Von Neumann’s War

“They’re going to need funding,” Shane said. “Fast and a lot. Hell, with all the money flying around they might have gotten it already.”

“We’re up on that,” Roger said, nodding and making a note.

“Spring traps,” Cady interjected.

“Say again?” Roger asked.

“The super Velcro,” the sergeant major said. “Think about, oh, I dunno, a ball of this gecko stuff. With some metal in the middle and some sort of plastic spring thing or a bungee cord. The metal releases the plastic spring. They pull it up, the spring goes off, they’re wrapped in super Velcro. I’m not sure what happens then…”

“Bombs,” Shane said. “They’re tied to something. You name it.”

“Spring traps,” Roger said, making a note. “Proximity fuses. Coyote glue.”

“They’ve got some high falutin’ name for it,” Shane said. “But that’s what all the engineers called it.”

“Ceramic scramjet rounds,” Roger said. “Directed energy weapons.”

“Staffs,” Cady insisted. “Everybody gets a big stick.”

“I’ve got a friend who’s into that SCA stuff,” Alan said. “I’ll get you a good one.”

“Thanks.”

“Spikes!” Tom said, excitedly.

Roger and Alan just looked at him, used to the sudden apparent nonsequiturs, but Cady and Shane were clearly confused.

“Volleyball?” Shane asked. “Like hit volleyballs at them really fast?”

“No,” Tom said. “Although it’s a thought. Take some of your Coyote glue. Make a holder with a carbon fiber spike in it. Bait it with metal. Attach it to something strong, but not incredibly strong. Maybe put a capacitor on the spike. The probe grabs the bait, pulls away, can’t, pulls harder, the attachment breaks, the spike goes through the probe and it’s history. Then we study it.”

“I can see that,” Alan said. “We could get one to study that way, assuming we can keep the others off.”

“Surround one of those traps with mines?” Cady asked. “Winner of the mine avoidance contest gets to be dissected?”

“If it’s a small swarm that might work,” Shane said. “As tactics if not strategy.”

“Okay, I’m gonna write up the notes and send it to the working group,” Roger said. “We’ll have to see what happens on communications when they get here. This is even going to screw Internet communications.”

“Oh, that’s another thing,” Shane said. “They zero in on RF. Anything broadcasting gets eaten. Fast.”

“Very important note,” Roger said. “Let’s take a break while I get this out and then we’ll come back and look at some of these ideas in more depth.”

“You think any of this is gonna work?” Cady asked Shane as they filed out of the room.

“It’d take a miracle.”

* * *

“It’s gonna take a miracle,” Alan handed Roger the latest CASTFOREM models that had been tailored to Gries’s and Cady’s debriefing information.

“Red consumes blue,” Roger read the printout and sighed as he tossed it onto his desk.

“Yeah, it just took a little longer this time.” Alan made a Jetson’s car sound with his lips as he plopped onto Roger’s couch and lay back with his hands behind his head and his feet propped up.

“What would you do, coach?” He glanced at his autographed picture of Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant on his office wall and muttered to himself.

Alan smiled in response. “He’d probably call for a run right up the gut.”

Roger grinned and nodded in agreement.

“The problem with all these great ideas Alan, is scale.” Roger toggled the Mathcad simulation on his laptop to calculate and then kicked back in his chair. He considered spinning his little desk gadget but thought better of it.

“What do you mean, Rog?”

“Well, Gries and Cady were thinking tactically about how to kill one or a few of these things. We need to kill billions of them. We need to be thinking strategically. And a potato gun just will not do it. Even the supersonic F-16s and missiles only made a microscopic dent in their population before being destroyed. That reminds me; get somebody making completely composite fast airplanes. Don’t know how to power them, but get somebody on it.” Roger shook his head at the graph that was drawing on his computer screen. Alan rose up and took his little notepad from his belt, grabbed the stylus, and jotted some notes down.

“Well, the ideas may only be a drop in the bucket or spit in the ocean, but it’s a start.” Alan shrugged as he continued jotting notes. “We can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“Sure, but according to my calculations here, which consider death and growth rates of the probes, we would need a million potato guns with thousands of rounds each to keep up. Looks like CASTFOREM agrees with me.” The temptation overwhelmed Roger and he decided to spin the little space shuttle gadget. He flicked it with his index finger and it went spinning.