(Patriot Advanced Capability-3 Missiles in box launcher. Photo courtesy US Army).

It was a lovely day in Arlington. We produce a lot of CO2 here, in the form of hot air being emitted from the various life forms of politicians, but it is a trace gas, after all, though possibly a contributor to the severe weather we have been having of late.

But there was no visible pollution in the air, temperatures were crisp but comfortable in a light sweater and shirt. The leg kept me shackled at the desk most of the afternoon, but it was pleasant enough looking out at the weather, and toggling on the computer to see the box score on the Tiger’s home opener in Detroit against the Red Sox.

I was gratified to see the messages pour in when the Tiggers managed to squeeze in a run in the bottom of the ninth, taking the opener 3-2 though an error kept ace hurler Justin Verlander from notching the win after a sparkling eight innings. I closed up shop, making piles of things to demolish on Friday, including a note to my partners that the stupid Judge had upheld the stupid protest by the pathetic company that couldn’t figure out how to get onto the base and was late in delivering their proposal.

The non-compliant cry-babies based their appeal on the fact that the government was stupid, too, and the judge was receptive. So the nonsense is going to continue through  and took the elevator down to G-3 where the Bluesmobile was waiting in one of the handicapped spots.

I have Raven’s placard that is good through 2014, though he of course is not, and it has been a godsend during the recuperation from the stupid fall. Progress is being made day by day, and I considered walking over to Willow but decided the carbon footprint of the massive police cruiser would be insufficient to alter the arctic ice sheet and took the easy way out.

I found a meter just across Utah Street from the entrance to the bar and hobbled on over.

Old Jim was at his usual place, and Senior Exec Jeff was in mine next to him next to John-with-an-H. Jim was in his usual corduroy jacket and dark mock-turtle. John-with had clearly come from the office, and looked formally prep en dishabille. SEJ was definitely casual- open collar, suede jacket and a stubble beard.

“Work from home today?” I asked.

“Nah,” he said, sipping a tall glass of amber beer. “Flew in from London.”

“Man,” I said. “I love that town. What were you doing?”

SEJ smiled his wolfish grin. “Important meetings. Flew over on Sunday, got in and wandered around on Monday. Got my body clock right for the sessions that started Tuesday. Flew back today.”

“Arms must be tired,” said John-with, waving his happy hour red. No one responded to the ancient wheeze.

“And that means it is about 2300, body time, for you,” I said peering at my watch.

SEJ nodded, his silver hair fashionably long over his collar. “Yeah, I am beat.” He used to be an Army colonel, and I suspect he enjoys being free from the barber as much as I do. It is remarkable, I thought, our ability to jet all over the planet and still be at the local tavern at the end of the day.

He and John-with are in the counter-proliferation business for the government, and his cell went off with a strident ring-tone that mimicked an old-fashioned rotary-dial phone. He fished it out of his pocket and began to talk sotto vocce to an unknown party.

“Koreans or Iran?” I asked. John-with shrugged. “Must be the Koreans,” I continued, turning to Old Jim. “Apparently the North is going to try to launch a satellite in honor of Kim Il-Sung’s hundredth birthday. They are celebrating all month, opening power plants and crap. The missile launch is a celebration of their advances in peaceful rocket technology.”

“Assholes. Didn’t they say they were going to stop their nuclear program and work on ICBMs?”

“Yes,” said John-with. “That was intended to get us to continue food deliveries to keep their people from starving. Then they said they would launch a satellite anyway. Totally different than a missile to carry nukes.” He smiled with heavy irony and took a sip of wine.

SEJ ended his call and slipped the phone back in his pocket. “The office sends their love,” he said.

“You were a Russian specialist on active duty, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I was a Foreign Area Officer. I had a lot of fun with the Russians. We toured the ”

“But all FAO’s have to qualify in combat arms first, don’t they? What branch were you?”

“ADA,” he said, straightening. “Air Defense Artillery. There is nothing that flies that I couldn’t shoot down. Started in Hawks and then Patriots.” We talked about the only species on earth- Fighter Pilots- who think otherwise. They are of the opinion that there are two types of airplanes- fighters and targets. “To me,” said SEJ “There are only targets up there.”

“What is the difference between fighter pilot and pigs?” I asked. SEJ shrugged, inviting the punch-line.

“You don’t see pigs in bars at two in the morning trying to pick up Fighter Pilots,” I said.

Everyone at the end of the bar groaned. “Did you hear the Japanese have deployed Patriot Advanced Capability-3 missiles to Okinawa? They want to be able to shoot down the North Korean rocket if they have to.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” said SEJ. “They could not engage in a boost phase intercept scenario.”

“Could they shoot the tankage from the boosters coming down?” I asked, surprised. “I thought the Patriot ruled back in the first Gulf War.”

“Not as much as they claimed at the time. It is all about orbital mechanics,” said SEJ. “You have to have your missiles deployed to the place you want to defend. The North isn’t trying to shoot at Japan, though they might shoot over a little part of it on a north-to-south trajectory.”

“What about the Navy Aegis cruisers? They shot down that Chinese satellite in 2008 with SPY-1 with the exo-atmospheric patch on the software and the Standard Missile-2 Extended Range Block-4 missile.”

SEJ sighed as only a professional can. “You Squids are too much. The patch just allows the radar to see things that are not targets. And there is no block-4. That program got cancelled when missile defense was cut back. And besides, they had three cruisers out there in the North Pacific and were lucky to get USS Lake Erie underneath the projected impact area, and it was a fuel tank, not a satellite. It was coming down anyway.”

“You don’t mean to tell me that was a stunt, do you?”

“Squids.” SEJ took a deep draft of his beer and waved as Jon-without-an-H arrived and attempted to negotiate a Black and Tan from the lovely Katya without much success. No Guinness, apparently, and the specific gravity of what she had behind the bar to concoct a B&T was as complex to negotiate as orbital mechanics. I asked him why he was drinking the beer mixture instead of his usual flavored vodka and iced tea.

“You gotta keep it mixed up,” he said, straightening his bow tie. “Need to stay fresh. I am sort of like the North Koreans that way.”

“They are crazy,” I said. “Did I tell you I got to King Il-Sung’s birthplace one time?”
Jon-without expressed mild interest, dividing his attention between the two vague shades of amber in his glass and the Great Leader’s nativity. “There are four of their submarines deployed, too. There are all kinds of crap going on.”

“When is this all supposed to happen?” growled Old Jim. “I may want to stay indoors.”

“Between the 12th and the 17th,” I said. “The Great Leader was born on income tax day, and some commercial imagery from Digital Globe shows they have oxidizing tanks on the launch pad and an Unha-3 rocket on the pad. The fuel is corrosive, so it is use it or lose it now.”

(Missile Defense Agency X-Band Radar platform. Photo MDA).

“They claim it is a Kwangmyongsong-3 satellite on top of the stack,” said John-with. “Purely peaceful purposes,” he smirked. “The Missile Defense Agency is deploying that crazy x-band radar platform to the region. This is a full production number.”

“That radar is supposed to be able to detect the stitching on a baseball at a hundred miles,” I said. “PACOM or STRATCOM must want all the data they can get.”

“Everyone has to look like they are doing something. It is a cover your ass drill,” growled Jim.

“The government is calling it highly provocative,” I said. “Even if there is not a lot we can do about it.”

“We can look busy,” said SEJ. “And that is about the best we can do unless they are shooting right at us.”

“Roger that. Sort of like holding a hand up in front of your face and daring the bastards to try to hit it. They never did declare peace on the Peninsula, after all. I guess we will just have to see how the orbital mechanics work out.”

“Squids,” said SEJ, and ordered another beer.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com