Von Neumann’s War

“George,” Ronny Guerrero said leaning back in his leather executive chair and placing his hands behind his head. “I think we should take the core group and let them have free rein to brainstorm. Perhaps they might identify more key players that should be involved in the future. But their mission should be to just brainstorm. When we get more data from the probe we can down select to more likely scenarios.”

“That almost sounds like a pork barrel, Ronny.” Fines shook his head.

“Well, that’s what I think needs to be done.” Ronny leaned forward, reaching for his coffee cup. It had the NRO symbol on one side and “Boss Mon” imprinted on the other. There were some who wondered about having a former Cuban national in charge of the nation’s surveillance satellites. But, on the other hand, he had quite a few people in the building who had been rooting for him for years. The mug had mysteriously appeared on his desk the day after he took over. Given the security on the room, that had taken some doing. He was still considering the security implications.

“Okay then,” Fines said with a sigh. “I’ll tell the President that we’re working on possible scenarios. We’ll get the funding, somewhere, to maintain the team with a small material, research and support budget.”

“Good. Roger, why don’t you get the right group of guys together and start thinking about our situation,” Ronny said, nodding at the engineer.

“I’ll get right on it,” Roger replied. “I’m going to need to get a security waiver, though,” he added, trying not to smile.

“What’s that?” Dr. Fines asked, seriously.

“We’re going to have to get the Huntsville Hooters restaurant designated as a secure facility.”

* * *

“So Rog, you ever heard of CASTFOREM?” Alan Davis refilled his coffee cup and sat down in the break room of the Neighborhood Watch office suite in one of the commandeered buildings of the Redstone Arsenal in north Alabama. Ronny had missed the humor in Roger’s request and had meanly refused to give a waiver for Hooters. It was a joke after all. Besides, Hooters wasn’t open twenty-four hours and that was, just about, the schedule they’d been running. The team had been brainstorming, researching or cautiously picking the brains of scientists and “futurists” just about 24/7 for the last couple of weeks. And Roger had thought they’d have some downtime!

“CASTFOREM? Cast-forum, Castfor-em… Don’t reckon I have, Alan.” Roger took the empty pot that his friend had just set back down, frowned, then refilled the coffee maker with water, a new coffee filter, and more coffee. He added twice the amount of coffee grounds suggested on the Folgers’ bag — he needed the caffeine.

“Well, it turns out that there is this software code that was developed for war gaming and simulating new technologies and how they impact possible battle scenario outcomes,” Alan said, yawning and taking a sip of coffee. He frowned at the burnt taste. “Stands for Combined Arms and Support Task Force Evaluation Model. It’s the approved code for the Army. Here, look at this.” Alan handed his friend and boss a printout of some PowerPoint slides.

“Hmm, ‘CASTFOREM is a brigade force-on-force, closed-loop stochastic combat model comprised of and captures output data for: Command and Control, Communications, Combat Service Support, Engineering, Surveillance, Engagements, Maneuvers, System/Environment.’ ” Roger read out loud, then muttered to himself as he scanned the bottom of the page. “Gotta love that bureaucratese. ‘CASTFOREM is a highly robust simulation tool that can model individual entities at resolutions required to address the study issues.’ In other words, you plug in the parameters and it tells you if you win or lose.”

“I’ve been talking to a small alphabet soup company here in town that’s been modeling the Future Combat Systems with this code.” Alan pointed out the three letter company logo on the printout. “He thinks that he could modify the code, relatively soon, so that we can simulate damned near any type of magic weapon or concept. And, in turn, the simulation will tell us how it impacts the battle scenario.”

“Yeah, but can it model an alien attack from space?” Roger looked up from the page, raising his left eyebrow.

“Well, I didn’t exactly ask him that, but he did say if you wanted to give the enemy rayguns and teleporters you can — with some slight mods to the code that is.” Alan mixed sugar and cream into his cup and took a sip. “He did say it would be expensive.”

“Oh yeah? How much?” Roger flipped the switch and the coffee maker started gurgling.

“He said about two hundred thousand dollars for a month of modifying and simulation running.” Alan smiled as Roger’s concerned expression changed to humor.

“Small businesses are great, ain’t they? Two hundred thousand, humph; I was expecting you to say something like a million dollars or more.” He grinned and opted for a Mountain Dew out of the vending machine instead of waiting for the coffee. “Wish we had Jolt Cola in this thing,” he muttered.