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:
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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.
