Eyes in the Skies

It was going to be the best summer of my adult life. Chris Cornell was very much alive and his group Soundgarden dominated radio air time with their latest single, “Black Hole Sun.” Also heavy in the rotation was Collective Soul’s catchy hit, “Shine,” a new anthem for Alternative Rock, the '90s answer to the Seattle sound that had kicked off the mid-’80s. Grunge was on the precipice following the suicide of the movement’s frontman, Kurt Cobain in April of that year.

My two colleagues and I spent entire days enveloped in sound. Practically non-stop we cruised the wildlands of coastal North Carolina, the radio maximized. From the air-conditioned comfort of a new rental, Ford Expedition, we were getting paid to map countless miles of tank trails. That summer of 1994 and all the accompanying imagery was going to be seared into my mind by its music. O-h-h-h, heaven let your light shine down.

Instead, British Broadcasting’s assorted murder mystery series has become the mandatory requirement for dealing with the coronavirus pandemic at my house. Wash hands thoroughly; scoop up my dinner plate and utensils; plop into a comfortable chair, and ingest one heaping dose daily of the BBC’s best crime dramas (face mask optional).

What we came to regard as our personal 246-square-mile playground was Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base, adjacent to Jacksonville, North Carolina. The civil engineering department of my Charlotte-based company had been commissioned to map the network of tank trails sprawling across the remote regions of the base. The property perimeter extended to the Atlantic Ocean and fourteen miles of unspoiled shoreline.

I had earned my stripes as a land surveying veteran of sole-weary miles trekked afoot, and blistering days spent swinging a brush ax to blaze paths through otherwise impenetrable thickets. Lejeune and that summer would be my reward for an ocean of spent sweat, blood-letting from briers, and one onerous poison ivy outbreak that sent me to the emergency room.

The Lejeune assignment was a Cadillac job. Not like that gig at Fort Bragg when it was the hottest location in the whole of North Carolina and I teetered on the verge of heatstroke---black spots in my field of vision and cessation of sweating.

My first time seeing alligators in the wild was that memorable summer, as well as a disturbed hill of fire ants. But our closest brush with danger came when one member got covered with scores of deer ticks. It took him slight seconds to strip down as the tiny varmints swarmed across his shirt and shorts.

From the comfortable interior of the spacious Explorer, my workmates and I activated our GPS equipment as we followed labyrinthine tank trails across endless sand dunes and deep into desolate forestland. The rare occurrences when we stepped out of the coolness of the cab were when we encountered standing water in our path or had to move fallen limbs.

Only once did we have to retrieve the wench from the rear of the vehicle to torque ourselves out of a muddy situation. That was a better alternative than the crew we saw sitting atop the roof of their Humvee---the lower portion submerged in a giant waterhole that interrupted a trail.

Too far back in the wild to get lunch at the Subway restaurant at headquarters, we kept peanut butter and loaf bread with us for sustenance on the fly. That made each sit-down, restaurant dinner an extremely welcome treat. Following this, our routine had us back at the hotel telephoning an unknown marine every evening from a number we had been given.

The signal we were continuously transmitting as we traversed the trails was being sent to a satellite, in that case, a government satellite. Regarded as sensitive, military information, we did not have the access/clearance we normally would have had. Our recorded information was being secured by the military with an encryption code that changed every twenty-four hours. Therefore, each evening we had to receive and enter the day’s military code from the marine command in order to decipher and download our day’s work.

When we curiously inquired about the accuracy of our readings, relative to the actual physical locations we were mapping, we were told that the margin of error was +/- 3 meters, sufficiently accurate for random tank trails. “Close enough for government work,” as I’d heard from many oldtimers in my youth.

A little more questioning led to the discovery that we were being given civilian parameters, as opposed to the full military capabilities. When we asked the voice on the other end of the telephone line what resolution potential the satellite possessed he replied that if we placed a quarter--a twenty-five-cent piece--on a section of clear ground, the satellite cameras could zoom in adequately for him to tell us if it was Washington’s head up, or the eagle on the reverse, tails.

Way beyond impressed, that news seriously spooked the three of us. Gone was our freedom of isolation miles off of any road. We felt totally exposed.

Such accuracy far exceeds what “experts” acknowledge in 2020, yet I see no reason why an anonymous voice back then would feel the need to lie to us unknowns. Nor is that revelation the sort of anecdotal information I use as icebreaker material at social gatherings. I can easily be branded a “nut job” on mybasic merits without adding conspiracy theorist to my resume.

Reconnaissance satellites, intelligence satellites, came to be referred to as “spy satellites” by individuals and groups given to paranoia or fixated on pop culture. The topic of spy novels and films, a segment of the population became obsessed with the possibility of intrusive eyes in the sky. Their message became clearly stated---the government is keeping an ever-watchful eye on its enemies, and likely its citizens as well from the relative obscurity of orbiting satellites.

Originally named “Discoverer” and later changed to the “Corona” project, the actual pursuit of spying from space began in 1956 when the CIA, with help from the Air Force, attempted the first US satellite launches.Spurred on by the Soviet success of Sputnik1, in which it orbited earth 1,440 times, the Space Race formally began as a subset of The Cold War.

It wasn’t until 1959 that the US had the capability of taking satellite photographs of China and the USSR. In what today sounds too simplistic for belief, cameras aboard those early spacecraft took photographs directly onto film which was then released in canisters attached to parachutes and retrieved by Air Force planes in mid-air.

From that humble beginning, several countries and private corporations now have a total of 2,666 active satellites in space, of which 1,918 are in low earth orbit (approximately 99 to 1,242 miles above the earth’s surface). Those numbers come from the Union of Concerned Scientists (UCS) and were valid April 20th of this year. Since that time many more launches have taken place with even greater proliferation planned.

The Amazon corporation has plans for 3,000 satellites to be launched for the purpose of providing Internet service to under-connected parts of the world. There’s an innovative solution for expanding the customer base!

Meanwhile, SpaceX, the brainchild of Elon Musk, has been launching on average a new satellite each month with plans for tens of thousands as part of its Internet project Starlink as satellites get smaller, and easier to build and launch.

It should go without saying, however, not all satellites are “spy satellites.” Most are employed for beneficial purposes. Farmers utilize them to assess crops. Some humanitarian agencies monitor civil unrest in countries where human rights violations are likely. Weather conditions, fault lines, wildfires, and other natural disasters are all areas of prime use for satellite imagery. “...photo-reconnaissance satellites, for example, are enormously important in stabilizing world affairs and thereby make a significant contribution to the security of all nations.” ~President Jimmy Carter, 1980 State of the Union Address

In a cnet.com article from October of last year, the author Shelby Brown assures in her title that, “Satellite surveillance may be less of a privacy concern than you think--for now.” She targets the proliferation of drones as being a greater concern due to their proximity to subjects and their ability to hover and capture extensive footage.

It is a fact that of the more than 5,000 satellites launched into space since Sputnik, only a small percentage of those have cameras on them for observation of the earth. Whereas a drone that can be used to track and identify faces more accurately is available cheaply on Amazon or at Best Buy. And drones can also be armed.

Is anyone scared yet?

The appetite for information races ahead of protection for privacy, it seems. A few minutes of Internet searching will soon reveal sites and names of corporations and hired satellites prepared to offer the public “near real-time data and imagery” (NRT) of our earth, including and up to one site which offers “The World’s Longest Selfie Stick.” That’s their catchphrase for a phone app that will allow you to take a satellite selfie when you step outside.

It doesn’t stop there.

This article’s title is telling: “We can all now see real-time, high definition aerial images of anywhere on earth thanks to Soar.”

Detective Inspector Alec Hardy (David Tennant of Doctor Who, and Harry Potter fame), has been reposted there to handle the murder of a young, local boy. The community, naturally distrustful of an outsider, is also aware of a nationally-sensationalized murder case in which Hardy was implicated of serious mishandling.

Reluctant potential witnesses and his offended, passed over, Detective Sergeant, Ellie Miller, have DI Hardy scrambling for the slightest whiff of evidence, including CCTV footage from shoreline highway rest areas, remote intersections, business surveillance systems, and ATM cameras. The question, “Was there any CCTV in the area?” popped up so often it became a running joke in our household.

Viewing the entire planet’s surface in real-time? But, “Don’t worry,” they say. “Take comfort in the fact that it would be easier to hack your phone, easier to track your vehicle’s GPS, than for a satellite to spy on you.”

Meanwhile, quieter voices in the background admit that technology is outpacing government regulations, and even the experts are left scratching their heads as to the capability of the next-generation satellites.

It’s been a generation since Kurt Cobain left us. Twenty-six years ago when that anonymous marine on the phone informed me about the military’s satellite capabilities. He made a believer of me then, and no matter how much I’ve tried to ignore his chilling message since, I can’t shake that feeling of being watched.