by Larry Bond
Edwards Air Force Base
412th Test Wing Headquarters Building
October 9, 2017
Weber, Romans, and Dawson were escorted to the wing’s main conference room by a pair of air force security guards. Already seated at the table were Schultz, Ray, and the two air force generals. No one else was in the room. As the trio approached the table, Schultz rose from his chair.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I’m pleased to see you made it.” Schultz offered his hand to Weber, who accepted it hesitantly, his face still hard from the morning’s unpleasant news.
“That was dirty pool, Admiral, turning off Baseboard’s funding like that.” Weber’s voice was measured, but Ray heard the underlying anger. No doubt about it, the man was severely pissed off.
“Was it, Mr. Weber?” replied Schultz just as forcefully. “You made it clear during yesterday’s VTC that Mr. Dawson could not be made available due to contractual responsibilities your company had with DoD. I simply had Lockheed Martin relieved, temporarily, of those responsibilities. I told you, Defender is currently the Department of Defense’s number one priority. I trust that I’ve provided ample proof of that claim.”
Resigned, Weber nodded curtly and then introduced Dawson to Ray and the others. After taking their seats, coffee was served and the meeting began in earnest. Schultz wasted little time and went straight to the heart of the matter.
“Mr. Dawson, I’m assuming you’ve read the Defender concept paper that was e-mailed to your company?”
“I read it just a few hours ago, Admiral, but you can’t be serious. This is the same thing that was circulating on the SIPRNET. I thought it was just another cover story.”
Schultz said calmly, “It’s not a cover story, and, yes, we’re serious. Dead serious.”
Dawson’s face went blank with confusion. Schultz didn’t give him any time to respond.
“Mr. Ray McConnell here is the technical director for the project, and for the U.S. Space Force. He led the team that did the initial Defender design.”
Dawson looked at Ray, but he was still reacting to Schultz’s words. “There’s a U.S. Space Force?”
Schultz smiled proudly. “As of yesterday morning there is, and you and VentureStar are going to be a big part of it. Did you start the preparations to move her?”
Dawson nodded, replying mechanically. “Yes, we’ve started. I understand you’re in a hurry. My engineers are inspecting the landing gear, tires, and brakes as we speak. The rest of the preps will be done by the time the carrier plane arrives. Figure two days to make her safe and preflight the carrier and a day to mate the two…”
Ray abruptly interrupted, cutting Dawson off. “What’s this about a carrier aircraft? Where are you expecting to move VentureStar to?”
Puzzled, Dawson froze. Romans jumped in and answered. “We assumed we’d be moving the vehicle to the Space Shuttle Refurbishment Facility over at Plant 42. It’s the best location to finish assembly and conduct the initial tests.”
“And how long will it take to get her into the refurbishment building?” asked Ray.
“About a week. We’ll need to rebuild the mating-demating gantry, and it will take a couple of days to get one of the shuttle-capable 747s out here.”
Ray shook his head vigorously. “Too long. We need to begin work sooner. We’ll tow her to Building 151, the old ABL hangar. It has most of the equipment you’ll need. The rest can be trucked over from Plant 42.”
“What if we need to manufacture components? Or make adjustments to existing ones? We won’t have that type of production capability in a hangar,” pleaded Dawson.
“Any component that requires precision machining can be done at Plant 42 and shipped here. It’ll be faster.”
“I just don’t see how this is even possible.” Dawson was almost groaning.
“Mr. Dawson, the design is sound. We’re going to improvise and find new approaches.” Ray pushed. “The Joint Chiefs, even the president, have signed off on this. I know it can work.”
Dawson sat, impassive. He still wasn’t convinced.
Damn it, Ray realized he knew nothing about this man. What did he care about? There had to be one thing.
He tried again. “The Chinese are shooting down our GPS satellites, Mr. Dawson. VentureStar can stop that. She’s the only platform with the space and payload to carry all the equipment we need. In sixty-eight days, we’ll have her flying and doing things nobody ever imagined her doing when she was designed, and you’ll be the one making the changes. She’ll still be your baby.”
Dawson responded angrily. “But the time, sixty-eight days! We can’t possibly do it!”
“We can if we decide we can, Hugh.” Ray was getting motivated himself. “No paperwork, no bureaucracy, no congressional briefings. Just results.”
“Some of that paperwork is necessary,” Dawson reminded him. “They laid out the P-51 Mustang on the floor of a barn, but that doesn’t work anymore.”
“We’ll keep some, of course, but how much of that paper is needed to do the actual work? The vast majority is to meet government reporting requirements on how you’re doing, how you’re spending the money, and that you are properly dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on all the forms. A lot of it takes the place of good supervision. I’m not here to document a failure.”
Ray sensed he was getting through and he pressed his point. “The rules will be different here. We’re going back to the Kelly Johnson basics. We’re going to keep this group small. And I’m the government, as far as Defender goes. You won’t have to write a memo to me because I’ll be there on the floor with you.”
Dawson sat, considering for a moment. “Marilyn’s going to think I’ve taken up with another woman,” he observed, smiling. “What about security?” Dawson asked. “Our PR people will want to know…”
Ray smiled. One down.
Edwards Air Force Base
Building 151
October 10, 2017
By late afternoon, enough people had arrived and been settled in so that they could start preparations to receive the vehicle. Or rather, to prepare to prepare.
The hangar at Building 151 was big enough but required modifications to finish assembling the VentureStar prototype. The launchpad at Area 1-54 had to be inspected and brought back to life. A new computer hub, independent from the Internet, needed to be installed, and the building hadn’t been wired for all the classified networks. They still had to decide where to put launch control. Housing on Edwards was insufficient for the number of semipermanent residents that were arriving and needed to be expanded. The galley had to be built from scratch. And what about recreation?
Ray’s “to do” list made him wish for a tablet with a bigger screen. He had one idea and ran it past Schultz. “I love it,’’ the admiral said. “I’ll have one of my staff get right on it.”
* * *
At Ray’s suggestion, the evening meal was held outside. Even in the fall, the weather was excellent, warm and dry, and the people at the Edwards AFB Oasis Community Center fixed an impromptu barbecue.
It was an important occasion. Almost everyone was a stranger to each other, and a lot of ice needed to be broken. Doubts about the feasibility of the mission, combined with being thrown together on very short notice, had ramped up the stress level throughout the last two days. Ray realized he needed to get these people together, make them one team, with one mission. Schultz wholeheartedly agreed.
Ray waited just long enough for everyone to be served. It was nothing special, just burgers, fries, mixed salad greens, and soft drinks. Ray himself was too nervous to eat. He’d tried to eat something, at Schultz’s urging, but the first two bites started circling each other in his stomach, like angry roosters squaring off.
The time had finally come, though, and Ray had climbed up on an improvised stage. The portable amplifier gave its customary squeal as he adjusted the volume, and suddenly everyone’s eyes were on him.
“Welcome to the United St
ates Space Force HQ.” He paused for a moment and heard a few snickers, mostly from the civilians. He smiled broadly, so he could be seen in the back. “I like the sound of it. The good news is you are all founding members of America’s newest and most modern military service.”
He made the smile go away. “The bad news is, we’re at war. The Chinese are taking out our satellites, denying us the use of space, for both military and civilian use. Defender is going to regain control of space for us, for our use.
“You all understand the danger we face. They aren’t on our shores, or bombing our cities, but they are overhead. And we all know about the value of holding the high ground.
“I’m expecting each of you, once you’re settled, to take your job and run with it. More than that, though, if you see something that needs doing, don’t wait for someone else to notice.
“There are going to be a lot more people coming in over the next few weeks. By the time the last of them arrives, you’ll be the old hands, and I want you to tell them what I’m telling you now.
“You’ll soon wish we were twice as big. It’s not for lack of resources. We’ve got a blank check from the president himself for anything or anyone we need. You’re here because you’re some of the best. I could have asked for more, but I didn’t. A small organization can think faster and move faster.
“Some of you may think that this is an impossible task, or that even if it’s possible, we don’t have enough time to do it. It’s just a matter of adjusting your thinking. The question to ask is not ‘Can this be done in time?’ but ‘What needs to be done to finish in time?’”
Ray got down quickly, to a gratifying applause. Schultz nodded approvingly, and Ray noticed someone standing next to him, still holding an overnight bag. Jenny’s faced beamed with excitement.
Staybridge Suites
Palmdale, CA
October 10, 2017
The outside line rang, and Geoffrey picked up the phone. “Good Morning, Staybridge Suites concierge desk. Geoffrey Lewes speaking.”
“Mr. Lewes? This is Captain Munson, United States Navy. I’m sorry to call you at work, but we couldn’t reach you before you left your home.”
“The navy?” Lewes was a little confused. He’d served in the navy ten years earlier, as a storekeeper. That was before he’d gotten his hotel-management degree, before he started working in the accommodations and food-services industry.
“I’ll be brief, Mr. Lewes. I need someone to take care of a large group of people. They’re very busy and have little time for the basic amenities. You will manage a staff that will see to their needs while they work on other matters.”
“Captain Munson, I’m not sure I understand. I’m quite happy…”
Munson interrupted and named a salary figure over twice what Lewes made as a junior concierge. He wasn’t sure a senior concierge made that much.
“The position is a temporary one, at least six months, but there is a very good chance it will become permanent. You’ll work hard for that money, and you’ll have to live on site.”
“And where is that site, exactly?” Lewes asked. The mystery of it was as intriguing as the generous salary.
“Not too far,” answered Munson carefully. “Your quarters will be quite comfortable. What’s your decision?”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” replied Munson. “I apologize for the hard sales pitch, but we’re a little pressed for time.”
“The money’s good,” Lewes admitted. “But you don’t know enough about me.”
“We know quite a bit about you, Mr. Lewes. Please, if you don’t want the job, I have other calls to make.”
Lewes looked at the next thing on his list—tickets to the Palmdale Playhouse for a couple from Kansas. Whoopee.
10
Circus
Edwards Air Force Base
October 12, 2017
The air force C-141 transport left Joint Base Andrews at 0800. Biff had spent most of the evening before at the office with Major Pierce, then hurried home to pack. He’d managed to grab a few hours’ sleep before heading to the air terminal. While he’d gotten some sleep during the five-hour trip, the metal-framed canvas seats were not designed for comfort. His mood had only worsened as the flight progressed.
They’d gained three hours flying west, so it was still bright morning sunshine that almost blinded him as the rear ramp opened. Waiting his turn while the passengers in front of him found their bags, he finally retrieved his deployment bag and backpack from the pallet and walked down the ramp.
Sunglasses provided partial protection, and he remained near the rear of the aircraft, in the shade. As the knot of passengers dispersed, he spotted a Marine corporal with a sign saying CAPTAIN BARNES. It also listed several other names, and Biff recognized others he’d seen on the flight from Washington.
There were five of them altogether, and Corporal Sims, according to the name tag on his uniform, led them over to an air force blue minivan. The other four passengers were two civilians, a navy petty officer, and an army second lieutenant, so, as the ranking officer, Barnes got the best seat—in front, next to the driver.
Sims asked a question as they got in and buckled up. “Is there anyone here who is not going to Building 151?” When nobody spoke up, he started the engine and began what had to be a well-practiced spiel.
“Welcome to Edwards Air Force Base. I’ll be taking you to Building 151 on the South Base complex. After we get to the headquarters building, I’ll take you to security for a fifteen-minute orientation brief by someone from Colonel Evans’s security staff. Packets are waiting for you there with your housing and work assignments. We’re having typical weather today, with temperatures in the low eighties and lows tomorrow morning in the midfifties. There’s no chance of rain.”
I can believe that, Biff thought. The flat landscape was dotted with short scrubby plants, almost as brown as the bare dirt they grew on. How they found enough moisture to live was a mystery. Blacktop roads crossed the surface, connecting the scattered buildings.
Edward’s desert terrain, especially Rogers Dry Lake, made it perfect for the air force’s needs. Biff had visited Edwards before, when he was still in the astronaut program, and passed through a few times while serving with the 301st out of Holloman.
“… and there are regular shuttles, like this one, to the local exchange, as well as housing.”
After Sims had ended his speech, Biff asked him, “How many trips have you made today, Corporal?”
“This is my third, sir. Lots of folks coming in. Most of them arrive here, some at Palmdale’s airport, even some at LAX, and that’s a two-hour drive to get up here. I was driving most of the day yesterday, and I expect I’ll be doing that today, and likely tomorrow as well.”
“I didn’t know there were Marines here,” Barnes commented.
“There aren’t normally, sir. I’m from Camp Pendleton, down near San Clemente. Two days ago, my company got the word to send everybody fit to work up here, and we’ve been busting our humps ever since.”
The van pulled up to a sandbagged strongpoint manned by army military police. “Everyone has to get off here,” Sims announced. While the MPs checked everyone’s ID cards and orders, their luggage was spot-checked and the minivan searched. Two men searched the underside with mirrors, while a canine unit sniffed its way around. Once the security check was completed, the occupants got back on board and headed down a short taxiway.
Barnes spotted several crews at work in the area. One was erecting a chain-link fence, another was laying some kind of cable, and he could see a trailer being added to a row of similar trailers just a hundred yards to the northwest of a huge building. Another trailer was waiting its turn on the tarmac.
Once inside the gate, the bus dropped them off in the shadow of the towering, weathered hangar. Biff was used to structures that could house two or three fighters, but this monster could easily hold a jumbo jet. A multistory office building was attached
to one side.
A freshly painted sign reading SECURITY ENTRANCE contrasted with the faded black building number, 151. A pair of army MPs checked their IDs carefully, and a civilian with a clipboard checked their names off an access list as they went inside. There was an open area for them to leave their bags, and they were directed down a hall toward a classroom.
A young Asian woman in navy khakis was waiting just outside the classroom and approached him. “Captain Barnes? I’m Lieutenant Commander Jennifer Oh, C3 team lead for Project Defender. You don’t need to attend the briefing. I’m here to take you to Mr. McConnell; he’s waiting for you.” She handed him an envelope and a loop with a photo-ID badge attached.
“Your military ID will let you go anywhere on Edwards,” she explained. “This badge is for our areas only and is not to be displayed outside of the compound.” It was simply labeled VENTURESTAR, along with his name and photo.
“The orientation just tells new personnel about the Defender project and reviews the classification requirements. You don’t need to waste time with that; you’re already fully briefed. The envelope has information about your housing, and Mr. McConnell will tell you about what you’ll be doing.”
She started to lead Biff down a hall, but a civilian stopped her, explaining, “He still needs to sign the security form.” He handed Biff a clipboard. LCDR Oh seemed impatient to leave, but Biff took his time, carefully reading the form, then filling it out and signing it. It was a standard form. He’d seen and signed many of them before, but Barnes was careful about reading anything he signed.
At least that was his excuse. Actually, hearing McConnell’s name had crystallized his bad mood into something less than anger, but more than irritation. It gave him some small satisfaction to make her and McConnell wait, even as he realized how petty that was. He handed the clipboard back, then said, “All right, let’s get this over with.”
