“They spelled it out clearly enough, didn’t they, Weatherly?”
“Yes, sir, but…frankly, sir, we don’t believe it,” Weatherly said, nervously glancing at McLanahan. “One aircraft to patrol over twelve thousand square miles of ground and over one hundred thousand cubic miles of airspace? It would take two Global Hawks to do it—and Global Hawks can’t scan the sky, at least not yet. And that’s at the widest-scale MTI surveillance mode. Scion is proposing to have half-meter image resolution available at all times over the entire patrol area…with one aircraft? It can’t be done.”
“General?” Wilhelm asked with a slight smirk on his face. “Care to respond?” Turning to his staff officers, he interrupted himself by saying, “Oh, sorry, ladies and gents, this is retired Lieutenant-General Patrick McLanahan, the veep of Scion Aviation. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” The dumbfounded expressions and dropping jaws of the others in the room showed that they certainly did. “He decided to surprise us with his august presence today. General, my operations staff. The floor is yours.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Patrick said, getting to his feet and giving Wilhelm an exasperated look. “I look forward to working with you on this project, guys. I could explain the technology that Dr. Jonathan Masters here has developed to improve the resolution and range of ground and air target surveillance sensors, but I think it would be better to show you. Clear the airspace for us tonight and we’ll show you what we can do.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, General, because of an op we just found out about for tonight.” Wilhelm turned to a very young, very nervous-looking captain. “Cotter?”
The captain took a furtive step forward. “Captain Kelvin Cotter, sir, director of air traffic management. We just learned about a planned Iraqi operation that they requested backup for, sir. They’re going to a village north of Zahuk to do a raid on a suspected Kurdish bomb-making and underground smuggling operation—supposedly a pretty big tunnel complex connecting several villages and running under the border. They’ve requested persistent surveillance support: a dedicated Global Hawk, Reapers, Predators, Strykers, the works, plus Air Force, Marine, and Army close air and artillery support. The spectrum is saturated. We…excuse me, sir, but we just don’t know how your sensors will interact with everyone else.”
“Then pull all the other UAVs out and let us do all the support,” Jon Masters said.
“What?” Wilhelm thundered.
“I said, don’t waste all that gas and flying time on all those UAVs and let us do all the surveillance support,” Jon said. “We’ve got three times the image resolution of Global Hawk, five times the electro-optical sensor resolution, and we can give you better and faster aerial command and control for the ground support guys. We can do communications relay, act as a local area network router for a thousand terminals—”
“A thousand terminals?” someone exclaimed.
“At over three times the speed of Link sixteen—which isn’t that hard to beat anyway,” Jon said. “Listen, guys, I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been using last-generation stuff out here almost from day one. Block Ten Global Hawks? Some of you probably weren’t even in the military when they started using those dinosaurs! Predator? You’re still using low-light TV? Who uses LLTV anymore…Fred Flintstone?”
“How do you propose to tie in all those different aircraft into your communications network and the Tank…by tonight?” Wilhelm asked. “It takes days to link and verify an asset.”
“I said, Colonel, you’re using outdated technology—of course it takes that long for stuff made ten years ago or more,” Jon responded. “It’s all plug-and-play nowadays in the rest of civilized society. You just power up your planes, get ’em within range of our plane, turn on the equipment, and it’s done. We can do it on the ground, or if the planes aren’t colocated we can do it in-flight.”
“Sorry, kids, but I have to see that before I’ll believe it,” Wilhelm said. He turned to another officer. “Harrison? Know anything about what they’re talking about?”
An attractive red-haired woman stepped forward, dodging around Cotter in his hasty retreat. “Yes, Colonel, I’ve read about instant high-speed broadband networking for remotely piloted aircraft and their sensors, but I’ve never seen it done.” She looked over at Patrick, then quickly stepped off the dais and extended a hand. Patrick stood and allowed his hand to be pumped enthusiastically. “Margaret Harrison, sir, formerly Air Force Third Special Operations Squadron ops officer. I’m a contractor directing UAV operations here in Nahla. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, sir, a real pleasure. You are the reason I joined the Air Force, sir. You are a genuine—”
“Let the man go and let’s finish this damned briefing, Harrison,” Wilhelm interrupted. The woman’s smile disappeared, and she scooted back to her place on the dais. “General, I am not going to risk sacrificing the mission by using unknown and unproven technology.”
“Colonel—”
“General, my AOR is all of Dahuk province plus half of Ninawa and Irbil provinces,” Wilhelm argued. “I’m also tasked to support operations in all of northern Iraq. The Zahuk operation is just one of about eight offensives that I’ve got to keep track of weekly, plus another six minor operations and dozens of incidents that occur daily. You want to put the lives of a thousand Iraqi and American soldiers and dozens of aircraft and ground vehicles in jeopardy just to satisfy your rich contract, and I’m not going to allow that. Cotter, when’s the next open window?”
“The Zahuk raid’s air support window terminates in twelve hours, so three P.M. local time.”
“Then that’s when you can do your test, General,” Wilhelm said. “You can get a full night’s sleep. Harrison, what UAVs can you let the general play with?”
“The Zahuk operation is using our division’s dedicated Global Hawk and all but one of the regiment’s Reapers and Predators, sir, and they won’t be serviced and ready to fly for at least twelve hours after they land. I might be able to make a Global Hawk available from down south.”
“See to it. Cotter, reserve the airspace for however long they need for their setup.” Wilhelm turned to the security contractor. “Thompson, take the general and his party to support services and get them bedded down.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Wilhelm got to his feet and turned to McLanahan. “General, you can quiz the staff here on anything else you need. Put in your requests for aircraft service to the flight line guys ASAP. I’ll see you for chow tonight.” He started for the door.
“Sorry, Colonel, but I’m afraid we’ll be busy,” Patrick said. “But thanks for the invite.”
Wilhelm stopped and turned. “How very industrious you ‘consultants’ are, General,” he said flatly. “You will be missed, I’m sure.” Weatherly called the room to attention as Wilhelm strode out the door.
As if released from invisible chains, all of the staff members hurried over to Patrick to introduce or reintroduce themselves. “We can’t believe you’re here, of all godforsaken places, sir,” Weatherly said after shaking hands.
“We all assumed you’d died or had a stroke or something when you suddenly disappeared off Armstrong Space Station,” Cotter said. “Not me—I thought President Gardner secretly sent an FBI hit squad up on the Space Shuttle to off you,” Harrison said.