Battle Born

by Dale Brown

  About a year after the explosion-which had killed and injured only a handful of Japanese citizens and caused very little damage to Japanese property-Japan had begun buying frontline high-tech surplus military equipment from Russia as if it were dollar day at the Goodwill store. Ex-Russian MiG-29 fighters and Sukhoi-33 fighter-bombers were now flying alongside American-made F-15 fighters in the skies over Japan. It was a clear message that Japan wanted to rearm and assume more of the responsibility of defending itself and it wanted to do so now. The threat of an economically unstable, ultranationalistic, and rearmed Japan was a serious concern to Washington.

  To try to present a unified front, the Vice President of the United States, Ellen Christine Whiting, accompanied by several of the service secretaries and chiefs of staff, was going to tour some of the foreign players' military bases in the region. Of course, that was not the only reason Mortonson was going along; his main task was to try to talk the Japanese out of buying so much Russian hardware and into buying more American equipment. Mortonson was armed with joint development contracts, licensing agreements, incentives, loan packages, and grant money-everything short of an out-and-out bribe to try to get Japan to buy American again.

  The pressure was already on. He didn't need his own troops adding more gray hairs, wrinkles, and bags under his eyes.” I’ve got the secretary of defense, the President's national security adviser, the director of Central Intelligence, and the chief of Naval Operations ready to shit on my desk!" Mortonson shouted after the door to his office was closed. "What in hell went on out there, General?"

  Hayes told him-and Mortonson was scared. Stunned, angry, incredulous, yes-but mostly scared.

  The secretary of the Air Force was a politician and bureaucrat by trade, not an engineer, scientist, or soldier like some of his predecessors. The politician in him said this was so damaging to the administration, not to mention the Air Force, that the President's opponents might not even wait until the November elections-they could all be out of a job within days. At a time when the threat to America's security was at its greatest, and the perceived readiness and ability of the military to fight a major conflict was very low, the last thing the White House or Pentagon needed was an unauthorized test of some unknown weapon.

  "General Hayes, I hope you realize the consequences of what you did," Mortonson said ominously.

  "Of course I do, sir," he said. "I'm also prepared to brief you with results of our tests."

  "Are you prepared to lose your job? Have your career destroyed?" Mortonson asked. "Because that's what's going to happen to you, and most likely to me, when I report this to the rest of the Joint Chiefs and the White House. They're going to blow a gasket."

  "Sir, the thing works," Hayes said. "The Air Force's antimissile hunter-killer system works. Forget the plasma-yield warhead for a moment, sir. No harm, no foul. The Navy still doesn't know what kind of warhead we used, and in my estimation they'll never figure it out unless someone tells them."

  "You're giving me this 'no harm, no foul' nonsense,

  Victor?" Mortonson asked incredulously. "You expect me to go in front of the Joint Chiefs and the President and say something like 'no harm, no foul'? Are you crazy?"

  "Sir, what I'd prefer you say is that we have the antiballistic missile system the White House and Congress have been clamoring for," Hayes said earnestly. "Lieutenant General Terrill Samson at HAWC demonstrated an air-launched antimissile system that is almost as effective as the airborne laser program but that we can field in just a few months. You told me to find a way to fit ABL into the budget-here's how we do it. I respectfully suggest, sir, you tell the Navy to stuff it."

  "I think we will be fighting to keep from getting our asses stuffed, General," Mortonson said. He paused, staring across the room for a moment. Then: "It was our range, right?"

  "The range is administered by the Navy, and a naval officer was the controlling authority," Hayes said, "but we were paying for it." Mortonson closed his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. Hayes was indignant. "Sir, we paid for that range and everything in it. We paid for those ships, we paid for the target rockets, we paid for the antiair missiles, we paid for security, and we would've paid any claims in case of an accident. The Navy insisted we accept responsibility for everything. In my mind, that gives us the right to use the range however we want.

  "The Navy never gave us any limits on what weapons we could use, only that we not overfly any of their ships with our missiles. We briefed which weapons we'd use and we used what we briefed-except for the plasma-yield warheads. All of the Navy ships were well outside the warheads' kill radius, which we knew with great precision because that's a property of the weapon. The Navy knows all about the weapon because they intend to use it on their Aegis Tier Two and Three antiballistic missile weapons. It was perfectly safe. No Navy personnel were in any danger, and they know it."

  "You're deluding yourself with that argument, General," said the secretary of the Air Force. "They are going to nail our hides to the wall over this. What was the closest detonation to any ships?"

  Hayes checked his notes: "The rocket intercept was thirty miles downrange and at an altitude of seventy-four thousand feet-that's over twelve nautical miles high," he replied. "The launch barge was over nine miles from the nearest warship. The explosions didn't cause a ripple in the water. They didn't detect any radiation until they sailed right over to ground zero and recovered a piece of the barge, and radiation levels were well below danger levels. The closest nonmilitary vessel was twenty-three miles."

  Hayes was heartened to see Mortonson stop to think again. Good, he thought, maybe he wasn't ready to concede defeat over this. "All right, General," Mortonson said finally. "I'll back your play. I'm going to need a briefing file on the plasma-yield warhead and on the missiles you launched. I'm sure we'll all take a few turns roasting on the spit, but I think I can keep us from getting completely cooked."

  "Thank you, sir," Hayes said gratefully.

  "Don't thank me yet, General-if the CNO or the White House wants someone's ass, it'll be yours, mine, and Samson's. We're not out of the woods by any means. All this means is you have an advocate. It may not do us a lick of good."

  "Then, if you'll permit me, I suggest you don't go in there with your hat in your hand, sir," Hayes said.

  "You have something else in mind, General?"

  "Sir, we did a successful boost-phase antimissile test this morning," Hayes said. "We built the weapon they wanted us to build. We have a victory, not a failure. I think the Navy and the Army both know it, or at least suspect it. Let's capitalize on it. We are ready to begin operational tests of the new 'Coronet Tiger.' "

  Secretary Mortonson shook his head in some confusion. He was very familiar with the program-he had almost lost his confirmation to be secretary of the Air Force because of his overwhelming support of the expensive, controversial weapon system. "Coronet Tiger" was the classified code name of the Air Force's new antiballistic missile defense program, starting with the airborne laser and continuing on to the new Skybolt space-based laser system.

  But in this day and age of military "jointness," every branch of the service had to be involved or nothing would ever get approval. The airborne laser was the Air Force's one and only contribution to the new fifty billion-dollar antiballistic missile program; its designs and plans-and funding-for the space-based laser were all transferred to the Navy.

  "I don't understand, General," he said irritably. "Coronet Tiger is dead."

  "You can blame Lieutenant General Samson at HAWC for this one too, sir," Hayes said. "The airlaunched antiballistic missile system was Samson's lab's invention. He wants to put the Lancelot ABM system on a dozen B-l bombers and create an antimissile attack squadron. Lancelot is teamed up with cruise missiles to destroy not only enemy rockets but the launchers as well, and Lancelot even has an antisatellite capability. Fast, deployable, survivable, and effective. I've got a full report, and I can brief you and the Joint Chiefs whenever
you'd like."

  "Forget it, General," Mortonson said. "There is no way that's ever going to be approved now. Even if I can keep all our asses out of the fire-which I'm not confident I can do-there's no way in hell the Department of Defense will authorize funding for a new squadron of B-ls to carry these weapons. Hell, we'll be lucky if they let us keep Dreamland open, let alone allow us to keep those missiles."

  "Samson has already drawn up an organizational chart and preliminary budget proposal," Hayes said. "He suggests we fund and equip the unit through the Air National Guard. We share the cost of the conversion, training, upkeep, and basing with the Guard. He's got it laid out pretty well, sir. I think it's worth a look."

  Mortonson scowled at Hayes, then glanced at General Gregory Hammond. "You seen any of these numbers, Greg?"

  "Yes, sir," Hammond replied. He shrugged noncommittally. "It's workable. It's certainly cutting-edge, so the states might actually compete to get such a unit. Kansas, Georgia, Nevada-they can all afford to invest in the conversion. A popular, needed technology, lots of deployments, maybe a training center in the future for the first unit that gets the weapon-the states see an opportunity for big revenues from this. And each state has nationally known congressmen, so interest and visibility will be very high."

  "Who has the best package?"

  "Hard to say exactly, sir, but-no pun intended-I'd put my money on Nevada," Hammond replied with a slight smile. "They have two possible facilities other than the Reno-Tahoe Airport: Tonopah and the old Tuscarora Air Force Base near Battle Mountain. Both have first-class runways, taxiways, construction areas, and weapons storage facilities-they just need major work on buildings and infrastructure, which the state would fund to our specifications."

  "The Nevada Air Guard, eh?" Mortonson remarked. "The Reno B-l bomber unit? Not only do they not deserve an upgraded unit, they probably deserve to be disbanded. What's the latest on that crash investigation?"

  "The investigators are now saying crew error and possibly a dummy missile hit them," Hammond replied. "The crew was performing a 'scram' maneuver, which is a tight turn to get away from a ground threat. The finding is unofficial right now because we have a lot of new information, but it's been demonstrated in two different B-l simulators."

  "How did it happen?” A flight manual procedural 'Warning' violation," Hammond responded. "The final report will be out in a few days, sir, but it appears the pilot initiated a steep bank turn over sixty degrees during a high-G low altitude maneuver-in fact, he may have exceeded ninety degrees. The bank automatically causes the terrain-avoidance system to do a fail-safe fly-up. At the same time, the crew is trying to slow the bomber down . . ."

  "Slow it down? Why? Isn't going slower dangerous?"

  "No, because the B-l turns faster at a slower speed," Hayes explained. "It's called cornering velocity. Every crew computes that speed for the altitude and gross weight it'll be at during the bomb runs. If they decelerate to cornering velocity, they can turn faster without fear of stalling." He paused, considering, then added, "They'd have the bomber at max Gs and throttles idle. This crew popped their speedbrakes to slow down faster. Deploying speedbrakes also decreases roll efficiency, which is why bank angles are limited by procedure to forty-five degrees." "The theory presented by the unit said that several of the little papier-mâché rockets the Navy uses to simulate surface-to-air missile launches flew into the speed-brakes, causing them to not fully retract," Hammond went on.

  "And?" Mortonson asked.

  "It was confirmed by Navy range officers," Hammond said. "They didn't expect the B-l to make that tight turn, thinking they were firing well clear of the plane. Several of the rockets came close enough to the bomber so that they might have hit it. Combine that with low speed, crossed-up flight controls adding more drag, and low altitude, and you have your accident. The papier-mâché rockets would leave no trace, so there was no evidence at the crash scene. Engineers are going over this scenario, and so far we think it's the most likely explanation."

  "The bottom line is, our crews screwed up," Mortonson repeated bitterly. "That is unacceptable. Totally unacceptable."

  "It happens to the best crews, sir," General Hayes said somberly. "In the heat of battle, the crews react. Most times their training takes over, and they come out of it okay. This time it didn't happen."

  "That doesn't cut it, General," Mortonson said. "Losing planes in combat is one thing. Losing a two hundred-million-dollar bomber in a training exercise in good weather is not acceptable."

  "Fly low and fast, and even one small mistake can be deadly," the chief of staff said. Hayes had lost too many good friends in aircraft accidents-he knew that it could happen even to the best of the best. "The crews train hard. And these were the best Air National Guard bomber crews in the force-and one of the best in the entire world. They were aggressive ..."

  "They screwed up, General," Mortonson emphasized. "I don't care how aggressive they were or how many trophies they've won. Something happened. Someone lost it. In war, I can understand that-but in peacetime, no. We have rules, don't we, General? We have rules of engagement? The crews are briefed not to push it to the edge, right? Train hard, I know, but they aren't encouraged to be unsafe just to win a training exercise, are they, General?" When Hayes hesitated, the secretary of the Air Force looked as if he was going to explode in rage. "Well? Are they?"

  "The crews are briefed on the rules of engagement, yes, sir," Hayes responded. "But both sides play it as if it's the real thing. They use every bit of their skills and experience to win ..."

  "So I noticed," Mortonson said. "Reminds me of you and Samson, pulling that stunt today with that plasma-yield weapon. You do anything you think you need to do to win. Well, I think you've screwed yourselves this time with that kind of thinking.

  "General, this is not a failure of our crews-it's a failure of our training, which is a failure of command," Mortonson went on. "After the stunt you pulled out in the Navy test range, I'm not surprised that our crews have the same attitude. Win at all costs, right, General? Forget the regulations as long as the bombs are on target, right?"

  "Sir, I am the senior uniformed officer of the United States Air Force," General Hayes said. "I am responsible for each and every man and machine under me, and I include the Air Guard and Reserves. If you need a sacrificial lamb, sir, I'm your man."

  "General, I goddamn guarantee that all of our necks are on the chopping block right now," Mortonson said. "Your head will just be the first one to roll." He knew he should fire Hayes right now, do it before Congress and the White House questioned why he waited so long. But he realized he couldn't do it. Hay’s was wrong, dead wrong . . , but he was wrong for all the right reasons. And he did have Coronet Tiger. The real antiballistic missile systems-the airborne laser, the Navy's Aegis Tier Three, and the space-based laser called Skybolt were all many years in the future. Congress was so frustrated with the delays, failures, and cost overruns that they were ready to either cancel the entire program or, worse, buy an inferior system.

  This Lancelot system might save their bacon, even from something as serious as setting a subnuclear device off in the Navy's face.

  Mortonson thought for another moment, then asked, "Why a Guard unit, General? Why not an active-duty unit?"

  "Money, sir," Hayes replied. "Right now this project is totally off the books, buried in HAWC's black research budget. Brad Elliott bounced enough checks and wrote enough lOUs to get a handful of his creations flying-it's the way he always did things. But Terrill Samson doesn't want to play it that way. He knows it's not his job to create tactical units-his job is to test hardware. If he gets full authorization, he'll turn over his technology and weapons to whatever unit we want and provide training for that unit. Otherwise, he'll put it all back on the shelf where it came from."

  "If we decided to deploy an active-duty antimissile squadron, we would need to either convert a unit or stand up a new unit, both of which will take time and money," said Mortonson.
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  "With the Air National Guard, we use the states to help fund the program, sir," Hammond pointed out. "The states will pay the bulk of the costs-the physical plant, the personnel costs, and the cost of daily training and upkeep. We give the states the planes, pay for the upgrade equipment, and we pay the costs of certifying each unit to our standards. If the President federalizes the unit, we pay the states a fixed fee. It's a good deal all around."

  "But the main reason General Samson suggested using the Air Guard is performance," said Hayes. "The bottom line is, the Air Guard guys are good. Their personnel are as well trained and as knowledgeable as any active-duty unit. The unit that lost the plane won the last Bomb Comp trophy. They are the best around."

  "Why the hell is that?"

  "It's a completely different world in the Air Guard, sir," General Hammond said. "Flying for the Guard is treated as a special privilege, like belonging to a special club. It's more competitive because there are fewer slots, so they only take the best of the best. Each candidate is handpicked by the adjutant general and the governor. To weed out candidates, most units require their members to be longtime residents of the state, so you really have to make a long-term commitment to the unit. Some Guard members serve with the same unit and fly the same planes for years. They don't get uprooted every few years or worry about promotion or reassignment like the active-duty troops do. They have to compete every year to keep their jobs, so they're aggressive. They take pride in their units on an entirely different level than the active-duty force does, because they represent their hometown and their state."