Executive Intent

“It’s a pretty humid day out, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, so we should see a very impressive sight as the projectiles descend,” Ann said. “Sixty seconds to go. The projectiles are not overly noisy, but if you’re sensitive to loud noises you may want to put on your hearing protectors.” Most of the women put on ear protectors; most of the men did not.

“I’ve seen your presentations and animations, Miss Undersecretary,” a Navy lieutenant commander commented, scanning the instrumented target barge with a pair of binoculars, “and I still don’t see how we can invest so much money in this economic climate in such a limited, futuristic concept. It’s a waste of resources.”

“Thirty seconds, everyone,” Ann said. “It’s true it’s not a legacy weapon nor very sophisticated, Commander, but as you’ll see, it’s certainly no lightweight. As for being futuristic…well, in ten years I believe weapons such as this will be commonplace. Few heard of GPS before the 1991 invasion of Iraq; by the second invasion of Iraq, it was already indispensable. Here we go.”

“‘Mjollnir.’” The naval officer sneered. “Couldn’t you find a good ol’ fashioned American name to give it, Miss Undersecretary?”

“It’s pronounced ‘me-ole-ner,’ Commander, not ‘muh-joll-ner,’” Ann corrected him, “and we do have an American name for it, although it’s rather long, so we just learn to say ‘Mjollnir.’ And please call me Ann, okay? Stand by.”

The observers stared out into the ocean. Everything was perfectly still, and the only sounds were the waves gently tapping on the sides of the barge. Nothing happened for several moments. The Navy officer lowered his binoculars and rubbed his eyes. “Did it work, Dr. Page?” he asked irritably. He looked at his watch. “It’s been almost fifteen seconds since-”

Suddenly there was an impossibly loud ccrraacckk like the world’s largest thunderclap had just erupted directly overhead. For those observers who hadn’t closed their eyes, there appeared in the sky over the target several streaks of white vapor, like a searchlight beam had been turned on. The target barge disappeared in massive geysers of ocean water and clouds of steam towering several hundred feet into the sky. The white vapor streaks seemed to hang in the air for several moments, finally beginning to dissipate in the gentle tropical breezes. Moments later, another massive boom rolled over them as the sound of thousands of tons of seawater instantly turning to steam crashed over them.

“What…was…that?” someone asked, as if he hadn’t listened to any of the briefings on the weapon.

“That was Mjollnir, ladies and gentlemen: Thor’s Hammer, the next generation of land, sea, and space-attack weapons delivered from Earth orbit,” Ann Page said proudly. “Each payload releases a spread of four reentry vehicles, but what you saw was just one. The reentry vehicles are guided at first by satellite but then switch to infrared or millimeter-wave radar terminal guidance; it can automatically pick out preprogrammed targets or it can be steered by operators anywhere in the world or in space aboard Armstrong Space Station. The warhead that hit the target was nothing more than a five-hundred-pound chunk of titanium, but traveling at fifteen thousand miles an hour, it had the explosive impact of two tons of TNT. Mjollnir is simple, inexpensive if launched from an orbiting military base, cannot be intercepted or decoyed, and does not violate any existing space weapon treaties.

“You’ve just seen the future, ladies and gentlemen,” Ann went on, driving her point home now that it appeared the spectators were regaining their senses. “We have already established a military base and a global communications and reconnaissance network in space; we have several families of spacecraft that provide America with anytime-anywhere access to space; and now we are developing effective weapons to not only defeat America ’s enemies but defend our new space-based infrastructure. It’s ready-all we need to do is put it all together and set it in motion.

“It’s time to make the commitment to secure the high ground for the United States of America. That’s why I’m spearheading this effort in Congress and the Pentagon to formally stand up the U.S. Space Defense Command and build this true twenty-first-century force. I’m asking for your help and support. Thank you very much. I’ll be pleased to answer any questions you might have.”

The congressional staffer meekly raised his hand. Ann smiled and pointed to him. “Uh, Miss Secretary…?” he began.

“Yes, sir, what’s your question?”

The staffer put his hand down, smiled…then his skin turned green, his eyes rolled up inside his head, and he whirled around and vomited over the side of the barge.

ONE

One must wager on the future.

– ELIE WIESEL

ARMSTRONG SPACE STATION

A FEW HOURS LATER