by Bob Purssell
“Kelly, I’m so ashamed. I try to be a good person, and then something like this happens.”
Of course, what I had done was routine for Kelly, so she was incapable of seeing the harm. Instead, she struck a pose, then offered, “There’s one thing you could do?”
“What?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t suggest it?”
“Tell me.”
“You could ask for a punishment.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, in certain extraordinary situations, officers who have done badly, who know they have done badly, can ask for a punishment.”
“They can?”
“Oh yes, but the punishment must be commensurate with the deed. Otherwise, it would be a mockery of the military justice system.”
I nodded that I comprehended.
“Here’s how it works. You go to the XO and ask for a punishment.”
“What kind of-of punishment?”
“What you’ve done. It’s pretty serious, so the punishment will have to be significant. Fit the crime, if you would.”
Again, I nodded.
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“Yes.”
“It’s only a suggestion, but I would think he might go for, say, a week in the brig … on bread and water, of course.”
I caught on. “You’re-you’re teasing? You’re teasing, right?”
“Who, me?”
“I come to you with a-a serious problem and you think it’s funny. Some friend you are.”
“Serious problem? What serious problem?” she exclaimed. “You got laid, well, almost.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Barbara, let’s consider what happened from an objective standpoint. You’ve given this man, Lieutenant Commander What’s-his-name, a thrill. From a geopolitical perspective, you’ve done your part to cement the special relationship that exists between our two nations. Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Kelly was being honest. From her perspective, an active sex life was a good thing. She could not and did not see what I had done as being remotely problematic. In her view, it was a case of a girl having some fun.
Nevertheless, I was becoming increasingly aware that I did have a problem, and that it was serious. Unlike Kelly, I was not having fun. Quite the opposite, my life was a continuing struggle. For all my efforts to control my impulses, I could not. In one manifestation, Hyde-like[35], my bottled-up sex drive would emerge unchecked. Ignoring the potential consequences, I would then engage in a sex-filled fling with the first minimally attractive adult male who showed any interest. Then, avoiding any further involvement or intimacy, I would flee.
In the other manifestation, I constantly battled to make my world sex-free so nothing would stimulate or uncheck the forces within my subconscious. While recognized as a friendly person, this fear of sex led me to a life with no substantial relationships outside of my father and a handful of friends.
After South Africa, not knowing what to do, I threw myself into my work, utterly committed to the atonement of past sins and the prevention of future occurrences.
* * *
The principal function of the communication center was the transmission of information in a secure fashion, hence the name. The navy had put much thought and effort into the hardware, software, and various protocols needed to make these transmissions as routine and flawless as possible. What they did not want was for some low-ranking officer to screw up the process. Therefore, I worked ever so diligently to make sure that we followed procedure in letter and spirit. It was a world of details and each detail was important.
A secondary function of the communication center was electronic intelligence-gathering for the ship, strike group, navy, and nation. This was where you could move beyond the strict procedural and take initiative.
In my junior year at MIT, I had begun my study of Intuitive Object Oriented Programming. An extension of object-oriented programming, these programming constructions analyze their own performance, and through a variety of means, dubbed intuition, heuristically modify themselves so they become ever more efficient in solving a particular problem. This iterative approach is particularly effective when coupled with powerful computers capable of evaluating a multitude of potential solutions.
Right from the start, during my initial training, I wanted to see what the Intuitive Objects could do in the field of cryptography. As soon as I got aboard the Ronald Reagan, in my free time, without telling anyone, I installed the software needed to create intuitive objects and began seeing what I could do.
Not at first, but over time, I began to make progress against some of the codes commonly used by the ship. By progress, I do not mean I could read the codes, but rather that I had eliminated a huge percentage of the possible solutions. In two cases, I felt I had come close to a solution. So close in fact that I believed the communication center’s powerful computers, if fully committed, could have actually solved the two ciphers in question by brute force.
As you might imagine, I wanted to put my intuitive objects to a real test.
* * *
To avoid spending a zillion dollars, to avoid moving thousands of tons of shipping and numerous aircraft all over the ocean and the skies, the navy conducts virtual exercises. These activities can be small, limited to say a few planes in a squadron, or they can be large affairs involving multiple strike groups. Such exercises, to be realistic, meaningful, and successful, require much planning and a great deal of detailed work. The officers and personnel responsible must define a problem, like a terrorist attack on a cruise ship. Next, they must arrange for the aircraft simulators and the ship’s sensors to receive virtual input. For example, instead of the radar system reporting what actually was occurring around the ship, because it was in simulation mode, it might display a flight of virtual aircraft rushing in for a simulated attack. Finally, during the exercise, referees, who were in reality experienced serving officers, would manage the simulation. For example, did a virtual missile strike its intended target, and if it did, what was the virtual damage?
These simulations required extensive communication center involvement on three levels. First, even though the virtual ship and its planes were engaged in an exercise, the real ship still had to execute its assigned mission. This meant the communication center’s routine operations did not cease but rather continued in parallel with the exercise. Second, the communication center was responsible for transmitting and receiving information about the exercise. For example, when one of the Reagan’s virtual planes took off in a simulator, we had to transmit that information in real time[36] to the site running the exercise. Finally, the communication center was an exercise participant, transmitting messages to friendly forces and, when possible, intercepting enemy message traffic.
As we entered the Indian Ocean, the CO of the communication center informed us that the Reagan and her carrier strike group would participate in a major fleet exercise. We would be the Red Force, which would simulate a soon-to-be operational Chinese carrier strike group. The Blue Force, in reality the Carl Vinson’s strike group, would represent the American contingent. For three weeks, we worked long hours preparing for the exercise.
Before the simulation had even started, I had turned loose my intuitive objects in low-priority, background mode. Replicated thousands of times, using the vast power of our communication center’s massively parallel computers, they crunched away at the coded traffic emanating from the various ships and planes operating in the Indian Ocean. Because I was running everything in background and employing currently unused resources, no one, other than me, was aware that I had done any of this. In essence, I was conducting my own private experiment, investigating what a programming tool could accomplish.
As expected, the intuitive objects’ initial code-breaking activities did not succeed. Realizing the d
ifficulty of what I was trying to do, I took a sanguine view. Realistically, I knew the odds were against me, but I plodded on, implementing changes that I hoped would make the intuitive objects more effective. As the date and time for the simulation approached, with no results to show for my efforts, I was quite disappointed that my intuitive objects had not done better. Resigned to the fact that my revolutionary idea had failed, I focused all my efforts on my role in the simulation and left the intuitive objects to run in background mode, largely unattended.
You can imagine my surprise when, three hours into the daylong exercise, an intuitive object displayed on my terminal a decoded snippet from what turned out to be a routine transmission sent by one of the Vinson’s destroyers. Amazed, elated, I checked on what the other intuitive objects were doing. Piranha-like, thousands of them had reoriented their efforts and were attacking all the message traffic that emanated from the destroyer. Expanding the initial breach, the intuitive objects made evermore progress in cracking the destroyer’s coded message traffic. Within a half hour, I was sitting at my terminal, reading a meaningful portion of what the Blue Force destroyer was transmitting.
Walking past my station, glancing over my shoulder, a specialist in my section asked, “What’s that, ma’am?”
When I responded, “Just something I’ve been fooling around with,” my attempt at a noncommittal reply did not discourage the man.
Instead, he summoned a petty officer who looked at my display and declared, “That’s one of the Vinson’s destroyers.”
Two others joined us and the crowd caught the eye of the Master Chief, who was decidedly “old navy.” In his usual growl, he facetiously suggested, “Perhaps I should send out for coffee and donuts.”
One of the four who were watching the messages flow in, responded, “Master Chief, you should see this. Lieutenant O’Leary has tapped into a Blue Force destroyer’s message traffic.”
After ordering the others to get back to work, the Master Chief, now curious himself, looked over my shoulder and asked, “Lieutenant, have you shown this to anyone?”
“No, I’m doing this for my own edification.”
“Lieutenant, you should tell the boss.”
When I replied, “I’ll show her when I really have something. For now it’s just an interesting experiment,” I thought the Master Chief would let the matter drop, at least for the duration of the exercise.
About ten minutes later, my CO summoned me to her office. There, she quizzed me on what I had done and what intuitive objects can do. As instructed, I displayed the traffic decoded by the intuitive objects. In addition to the destroyer, they were now reading traffic generated by a replenishment ship.
After telling me, “Keep at it, Lieutenant,” my CO departed. A few minutes later, she reappeared and told me, “The XO wants to see you. He wants to know what you’ve done.”
Fearing I had really messed up, expecting at least a stern dressing down, I prepared my explanation. I had not done anything that bad. Okay, I was cracking codes, but only I knew I was doing that.
The XO met me outside the Combat Information Center (CIC). He introduced me to Commander Sorenson, the Red Force’s head referee, and then told me, “Lieutenant, I’ve requested that the commander allow us to use your … breakthrough. He has some questions.”
After I briefly explained how intuitive objects work and how I was employing them, the commander stepped away and made, I suppose, a call to the exercise’s head referee, Admiral Sanzone. Done, Commander Sorenson returned and told my XO, “You may use Lieutenant O’Leary’s intercepts.”
* * *
After racing back to the communication center, I found that the intuitive objects had now cracked the code employed by one of the Vinson’s attack squadrons. Working frantically, I plugged the results of my work into the display generation programs. Now personnel in the CIC could read or see real-time intelligence. What previously were guesses about enemy intentions had, in an instant, become knowledge.
On a video monitor showing a feed from the CIC, I watched what was happening.
For a moment, there was silence as the Reagan’s officers studied their intelligence bonanza. If they wondered how they had come upon such a windfall, they did not show it. Instead, one could sense in their eyes the intensity, the readiness to pounce.
Our admiral spoke. “Air Operations, first priority, defeat the incoming attack.”
On my terminal, I saw what the admiral and his team were seeing, a host of blue blips (images) denoting the Vinson’s attacking aircraft. Clearly, we were about to be hit by an attack. The number of blue aircraft images on the screen multiplied.
The Vinson’s plan was simple: annihilate us with one overwhelming attack.
It was a textbook attack all the way. The Vinson’s lead aircraft began heavy jamming, intent on disrupting our radars and leaving us blind. The screen filled with false images, a seeming infinity of blue blips swarmed about the Reagan.
Someone said, “Use the intercepts,” and the image changed back to the one that had been present prior to the Vinson’s jamming. A voice said, “Scramble all available fighter assets,” and red blips began flying out from the Reagan to join the others already aloft. Unerringly, the red blips vectored toward the attackers. Mesmerized, I waited for the air battle to begin.
Another voice called out, “Max jamming now.”
Tiny red blips streaked away from the red blips closest to the blue blips. Blue blips began to explode and then vanish from the display. Now I understood; their radars jammed, their positions betrayed by the intuitive objects, the Vinson’s aircraft were utterly vulnerable.
Witnessing this virtual slaughter, I could only imagine the shock and consternation in the Vinson’s CIC.
Suddenly, my display went blank. Through my earphones, I heard someone exclaim, “What the fuck?!”
Commander Sorenson made an announcement. “A saboteur has sabotaged the Reagan’s CIC. It will take thirty minutes to make repairs.”
In an instant, the Reagan had lost command and control of the battle. The officers in our strike group attempted to compensate by using the available backup systems. The prevailing orderliness disappeared into something approaching chaos as the Reagan’s people tried to keep their virtual ship afloat upon a virtual sea. In the communication center, we rerouted radar images from other ships in the strike group to the Reagan’s CIC.
However, the efforts of the Reagan team could only partially compensate. The Reagan’s strike group lost three ships and many planes. The Reagan herself, hit three times, had only one of her four catapults operational after the attack.
The war game continued with the Reagan hanging on and the Vinson close but unable to secure victory.
Apparently realizing we were intercepting their message traffic, the Vinson’s communication center employed a variety of security measures, making the task confronting the intuitive objects far more difficult and reducing the number of intercepted messages to a trickle. Relentlessly the intuitive objects continued their attack, slowly cracking the Vinson’s codes.
Realizing his damaged ship was now no match for the Vinson, the Reagan’s captain convinced the admiral of the strike group to gamble on the intuitive objects. Down the chain came his orders, arriving at my station in the form of my CO. “Lieutenant,” she asked, “what do you need to break the Blue Force’s codes?”
I had been thinking about this question so I had a ready answer. “It’s too late to make any changes; all we can do is use brute force.”
“Use all the processors available. Shut down all noncritical operations,” instructed my CO.
Unleashed, a hoard of intuitive objects attacked the Vinson’s message traffic. One of them broke through and decoded a couple of phrases in a transmission from the Vinson to one of the tankers servicing her combat air patrol. Other intuitive objects piled on and they began decipher
ing some, then much, of the message traffic flowing between the Vinson and her fighters.
The battle, which until then had been largely a stalemate, now swung decisively in the Reagan’s favor. Big Dog, the Reagan’s air boss, devised a ruse that allowed Kelly’s F/A-18 to sneak in and knock out a key section of the Vinson’s CAP.[37] Exploiting that success before our adversary could respond, the exercise ended when a Reagan air strike broke through and sank the Vinson.
* * *
The exercise concluded; the debriefing began. Initially, I had to explain to Commander Sorenson and his team the intuitive object concept and its application. They seemed satisfied, and I thought the matter over. However, the next day four officers and two civilian experts from the Department of Defense (DOD) joined Commander Sorenson and together they gave me a grilling.
In the late afternoon, while I was still talking to my debriefers, Rear Admiral Sanzone, the officer in charge of running the entire exercise, entered the space we were using. Everyone sprang to attention.
After exchanging words with Commander Sorenson and the others, Admiral Sanzone now turned to me and said, “So you’re the lieutenant who turned my exercise inside out.”
Beginning to tremble, I smiled, hoping this interview would end.
Commander Sorenson spoke, “Lieutenant O’Leary and the Reagan informed me of their success before employing the intuitive objects against the Vinson’s codes. I gave the Reagan permission to proceed.”
Studying me intently, the admiral said. “So, Commander, you’re telling me that Lieutenant O’Leary has displayed both initiative and judgment?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Commander Sorenson with a friendly smile that seemed to say, “Don’t worry.”
Still looking at me, Admiral Sanzone commented. “Very good. The next time, if I’m a participant in one of these exercises, I’ll have to make sure she’s on my team.”
For the first time, the admiral’s demeanor softened, and the others in the room felt it was permissible to laugh. When the laughter stopped, the admiral offered me his hand. As I shook it, he continued studying me, as if he were trying to figure out something.
