Stephen Coonts - Combat

Admiral Overton paused, looking at the group. A hint of embarrassment appeared on his face. “That analysis was never followed up.” He shrugged.

General Kastner spoke for the group. “And the real answer is?”

Overton pressed the remote again. A gray-green infrared image appeared, superimposed over the second photo. “We wanted to see what they’d been working on. This is a satellite infrared picture taken about an hour ago. We were lucky,” he explained. “There was one already tasked to cover the region because of the crisis.”

Most of the shapes in the image duplicated the buildings and other structures, but one shape was unique: a long, thick, straight line, laid east — west along the spine of the mountain.

“It’s one kilometer long, and based on careful measurements, we know it’s angled along the western face of the mountain at about forty degrees elevation. At the base you’ll see a series of buried structures, including what we think are several bunkers for the launch crew. The buildings at the base are warm, and the entire structure is slightly warmer than the surrounding rock. We think it’s made of metal.”

“A buried rocket launcher?” wondered the Army Chief of Staff.

“No, sir. A buried gun barrel. See these shapes?” He used the cursor to indicate two round structures. “We believe these are tanks for the liquid-propellant fuel. Here where the barrel widens is the breech and combustion chamber.”

“The barrel looks to be about ten feet in diameter. We’re still working on the numbers, but I believe it’s capable of launching a boosted projectile into earth orbit.”

Even while the generals and their staffs took in the news, Kastner replied, “Great job, Frank. We’re pressed for time, but I’ve got to know how you found this.”

“We’re putting together a complete report right now, sirs; you’ll all have it in a few hours.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Elimination and luck. Two of our satellites were killed in the same area just east of Okinawa. We assumed a west-to-east trajectory, back-calculated the origin, and tried to find a launching site in the region. We got lucky because we figured they’d start with an established installation, and the Gongga Shan Prison Camp was on the list. It probably never was anything but a construction site for the gun. That still took us over a week.” He didn’t sound proud.

Kastner was complimentary but grim. “Well, Frank, your work is just beginning. We need to know a lot more about this weapon. First, is this the only one? It probably is, but I’ve got to know absolutely. How many more satellites can they kill with it? And what would it take to stop it?”

Overton nodded silently, as grim as the general. He and his staff quickly left.

Kastner turned to the others. “Immediate impressions, gentlemen? After we finish here, I’ll wake the President.”

Mark Markin stood in front of a map of China and Vietnam, a familiar image after weeks of confrontation. He read carefully from a data pad.

“Xinhua, the official Chinese News Service, today released a statement claiming a victory over ‘an American plan to seize control of Southeast Asia.’”

Markin’s image was replaced by Chinese Premier Li Zhang, speaking to a crowd of cheering citizens. Thin, almost scrawny, the elderly leader spoke with energy in Chinese. English subtitles appeared at the bottom of the image.

“In response to preparations for a massive attack on Chinese territory, the forces of the People’s Liberation Army have hamstrung the Imperialist aggressor by shooting down his military satellites.

“Deprived of his superiority and given pause by our new technological strength, the Americans have canceled their attack plan. This shows that America is not all-powerful, that any bully can be stopped if one faces him directly and exposes his inner weakness.

“We call on all the nations of the world, oppressed and suffering under American world hegemony, to topple the corrupt giant.”

Markin reappeared, looking concerned. “U.S. defense officials have refused to comment officially, but it has been a working assumption that the Chinese were responsible for the missing spacecraft. They also were unable to say how or when U.S. military forces would react to this news.

“Sources at the State Department were slightly more forthcoming, but only about the reasons for the Chinese announcement. They believe that the Chinese are openly challenging the U.S. in a field the Americans consider theirs exclusively: their technical edge. They hope to leverage their victory into an alliance of nations opposed to American policy.

“There was no comment from the White House, except that the President and his advisors are considering all options to protect American interests in this widening crisis.”

Tom Wilcox worked in the Test and Evaluation shop at China Lake. The entire base’s mission was to evaluate new weapons systems for the Navy, but his shop was the one that did the dirty work. He spent a lot of time in the desert and would be out there at dawn, half an hour from now.

Wilcox looked like someone who’s spent a lot of time on the desert. Lean, tanned, his face showed a lot of wear, although he would joke that was just from dealing with the budget. He’d been in his current job for twenty-five years, and claimed he was good for that many more.

This morning, he had to inspect the foundations for a new test stand. Before too long they’d be mounting rocket motors on it, and he didn’t want a motor, with stand still attached, careening across the landscape.

First, though, he always checked his e-mail. Working on his danish, and placing his coffee carefully out of the way, he said, “New messages.”

The computer displayed them on his wall screen, a mix of personal and professional subjects listed out according to his own priority system. The higher the rank of the sender, the less urgent the message had to be. Anything from an admiral went straight to the bottom of the pile.

He noted one unusual item. Ray McConnell had sent a message, with a medium-sized attachment. He’d known Ray for quite a while as a colleague, but he hadn’t seen him since Wilcox had been to SPAWAR for that conference last spring, about six months ago. They’d exchanged some notes since then.

Wilcox noted that it had a long list of other addressees, and it had been sent out at four this morning. He recognized a few of the addressees. They were all at official DoD installations.

The cover letter was brief: “I think you’ll know what to do with this. It’s completely unclassified, but please only show it to people inside the security system. Thanks.”

Well, that was mysterious enough to be worth a few minutes. He downloaded the attached file, waited for the virus and security check sums to finish, then had a look.

It was a hundred-page document. The cover page had a gorgeous 3-D-rendered image of a wedge-shaped airfoil. It had to be a spacecraft, and the title above it read, “ Defender. ”

Wilcox’s first reaction was one of surprise and disappointment. He almost groaned. Engineers in the defense community receive a constant stream of crackpot designs from wanna-be inventors. The unofficial ones were ignored or returned with a polite letter. The official ones, that came though a congressman or some other patron, could be a real pain in the ass. Why was Ray passing this on to him?

Then he saw the name on the front. It was Ray’s own design! What is this? It’s not an official Navy project. McConnell must have put some real time into this, and he’s no flake, thought Wilcox. Or at least, not until now.