A Tan Beret Goes to Nellis

[Wolfman]

“This is Raven 2-5. This is my sandbox. You will not drop, acknowledge.”

- David Flanagan, former Raven FAC recounting actions taken as a Raven

I gotta figure that the General may well have said something like this at one point or another as a Raven…

[Poohbah]

11 December 1988
Pleasant Mobile Home Community
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie felt strange wearing an ABU hat instead of her tan beret, but it helped her blend into the crowds.

She went down the street to unit 1729.

Smallest number that is the sum of two cubes in two different ways.

She knocked on the door.

The door opened, and a petite blonde gestured her to come in. She did, and the door closed behind her.

The blonde said, "I'm Ginger." She gestured to two women sitting in the living room. "Christy's the brunette, the other blonde is Traci."

"Sophie Henrix. Stupid question: how did you get the place?"

"One of General Lodge's ops support people gave us the keys. We're expected at Caesar's in about an hour."

"Got it. All right, I understand you have a comms plan for getting ahold of me."

Traci said, "Right. After the standard workday, we can hit you on your pager if we think we might need a hot extraction. The code number is 619-1776. Once we call that, we proceed to the primary extraction point, at the Hawaiian Market plaza in Polo Towers."

Christy nodded. "This might make one hell of a tale after the war."

Sophie shook her head. "Once the war's over, you should never mention this. To anyone. You talk to the wrong person, or the story grows legs and gets to someone who manages to get away with bad deeds during this war . . . they might decide to kill you before you remember something that can put them away. Look, I'm read in on some stuff that dates back to World War II, over forty years ago, but it's still active today, and it's still secret, because it still can save my life. Take all of this to the grave, and then think twice before telling Saint Peter about it at the Pearly Gates."

Traci nodded, then looked at Christy, who nodded in return, then looked at Ginger, who nodded as well.

Traci said, "You're right. It's good to have someone who seems to know the . . . well, the dangerous end."

"What you're doing is plenty dangerous."

Ginger said, "Getting caught is dangerous. We simply memorize what we hear and we debrief here and there around town. Some of the people at the party you were at work for General Lodge. I think what Traci meant is that you look like you can handle a shootout."

"Uh, yeah, I've been in a few. I'm a special operations officer, assigned to Nellis for staff duty. This is a side gig."

Sophie listened to them give a rundown as to how prostitution worked in Vegas. It wasn't legal in Clark County, so there was nothing like the legalized brothels up in Carson City. So, prostitution was run by the local organized crime families.

Christy said, "The Mob . . . they aren't the old school Godfather kind of crime family any more. A bunch of the family elders died in New York, and the new leaders are their kids. The kids went to business schools--the really nice ones, too, Yale, Harvard, places like that. It's gotten very corporate, actually--the 'entertainers' get decent salaries, sick leave, full medical coverage, and they even get 401(k) plans. They're regularly checked for any health problems--not just VD, but also things like their physical fitness and mental health. They don't street-walk; it's all very discreet."

"What about the underage stuff?"

Traci sighed. "It's out there. You know it is. There are a lot of men who want teenage girls. And there's a lot of them on the streets--the Lost Girls."

Sophie nodded at the media name for refugee teenagers from New Mexico, Colorado, and Texas.

Sophie said, "But they can't do it like how it's done with the adults."

Ginger said, "Right. There are hotspots. We hear about where they can pick up 'women' on the street--until the Vice Squad rolls out and cleans the place up."

"Anything current?"

The three porn stars looked at each other.

Ginger said, "It keeps circling back to Fremont Street, but it comes and goes quick because the hotels there don't want anything to do with it--they can get banned from military contracting. And it goes somewhere else for a while, then goes to Fremont for a quick buck before getting thrown out again. Right now, it seems to be in North Vegas."

Sophie made a mental note to work with the base provost. At one arm's remove might be best, maybe one of the suppport guys for the op can ask around about where's hot.

"Any names that keep coming up?"

Traci said, "Jim Austin. He's a second-tier director, usually works with our competition." She sighed, then said, "He likes them young. He's always looking for fresh meat--not for the biz, for himself."

"Any chance of getting close to him?"

Christy shook her head. "Not unless you want to start a damn war in the industry. We're under contract. We can't hang out with the enemy. He's just notorious for screwing young girls."

Sophie nodded. "All right. I'll see what we can do without involving anyone from this end of the ring."

* * *

Sophie took her leave and walked back up West Twain toward the Strip. Despite her field jacket, she shivered--not from cold, but from her own worries.

Somewhere out there, someone is buying a girl for the night. A girl who should be doing algebra homework or writing a book report for school tomorrow.

She felt her back straighten, and her stride become more purposeful.

God's children are not for sale. Not if I have anything to say about it.

[Matt Wiser]

Hell hath no fury like Sophie on a mission...

[clancyphile]

Something in me is silently screaming "Postwar porn movie" based on this...

And when the Mob finds out that the KGB/PSD/Stasi were using their porn shoots as cover for operations-and they will find out-there's going to be some bodies tossed into trash cans, filled with cement, and dumped into Lake Mead.

They'll hold off until after their Agency friends tell them to.

I don't know why, but Micheal Coldsmith-Briggs shadow is on this.

"Don Corleone, I am capable of many things. But even I cannot get useful information from a corpse."

[jemhouston]

Thought of the day, critters need to eat too.

[Wolfman]

Hell hath no fury like Sophie on a mission...

Not even the Devil gets in Sophie’s way when she’s on a mission; he finds himself a hole and pulls it in after himself to avoid attracting her attention…

[Poohbah]

12 December 1987
Headquarters, Tenth Air Force
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie stood to attention as door to the conference room opened. A man with gray hair, wearing old school olive drab utilities, eagles on his collar, led three other officers into the room.

She saluted crisply. "Good morning, gentlemen."

The senior officer's voice was gravelly. He said, "Good morning. Colonel Roderick Decker, United States Army, Retired, recalled active for the duration. I'm running the SOCCOM liaison cell here at Tenth Air Force. With me are my deupty, Lieutenant Colonel Francis Hummel, United States Marine Corps; Major Harold Shagan, United States Air Force, my intelligence officer; and Major William Corley, United States Army, my ops boss."

"Gentlemen, I'm Chief Warrant Officer Sophie Henrix, Air Force Special Operations Command, TDY to 10th Air Force."

Decker blinked, then said, "Team Montana?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any truth to the rumors you had the extract bird fly across the bomb fall line for an Arc Light mission getting out of Tulsa?"

"Sir, we had at least two minutes before the first impact."

Hummel chuckled. "The Hinds chasing you had rather less. Good show, Gunner."

Once everyone was settled in, Sophie laid out Operation BOLO II and the preconditions.

"I believe a GRANITE MOLE decoy is the best tool--"

Sophie paused as she took in their faces.

"Gentlemen, I take it there's a problem."

Hummel glanced at Decker.

Decker said, "GRANITE MOLE seems to have suffered some kind of security breach. We've managed to go 0 for 3 in the past two weeks. None of the GRANITE MOLE vehicles got hit, but we lost two Pershing convoys and a cruise missile convoy." He sighed. "They knew where the real targets were. Ivan's got someone inside, and we have no idea where. AAFNORTH's Theater Nuclear Ops people have pulled their forces behind I-80, and that means we've lost leverage."

Sophie felt the numbers come out and dance again.

Just like they had at Naval Air Station Memphis, in the WSC-3 repair shop.

"It's not a spy, gentlemen."

Decker snorted. "How can you be so sure, so quickly?"

"Sir, is that a rhetorical question, or did you want a serious answer?"

"It was rhetorical, but if you have a serious answer, I'm ready to listen."

Sophie walked over to the white board and started laying out mathematical equations.

"All right, gentlemen, this is a simple target search model for a target that moves between two regions in a Markovian fashion, the overall parameters of which are known to the searcher."

"Markovian fashion?"

"Sir, that means that it moves randomly, in such a way that predictions made about its movement from its present location are just as valid if you know nothing about how it moved before, or if you know the entire history."

Decker was quiet for a second, then said, "All right, I think I get it. It's like lottery numbers--knowing past winning numbers is completely worthless."

"Exactly, sir." Sophie laid out the variables and stepped through the model.

"So, we now have an optimized search strategy. Now, the GRANITE MOLE vehicles were, as far as we knew, indistinguishable from the real thing--the payloads are the same weight, imposing the same movement restrictions, not like the Scaleboard, Scarab, and Spider launcher decoys that could do 45 cross-country because the missile container was empty. That means that doing random walks would give the same results if it's a live shooter or a GRANITE MOLE decoy, and there would be no anomalies falling outside the domain that give the decoys away like what happened during the end game of the Great New Mexico Scud Hunt."

Decker coughed. "Now, Chief, I'm not meaning to be contrary for the sake of contrariness, but I seem to recall we flooded the zone with a bunch of operators to find those launchers."

Sophie smiled. "Yes, sir, we did. And I was out there, yomping away."

Hummel said, "So was I, sir. But at the end, we were finding targets with a great deal more success than before. More than random chance would dictate." He looked carefully at Sophie. "I commanded the Fifth Force Recon Battalion, and I could tell we were getting too lucky just from looking at the success rate, and when I worked the math, it was about double what I expected. I have a Master's in Operations Research from the Naval Postgraduate School, but I could never figure the trick out. I figured we had someone inside."

"Sir, we did a Monte Carlo analysis of the targets we detected on each sensor pass, and voided out the ones that were too improbably placed relative to the previous pass."

Hummel's jaw dropped. "It was THAT simple?"

"Once I saw a Scarab launcher zipping cross-country at a speed that would have broken the missile, it was easy to develop an analytical tool to weed out the decoys."

"Wait, you developed the math, too?"

"Yes, sir."

Hummel turned to Decker. "Uh, sir, I'd listen to her. The math she's describing is . . . it was an extremely elegant solution, and that means she's performing at a much higher level than I am. I'm kind of disappointed that I didn't figure it out on my own. It's so obvious when you hear it."

Decker nodded. "Where'd you go to school, Chief?"

"Sir, on Day One I was just starting my junior year at MIT, double majoring in computer science and applied mathematics."

"All right. So, I am nowhere near your level when it comes to math, you managed to stay well ahead of Colonel Hummel, who is a really smart guy in his own right . . . let's do away with the math as much as possible. Break it down to parade rest for me."

"Sir, for it to be a singular human source, he'd have to be riding the legitimate convoy and broadcasting frequently."

Hummel said, "That's asking . . . well, it's asking a lot of your source."

Shagan said, "And we'd pick that up. We have Guardrail birds riding shotgun on all convoys, real or fake."

Decker nodded. "But if it's not a human source, then how are they hitting every time?"

Sophie said, "Sir, I don't know. Not yet. But I know they're doing it, and that's halfway to knowing how. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth."

Decker was silent for a long moment. "Chief, you've given us a lot of food for thought, and probably saved us from mounting a wild goose chase that would destroy morale without solving the actual problem. I want you to work this problem with us, but let me make my manners to General Vandenhelden first."

"Yes, sir." Sophie wrote notes on her briefing materials.

"All right, let's get to work solving this. Thank you, Chief."

Sophie stood to attention as the attendees left.

She looked at her math.

All right, tovarischi, just how in the hell are you doing it?

[Matt Wiser]

And that race gets going...

[Matryoshka]

Hummel... that name sounds familiar. Didn’t he end up causing a bit of a stir after war’s end? Something about some suit denying benefits to the families of his KIA operators over technicalities and classification issues, and he was fully ready to give somebody a double-orchiectomy about it — publically, with a Ka-Bar and no anesthesia — before someone with common sense managed to put things right?

[jemhouston]

Decker is cunning, Sophie is smart and cunning.

[Poohbah]

16 December 1987
Running Track
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

Sophie came out in well-broken-in boots, an old set of ABU trousers, and an olive drab t-shirt. She saw Decker, Hummel, and Corley sitting in the bleachers.

"Good morning, gentlemen, what brings you out here?"

Decker said, "An opportunity to razz Major Shagan over his service's fitness standards. And yourself?"

"Tenth Air Force policy is that you do one PT test within 30 days of check-in before they grant you a bye on running one every six months, and they don't care how your old unit did it. And I don't run too much in Adidas or Reeboks, so I run what's comfortable. So, here I am."

Hummel said, "Make SOCCOM proud, Gunner."

Sophie asked, "What's with this 'Gunner' stuff?"

Hummel said, "It's an affectionate term for Marine Warrant Officers. We hold our warrants in no small esteem. God created the Marine Warrant Officer to give the junior enlisted Marine someone to worship, the senior enlisted Marine someone to envy, the junior Marine officer someone to tolerate, and the senior Marine officer someone to respect. Show 'em what you can do."

"Thank you, sir."

Sophie walked over and checked in.

She maxed the push-ups and sit-ups without really breaking a sweat, then headed to the start line for the 1.5 mile run. She headed for the front of the pack. A man in a tracksuit she vaguely recognized as a Major in the A-4 (Logistics) branch said, "Just stay the fuck out of my way."

"Oh, that's not going to be a problem, sir."

She stretched, then began jogging in place to get her heart rate up. People looked at her curiously.

"Stand by . . . GO!"

Sophie took off at her standard 5-minute mile pace.

And heard someone behind her say, "Goddamn . . . "

She remembered Raoul Julia's line from The Gumball Rally: And now, my friend, the first rule of Italian driving. What's behind me is not important.

She breathed easily and steadily, in through her nose and mouth, eight steps, out through her nose and mouth, eight steps . . . muscles relaxed, even in her legs . . . her feet seemed to glide on the track.

The numbers flowed, and she let them. She saw a Markov Chain with missing terms, and let the numbers move as she completed her first lap in 1:15.

She blew past General Tanner on the back stretch of her second lap.

* * *

Decker was grinning. "Damn, she has amazing form."

Hummel said, "Check out Major Jorgensen from Logistics. He's trying to catch her, but his form is starting to go bad."

Corley said, "Mm-hmm. You notice you don't hear anything when she goes by? Jorgensen sounds like a herd of elephants."

Tanner came past, followed by Shagan. Decker called, "Good stride, sir! Keep doing it just like that!"

Corley called, "C'mon, Harry! Show us whatcha got!"

A bit over a minute later, Sophie came around again.

"Yeah, Sophie!"

"Keep it coming!"

"Oustanding!

* * *

Sophie moved terms around. The equation still wasn't coming together. Her feet moved, her arms moved in counterpoint, her breathing remained steady.

She crossed into her last lap, and she consciously sped up, tapping into her anaerobic reserves. Her pace shifted to roughly 4:40.

4:30.

* * *

Decker's jaw was agape.

Hummel said, "Careful, sir, you'll catch flies like that."

"My hips are hurting just thinking about running that fast."

Corley sighed. "Ah, to be young and foolish again."

Jorgensen came by, wobbling as he desperately tried to catch the younger woman.

Hummel called, "DEEP BREATHS! DEEP BREATHS!"

Corley said, "Hope they have a medic standing by at the finish. I don't like his color."

* * *

"Chief Henrix!"

Sophie snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!"

Tanner asked, "What was your time?"

"7:10, sir."

Tanner shook his head. "Just damn! Outstanding, your June bye is officially approved."

* * *

Back inside the SOCOM SCIF, Sophie sat down and looked at the whiteboard. She reached into her desk and pulled out a Pickett N4-ES slide rule and began working some equations on it, keeping each step in her memory instead of writing it down.

She set the slide rule down and tapped her fingers on the desk. Major Corley looked up and asked, "What's bugging you?"

"I'm missing something. We move the GRANITE MOLE vehicles in accordance with GLCM or Pershing doctrine. The dummy missiles weigh the same, so we don't go racing off faster than what a loaded TEL can do. And yet Ivan's finding them."

"Maybe he's got lurps on the routes."

Lurps referred to Longe-Range Reconnaissance Patrols., or LRRPs.

"But that's not the problem, sir. Lurps will find the missiles and the decoys alike. But they're only hitting the real targets."

"Not quite seeing it."

"We're playing three-card monte with the Russians, and the Russians keep finding the lady. Something is telling them the difference between the missiles and the decoys."

Corley said, "But the only real difference is the decoys don't have nuclear . . . "

His voice trailed off as the light bulb came on.

Sophie saw the numbers shift in the Markov chain equation and said, "Gotcha, Ivan."

* * *

Hummel listened to Sophie and Corley. "Well, as a first explanation . . . it makes sense. That's the obvious difference between the real missiles and the decoys. But have we ruled out other differences between the missiles and the decoys?"

Corley shook his head. "It seems the most likely one."

Sophie said, "Sir, we could test the hypothesis that the Soviets aren't tracking the warheads."

"How's that, Gunner?"

"We borrow live fire units, one of each. We get a couple of Pershing II flight test articles from Canaveral, and we get four conventional Tomahawks from the Navy . . . and just put 'em on the road." She paused. "My hypothesis is that Ivan has developed a System X--let's call it that--that can detect nuclear warheads on the move, and they are using it as a primary target acquisition sensor. The corollary of System X detecting and localizing nuclear warheads would be that it doesn't even know the decoys are there, which is why the strikes never hit the decoys."

Hummel nodded. "And that would explain why we've gone goose eggs on luring strike assets to the decoys. And your test would confirm or deny it."

Sophie looked at the map of Nellis Air Force Base on the wall behind Hummel . . . and blinked.

"Something else come up in that well-tuned mind of yours, Gunner?"

"Sir . . . could we liaison with the Energy Department boys here? The Nuclear Emergency Search Team?"

"What makes you think they'd play ball?"

"They poached the best damn Master Sergeant I ever had halfway through the Great New Mexico Scud Hunt, sir. They owe me." She smiled. "So I suggest we go to the INDIGO FIRE shop, talk operator to operator, and collect."

[Matt Wiser]

There were probably jaws dropping as they saw her run.

[jemhouston]

General Tanner just called Rudy Wells, "Doc do we have one of yours on my base?"

[Wolfman]

General Tanner just called Rudy Wells, "Doc do we have one of yours on my base?"

And how would Gen. Tanner know about Doctor Wells’ project?

[jemhouston]

General Tanner just called Rudy Wells, "Doc do we have one of yours on my base?"

And how would Gen. Tanner know about Doctor Wells’ project?

He was at Edwards during a certain crash and close friends with the pilot involved.

OOC, did you read the original Cyborg novel?

[Wolfman]

OOC: No. Never heard of it.

[jemhouston]

OOC: No. Never heard of it.

OOC, it was just different enough from the TV I could enjoy both. I think he did three more novels based off the book. He also slammed the Six Million Dollar Man TV series in the novel ManFac.

[Poohbah]

16 December 1987
Nuclear Emergency Search Team Compound
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

After a working lunch break at University of Nevada's Las Vegas library, Sophie drove the Humvee over to the NEST compound.

Sophie, Hummel, Corley, and Shagan were let in by a stocky Hispanic man with "REYES" on his ABUs, and Senior Master Sergeant stripes on the sleeve.

"Good to see you again, Boss-Ma'am."

"Likewise. Congratulations on the promotion, it's well-earned. Gentlemen, this is Senior Master Sergeant Reyes, probably the best combat controller in the Air Force; Sarn't Reyes, this is Lieutenant Colonel Hummel, United States Marines; Major WIlliam Corley, United States Army; and Major Harold Shagan, United States Air Force."

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Boss-Ma'am, your call was a tad . . . mysterious."

"Indeed it was, and it's going to take some time to explain."

They adjourned to a briefing room and sat down, except for Sophie.

"Sarn't Reyes, I suspect this is going to involve the double-domed PhDs more than it will us operators. Tenth Air Force has a problem."

"Please, for the love of God, don't tell me you've lost a nuke."

"No, the problem is that Ivan keeps finding them."

* * *

They were soon joined by three scientists who wore outdoorsman clothing and looked utterly unfazed by Sophie having a .45 in a gunfighter rig on her thigh.

"Boss-Ma'am, this is Doctor Roy Gallantin, Doctor Fred Morgan, and Doctor Avery Lamb. They're in charge of the search mission."

Gallantin led off. "What's this about the Soviets finding nukes?"

Sophie laid out the problem on the briefing room whiteboard.

Morgan said, "You're awfully sure about this."

Hummel said, "Only explanation that makes any sense. Those decoys were designed to be high-fidelity copies, right down to vehicle gross weight, electronics, you name it. The only significant difference is that the decoys aren't hauling nukes."

Gallantin frowned. "Chief . . . I'm not saying you're wrong. But I don't see how they' could be doing it. Our gear has a range of--well, it's classified, but I'll say that it's in the tens of meters." He sighed. "The search rate would be extremely poor. Not enough to support a recovery mission . . . or even a long-range air strike. Are you sure you don't have a security leak?"

Sophie walked to the other white board and began writing equations.

"Sir, I have reason to believe that it's not a spy. Now, using Shannon's work in information theory . . . "

Sophie walked through the equations, developing her ideas at each stage.

Gallantin said, "All right, the math looks right . . . but I don't quite understand what it's telling me."

Hummel said, "Gentlemen, she lost me at the first 'We can further . . . ' before doing the next equation."

Sophie said, "Hoo-ah, gentlemen. Please give me a moment to boil it down to English."

She thought for a moment, then said, "Gentlemen . . . spies are human."

Gallantin nodded.

"They have all of the strengths and weaknesses of human beings. They'll look left when they should look right . . . they'll zone out in a conversation and miss the crucial nugget . . . they'll let vanity and ego take over to make their information look more important . . . "

Hummel said, "They make mistakes?"

"Or, they might lie. But System X--whatever RED is doing--works. It is highly reliable. It's gone three for three in the past two weeks. I'm wondering if it's even able to detect our decoys. And I'm wondering if 'tens of meters' is a hard limit."

"Why would you say that?"

Sophie opened a file folder and passed the contents to Gallantin. "I found a paper from 1977 at UNLV, from Physical Review C. The title is "Theoretical Basis of a Condensed-Matter Scattering Neutron Interferometry Device Using Superconducting Quantum Interference Detection."

Gallantin glanced at the front page of the paper . . . and immediately frowned. He passed it to Morgan, who looked at Gallantin and nodded. Morgan then passed it to Lamb, who started to say something, then thought better of it.

"Gentlemen--and lady, of course--we're going to need a few minutes. If you could wait here?"

Hummel nodded.

Once the scientists were out of the room, Reyes said, "Holy shit, Doc Gallantin is not happy. He's pretty contained, but there's some tells."

Ten minutes later, Doc Gallantin came back into the room. "All right. Now, I'm not supposed to officially know this, but the Air Force and the Navy both worked up detectors based on this some years back. Max range is about three miles. So, in theory, a low-flying aircraft could have a decent search rate. However, it would probably get shot down over hostile territory. I think we're back to a human source."

Sophie smiled. "Thank you, sir."

* * *

Back in the SOCOM SCIF, Hummel said, "Gunner, I followed your lead, but I have to admit I'm not exactly tracking the madness to your method."

Sophie smiled. "Sir, the game is afoot. We've obviously stumbled into something extremely classified. Something that NEST wanted kept secret, so they gave us a brush-off. But they missed something. Check out page 17 of the paper."

Hummel looked at it and frowned. "It's a computer specification. Power, processor speed . . . what's the significance?"

"Well, that represented the equivalent of a LISP machine of that era from the MIT AI Lab--and, you might note, one of the authors was at MIT at the time. The important thing is, the system's theoretical range--about three miles--was based on real-time processing by the computer, on how fast the computer could read and process the input from the detector elements, and if you look at the discussion of programming, you can tell they wanted to do some LISP tricks that only worked with customized hardware. WIth me so far, sir?"

"I think so. You're saying that the computer is the choke point on making this thing useful, and they wanted a particular kind that was specifically tailored for the job."

"Exactly. Now, I worked with that particular computer in the fall semester of my frosh year."

Hummel nodded. "Did you use it during the spring semester?"

Sophie smiled. "No, sir, because they hauled it away to the MIT computer museum and put it on display. The thing was slower than a stock IBM PC running a LISP interpreter by that point. Technology went off in a different direction than anyone expected, and it didn't just march on, it went at the double. And there's no way to haul one of those LISP machines onto an airplane; they're bitchy, tempermental divas, designed to run in a white-coat lab environment, there's no way they'd work on a light aircraft or helicopter that has dirty AC power and lots of vibration. What Gallantin told us was intended to get us to go away, so I let him think we did just that."

"OK, so they don't want us to know about their little toys."

"Ah, but give me a high-end minicomputer, and I'll run this bad boy to its maximum possible sensitivity, and I think that'd get us ten miles. And that's exactly what I'm thinking happened."

"Damn it, Gunner, I am not playing another round of 'my security clearance is bigger than yours' with anyone. I mean, last I checked, there was a war on."

"In reverse order, you are correct; there is a war on. As for playing security clearance games . . . well, sir, sometimes, life closes a door. When it does, my usual course of action is to breach the wall and walk in like a boss. Come, let us brief Colonel Decker on the state of play and our next moves."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Calling my rabbi--General Samuel Lodge--and asking him why he went from commanding ROTC at San Diego State to program management at the Air Force Technical Applications Center, when his entire scientific education amounts to two semesters of Rocks for Jocks at Notre Dame."

"Gunner, for the record, you look like you're having entirely too much fun outsmarting the entire US national security establishment."

"Sir, if they don't want me to hand out stupid prizes, they shouldn't play stupid games. At least not with me. As you sagely pointed out, sir, there is, in fact, a war on, and I'm in it to win it."

[Matt Wiser]

She's smarter than those PhDs put together.

[Johnnie Lyle]

She's smarter than those PhDs put together.

You get a PhD by being disciplined, methodical and determined. Crazy also helps. Not necessarily by being smart - sometimes being really smart gets in the way, because you go down tangents. I’ve seen plenty of people who could not think their way out of a paper bag get PhDs because they can follow instructions and pattern match.

They’re not very good once they graduate, because now you’re working without a net and there’s fewer people to tell you what to do, but they do exist and graduate in increasing numbers.

A PhD (and subsequent research) also encourages you to specialize. You become a single subject matter expert instead of a polymath or jack of all trades. Academia (especially in the 80s) was also not very collaborative, so being open to someone from way outside your field to collaborate wasn’t the norm yet.

So there’s a lot of reasons to shut the door - not necessarily good ones, but reasons.