Stephen Coonts - Combat

“There have also been stories of hurried requests at defense contractors for personnel and equipment, but these could not be verified.

“All this could be attributed to activities of the Air Force’s new Aerospace Defense Organization, but why at a U.S. Marine base? And why did this activity start weeks before the ADO was announced?”

The smoke was still swirling out of the muzzle when they left the command bunker. The group was small, just the general, Secretary Pan, and their aides.

Pan Yunfeng was First Party Secretary, and General Shen continually reminded himself of that as he answered the same questions he’d answered dozens of times now.

It was impossible to speed up the firing rate. The ablative lining inside the barrel had to be replaced after each launch. In tests, two-thirds of the projectiles had been damaged when the lining was reused, and there had been one near burn-though. Better lining would be more durable, but required exotic materials that were unavailable in sufficient quantity.

No, more men would not get the tubes relined more quickly. Although a kilometer long, it was just three meters in diameter, so only a limited number of men could work inside. All the old lining had to be removed, then each section of new lining had to be anchored and tested before the next section could be added.

Unlike many of China’s leaders, Pan was relatively young, in his late fifties. His hair was black, and there was an energy about him that was missing from some of the other men Shen had dealt with. His impatience personified the feeling of the entire Chinese leadership. Why was it taking so long?

Now Pan stood on the side of the mountain, nudging one of the used liners with the toe. The ten-meter section was one quarter of a circle, and several inches thick. The outside was smooth, marked with attachment points and dimples, which Shen explained allowed for some flexing as the projectile passed.

The inside curve of the liner told the real story. The concave metal surface showed hints of the former mirror polish, but the heat and gun gases had pitted the lining, some of the pits deep enough to fit a fingertip. The different layers that made up the lining were visible, a mix of metal and ceramic and advanced fibers.

“Dr. Bull came up with this solution,” Shen had explained. “The best steel in the world can’t withstand the forces inside that barrel when it fires. Instead we just replace the liner after each launch.”

“Which takes a week,” the Secretary remarked with a sour face.

“It’s not wasted, First Secretary. We use the time to upgrade the control system, test the breech, even improve the antiaircraft defenses.” He pointed to a nearby hilltop, a new excavation on the side holding a massive billboard radar antenna.

“That radar is part of a new bistatic system designed to detect stealthy aircraft. We’ve also increased the depth of the antiaircraft belt and added more standing fighter patrols.”

Later, in the general’s office, Pan had questioned Shen even more, looking for ways of shaving a few days, even a few hours, off the interval between launches.

“We’re concerned about the time it’s taking, General. In any campaign of several months, we have to assume the enemy will take some action to counter our plans.”

Shen listened respectfully. “I’ve seen the intelligence reports. I’m expecting, of course, that the Americans will do something eventually, but by then we will have won the first battle. And in a few months, we will have our advanced version of the T’ien Lung ready. And when you approve the construction of the second launcher, we will be even less vulnerable.”

“But what measures have you taken in the meantime?”

“You know about the Long March booster modifications. You know our intelligence services are blanketing America and her allies.”

Shen tried to reassure the official. “All we have to do is deny them the use of space. It’s easier to shoot spacecraft down than it is to put them up. Have the Americans tried to replace any of the lost satellites? Have they launched any satellites at all since we started our campaign?”

The Secretary didn’t answer, but Shen knew they both saw the same data.

Shen wanted to make his point, but was careful to keep his tone neutral. It didn’t pay to argue Party officials into a corner. “The Americans have no choice. They’ll either lose their valuable satellites, or publicly acknowledge our rights in the Pacific region. I think they’ll wait until the last minute, refusing to accept the inevitable for as long as possible. When they do see they’re backed into a corner, they’ll give in. Either way, America is weaker, and we are the new champion of the countries opposing imperialism.”

They all looked at the wall display in Schultz’s office. It showed a spiderweb of lines linking boxes. One box at the left was labeled “Begin Construction,” and a dozen lines angled out of it. All the lines eventually led to a single box at the end that said “Launch.” A dotted line with that day’s date ran vertically across the diagram. Colors indicated the status of a task, ranging from deep red to grass green. Over half the chart was red, and a lot of the red was on the wrong side of the line.

Ray McConnell had called the meeting, officially to “brief” Schultz, unofficially to ask him to make a decision Ray couldn’t.

“We’ve made tremendous progress.” Ray hated the words as soon as he’d said them. Trite, Ray. Be specific . Using his data pad, he started to highlight boxes on the chart.

“The kinetic weapon rack will be installed this week, and the mounts for the laser are being installed right now. Sensor integration is timeconsuming, but we’ve got good people on it.”

He came to one box, labeled FABRICATE LASER PROPELLANT TANKS. “It’s the one thing we couldn’t plan for. Palmdale only had two fabrication units, and one has gone down. The parts to fix it will take two weeks to obtain and install.”

McConnell nodded in the direction of Hugh Dawson, who had become a de facto department head at Space Forces HQ. “Lockheed Martin has moved heaven and earth, but we’ve only got one fabricator and two tanks to make. This is what happens to the plan.”

He tapped the data pad and the boxes on the wall shifted. Lines stretched. One line, darker and thicker than the others, the critical path, changed to run through the Propellant box.

“At least the heat’s off the software,” someone muttered.

The new schedule added three weeks to the construction schedule. Luckily, Ray didn’t have to say anything, because he couldn’t think of anything to say. They’d struggled to cut corners, blown through bureaucratic roadblocks, invented new procedures. They’d carried positive attitudes around like armor against the difficulty of their task. Suddenly, he didn’t feel very positive.

Schultz stared at the diagram, then used his own data pad to select the Propellant Tank task. It opened up, filling the screen with tables of data and a three-dimensional rendering of the two tanks in the cargo bay of Defender .

Defender ’s laser needed fuel to fire, hypergolic chemicals stored as liquids and mixed to “pump” the weapon. The ABL-1 aircraft carried fuel for fifty shots, an extended battle. Defender would carry thirty, enough for three or four engagements.

While the laser and its mirror could be taken out of its 747 carrier aircraft and used almost as it was, the laser’s fuel tanks had been built into the aircraft’s structure. They were also the wrong size and shape for the bay. New ones had to be made.