Modern Warfare

United States Northern Command

Cheyenne Mountain Space Force Station, CO

“A dogfight?  Somebody fucked up.”  As a former fighter pilot, Wilkes knew that the F-22 should not be getting into visual range of an enemy aircraft.  The entire point of the F-22 was to see the other guy first and shoot first.  Since the earliest days of air combat, the pilot who sees the enemy first and shoots first usually wins.  That was true in the skies over Europe in 1941 and is true today.

The aide giving the briefing frowned.  “The Russian strategy of focusing on frontal RCS paid off in this case.  It was a direct head-on engagement.”  For stealth aircraft, the key metric is Radar Cross Section (RCS).  Stealth aircraft are not actually invisible; they simply have a smaller radar return than a traditional aircraft.  The smaller the RCS, the harder they are to detect.  In the case of the Su-57, the designers had prioritized reducing the frontal RCS, sacrificing the RCS from other angles.

“If we had two AWACS birds, we would have had them a hundred miles out.”

“Yes, I think so.”

Again, the Chinese attack strategy of getting in a surprise blow against aircraft on the ground was hurting the USAF.  Since the Cold War, the USAF had been the most heavily funded air force on earth.  Shortage of aircraft hadn’t been a problem since the early days of WWII.  Until now.  Now it was literally killing them.

Wilkes glanced down at the after-action report in his hands.  Clearly, the strategy of keeping 11^th Air Force intact in Alaska was the correct one, no matter how much they were hurting for assets in California.  At first, he had been massively relieved to find out that Alaska had largely been spared.  Now, he was beginning to think that the Chinese fully intended for Russia to have the snot kicked out of them.  Perhaps Russia and China were not as friendly as it seemed at first?  Truth be told, Wilkes felt that he had enough assets in the lower forty-eight also, but he wasn’t using them effectively.  That needed to stop.

“Get Lensten on the horn, I need to talk to him.”

Wilkes didn’t ask if that was actually possible, he just trusted that the staff would make it happen.  Eventually, the com tech pointed to the secure phone on his desk.  “Routed to you here, sir.”

“Bill, it’s Barry Wilkes.”

“What can I do for you, Barry?”

“I need you to take command of the West Coast.”

“Yes, I already moved my flag here, all units know that I’m CO for Third Fleet.”

“No, I mean I want you in command of the entire West Coast.  Mexico to Canada.  Pacific to the Rockies.”

There was silence on the line for a moment.  “Can you do that?”

“I just did, Bill.  You’re SACWest.”

“Um, thank you, sir.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I need BACN up and running 24/7.”

“Working on it.”

Western Command, Embarked USS Bougainville (LHA-8)

70 NM Northwest of Catalina Island, California

“ALL UNITS, SACWEST IS EMBARKED BRAVO UNIFORM.”

Lensten turned to the stunned officers manning the CIC.  He pointed to the senior Marine in the room.  “You are jiff-lick for west.”  Joint Force Land Component Commander (JFLCC, pronounced jiff-lick) was the senior land commander for a joint command like the one that had just been created.  Normally that would be an Army general, not a Marine colonel.  However, what they needed now was some structure and organization.  The niceties of rank and precedence could wait. 

“Sir, I’m not qualified to run the entire West Coast.”

“Find someone who is and give your job to them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lensten walked across the hall and into the Tactical Air Control Center (TACC) and briefly explained the situation to them.  “Who’s senior here?”

A Marine captain raised his hand.  “I am sir.  Smith.”

“Captain Smith, I need you and your team to do a full air asset inventory of the West Coast.  Air Force, Marines, Navy.  Anything that flies.  While you’re working on that, find out who the senior air commander is.  We need to assign a jay-fack.  You’re acting until you can find and nominate your replacement.”  The counterpart to the JFLCC, the Joint Forces Air Component Commander (JFACC, pronounced “jay-fack”) was responsible for all the air units in a given command.

“Yes, sir.”

Lensten walked back into the CIC, glancing at the large displays that were supposed to be reporting the location of every unit in the theater.  The electronic warfare attack that had preceded the Chinese invasion was still affecting overall communications.  He was able to speak to most of the units in California, but they were still not coordinating effectively.  The systems designed to help his staff coordinate were still not working.  Other computer-based systems, like the targeting system called Maven, were also down, presumably part of a larger cyber attack launched by the Chinese.

As he scowled at the screen, the icons suddenly shifted.  First one, then two and then a full dozen unit icons appeared.  “What the hell?”

“SIR!  We have a BACN node checking in.  We are getting handshakes all over the place.  Air Force, Marines, Army, the works!”

Lensten looked closer. Was that…. “Get me the 944^th on the horn, RIGHT NOW.”  There was an entire wing of fighter aircraft in southern California.  Apparently, just sitting there?  How could that be?  What was that airport code?  SPV.  “What the hell is SPV?”

“Civilian airport, sir.  Apple Valley.”

A Navy rating handed Lensten a handset.  “This is SACWest, who is this?”

The voice on the other side was tinny from the compression but understandably confused.  “Ninja Flight Ops, Sergeant Bradley, say again?”

“This is Admiral Lensten, Supreme Commander West Command.  Get your CO on the horn.”  The sergeant on the phone obviously didn’t know that there was such a thing as West Command, but he knew what an admiral was.  “One moment, sir.”

In less than a minute, “This is Colonel Nguen.”

“Colonel, this is SACWest.  What are your current orders?”

“Sir?”

“NORTHCOM has just formed a new command, West. I’ve been appointed CO.  What are your current orders?”

“We were ordered to disperse and set up a FARP here at SPV.  Nothing since.”

“Very well, you are now in charge of the airspace over Southern California.  Gather any and all Air Force assets necessary.  Defend the airspace over Los Angeles at all costs.  Support ground forces at your discretion.”

“Sir…. ”

The line went dead.  “Nguen!”  Lensten looked over to the rating who shook his head.  “Get him back.”

552nd Air Control Wing

Tinker Air Force Base, OK

Colonel Langdon looked over the still-smoking ramps of Tinker Air Force base with disgust.  From where he stood in the hastily repaired control tower, he could see his entire command, twenty-six E-3 Sentry aircraft sitting in various states of destruction.  Several of them had burned to the ground including the two ready birds which had been fully fueled.  Some of them looked fine from a distance, but all of them had major shrapnel damage and not one of them was air worthy.  Not one.  Of the two currently deployed in Europe, one was down for maintenance and the other was still being prepped for flight back to the USA.  That left them with a grand total of one AWACS aircraft for all of North America and that bird was fully committed to the fight in Alaska.

“Sir, you asked to see me?”

Langdon turned to see the commanding officer of the 964^th squadron, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Amee enter the tower.  Most of the crews had survived the attack, which was great news, but they had no aircraft to fly, which was not.

“Do you know General Wilkes?”

“No, sir.”

“He saved my ass in the SCS war.  His boss bought it when Northern Command took a direct hit.  He’s running Northern Command now.”  Langdon smacked his fist into his palm.  “It’s killing me that we are completely down.  They need us up there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amee, I just got off the phone with the Boeing tech rep; they say that Renton wasn’t hit in the attack and that they have an E-7 sitting on the ramp.”

“Sir!  My flight was the lead assessment team before the E-7 program was canceled!”

“Yes, Amee, I know that.  This isn’t a social call.”

“Of course, sir.”

He pointed to the C-37 sitting on the ramp.  “Get your ass on that transport.  I need that bird in the air yesterday.”

“Yes, sir!”  Aimee literally ran out of the tower.

964th Airborne Air Control Squadron

Renton, WA

Amee wasn’t used to flying on a fancy VIP transport like the C-37.  Basically a Gulfstream business jet, it was the type of aircraft that senior generals and the Secretary of Defense used when travelling.  Normally, when an aircrew needed to go somewhere, they flew commercial or grabbed a ride on a normal cargo plane like a C-17.  Looking out the window, she could see the sprawling Boeing facility where civilian 737s were built alongside military variants like the E-7.

The E-7 Wedgetail was a strange story.  Originally developed to support a Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) requirement, it had never been intended for US service.  However, with the success of the RAAF program, the USAF had decided to replace all their E-3 Sentries with Wedgetails.  After the program had gone all the way to producing the first operational aircraft, the purchase was abruptly cancelled with very little explanation and no official plan for replacing the truly ancient E-3 fleet.  This abrupt cancellation had left Boeing with a fully operational E-7 but no customer for it.  Last Amee had heard, Boeing had been using the plane originally destined for the USAF as a test bed.

As Lieutenant Colonel Amee and her crew exited the VIP transport onto the tarmac at Renton, they could immediately see the E-7, sitting on the ramp.  While it was basically a 737, the massive wedge-shaped antenna on the roof made it easy to pick out.  The plane was still painted in USAF colors, which was interesting since the plane was owned by Boeing as far as Amee knew.  There was a portable staircase pulled up to the plane and people everywhere.  Walking up to the staircase, Amee stopped and looked back to her crew which had followed her off the plane.  They all looked as confused as she felt.

She randomly grabbed a technician who hurried down the staircase with a toolbox in their hand.  “Who’s in charge here?”

“Samuels, inside.”

As Amee started up the stairs, she noticed a large pod attached to the left wing.  “What the hell is that?”  Unlike the P-8, the E-7 version of the 737 wasn’t designed to carry weapons and wasn’t supposed to have hard points.  That pod must be part of the testing Boeing had been doing.  Inside the aircraft was even more chaotic than outside.  At least a dozen technicians were working, and half the interior panels had been removed.  Exposed wiring was everywhere.   A large black man with grey hair was sitting at the command station in the back, bellowing at the top of his lungs.  “Goddammit!  Get that panel closed up!  This bird is leaving!”

Amee walked over and stuck out her hand.  “I assume you’re Samuels, Amee.”

He returned her handshake firmly and nodded.  “Yes, ma’am.  Welcome to your new ride.  We’ll get her buttoned up shortly.”  He pointed over his shoulder to an older Asian woman sitting quietly at one of the operator stations.  “Meet your new crewmember.”

The woman stood up and offered a hand.  Her grey hair was neatly tucked up in a bun and she had manicured nails.  Amee noticed them in passing, regretting that she had missed her bi-weekly session at the nail salon, her one “girly” treat she allowed herself.  “Qu Han, Principal Consulting Engineer, Northrup.  Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Nice to meet you Ms. Han, but there seems to be some mistake, I brought my own crew.”

“No mistake, I’m the field tech rep for the Smart Node Pod.” She gestured vaguely towards the wing.

“Is that the pod on the wing?”  Amee had heard about the podded BACN nodes but had never seen one.  The Smart Node Pod effectively turned the E-7 into a full-blown communications gateway for pretty much anything in the US inventory.  Exactly what was needed so urgently on the West Coast right now.

“Yes, ma’am.  It’s supposed to be operated from the ground, but the integration with the E-7 isn’t fielded yet, so I need to operate it from here.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take a civilian into combat.”

Han patted Amee’s hand.  “You’re sweet, Colonel, but I did my twenty in the back of a Compass Call.  Two tours in Iraq, one in Afghanistan.  I’m a two-alfa-nine.”  2A9 was the job code or AFSC for the enlisted electronic warfare specialists in the Air Force.

“I assume that this has already been cleared?”

“Oh, yes, I can assure you that General Wilkes and crew will be thrilled.  I understand he called my boss’s boss personally to get me out here.”

“And why is that?”

“Because, sweetie, we are about to win this goddamn war.”