Lash-Up

4 Suggestion

Mark Markin stood in front of a map of China and Vietnam, a familiar image after weeks of confrontation. He read carefully from a data pad.

“Xinhua, the official Chinese news service, today released a statement claiming a victory over ‘an American plan to seize control of Southeast Asia.’”

Markin’s image was replaced by the Chinese Premier, Hua Peng, speaking to a crowd of cheering citizens. Thin, almost scrawny, the elderly leader spoke with energy in Chinese. English subtitles appeared at the bottom of the image as he spoke: “In response to preparations for a massive attack on Chinese territory, the forces of the People’s Liberation Army have hamstrung the imperialist aggressor by destroying his military satellites. Deprived of their advantage and given pause by our new technological superiority, the Americans can no longer freely play the role of bully in Asia. The territorial disagreements between the People’s Republic of China and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam has waxed and waned over the last fifty years, and America did not see fit to become involved. But now, after Vietnam’s blatant escalation, the United States has shown nothing but unbridled aggression against the Chinese people. We could not allow this to continue and took measures to safeguard our people without causing harm to American citizens.”

Markin reappeared, looking concerned, and said, “U.S. defense officials have refused to comment officially, but it has been the working assumption that the Chinese were responsible for the disabled spacecraft. The officials also were unable to say how or when U.S. military forces would react to this news.

“Sources at the State Department were slightly more forthcoming, but only about the reasons for the Chinese announcement. They believe that the Chinese are openly challenging the U.S. in a field that has long been considered exclusively American: their military-technological edge. By denying the United States the ability to wage its preferred way of war, China has, without bloodshed, wrestled the advantage away from Vietnam in the ongoing South China Sea crisis.

“There was no comment from the White House, except that the president and his advisors are considering all options to protect American interests.”

Ray McConnell came back to his office and shut the door quickly. He was shaken, almost physically trembling, after his meeting with Admiral Carson.

Rear Admiral Eugene Carson was not just the head of Engineering and Integration, which was Ray’s group, or even of Systems Center Pacific, but of the entire Space and Naval Warfare Systems Command. It had taken Ray two days to work his way up the chain, first with Rudy White, his own division head, then Dr. Kozak, the chief engineer for Ray’s center, and so on. With increasing force, he’d made his case for Defender.

Rudy White, his first stop, was more than displeased. “I’ve already discussed this Defender business with you, Ray. Why haven’t you put some of that creative energy into your work here?”

“Because China’s shooting down GPS satellites,” Ray had responded. He’d worked with White for years, and in spite of Rudy’s concerns, Ray knew he could press his point. “Defender can stop that. We’ve got the basic design finished, and I need to show it to the navy officially.”

White laughed cynically and shook his head. “So it’s ready to be built, then?”

“Rudy, please. I’m not that big a fool. I can’t build this, but we — the government, I mean — should be building it now. I want to brief this to Admiral Carson, and higher if he’ll let me. I have to convince them that this is how we can protect our GPS constellation.”

“This has no chance of getting picked up by the navy or anyone else. You know that, don’t you?”

“Virtually no chance,” Ray corrected him. “So, there’s no harm in trying.”

“Hmmm. You’ve neglected your team’s duties, in fact disrupted my entire division, and now you want my permission to take this up the chain.”

Ray responded flatly. “Yes. We need Defender.”

“I’m not convinced,” White answered, “and I’m a lot easier than Admiral Carson will be.” Ray’s division chief paused, then announced, “All right. You’re a good engineer, Ray, and you’ve done good work here. I’m hoping Defender is only a passing madness. Your proposal is clearly outside my ability to judge its merits,” he concluded, “at least that’s what I’ll put down as my reason for letting you see Dr. Kozak. What she does with this is up to her.”

“Thanks,” Ray responded gratefully.

“Maybe this will get it out of your system,” White answered. “It better,” he warned. “I need you here, Ray. Jake’s stepped up in your absence, and done a great job. Don’t give me a reason to replace you.”

Dr. Rebecca Kozak had been even less helpful, wondering aloud if Defender was SPAWAR property, since several SPAWAR employees had participated in its design. Ray had been nonplussed, hoping to appeal to her engineering sensibility. Instead, she stopped his presentation on the second slide and began asking questions about Defender as intellectual property. How many people from SPAWAR had been working at his house? How many from other government agencies? Could he guarantee that no work had been done on government time by anyone involved? Ray was unsure whether Kozak was greedy or simply trying to cover her bureaucratic behind.

Seeing she was circling the wagons, Ray decided to play the doctor’s game. Kozak had been shocked when she heard about the several hundred copies of the design now circulating through the defense community, including the Pentagon.

“I’d be delighted to have SPAWAR officially take ownership of Defender.” Ray fought hard to keep a straight face when he saw the look of horror. Kozak hadn’t been able to get him out of her office quickly enough.

Word of Ray’s ascent up SPAWAR’s chain of command became news in its own right, independent of Defender. Some of his coworkers actually came by his office to see “if the stories were true.”

By the end of the first day, he’d managed to get as far as Admiral Griffith, in charge of space systems. The admiral, a submariner, was fascinated by the idea, and was more than willing to approve a meeting with the SPAWAR vice commander, Rear Admiral Gaston, for the next morning.

The vice commander had been the final hurdle. He’d been more than aware of Defender’s popularity. “You realize that you have no credibility as a manned-spacecraft design engineer,” Gaston explained coolly. He’d been polite, but a little condescending.

“I didn’t think I had to be qualified to have a good idea, sir.”

Gaston shook his head. “I disagree. Without the proper credentials, why should anyone waste their time looking at this design of yours? People have ‘ideas’ all the time. There was an article on carbon nanotubes in the last issue of Popular Science magazine, so we’ve been getting suggestions from interested citizens to use nanotubes in our structures, ‘because they’re so light and strong.’” He sounded amused, but irritated at the same time. “As if that was all it took, or we didn’t understand the potential of what may be the greatest engineering revolution of the new century.”

Gaston smiled. “Some of them even want to be paid. And I would happily pay them, if they could solve the manufacturing and design issues required to actually use carbon nanotubes. The genius that can do that will be well paid.”

He gave Ray a hard look. “Are you a genius, Mr. McConnell? You don’t seem to be. The difficulty is always in making an idea a reality, and you just don’t have a clue what that requires. As far as the navy is concerned, you’re no different than anyone off the street. And you’ve submitted it to the wrong agency,” he added.

“I know that this isn’t SPAWAR’s area, sir, but I’m a SPAWAR employee. I didn’t want to go outside my own chain of command.”

Gaston nodded, smiling approvingly. “Quite right. Your actions have been correct, although” — he glanced at his tablet — “your supervisor’s concerned with the timing of your leave during a crucial phase of a key research project. That can’t be simply ignored. Your official work has suffered.”

“This entire effort has been on my own time, sir. I didn’t want to do it on navy time. And anything purchased to support the design process was paid for out of my pocket; not a single penny came from the Treasury.”

Gaston scowled. “We’re on navy time now.” He sat silently for a moment, pretending to consider the issue, while Ray fretted.

To be truthful, Gaston had made up his mind before McConnell ever walked in the room. He’d just wanted to interview the engineer himself before letting him go on to Carson.

Defender was too widely known, at least at the lower levels. It was a miracle the media hadn’t picked it up already. It was the kind of grassroots concept reporters loved. No matter that it was impossible — a ridiculous idea that could never be built. If he said no, then he’d be blamed as one of the people who prevented it from happening. Better to let McConnell hang himself. Gaston didn’t have to support it, just pass it on.

“All right, I’ll forward it. But ‘without endorsement.’”

Ray had begun to hope.

The meeting with Rear Admiral Carson had begun poorly. The admiral had granted him fifteen minutes between other appointments and appeared distracted. Ray had started his pitch, but Carson had cut him off after only a few words, chopping with one hand as if to cut off the stream.

“I’m familiar with the design, Mr. McConnell,” Carson had said with irritation. “I’ve received three copies in the past two days, besides this one. I’m also familiar with the problem. I’ve spent most of the last week in Washington answering questions about our own vulnerability and what SPAWAR could do to counter it.

“I’ve also been fully briefed about the Chinese antisatellite threat,” he said finally. “The current estimate is that the Chinese can’t possibly have many more of the kill vehicles.”

He walked over to where Ray sat, almost leaning over him. “I’ve also looked over your personnel file. I was looking for your academic credentials. They’re bad enough: no doctorate, a master’s in electrical engineering, and an undergraduate degree in physics. What made you think we’d take a manned spacecraft designed by you seriously?”

“I’m not the only designer, sir. This was a collaborative effort, and some of the people on the design team have doctorate degrees in aerospace engineering and experience in the field.”

“However true that may be, Mr. McConnell, you’re the one vouching for the viability of this design. Correct?”

Ray nodded silently.

Carson picked up his data tablet and checked something on the screen. “And then I found this: After your master’s degree, you applied for the astronaut program. Correct?”

Ray nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“And you were turned down. Then you joined the air force. You served six years as a junior officer and, during that time, applied three more times to become an astronaut. Also correct?” His tone was more than hostile.

“Yes, sir. Each time I missed by just a few percentage points. I hoped…”

“You hoped to get into space with this half-baked fantasy!” shouted Carson, pointing to Defender. “Did you plan on scoring the theme music for your little adventure, too?”

“Admiral, I’ve always been interested in the space program, but that doesn’t have anything to do with this. I just want to get this idea to where it will do the most good.”

Carson had sat, glowering, listening while Ray protested.

“Your idea is worthless, Mr. McConnell.” He tapped the tablet again. “Instead of helping SPAWAR deal with a real crisis, you’ve created this fantasy. At best, it’s a distraction at a very difficult time. At worst, it’s a personal attempt at empire building, and a very crude one at that. What’s worse is that you’ve managed to involve others in your scheme, magnifying the disruption.

“Although you’ve broken no rules that I’m aware of, I am directing the inspector general’s office to review your activities and your work logs to see if any of your fantasizing has been done on government time. If that is the case, docking your pay will be the weakest punishment you will suffer. Now get back to work and hope I never hear about Defender again!”

Sitting in his office that afternoon, Ray struggled with his feelings. He’d created Defender because he’d seen the need for it. Why didn’t the chain of command see that need as well? Was he wrong? Maybe he really didn’t know enough to do it by himself. But he’d had lots of help in designing Defender. And he’d gotten lots of mail back, some critical, but more supportive, much of it even offering to help.

Was it time to sit down and shut up? He liked his job and the people he worked with. Did he really want to lose everything over Defender?

With his morale bordering on despair, Ray looked at his overflowing in-box. Mechanically, he reached for the first large folder at the top of the pile, but before he could grab it, his phone rang. Ray didn’t recognize the number on the display, not that it mattered. This was his work number.

“GPS Team, McConnell speaking,” he answered.

“Ray, it’s Jenny. How did your meeting with SPAWAR go?”

Ray quickly pulled the handset away and looked at it with utter amazement. How the hell did she know he’d just finished his meeting with Carson? He’d only learned the time of his appointment after getting into work that morning.

“Ray, are you there?” squeaked a tiny voice.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replied suspiciously. “And would you mind telling me how you knew my meeting ended just a few minutes ago?”

“I have my sources, Mr. McConnell,” teased Jenny.

“Uh-huh, anyone I know?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss it. Besides, why should I give away a perfectly good advantage in our relationship? So, how did the meeting with Admiral Carson go?”

“In a word, terrible.”

“Oh, that bad?” Jenny’s tone had changed to concern.

“Let’s just say that Custer had more success than I did.”

“Ouch! What did he say?”

Ray had a strong urge to vent his frustration, but then recalled Admiral Carson’s threat about working on anything Defender-related during working hours. “Ah … Jenny, look, this really isn’t a good time to talk right now.”

“Understood. When and where?”

“Tonight, eighteen hundred. The Blue Cantina.”

“I’ll be there.”

Ray had eaten here before and thought the restaurant was one of the better ones in town, even if the management went way overboard with the “blue” theme. The dark blue plates set off the colorful entrées well, but the blue walls, floor, and even furniture were a little overpowering.

The food was excellent, and they’d spent most of the first hour on small talk and joking about what else the management could paint or dye blue. Officially, this was their third date, but the first two were over pizza or Chinese carryout at Ray’s house working on Defender’s design. Ray still smiled thinking about it.

“I’m so sorry, Ray.” Jenny sounded as disappointed as Ray felt. “But to be honest, it’s a typical bureaucratic response from a risk-averse flag officer.” It was supposed to be a “night off” for the Defender design group, but she’d changed her plans so she could meet him for dinner. Her mere presence made him feel better.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “A purely bureaucratic reaction. He shredded it, put a match to it, and stomped on the ashes.” Ray tried to smile, but it wasn’t in him. His attempt at humor was too close to the truth. “I knew it was a long shot, but I didn’t expect the command to be hostile. Indifferent, yes, or even negative, but I’d hoped for some understanding. Admiral Carson would have thrown me in the brig if he could justify it.”

She laughed, in spite of his grim expression. “You’re joking.” He liked her laugh.

Ray shook his head. “That’s no joke, unfortunately. He’s siccing the IG on me, to see if I’ve wasted any navy time on this quote ‘half-baked fantasy’ unquote.”

“That’s not good.” She paused, then asked, “So, you’ve gone all the way up your chain of command with no success?”

“I’d call that an understatement,” he replied.

“Well, then it’s time to try another chain,” she said forcefully. “Let me make some calls.”

“What?” Ray was horrified. “Jenny! I’m poison now. If the IG finds out you’re actively helping me, they’ll want to talk to you. Please, just ditch anything you have with my name on it.”

Ray saw the surprised expression on her face and quickly corrected himself. “No! I don’t mean like that.” He took her hand. “Finding you may be the only good thing to come out of this mess, but I don’t want you to get in trouble because of my foolishness.”

“It’s my choice, Ray. I believe in you and Defender.”

“But if you get in trouble, I’ll feel terrible…”

“Since when are you responsible for me?” she asked sharply. There was an indignant undertone in her voice that he hadn’t heard before. “If I help, it’s because I think Defender is worthwhile, not because I’m some love-struck female.”

Ray grinned. “Darn. I was hoping for ‘love-struck.’”

“Don’t change the subject,” she snapped angrily. “You’re not responsible for my actions,” she repeated.

“It’s just that it was my idea, so of course if you get involved…”

“If I get involved? Who’s been over at your house five out of the last six nights? Who helped design the command and control suite?” The undertone was growing in strength.

Ray tried a different approach. “Jenny, right now your name is one of many on a list on page two. Making phone calls will show up on the IG’s radar…”

“Are you so afraid the IG will find something? Is there anything for him to find?”

“No, not a thing!” he protested.

“Then maybe you don’t think Defender is worth a few risks?” The infuriated undertone was now her only tone.

In spite of it, Ray pressed on. “By me, not by anyone else, and especially not by you!”

“I don’t need your protection,” she responded sharply. “So Defender is your personal property, then. You want all the credit.”

“I don’t want any of the credit. I just want it to be built!”

“None of the credit, but all of the risk? Then you’re a martyr.”

“No, wait…”

She held up a hand, stopping his protest. “Doing anything important means taking risks, and in the case of Defender, more than most.” She sharpened her tone, aiming the words straight at Ray. “Are you really committed to making it happen? You’ll do whatever it takes?”

“Yes, of course,” he answered immediately.

“Then accept the risk and move forward. You know, I’m going to make those calls whether you want me to or not. You don’t own Defender anymore, and I don’t need your permission.”

“Yes, Jenny. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Her tone softened. “I know some people on the NAVAIR staff. Admiral Schultz is a pilot and an ‘operator,’ not some bureaucrat. I’ve worked for him in the past, and I think he’ll give you a chance.”

Ray didn’t know what to say except, “Thanks, Jenny. I just hope this doesn’t backfire.”

General Michael Warner was an unusual chief of staff. He flew bombers, not fighters. In an air force that gave fighter pilots most of the stars, it was a sign of his ability not only as an officer but as a politician. Looking more like a banker than a bomber pilot, he had an almost legendary memory, which he used for details: of budgets, people, and events.

Pilots lived and died because of details. They won and lost battles because of them. And the general kept looking for some small detail that his deputy, General Clifton Ames, had missed. The three-star general had put the target analysis together personally.

Ames had nothing but bad news. An overhead image of the Gongga Shan launch site filled the wall screen. “I’ve confirmed there’s no way the navy can stretch the range of their Tomahawk missiles. But even if they could, there’s no way a Tomahawk warhead can penetrate that much rock. Not to mention, the warhead is pretty small and will have a limited damage potential. Of course, our conventional air-launched cruise missiles aren’t any better. And even if we could adapt a ballistic missile with a conventional warhead, they aren’t accurate enough for this type of target.”

His tablet PC linked to the screen, Ames indicated various features of the site as he talked. “The Chinese built this installation expecting it to be attacked by cruise missiles. There are two air bases with multiple J-15 fighter squadrons within two hundred miles, supporting multiple combat-air-patrol stations, and the Chinese have recently started orbiting airborne early-warning aircraft. The facility is also heavily defended by long- and short-range SAMs and triple-A. They’ve mounted modern air-search radars on elevated towers to give them additional warning time of an attack. They’ve even constructed tall open-framework barriers across the approach routes a cruise missile might use.” He pointed to the large girder structures, easily visible in the photograph.

“The gun and all vital facilities are hardened, and then there’s the matter of the barrel itself. Given its three-meter bore, intelligence says the barrel thickness is at least a foot. Damaging that will require a very precise strike — the very capability we’re now losing.

“To get an eighty-percent chance of success would take twelve B-2s, each carrying two GBU-57 Massive Ordnance Penetrators.” Ames knew he was talking to a bomber pilot and watched for Warner’s reaction. The chief just nodded glumly, and Ames continued.

“And the worst part is that unless we damage major portions of the gun, the Chinese could have it back in operation again within a few months, possibly a few weeks. We’re certain the barrel is constructed in sections, like the Iraqi gun design. If a section is damaged, you remove it and replace it with a spare section. We’ve even identified in the imagery where they probably keep the spares.”

Even as he said it, Ames knew that a bomber strike wasn’t a viable option. Stealth bombers aren’t invisible to radar, but the detection range is reduced to the point where the aircraft can easily avoid them, flying through the gaps in the coverage. But in this situation, there was no way for a stealth bomber to fly around all the defenses. The radars, fighters, SAMs, and guns were all huddled too damn close to each other.

“What about losses?” Warner asked.

“Using the standard engagement models for this kind of dense, overlapping defense,” Ames replied, “there’s a good chance we’ll lose forty to fifty percent of the bombers. And part of the flight path is over very unfriendly Chinese territory.” The implications for search and rescue were not good.

“All right, Cliff. Send this on to the chairman’s office with my respects. And my apologies,” Warner muttered.

“Sir, I’ve been looking at the Defender concept,” Ames offered. “One of my friends in STRATCOM passed it to me with an analysis by a former colleague of his in the Rapid Capabilities Office. I think we should consider it.”

Warner had heard about Defender, of course, but hadn’t had time to do more than dismiss it as a distraction. “Are we really that desperate?” the chief asked.

“I am not going to go into the Joint Chiefs of Staff and propose that we adopt some crackpot design that came off SIPRNET!” Admiral John Kramer was so agitated that he was pacing, quickly marching back and forth as he protested.

Admiral William Schultz, Commander, Naval Air Systems Command, sat quietly in his chair. He’d expected this reaction and waited for Kramer to settle down. Schultz was calm, sure of himself and his mission.

“I’ve spent some time checking out this design, John, and the lead engineer. Both are okay. There are some technical questions that need to be addressed, but nothing McConnell’s team has proposed is science fiction. The man certainly isn’t a ‘crackpot.’ Sure, he had a lot of help. And it is most assuredly an unofficial submission” — Schultz leaned forward for emphasis — “but it’s a reasonable first shot.”

He sat back, straightening his spine. “It’s also the only decent idea I’ve heard in almost two weeks.”

Kramer and Schultz were both pilots and had served together several times in their navy careers, but where Kramer was tall, and almost recruiting-poster handsome, Schultz was only of middle height, and stockier. And his looks would never get him any movie deals. His thinning sandy hair was mussed whenever he put his navy cover on, while he was sure Kramer kept his hair in place with mousse. Kramer was a good pilot, but he’d also done well in staff jobs, a “people person.” Or so he thought.

Used to the convoluted, time-consuming system-acquisition methods of the Pentagon, the CNO continued to object. “Even if we did propose it, and even if it were accepted, where would we get the funding?”

“Somewhere, John, just like we’ve always done before. The money’s out there; we just have to decide what’s the most important thing to spend it on.”

Schultz continued, mentally assigning himself three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys. “Look, I’ve heard the air force is buying into Defender in a big way. They think it can work, and as far as they’re concerned, if it’s got wings, it belongs to them.”

Kramer looked grim. The air force was shameless when they talked about “aerospace power.” He nodded agreement.

“Let them get their hands on any armed spacecraft, and the next thing you know, we’ll lose SPAWAR. Remember the time they tried to convince Congress that we should scrap our carriers and buy bombers with our money?” Kramer frowned, listening carefully.

Schultz pressed his point. “Do we have any viable alternative for stopping the Chinese, sir?”

Kramer shook his head. “The launch site is out of Tomahawk range, and they wouldn’t do any good even if they could get there. The president has already said that he won’t authorize the use of a ballistic missile, even with a conventional warhead — too much ambiguity. And even if we could use them, you’d need lots of missiles. The way that site is hardened, I’m not certain a nuke would do it.”

“Air Force B-2s could reach it,” Schultz said quietly. “But they can’t be sure they’d get any out alive. The defenses are incredibly thick, and the Chinese are expecting us to use cruise missiles or bombers. This is a better option, John, even though it looks a little crazy.”

“Then that’s what we’ll try to sell,” Kramer decided reluctantly.