Software Can't Fix Everything by Mark Farenbaugh

                                                

                                                  Software Can’t Fix Everything

By

Mark Farenbaugh

When I first arrived at the Southern Command (SOUTHCOM) Headquarters of the military in Miami as a contracted consultant, I was already a retired military person with extensive experience in radar, command and control, and operations. I had the advantage over most new military arrivals to the Miami headquarters, having lived in Central and South America (the main area of responsibility for SOUTHCOM). That, plus my ability to speak Spanish, was why my contracted position existed. Most of the time, my work stayed squarely in the lane of technical analysis and quiet problem-solving. The kind of assignments where one writes reports, brief findings, and watches others make the weighty decisions. I frequently traveled with military members who didn’t know the Latin American, to help them, or guided them, through the Latin American traffic or the U.S. Embassy building. It was an easy job. 

However, two turning points reshaped not only my responsibilities but also gave me an (unsolicited and unforeseen) ability for input with senior leadership; something not in my job description. This was like playing a losing game of chess.

The Clearinghouse Appointment

The first turning point came quietly, with little fanfare: I was appointed as SOUTHCOM’s representative to the Obama Administration’s Clearinghouse Initiative—an effort to manage the rapid expansion of energy-producing windmills across the nation and deconflict them with the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) airways. At first, the assignment seemed like a minor adjustment to my duties. My role was to participate in the lengthy discussions examining the safety risks posed by “wind farms”—clusters of twenty or more wind turbines, each five hundred feet tall with two-hundred-foot blades—being approved for construction throughout the country.

There were hundreds of such projects in the pipeline, part of the broader national “go-green” and save us from climate change before Greta from Switzerland finds out we aren’t doing enough.  How dare we. 

However, if the FAA determined that a proposed turbine site was too close to an approach flight corridor, it could halt the entire project or require the removal of certain towers.

Meanwhile, the military seldom paid much attention to these meetings. Those few generals who did stick their necks out to protect their radar sites often received a call from the praetorians of Congress asking why the military opposed such a “nice and green” wind farm. Taking a stand against the environmental initiative, however justified, could easily have negative career consequences. Most generals didn’t want to jeopardize their promotions to another star. Likely feedback to the generals: Why not just solve it with software?

I had little to add when it came to FAA concerns. Their safety-of-flight issues easily overruled the plans for any obstructions to aircraft flight paths around airports, on approach, or departure. Thus, I had little to concern myself with and simply attended the somewhat boring meetings.

A military antenna at risk

The second turning point was sharper, more urgent. Among the many planned projects, one proposed wind farm stood out. At first, it was to have only 10-12 towers, but its location placed it only a few hundred feet from a mile-long HF receiver antenna of the Over-The-Horizon Backscatter (OTHB) radar system. 

This antenna was not just another piece of equipment—it was a linchpin in DoD long-range radar surveillance, a key detector of small aircraft (like a Cessna) flying just above sea level or drug-trafficking boats racing across the Caribbean. Of course, it can see further south. 

There were two, mile-long antennas involved: the transmit antenna located 50+ miles away and the receiver antenna, located adjacent and north of a massive low-lying waterway reserve for migrating birds. Both are in Virginia. This particular wind farm was somehow approved to be built in the environmentally protected watershed area. Imagine that, no resistance from the environmentalists. Approval was probably tied to large sums of money for the small town nearby. 

The result of a finished wind farm so close to the receiver antenna would be to distort the return signals and cause false readings. Tracks on radar would be mislocated by hundreds of miles. It wasn’t an abstract concern; it was a direct compromise to early-warning capability.

Suddenly, the number of proposed wind turbines increased to twenty-five.

My role became important: to prevent this wind farm from moving forward. But I had no direct authority to stop construction. Instead, my leverage lay in persuading the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (also part of the Clearinghouse meetings), who managed the low-lying wetland area, not to issue the final (of three) water drainage permits to the wind farm construction company. It meant diving deep into the Clearinghouse review processes, speaking with engineers and decision-makers, and helping military stakeholders understand the operational impact on a vital DoD resource. 

As the only one arguing against the final drainage permit, I felt a surge of desperation—a need to say something sharp enough to jolt the Army COE representative awake.

Like a sudden case of Tourette's’s Disease, I blurted out: “What is the Army’s fiduciary responsibility to the military to stop this project?”  

It came out fast. No motor or phonic tics or anxiety. Just pure emotion. I didn’t even hear the response, but it wasn’t a kind one. I barely remembered the question, “Who is your supervisor?”

Within a couple of days, while I was sitting at my SOUTHCOM cubicle, I sensed someone behind me. I turned to see an officer….a Lieutenant Colonel. His uniform badge showed he was a lawyer.

Another case of Tourette's’s overcame me. “Do I need a lawyer, or are you representing me?” I think I felt my forehead twitching.  

“Neither sir.  Are you Mark Farenbaugh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You should know that sometimes pulling the pin on a hand grenade during a meeting works.  Would you please come with me, and bring your files for the OTHB and Clearinghouse meetings?”

The office Colonel I worked for and several of his staff members, who I had travelled with, fell in line behind the lawyer as we took the elevator up to the SOUTHCOM commanders’ briefing room. We took seats around the conference table. It was like musical chairs. I got the last seat at the opposing end, with a clear view of the three-star admiral’s chair.

The Admiral entered the room, sat down, and turned to the Colonel. “What’s this meeting about?”

“Well, sir, it’s about a wind farm construction proposal near the receive OTHB antenna. It seems to be too close. Virginia’s governor is really looking forward to it being built, as it will add to his economy.”

I didn’t know the governor was involved. But I did know that the Colonel wasn’t fully briefed.  Another staff officer started to explain, but he wasn’t fully briefed either. I think the admiral could sense their lack of knowledge on this problem.

The lawyer and I raised our hands at the same time. 

“Please pick me,” my Tourette's’s prompted inner voice said.

The admiral’s eyes met mine, so I lowered my hand and started talking. “Sir, please take a look at the map on the cover of my Smart Book.” The staff passed the book down to the admiral.  “You will see that a large wind farm is proposed to be built in the wetland area just south of your receiving one-mile-long antenna.  If the Corps of Engineers commanding general issues the final drainage permit to the construction company, the end result will be distortion of the incoming signals, and your ships will be chasing false counterdrug targets throughout the Caribbean.” 

“Who is this general?”

“Sir, his name and phone numbers are listed on the inside cover.”

The Admiral turned and looked at his executive officer.  “Get the general on the phone, please.”  The exec took the Smart Book and disappeared.

In the real world, even a Pawn can take down a King.

Those two experiences—the quiet expansion of responsibility through the Clearinghouse and the urgent campaign to protect the OTHB radar—shaped my time at SOUTHCOM. In both cases, what seemed at first like routine assignments became pivotal turning points. They were reminders that sometimes the job isn’t about doing more but about recognizing when you’re standing at the crossroads of mission and consequence—and having the resolve to speak up.