Stephen Coonts - Combat

They’d spent yesterday afternoon, after their arrival, speeding around the base with the commandant, a Marine general, in tow. General Norman had made it clear he’d been told to ask no questions, believe anything Schultz told him, and give them all the help he could.

By the time they’d finished the tour, transport aircraft had already started arriving. Schultz, as part of the security program, had ordered that as much of the supplies and as many people as possible be brought in by air.

General Norman had been more than true to his orders. Squads of Marines had appeared to unload transports. Armed patrols suddenly beefed up the perimeter. Teams of engineers had helped Public Works open and ready the buildings for use. A Marine Corps air-control unit had been flown in to handle the extra traffic, and a field kitchen had turned out their first dinner in their new home.

Besides the Marines, a gaggle of Navy officers had met the plane. During the flight to Miramar, Ray had heard the admiral dickering with his newly promoted replacement over how many of his staff could come with him and who had to stay. NAVAIR was located in nearby Coronado, so they’d all been able to get to Miramar in time to meet the plane. They would form the nucleus of the Space Forces administrative staff.

Ray had gone to sleep in a bare barracks room feeling almost optimistic.

The next morning, their first full day at Space HQ, had taught Ray more about engineering, and people, than he’d thought there was to learn.

Breakfast at 0530 had been a good start, but quickly interrupted. He and Schultz had been planning out the day when a civilian in an expensive suit and tie had hurried into the conference room being used as a mess hall. Escorted by an armed Marine, the middle-aged man had spotted the admiral and almost rushed to the table. Schultz saw him coming and stood.

The civilian had been looking for him. “Admiral Schultz? I’m Hugh Dawson, head of VentureStar Development.” Dawson was tall, in his midfifties, and well built. Ray wondered if he’d played football in college.

Schultz smiled broadly and extended his hand. “Mr. Dawson. Please sit down and join us. We’ll be working closely …”

Dawson did not sit down. “I don’t know what we’ll be working on,” he replied, a little impatiently. “Yesterday afternoon my security director suddenly calls me in and briefs me into a new secret program. Then I get orders from the head of Lockheed Martin, Mr. Peter Markwith himself, to prepare VentureStar for immediate shipment here. Trash the rest of the test program, never mind the next set of modifications, just trundle her on up here for God knows what.”

Schultz looked concerned, and asked, “Didn’t you get the file on Defender ?”

The executive was still standing. “I spent most of last night reading it. That has to be the worst cover story I’ve ever seen. Arming VentureStar? In two months? I came up here this morning to find out what’s really going on.”

Schultz said calmly, “That’s not a cover story.”

Dawson sat down.

The admiral motioned to one of the mess cooks. “Bring Mr. Dawson some coffee.” He sat down facing the civilian. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Ray McConnell, Technical Director for the project, and for the U.S. Space Forces. He designed Defender .”

Dawson automatically took McConnell’s hand, but was still reacting to Schultz’s words. “There’s a U.S. Space Force?”

Schultz smiled proudly. “As of yesterday morning there was, and you and VentureStar are going to be a big part of it. Did you start the preparations to move her?”

Dawson nodded, replying automatically. “Yes, we’ve started. You don’t argue with Peter Markwith. They’re finishing up some work on the flight-control systems, but that will be done by the time the carrier plane arrives. Figure two days to make her safe and preflight the carrier, and a day to mate the two.” He paused, suddenly.

“Markwith said you paid four billion for the VentureStar program. The whole thing. All of a sudden, we’re a DoD program.”

Ray looked over at Schultz, waiting for him to respond, but the admiral said nothing. In fact, he was looking sideways at McConnell. All right, then.

“Mr. Dawson, the design is sound,” Ray ventured. “The Joint Chiefs, even the President have signed off on this. I know it can work.”

Dawson sat, impassive. He wasn’t convinced.

Damn it. McConnell realized he knew nothing about this man. What does he care about? There has to be one thing .

He tried again. “The Chinese are shooting down our GPS satellites, Mr. Dawson. VentureStar can stop that. She’s the only platform with the space and payload to carry all the equipment we need. In seventy days we’ll have her flying, doing things nobody ever imagined her able to do, and you’ll be the one making the changes. She’ll still be your project.”

Dawson responded, “But the time! We can’t possibly do it.”

“We can if we decide we can, Hugh.” McConnell was getting motivated himself. “No papers, no bureaucracy, no congressional briefings. Just results.”

“Some of that paper is necessary,” Dawson reminded him. “They laid out the P-51 on the floor of a barn, but that doesn’t work anymore.”

“We’ll keep some, of course, but how much of that paper is needed to do the work? A lot just fills the government in on how you’re doing, or tells the boss what he needs to know. A lot of it takes the place of good supervision. I’m not here to document a failure.”

Ray pressed his point. “The rules will be different here. We’re going to keep this group small. And I’m the government, as far as Defender goes. You won’t have to write a memo to me because I’ll be there on the floor with you.”

Dawson sat, considering for a moment. “Marilyn’s going to think I’ve taken up with another woman,” he observed, smiling. “What about security?” Dawson asked. “Our PR people will want to know …”

Ray smiled. One down.

By late afternoon, enough people had arrived and been settled in so that they could start preparations to receive the vehicle. Or rather, preparing to prepare.

One of the hangars was big enough, but only with extensive modifications. A launchpad would have to be built next to it. A new computer hub, independent from the net, needed to be established, and some of the buildings were so old they weren’t even wired for a network. They had to decide where to put launch control. Housing needed to be expanded. And the galley arrangements. And what about recreation?

Ray’s to do list made him wish for a larger data pad. He had one idea and ran it past Schultz. “I love it,” the admiral said. “I’ll have one of my staff get right on it.”

At Ray’s suggestion, the evening meal was held outside. Even in the fall, San Diego’s weather was excellent, and the Marine Corps cooks fixed an impromptu barbecue.

It was an important occasion. Almost everyone was a stranger to each other, and combined with the uncertainty of the times and the mission, he’d felt the stress level ramp up all day. McConnell realized he needed to get these people together, make them one team, with one mission. Schultz had approved of this idea as well.

Ray waited just long enough for everyone to be served. It was nothing special, just burgers and fried potatoes and greens and soft drinks. Ray was too nervous to eat himself. He’d tried to eat something, at Schultz’s urging, but the first two bites started circling each other in his stomach, like angry roosters squaring off.