Stephen Coonts - Combat

Ray McConnell was watching the front door for new arrivals, but he would have noticed her anyway. Long straight black hair, in her late twenties, casually dressed but making jeans and a knit top look very good. He didn’t know her, and was putting a question together when he saw Jim Naguchi follow her in. Oh, that’s how she knew.

Ray stood up, still keeping one eye on the screens, and greeted the couple. The woman was staring at the wall behind Ray, and he caught the tail end of her comment. “ … why you’re never at home when I call.”

Jim Naguchi answered her, “Third time this week,” then took Ray’s offered hand. “Hi, Ray, this is Jennifer Oh. We met at that communications conference two weeks ago — the one in San Francisco.”

As Ray took Jennifer’s hand, she said, “Just Jenny, please,” smiling warmly.

“Jenny’s in the Navy, Ray. She’s a computer specialist …”

“Which means almost anything these days,” McConnell completed.

“Later we’ll try to trick you into telling us what you really do.”

Jenny looked a little uncomfortable, even as she continued to stare. Changing his tone a little, Ray announced, “Welcome to the McConnell Media Center, the largest concentration of guy stuff in captivity.”

“I believe it,” she answered. “Those are Sony Image Walls, aren’t they? I’ve got a twenty-four-incher at home.”

McConnell half turned to face the Wall. “These are the same, still just an inch thick. But larger,” he said modestly.

“And four of them?” she said.

Every new guest had to stop and stare. The living room of Ray’s ranch house was filled with electronic equipment, but the focus of the room was the four four-by-eight flat-screen video panels. He’d removed the frames and placed them edge to edge, covering one entire wall of his living room with an eight-foot-by-sixteen-foot video screen—“the Wall.”

Just then it was alive with flickering color images. Ray pointed to different areas on the huge surface. “We’ve set up the center with a map of the China-Vietnam border. We’ve got subwindows,” Ray said, pointing them out, “for five of the major TV networks. That larger text subwindow has the orders of battle for the Vietnamese and Chinese and U.S. forces in the region.”

He pointed to a horseshoe-shaped couch in the center of the room, filled with people. “The controls are at that end of the couch, and I’ve got two dedicated processors controlling the displays.”

“So is this how the media keeps track of an international crisis?” Jennifer asked.

“Maybe.” Ray shrugged, and looked at Jim Naguchi, who also shrugged. “I dunno. We’re engineers, not reporters.”

“With a strong interest in foreign affairs,” she responded.

“True,” he added, “like everyone else here.” He swept his arm wide to include the other guests. Half a dozen other people watched the screens, talked, or argued.

“There’s people from the military, like you, and professionals from a lot of fields. We get together at times like this to share information and viewpoints.”

“And watch the game,” she added. Her tone was friendly, but a little critical as well.

“That window’s got the pool on the kickoff times,” Ray answered, smiling and indicating another area filled with text and numbers. “Most of the money is on local dawn, in”—he glanced at his watch—“an hour or so.”

“And I brought munchies,” Naguchi added, holding up a grocery bag.

“On the counter, Jim, like always,” Ray responded. One side of the living room was a waist-high counter, covered with a litter of drinks and snacks.

“It’s my way of feeling like I have some control over my life, Jenny. If we know what’s going on, we don’t feel so helpless.” He shrugged at his inadequate explanation. “Knowledge is Power. Come on, I’ll introduce you around. This is a great place to network.”

Raising his voice just a little, he announced, “People, this is Jenny Oh. Navy. She’s here with Jim.” Everyone waved or nodded to her, but most kept their attention on the Wall.

McConnell pointed to a fortyish man in a suit. “That’s Jim Garber. He’s with McDonnell Douglas. The guy next to him is Marty Duvall, a C coder at a software house. Bob Reeves is a Marine.” Ray smiled. “He’s also the founding member of the ‘Why isn’t it Taiwan?’ Foundation.”

“I’m still looking for new members,” the Marine answered. Lean, and tall even sitting down, with close-cropped black hair, he explained, “I keep thinking this is some sort of elaborate deception, and while we’re looking at China’s southern border, she’s going to suddenly zig east, leap across the straits, and grab Taiwan.”

“But there’s no sign of any naval activity west of Hong Kong,” Jenny countered, pointing to the map. “The action’s all been inland, close to the border. I’m not in intelligence,” she warned, “but everything I’ve heard say it’s all pointed at Vietnam …”

“Over ten divisions and a hundred aircraft,” Garber added. “That’s INN’s count this morning, using their own imaging satellites.”

“But why Vietnam at all?” countered Reeves. “They’re certainly not a military threat.”

“But they are an economic one,” replied Jenny. “They’re another country that’s trading communism for capitalism, and succeeding. The increased U.S. financial investment makes Beijing even more nervous.”

Ray McConnell smiled, pleased as any host. The new arrival was fitting in nicely, and she certainly improved the scenery. He walked behind to the counter into the kitchen and started neatening up, trashing empty bags of chips and soda bottles. Naguchi was still laying his snacks on the counter.

“She’s a real find, Jim,” McConnell offered. “Not the same one as last week, though?”

“Well, things didn’t work out.” Naguchi admitted. “Laura wanted me to have more space. Like Mars.” He grinned.

“Where’s she stationed?”

“All she’ll tell me is NAVAIR,” Naguchi replied. “She knows the technology, and she’s interested in defense and the military.”

“Well, of course, she’s in the business,” McConnell replied. “She’s certainly involved in the discussion.” Ray pointed to Jenny, now using the controls to expand part of the map.

“That’s how we met,” Naguchi explained. “The Vietnam crisis was starting to heat up, and everyone at the conference was talking about it between sessions, of course. She was always in the thick of it, and somewhere in there I mentioned your sessions here.”

“So this is your first date?” Ray grinned.

“I hope so,” Naguchi answered hopefully. “I’m trying to use color and motion to attract the female.”

“Ray! You’ve got a call.” A tall African-American man was waving to Ray. McConnell hurried into the living room, picked up the handset from its cradle, and hit the VIEW button. Part of the Wall suddenly became an image of an older man, overweight and balding, in front of a mass of books. Glasses perched on his nose, seemingly defying gravity. “Good … evening, Ray.”

“Dave Douglas. Good to see you, sir. You’re up early in the morning.” The United Kingdom was eight hours ahead of California. It was five in the morning in Portsmouth.

“Up very late, you mean. I see you’ve one of your gatherings. I thought you’d like to know we’ve lost the signals for two of your GPS satellites.”

Naguchi, who’d moved next to Jennifer, explained. “Mr. Douglas is head of the Space Observer Group. They’re hobbyists, mostly in Britain, who track satellites visually and electronically. Think high-tech birdwatchers.”