NOFORN—“No Foreign Nationals,” a security subclassification that directs that no foreign nationals can view the material
O-5—in the U.S Air Force, a lieutenant-colonel OER—Officer Effectiveness Report, an officer’s annual report on his job performance and his or her commander’s remarks on his suitability for promotion
Orion—a U.S. Navy antisubmarine warfare aircraft
OSR—Officer Selection Report, the file members of a promotion board receive to evaluate and score a candidate for promotion
PCS—Permanent Change of Station, a long-term job change
Peel Cone—a nickname for a type of Soviet airborne radar
PME—Professional Military Education, a series of military schools that teach theory and practice to help develop knowledge and skills in preparation for higher levels of command
PRF—Pulse Repetition Frequency, the speed at which a radar is swept across a target: a higher PRF is used for more precise tracking and aiming; when detected, it is usually a warning of an impending missile launch
SATCOM—Satellite Communications, a way aircraft can communicate with headquarters or other aircraft quickly over very long distances by sending messages to orbiting satellites
Scorpions (fictional)—the AIM-120, a radar-guided medium-range U.S. Air Force antiaircraft missile
SP—Security Police
Strait of Hormuz—the narrow, shallow, winding waterway connecting the Persian Gulf with the Gulf of Oman, considered a strategic chokepoint for oil flowing out of the Gulf nations
Stratotanker—the U.S. Air Force’s KC-135 aerial-refueling tanker aircraft
USAFE—U.S. Air Forces in Europe, the major Air Force command that governs all air operations in Europe
warning order—a document notifying a combat unit to prepare for possible combat operations
DALE BROWN is a former U.S. Air Force captain and the superstar author of eleven consecutive New York Times best-selling militaryaction-aviation adventure novels, including Flight of the Old Dog, Silver Tower, Day of the Cheetah, Hammerheads, Sky Masters, Night of the Hawk, Chains of Command, Storming Heaven, Shadows of Steel, Fatal Terrain, and The Tin Man. He graduated from Penn State University with a degree in Western European history and received his Air Force commission in 1978, serving as a navigator-bombardier on the B-52G Stratofortress heavy bomber and the FB-111A supersonic medium bomber. During his military career he received several awards, including the Air Force Commendation Medal with oak leaf cluster and the Combat Crew Award. He is a member of the Writers’ Guild and a Life Member of the Air Force Association and the U.S. Naval Institute. A multiengine and instrument-rated private pilot, he can be found in the skies all across the United States, piloting his own plane. He also enjoys tennis, skiing, scuba diving, and hockey. He lives with his wife, Diane, and son, Hunter, near the shores of Lake Tahoe, Nevada.
LASH-UP
BY LARRY BOND
One
Unexpected Losses
San Diego, California September 16, 2010
Ray McConnell was watching the front door for new arrivals, but he would have noticed her anyway. Long straight black hair, in her late twenties, casually dressed but making jeans and a knit top look very good. He didn’t know her, and was putting a question together when he saw Jim Naguchi follow her in. Oh, that’s how she knew.
Ray stood up, still keeping one eye on the screens, and greeted the couple. The woman was staring at the wall behind Ray, and he caught the tail end of her comment. “ … why you’re never at home when I call.”
Jim Naguchi answered her, “Third time this week,” then took Ray’s offered hand. “Hi, Ray, this is Jennifer Oh. We met at that communications conference two weeks ago—the one in San Francisco.”
As Ray took Jennifer’s hand, she said, “Just Jenny, please,” smiling warmly.
“Jenny’s in the Navy, Ray. She’s a computer specialist …”
“Which means almost anything these days,” McConnell completed.
“Later we’ll try to trick you into telling us what you really do.”
Jenny looked a little uncomfortable, even as she continued to stare. Changing his tone a little, Ray announced, “Welcome to the McConnell Media Center, the largest concentration of guy stuff in captivity.”
“I believe it,” she answered. “Those are Sony Image Walls, aren’t they? I’ve got a twenty-four-incher at home.”
McConnell half turned to face the Wall. “These are the same, still just an inch thick. But larger,” he said modestly.
“And four of them?” she said.
Every new guest had to stop and stare. The living room of Ray’s ranch house was filled with electronic equipment, but the focus of the room was the four four-by-eight flatscreen video panels. He’d removed the frames and placed them edge to edge, covering one entire wall of his living room with an eight-foot-by-sixteen-foot video screen—“the Wall.”
Just then it was alive with flickering color images. Ray pointed to different areas on the huge surface. “We’ve set up the center with a map of the China-Vietnam border. We’ve got subwindows,” Ray said, pointing them out, “for five of the major TV networks. That larger text subwindow has the orders of battle for the Vietnamese and Chinese and U.S. forces in the region.”
He pointed to a horseshoe-shaped couch in the center of the room, filled with people. “The controls are at that end of the couch, and I’ve got two dedicated processors controlling the displays.”
“So is this how the media keeps track of an international crisis?” Jennifer asked.
“Maybe.” Ray shrugged, and looked at Jim Naguchi, who also shrugged. “I dunno. We’re engineers, not reporters.”
“With a strong interest in foreign affairs,” she responded.
“True,” he added, “like everyone else here.” He swept his arm wide to include the other guests. Half a dozen other people watched the screens, talked, or argued.
“There’s people from the military, like you, and professionals from a lot of fields. We get together at times like this to share information and viewpoints.”
“And watch the game,” she added. Her tone was friendly, but a little critical as well.
“That window’s got the pool on the kickoff times,” Ray answered, smiling and indicating another area filled with text and numbers. “Most of the money is on local dawn, in”—he glanced at his watch—“an hour or so.”
“And I brought munchies,” Naguchi added, holding up a grocery bag.
“On the counter, Jim, like always,” Ray responded. One side of the living room was a waist-high counter, covered with a litter of drinks and snacks.
“It’s my way of feeling like I have some control over my life, Jenny. If we know what’s going on, we don’t feel so helpless.” He shrugged at his inadequate explanation. “Knowledge is Power. Come on, I’ll introduce you around. This is a great place to network.”
Raising his voice just a little, he announced, “People, this is Jenny Oh. Navy. She’s here with Jim.” Everyone waved or nodded to her, but most kept their attention on the Wall.
McConnell pointed to a fortyish man in a suit. “That’s Jim Garber. He’s with McDonnell Douglas. The guy next to him is Marty Duvall, a C coder at a software house. Bob Reeves is a Marine.” Ray smiled. “He’s also the founding member of the ‘Why isn’t it Taiwan?’ Foundation.”
“I’m still looking for new members,” the Marine answered. Lean, and tall even sitting down, with close-cropped black hair, he explained, “I keep thinking this is some sort of elaborate deception, and while we’re looking at China’s southern border, she’s going to suddenly zig east, leap across the straits, and grab Taiwan.”
“But there’s no sign of any naval activity west of Hong Kong,” Jenny countered, pointing to the map. “The action’s all been inland, close to the border. I’m not in intelligence,” she warned, “but everything I’ve heard say it’s all pointed at Vietnam …”
“Over ten divisions and a hundred aircraft,
” Garber added. “That’s INN’s count this morning, using their own imaging satellites.”
“But why Vietnam at all?” countered Reeves. “They’re certainly not a military threat.”
“But they are an economic one,” replied Jenny. “They’re another country that’s trading communism for capitalism, and succeeding. The increased U.S. financial investment makes Beijing even more nervous.”
Ray McConnell smiled, pleased as any host. The new arrival was fitting in nicely, and she certainly improved the scenery. He walked behind to the counter into the kitchen and started neatening up, trashing empty bags of chips and soda bottles. Naguchi was still laying his snacks on the counter.
“She’s a real find, Jim,” McConnell offered. “Not the same one as last week, though?”
“Well, things didn’t work out.” Naguchi admitted. “Laura wanted me to have more space. Like Mars.” He grinned.
“Where’s she stationed?”
“All she’ll tell me is NAVAIR,” Naguchi replied. “She knows the technology, and she’s interested in defense and the military.”
“Well, of course, she’s in the business,” McConnell replied. “She’s certainly involved in the discussion.” Ray pointed to Jenny, now using the controls to expand part of the map.
“That’s how we met,” Naguchi explained. “The Vietnam crisis was starting to heat up, and everyone at the conference was talking about it between sessions, of course. She was always in the thick of it, and somewhere in there I mentioned your sessions here.”
“So this is your first date?” Ray grinned.
“I hope so,” Naguchi answered hopefully. “I’m trying to use color and motion to attract the female.”
“Ray! You’ve got a call.” A tall African-American man was waving to Ray. McConnell hurried into the living room, picked up the handset from its cradle, and hit the VIEW button. Part of the Wall suddenly became an image of an older man, overweight and balding, in front of a mass of books. Glasses perched on his nose, seemingly defying gravity. “Good … evening, Ray.”
“Dave Douglas. Good to see you, sir. You’re up early in the morning.” The United Kingdom was eight hours ahead of California. It was five in the morning in Portsmouth.
“Up very late, you mean. I see you’ve one of your gatherings. I thought you’d like to know we’ve lost the signals for two of your GPS satellites.”
Naguchi, who’d moved next to Jennifer, explained. “Mr. Douglas is head of the Space Observer Group. They’re hobbyists, mostly in Britain, who track satellites visually and electronically. Think high-tech birdwatchers.”
“I’ve heard of them,” she answered, nodding, “and of Douglas. Your friend knows him?” She sounded impressed.
Naguchi replied, “Ray’s got contacts all over.”
Jennifer nodded again, trying to pick up the conversation at the same time.
“ … verified Horace’s report about an hour ago. It was number seventeen, a relatively new bird, but anything mechanical can fail. I normally wouldn’t think it worth more than a note, but then Horace called back and said another one’s gone down as well, and quite soon after the first one.”
“Why was Horace looking at the GPS satellite signals?” McConnell asked.
“Horace collects electronic signals. He’s writing a piece on the GPS signal structure for the next issue of our magazine.”
Ray looked uncertain, even a little worried. “Two failures is a little unusual, isn’t it?” It was a rhetorical question.
Douglas sniffed. “GPS satellites don’t fail, Raymond. You’ve only had two go down since the system was established twenty-five years ago. By the way, both satellites are due over southern China in less than an hour.”
Ray could only manage a “What?” but Douglas seemed to understand his query. “I’m sending you a file with the orbital data for the constellation in it. I’ve marked numbers seventeen and twenty-two. They’re the one’s who’ve failed.” He paused for a moment, typing. “There … you have it now.”
“Thank you, Dave. I’ll get back to you if we can add anything to what you’ve found.” Ray broke the connection, then grabbed his data tablet.
While McConnell worked with the system, speculation filled the conversation. “ … so we turned off two of the birds ourselves. Deny them to the Chinese,” Reeves suggested.
“If so, why only two?” countered Jenny.
“And the most accurate signal’s encrypted anyway,” added Garber.
“The Chinese can only use civilian GPS.”
“Which still gives them an asset they wouldn’t otherwise have,” reminded Reeves.
“Unless the Chinese have broken the encryption,” countered Duvall.
“But we need GPS even more,” said Garber. “It’s not just navigation, it’s weapons guidance and command and control.”
Jennifer added, “All of our aircraft mission planning uses GPS now. If we had to go back, it would be a lot harder to run a coordinated attack. We could never get the split-second timing we can now.”
“Here’s the orbital data,” McConnell announced.
The smaller windows on the Wall all vanished, leaving the map showing southern China and Vietnam. A small bundle of curved lines appeared in the center, then expanded out to fill the map, covering the area with orbital tracks. As Ray moved the cursor on his data pad, the cursor moved on the map. When it rested on a track, a tag appeared, naming the satellite and providing orbital and other data. Two of the tracks were red, not white, and were marked with small boxes with a time in them.
“Where are the satellites right now?” someone asked.
Ray tapped the tablet and small diamonds appeared on all the tracks, showing their current positions.
“Can you move them to where they’d be at local dawn for Hanoi?” suggested Garber.
“And what’s the horizon for those satellites at Mengzi?” Jennifer prompted, pointing to a town just north of the Chinese-Vietnamese border. “That’s one of the places the Chinese are supposed to be massing.”
“Stand by,” answered Ray. “That’s not built in. I’ll have to do the math and draw it.” He worked quickly, and in absolute silence. After about two minutes, an oval drawn in red appeared on the map, centered on the location. Everyone counted, but Ray spoke first. “I count three.”
“ … and you need four for a fix,” finished Naguchi.
National Military Command Center, The Pentagon September 17
“ … and without the GPS, General Hyde had to issue a recall.” The assistant J-3 looked uncomfortable, as only a colonel can look when giving bad news to a room full of four-star generals.
The meeting had originally been scheduled to review results of the first day’s strikes in Operation CERTAIN FORCE. A total of eightythree targets in China had been programmed to be hit by 150 combat aircraft and almost two hundred cruise missiles. It hadn’t happened.
“The gap in coverage was only twenty minutes,” Admiral Kramer complained. “Are we so inflexible that we couldn’t delay the operation until we had full coverage?”
“It would have meant issuing orders to hundreds of units through two levels of command,” answered General Michael Warner. Chief of Staff of the Air Force, it was one of his men, General Tim Hyde, who was Joint Task Force Commander for CERTAIN FORCE. Warner, a slim, handsome man whose hair was still jet-black at sixty, looked more than a little defensive.
“Sounds like ‘set-piece-itis’ to me,” muttered the Army Chief of Staff.
The Chairman, also an Army general, shot his subordinate a “this isn’t helping” look and turned back to Warner. The Air Force, through the Fiftieth Space Operations Wing, operated the GPS satellites.
“Mike, have your people found out anything else since this morning?”
“Only that both birds were functioning within norms. Number seventeen was the older bird. They’d recently fired up the third of her four clocks, but she was in good shape. Number twenty-two was still on her first atom
ic clock. All attempts to restart them, or even communicate with them, have failed. Imaging from our telescopes shows that they’re still there, but they’re in a slow tumble, which they shouldn’t be doing …”
“And the chance of both of them suffering catastrophic failure is nil,” concluded the Chairman.
“Yes sir. The final straw is that we started warm-up procedures on the two reserve birds twenty-eight and twenty-nine. Or rather, we tried to warm them up. They don’t answer either.”
General Sam Kastner, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, was a thinker, more a listener than a speaker, but he knew he had to take firm charge of the meeting. He sighed, knowing the answer before he started, “What about Intelligence?”
The J-2, or Joint Intelligence officer, was a boyish-looking rear admiral. His normal staff was two or three assistants, but this time he had a small mob of officers and civilians behind him. The admiral moved to the podium.
“Sir, the short answer is that we don’t know who did this or how. If we knew who, we could start to guess how they did it. Similarly, knowing how would immediately narrow the list of suspects.
“We know that the DSP infrared satellites detected no launches, and we believe that they also would have detected a laser powerful enough to knock out a GPS bird—although that’s not a certainty,” he added quickly, nodding to an Army officer with a stern expression on his face.
“The Chinese are the most likely actors, of course, but others can’t be ruled out. CIA believes the attack was made by agents on the ground or in cyberspace, but we’ve detected no signs of this at any of the monitoring stations. The Navy believes they’ve adapted their space-launch vehicles for the purpose. Although it’s a logical proposition, we’ve seen no sign of the launch, or the considerable effort it would require. And we track their space program quite closely.”
The frustration in his voice underlined every word. “It’s possible that the Russians or someone else is doing it to assist the Chinese, but there aren’t that many candidates, and we’ve simply seen no sign of activity by any nation, friendly or hostile.” He almost threw up his hands.
“Thank you, Admiral,” replied Kastner. “Set up a Joint Intelligence Task Force immediately. Until we can at least find out what’s being done, we can do nothing, and that includes reliably carry out military operations. Spread your net wide.”
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