that he left the firm and rejoined the Air Force. This nearly broke Vance’s heart and upset everyone else, including Nancy and Harry. Tom gained some glory in Vietnam, shaping up a fighter wing and shooting down at least four MiGs. On his last mission, he was shot down and had to suffer the brutal horrors of Vietnamese imprisonment for more than six years.
The phone rang—it was Steve O’Malley, now a full colonel and working with him on the latest project.
“Did you see Tom get off the C-141?” Shannon’s World War II exploits had made him O’Malley’s hero well before he went to the Air Force Academy.
“Yeah, he looked a little rough, but he’ll recover. He’s a survivor, obviously.”
“Have you talked to Vance yet?”
“No, I’m going to wait about an hour, and then call him. Give him a chance to settle in.”
“Good idea. How are you coming on the presentation?”
“I’ve got all the transparencies done for the overhead projector, and have the notes for you to look at. This is going to be a tough sell—an unproven project, ungodly expensive, and years before we get any results. Not what Pentagon staffers like to hear.”
O’Malley laughed, saying, “You got that right. If we sell this one, we should look around for buyers for the Brooklyn Bridge,” before hanging up.
Both men were at Eglin to continue testing on upgraded versions of the Paveway bombs that the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing—the WolfPack—had used to take out the bridge at Thanh Hoa, North Vietnam. Rodriquez had been the guiding light behind the Paveways, working on site at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base in Thailand to prepare the weapons for the raid. The laser-guided bombs did what hundreds of previous sorties had failed to do—destroy the bridge.
Few people other than the top military commanders had any idea of the real importance of precision guided munitions. Instead of sending a hundred airplanes to drop four bombs each, hoping that one would strike the target, you could now send one airplane, with two bombs, to take out two targets. The implications for strategy, for the budget, and for force size were immeasurable, and they were only just now beginning to be understood. One of Rodriquez’s major tasks was to convince commanders that they could operate with fewer aircraft, if those aircraft were equipped with laser-guided bombs.
Now they were creating something that promised to vastly improve the accuracy of precision guided weapons, as well as create a whole new technique for navigation. In two weeks, they were going to the Pentagon to brief the Chief of Staff on what Rodriquez was calling the “Global Positioning System,” a combination of twenty-four satellites and a widespread ground-based system that promised incredible navigation—and hence bombing—accuracy.
The Navy had led the way with Transit, the first satellite-based navigation system. But the Global Positioning System—GPS as Rodriquez fondly referred to it—was going to be vastly more efficient even if infinitely more expensive. It was exactly the sort of thing in which Rodriquez excelled. He wondered if Vance would be able to understand it. Harry Shannon would, of course, and so would Tom—if he would listen.
The potential for GPS was an order of magnitude more important than the new precision guided munitions. Rodriquez often used to doodle, writing GPS versus PGM over and over. When—if—they could sell the GPS concept, a whole new world would open up, not only in navigation and in bombing, but in command and control. The strength of Special Forces would be increased a hundredfold with GPS. You could conduct clandestine operations deep within unknown enemy territory with the assurance of a sleepwalker. With GPS you could do anything except perhaps win a peace.
March 20, 1973
Palos Verdes, California
J ILL S HANNON GLANCED up as the big grandfather’s clock chimed six times. The kids had built it from a kit when they were
The phone rang—it was Steve O’Malley, now a full colonel and working with him on the latest project.
“Did you see Tom get off the C-141?” Shannon’s World War II exploits had made him O’Malley’s hero well before he went to the Air Force Academy.
“Yeah, he looked a little rough, but he’ll recover. He’s a survivor, obviously.”
“Have you talked to Vance yet?”
“No, I’m going to wait about an hour, and then call him. Give him a chance to settle in.”
“Good idea. How are you coming on the presentation?”
“I’ve got all the transparencies done for the overhead projector, and have the notes for you to look at. This is going to be a tough sell—an unproven project, ungodly expensive, and years before we get any results. Not what Pentagon staffers like to hear.”
O’Malley laughed, saying, “You got that right. If we sell this one, we should look around for buyers for the Brooklyn Bridge,” before hanging up.
Both men were at Eglin to continue testing on upgraded versions of the Paveway bombs that the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing—the WolfPack—had used to take out the bridge at Thanh Hoa, North Vietnam. Rodriquez had been the guiding light behind the Paveways, working on site at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base in Thailand to prepare the weapons for the raid. The laser-guided bombs did what hundreds of previous sorties had failed to do—destroy the bridge.
Few people other than the top military commanders had any idea of the real importance of precision guided munitions. Instead of sending a hundred airplanes to drop four bombs each, hoping that one would strike the target, you could now send one airplane, with two bombs, to take out two targets. The implications for strategy, for the budget, and for force size were immeasurable, and they were only just now beginning to be understood. One of Rodriquez’s major tasks was to convince commanders that they could operate with fewer aircraft, if those aircraft were equipped with laser-guided bombs.
Now they were creating something that promised to vastly improve the accuracy of precision guided weapons, as well as create a whole new technique for navigation. In two weeks, they were going to the Pentagon to brief the Chief of Staff on what Rodriquez was calling the “Global Positioning System,” a combination of twenty-four satellites and a widespread ground-based system that promised incredible navigation—and hence bombing—accuracy.
The Navy had led the way with Transit, the first satellite-based navigation system. But the Global Positioning System—GPS as Rodriquez fondly referred to it—was going to be vastly more efficient even if infinitely more expensive. It was exactly the sort of thing in which Rodriquez excelled. He wondered if Vance would be able to understand it. Harry Shannon would, of course, and so would Tom—if he would listen.
The potential for GPS was an order of magnitude more important than the new precision guided munitions. Rodriquez often used to doodle, writing GPS versus PGM over and over. When—if—they could sell the GPS concept, a whole new world would open up, not only in navigation and in bombing, but in command and control. The strength of Special Forces would be increased a hundredfold with GPS. You could conduct clandestine operations deep within unknown enemy territory with the assurance of a sleepwalker. With GPS you could do anything except perhaps win a peace.
March 20, 1973
Palos Verdes, California
J ILL S HANNON GLANCED up as the big grandfather’s clock chimed six times. The kids had built it from a kit when they were
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