The
21-year-old airman arrested in Massachusetts April 13 for leaking Top Secret
documents was at the nexus of two huge networks: military communications, and
on-line games. Similar scenarios circulate on both, and the same demographic—young
men who grew up in the on-line era—run both of them.
The arrested
airman worked in an Intelligence Support Squadron, maintaining Air Force
communications networks. And since all the armed forces and intelligence agencies
are linked, to share information and avoid the comparmentalization that failed
to detect the 9/11/01 attacks, he could access anything. What hit the headlines
first were revelations that arms deliveries to the Ukraine were held up in the
logistics chain. The documents surfaced on the Minecraft computer game, where
players compete with enemies in building up logistics.
From an
early age, millions of boys spend most of their time in on-line fantasy worlds
of adventure, violence, war, espionage and crime. Many acquire advanced skills,
ranging from computer technology to hacking; valuable alike in the dark side
and in today’s cyber-tech military. The arrested airman played games such as an
apocalyptic zombie game, and a tactical shooter game; and took part in chat
groups on technical advice for computer glitches as wsell as military history
and geopolitics. His real-life war information was leaked by other participants
to popular game communities, and eventually through Russian intelligence into
the real world. [WSJ; NYT; April 10-14, 2023]
Or what
is the real world, and what is a fantasy version of it? The blurring
between the two has become inevitable: high-tech soldiers who are gamers; and
gamers who mimic high-tech war.
Fiction
sometimes anticipates reality. Five years ago, I published a novel, Civil War
Two. It is a thought experiment
about what would happen if the U.S. Civil War of 1861-1865 were fought again
today, with high-tech weapons. An excerpt:
**********************
Three
a.m. Forward Operating Base, Utah
National Guard, outside Malad City, Idaho.
“Warning,
warning,” said the voice inside Specialist Jared Smith’s earbud. “Unidentified helicopter traffic, twelve
o’clock, 13 miles. Closing fast. Enemy armored vehicles, eleven o’clock to one
o’clock, multiple columns, 11 miles.”
The handheld screen flashed the same
message. Jared touched the screen. A map came up: a filigree of roads amid dark
spots for hills: bright yellow dots of traffic speeding down the roads; other
dots in red, representing air traffic, approaching more rapidly. He touched
again, brought up a visual image, zoomed for a close-up: armored personnel
carriers, heavy tanks rolling across the fields. Zooming still closer: the
mouth of a cannon became visible,
emitting flame as a shell departed in his direction.
“Warning,
warning, enemy tanks opening fire,” the computer voice said. “Closing to three miles. Take evasive action.
Recommend counter-attack with all available weapons.”
“Counter-attack!” Jared said aloud.
“Fire anti-tank guns. Launch Apache helicopters!”
“Smith!” Sergeant Page’s voice broke in. “Get off that video game and
pay attention to the UAV feed.”
Reality filtered into Jared’s
consciousness. Heavy sweat ran down the back of his neck, under his battle
dress. The Ground Command Station felt hot and clammy, even though the air
conditioning was pumping, dripping condensation from the vents overhead. He and
Sgt. Page were seated side by side with barely inches between, inside a square
windowless box on the back of an army truck. Electronic equipment crammed
the drab beige space.
Three monitor screens filled the
wall in front of them, along with dozens of instrument dials and control
switches. One monitor showed a map display that traced the flight path of their
pair of Hunter Unmanned Aerial Vehicles.
A second monitor gave video feed from the UAV’s on-board TV camera, a
real-time view that would have been full life-like color if this were daytime.
Another monitor was switched to infrared night surveillance, picking up heat
sources on the ground, which could be computer enhanced and compared with
templates of possible sources, then turned into identification messages. Just now the monitors were showing nothing
interesting, as far as Spec. Jared Smith could see.
Sgt. Hiram Page was the remote
control pilot of their pair of oversized toy model planes. But just now the
UAVs were on automatic pilot, as usual
when nothing was happening, programmed to patrol systematically over the
terrain between I-15 and the diagonal spur of I-84 cutting through the mountain
ranges of the Sawtooth National Forest fifty miles to the northwest. There were many threads of little roads and
unpaved tracks between the Ground Command Station and the outer fringes of the
UAV’s patrol territory, crossing the grasslands and the mountain valleys that
became steadily more barren further west, where southern Idaho turned into the
fringes of the Utah desert.
“Shit, there’s a lot of roads to
cover, considering there’s nothing there,” Jared complained. “And why are there
so many people driving around, at this time of night?”
Sgt. Page put down his book. “Watch
your language. Truckers like to drive at night. Especially when it’s a hundred
degrees in the daytime. And I’d say not much cooler in here right now.”
“Don’t they know better than to
drive in a war zone?” Jared said. His
hands moved habitually back to the video game, then stopped under Page’s
disapproving stare.
The three weeks they had been encamped
at Malad City had not been what Jared expected. Instead of rushing into combat,
blasting away, escaping death, maybe getting wounded, coming home to show off
his bandages and tell his friends about it-- instead of the wonderful story he
was getting ready to tell, it was nothing so far but sitting in this hot little
room being bored.
Even the Idaho locals seemed to know
nothing was going to happen-- they went right on driving around in their pickup
trucks, going to work, shopping, going to parties, whatever they did for fun
out here in the farm country. While he and his unit were on combat alert, no
leaves allowed, full combat dress all the time. It was getting old. Everybody
knew nothing was going to happen.
Eventually new orders would come
down, the Utah National Guard brigades and the rest of the Idaho expeditionary
force would move somewhere else. Maybe we’ll find the enemy then, Jared
thought, reaching for his video game. Or maybe we’ll be sitting around
somewhere else being bored.
“Hey, look at that!” Jared said. The
infrared display showed a green blob on a road 20 miles away, the thick
penumbra glow of a ghostly balloon. “Something really big. A tank, or a tank on
a HET, by the speed it’s moving.” A heavy-equipment transporter moved tanks on
a giant truck-bed with a lot less fuel.
“That’s probably just construction
equipment. Somebody getting ready to work on the highways soon as it gets
light,” Sgt. Page said.
“Don’t you think we ought to call
Captain Squires?”
Sgt. Page swiveled in his chair
towards the closed door at the back of the command station, then shook his
head. “Squires about bit my head off last time I went to him in the middle of
the night with one of your false alarms.”
“We could blast that tank-hauler
right now,” Jared said. “Our Hunter has a laser-guided munition on each wing.
I’d sure like to see what that looks like hitting its target.”
“Grow up,” Page said. “This is no
video game. Those munitions aren't cheap, and this is the only Hunter team on this
front. This is valuable property. You
talk Captain Squires into wasting one of those on a useless target and they’ll
take it out of your hide-- and mine too.”
“Look,” said Jared. “There’s another one. That’s a lot of traffic
on that road. Could be a whole enemy battalion.”
Sgt. Page peered at the screen. “A battalion is much bigger than that. And
that reminds me, that’s the second time
you got me in trouble. Two weeks ago, when our reinforcements from Fort Carson
arrived at night, you thought it was an enemy attack because they were driving
around on the west side of I-15 looking for places to park. That alert went all the way to General Cruz,
and the Captain was definitely not happy about what came back down.”
Page looked at the screen again,
shook his head definitely. “See, they’re
coming from the south. Probably the reinforcements from the Utah National Guard
that everybody’s been waiting for.”
He opened the door, reached back to
pick up his book, and started outside. “That AC unit sounds like it’s about to
break down. I’m going to get the tech to work on it. Keep your eyes on those
monitors, Smith, and stay away from that video game.”
There was definitely traffic out
there, Jared could see. Some of it was coming up the little roads from Utah,
and some of it was looping almost due east now, on highway 37, heading toward
Malad City. He’d like to see what the IR feed looked like for the roads closer
in, all those little back roads in the farm country and in the mountain valleys
on the west side of I-15; some of them coming out of the Indian reservation
outside of Pocatello.
But the Hunters were on autopilot,
and they were sweeping the area further west, cruising quietly at 110 knots,
methodically sending in strip after strip of video of a aerial view several
miles wide. If Sgt. Page were here, he could take over manual control and bring
the UAVs nearer their own positions, to see what could be coming up on them in
the dark.
Jared was tempted to climb over to
Page’s seat and take the remote pilot controls; he had seen him operate them
often enough, how different could it be from a video flight simulator? But if
Page caught him, there really would be hell to pay.
Jared picked up his video game. It was almost brand new, called “Civil War
Two.” It was the most realistic war game
Jared had ever seen, and he had been playing war games ever since he was four
years old. Not just monsters or unrealistic icons, it had the sight and sound
of real war, from the monitors and map displays on down to the video feed as
you actually experienced it. At least, how Jared expected to experience it,
since he had never yet been in combat. The voice in his earbud started up
again, “Warning, warning--”
“Smith, what did I tell you?” Sgt. Page was back. The AC units were working
no better, and a blast of hot air had entered the command station while the
door was open. “Give me that video game.”
Jared resisted having the book-sized
game tugged from his hands. “Listen, Sergeant, it’s no worse than that religious
crap you’re always reading.”
“Watch your language!” Page put the
Book down hurriedly on his seat and ripped the video game away from Jared.
The command station monitors were
bright and full of green glowing shapes, moving rapidly. The Hunters had gone on methodically covering
their swath of territory, scanning nearer and nearer to the USA Army front
along I-15, and the volume of traffic heading their direction was now plain to
see.
“That’s disobeying a direct order,
Smith,” the Sgt. said. “I’m putting you on report, as soon as this shift is
over.”
“Why don’t you put me on report
right now?” Jared tried to stand up in the cramped space. There were scarcely
room to swing a punch. Jared landed a glancing blow and Page pushed him back
into his chair.
The command monitors were now
flashing bright red messages:
WARNING,
ENEMY TROOP VEHICLES IDENTIFIED, TEN O’CLOCK TO TWO O’CLOCK, CLOSING TO THREE
MILES. WARNING--
In their jostling, a switch had been
hit. The Ground Control station computer had switched to audible mode. The
computer voice rang out:
“Warning,
warning, alert, alert! Enemy fire
incoming!”
An explosion shattered the wall of
the Ground Control Station. The monitors went out and then everything in Jared
Smith’s consciousness was dark.
**********************
Most of the troops were asleep in
their windowless pods, the portable quarters of the well-equipped modern army,
with air conditioning on and doors shut.
Soldiers who weren’t asleep were listening to music on headphones or
playing video games, sealed off from the hot night. Chattering of helicopters came near. Soldiers shrugged, swore, turned over to
burrow their heads deeper into bedding. The military was always moving
something day or night, among bases strung out over 50 miles with mountains in
between, commanders flying in and out, shifting reinforcements and logistics. The helicopters persisted overhead.
Then--
Excerpt from “Year Two: Technowar.” Randall Collins. Civil War Two. 2018. San
Diego: Maren Ink.