Bates asked, “So what do you think about all this?”
“The planning for this is more advanced than I imagined”, said Planner nodding. “I thought this was going to be mainly media management, regular PsyOps. It is considerably more than I thought. A lot of work has already gone into this.”
“Indeed. Everybody knows the target was the World Trade Center, by the way.”
“They do?”
“Unofficially, yes,” teased Bates. “Of course, if terrorists really wanted to attack our capitalist heartland, they’d fly an aircraft into the Brooklyn Bridge; that would cause chaos for years. But I’d guess that would be too easy.”
A taxi drew up before Planner could respond.
“Anyway…” said Bates. “See you at the airport. Next stop: California!”
* * * *
Planner and Bates checked in their bags at the business class desk. The check-in agent, with a restrained smile, upgraded them to First Class. Planner and Bates exchanged knowing looks.
* * * *
Travis Air force Base was unseasonably chilly and overcast at 8am. Following their breakfast briefing, Planner and Bates were driven out past a line of big jets; three high-winged, four-engined, Boeing C-17 Globemaster III military transport jets. Behind them were Military Boeing 767 aircraft, the subject of their visit, which despite their similar dimensions, looked smaller in comparison to the military beasts.
The air base was unimaginably long and thin and bleak. They drove in a military HumVee at the regulation 20mph for twenty minutes northeast along the Perimeter Road, which runs parallel to the main runway. Due to the steel under-body armour plates in the HumVee, motor noise reflected up into the cabin prevented most forms of spoken communication. The driver wore a headset and their host for the day sat in the front seat, with Planner and Bates sitting uncomfortably in the back.
The vehicle eventually parked beside a painted mark on the road. There seemed no reason why this point rather than at any other point along that straight featureless road. Planner and Bates stretched and yawned as they exited the vehicle. The driver stayed inside vehicle, while their escort, Colonel Purple, stood using his cell phone. “Purple” was his Rainbow colored code name. He insisted on retaining his rank hence the Cluedo-sounding sobriquet. He was five foot six, slightly overweight with a short stubbly gray moustache. He had a short-sleeved uniform and must have been cold compared to Planner and Bates wearing their east coast coats. His phone conversation was short and was soon ready to brief his two Washington dignitaries.
“A noisy vehicle!” said Purple cheerfully, in a thick southern accent.
“I guess we can’t travel first class all the way”, sighed Bates.
“So you flew overnight”, Purple enquired politely.
“The Red Eye”, Planner said.
“I don’t find it so bad coming east to west myself”, Purple continued conversationally. “I’ve been doing it every month or so for the past twenty years.”
Planner and Bates made bland comments about not wanting to do the same. The airfield became silent and Bates started looking around. He could see a gray Boeing 767 flying in the distance.
Bates said, “So that’s the military version of the 757? I’m not an airplane expert, but wouldn’t a plane spotter spot the difference?”
“No, Sir, that’s a standard civilian 767. We’ve just painted it gray. Once we receive your instructions on livery, it will be indistinguishable from a civilian airliner. Just waiting for your instructions on that.”
“You have a good crew for that, Colonel?” asked Planner.
“The Best, Sir! We have the best. Totally reliable in all respects”, the Colonel replied emphatically. “The work will be carried out at MacDill Air base. Doc Zakhiem has placed a 767 tanker contract down there and we can siphon off the machines we need.”
“Old McThrill, eh?” said Planner.
“You’ve been there?” asked Purple.
“Sure. There’s special ops unit there I’ve used in the past. And Florida is good for us,” said Planner with Bates wrapping his coat around himself for warmth, nodding in agreement.
Purple’s watch bleeped indicating the appointed time was imminent. “Ok, Gentlemen, if you look over to the west, you’ll see the latest test approach.”
There was the sound of a jet engine far away. A minute later, a gray painted 767 flew over in a direction 90 degrees to the runway, directly towards them.
“This plane is currently flying at 7000 feet. It will now descend to just a few tens of feet, over the runway, there”, said Purple, pointing to the runway just a hundred yards away.
The plane started to bank port and descended rapidly. At the far end of the runway the plane had levelled out and started descending at a constant rate directly over the runway as if to land. However, the undercarriage remained retracted and the plane appeared to be accelerating rather than slowing down. In just a few seconds the plane had raced the whole distance of the runway. At the closest point of approach to Planner and co, the plane appeared to look as though it was about to plough into the ground. But then with a whoosh the plane was away slowly pulling up and flying straight to the north.
“Wow,” gasped Planner.
“Previous runs have shown we are on target within plus or minus two feet,” stated Purple.
“So what height did it descend to?” asked Planner.
“Twenty feet. We can’t get any lower because of ground effect; that’s air pressure keeping the aircraft aloft.” Stated Purple.
“That is impressive piloting,” said Bates.
“Pilot? No, Sir. This testing is too dangerous to have people on-board. It is robot controlled. The plane is a drone.”
“Of course! Of course! So no pilot required in any way?” said Bates.
“The flight path is all planned on a computer; Loaded up into the autopilot via a special unit called the Flight Termination System. I always thought that was a strange name for the device. It provides the one new trick absent from a standard autopilot, that is, to allow take-off without a pilot. We’ve had remote controlled aircraft since World War Two and planes have been flying and landing by computer for decades. And then, one more thing; in order to fly with pin-point precision, you just need the high fidelity radar and military-mode GPS16”
“You just need that, huh?” said Bates sarcastically.
“Oh, and ten GPS satellites within line of sight,” said Purple to emphasise just how difficult it was.
“Ten satellites?” asked Planner.
“GPS coverage at any one point varies from around 6 to 12 satellites at any one time. It’s the only way to get the required accuracy. Hence why you are out in this field at such an unholy hour, gents… And remember, where we don’t have sufficient radar coverage, we need a chase plane.”
“Chase plane?” asked Bates.
“It’s like a look out”, said Purple. “Just keeps track of the drone. Just occasionally we lose sync with GPS and the drone strays off the flight plan; Very infrequent and easily corrected. We use a gulfstream executive-style jet as the chase plane.”
Bates held his tongue and considered what he had just seen and heard.
Planner perked up and said with satisfaction, “That’s great. So we’re all on track?”
“Yes, Sir. Next week, we’ll be testing two drones simultaneously and then we’ll be ready for the complete aerial exercise.”
Planner’s smile faded. “What about four?” he asked.
“Two was our specification. Two targets.”
“Can you do four?” asked Planner.
“Launching four aircraft simultaneously? Eight aircraft with chasers… That’s a lot of work. We’d probably need to commandeer another airfield…”
“How about two followed by another two. Say, within a 90 minute window? We don’t need the chasers over New York since we already have the high fidelity radar in place there.”