Stephen Coonts - Combat

“Other than raising hell and poking the tiger,” Eric asked, “what’s their motivation?”

“The second party, the one supplying equipment and funding to macnife’s nation for his use, may be doing so in an effort to test our computer security and try new techniques on us,” the intelligence officer explained. “By going through a surrogate, the second party nation is able to gain valuable experience without having to expose its own nation’s cyberwarfare capability to countermeasures or foreign intelligence agencies.”

“Huh,” Eric grunted. “Sounds like a Tom Clancy plot.”

“Were this not actually taking place,” Rhay replied, “it would make a rousing good read. But unlike a technothriller, we can’t be sure the good guys are going to win.”

Unable to restrain himself, Eric began to grin. “So, you’ve come to me, the Indiana Jones of cyberwarfare. What, exactly, is it you want me to do this time?”

Without any noticeable objections from Major Hines, the older of the two outlanders gave Eric a quick, thumbnail sketch of what the operation would entail. “You will begin the operation by breaking into the system used by macnife. Once there, you must establish yourself as the root, preferably without anyone noticing.”

“Is there any other way?” Eric asked in mock innocence.

In unison, the two outlanders looked at each other, searching each other’s expressions in an effort to determine if this was a serious question. Since neither was sure, the older outlander chose to ignore it and continue. “Now comes the hard part. Once in, you’re to assume macnife’s identity. Using his own system, you’re to access several computer systems within the nation that has been supporting macnife’s adventures.”

“The object here,” the second outlander stated in a crisp, monotone voice, “is to create suspicion and distrust.”

“I see,” Eric replied as he reflected upon the implications. “By making the supplier think that macnife is using their own equipment against them, you’re hoping to break this unholy alliance.”

“Exactly,” the older outlander stated. “Otherwise, the cycle will simply repeat itself, with macnife becoming smarter and the nation supplying the equipment and funding getting away scot-free.”

“Do you folks have any specific targets in mind?” Eric asked as his enthusiasm for this operation continued to mount.

“We have been assigned two targets,” Major Hines stated as he finally found an opportunity to elbow his way back into the briefing he was chairing. “The first hack is the supporting nation’s cyberwarfare center. We want you to get inside the system there and see what you can find.”

Excited, Eric blurted out his questions as he thought of them. “Is this a simple snoop and scoot?”

“If possible,” Hines stated, annoyed at the interruption, “we want you to plant a Trojan horse, which the NSA rep will provide you with.”

To hackers, a Trojan horse is an implanted code or program that runs an operation or performs functions that the host computer user is unaware of or alters an existing program so that the original functions do not behave as they were intended to. If done well, a Trojan is all but impossible to find and can totally corrupt the original program.

“Okay, so far, this sounds like a piece of cake,” Eric quipped.

Again, the two outlanders turned to face each other before continuing. “The second hack is a straight-out attack against a chemical plant located within the supporting nation.”

Suddenly, Eric’s tone changed. “A denial of service attack?” he asked cautiously.

“No,” the older outlander stated without betraying any emotion. “The objective of this hack is destruction. Whether this can be best achieved by altering settings or by incapacitating automated safety protocols will be determined once you’re into their system. It’s the results that matter.”

It was more than the words that caused the hairs on Eric’s neck to bristle. It was the cold, unemotional manner in which the outlander mouthed them that bothered the Cyberknight. “If it’s a chemical plant,” the young hacker stated cautiously, “then we’re talking serious roadkill. Aren’t we?”

Though they never saw it up close and personal, the loss of human life as a result of their hacks, referred to as roadkill, bothered even the most hardened Cyberknight. So long as there was no blood shed as a direct result of their activities, the young hackers belonging to the 401st could engage in a bit of self-deluding disassociation. But once that line was crossed, once they became aware that their activities, if successful, would produce death, many a Cyberknight hesitated. On more than one occasion, a Cyberknight even declined to execute an assigned task.

Realizing what was going on, Colonel Shrewsbery chose this moment to insert himself into the proceedings. “I am well aware of the fact, Specialist Bergeron,” he stated in a gruff voice that commanded everyone’s attention, “that you do not think of yourself as a soldier, at least not in the conventional sense.”

Eric looked across the room and into the dark, unflinching eyes of the colonel. “I do not believe,” the Cyberknight whispered, “in the taking of human life.”

“Unfortunately,” Shrewsbery countered without hesitation, “those who oppose us do not share that sentiment. While it would be wrong to characterize them all as monsters, let there be no doubt in your mind that they are willing to do whatever they need to in order to achieve their national goals.” Pausing, Shrewsbery reached down, without breaking eye contact with Eric, and picked a newspaper off the floor. With an underhanded toss, he flung the paper on the table, faceup, in Eric’s direction.

Reaching out, the young Cyberknight stopped it just before it slid off the table and into his lap. In bold print the paper announced that any hope of finding the F-16 pilots alive was waning. Below that banner headline was a photo of one of the pilots’ wife, looking up into the empty sky, as she clutched a crying child to her side. As Eric read the caption accompanying the photo, Shrewsbery continued. “How many tears do you think the folks behind that hack shed?”

Looking up at the colonel, Eric’s resolve hardened, but only for a moment. “I cannot speak for them, sir.”

“I’m not asking you to, son,” Shrewsbery replied as he moderated his tone. “All I am asking you to do is to do your best to keep that sort of thing from becoming a daily occurrence. While none of us can bring those pilots back, we damned sure can do something to protect those who are still out there, doing their duty, just like you.”

Unable to find a suitable reply, Eric again looked at the photo before him. Then he lifted his eyes and looked over at the people gathered about the table. They were all staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

Glancing back at Shrewsbery, Eric found that he was barely able to contain his anger. How he hated it when someone like the colonel rubbed his nose in what he, and the other Cyberknights, really did. Eric knew that the 401st was not a video arcade. He understood, on an intellectual level, that his actions had very real consequences that affected very real people. He just didn’t want to be reminded of this day in, day out. Like the bomber crews in World War II, the young Cyberknight managed, for the most part, to insulate himself from what he was doing. That’s why he and all the other Cyberknights used the colorful terms they did. Such words hid the meaning of their actions. Nor did the Cyberknights allow themselves to think of their foes as real people. And, like the young men who had flown the planes that had smashed Coventry, flattened Dresden, and eradicated Hiroshima, once they had finished an action, they moved on. No need, he often found himself thinking, to bother himself about what lay behind in his wake. He was, after all, simply following orders. Let the people who generated those orders lose sleep over the price.