Carried by a modified Boeing 747, the Airborne Laser could engage ballistic or cruise missiles, or even aircraft, at long range. Just what range was one of the problems Barnes was trying to solve. The prototype aircraft, which had been flying for several years, was still in test, proving not just the laser but the basic concept of engaging aircraft with a beam of light. How much did weather affect it? What if some country developed a cheap antilaser paint?
McConnell had taken the laser out of the 747 and mounted it in the cargo bay of the spacecraft. Barnes flipped to the section labeled “Laser Weapon,” and started to read. Whoever this McConnell was, thought Barnes, he didn’t write science fiction. He hadn’t made any obvious mistakes, but he didn’t have detailed information, which of course was classified. There certainly wasn’t any weather in space. The laser would be much more effective in a vacuum.
But what about targeting? He started working through the document, answering questions and become increasingly impressed with McConnell’s idea.
He knew about spacecraft, not only because of his degree but because he’d actually been selected for the Astronaut Corps after his first squadron tour. He’d flown one mission, but then left the program. He hated the constant training, the public relations. And what he really hated was the lack of flight time.
Barnes’s stomach growled, and he looked up from the screen to see it was seven-forty-five. He’d missed the rush hour, anyway. Biff said, “Print file,” and pages started to fill the hopper. He wanted to show this to his buddies.
Barnes pulled himself up short. His friends would be interested, but they didn’t have security clearances, and the cover message had explicitly asked that it not be shown to anyone who wasn’t cleared. Respect for the design made him want to respect the author’s wishes, and treat it seriously.
The Vietnam Crisis, another Desert Storm/Balkans exercise in U.S. diplomacy, had suddenly transformed itself into a much wider challenge. McConnell proposed this Defender as an answer—maybe the only answer, since he hadn’t heard of any others.
He looked at the proposal. Did he buy into it? He did, Biff realized. McConnell had gotten the laser right. He knew what he was doing.
Biff sat back down at the keyboard. He had some friends in high places.
U.S. Navy Space Warfare Command, San Diego, California September 27
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 Communications, which was Ray’s division, 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. Krauss, the technical director, and Admiral Gaston. With increasing force, he’d made his case for Defender. His unsolicited, unrequired, unwanted proposal had been shown dozens of times.
Rudy White had been concerned with the lost time from Ray’s assigned projects. “Why haven’t you put some of that creative energy into the new communications system?” he’d demanded.
“Because someone’s shooting down GPS satellites right now,” Ray had responded. He’d worked with White for years, and knew he could press his point. “I thought of this, but I can’t build it, and it needs to be built, and soon.”
White had agreed to let McConnell see the technical director, with the strict understanding that the Defender proposal was Ray’s own idea. White was relaxed enough about his career to take the risk.
Dr. Krauss had been even less helpful, wondering aloud if Defender was SPAWAR property, since a SPAWAR employee had created it. Ray had been nonplussed, unsure whether Krauss was greedy or simply trying to cover his bureaucratic ass.
He’d decided to play the doctor’s game. Krauss had been shocked when he heard about the several hundred copies of the proposal already circulating through the defense community.
“I’d be delighted to have official SPAWAR endorsement of Defender. I’m sure that would be all the help she needed.” Ray fought hard to keep a straight face when he saw the look of horror. Krauss hadn’t been able to get him out of his office quickly enough.
The vice commander had been the final hurdle, Ray thought. He’d been more than aware of Defender’s popularity. “You realize that you have no credibility as a 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 credentials, why should anyone waste their time looking at this design? As far as the Navy is concerned, you’re no different that anyone off the street, bringing it some design it didn’t ask for. And to the wrong agency,” he added.
“I know that this isn’t SPAWAR’s area, sir, but I’m SPAWAR’s employee. I didn’t want to go outside our own chain of command.”
Gaston nodded, smiling approvingly. “Quite right. Your actions have been correct, although”—he glanced at his data pad—“your supervisor’s concerned with the amount of leave you’ve taken lately.”
“All of this work had been on my own time, sir. I didn’t want to do it on Navy time.”
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 popular, the kind of grassroots concept reporters loved. No matter that it would never be built. If he said no, then he’d be blamed as one of the people who kept 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 ‘without endorsement.’”
Ray had begun to hope.
The meeting with 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 Chinese antisatellite threat,” he said finally. “The current estimation is that the Chinese can’t possibly have many more of the kill vehicles.”
He walked over to where McConnell 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 spacecraft designed by you seriously?”
Carson picked up a data pad and checked something on the display. “And then I found this: After your master’s degree, you applied for the astronaut program. Correct?”
Ray nodded. “Yes.”
“And were turned down. And 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 space, 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, glo
wering, listening while Ray protested.
“Your idea is worthless, Mr. McConnell. At best, it’s a distraction at a very difficult time. At worst, it’s a personal attempt at empire building, but a very crude one.
“Although you’ve broken no rules 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, Ray struggled with his feelings. He’d created Defender because he’d seen the need for it. Why didn’t the chain see that need as well? Was he wrong? Maybe he didn’t know enough to do it. But he’d had lots of help in designing Defender. And he’d gotten lots of mail back, some critical, but more supportive, some even offering help.
Was it time to sit down and shut up? He liked his job and the people he worked with. He didn’t want to lose it over Defender.
He hadn’t expected the command to be hostile. Indifferent, yes, but once he’d shown them the logic of the design, he’d hoped for some support.
He picked up the phone then, remembering, put it down, and pulled out his personal cell phone. No personal calls on a Navy line. He looked up a number and punched it in.
“Jennifer Oh.”
“Hi, Jenny. It’s Ray McConnell.” He tried to sound cheerful, but even he could tell it didn’t work.
“Ray, you don’t sound too good. What’s wrong? Problems with Defender?”
“Only if I want to keep my job.” He sighed. “Let’s just say that the Space and Naval Warfare Systems Command won’t be giving me its endorsement. Admiral Carson almost had me thrown in the brig.”
She laughed, half at his joke and also to cheer him up. “You’re joking.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
“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?” McConnell was horrified. “Jenny! I’m poison. Please, just ditch anything you have with my name on it. Defender’s all over the Web. We’ll just have to hope someone picks it up and uses it.”
“No, Ray. We’re not going to just sit. Defender’s a good idea, and I’m going to do everything I can for it.” She paused again, and her tone softened, almost calming. “Let me call some of my friends on the NAVAIR staff. Admiral Schultz is a pilot and an ‘operator,’ not some bureaucrat. I’ve met him, and I think he’ll give you a chance.”
Ray didn’t know what to say except, “Thanks, Jenny. I hope this doesn’t backfire on you.”
“Anything worthwhile is worth a risk, Ray. I’ll call you this evening and tell you what I find out.”
Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, The Pentagon, September 28
“I am not going to go into the Joint Chiefs of Staff and propose that we adopt some crackpot design that came off the Internet!” Admiral John Kramer was so agitated he was pacing, quickly marching back and forth as he protested.
Admiral William Schultz, Commander in Chief, Naval Aviation, sat quietly in his chair. He’d expected this reaction, and waited for Kramer to calm down a little. Schultz was calm, sure of himself and his mission.
“I’ve checked out this design, John, and the engineer. Both are OK. There are some technical questions, but nothing he’s done here is science fiction. The man who designed it, Ray McConnell, had a lot of help. It may be unofficial”—Schultz leaned forward for emphasis—“but it’s good work.”
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 cap on, while he was sure Kramer kept his in place with mousse. Kramer was a good pilot, but he’d also been the staff type, the “people person.” Or so he thought.
Used to the convoluted, timeconsuming methods of the Pentagon, the CNO continued to object. “Even if we did propose it, and even if it was accepted, where would we get the money?”
“Somewhere, John, just like we’ve done before. The money’s 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.
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 the President has already said that he won’t authorize the use of a ballistic missile, even with a conventional warhead. And 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 out alive. The defenses are incredibly thick, and they’re expecting us to use bombers. And it would take several aircraft to destroy the gun. We might have to commit as many as ten and expect to lose half.”
“This is better, John. Look, McConnell’s flying in here tomorrow. You can meet him yourself. I’ve listened to him, and I’m convinced.”
“Then that’s what we’ll try to sell,” Kramer decided.
Three
Indecision
Office of the Chief of Staff of the Air Force September 30
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. They’ve got smaller warheads than our air-launched cruise missiles anyway. And even if we could adapt a ballistic missile with a conventional warhead, they aren’t accurate enough for this target.”
His data pad 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. It has heavy SAM and AAA defenses. They’ve mounted radar 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 barrel and all vital facilities are hardened, and there’s the matter of the gun itself. Given its three-meter bore, intelligence says the barrel thickne
ss is at least a foot. Damaging that will require precision at a distance—precisely the capability we’re now lacking.”
“To get an eighty percent chance of success would take twelve B-2s, each carrying eight weapons.” 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 the Chinese would have the gun 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. 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.
“We estimate follow-up strikes would be needed every two weeks—indefinitely.”
Even as he said it, Ames knew that wasn’t an option. Airpower provided shock and speed, but it had to be followed up by something besides more air strikes.
“What about losses?” Warner asked.
“Using the standard loss rates,” Ames replied, “there’s a good chance we’ll lose several bombers in the first few raids. And part of the flight path is over 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 Defender,” Ames offered. “One of my friends in the ABL Program Office passed it to me with his analysis. 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 that desperate?” the chief asked.
Gongga Shan Mountain, Xichuan Province, China September 30
General Shen Xuesen stood nervously in the launch center. It was hard to maintain the unruffled demeanor his troops needed to see. He needed all of his experience to look calm and relaxed.
Visitors at such a time would make anyone nervous, and worse, distract the launch team. A television crew was unthinkable, but there they were. It was a State-run crew, of course, and they were being carefully supervised, but they brought lights and confusion and, worst of all, exposure.
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