“Central China, sir… ahh… launch is new location that I’ve never seen before. Looks like now the target is over….an area… where there’s no known Chinese military bases,” replied Sox. With his thick, Southie accent, it took some time to develop an ear as to what Sox was saying.
“All right… that’s unique. How much flight data do you have?”
Sox continued to look down at the screen, moving his cursor around and scrolling in and out with his right hand, searching for more signatures from the flash. He knew time was of the essence because the Floor never knew if a country was launching a strike against another country, doing a flight test, or just launching an unannounced weather satellite. Time was almost always a priority.
There was, of course, the military reason for monitoring this area of the globe. China had giant DF-5 intercontinental-range ballistic missiles that could carry three or four nuclear warheads each. Adversaries knowing when other countries were going to launch ahead of time was always a plus, but in this case, seeing it live and already airborne was unsettling. The crews that monitor launches usually saw a target’s flash as the missile came right out of the ground, to including monitoring of the post-boost vehicle, called a “bus”. This was the portion of the missile that releases each warhead at its intended target. Today, Sox saw none of that.
“Sir, this is way wicked. Ahh….the computer doesn’t recognize the friggin launch signature,” announced Sox.
Reid walked from the center of the room, stepping off his supervisor platform, and headed towards the Asia region consoles. He stood over Sox, holding his laminated checklist, and pulled his headset down off his ears and parked it around his neck. Reid was careful not to tangle the trailing black intercom wire that connected his headset to the comms system, but got caught up in it anyway. Reid stumbled on his way over, and was somewhat embarrassed.
“Sox, what do you mean it doesn’t recognize it? What’s the computer’s estimate?” Reid asked.
“Sir… I just don’t know.”
“Come on, Sox. The computer has to know. We have every missile in the world in there. Right? Land based DF-5’s… DF-31A’s? Type 094 JL-1’s and 2’s from the submarines. We got it all…”
It was just last week when Reid was involved in a situation regarding a fire off the coast of the Port of Long Beach, California, and it turned out to be a deck fire at sea on the HMS Duncan of the Royal Navy. Also, it was only a few years ago when a commercial jet aircraft exploded in mid-air over Michigan, and FBI agents and investigators from the Department of Homeland Security came to Reid asking if he and his team detected anything, seeking answers to the possibility the passenger jet was shot down, versus an on-board bomb or technical issue with the airframe.
The 1970’s to present day DSP database was full of rich history, primarily designed to detect missiles from the former Soviet Union. The newer SBIRS encyclopedia of detecting nearly every heat signature on or over earth, was growing rapidly every day. Every signature rocket engine that ever existed, from all 24 countries that flew ballistic missiles, was recorded in those databases. From over 22,000 miles overhead, the satellites located high above the equator were first cues, detecting the heat signature of most man-made and natural events. The newer SBIRS constellation size consisted of four satellites in a geosynchronous orbit, and two in the highly elliptical orbit. This meant that the SBIRS satellites had to be launched way higher than most so they can match up with the earth's rotation, and hence essentially maintain the same spot over the ground during their useful lifespan. The mercury cadmium telluride infrared sensors could send Buckley an immediate warning and indication of a missile launch, live volcanos, and even forest fires.
The combined orbits of the newer SBIRS birds enabled the Buckley gang to retask the sensors, enabling robust scanning in both short and mid-wave infrared areas, enabling them to see the ground from space, while seeing a respectful revisit rate faster than DSP. This was all from a lightweight space vehicle that only weighed about 1,000 pounds. These newer SBIRS, launched at the cost of near $19 billion for six satellites, were supposed to detect a launch faster than ever, and precisely predict its aim point. Except for today.
“Sir, I just confirmed the target is already flying. Sensors missed the launch vehicle somehow. This baby is already passing 57,000 feet and climbing.” Talking faster than usual, Sox blustered out “target speed is passing Mach 4, heading 028 degrees true.”
“You gotta be freaking kidding me. All right… all right. Towards the Mongolia-Russia border area? Huh. Okay, listen up everyone,” said Lt Col Reid, headset back on his head. He wanted the rest of the room of watch standers to know what was going on in the China region. Reid transmitted the situation to the rest of the floor’s team, who were monitoring others areas of earth.
Looking across the room and beyond his seat was the Non-Commissioned Officer of the Watch, Senior Master Sergeant Bill Myers, standing with his tattooed, muscular arms folded and listening in on the situation. With over 24-years of service, Bill Myers, sporting a smaller version of an old-school handlebar mustache, displayed a certain senior crustiness that was straight out of central casting.
“Sergeant Myers. Hey, Senior… get me the Group Commander down here, then the NMCC on the phone,” said the Colonel.
“Wait… wait….wait a minute. Hold on, sir. The target has changed direction to 163 degrees upon leveling off at 70,000 feet, is now at Mach 5,” said Connolly, now dripping a bead of sweat onto his keyboard in an air conditioned room.
“Changed direction… that much? For real? What the…? Okay, copy,” replied Reid.
Jeff Reid was walking back to his supervisor area on the platform to speak with the National Military Command Center, the NMCC, back at the Pentagon. These were the nation’s watch standers for all global situations, from terrorist attacks to troop movements to humanitarian support to earthquakes. He wanted to make sure these folks were also informed of this event.
“Whoa!” yelled Bill.
“Whoa what? I’ve got to call this in, Bill, you know that.”
“Take a look up there… on the screen,” Bill Myers pointed, displaying the skull and crossbones tattoo on his forearm and a large black digital wristwatch.
Sox pushed back in his wheeled seat. It was obvious he did it regularly due to the black wheeled skid marks on the white tiled floor. He knocked over his empty soda can in the process, and it rolled loudly on the ground across the floor.
“Sir, the target’s gone. Disappeared,” replied Sox, pointing at the monitors.
“Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’? You can’t see it anymore?” asked Reid.
“Yeah. Yes, sir. Usually from this console, at this range setting, we see the object impact a target … or explode in the air if it’s wicked busted, or… ahh….see it hit the ground. I’m seeing nothing,” said Sox, with a perplexed face as he pulled himself closer to the console. He moved the computer mouse around some more, changing the settings and scans.
“Stop. I’ve never heard of a missile disappearing,” commented Reid. “Find it. Now.” You could hear the tone of authority in his voice.