by John Ringo
“How do we get intel down from it?” Ronny asked while taking a more detailed look at the little spy satellite’s articulate components. “And what type?”
“Okay, it has a ten-centimeter glass optic aperture. We plan to orbit at LEO around four hundred kilometers so that will be about three meters per pixel on the ground. We’re gonna try a real ccd camera instead of film — well shielded from emissions. We also added a little commercial-off-the-shelf tip-tilt atmospheric distortion corrector in the optical path to clean up atmospheric scintillation and such. We should get good three-meter resolution images.” Roger paused for a second and pointed out the primary optic and the optical train of the telescope.
“I see,” Ronny nodded again. “Very interesting, fellas.”
“And this little gadget here,” Roger said, pointing to a black-composite material box with three small windows on the side, “is how we’ll get the data out. It’s a little diode laser communicator. We’ll download each time it comes over our ground stations in the U.S. and that means any place in the country with a meter aperture telescope or bigger will work. We’ve also built several portable ones.”
“Uh, Roger, how does the picosat know where the ground stations are if they’re mobile?” Alan asked.
“That is the beauty of it,” Roger said. “Tom has worked out the orbit model and each time we get a download it will get better. All we do is drive out in the path of the thing and send up a quick coded laser pulse train. The input to the optical system of the satellite detects it and turns on the downlink.”
“Won’t that tip off the aliens?” Ronny asked.
“Possibly, but we’ll send a weak signal and only for a few hundred microseconds. Besides, Ronny, this is laser. It’s monodirectional as hell. In fact, if we use a one-meter aperture beam-directing telescope on the ground, the laser spot size at the picosat including atmospheric spread of the beam will be less than four meters in diameter. We can spot the satellite passively with a telescope and fire the laser on boresight. And in case we can’t get the mobile units in the right place at the right time, the onboard system tracks landmarks of four ground-station locations. When the computer recognizes those landmarks it’ll link up automatically.”
“What type of bandwidth can we get?” Ronny asked.
“Well, we based the point-to-point laser communications system on an old Ballistic Missile Defense Organization program called the Space Technology Research Vehicle-2. That system could achieve 1.2 gigabits per second at eighteen hundred kilometers. We’ll only be at four hundred kilometers. So, rough calculations suggest about 2 to 3 gigabits per second. That’s about one 4 megapixel image per second. We’ll be in line of sight with the sat for about two minutes with each downlink, so, that’s over a hundred images per orbit and that’s about all the solid-state memory capacity the little picosat has anyway. We can also use them to send up a communication and downlink them back to a ground station. It’ll give us some minimal satcom capabilities back.” Roger watched for Ronny’s reaction, but wasn’t sure what he was thinking.
“I like it,” Ronny said, nodding somberly. “I mean, what’s the point of being the DDNRO if you don’t have any satellites? How are we going to put it up?”
“How are we going to put them up, is the right question, Ronny,” Roger said, raising one eyebrow and smiling.
“Them?”
“That’s right, them. We already have ten of them finished and ready to go.” Roger grinned from ear to ear.
“Very nice indeed!”
“They’re so small that we can put them all into two fairly small sounding rockets. John and Tom have already worked it out and one rocket is being put together out at Vandenberg and the other at the Cape right now.” Roger said.
“Why the two different launch sites?” Ronny wiggled uncomfortably in his paper jumpsuit.
“We’ll put half of them in staggered polar orbits and half of them in staggered standard orbits. We’ll maximize our coverage that way. For that matter, we’re moving the tech to make the sounders not on site into the redoubts. As long as the redoubts hold out, we’ll continue to have limited sat-com and ISR.”
“Good, Roger, good,” Ronny said, sighing tiredly. “We need the eyes. Although I’m almost afraid of what we’ll see. When do we launch?”
“Two weeks from today.”
“Good. Let’s hope it works. You got a backup plan if it doesn’t?”
“Yep. We’re almost through with a composite Corona setup. But I hope we don’t need it because the information from that will be much less useful than from these little bad boys right here.” Roger patted the little satellite lovingly as if it were his child.
* * *
“Cady, you awake?”
“Yes, sir?” the sergeant major answered as he raised his cap to look over to the major. Gries’ feet were propped in the window of the open Humvee door and Cady could tell he was focusing on something in the sky.
“They’re here. Time to dance.”
“Yes, sir.” Cady rubbed his face and straightened up in the driver’s seat. “Where, sir?”
“There!” Gries pointed at a spot in the sky just beyond the Tennessee River south of the airport. Then two F-16s zipped over the trees and touched down side by side. Those two were followed by two more and then two more and so on. The fighters taxied in to the parking area and parked in formation about a hundred meters from where the Humvee was parked.
“Let’s go, Sergeant Major.”
“Sir.” Cady started up the vehicle and drove them up to the base of one of the fighters that had “Colonel Matthew ‘Bull’ Ridley” painted just beneath the cockpit. There were also eight shiny boomerangs painted on the nose of the plane. The sergeant major noted that they were unusually small. The pilot obviously intended to add lots more.
“Colonel Ridley, sir! I didn’t expect to see you so soon, and congratulations,” Major Gries saluted the colonel as he climbed down from the F-16. “If the Major may make so bold, Colonel, sir, you’re looking one fuck of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
“Greetings, greetings Major,” the colonel said, smiling as he returned the salute. “Good to see you too, Sergeant Major. At ease, gentlemen. No need to stand at attention for the newly promoted full colonel; kissing my ring is sufficient.”
“Yes, sir,” Gries replied, grinning. “I’ll keep that in mind. How’re the shoulder and the feet, Colonel?”
“Hurt like hell before it rains, but other than that I’m good to go according to the flight surgeon.”
“Hard to keep an old dog down, right, sir?” Cady smiled.
“Damn skippy, Sergeant Major. Now, let me find Rene and get my boys situated and one of you two can buy me a drink.”
“We’ll have to skip the drink, sir,” Gries replied, shrugging. “Dr. Guerrero told us to get you and Rene over to the AS HQ asap. There’s a liaison here waiting to get your squadron situated.”
“A woman she work from sun to sun but a cunnel’s work is never done?” Ridley tucked his flight gloves into his new all composite helmet and started loosening the g-suit.
“Sir, let’s make sure your fellows are taken care of. That seems soon enough for me.” Shane grinned thinly and turned to Cady. “Sergeant Major Cady?”
“Sir?” Cady barked, snapping to attention theatrically.
“Sergeant Major, it looks like that damned motor pool gave us another Humvee with shit tires. Looks like that right rear is running on the run-flat. How long do you think it will take you to get it fixed?” Shane asked.
“Yes, sir, Major, sir! That is so totally my fault. I should’ve given that damned specialist at the pool an earful when we picked up that shit-ass vehicle this morning! I guess it should take, oh…” Cady paused and consulted his watch. “Carry the two…”
“About an hour and a half,” Ridley said, smiling.
“I’d say about an hour and forty-five minutes, Major, sir!” Cady finished.
“Good, see
to it, Top.”
“Colonel,” Cady winked and saluted, then boarded the Humvee.
“Now Colonel, let’s see about your squadron.”
* * *
Support for the Huntsville Redoubt Air Support Squadron had been trickling in for the better part of the week before Colonel Ridley and the “Rednecks,” as they were calling themselves, landed. Ridley had decided if they were going to be assigned to protect the rednecks down in Huntsville, Alabama, that they might as well fit in.
An equipment hangar had been designated on the commercial side of the airport where the FedEx aircraft had been maintained before the alien invasion. The USAF was in full swing, commandeering and operating the fighter wing out of the commercial side of the airport.
On the other hand, somebody had dropped the damned ball figuring out where thirty new pilots were going to bunk once they got there. Shane and Colonel Ridley spent the better part of an hour kicking people out of the Airport Hotel and having them relocated to hotels farther away, Ridley’s reasoning being that in case of an air attack, the pilots had to be right there on call and only minutes from take-off; civilian contractors could stay anywhere. The entire town had pretty much been turned into a redoubt, so moving folks farther from the center of the base or the airport was not a major issue from a protection standpoint. Hell, Gries or Ridley didn’t think it would matter much anyway having seen first hand how the probes attacked. But, of course, they never said anything like that.
At times Shane had wished he hadn’t sent Top off on a boondoggle, as there was nobody better at rattling cages than Sergeant Major Thomas Cady. Oh well, the colonel and the major did all right for themselves in that regard and the pilots were well taken care of.
* * *
“Nice to meet you, Colonel Ridley. Major Gries has told us a lot about you.” Ronny shook the fighter pilot’s hand and offered him a seat.
“Thank you, sir. The major here told me I should come visit but I had no idea that I would be assigned the fighter protection here.” Ridley took a seat in one of the leather guest chairs in Ronny’s office.
“Well, we have the task of spearheading development of the technologies that might give us the edge we need to defeat these alien probes. And you, your Belgian friend, Major Gries, and Sergeant Cady are the only folks with any real experience with them. So I got you pulled down here.”
“I see,” is all Ridley said, realizing that this Dr. Guerrero must have pretty big pull. The squadron had originally been designated to the defense of Washington.
“We hope you saw something that when you relay it to our team here, it will mean something to us. And at the same time we plan to use your squadron as a test bed for any new weapons or capabilities we can come up with,” Ronny said. “Normally we’d run that sort of thing out to Dreamland for testing. But since most of the work is being done right here, we can shorten the feedback cycle by putting your squadron directly in touch with the designers.”
“Great, sir, we’re gonna need something,” Ridley admitted darkly. “My pilots are ready and willing to take on the enemy, sir. But I’ll admit that right now we don’t have the chance of a sparrow against an eagle. They took our ships apart like ants eating a grasshopper, but faster. Anything we can do to improve the situation has my full and complete support, sir. What do you want me to do?”
“There are some very bright minds running around on this base and they’ll be picking yours for anything that might help. Let the major show you around and get another debrief. He understands the lay of the land around here. And in general, pitch in however you can. Don’t hesitate to ask questions; don’t hesitate to make suggestions. Be foolish if that’s what it takes.”
“Clear, sir. Can do. I’ll have my guys do the same.” Ridley began thinking about any way to fight the probes. Off the top, nothing came to mind.
* * *
“Hey, Colonel,” Shane said as he walked in the squadron office. He gave the Air Force officer a gesture that was more wave than salute. It wasn’t disrespectful, just a friendly greeting between warriors. “How’re you settling in?”
“We’re good,” Bull replied, returning the waved salute. “We’ve gotten our full delivery of squadron equipment and we’re finally at over ninety percent on personnel. We’re missing some critical areas, but since they include weapons techs and avionics…”
“And you’re in one of the nerve centers for both…” Shane said, chuckling.
“We’ve got civilian contractors out the ass in the area,” the colonel replied, nodding. “So we’re farming out most of it. I mean, the contractors around here come up with the next generation gizmos.”
They seem to enjoy working on “off the shelf” equipment for a change.” The “off the shelf” equipment was the most advanced installed in any aircraft in the world. But the reality of electronics advances made it already obsolete by the time it was installed.
“There are some big brains around here.”
“Tell me about it,” Shane said, shaking his head. “As an infantry officer I, of course, can never feel the slightest hint of doubt about my overall intelligence, good looks and sex appeal. But I’ll admit that from time to time I feel challenged in the intelligence area when dealing with some of these guys. But, speaking of which, is Rene around?”
“Down in the briefing room,” the colonel said, nodding. “He’s conducting a class on threat assessment.”
“Well, it’s nearly quitting time,” the major replied, glancing at his watch. “What say we have our first debrief with the Asymetric Soldier team?”
“A woman she work from sun to sun…” Bull said, shrugging. “Over at the comm facility? We’ve got secure rooms set up now.”
“Nah,” Shane said, grinning. “We’ve got a better place…”
* * *
“ORDER IN!”
“Your primary debriefing area is Hooters?” Rene asked, grinning.
The Huntsville Hooters location had been changed. While a large portion of the Huntsville area had been designated “protected,” the actual location of the Huntsville Hooters was outside that zone. After a certain amount of wangling, Roger had pulled the strings to get it moved into the secure zone and it now was placed directly outside the gates of the Redstone Arsenal, which was the inner ring of the redoubt.
If Hooters fell, for all practical purposes the world was lost.
“Take a look around,” Roger said, sipping at his beer. “You’ll see most of these same faces over the course of the next month or so. At this point, practically everyone in this city is working on one defense project or another. Most of the waitresses work over at the base or for one of the defense contractors and moonlight here. For that matter, most of the stuff we’re doing isn’t even classified anymore. The probes don’t seem to care and the news media is too worked up about the city defense plans to pay much attention to what we do. So most of our security restrictions have been tossed. They always got in the way of communication anyway. And would you prefer to be sitting in a secure room sipping cold coffee?”
“No,” Bull said, laughing. He reached for the pitcher and a passing waitress slapped his hand.
“My job, Colonel,” the girl said, winking. “You’re the CO of the Redneck squadron, right? How’s the arm?” She moved on without actually waiting for a response.
“See,” Roger said. “There ain’t no such thing as secret no more. So, Alan, Tom and I have read your reports. Why don’t you and Rene give it to us again,” he suggested.
“I…” The colonel paused and frowned. “I know what you were saying about clearances, but…”
“You want me to call Ronny?” Roger said, frowning. “I suppose I should have gotten you briefed in. I’m not sure what my current title is…”
“Deputy Secretary of Defense for Advanced Defense Concepts and Testing,” Traci said, picking up a wing. “You never read memos, do you?”
“Who’s got time?” Roger asked frowning. “Did you say Deputy Secretary? N
ot assistant deputy’s assistant secretary?”
“That’s right,” Tom said. “You didn’t get the memo?”
“I dunno,” Roger replied. “You’re sure there wasn’t an ‘Assistant’ in there, somewhere, or an ‘Undersecretary’?” he asked, almost plaintively.
“Nope,” Tom replied. “You’re on the manning chart as reporting to the secretary of defense.”
“I haven’t talked to him but twice,” Roger argued. “Who the hell said I was a deputy secretary?”
“Uh, the President?” Alan replied. “I read the memo. You were appointed by the President, confirmed by the Senate and it was in the newspapers. Hell, it made the evening news, briefly. It was a nice little write up.”
“Crap, I have got to start reading my e-mail.” Roger sighed. “Anyway…” He paused at the expression on the colonel’s face. “What?”
“You’re…” Bull paused and swallowed. “Somebody had better not be pulling my leg.”
“Somebody better not be pulling mine,” Roger said, frowning at the far wall. “How the hell can I be a deputy secretary?”
“They’re not, Colonel,” Shane said, grinning. “I read the e-mail, too. Hell, I saved the link to the Washington Post article.”
“You don’t remember anything about this?” Tom asked, laughing. “I thought I was checked out!”
“Ronny said something about coming to work directly for the Defense Department,” Roger admitted, frowning in thought. “I just asked if I’d take a cut in salary and he said, no, the salary would be the same or better.”
