After taking an exasperated sip of water from a squeeze tube, he reopened the satellite link: “Odin to Condor.”
“Condor here, secure,” the senior controller at the Joint Functional Component Command-Space (JFCC- Space) command post at Vandenberg Air Force Base, California, responded. “Saw you on the news a bit ago. You looked A-OK, sir. Good to see you’re feeling okay. That Megyn is a fox, isn’t she?”
“Thanks, Condor, but unfortunately I never saw the host, so I’ll have to take your word for it,” Patrick responded. “I have an urgent reconnaissance assessment alert and request for ground ops tasking message for the boss.”
“Roger that, sir,” the senior controller responded. “Ready to copy whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ve detected a possible covert re-establishment of an illegal Iranian air base in the Persian Republic, and I need eyes-only confirmation and tasking authority for a shutdown if it’s verified.” Patrick quickly ran down what he knew and what he surmised about the Soltanabad highway airbase.
“Got it, sir. Sending to JFCC-Space DO now.” The DO, or deputy commander of operations for Joint Functional Component Command-Space, would report to his commander after assessing the request, investigating availability of forces, gathering intelligence, and computing an approximate timeline and damage expectancy. It was time- consuming, but probably kept the commander from being inundated with requests for support. “We should get a message back soon if the DO wants to act. How do you feel, sir?”
“Just fine, Condor,” Patrick responded. “Sure wish I could upload my requests directly to STRATCOM or even SECDEF,” Patrick remarked.
“I hear you, sir,” the controller said. “I think they’re afraid you’ll bury them with data. Besides, no one wants to give up their kingdoms.” In a convoluted and rather frustrating mix of responsibilities, tasking and coordination for air missions involving Armstrong Space Station and HAWC’s unmanned B-1 and B-52 bombers flying over Iran had to be channeled through two different major commands, who both reported directly to the President through the national security staff: JFCC-Space in California, who upchanneled the information to U.S. Strategic Command (STRATCOM) in temporary headquarters in Colorado and Louisiana; and to U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, which handled all military operations in the Middle East and central Asia. CENTCOM and STRATCOM’s different intelligence, plans, and operations staffs would go over the data separately, make their own recommendations, and present them to the Secretary of Defense and the President’s National Security Adviser, who would then make recommendations to the President.
“I don’t understand why these reports should go to STRATCOM at all,” Patrick groused. “CENTCOM is the theater commander — they should get reports, draw up a plan of action, get approvals, and then task everyone else for support.”
“You don’t need to convince me, sir — if you ask me, your reports should go directly to SECDEF,” the senior controller said. There was a slight pause; then: “Stand by for Condor, Odin. Good to talk with you again, General.”
A moment later: “Condor-One up, secure,” came the voice of the Fourteenth Air Force’s commanding officer, Air Force Major General Harold Backman. The commander of the U.S. Air Force’s Fourteenth Air Force, Backman was “dual-hatted” as Joint Forces Component Command-Space, or JFCC-S, a unit of U.S. Strategic Command (which had been destroyed in the Russian air attacks against the United States and was being reconstituted in various locations around the country).
JFCC-S was responsible for planning, coordinating, equipping, and executing all military operations in space. Before McLanahan, his High-Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, and the XR-A9 Black Stallion spaceplanes, “military operations in space” generally meant the deployment of satellites and monitoring space activities of other nations. No longer. McLanahan had given JFCC-Space a global strike and ultra-rapid mobility capability, and frankly he didn’t feel they were yet up to the task.
“Odin here, secure and verified,” Patrick said. “How are you doing, Harold?”
“Up to my eyeballs as usual, sir, but better than you, I’m guessing. The duty officer said he saw you on TV but you cut off the interview suddenly without warning. You okay?”
“I got a COMPSCAN warning and got right on it.”
“If it scared the piss out of one of my controllers, it’s going to panic the brass, you know that, right?”
“They should learn to relax. Did you get my data?”
“I’m looking at it right now, Muck. Give me a sec.” A few moments later: “I’ve got my intel chief looking it over now, but it just looks like a bombed-out highway airbase to me. I take it you don’t think so?”
“I think those craters are decoys, Harold, and I’d like some of my guys to go out there and take a look.”
Another slight pause. “Khorasan province, just a hundred miles from Mashhad — that area is controlled by Mohtaz and his Revolutionary Guards Corps,” Backman said. “Well within armed-response distance from Sabzevar, which certainly has a lot of Pasdaran hiding out there. If Soltanabad is really vacant, you’ll still be in the teeth of the storm if the bad guys spot you — and if it’s active like you said, it’ll be a meat grinder. I assume you want to go in with just a couple of your robots, right?”
“Affirmative.”
“Thought so. Your gizmos up there can’t give you any more detailed imagery?”
“Our only other option is a direct flyover by a satellite or unmanned aircraft, and that’ll alert the bad guys for sure. I’d like to get a peek first before I plan on blowing the place, and a small force would be the fastest and easiest.”
“How fast?”
“I haven’t looked at the orbital geometry, but I’m hoping we can launch them within four, have them on the ground in seven, airborne again in eight, and home within twelve.”
“Days?”
“Hours.”
“If I had my guys
“A-friggin’-mazing. I’m all for that, Muck, but I think that idea is just boggling too many minds down here on plain old planet Earth. You know that we’ve been directed by the National Command Authority to restrict all spaceplane missions to resupply and emergency only, right?”
“I consider this an emergency, Harold.”
“I know you do…but is it
Patrick swallowed down a flare of anger at being questioned about his judgment, but he was accustomed to everyone second- and third-guessing him, even those who knew and liked him. “I won’t know for sure until I get some of my guys out there.”
“I don’t think it’ll be authorized, sir. You still want me to ask the question?”
Patrick didn’t hesitate: “Yes.”
“O-kay. Stand by.” The wait was not very long at all: “Okay, Muck, the DO of STRATCOM says you can get your guys moving in that direction, but no one puts boots — or whatever the hell your robots wear on their feet — on the ground, and no aircraft crosses any lines on any maps, without a go-ahead from CENTCOM.”
“Can I load up a few Black Stallion spaceplanes and put them in orbit?”
“How many, and loaded up with what?”
“One or two with operators, staggered and in different orbits until I can get a firm A-hour; one or two cover aircraft, loaded with precision-guided weapons; perhaps one or two decoys that will double as in-orbit retrieval backups; and one or two Vampire bombers airborne from Iraq ready to destroy the base if we find it to be operational.”
“That many spacecraft might be a hard sell — and the armed spacecraft might be a deal-breaker.”
“The more I can forward-deploy, and the more support stuff I get into orbit, the quicker this will be over, Harold.”
“I get it,” Backman said. The pause was longer this time: “Okay, approved. No one crosses any political boundaries in the atmosphere without a go-ahead, and keep the re-entry weapons tight until given the green light.” He chuckled, then added, “Jeez, I sound like friggin’
