Stephen Coonts - Combat

The time had finally come, though, and Ray had climbed up on an improvised stage. The portable amplifier gave its customary squeal as he adjusted the volume, and suddenly everyone’s eyes were on him.

“Welcome to Space Force HQ.” He paused for a moment, and heard a few snickers, mostly from the civilians. He smiled broadly, so he could be seen in the back, “I like the sound of it. The good news is, you are all founding members of America’s newest and most modern military service.”

He made the smile go away. “The bad news is, we’re at war. The Chinese are killing our satellites, denying us the use of space, for both military and civilian use. Defender is going to regain control of space for us, for our use.

“You all understand the danger we face. They aren’t on our shores, or bombing our cities, but they are overhead. And we know about the high ground.

“I’m expecting each of you, once you’re settled, to take your job and run with it. More than that, though, if you see something that needs doing, don’t wait for someone else to notice.

“There are going to be a lot more people coming in over the next few weeks. By the time the last of them arrives, you’ll be the old hands, and I want you to tell them what I’m telling you now.

“You’ll also wish we were twice as many. It’s not for lack of resources. We’ve got a blank check from the President himself for anything or anyone we need. You’re here because you’re some of the best. I could have asked for more, but I didn’t. A small organization thinks fast and can change fast.

“Some of you may think that this is an impossible task, or that even if it’s possible, we don’t have enough time to do it. It’s just a matter of adjusting your thinking. The question to ask is not, ‘Can this be done in time?’ but ‘What needs to be done to finish it in time?’”

Ray got down quickly, to gratifying applause. Schultz nodded approvingly, and Ray noticed someone standing next to him, still holding an overnight bag. Suddenly recognizing him as Barnes, Ray hurried over.

The captain took his hand, and was complimentary, although he didn’t smile. “Good speech.” He motioned to the crowd of perhaps fifty, eating and talking. “Did they buy it?”

Ray pointed out a small group of men and women. They sat around a circular table, talking as they ate. Their attention was on a sheet of paper in the center. One would point, or draw, and then someone else would take a turn.

“They’ll never stop working on it,” McConnell replied. “We should probably have a curfew so that we’ll know they’re getting enough sleep.”

“So what do you have for me?” Barnes asked.

“We need someone to survey all the “black” DoD programs to see if there’s any technology that we can use.” Ray said it simply, like he wanted a list of names out of the phone book.

Barnes felt like telling him he was crazy, but only for a second. The Department of Defense ran dozens, possibly scores of “black” programs, not only classified, but also “compartmented.” In other words, you didn’t even know they existed unless you needed to know they existed. Each had its own security program, and it normally took a week or longer to get “briefed” into a program. Biff didn’t think he had that much time.

McConnell was watching him closely. Was this some sort of test? He didn’t think they had time to waste on such things. How to do it quickly?

“We’ll have to go through the head of DoD security,” Barnes suggested. “He’s the only one who can grant me blanket access, and tell everyone to honor it.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow morning,” said Schultz. “You’ll have that clearance by lunchtime, along with Ray and me.”

“We’ll need a secure facility,” Barnes added. High-security information was supposed to be kept in special rooms, electronically shielded, with carefully controlled access.

“We’ll get you a shielded laptop tomorrow as well. That will be our secure facility until Public Works gets a real one set up.”

The outside line rang, and Geoffrey picked up the phone. “Good morning, Coronado Hotel Concierge Desk. Geoffrey Lewis speaking.”

“Mr. Lewis? This is Captain Munson, U.S. Navy. I’m sorry to call you at work, but we couldn’t reach you before you left your home.”

“The Navy?” Geoffrey was a little confused. He’d served in the Navy ten years ago, as a storekeeper. That was before he’d gotten his hotel management degree, before he started work here.

“I’ll be brief, Mr. Lewis. I need someone to take care of a large group of people. They’re very busy. You and a small staff will see to their needs while they work on other matters.”

“Captain Munson, I’m not sure I understand. I’m quite happy …”

Munson named a figure over twice what Geoffrey made as a junior concierge. Lewis wasn’t sure the senior concierge made that much.

“The job will last at least three months. You’ll work hard for that money, and you’ll have to live on site.”

“And where is that site, exactly?” Geoffrey asked. The mystery of it was intriguing.

“Not too far,” answered Munson carefully. “Your quarters will be quite comfortable. What’s your decision?”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” replied Munson. “We’re a little pressed for time.”

“The money’s good,” Lewis admitted. “But you don’t know enough about me.”

“We know quite a bit about you, Mr. Lewis. Please, if you don’t want the job, I have other calls to make.”

Geoffrey looked at the first thing on his list. Theater tickets for a couple from Kansas. Whoopie.

Ray woke up thinking about housing. He’d gone to bed worrying about it, and was still thinking about it this morning. He was supposed to be building Defender , and instead he had to find places for people to live. But the first contingent of the Lockheed Skunk Works people would arrive from Palmdale this afternoon.

He hurried from the barracks past the office complex to the mess hall. None of the buildings he passed had originally served that purpose, but those were their present functions. The compound was already bustling, with people hurrying about on different errands. He could hear the sound of power tools from inside one empty building.

Coffee and a bagel were all he usually had for breakfast, and he could have had that at his desk, but people were already expecting him to put in an appearance in the morning, to be available. It was a tradition he’d decided to encourage.

He was taking his first bite when Biff Barnes walked in the door. Ray still felt uneasy about Barnes, guilty about embarrassing him at the JCS meeting. Was that why he’d picked him to work on Defender? But his qualifications made him a natural.

Barnes walked over to the table, and Ray motioned for the officer to join him. Ray’s eyes were automatically drawn to Biff’s astronaut wings.

“When were you in the astronaut program?” Ray asked. He tried not to sound like some autograph seeker.

“From ’05 to ’08,” Barnes replied casually. “I flew one mission, then missed another because of mission change. I’d only missed one tour with the regular Air Force, so I decided to get back to real flying.” His voice hardened a little. “And now this. I was supposed to get major and an Ops Officer billet after my tour in the program office. God knows what’s happened to that.”

Ray hadn’t expected to hear that Barnes had voluntarily left the astronaut program. McConnell had worked as hard as he could for as long as he could remember to become an astronaut. And Barnes had walked away from it?