Chương 118: Book 4 - Chapter 9 A

Directed by a White House staffer, the heavy door closed behind me, leaving me in a smaller briefing room with the two sharp-eyed National Security Council officials. The atmosphere was immediately less formal than the Oval Office. One of them, the senior official who had frowned during the economic briefing, hung up a phone.

"Doctor Cook, the President was quite animated," he said.

"He mentioned 'new toys.' Frankly, I am not sure what could surprise me after your analysis of the Soviet economy."

"I understand," I replied, beginning to lay a series of high-definition drawings and photos onto the table.

"After merging LTV Aerospace under General Atomics, I instructed the teams there to begin designing equipment for the next war, not the last one. We will be shifting from fighting the Cold War to winning the new wars—small, precise and utterly dominant. No more fog of war." The younger man flipped one of the drawings.

"What is this? This is not Vought's usual work."

"That is the General Atomics High-Altitude Windmill Balloon," I explained.

"The GA HAWB flies above 25 miles up. American Wireless buys all their balloons from General Atomics. We've been exploring other balloon based technologies. The windmill generator is protected from the environment inside the balloon, which acts as the windmill arms, transmitting power down the cable below. Military applications are obvious."

"Useful for remote bases. Powering forward observation posts," the senior official noted.

"What's the output?" he asked. I flipped to the stacked diagram.

"It is a modular system. A half Megawatt per balloon. You can stack them. The power balloons feed everything else on the cable, as well as the command center on the ground. Ideal wind speed is between 20 and 34 miles up. That's room for twenty or more HAWBs on a single cable."

"That's not just a remote base, that's a small city," he said surprised. I nodded in agreement and showed him the additional ad-ons.

"We have a communications balloon and an early-warning radar balloon. The radar balloon at 20 miles up gives you an incredible detection range, better even than AWACS, with unlimited loiter time.

"The communications balloon supports next generation encrypted communication and command and control systems. If there is another one within 800 miles, they automatically link and share data."

"That's a pop up fence then. A few of those around the border of a country and you know everything moving inside it," the younger man said. The senior man disagreed.

"It's a pop-up Command and Control Center. That eliminates one of the biggest logistical hurdles in a theater of operation."

"You're both right," I said.

"The entire kit folds down into a standard C-130 Hercules shipping container. It even includes equipment to generate hydrogen to fill the balloons—just plug it into a generator and add water to start. Once deployed, no external power is needed."

"Deploying by Hercules means it's quick to deploy, practically anywhere," the senior said. I laid out the untethered drone photo.

"This is the true game changer. We call it the Predator. It is an untethered and powered inflatable drone. Air is pumped in, the structure expands, becoming rigid, and the wings inflate. It carries ISR equipment and transmits live video back to the communications balloon within a four hundred-mile radius. It's a hand launched miniature remote controlled spy plane."

"It does look like an aircraft," the senior official observed.

"It is. Because it ships deflated they come three to a box. Each control center can easily manage one. Fuel it once with gasoline and it can stay at high altitude for a week. It has sharper imagery than any spy satellite. You just input GPS coordinates and it flies itself, loitering over or actively following a target. From the control center it can be operated like a video game. At the cost of a day's flight time, it can also be equipped with a laser designator." The younger official leaned in, excited.

"A designator? You mean..."

"Shine the laser down from a stealthy high altitude drone, and that is where the bomb hits. Pinpoint accuracy from air-launched weapons, rockets or cruise missiles. Vought Missiles has whole new family of laser-guided weapons ready to sell to the Pentagon that the Predator directs exactly to the target you see on the screen."

"The Pentagon will absolutely salivate over this capability," the senior official confirmed.

"They should," I affirmed.

"This is for small wars. In quick, kill the bad guys, destroy the enemy army and its commanders and get out again. Command and control dominance. This eliminates the fog of war. The enemies you can see are targets you can hit, and my systems let no one hide. Any war lasting longer than six months is being fought wrong, and the US military with this technology, will never fight wrong again." This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The younger man frowned slightly.

"I wonder why I haven't seen any of this stuff before."

"The Pentagon knows about it. You should ask them," I said.

"This is the end of the Cold War and massive military spending. You'll find a fancy name for it, like 'Peace Dividend,' but scaling back the military does not mean you do not want to improve its efficiency and ability to fight a war.

"The Pentagon will be concentrating on a long and large-scale global conflict with the Soviets right until the collapse. They will scramble to understand how to fight a small war. This technology shifts the focus entirely—from attrition to absolute domination."

"Do you need us to arrange a demonstration to the brass at the Pentagon?" the senior official asked.

"No, the people at AM General, Vought and General Atomics handle that. I just wanted to be sure the White House knew what was available and how dominating the US military can be on the modern battlefield." I left the White House and headed to my plane. I was starving. Puberty was making me constantly hungry. As soon as I was aboard, we were up and headed back to Tulsa. I need more time with my Mom, and to do something terrible. The cool air of the Mayo was a pleasant transition from the hot 93-degree day in Tulsa.

I watched the numbers tick up as I headed toward home. The elevator doors opened with a ding on the family level and I could hear the noise of a family dinner going on. I stepped out of the elevator and saw my Mom stick her head past the doorway to see who it was.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, astonished.

"I finished early," I told her, walking towards the family dining space.

"I heard you were making lasagna tonight. So I thought I'd come back for dinner." I gave her a hug as I reached her, and she softly ran her hand over the back of my head.

"Everybody from your party is here. Come and join us," she said. I sat at the dinner table as the conversation flowed around us. Sam and her parents were talking about how they would miss coming out every year now that Samantha had turned over her duties to Mattie.

"You're welcome to come stay at Fountainhead anytime," my Dad offered.

"Or even time here at the Mayo."

"We've been deciding what we want to do. Samantha graduates next year, then she is off to Stanford. I think I'm about ready to retire," her Dad said.

"I'm looking forward to getting out and fishing on the Kennebec. I've always wanted to try to catch one of those big monsters. You should come Ray, I bet you'd love fishing on the Kennebec."

"That sounds like a great plan, Arthur," my Dad said.

"But don't you think fifty is a little young to retire?"

"Well, maybe not completely retire," he said looking at his wife.

"But a few days less each week at the University would be nice." I smiled thinking about my need to save people. I glanced at where Matt usually sat, but he had started his annual two weeks vacation after my birthday party. Grandma and Grandpa were at the New Ambassador in LA, but my noisy cousins were having fun digging into the lasagna at a separate table. I felt something and looked down to find a slim hand resting on mine.

"You look far away, John," Samantha said softly.

"Just thinking," I told her.

"My meeting went well and I have Bush's support for the announcement."

"I was glad to see you come back. I was worried I'd have to take a flight to San Diego to find your assistant, Tim," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Are you heading off soon?" I asked her.

"In a couple days. Your Mom and mine plan on doing something tomorrow at her music conservatory. Why?" she asked.

"I don't need to run off. I was wondering if I could paint you?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise and her face lit in a huge smile.

"That sounds like fun. Where would we do it?" she asked, voice growing quieter.

"Upstairs where the light is better. Either the Ballroom or if it is in use, we can use the Rooftop Bar. It's closed until 3pm but I have the keys."

"This is exciting," she enthused.

"What should I wear?" she asked breathlessly.

"Whatever you think makes you beautiful," I told her.

"I'll have to check to see if I have any oil paints. I might just stick to watercolors. Worst comes to worst I can do charcoal or colored pencils." I slid my hand out from under hers, and reached for my glass to take a drink. She withdrew back and returned to eating, but from time to time as I ate my lasagna and enjoyed the conversation that swirled around me, she'd give me a considering look from the corner of her eye.

The next morning after breakfast she followed me back to my bedroom, dressed in her best dress, her hair and makeup carefully perfect.

"I'll need a hand carrying everything up," I told her as I dug into the closet pulling out easels and fishing boxes full of paints.

"There is one blank canvas at the very back," I said as I pulled finished artworks out and handed them to her behind me. This next moment was going to be awful, and I hated myself for doing it. When she hadn't taken the third painting, I looked back to find her holding it up to the light, standing so she could see herself and the painting in the bedroom mirror.

"Something wrong?" I asked carefully.

"Who is this? I thought it was me at first, but it's not," she said, turning to me, her face carefully blank.

"That's the woman I'm going to marry someday. Isn't she beautiful?" I asked, trying to sound matter of fact. She dropped the painting and fled the room, the door slamming behind her. I could hear her trying to stifle her wails as she ran to the apartment her family was using. I took a deep breath and let it out. Sometimes knowing the future is very hard. Sometimes keeping the future safe is even harder.