defense strategy.
CINCSPACE
I have a particular interest in space because, after the war, from 1992 to my retirement in 1994, I was commander of the U.S. space forces.
Space people are
For one thing, you’d think space people would be the most flexible, daring, and future-oriented individuals you’re likely to meet. In fact, that is not usually the case. Most of them are incredibly cautious. Many bad things can go wrong in their world; and when they do, the results can be catastrophic. Even a little glitch can be a big problem when the glitch is 22,500 miles above the surface of the Earth. Each space launch is a unique event (just as it was forty years ago). Every time space folks put a satellite on tons of explosive fuel, their memories retain the scars of huge explosions on the launch pad or shortly after liftoff. We all saw the Challenger tragedy on our television sets.
In other words, space folks are the most conservative group you will find. They make Swiss bankers look like druggy surfers. They agonize over every aspect of their trade. The design and construction of satellites can take many years. There are inevitable delays — often measured in years.
Once the bird is in orbit and functioning, it is turned over to the satellite flyers, men and women who work in windowless rooms in front of flickering computer screens. They are backed up by the men and women stationed around the globe (usually at lonely, faraway locations such as island atolls and Arctic wastelands) who operate the radio net that communicates with the orbiting vehicles.
In the control rooms, you’ll find computer geeks, people who are among the most highly trained, motivated, educated, disciplined, and competent professionals in our military.
When you enter the room, you notice the hush. The hum of air conditioners is about the only sound present, until you begin to realize there’s also a click, click, click of computer keys. That’s the noise the space pilots make when they fly their vehicles.
Occasionally, there’ll be an anomaly that the operator cannot fix — say, an overheating transmitter as the sun bakes the side of the bird facing its rays. The operator desperately tries to coax the bird to turn so more heat- dissipating material will protect the affected part, but to no avail. When the operator finally realizes he (or she) can’t resolve the anomaly on his (or her) own and turns to the supervisor on duty for help, they don’t yell “Help” or “Mayday” or “SOS”; they look up from their screens and wave their hand to beckon their leader to their station. The expert then quietly rises from his/ her own computer station, walks to the unhappy operator, and bends down to look at the flashing red numbers to which the operator is pointing on the computer screen. These are code for the problem occurring halfway around the world and thousands of miles out in space. The supervisor reaches over and moves the computer keyboard where he or she can tap the “backspace” key to clear the command column, then types in a series of numbers and letters to command the bird to take healing action. Both watch the numbers on the reporting display change as the action takes effect and the bird is saved. Then both go back to their normal work.
The battle was fought without anyone speaking a word. Welcome to the silent world of space.
Is it surprising that such people have made little impact on the guys with guns and bayonets, or that the warriors have had little understanding of how space can support their operations?
When I arrived at SPACECOM, I very quickly found the reason for this. It was fear. The space people were afraid that the mean, ugly warriors would laugh at them for being geeks, and the warriors were afraid the space geeks would laugh at them for being stupid. I knew I had to do something.
First, I accused the space people of doing “a war dance in their own tepees.” That is, they were busy creating systems to support military operations, but they were not out marketing their wares, for fear they’d get laughed at or rejected. Then I publicly announced that I was Geek Number One and that I was going to learn all I could about their black art. Since I had some experience getting shot at, I figured this was one geek the warriors would not reject. Then I started marketing the wares space could provide the warriors.
At the same time, I made sure that the often hobby-shop efforts of the space people actually related to the needs of the folks pulling triggers in anger.
Soon it became fun for everyone, as the warriors began to realize more and more the immense contributions space systems and products could make to their efforts; and the space geeks began to gain confidence, not only because of the excellence of their work, but because national heroes thought highly of them and their work.
We are not there yet, but I long for the day when a space geek walks into a fighter pilot bar and announces, “You boys better get out of here. I’ve had a bad day flying my satellite, I intend to get drunk, and if that happens I may get mean and hurt one of you.” At that point, the space pilots will have earned their spurs. “Every man a tiger” applies to
These are some of the first things I learned as Geek Number One:
To start with, keep in mind that when you enter space, nothing is there. That’s good if you want to fly without drag, or if you want to use a laser without the attenuation problems one gets in air, or if you want to see without clouds or dust getting in the way. But living and breathing don’t come as easily as down here.
So why go there? Because you can do a lot of things you can’t do on Earth. Satellites offer a very convenient platform.
How do satellites work?
Imagine a big cannon. Shoot a projectile out of it at, say, a forty-five-degree angle; the projectile makes an arc and hits some distance away. Shoot the projectile with greater velocity; the projectile makes a longer arc and falls farther away. If you keep increasing the velocity, eventually the projectile falls completely around the Earth, and it has become a satellite. It is now in orbit.
An infinite variety of orbits are possible, and various orbits have various useful purposes.
For example, if you place a satellite at approximately 22,300 miles above the equator and set it in motion with a speed that matches the Earth’s rotation, then it just sits there (at least from the point of view of the Earth). Looked at from below, it’s stationary — or geosynchronous (GEO), to use the technical term — with a little less than half the world in its field of view (the exceptions are the polar areas). That means it can receive line-of-sight signals from Earth and beam them back to a receiver located anywhere else in the world that is in its field of view. Hooking these two stations up would mean a lot of copper wire; plus, you can send transmissions to intermediate stations in between. Best of all, you can send the radio beam to another satellite, also hovering over the equator, and that one can send it to another. Either of these can send the message down to a station within its field of view. In that way, you can contact anyplace on Earth (except at its very top and very bottom).
This orbit is best for communications satellites. It is also the home of our Cold War infrared satellites, such as the ones that detected the ballistic missiles launched at Riyadh or Israel.
If you want your satellite to listen to radio broadcasts from some station on Earth — say, KRNT radio in Des Moines, Iowa — it turns out that GEO may not provide a view of an area you want covered. That means you want your satellite to be closer to the station. The problem is that a GEO orbit is the only place in which the satellite will stand still over the surface of the earth; and besides, since you don’t care to listen to ABC in Perth, Australia, on the other side of the world, you want your orbiting satellite to float over Des Moines and whiz by Perth. That means you’ll want to create an egg-shaped orbital path, with the Earth located at the bottom of the small part of the oval. In that way, your satellite will spend most of its time looking down on Iowa and very little time looking down on down-under. This kind of elliptical orbit is called a “Molniya” orbit (the word is Russian; I don’t know what it means).
If you want to use a satellite to look closely at the surface of the earth, then you’ll want to fly it as close to it as you can get, because the closer you are, the better you can see things. So you put your satellite in as low an orbit as possible. The problem now is that if you get too low, you start scraping air, and your bird slows down and eventually falls to earth. This orbit is called Low Earth Orbit, or LEO (about 60 to 300 miles up).
