarelli continued.

“We can cope,” Barnes reassured him. “We don’t have another burn until we reenter. We can get by on one engine.”

Ray continued tracing down the aerodynamic control system and found the last piece of damage. “Primary actuators for the starboard ailerons are also off-line. Backup system appears to be functioning nominally.”

“You’ll need to keep a close eye on that during reentry, Ray,” Barnes commanded. “Joe, be on the watch for any sluggishness once we hit the atmosphere.”

The remaining engine was cut off. Ray hadn’t even noticed the sudden weightlessness. His stomach complained a little, but he mastered it.

Barnes asked, “Joe, how long until we’re over Xichang?”

Scarelli checked his plot, then answered, “Twenty-three minutes. That last burn brought our orbit right over them!” He looked at Barnes with a “How’d you do that?” expression.

The major grinned. “I picked the first burn vector directly away from where I wanted us to end up. That way I could make the long burn in the right direction. Crew, set up for surface attack. Here are the targets.”

Ray watched as he designated two points on the map display. Scarelli had to make one small burn to refine the course. Then he and Skeldon spun Defender so her cargo bay faced the globe of Earth below.

After that, they waited. Baker and Tillman checked out their equipment, and the pilots monitored their course. For the first time since they had taken off, Ray had a moment to realize he was in space.

His inner ear was still under control, and they were all strapped in anyway. No floating during General Quarters, he mused. He looked at the monitors, one of which showed the earth “above” them. They were over the Pacific, and he could see the weather patterns, with landmasses half-hidden by clouds. He’d seen enough pictures taken in orbit to know what it would look like, but he hadn’t expected it to look so beautiful. The photos missed too much.

“Five minutes,” Scarelli warned, and Baker and Tillman both acknowledged. Ray and Barnes both watched silently as the specialists worked.

Tillman reported, “Imaging first target,” and changed radar modes. The signal easily found the Xichang space center, a cluster of large buildings. Ray selected the radar display and studied the buildings. They’d seen it all before in satellite photographs, and Tillman quickly picked out the administration buildings, the control center, the powerhouse, and the other structures. The synthetic aperture image was clear enough to show the chain-link fence that surrounded the compound.

Baker designated his targets, and Ray saw three small symbols appear over the control center, and two more on the antennas. The weapons officer reported, “Ready for Spike drop.”

“Drop on the mark,” Barnes ordered calmly.

“Roger, in ten,” the weapons officer replied, and then counted the seconds down. “Stand by! Mark! Dropping now, Spikes away!”

Ray saw his board change but felt nothing.

The Spikes were not as noisy or complex as the laser. Each consisted of a standard two-thousand-pound penetrator bomb and guidance kit in the tail. The only special additions were a small retro rocket mounted on an ablative heat shield that fitted tightly over the nose of the bomb.

Springs ejected five of the projectiles in quick sequence from their rack in Defender’s bay, and Ray watched the stream drift clear of the ship.

As fast as they’d been ejected, their individual motors fired, slowing them and driving them down toward Earth’s atmosphere and reentry. The motor and ablative shield would absorb the heat, while the guidance kit in the tail would receive navigation updates from Defender, keeping the bombs aligned on their targets. Eventually, the fins would also burn up, but by then the bombs would be on a steady course, with so much speed that nothing would deflect them.

The standard BLU-116 penetrator munition, the core of each Spike, could penetrate eleven feet of reinforced concrete when dropped by an aircraft. From space, the bomb reached terminal velocity and would strike with even greater force.

Xichang was still several hundred miles ahead of them, but of course the Spikes needed that time to cover the distance to the ground. That also made it difficult for the Chinese to predict the target.

“Two minutes to next target,” Baker announced.

The call came over a standard phone line, not the command net. General Shen Xuesen took the receiver from the communications chief.

“General, this is Wu Lixin.” Shen knew the man. He was one of Dong’s assistants at the Xichang control center. He sounded absolutely shattered.

“Wu, what’s happened?”

“They bombed us, sir. Dr. Dong is dead, and so is most of the staff. The center’s gone, ripped apart.”

“Bombs?” Shen repeated with disbelief. “Was it an air attack?”

“No, no airplane — nothing was seen. No planes, no missiles.”

The general felt his heart turn to ice. It had to be Defender. So the detonation hadn’t hurt them at all. They were still capable, still a threat.

Shen looked at their predicted orbit. She was moving from east to west, and …

“Out! Everybody outside right now! Head for the shelters!” he bellowed. Turning to the comms chief, he said, “Get the gun crew out as well.” Theoretically, the gun and the control bunkers were hardened, but Xichang’s control center had been hardened as well.

There was no way to tell when, or even if, an attack would happen, but Shen wasn’t risking his people’s lives. The instant he saw everyone in the center moving, he headed for the door himself.

He sprinted outside, heading for one of the slit trenches that had been dug nearby, but he made it no more than a dozen steps before the explosions began.

It wasn’t from behind him but from the mountain, to his right. He turned just a little and saw a series of bright yellow fireballs ripple over the gun’s location. Rocks and debris spouted into the air hundreds of meters high, and he could feel the concussions from over a kilometer away.

At least three deadly flowers blossomed at the base of the gun, right over the breech. Another four or five landed in a neat line on top of the barrel, and another three clustered closely around the muzzle. In the early-morning light, the mountain was outlined for several seconds by the flash from the explosions.

One of the first bombs must have found the liquid-propellant piping, because the entire building suddenly disintegrated in a huge ball of orange flame. Pieces of debris arced high into the air, and Shen suddenly found himself running again, diving headfirst into a trench as pieces of cement, steel, and rock began raining down on him and others nearby.

The deadly rain stopped, and Shen untangled himself from the people who had sought shelter with him in the trench. Reluctantly, he knelt, and then stood, a little unsteadily at first. Knowing and hating what he would see, he nonetheless had to find out what they’d done to his gun.

The breech building was gone, replaced by a hole filled with flaming debris. Most of the installation had been belowground, and the crater had carved a massive gouge out of the mountain’s roots.

The slope of the mountain looked almost untouched, but a line of craters neatly followed the path of the gun barrel, and the mouth was hidden in a mound of loose rock.

Five years of backbreaking work. Ten years of convincing before that, after twenty years of dreaming — all lost. His friend Dong Zhi was dead, and many of China’s brightest were dead with him. How many bodies would they find in the ruins?

Shen realized others were trying to help him out of the trench. Passively, he let them lift him out and steady him on the rough terrain. He turned automatically to head for the center and saw it was in ruins, flames outlining the ruined walls. He hadn’t even heard the explosions.

It was finished. Shen was suddenly very sorry he’d lived.

With most of their fuel used up, they’d made one small burn to line up for reentry after two orbits. Now, with nothing to do but wait, Ray felt his sensation of unreality return. His mind and emotions sought to understand this new experience.

They’d fought and won a battle in space — the first one in the history of mankind. He’d played a role, a major one, in making it happen, but he knew he wasn’t the only one. More important, others would now follow after him. Not all of them would be Americans, maybe not all of them would be friends, but warfare had changed, as it always does.

Along with Ray, Biff Barnes checked the systems displays over and over again, looking for the smallest fault, but the ship was performing well. Reentry was now only half an hour away. Scarelli and Skeldon were handling the preparations perfectly.

For some reason Barnes was having problems trying to determine how he would fill out his personal flight log. Would the Tien Lung count as a kill? Four more to become an “orbital ace”? He suspected there would be more missions after this one.

That one thought led to another, and then another. Barnes started to make a mental list of improvements Defender would need before she flew again.

Jenny Oh fought hard to keep her emotions under control. Her first cheer had been when Defender had destroyed the first Tien Lung. Her heart had leaped to her throat when she saw the symbols for Defender and the kill vehicle merge, and then it soared when Barnes reported they were all safe.

And that had been followed by the destruction of the Dragon Gun at Gongga Shan. They’d watched it all on Defender’s imaging radar, data-linked down to the BMC. The sudden transformation of the neat structural shapes to rubble had been clearly visible, and she’d yelled as loud as any of them. It was the success of everything they’d worked so hard for. Defender had proved herself.

Jenny had looked over at Admiral Schultz, who sat quietly, his head in his hands. He stayed that way, aware but silent, for some time. After the celebration had died down, he left the command center without saying a word, only to return in time to watch the reentry. He slowly walked over to Jenny’s station, checking his watch as he approached.

“Check CNN,” the admiral suggested, smiling. It was just 1030.

Jenny selected the broadcast and saw Markin’s now-familiar face. Behind him was a commercial-satellite image of the destroyed gun. Markin was excited, almost frantic.

“This is CNN reporter Mark Markin with breaking news! Only a short time ago, a confidential source revealed the destruction of the Gongga Shan Dragon Gun by the United States Spaceship Defender. Also destroyed was another Tien Lung orbital-kill vehicle aimed at a GPS satellite. The Chinese attempted to shoot down the American spacecraft, using a second Tien Lung ASAT vehicle, but, according to my source, were unsuccessful after an extended battle.”

“Extended battle?” Jenny wondered aloud.

“Well, it was extended, in orbital terms.” The admiral’s smile widened.

“You’re his ‘confidential source’?” Jenny asked, almost shouting, and then controlling her voice.

“This time, yes. I felt bad about bamboozling him earlier this morning. There’s no more need for secrecy, and I figured the best way for the media to get it straight was to get it straight from me.”

They watched Markin’s piece together for a few more minutes, as he detailed the engagements in space and the damage to the Chinese installations. Finally, he started to repeat himself, and Jenny checked the status board. Defender was now in blackout, and would be until she finished reentry.

The admiral watched her for a moment, then said, “Congratulations, Jenny. You made it happen.”

“Congratulations to all of us, Admiral. We all did it.”

“We all believed we could make it work, Jenny, and busted our butts to prove it to the rest of the world. But you and Chris Brown saved the mission. Chris is a civilian, and he’ll get a commendation for his civil service file. I’m recommending you for a Silver Star. Nobody fired a shot in your direction, but you were in the fight as much as anyone. Your quick thinking saved Defender and won the battle.”

Jenny felt herself flush, and she automatically came to attention. “Thank you, sir!” Then she wavered. “But what about Defender’s crew…”

Schultz waved a hand, cutting off her protests. “Oh, yes, there’ll be medals and parades and all the glory a grateful nation can provide. They’ve earned all of it.”

“Do you think Ray will be able to get a little free time, sir?” she asked quietly.