Lash-Up Read online

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  Author’s Note

  I’ve lost track of the number of projects I’ve done with Chris Carlson: novels, games, articles, presentations, and other products that are lost in the fog of memory.

  But there’s always something new. This is the first time we have “explored the frontiers of technology,” in other words, written about something that really hasn’t been done yet.

  Writing Lash-Up was also a new (notice I didn’t say “novel”) process, because we were expanding a novella that I had written and was first published in 2001, as part of Steve Coonts’s anthology Combat (see the afterword). I was never happy with having to ignore so many plotlines, and Chris readily accepted the challenge of updating a ten-year-old story by someone else and adding material that would make it complete.

  It was fun, although prying Chris’s fingers off the Engineer’s Handbook took a little time. My personal growth came in letting go of something I had created and trusting that Chris would improve it.

  Chris did more than simply improve the story, and if you enjoy it, he should get at least half the credit. I could not have done this alone, and even if I could have, it would not have been as good, or as enjoyable to write.

  Dramatis Personae

  AMERICANS

  Ames, Clifton; General, USAF: Air Force Vice Chief of Staff

  Ardery, Robert: Edwards Air Force Base facility manager

  Baker, Andre; Captain, USAF: Defender weapons officer

  Barnes, Clarence; Captain (later Major), USAF: F-22 pilot, Defender mission commander, call sign “Biff”

  Carson, Eugene; Rear Admiral, USN: Commander, Space and Naval Warfare Systems Command (SPAWAR)

  Champagne, Chris: one of Ray McConnell’s coworkers, wife Sandy

  Chung, Glenn: Lockheed Martin information technology technician

  Davis, Ben: aide and pollster for Congressman Rutledge

  Dawson, Hugh: Lockheed Martin engineer assigned to the Defender project

  Forest, Ted; General, USA: Army Chief of Staff

  Evans, Joseph; Colonel, USA: the Defender project’s security director

  Kastner, Sam; General, USA: Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff

  Kramer, John; Admiral, USN: Chief of Naval Operations

  Lewes, Geoffrey: Defender morale and welfare officer

  Markin, Mark: CNN reporter

  Matheson, Dr. Harold: National Aeronautics and Space Administration director

  McConnell, Ray: brilliant yet humble engineer at SPAWAR, Defender project technical director and flight engineer

  Naguchi, Jim: Ray McConnell’s coworker and friend

  Norman, Carl; General, USMC: Camp Pendleton base commander

  Overton, Frank; Rear Admiral, USN: J-2 (Intelligence), Joint Chiefs of Staff

  Oh, Jennifer; Lt. Commander, USN: communications specialist at Navy Information Operations Command

  Peck, Everett: Secretary of Defense

  Rutledge, Thomas K.: representative from Nebraska’s 3rd Congressional District

  Scarelli, Jim: Lockheed Martin test pilot, Defender pilot

  Schultz, William; Vice Admiral (later Admiral), USN: Commander, Naval Air Systems Command, then Space Force Chief of Staff

  Skeldon, Steve; Captain, USMC: Defender navigator/co-pilot

  Takir, Avrim: Ray McConnell’s coworker at SPAWAR

  Tillman, Sue; Lieutenant, USN: Defender sensor officer

  Warner, Michael; General, USAF: Air Force Chief of Staff

  White, Rudy: Ray McConnell’s boss and a division head at SPAWAR

  CHINESE

  Dong Zhi, Dr.: chief scientist of Tien Lung project

  Li Zhang; General, People’s Liberation Army (PLA): Chief of the General Staff and PLA Commander

  Pan Yunfeng: President of the People’s Republic of China and First Party Secretary

  Shen Xuesen; General, PLA: commanding general of the Tien Lung launcher, engineer.

  Wen Jin: Senior Agent, Ministry for State Security

  Prologue

  The sleek, streamlined object arced gracefully upward, its presence revealed only by the light reflecting off its hull as the sun emerged from behind Earth. Below, a new day was dawning in the Pacific basin, but the vehicle’s electronic brain ignored the aesthetic beauty of a perfect sunrise. Its attention was focused solely on its intended target.

  Hurled into space at tremendous velocity, the dartlike vehicle was coasting now, its solid rocket motor expended. Only its attitude control thrusters still worked. Settled into its orbit, the vehicle’s sensors scanned the space ahead of it, diligently searching for the satellite that the projectile’s masters wanted eliminated. Its flight path had been carefully planned, with an interception distance on the order of a few hundred meters. In theory, it would be virtually impossible for the projectile’s sensors not to see the target. With cold, calculated precision, the vehicle gazed at the heavens. It didn’t have long to wait.

  The vehicle’s radar picked up the satellite at five hundred miles, and an imaging infrared sensor immediately confirmed the target’s identity. The projectile’s flight computer calculated a small course correction to ensure optimal warhead performance. Puffs of steam and nitrogen gas from the attitude control thrusters quickly altered the vehicle’s course ever so slightly, but it was enough to ensure that it would pass just in front of the oncoming satellite. An arming signal was sent to both warheads.

  At a combined speed of nearly nine thousand miles per hour, the two spacecraft devoured the distance between them in just over three seconds. The projectile’s radar kept a sharp electronic eye on the target’s range, and at two hundred meters, the flight computer sent the firing signal.

  The explosively pumped microwave generator detonated first, sending a focused multigigawatt electromagnetic shock wave toward the satellite. It was similar to the electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, created by a nuclear explosion, but a high-powered microwave warhead creates its intense burst of energy at a much higher frequency, making it far more difficult to defend against. Even though the satellite’s precious electronics were radiation-hardened, they weren’t designed to stop such a massive blast of microwave energy delivered from such a close distance.

  Infiltrating through the numerous communication antennas, the intense electromagnetic energy created localized power surges that fried the microprocessor chips and other semiconductor devices on the satellite’s sensitive circuit boards. With one short burst, the spacecraft was completely disabled—it could no longer receive, process, or send any data.

  Not content with merely lobotomizing its target, the projectile’s second warhead detonated, propelling a focused stream of hundreds of tungsten pellets toward the hapless satellite. Striking at a speed of nearly eighteen thousand miles per hour, the tiny BB-sized fragments, along with some copper shrapnel from the first warhead, tore huge holes in the satellite’s body, ripped off antennas, and shredded solar panels.

  Mangled beyond recognition, the satellite careened past the interception point, a trail of debris following in close formation. With its orbit altered and slowly tumbling from the high-speed impacts, the satellite, nothing more than space junk, continued its flight around Earth.

  1

  Unexpected Losses

  San Diego, CA

  September
16, 2017

  Ray McConnell was watching the front door for more arrivals, but he would have noticed her anyway. Long, straight black hair, in her early thirties, casually dressed, but making jeans and a knit top look very good. He didn’t know her, and was putting a question together when he saw Jim Naguchi follow her in. Oh, that’s how she knew.

  Ray stood up, still keeping one eye on the screens, and greeted the couple. The woman was staring at the wall behind Ray, and he caught the tail end of her comment. “… why you’re never at home when I call.”

  Jim Naguchi answered her, “Third time this week,” then took Ray’s offered hand. “Hi, Ray, this is Jennifer Oh. We met at that communications conference two weeks ago—the one in San Francisco.”

  As Ray took Jennifer’s hand, she said, “Just Jenny, please,” smiling warmly.

  “Jenny’s in the navy, Ray. She’s a computer specialist…”

  “Which means almost anything these days,” Ray completed. “Later we’ll try to trick you into telling us what you really do.”

  Jenny looked a little uncomfortable, even as she continued to stare. Changing his tone a little, Ray announced, “Welcome to the McConnell Media Center, the largest concentration of guy stuff in captivity.”

  “I believe it,” she answered. “Those are Sony LED flat-screen TVs, aren’t they? I’ve got a fifty-incher at home.”

  Ray half-turned to face “The Wall.” “These are similar, still just three and a half inches thick. But larger,” he said modestly.

  “And four of them?” she said with awe. “Impressive, and expensive.”

  Ray shrugged sheepishly. “Some guys have sports cars; I have my Wall.”

  Every new guest had to stop and stare. The living room of Ray’s ranch house was filled with electronic equipment, but the focus of the room was the quad four-by-eight flat-screen video panel. He’d removed the frames and placed them edge to edge, covering one entire wall of his living room with an eight-by-sixteen-foot video display—The Wall.

  Right now it was alive with flickering color images. Ray pointed to different areas on the huge surface. “We’ve set up the center with a map of the China-Vietnam border. We’ve got subwindows,” Ray said, pointing them out, “for five of the major TV networks. That larger text subwindow has the orders of battle for the Vietnamese and Chinese and U.S. forces in the region.”

  He pointed to a horseshoe-shaped couch in the center of the room, which was filled with people. “The controls are at that end of the couch, and I’ve got two dedicated NEC quad-core computers controlling the displays.”

  “So is this how the big kids keep track of an international crisis?” Jennifer asked.

  “Maybe.” Ray shrugged again and looked at Jim Naguchi, who also shrugged. “I dunno. We never met any. We’re just engineers.”

  “With a strong interest in foreign affairs,” she observed.

  “True,” Ray admitted, “just like everyone else here.” He swept his arm wide to include the other guests. Half a dozen people were sitting around the living room, watching the screens, talking, or arguing.

  “There are folks here from the military, like you, and professionals from a lot of fields. We get together at times like this to share information and viewpoints.”

  “And watch the game,” she noted coolly. Her tone was friendly, but a little critical as well.

  “That window’s got the pool on the kickoff times,” Ray answered, smiling and indicating another area filled with text and numbers. “Most of the money on when the Chinese will move is at local sunset, in”—he glanced at his watch—“eight hours or so.”

  “And I brought munchies,” Naguchi added, holding up a grocery bag.

  “On the counter, Jim, like always,” Ray responded. On one side of the living room was a waist-high counter covered with a litter of drinks and snacks.

  Ray explained. “It’s my way of feeling like I have some control over my life, Jenny. If we know what’s going on, we don’t feel so helpless.” He shrugged at his inadequate explanation. “Knowledge is power. Come on, I’ll introduce you around. This is a great place to network.”

  Raising his voice just a little, he announced, “People, this is Jenny Oh. Navy. She’s here with Jim.” Everyone waved or nodded to her, but most kept their attention on the Wall.

  Ray pointed to a fortyish man in a suit. “That’s Jack Garber. He’s with Northrop-Grumman. The guy next to him is Don Engen, a C++ coder at a local software company. Bob Reeves is a Marine.” Ray smiled. “He’s also the founding member of the ‘Why isn’t it Taiwan?’ Foundation.’’

  “I’m still looking for new members,” the Marine announced. Lean, tall, even sitting down, and with close-cropped black hair, he explained. “I keep thinking this is some sort of elaborate deception, and while we’re looking at China’s southern border, she’s going to suddenly zig east, leap across the straits, and grab Taiwan.”

  “But there’s no sign of any naval activity west of Hong Kong,” Jenny countered, pointing to the map. “The action’s all been inland, close to the border. I’m not in intelligence,” she warned, “but everything I’ve heard says it’s all pointed at Vietnam…”

  “Over ten divisions and a hundred aircraft,” Garber added. “That’s CNN’s count this morning, using commercial imaging satellites.”

  “But why Vietnam at all?” countered Reeves. “They’re certainly not a military threat.”

  “But they are an economic one,” replied Jenny. “They’re another country that’s trading communism for capitalism, and succeeding. The increased U.S. financial investment makes China even more nervous.”

  “Out of the blue like this?” Reeves was ardent. “Without any warning, two weeks ago, the Chinese started massing troops on the Vietnamese border, and at the same time issued an ultimatum that effectively turns Vietnam into a Chinese colony. It’s clear it took everyone by surprise. Look at the way the U.S. military’s scrambling to move ships and planes into the theater. But what’s behind it? No incident, no provocation, just ‘meet these demands or we invade’?”

  “No provocation that we know about,” Jenny responded coolly.

  Ray McConnell smiled, pleased as any host would be. The new arrival was fitting in nicely, and she certainly improved the scenery. He walked behind the counter into the kitchen and started neatening up, trashing empty bags of chips and recycling empty soda bottles. Naguchi was still laying out his snacks on the counter.

  “She’s a real find, Jim,” Ray offered. “Not the same one as last week, though?”

  “Well, things didn’t work out.” Naguchi admitted. “Laura said she needed more space. She suggested I go to Mars.” He grinned.

  Ray nodded toward the new arrival. “Where’s she stationed?”

  “All Jenny will tell me is NIOC, San Diego, the Navy Information Operations Command,” Naguchi replied. “She knows the technology, and she’s interested in defense and the military.”

  “Well, of course. She’s in the business,” Ray replied. “She’s certainly involved in the discussion.” He pointed to Jenny, now using the controls to expand part of the map.

  “That’s how we met,” Naguchi explained. “The Vietnam crisis had just broken, and everyone at the conference was talking about it between seminars, of course. She was always in the thick of it, and somewhere in there I mentioned your sessions here.”

  “So this is your first date?” Ray grinned.

  “I hope so,” Naguchi answered. “I’m trying to use color and motion to attract the female…”

  “Ray! You’ve got a call.” A tall black man was waving to him. Ray hurried into the living room, picked up the handset from its cradle, and hit the VIEW button. Part of the Wall suddenly became an image of an older man, overweight and balding, sitting in front of a mass of books. Glasses were perched on his nose, seemingly defying gravity. “Good … evening, Raymond.”

  “Dave Douglas. Good to see you, sir. You’re up early in the morning.” The United Kingdom wa
s eight hours ahead of California. It was four in the morning in Portsmouth.

  “Up very late, you mean. I see you’ve convened one of your gatherings. I thought you’d like to know we’ve lost the signals for two of your GPS satellites.”

  Naguchi, who’d moved next to Jennifer, explained. “Mr. Douglas is the lead administrator for the SeeSat-L website, a satellite observation group. They’re hobbyists, located all over the world, who track satellites visually and electronically. Think high-tech birdwatchers.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” she answered, nodding, “and of Douglas. Your friend knows him?” She sounded impressed.

  Naguchi replied, “Uh-huh. Ray’s got contacts all over.”

  Jennifer nodded again, trying to pick up the conversation at the same time.

  “… verified Horace’s report about an hour ago. It was space vehicle number sixty-three, a relatively new bird, but anything mechanical can fail, I suppose. I normally wouldn’t think it worth more than a note, but he and I were already discussing another GPS satellite that went down earlier. We lost its signal about a week ago.”

  “Why is Horace looking at the GPS satellite signals?” Ray asked.

  “Horace collects electronic signals. He’s writing a piece on the GPS signal structure for the next issue of our online magazine.”

  Ray looked uncertain, even a little worried. “Two failures so close to each other is a little unusual, isn’t it?” It was a rhetorical question.

  Douglas sniffed. “GPS satellites don’t fail as a matter of routine, Raymond. You’ve only had five go down since the first operational satellites were put online some twenty-eight years ago. That’s just over a nine-percent failure rate overall, and with the newer-generation satellites, the failure rate is half that. No, Raymond, this is most atypical. By the way, both satellites were passing over the Pacific basin when the signals were lost.”