by Dale Brown
“If you’re not on the board, I don’t think they’d allow it, Patrick,” Ann replied. “And my head would be on a platter in a New York minute if I leaked it. Sorry.” She paused, smiled at him, and added, “Kind of tough just being a regular civilian again? Can’t just snap your fingers and get classified data anymore-it’s gotta be frustrating.”
“Sure, sometimes,” Patrick said. “I believe in the Space Defense Force and the advancement of military space, just like I believed in the manned bomber years ago, and I’d hate to have politics get in the way of what I believe will be the weapon system of choice in the near future.”
“Good speech, General McLanahan,” Ann said with a chuckle. “Let me know when you plan to deliver it-I want to be there.”
THE BERING SEA, 300 MILES NORTHEAST OF KLYUCHI, KAMCHATKA PENINSULA, EASTERN RUSSIAN FEDERATION
THE NEXT MORNING
The Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force’s Atago-class destroyer Ashigara was in the first month of a three-month-long routine patrol of the Sea of Okhotsk and western Bering Sea. The destroyer was an improved Japanese version of the American Navy’s DDG-51 Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, with Japanese-made defensive weaponry as well as American-made weapons, the AN/SPY-1D Aegis radar system, and fore and aft vertical-launch-system cells with surface-to-air and ASROC rocket-propelled torpedoes; the big difference was its full helicopter hangar along with its landing pad. It was one of the world’s most powerful warships and was well suited for the usually harsh winter weather conditions of the Bering Sea.
The Japanese navy, along with the United States and other Pacific countries, made regular patrols in the area not only to show that they were not shy about operating so close to Russian shores, but to plot and observe all the military activity and listen in to the variety of electronic signals being broadcast in the area. The Russian Pacific Fleet had a major submarine and naval aviation base at Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, about three hundred miles south, with Delta-III nuclear ballistic-missile submarines and Akula attack submarines, Tupolev-142 naval attack bombers, and Mikoyan-Gureyvich-31 long-range interceptors based there. In fact, the Ashigara had made a weeklong port call to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky naval base and had been warmly welcomed by the Russians. But the Ashigara’s objective on this part of the cruise was three hundred miles north of Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky: the Klyuchi Test Range, an isolated part of the northern Kamchatka Peninsula, heavily instrumented and used to record the accuracy of reentry warheads carried aloft by intercontinental ballistic missiles launched from western Russia.
A lot of activity had been observed in and around the Klyuchi Test Range in recent weeks. The United States made regular ship and air patrols of the test range, and the long-range COBRA DANE radar at Eareckson Air Station on Shemya Island also kept watch, but since the Ashigara was already in the area, it was diverted to cruise the area and observe.
Instead of reentry vehicles, the crew of the Ashigara were observing numerous fighter sorties in the Klyuchi Test Range. Yelizovo Airfield at Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky had a regiment of MiG-31 “Foxhound” supersonic fighters, designed to intercept lowflying bombers and cruise missiles hundreds of miles from shore at over twice the speed of sound. The MiGs were not dogfighters, but instead used large, powerful radars to launch advanced radar-guided air-to-air missiles…except the MiGs in the Klyuchi Test Range weren’t practicing attacking bombers, but were simply cruising out to the range, climbing steeply, then heading back to Yelizovo.
The Ashigara soon found out what the MiGs were up to. As the captain and combat officers of the Japanese destroyer watched in fascination, one MiG-31 accelerated to over two and a half times the speed of sound, then made a steep climb. The fighter roared to over sixty-five thousand feet at just over the speed of sound, then released a single missile slung under its belly centerline stores station.
The missile was a 50N8 Graza, or “Storm,” long-range surface-to-air missile, modified as an air-launched antisatellite weapon. The Russian antisatellite missile climbed quickly on its first-stage motor for about fifteen seconds, climbing to over 200,000 feet, then coasted for a short period as it dropped its first-stage motor section. The second stage ignited moments later, and the missile quickly climbed to five hundred miles’ altitude before the second stage separated.
Because it did not have enough speed to enter Earth’s orbit, the third stage began to descend. At four hundred miles’ altitude, the third stage separated, leaving the kill vehicle to continue the descent. Using short blasts of hydrazine, it adjusted its course using inertial, GPS, and datalink course guidance; then, as it closed in on its target, it used its own radar for precise terminal guidance. It scored a direct hit on a deactivated Yantar-4K2 target reconnaissance satellite just minutes later.
MEMORIAL CHAPEL, STANFORD UNIVERSITY, PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA
LATER THAT AFTERNOON
“I’d like to conclude with these words,” Vice President Ken Phoenix said. “It was found written on a slip of paper in a trench in Tunisia during the battle of El Agheila during World War Two, but it is just as appropriate here today as we honor the memory and the extraordinary life of First Lieutenant Jeffrey McCallum, U.S. Space Defense Force. It read: ‘Stay with me, God. The night is dark, the night is cold: my little spark of courage dies. The night is long; be with me, God, and make me strong.’ Rest in peace, Lieutenant. Job well done.”
After the service concluded, the vice president followed along with the pastor and family members as the pallbearers wheeled the casket to the front of the chapel, and then the Air Force honor guard carried the casket to the waiting hearse. The family had requested that the burial at Holy Cross Cemetery in Menlo Park be for family only, so the vice president waited at the bottom of the steps as the hearse and cars for the family departed. He greeted hundreds of students, faculty, and other mourners who had attended the service, then was escorted to his armored Cadillac limousine.
Already in the car were Patrick McLanahan in the left forward-facing seat and Ann Page, Kai Raydon, and Hunter Noble in the aft-facing seats. “Thank you for attending the service, Mr. Vice President,” Patrick said once they were all seated and the motorcade headed toward Phoenix ’s hotel in San Jose. “I know the family appreciates your visit very much.”
“Thank you, Patrick,” Phoenix said. He patted Patrick on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again after Iraq. I had some doubts we’d get out of there alive.”
“Same here, sir.” Patrick had been a private contractor working in Iraq when the Turkish army invaded northern Iraq, and he and the vice president, who was there as part of a cease-fire-negotiating team, were trapped near Mosul as the fighting intensified.
“I’d like to get my hands on whoever leaked the details of the accident and McCallum’s actions to the press,” Ann Page said bitterly. “McCallum was an American astronaut, but the press has been calling him incompetent and cowardly, even before the poor guy was buried.”
“Unfortunately, a lot of the radio transmissions from space were unsecure and easily intercepted,” Kai Raydon said, “so anyone with a big enough dish could have picked them up.”
“The only other people who knew were either in the Pentagon or the White House,” Phoenix said, “and if it was from either of those places, I’ll find out, and then I’ll let you have first crack at them, Secretary Page.” Ann nodded, and her expression left little doubt that she was looking forward to that moment. “General Raydon, what’s the latest on the Kingfisher explosion?”
“Nothing definite yet, sir,” Kai said. “We did find a closed arming circuit, so we’re going over the entire arming system to find out why that circuit was closed. The boards that McCallum replaced initially reported in the green when the garage was powered up, but then the circuits closed and the thing blew.”
“You’ve got to find out what happened, General, as quickly as possible, if you want your program to survive,” Phoenix said. “The president already wants the ground-attack weapons removed fro
m the garages, and he’s thinking about a unilateral moratorium on antisatellite weapons ahead of a global initiative to ban antisatellite weapons completely.”
“Ban all antisatellite weapons? Even defensive ones?”
“Unless we figure out a foolproof way to distinguish defensive from offensive weapons, yes,” Phoenix replied. “We’ve got China, Russia, and other countries like Pakistan complaining about weapons in space, and both China and Russia racing each other to test out a new antisatellite weapon. The Russians fired off an air-launched antisatellite missile earlier today, timed so that it could be observed by a Japanese Aegis warship.”
“The Kamareeniy, or ‘Mosquito,’ sir,” Boomer said. He shuffled uncomfortably under his heavily bandaged right shoulder, but went on: “We first saw it about three years ago; it’s based on our ASM-135 ASAT from twenty-five years ago. The Russians didn’t make a big deal out of it until recently, like the Chinese and their Dong Feng-21s. Fairly mature technology, a lot cheaper than directed-energy antisatellite weapons like lasers or microwaves, and easier to move and conceal. It was supposedly one of General Andrei Darzov’s favorite programs when he was the Russian air force’s chief of staff-the guy is a space superfreak.”
“And now he’s the Russian military chief of staff,” Patrick said. “Truznyev is a powerful president, but Darzov may hold even more sway, especially in the military-soldiers never got along well with spies. I would guess that Darzov would never allow Truznyev to sign a treaty banning space weapons of any kind. Not exactly an opportune time to start talking about eliminating antisatellite weapons.” He looked at the vice president. “Rumor has it that you are going to head up the Space Policy Review panel, sir.”
“Keeping your ear on the rail once again, I see,” Phoenix said. “You always did have your own little spy network running, and I see it hasn’t retired.” He hesitated for a moment, considering whether or not to share the results of a confidential meeting in the White House with outsiders; then decided: “Yes, I was lobbying to head up an industry leaders’ commission on space technology, but it was morphed into redrafting space policy with the direct intent to prove to the rest of the world that the United States doesn’t see space as a sovereign national defense domain, and that we will cooperate with other nations for free access to space.”
“Seems to me we should keep the systems we have in place until we have a treaty ratified.”
“The president is afraid of losing all cooperation with China,” Phoenix explained. “He wants to use diplomacy to get back in their good graces and stop an arms race in space. The rest of the National Security Council is with him.”
Except Phoenix, Patrick noted silently.
The vice president looked out the window, obviously wrestling with a tough dilemma. “I think there’s a connection between the president leaking the formation of the National Space Policy review panel and the invasion of Somalia,” he said finally. “ China feels this is their opportunity, and they’re taking advantage. But there aren’t enough pieces here yet to show the picture.” He looked at each of the others in the limousine with him. “Space is suddenly becoming a very big deal, lady and gentlemen. I hope the president sees it before we lose our edge. I need to know what happened to that weapon garage, Patrick.”
“Unfortunately, the rumor is that Secretary Banderas is going to choose someone else to head the accident investigation board,” Ann Page said.
“Yeah, I heard, too,” Phoenix said. “General Walter Wollensky, former commander of U.S. Space Command.”
“It was not Secretary Banderas’s choice,” Ann said. “Wollensky is a good guy, but he was retired after the American Holocaust because of depression-the guy lost eight thousand airmen from his command in the attacks. He got his security clearance back and was working as a consultant for some aerospace firms. He was never a fan of Armstrong Space Station or the whole U.S. Space Defense Force concept.”
“So you think he’s going to help the president kill the Kingfishers?” Phoenix asked.
Ann shrugged. “I don’t know, sir, but I wish we had a better advocate for the program on that board.”
“You’re going to have to find the answer yourselves,” Phoenix said. “Cooperate with Wollensky, but challenge his conclusions with hard evidence.”
The limousine approached the hotel at which the vice president was staying; a small crowd of onlookers and party officials were waiting for him. “More campaign stops, sir?” Patrick asked.
“Yes.” Phoenix looked weary and a little downcast. “After attending a memorial service, it’s hard sometimes to gear yourself up to do campaigning, be cheerful and upbeat, and say good things about the future.”
“Especially when it’s not necessarily your future, sir?” Patrick asked in a low voice.
Phoenix half turned toward him, but his face was absolutely expressionless. He said tonelessly, “A car will take you back to San Jose. Thank you for meeting with me on the ride over, everyone,” and then shook hands with each of them.
“Good luck, Mr. Vice President,” Patrick said.
“I’ll be in touch, Patrick. Good to see you again.” The motorcade stopped, and at that, as if someone had thrown an invisible power switch, the vice president’s shoulders straightened, a beaming smile emerged, his chin lifted, his eyes twinkled, and suddenly he was in full-blown campaign mode. He was already greeting party officials, dignitaries, and reporters, most of them by name, before he had stepped outside the opened door.
Patrick, Ann, Boomer, and Kai had to listen to several minutes of cheering, questions shouted at the vice president by the reporters arrayed outside, and his campaign-ready answers delivered enthusiastically and sincerely, but soon the motorcade was on the move again. The vice president’s car separated from the others in the detail and went to an area behind the hotel where several unmarked cars, police vehicles, and even an ambulance were prepositioned in case of any threats against the vice president. They transferred to a standard limousine, which drove off toward San Jose International Airport.
They dropped Ann Page off first at her airline ticket counter, then headed around the field to the general aviation area to drop off Patrick. “Did you get the files I sent, General?” Kai asked after Ann had left the car.
“Yes, and Dave Luger and I have been going over them,” Patrick said. “But it’s all on the Kingfisher satellite. I’d like to see a dump of all your sensor data for at least two hours preceding the explosion.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons: I know you guys will be closely examining the Kingfisher, and I don’t really understand it that well anyway; and…well, other than that, I don’t know, except I have a hunch,” Patrick explained. “I don’t believe in coincidences. We’ve got antisatellite weapons flying everywhere; we’ve got China firing missiles, sending troops all over the place, and invading other countries; and in the middle of all that, a very reliable piece of hardware blows up for no apparent reason right after repairs are done.”
“You think China had something to do with Kingfisher-Eight?”
“We won’t know until we see what your sensors saw. Remember anything that happened around that time?”
“We were pretty busy-everything seemed to happen all at once,” Kai admitted, his brow furrowing as he tried hard to remember clearly. “The convoy missing, then discovered heading toward Mogadishu; the Chinese bomber formations we spotted; launching the Stud on short notice to link up with Eight; the repairs; the accident. No, I can’t think of anything else.”
The car pulled into the general aviation terminal and was allowed onto the parking ramp, where a dozen or so bizjets were lined up. Patrick retrieved his luggage from the trunk. “Well, if you think of anything,” he told Kai, “call me anytime.”
“Will do, sir.” He nodded toward the impressive line of jets. “Which one is yours?”
“Not there-over down that way,” Patrick said, motioning way across the ramp to an adjacent parking area. “They don’t p
ark me with the heavy iron, and that’s the way I like it. The blue-and-white twin.”
Kai followed Patrick’s motion and saw a rather small twin-engine propeller plane, sitting by itself along with other smaller planes. “That’s it? The little bug-smasher?”
“It’s small, but I mostly fly solo and I rarely fly with more than two other people, so it’s a good size for me,” Patrick said. “It’s the fastest propeller-driven general aviation plane in the world.”
“Propeller-driven?” Boomer commented. “Why don’t you fly a jet, General?”
“Because they cost money, and I don’t fly that often to justify the expense,” Patrick replied. “Got time to take a look?”
Neither Kai nor Boomer would ever turn down a chance to look at airplanes, so they walked down the ramp. “You…worried about expenses?” Kai asked. “I thought you were a rich retired three-star general.”
“Military retirees don’t make that much these days; the private-military-contractor work keeps us busy but is expensive; and Jon Masters pays hardly anything except stock options,” Patrick said. “This is plenty for me when I travel and Jon’s not picking up the tab. Besides, Jon and I have installed a few gizmos in the plane to pick up the performance.”
The airplane resembled a bullet-shaped jet fighter with a pointed nose, very short wings, large, weirdly curved propellers, and a tall vertical stabilizer. Patrick unlocked the door and opened the split clamshell door. The cockpit looked very snug, and at first Boomer couldn’t figure out how to get in the back. Patrick then pushed the pilot’s seat full forward, creating a narrow aisle. “We usually load the front-seat passenger first, then rear passengers, and pilot last. I took out one of the middle seats to allow a passenger to use the worktable and satellite Internet while in flight.”
