Office of Congressional Affairs

(Author Note: This was a very short story for a contest at War on the Rocks. It didn't win, but I felt it solidly hit the writing prompt and took a different track for me, trying to write a humorous story.)

 

“…And that Senator is why we are hoping you’ll consider funding the next-gen EVA combat suit.” Colonel Graham Faulkner sat ramrod straight on the edge of his chair as he completed his presentation to the ranking minority member of the Senate Armed Services Committee. Forty-two years old, with a chin that was said to resemble Liam Nielson’s, Colonel Faulkner was the Space Force’s Senate Liaison Officer in the Service’s Office of Congressional Affairs, tasked with maintaining relations between the Force and the Senate.

Today he was in the McCain Senate Office building briefing key members of the Armed Services Committee on an upgraded EVA suit designed for combat operations in LEO. This was his last meeting of the day. He had with him an E4 from the Air Force as his assistant because the Space Force, statutorily limited to 100 members, were all officers.

Sitting across from him in a matching chair was Senator Julie McDaniel, the Senior Senator from Nebraska. On the couch to his left was the Senator’s Chief of Legislative Affairs, her Chief of Staff, and a senior Armed Services committee staffer. On three of the walls around them in the meeting room were paintings of battles stretching back to the Republic’s founding, a display befitting a senior member of Armed Services. A glass display case in the corner held four terms worth of mementos. And on the forth wall the only item was a glass shadow box framing an 8’x6’ Cornhusker’s flag signed by Coach Frost after his third National Championship. Two small wall lamps provided lighting for the display.

“Well I’ll certainly take the request under consideration, thank you for coming,” the Senator said with a slight Western drawl that signaled the meeting was over. “And I hope the next time you’re out at the Omaha Space Port you’ll let me know so we can arrange a tour.” She smiled and her eyes flicked over his uniform, appraising him. He saw the Chief of Staff doing the same, but the CoS was openly wearing his desire on his sleeve. Colonel Faulkner was used to it, his movie star looks was one of the reasons he had been tapped for OCA.

“Thank you, Madam Senator, for your time.” He stood up, as did she and her staff. 

“Anytime Colonel. Anytime.” They shook hands and her CoS led her off to her next appointment. Her Legislative Affairs Chief spoke up.

“Would you mind taking a few minutes for some pictures Colonel?” He saw Tina, the committee staffer smirk. She knew he hated this part of the job, which was ironic, because it was his primary, if unofficial responsibility. Wear the uniform. Be seen. Show the flag. Don’t let them forget we exist!

“Of course, I’d be happy to do so.” They walked into the Senator’s outer office, where the entire staff was waiting, including the interns. Twenty minutes of phones being passed around allowed all of them to get a photo with the rarest of the military elite, an actual member of Space Force in full uniform!

Every member of the Force was a full-fledged astronaut. Many had started as civilian astronaut candidates and put on the uniform in order to improve their chances of getting into space. Every member upon commissioning was taken up in one of the commercial space-tourist flights as a cadet to cross into space and “earn” the Space Force astronaut pin.

“How many times have you been into space Colonel,” asked a wide-eyed intern. He was that awkward age where nothing fit right, and the beard on his face looked like a small rodent.

“Four times son. My cadet flight, a one-year tour in the new ISS, and two cycles on the X-37 manned deployment module to test the first-generation combat EVA suit.” One American member of the ISS crew was always from Space Force. It was the most coveted billet in the Force.

“That’s so cool. Do you miss it?”

“Every day son. Every goddamn day,” he said with full sincerity. His voice was deep and penetrating. Space was his first love and at his insistence his HR career counselor put him in for every space assignment.

In between his space time, he had spent three ground tours at NASA, where a quarter of the Force was permanently deployed, split between NASA HQ, the JPL, or tasked out to a private firm like Space X. In addition to NASA assignments, every combatant command and the Joint Staff had two to four Space Force officers assigned to the command’s planning staff. These attachés helped the combatant commander with understanding the ‘hard science’ issues which came with integrating space into joint force operations, including the Air Force-led Space Command itself.

Like himself, almost every “Combat Naught” had advanced degrees in physics, rocketry, or other hard sciences. The remainder of his 19 years had been in various staff roles at combatant commands, conducting post-doc research, or in specialized training like the Joint Space Planning Staff course.

Another young staffer clearly wanted to ask him a question. He nodded to the young man to speak.

“Will the Force ever get bigger? My nephew dreams of joining Space Force and talks about it every time I see him,” the staffer somewhat blurted out. “He’s watched every movie.” Space Force had been a boon for the B movie market.

“I’ll take this one for you Colonel,” said Tina. She was the committee staffer assigned to escort him around for the day. He resisted rolling his eyes and nodded graciously as she proceeded to explain to the Senator’s assembled staff the history of Space Force and why it was so small. “When Space Force was created all the military assets were owned by the other services or agencies like NRO or NASA and they wouldn’t give them up. After a long fight, what Congress realized was the unique asset Space Force could bring to the table was human capital.” She waved her arm towards Colonel Faulkner.  

“A specialized combat astronaut force educated and trained to fight in space, and just as important, to think about and plan how to fight in space, in ways NASA astronauts or the other services never were.” She paused and then sank in the blade to the hilt, with a smile on her face. “They are truly the right stuff.” There were nods of polite understanding for those who didn’t get the long running inside joke, and quiet tittering by those who did. He mentally sighed. Time to wrap this up.

“So, who wants a coin?” He smiled as the E4 stepped forward, his attaché case full of the most desired challenge coin in Washington. Each officer received 50 Space Force challenge coins a year, customized with his or her call sign on it. Assigned to OCA, Colonel Faulkner’s allotment was 500, all with his call sign “Quark” on them.

The E4 was mobbed, with staffers soon standing by the window where there was better cell coverage to send photos of themselves with their coins. There were only two known complete sets of coins of the first one hundred officers ever to be in Space Force. The first hung in the Secretary of Space Force’s office. The second was a private collection in Miami.

They were a hot ticket, not just because the Force was so small, but because of a unique aspect of the coins. Each and every coin handed out by Space Force had been into space. Most of them were flown up in bulk during cadet flights. But the ones which spent a year on the ISS before being handed out were the most coveted challenge coin in the military.

Ten minutes later he was walking down the hallway with Tina, who had been a friend for years. “That went well I think,” he offered up in a neutral voice. His E4 trailed a respectful distance behind them.

“Uh-huh. If you want that EVA suit me thinks you might need to take a little trip to Nebraska, show the Senator around the Space Port,” she said in a teasing voice as she sashayed her hips a little and laughed.

“Stop it. You know as well as I do, don’t let that drawl fool you. She knows military matters better than either of us. Five tours in the sandbox and a ranger tab to boot.” He smiled. “But I might need to give the Chief of Staff a personal tour.” They both laughed.

“Crab Shack tonight for drinks?” They often met with other staffers at a dive bar by Union Station.

“Sounds good. Eight? Text me if you’re going to bail on me this time.”

“No problem Colonel.” She slapped his forearm in genuine affection. He nodded and walked down the steps, looking up at the sky and wishing he was there.