by Ben Bova
You’re the program engineer now, Harry, Victor Anson had told him. Wherever that plane goes, you go. We need you to make that damned laser work. Harry. Forget the accident. Just make it work. The company’s ass is on the line. We’re all depending on you.
“Okay,” he said to Delany, “I’m up. Go on down to the restaurant—”
“Mess hall,” Delany corrected.
“Whatever. I’ll meet you down there in ten minutes.”
Delany was several inches taller than Hartunian and outweighed him by more than thirty pounds. His hair was dark and thick, but despite his formidable appearance his normal facial expression was a genial, lopsided smile. He was already dressed in his white coveralls with the Anson Aerospace Corporation logo on its chest and back.
“You know how to find the mess hall?”
“I’ll find it,” Harry said, reaching for his bathrobe.
“Ten minutes.” Delany went to the door. He turned back, though, and advised, “Wear the heavy coat. October out here can be pretty damned chilly.”
“Where’s your coat?”
Delany flashed a grin. “I never feel the cold.”
Blubber, Harry thought sourly.
It was cold outside, he discovered. Cold and still dark, although the sky was lightening enough in the east to silhouette the rugged snowcapped mountains. Despite his brand-new goose-down-lined parka Harry’s back twinged from the cold. Psychosomatic, the doctors had claimed. Your ribs have healed and there’s nothing wrong with your spine. Still, ever since the accident, Harry’s back ached.
If I’d stayed in California like a sane man, Harry thought, I could’ve gone to the beach today.
Yeah, a sardonic voice in his head replied. And you’d have Sylvia and her lawyers pounding on your door, trying to get you to sign the damned divorce papers.
With a shake of his head, Harry looked around for the mess hall. He’d arrived at Elmendorf Air Force Base the previous afternoon, and most of the buildings in the sprawling facility looked pretty much alike to him. Last night, though, before going to sleep in the room they’d assigned him and Delany to share in the Bachelor Officers quarters, Harry had checked the route from the BOQ to the mess hall and put it into his cell phone’s memory. Now he pulled the phone from his pants pocket to orient himself.
Damn! The phone was dead. No, he saw, it was getting power from the battery. But the screen said NO CONNECTION.
Harry looked up. A young airman was walking along the bricked pathway toward him.
“Hey . . . Sergeant,” Harry said, noting the stripes on his jacket sleeve.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Feeling sheepish, Hartunian admitted, “I’m kind of lost.”
The sergeant directed him down the street one block and then to the first right. “You can’t miss it,” he added cheerily.
Harry, who had been raised in the tangled suburbs of Boston, thought of all the “you can’t miss it” locations he’d missed. But he went to the corner and turned right.
And there was the mess hall, with dozens of men and women streaming into it. Most of them in uniform.
But what caught his attention was down at the end of the street, where a little Day-Glo orange tractor was towing ABL-1 out of its hangar. Harry gaped. The sight of the big 747, all white, never failed to awe him. It was an immense airplane with that graceful hump up front and the huge raked-back tail towering over the other planes parked in front of the hangars. Somehow she looked dignified to Harry, regal, like royalty as she grandly allowed herself to be slowly rolled out onto the tarmac.
Make it work, Harry, Victor Anson had told him. The company’s ass is on the line.
Sunshine Airways Flight 19
Jerry Jarusulski frowned as he sat at the controls of the Airbus A350 XWB. Halfway between Hawaii and California, he grumbled to himself, and the nav system craps out.
Through the cockpit’s windshield he could see nothing but cloud-dotted ocean, steely gray and rippled with waves. Not a ship in sight. No land for another thousand klicks or more. “Anything?” he asked his copilot. “Not a peep, JJ,” said Pete Jacobson. “Every damned freak is out. I’m getting some commercial stations, L.A. and ‘Frisco. But all the air control frequencies are off.”
“What the hell’s happened to them?” “Something weird,” the copilot said. “Well, we’ll reach the California coast in another couple of hours. We can go to VFR then.”
Jacobson nodded, but he looked doubtful. Jarusulski shared his worries. Flying a big-ass jet airliner on visual wasn’t going to be easy, he knew. Always a helluva lot of traffic at LAX. And the last weather report they got predicted rain. Those guys in the tower better have their systems working if they expect me to bring this bird down. What a time for the navigation satellite system to go kablooey.
Jacobson started chuckling softly.
“What’s so goddamned funny?” Jarusulski growled.
“It’s like that old joke, the one about good news and bad news.”
Yeah?
“You know. The pilot gets on the intercom and tells the passengers, ‘I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is that we’re lost. I don’t know where the hell we are. The good news is we’ve got a tail wind and we’re making good time.’ ”
Jarusulski didn’t laugh. He was thinking about trying to land this jumbo bird in the rain. LAX better have its comm systems working, he said to himself. If they don’t, we’re toast. Burnt toast.
The Oval Office
The Oval Office was crowded.
Hunching forward in the padded chair behind his gleaming broad desk, the President muttered, “From North Korea,” his lean face bleak, his voice ominous.
In a shallow semicircle in front of the desk sat the Secretaries of Defense and State, the National Security Advisor, the director of Homeland Security and the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Off to one side of the room the President’s chief of staff sat on one of the striped sofas in front of the empty fireplace, his hands clasped tensely on his knees. Half a dozen aides were back there, too.
“Pyongyang has been on the wire with us for three hours now,” said the Secretary of State. Her normally cool demeanor was gone; she looked just as worried—almost frightened—as the rest of the people in the Oval Office.
“They’re pissing themselves, they’re so scared,” the National Security Advisor added, with a grim smile. A former admiral, he still looked as if he were in uniform, despite his light gray hand-tailored three-piece suit. His silver hair was tousled, though; he’d been running his hands through it since this meeting had begun.
Frowning slightly at him, the Secretary of State said, “The North Korean government is begging us to show some restraint—”
“Restraint?” the President snapped. “They’ve attacked us!”
State raised a brow. “‘Someone has attacked not only us but the whole civilized world. It’s not just our satellites that have been wiped out. But Pyongyang says it wasn’t them.”
“That missile came from North Korea,” said the Secretary of Defense in his heavy, rasping voice. “We traced its launch and its orbital track.”
“But it wasn’t launched from one of their regular launching bases,” State insisted. “Pyongyang assures us that the North Korean government did not authorize the launch or the detonation of that bomb in orbit.”
“What difference does that make?” the President growled. “It came from their territory. It’s knocked out just about every satellite in orbit.”
“Except for our hardened birds,” Defense pointed out. He was the oldest man in the room, a former longtime senator, bald and jowly. He and the Secretary of State had been senators together and rivals for the nomination that the man behind the desk had won.
State raised a manicured hand. “Wait a minute. Since Kim Jong Il died last year North Korea’s been in turmoil, practically civil war.”
“Their military took control of the government,” the National Security Advi
sor said.
“Yes,” State agreed, “but there are factions within the military. One of the rebel factions must have fired that missile.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Pyongyang tells us they’re sending troops to the site where the missile was launched. They’re asking us to allow them to solve the problem by themselves.”
“Won’t wash,” said the Security Advisor.
“Are you saying we should send in our own troops?” the President asked.
“Or hit that launch site with an air strike?” State added.
The Security Advisor turned slightly toward the oversized television screen mounted on the wall between portraits of Theodore and Franklin Roosevelt. Without asking the President’s permission, he half rose from his chair and reached for the remote control unit on the desk.
The wall screen flickered, then showed a satellite image of rugged, mountainous country. Snowpacks covered many of the peaks; from orbit they looked like bony white fingers stretching across the bare brown mountains.
“NRO satellite imagery, two hours old,” said the Security Advisor. “That’s the area where the missile came from.”
The view zoomed in dizzyingly, then steadied to show a leveled area of ground where a dozen brown military trucks were parked in a ragged circle. At the center of the circle two missiles were standing on portable launch pads. A third pad was empty.
“That’s where the missile was launched,” said the Security Advisor. “As you can see, they have two more ready to go.”
The President sagged back in his chair. “They’re armed with nukes?”
“We’ve got to assume that they are.”
“Hit them now!” the Secretary of Defense urged. “I can get a submarine within range in a few hours. Wipe them out with one missile.”
The President’s eyes never left the image on the screen. “In a few hours they could launch both those missiles.”
“What’s their range?” asked Defense. “Could they hit us?”
The CIA director said, “Our people have identified them as Taepodong-2s. From where they’re sited now they could reach Alaska or Hawaii.”
“The West Coast?” asked the President.
“No, that’s a bit beyond their range.”
The President smiled weakly. “Good. I’m scheduled to give a speech in San Francisco tonight.”
“But they could hit Japan,” said the Security Advisor.
“The Japanese will go apeshit when they see this,”
Defense rumbled, almost as if he was enjoying the thought.
CIA pointed out, “You remember a couple of years ago North Korea launched a whole series of missiles across the Pacific and we didn’t do anything about it.”
“Those were just tests,” said the President.
“Yes, and now they put a bird into orbit. We’ve got to assume those other two missiles they’ve got on their pads won’t be tests, either. They could hit Hawaii, the Philippines, even northern Australia.”
“Screw Australia,” the Defense Secretary snapped. “They could wipe out Honolulu! We’ve got to take them out!” Banging a fist on the arm of his chair, Defense insisted, “We’ve got to!”
“And start World War III?” the Secretary of State countered. “How do you think the Chinese would react if we hit North Korea?”
“Hell, their satellites have been knocked out, too.”
The President asked, “What do the Chinese have to say about this?”
State hesitated a fraction of a moment, then replied, “It’s been difficult communicating with them. The satellites are down and we don’t have a direct cable link with Beijing.”
“They’re being inscrutable, I bet,” said Defense, allowing himself a tight smile.
“They have a fleet of nuclear missiles with the range to reach every city in the United States,” the Secretary of State said firmly.
The CIA director spoke up again. “Do we want to take the risk of starting World War III? A nuclear war?”
“I do not,” said the President.
“But those missiles,” the Security Advisor said, jabbing an accusing finger at the wall screen. “They’re going to fire them. And soon, before Pyongyang’s troops can reach the site.”
Turning to the Homeland Security director, the President said, “How soon can you get Hawaii and Alaska alerted?”
Homeland Security looked startled. He had formerly been the head of one of the nation’s largest construction companies, known to the media as a can-do kind of executive who wasn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty.
“We’re talking about evacuating Honolulu?” he asked.
“And Anchorage, maybe Juneau.”
“On a half hour’s notice,” added Defense.
The former construction executive shook his head. “We’d have to start right now.”
“That’s going to cause quite a panic,” State pointed out.
“But you can’t evacuate a city the size of Honolulu in half an hour!” Homeland Security said, almost pleading. “You’ve got to start right away. Now.”
“Wait a minute,” the President said. “What about our missile defense system?”
All eyes turned to the Secretary of Defense, who shifted uneasily in his chair. He and the President had cut funding for missile defense every year they’d been in office.
“Um… the system’s still in a test and evaluation stage.” Defense temporized.
“I was told it was operational,” said the President.
“It was declared operational...” Defense let the implications hang in the air.
“You mean we couldn’t shoot down those missiles if the North Koreans launch them?”
“When they launch them,” the Security Advisor corrected.
“Can we shoot them down or can’t we?” the President demanded.
Defense answered with a shrug and said, “We can try. But we certainly couldn’t stop a full-scale Chinese attack.”
“There’s the Russians, too,” the CIA director pointed out.
The President raised both hands, silencing them all.
After a moment’s thought, he said, “We will activate our missile defense system. And alert our own retaliatory forces: missiles, submarines, and the manned bombers.”
“Defense Readiness Condition Three?” asked Defense.
“DefCon One,” said the President. “Let’s not waste time on this. Full alert, everybody ready to go.”
Before anyone could object, the President turned to the Secretary of State. “Let Beijing and Moscow know our moves are strictly defensive. Tell Tokyo what’s going on. Maybe they’ll want to attack that missile site. That way we could keep our hands clean.”
“I wouldn’t depend on that,” the Security Advisor muttered.
The President went on, “But we will not make an attack on North Korea. Not yet. We’ll give Pyongyang the opportunity to clean their own house. Our moves will be strictly defensive.”
“And when those two nukes are launched?” asked the Security Advisor.
“We’ll hope to hell we can shoot them down,” the President replied. “And if we can’t, if they hit an American city, we’ll blow those fuckers off the face of the earth.”
Dead silence in the Oval Office.
Then the Secretary of Defense muttered, “Maybe we ought to get the chaplain in here.” The President glowered at him.
They rose and left the Oval Office, all except the chief of staff, who got up from the couch by the fireplace and settled in one of the emptied chairs in front of the President’s desk.
“It’s a mess, Norm, isn’t it?” said the President.
“Yeah, but I think you’re doing the right thing.”
The President shook his head. “I wonder. Why’d they knock out all the satellites?”
“Economic terrorism. Wall Street’s shut down. Markets all over the world have closed.”
“Damn. I’ll have to work this into
tonight’s speech.”
“In San Francisco? You’re still going?”
“I won’t cancel it,” the President said. Then, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he added, “My wife wanted to go with me, but I told her I’d only be there for a few hours.”
“The First Lady will be safer here,” the chief of staff agreed. “You would be, too, you know.”
“No, I’ve got to go,” the President said. “There’s enough panic out there, with all the satellites out. My job is to show the people that everything’s under control.”
“Even when it isn’t?”
The President flashed his famous grin. “Especially when it isn’t, Norm. Especially when it isn’t.”
Missile defense basics
The Missile Defense Agency (MDA) has developed a research, development, and test program focusing on a layered defense system based on the three phases of a ballistic missile’s trajectory: boost, midcourse, and terminal.
Boost Phase Defense
The boost phase is the part of the missile flight from launch until its rocket engines are exhausted and it stops accelerating under its own power. Typically, the boost phase ends at altitudes of 300 miles or less, and within the first 3 to 5 minutes of flight. During this phase, the rocket is climbing against Earth’s gravity.
Intercepting a missile in its boost phase is the ideal solution. We can defend a large area of the globe and prevent midcourse decoys from being deployed by destroying the missile early in its flight. Of the boost phase defenses, the Airborne Laser (ABL) is the most mature.
Midcourse Phase Defense
The midcourse phase of a ballistic missile trajectory allows the longest window of opportunity to intercept an incoming missile: up to 20 minutes. This is the part of the missile’s flight where its engines have stopped thrusting so it follows a more predictable coasting path. The midcourse interceptor and a variety of radars and other sensors have a longer time to track and engage the target compared to boost and terminal interceptors. Also, more than one interceptor can be launched to ensure a successful hit.
