America’s nuclear weapons deterrent and how it is controlled is increasingly critical in the face of the rapidly-expanding arsenals across multiple adversaries. A new fleet of E-4C nuclear-hardened survivable airborne operations center aircraft is now in development, as is the U.S. Navy E-130J, which will provide next-generation communications with nuclear ballistic missile submarines deep beneath the waves. Focus is also turning to a mission that’s dedicated to emergency communications with the U.S. nuclear forces in times of crisis, a role known as Operation Looking Glass, which is also poised for updating under a program dubbed Looking Glass-Next.

The comprehensive modernization of America’s nuclear strike muscle involves three major elements – new B-21 Raider stealth bombers, the LGM-35A Sentinel intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) program to replace Minuteman IIIs, and new Columbia-class nuclear ballistic missile submarines. A fourth facet that ties all these new elements, as well as existing ones, together is the next generation nuclear command, control, and communications (NC3) architecture. It securely connects nuclear weapons systems to decision-makers. Without it, America’s nuclear deterrent isn’t a deterrent at all.

America’s nuclear modernization is set against a backdrop of rapidly-developing nuclear strength across adversaries and pacing threats, which could threaten not only U.S. fighting forces, but also the existing aging NC3 infrastructure. This could impede the collective responsiveness and effectiveness of the American nuclear enterprise. For example, a coordinated attack on NC3 could degrade the National Command Authority chain, which could prevent communications that are necessary to conduct a retaliatory strike.

If fixed underground command posts are targeted and rendered inoperable, the current strategy would involve turning to a set of highly-survivable air assets that are designed to be on hand to execute emergency war orders. This includes the U.S. Air Force’s E-4B National Airborne Operations Center (NAOC) “Nightwatch” aircraft, and the E-6B Mercury that is operated by the U.S. Navy.

A major recapitalization effort is already underway for the NAOC E-4Bs, which are being superseded under the E-4C Survivable Airborne Operations Center (SAOC) contract. It is being led by defense contractor SNC. The new SAOC aircraft are based on the far more modern 747-8i, and are planned to have a much broader mission set than the four E-4B Nightwatch types they are set to replace, as you can read more about here.

The Navy’s E-6B Take Charge and Move Out (TACAMO) aircraft have a primary role of strategic connectivity with the ballistic missile submarine fleet. These converted 707s also execute another mission known as the Airborne National Command Post (ABNCP), more recently renamed “Looking Glass.” For this they are manned by U.S. Air Force missileers and U.S. Strategic Command (USSTRATCOM) battle managers who are responsible for running the airborne nuclear NC3 systems.

The joint service team on Looking Glass mirrors some operations performed by USSTRATCOM’s underground command posts, and a small portion of what the NAOC executes. The Looking Glass mission is really focused on performing an airborne backup mission solely for USSTRATCOM to ensure another means of communicating with fielded nuclear bombers, their assigned tankers, ICBMs and deployed nuclear submarines. It is best known for its ability to supply airborne communications connectivity to the USAF’s ICBM force on the ground and can command remote launches of those weapons if necessary.

Additional NC3-related modernization is coming on the heels of SAOC, with the new E-130J set to assume the Navy’s TACAMO role from the ageing E-6Bs, assuming strategic connectivity for nuclear ballistic submarines. It means that at some point roughly two-thirds of the E-6 current mission will go to the new E-130J aircraft – raising the question of what will fulfill the critical Looking Glass mission.

Since the E-130J is not planned to take on the Looking Glass role, the USAF is in the early stages of what’s dubbed Looking Glass-Next (LG-N), which presents the future pathway for USSTRATCOM’s mobile contingency operations. This could take on a number of forms, including NC3 communications functions being increasingly moved to space-based assets and more distributed operations across the ground, although an air platform is still likely to form a major part of the overall capability.

The need to modernize America’s NC3

Brian Golden is a retired USAF colonel who intimately understands nuclear command and control (NC2) and the associated NC3 equipment and processes from both a service and industry perspective. As a subject matter expert for SNC, he draws on his extensive experience as a former E-4B NAOC commander and he commanded much of the USAF’s multi-domain NC3 systems, including the Airborne Launch Control System onboard the current E-6B Looking Glass. He is also extremely familiar with all the nation’s continuity of government and continuity of operations missions for both Congressional and executive branches of the U.S. government.

“Everyone referred to the nuclear triad as the platforms that were controlled through the NC3 architecture,” Golden told TWZ during a detailed discussion. “Those platforms received their messages and executed their missions. But this isn’t just about that platform triad. The U.S. nuclear enterprise has four primary pillars, and nuclear command, control, and communications is a critical part of it. Without a robust NC3 system, it’s like having a brand new Bugatti Veyron but without the keys! It looks awesome on the driveway, but you can’t drive it.”

Golden explains that the current NC3 enterprise consists of a series of exquisite systems that are extremely reliable, but that are in need of modernization to stay ahead of the steepening threat curve, and stay in front of supply chain constraints. “What we have currently is very reliable, robust, and very survivable, but it can be difficult to maintain some of our legacy systems. Additionally, as threats evolve we must ensure our communications pathways also evolve. 

“Our nation’s industrial base engineers figured out extremely robust methods of nuclear communications when these systems were fielded. Looking at the overall command and control [NC2], and then the NC3 communications pathways, any new systems that we introduce must be sustainable, scalable and modular.”

The U.S. nuclear enterprise is facing greater threats than ever with adversaries challenging U.S. nuclear infrastructure in multiple domains: space, cyber, ground, air. Because of this, NC3 demands a continuous process of improvement.

Going forward, the NC3 enterprise will likely need to integrate upgraded proven legacy systems with all-new technology. “Sometimes the physics of radio waves may dictate the need for a legacy approach with upgraded systems, such as communicating with a submarine that’s very deep in the ocean.”

Golden’s view is that NC3 requires a layered, open architecture approach as modernization is evaluated. “Applying those same physics and then adding new layers such as artificial intelligence may determine a better way of doing things.”

Upgrading to SAOC

Golden points to the SNC-led E-4C SAOC program as a clear example of critical NC3 modernization, while emphasizing that the NC2 mission is far from being the primary role of the E-4B and its forthcoming successor. “Nuclear command and control is only a fraction of what the current NAOC does and what the future SAOC will do for our nation and our allies and partners.”

The E-4B initially featured just a handful of communications systems, which have grown over time, leading to what Golden calls the “King Kong” of communication capabilities today. The E-4 is not a battlefield communications platform, its mantra is all about supporting Presidential-level requirements across the board. It does possess an extensive NC3 suite, but it also serves the White House Communications Agency (WHCA) and the Department of Homeland Security, through the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), in many other crisis roles. Another mission the E-4B fleet performs is to safely transport the Secretary of War on trips within the United States and abroad.

The E-4B NAOC and Looking Glass are two complementary tiers of the same survivable architecture. The NAOC (and future SAOC) is designed to anchor national-level decision-making and government continuity from the very top, while Looking Glass provides USSTRATCOM with the dedicated airborne command and battle-management capacity required to direct forces. Both roles are critical and non-negotiable.

“The new E-4C SAOC, like the E-4B before it, will deliver an expansive communications suite and increased capacity supported by a larger fleet,” Golden explains. “SAOC is built to ensure the President and national leadership can direct the entire country through any crisis. Looking Glass supports an equally vital and highly specialized mission. It is dedicated to USSTRATCOM’s operational needs, connecting directly to bombers, ICBMs and submarines. Attempting to merge these unique missions on a single airframe would compromise the unique, essential role that each was created to perform.”

Looking Glass-Next

The Looking Glass role and the platform that fulfills it is not classified as a national-level mission. As Golden alluded to earlier, it’s not assigned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs or to the Secretary of War. It’s exclusively assigned to USSTRATCOM; however, without the Looking Glass mission being upgraded soon, America has a gaping hole in its nuclear architecture.

The commander of USSTRATCOM is the customer and ultimately the decision-maker when it comes to Looking Glass-Next, and the USAF has been tasked by the Secretary of War to develop and field it. SNC is looking at several options for the requirement, with some sort of air platform at its core, which Golden refers to as an “E-6C.” He endorses that the current E-6B is one of the “cogs in the wheel that has to be replaced,” but adds that this doesn’t mean the next-generation Looking Glass is just an aircraft.

“At SNC, we have significant expertise and experience with mission system integration,” says Golden, adding that SNC is evaluating what he calls “aggressively creative options,” for the modernization requirement. He further noted that the modern threat is driving a requirement for Looking Glass-Next to be very difficult to target and must be dispersed.

“Having an aircraft as the only option for this USSTRATCOM mission is a legacy mindset,” Golden states. “We have advanced multi-domain capabilities, including numerous space capabilities available through the Sierra Space Corporation. Future mission resilience requires a creative and integrated approach.”

“We believe a creative approach to provide NC3 options will ensure a robust, reliable, survivable and cost-effective solution.”

Golden endorses this approach to creativity and development and indicated that SNC will continue to inform and respond to the ongoing Looking Glass-Next requests for information that may result in a future program.

“SNC has leaned heavily into the nuclear command, control, and communications architecture and it’s a natural fit for us, building on our work with the Department of War and our subcontractors on the E-4C SAOC. Our Looking Glass-Next responses and inputs will leverage relevant work and experience gained from SAOC, but we are also focused on being creative. We’re small enough to be agile, but big enough to deliver. That’s why we think we’re very well positioned in the NC3 space.”

The majority of SNC’s work on the E-4C SAOC is being completed at the NC3 Center of Excellence, housed in the Aviation Innovation and Technology Center (AITC) in Dayton, Ohio. 

Golden believes the timing couldn’t be better to deliver bold and creative NC3 solutions. “The USAF is already asking the right questions, and industry is really able to innovate, which will result in a transformational era for nuclear command, control and communications.”

The post U.S. Nuclear Control Mission Could Dramatically Evolve Under Looking Glass-Next appeared first on TWZ.

Stormy Morse lost two partners to gun suicide. She didn’t know that the second one, Lewis Tabler, had made the National Rifle Association the beneficiary of his retirement savings through its planned-giving program. In this feature, co-published with The New Yorker, Mike Spies describes what happens when the NRA, which has long denied a connection between access to guns and suicide rates, comes to collect:

Fisher, the NRA’s planned-giving director … e-mailed Applied Industrial, pointing out that Tabler had been dead for two months, and that “accounts with properly designated beneficiaries” are “generally available for distribution within 7–10 business days.” He went on, “We want to do whatever is needed to make this a smooth process.”

Meanwhile, multiple debt collectors had filed claims against Tabler’s estate, and the register of wills informed Stormy that she also owed an inheritance tax, since she was now the sole owner of the home.

As a favor, a neighbor of Stormy’s who was a lawyer spoke to the NRA’s assistant general counsel, Sarah Gervase, on her behalf. The neighbor raised the possibility that the organization might give up some of the money, according to Gervase, who recounted the exchange in an e-mail with Applied Industrial in early June. Gervase wrote that she “informed” Stormy’s neighbor that the “NRA is not willing to settle this.” Tabler’s cause of death did not seem to have any bearing on the organization’s position.

For the fourth consecutive day, firefighters continue to battle the major wildfire in western Attica that appears to be out of control on Monday, despite the weakening of the winds. New flare-ups are non-stop and the fire front seems go in one direction, then change its route, return and sets on fire again what it […]

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On the night of January 16, 2024, Egana Djabbarova was awoken by her wife and told that she needed to leave the country immediately. Djabbarova, her wife said, had been denounced by pro-war activists and framed as an enemy of the country. She had recently published her novel, “My Dreadful Body,” with a small, indie press that had been praised by mainstream critics, unexpectedly propelling her into the public eye. One of the book's central themes is surveillance: growing up in a community with strict behavioural codes, the protagonist's every move is under scrutiny.

In a dark echo of her work, Djabbarova was now under online surveillance herself. “I was just the perfect enemy,” she tells me, “because I’m queer, I’m not Slavic, I worked on decolonial and feminist projects… So boom, it happened.”

She is speaking to me from Hamburg, where she now lives. Djabbarova is part of the so-called fifth wave of writers exiled from Russia, alongside Maria Stepanova, Lyudmila Ulitskaya, and Maxim Osipov to name a few. Her upbeat tone during our call gives little indication of the arduous journey she has endured since fleeing Russia. Upon receiving a humanitarian visa from Germany, she spent months in a refugee camp. She lived, she says, “in a container house, literally a shipping container. You feel like you're not a subject, not a human being.” 

More permanent accommodation has provided a degree of safety and stability, but a sense of precariousness lingers. She describes her position as an exile as “strange” — on the one hand she has been welcomed into Germany’s cultural elite in winning the Hamburger Literaturpreis; on the other, she feels like a “ghost,” unable to express herself in German and often bewildered by the unfamiliarity of everyday tasks in a new country, and in a new city which, she tells me jokingly, is quaint and polite like the well-behaved boy next door. 

But there’s a deeper, historical layer to Djabbarova’s story of exile. Her father was a refugee from the region of Nagorno-Karabakh, while her mother was forced out of her family home. “Homelessness and exile — this is my heritage,” she says. Being othered became a common theme of Djabbarova’s childhood, as a child of Azeri parents living in Yekaterinburg. “In Russia you are constantly reminded that you're not Russian,” she says. “Then during the summer you visit your relatives in Azerbaijan and they laugh because you cannot speak Azerbaijani properly.”

This sense of double estrangement is mirrored in “My Dreadful Body” (published in Russian in 2023 and recently translated into English by Lisa Hayden). At only a touch over 100 pages, it is a slim but powerful account of the pressures on one woman growing up among the strict codes of an Azerbaijani family living in Russia. A sense of surveillance and conditional belonging defines the narrator’s upbringing: “In the world where I grew up,” she writes, “gazes penetrated every little corner. The evil eye, the neighbors’ eyes, the relatives’ eyes, the random pedestrian’s eyes, the unscrupulous men’s eyes, the women’s unhappy eyes. Life in the community was reminiscent of a reality show with constant video surveillance: no action, word, or undertaking went unnoticed.”

The story is based on Djabbarova’s own life. “Maybe 70-80% of this story is absolutely true”, she confirms. The narrator is named Egana, she grows up in an Azerbaijani family in Russia, too Russian for the family, not Russian enough for her friends at school. She also, like Djabbarova, suffers from a debilitating autoimmune disorder that is eventually diagnosed as dystonia, a neurological disorder that causes involuntary muscle contractions. During one episode, she describes her body as resembling “willow branches gone mad from a strong wind” — a potent image of struggle against external forces. Djabbarova describes the book as a way to reclaim her body through language. “I was trying to tell this story in a poetic way. I wanted to change my body into poetry.” 

Each chapter of “My Dreadful Body” begins with a different body part (“Eyebrows,” “Eyes,” “Hair” and so on), like the poetic blazons spun by Renaissance poets. Where those poems encouraged an idealized, sensationalized reading of each body part, Djabbarova’s chapters are more sober explorations of the physical limits — and personal and cultural stories — these body parts contain. 

In one of many poignant scenes, the narrator’s head is shaved in preparation for a procedure. She cries on seeing her “shorn scalp,” but the sadness is not aesthetic, it’s ancestral; the act marks a symbolic rupture with her lineage. “My past,” she writes, “the past of all the women in my family, the memory of my ancestors, the history of a single body — all that now lay on the cold floor.” After this scene, her grandmother’s dictum that only long hair was considered beautiful, rings even more sharply. 

Illness then emerges as another form of exile, from one’s sense of self, from what’s perceived as “normal” in society, from the culture and community one belongs to. “They do not see you as a subject, as a human being, and they do not recognize your existence… I realized if I wanted to be seen as a subject, I needed to do it myself.” Djabbarova is talking about the plight to be believed about her symptoms here, but she could easily be talking about the often dehumanizing experience of exile. In both instances there is something fundamental under question, or as Djabbarova puts it, “You’re trying to prove that you have the right of being. You’re trying not to be erased.” 

We often talk about exile in the context of loss, but how might exile liberate? Paradoxically, Djabbarova tells me, her diagnosis became a form of liberation. “I always felt I had so many expectations on me as a girl, as a woman, so when I was finally diagnosed it was a liberation because my parents realized I would never be this type of girl.” Exile breeds a particular creative liberation, too, evidenced by the fact Djabbrova wrote the novel from Taiwan where she was briefly teaching Russian. “Here I had enough distance from my own life and my own experience,” she says. “Maybe it’s easier to write about your story being on an island in the Pacific Ocean.”

Writing is arguably the real heroine of Djabbarova's novel. For the narrator Egana, it is a place free from surveillance and a source of protection, “like an invisible amulet.” Poetry, she told me “was the only safe space for me because nobody was asking anything of me. It's the only place where I don't feel judged. I don’t feel ashamed. I don’t feel questioned.”

The chapter “Hands” opens: “The most important parts of a woman’s body were her hands: they prepared food, rocked children, did laundry, ironed men’s shirts, sewed clothes, swept, washed the floor, and dusted.… Any woman in our family knew that her hands were not given to her for writing.” To use her hands, then, to write becomes both a symbolic and quite literal form of resistance against such gendered codes.

Notably, Djabbarova is not alone in invoking the body as a space to explore the upheavals of exile. In Maria Stepanova’s autofictional work “The Disappearing Act” — recently translated into English by Sasha Dugdale — the narrator attempts to purge herself by volunteering to be cut in half as part of a circus trick. Djabbarova’s approach to reclaim identity and agency through the body is less literal, and more personal, but through this specificity she has landed somewhere indisputably universal. 

“I realized the only way I can write this novel is through my body,” she says. “Because the only way I can rehabilitate my being, my agency, my subjectivity is through my body. And that's why I wanted every reader to feel my body… It's really important for all of us not to forget that this right of being is basic. It's not given. It's something you have from birth." 

At the end of our conversation, Djabbarova (who has been speaking in English) struggles to recall a word and jokes that learning German is slowly pushing her English out. “Certain words I only remember in German!” she laughs. Is this the beginnings of a kind of homemaking for Djabbarova, a sign that the seeds she has scattered in her new country are taking root? Like her protagonist, who finds solace and safety in words, it seems that Djabbarova’s most trusted tool for survival, for managing the condition of exile, is language. 

The post Exiled at midnight appeared first on Coda Story.