#Shoot missile at room full of politicians?

[tempest-of-chaos]

Guys when I say I want characters to go on villain arcs I usually mean overthrow the government, not gas random civilians or murder children

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Planetary Defenses: The guns of Mars

“Commander to the command deck. I repeat, Commander Drake to the command deck. Your presence is requested at once.” It’s too damn early for this bullshit... Commander Drake had at first thought the announcement was just part of a dream as he curled under his warm bed sheets and hadn’t bothered to move. It was only after the fifth announcement that to his dismay he realized it wasn’t a dream and he must now leave the comfort of his warm enclosure for the dry and dull venue of the command deck.  His first notion that something was amiss was how everyone around him was running as he yawned once again and shuffled to the CD in a scruffy uniform he threw on. This wasn’t your normal “late for a meeting” running, there was more panic in the crew’s steps as they sprinted by. Drake began increasing his pace as he saw several squads of marines stomp past in full combat gear followed shortly by teams of medical staff running between storage rooms to stock the med bay. Something was very wrong he thought as he began sprinting himself to the CD.  “Status report!” Without bothering for niceties Drake pushed past several people to enter the CD and saw the place abuzz with running people, flashing warning lights, and information reports scrolling past the screens.  “A large unknown fleet has just entered the system.” His second in command Helen brought up a display. The picture was from a surveillance satellite that orbited at the very boundaries of the system. A massive armada of unknown vessels streamed past clearly armed for war. Drake noticed several smaller groups splitting off from in different directions but the main force continued onwards to what Drake could only guess was Earth.  “Were we scheduled for any sort of visit that the politicians failed to inform us of?” He hoped that this wasn’t an invasion fleet but some sort of misunderstanding about alien traditions, but he already knew what the answer would be.  Helen shook her head. “I already checked. Nothing of this scale was announced. I’ve been running the ships frames through the computer and the database is showing that these vessels belong to the Gloven Empire, a highly militarized society to our galactic east.” “Then we will treat this as an invasion.” Drake said dryly as he walked over to his command console. He flipped several switches and leaned down for the mic. “This is commander Drake to all personnel. Man your battle stations, I say again, man your battle stations; this is not a drill. I want gunnery crew primed and loaded but do not deploy your guns until I give the word. I want marines manning critical checkpoints and prepared to repel boarders. Medical staff, ready every medical deck and gather any supplies you need. All other non essential personnel are to report to their nearest safety room and await further instructions. That is all.” “Sir,” he turned to see Helen stroking her chin as she watched the armada, “I don’t mean to question your orders but could this really be a misunderstanding? There have been plenty of species with warlike traditions that are common greetings for their people. Could we be misreading this?”  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “It doesn’t matter anymore. They are uninvited, so we’ll show them the door or we’ll show them the barrels of our guns.”  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Several hours passed by in a hectic haze as Drake readied his station for war when the first sign of the enemy came in. “Enemy fleet is approaching, 2000 miles and closing.” “Numbers?” “I count at least 200 ships. Majority appear to be cruiser class, a few in the front are larger and may possibly be battleship class.”  “Possibly?” Drake chimed as he took a look at the display for himself. “Now is not a time for possibilities sub commander Helen.” She shrugged and brought up a camera visual. The distance was pushed to the extreme but even with the grainier picture they could still make out sizes of the enemy ships. “We have no record of Gloven military designs. For all we know they could be freighters.” He nodded and sat back into his command throne. “Fair enough.”  He studied the enemy formation but no matter how he looked at it something was still off. “Why did they deploy their heaviest ships to the front? Why are they not using their cruisers as a screen?” “Unknown. Like i said, we have no information on the Gloven military, tactics or otherwise.” “It’s a foolish move. You save your heaviest ships for when the enemy is pinned down and you can focus their fire. It’s almost as if they don’t realize we are armed.” There was a silence over the deck as both Helen and Drake continued watching the enemy fleet approach closer to the effective range of their energy lance emplacements and missile silos. “Could it be that they don’t know about our weapons?” They looked at each other in amusement. “What, do they seriously think we’d leave the largest shipyard in the system undefended?”  “We’re getting a transmission from the enemy fleet!” the comms officer shouted interrupting their discussion. “Put them through.”  The screen changed from the tactical display to a view screen of what Drake assumed was the Gloven commander. “Humans, this is your one and only chance to surrender. You are outnumbered and your facilities are unarmed, you have no chance at surviving. Surrender now and you will be spared.”  “Christ,” Helen whispered under her breath, “they really do think we’re unarmed.” With his suspicions now confirmed Drake smiled as a devious plan began to take hold. In the corner of the screen he could see the first of the enemy ships begin to enter the firing range of his lances.  Drake leaned back in his throne and entwined his fingers.“What assurances can I be given that if I do surrender my crew will not be harmed in any way?”  Helen looked at him with shock until she noticed that he was using his entwined fingers to point at the tactical display showing the enemy fleet approaching missile range and she nodded.  “You will be given no assurances as offering them would only be reserved for an equal in war. You are not my equal. Surrender at once.” The Gloven was certainly full of himself, Drake even wagered he’d be on one of the leading larger ships.  Drake checked again and saw that the enemy had just entered missile range. “That is a mighty fine offer you have. Here’s my counter.”  He killed the communication and switched over to gunnery comms. “All crews deploy! Deploy! Deploy! Target lead large vessels and begin working backwards. Missile crews give me maximum barrage after the first salvo is fired!”  Across the shipyard panels began opening revealing large cannon barrels slowly protruding outwards. Missile launchers on the opposite side of the base opened up as well, their rows of compact missiles glistening in the light of mars.  “Targets acquired sir, awaiting your order.” Helen replied. The enemy fleet began reorganizing as it finally dawned on them this was anything but armed. The larger ships began turning suddenly as the cruisers began rushing forward, but in their haste to screen their battleships they cause chaos in their own lines and Drake saw several enemy ships collide with each other as they maneuvered. Drake stood up and announced to the station over the speakers. “This is not some backwater outpost on the edge of known galaxy. This is not a colony at the fringes human space beset by the pirates and criminals. This is not even Earth itself, cradle of humanity. This is the planet of war! This is the planet died red in the blood of our enemies! This! Is! MARS! FIRE!”  The shipyard shook as every energy lance fired at once. Fifteen lances of pure light streaked across the void between the station and the enemy fleet like shooting stars followed swiftly by far more numerous missiles following closely behind.  The larger ships realized they were the targets and hurried to move out of the firing arch, but their haste to bring forth the cruisers as a screen now meant that they were surrounded by ships moving to the forward line and in their attempt to escape caused even more panic as they smashed into ships. A few were able to make it to safety but the majority were too slow and were struck full on by the lances.  Decks were carved through like butter, the edges melted like candle wax from the impacts. Unaware of the critical locations of systems aboard Gloven ships the gunnery crews had guess where vital components would be. Some struck home and set off a chain reaction of explosions, others only grazed the battleships. It didn’t matter though as the following missile barrage finally caught up.  The missiles were a mixture of armaments intended to cause panic among the fleet. Ship sized flash bangs exploded alongside hull buster warheads, mini mines spread out and deployed forming kill-zones for any ship that strayed too close made even more deadly as electromagnetic bombs detonated leaving ships adrift. Some didn’t even detonate at the front ranks and continued past into the advancing ships behind and corkscrewed into them leaving crazy streaks of smoke that interfered with sensor equipment.  Drake watched the battle unfolding, making the occasional remark to call out a specific target but otherwise leaving his gunnery teams to themselves assured they were top notch. The stations array of weapons was intended to hold off any potential small raiding force, but Drake had long ago submitted programs for dealing with larger fleets.  The key was to cause as much chaos and confusion as possible with the missiles to limit any command and control network the enemy had in place while the lance batteries picked off targets.  He was holding the line but he knew it would only be a matter of time before they reached close enough to return fire. Drake had considered sending a call for aid but reports he had been getting told him a similar situation was playing out across every military installation in the system. He would have to hold with what he had and pray the fleets would return in time.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is a side story from the main invasion which can be found here: https://niqhtlord01.tumblr.com/post/187112050596/humans-are-weird-planetary-defenses  

[yuckitup-jwd]

Fulldeckisms Part 1

A couple of blocks behind the parade.

A mind like wet tennis shoes... Makes squishy noises when running.

A notch off the timing mark.

A one-bit brain with a parity error.

A prime candidate for natural deselection.

A square with only three sides.

A victim of retroactive birth control.

A statue in a world of pigeons.

About half smart.

Adult child of alien invaders.

Afraid she'll void her warranty if she thinks too much.

Aliens zapped him with a stupidity ray -- twice.

All the sex appeal of a wet paper bag.

Already visualizing the duct tape over his mouth.

An experiment in Artificial Stupidity.

Answers the door when the phone rings.

Argues with herself -- and loses!

As handy as a whiskbroom and twice as intelligent. -- Peter DeVries

As happy as if he had brains / was in his right mind.

Barney's his hero.

Born a day late and like that ever since.

Both oars in the water, but on the same side of the boat.

Brain permanently in power saving / 8-bit mode.

Brain transplant donor.

Cackles a lot, but I ain't seen no eggs yet.

Calling her stupid would be an insult to stupid people.

"Body by Fisher -- brains by Mattel."

$HOME = /dev/null.

3K RAM free, no EMS.

A .22 caliber intellect in a .357 Magnum world.

A 1.0 in a 4.5 installation.

A 10K brain attached to a 9600 baud mouth.

A 20th century man... The guy has no future.

A 3.5-inch drive, but data on punch cards.

A barnacle on the ship of progress.

A black-and-white mind working on a color-coded problem.

A brain like a BB in a boxcar / box of Corn Flakes.

A butter knife in a steak / prime rib world.

A candidate for optorectomy. (Disconnection of optic nerve fromrectum, to repair a crappy outlook on life.)

A day late and a dollar short.

A deadbolt with a broken cylinder.

A dim bulb in the marquee of life.

A face designed in a wind tunnel.

A flash of light, a cloud of dust, and... What was the question?

A great deal of pride, but very little to be proud of.

A gross ignoramus -- 144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus.

A hemorrhoid on the face of the world.

A hop, skip, and jump from success, but to get there he'd have togive up chewing gum.

A kangaroo loose in her top paddock.

A lap behind the field.

A legend in his own mind.

A logically defunct twit.

A looney tune.

A lot of feathers but not much chicken. -- Kim Mitchell

A medical mystery.

A mental midget with the IQ of a fencepost. -- Tom Waits

A mind as empty as the sleeping pill concession at a honeymoon hotel.

A modest little person, with much to be modest about. -- Churchill

A natural talent for finding subliminal messages in ice cubes.

A Neanderthal brain in a Cro-Magnon body.

A pacifist out of necessity / always loses in a battle of wits.

A PBS mind in an MTV world.

A penalty kick over the bar. (in soccer)

A peripheral visionary.

A poor excuse for protoplasm.

A quart low.

A real rocket scientologist.

A real space cadet.

A return with no gosub.

A room temperature IQ -- centigrade.

A semitone flat on the high notes.

A single-cylinder brain in a V8 world.

A socketless drone in a plug-and-play world.

A standard deviant.

A teapot with a cracked lid.

A titanic intellect... In a world full of icebergs.

A vacuum-tube brain in a microchip world.

A VGA card and a Herc monitor.

A violin minus the bow.

A walking argument for birth control / post-natal abortion.

A waste of skin.

A wind-up clock without a key.

Airhead / bubble-brain.

Alive today only because it's illegal to kill him.

All booster, no payload.

All cassette, no tape.

All crown, no filling.

All fetch and no execute.

All foam, no beer.

All foliage, no fruit.

All hammer, no nail.

All hat and no cattle.

All hawk and no spit. -- Molly Ivins talking about Ross Perot

All he remembers about his middle name is the first letter.

All his eggs in the same basket.

All his learning curves look like Mount Everest.

All icing, no cake.

All lime and salt, no tequila.

All missile, no warhead.

All of his bytes are odd.

All Preparation, no H.

All shot, no powder.

All signs and no scenery. -- John Taylor

All the lights don't shine in her marquee.

All the notes, none of the music.

All the personality of linoleum flooring / plasticene / putty /caulking / saran wrap / a bowl of oatmeal / a plastic spoon.

All thrust/mach, no vector.

All wax and no wick.

Alphabetizes junk mail / T-shirts / canonical lists.

Always in the right place, but at the wrong time.

Always late... Her ancestors arrived on the June Flower.

Always needs to have jokes explained.

Always responds to "Make Money Fast" postings on the Net.

Always sharpening his sleeping skills.

Always speaks her mind, so usually she's speechless.

An 8080 in a 68000 environment.

An alligator. (All mouth, no ears.)

An Apple //e on UUCP.

An early example of the Peter Principle.

An ego like a black hole.

An example of how the dinosaurs survived for millions of yearswith walnut-sized brains.

An expert on the historical significance of cottage cheese.

An inch short and a stroke early.

An innundated receptacle of primordial ooze.

An intellect rivaled only by garden tools.

An XT clone in a Pentium zone.

Ano-fossal ambiguity. (Can't tell his ass from a hole in the ground.)

Another engineering prototype that should not have been shipped.

Any connection between his reality and ours is purely coincidental.

Any similarity between him and a human being is purely coincidental.

Any slower and he'd be in reverse. -- Gignac

Any smarter and he'd be retarded.

Argues with herself -- and loses!

As bent as a corkscrew.

As bright as a nightlight / small appliance bulb / tulip bulb.

As dumb as an ox.

As focused as a fart.

As happy as the village idiot.

As popular as a French kiss at a family reunion.

as popular as a pork pie at a Jewish wedding.

As quick as a corpse.

As rare as a nine bob note. (Very English.)

As sharp as a bag of wet mice. -- Foghorn Leghorn

As sharp as a marble / bowling ball / beachball / pin head /wet sponge / bowl of Jello / mashed potato sandwich,and twice as smart.

As smart as a politician/lawyer is honest.

As smart as bait / an automatic email responder script.

As smart as Christie Brinkley is ugly.

As strong as an ox and as dumb as two.

As thick as champ. (Irish; champ is mostly mashed spuds and cabbage.)

As thick as two short planks / two half bricks.

As useful as a back pocket in a vest. (Very English.)

As useful as a brick lifevest.

As useful as a cheese sandwich to a drowning ferret.

As useful as a chocolate teapot / fireguard.

As useful as a football bat.

As useful as a fur-lined walking stick.

As useful as a glass hammer.

As useful as a hip pocket on a T-shirt.

As useful as a kickstand on a horse.

As useful as a lead parachute.

As useful as a mint-flavored suppository.

As useful as a spit valve on a guitar.

As useful as a top hat with pockets.

As useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle.

As useful as an inflatable cheeseknife.

As useful as bolognese sauce on shoe laces.

As useful as bookends down a well.

As useful as green stop lights.

As useful as reverse gear on a lawn mower.

At least he has a positive attitude about his destructive habits.

Attic's a little dusty.

Back burners not fully operating.

Bad spot on the disk.

Baler done run out of twine.

Bandwidth limited.

Bats have flown the belfry, and now he's all alone.

Bats in the belfry.

Batteries not included.

Been napping in front of the ion shield again.

Been one too many times through the wormhole.

Been playing with his wand too much.

Been playing with the pharmacy section again.

Been short on oxygen one time too many.

Been using her head as a mass driver.

Better at sex than anyone; now all he needs is a partner.

Blew his O-rings.

Blew the hatch before the lock sealed.

Blocked one too many hockey pucks / soccer balls / puncheswith his head.

Blown/leaking head gasket.

Born during low tide in / swimming in the shallow end ofthe gene pool.

Born too late -- he'd have been a great Neanderthal.

Born ugly and built to last.

Brain as busy as a hog farmer in Israel/Iran/...

Brain is running on empty.

Brain like a hard drive with no read/write head.

Bright as a Zippo lighter without a flint.

Bright as Alaska in December.

Bright as an acetylene torch -- without an oxygen supply.

Brings a knife to a gunfight. -- Sean Connery, The Untouchables

Brings binoculars to submarine races.

Broadcasts static.

Bubbles/leaks in her think tank.

Buddy breathing with himself. (SCUBA term.)

Built a special showcase for his herd of pet rocks.

Busier than a one-armed paper hanger.

Busier than a one-legged cat trying to cover its excretaon a frozen pond.

Busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.

Caboose seems to be pulling the engine.

Calling him a pea brain would be an undeserved compliment.

Calls people to ask them their phone number.

Can be outwitted by a jar of Marshmallow Fluff.

Can discern facts and form predictions with the acumen of an economist.

Can easily be confused with facts.

Can only remember her old passwords.

Can only shoot pool with a left-handed cue stick.

Can't count his balls and get the same answer twice.

Can't dial 911 because she can't find "11" on the phone.

Can't find his ass with two hands and a periscope/compass/map/flashlight/bloodhound/GPS receiver (in a locked closet).

Can't find his couch in the living room.

Can't find log base two of 65536 without a calculator.

Can't hold water in a bucket. (Can't keep a secret.)

Can't program his way out of a for-loop.

Car's only got three wheels, and one's going flat.

Carrier wave unmodulated.

Carries a tire gauge in her purse.

Cart can't hold all the groceries.

Cauliflower for brains.

Cerebrum vaccuoso. (Empty head.)

Changes hands and picks up a stroke.

Charming as a carbuncle.

Cheats when filling out opinion polls.

Cheezwiz for brains.

Chimney's clogged.

Clock doesn't have all its numbers.

Closer to the edge than a bicycle on the autobahn.

Cold / flat / dry as a witch's tit.

Colder than a well-digger's ass in the Klondike.

Collects cards for Craig.

Communications with him is limited to ping.

Confused as a baby in a topless bar.

Confused as a lesbian in a fishmongers.

Conserves toilet paper by using both sides.

Consumes hard drugs as vitamins.

Contributes to collections like this one without searching firstto see if their little gem is already listed.

Contributes to the population problem.

Could only be loved/missed if the minister read someone else's eulogy.

Could qualify as a houseplant if he learned to photosynthesize.

Couldn't balance a checkbook if Einstein helped.

Couldn't be shown that his ass was on fire with a flashlight anda three-way mirror.

Couldn't count to 21 if he were barefoot and without pants.

Couldn't engineer his way out of a wet paper bag.

Couldn't figure it out if God gave him the instruction manual.

Couldn't find his way through a maze even if the rats helped him.

Couldn't find oil with a dipstick.

Couldn't find two Saint Bernards if they were in the sametelephone booth with him.

Couldn't get a clue during clue mating season in a field full ofhorny clues if he smeared his body with clue musk anddid the clue mating dance.

Couldn't get laid if he crawled up a chicken's rear end andwaited his turn.

Couldn't get laid in a monkey whorehouse with a sack ofbananas. -- David Spade

Couldn't hit sand if he fell off a camel.

Couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if he were standing inside.

Couldn't hit water if he fell out of a boat.

Couldn't organize a piss-up in a brewery. (Common in Australia.)

Couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel.

Couldn't run out of sight on a dark night / in a week.

Couldn't scratch his ass with a hand full of fish hooks.

Couldn't tell which way the elevator was going if he had two guesses.

Couldn't think/pee/fight his way out of a paper bag.

Couldn't write dialog for a porno flick.

CPU doesn't pick up on all clock cycles.

CPU is always in powersave mode.

CPU not connected to the bus.

Cranial cavity filled with neutronic matter. (Really dense.)

Cranio-rectally inverted.

Creates his swap file in a RAM disk.

Cunning as a dodo bird.

Cursor's flashing but there's no response.

Dealing with him is less fun than going to the dentist.

Dealing with him is one angst worse than a blind date.

Deep as her dimples / reflection in a mirror.

Defective hard drive / boot sector.

Dense as a London fog.

Depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.

Diagonally parked in a parallel universe.

Diarrhea of the mouth; constipation of the ideas.

Differently clued. -- Dave Clark

Dock doesn't quite reach the water.

Does aerobics... in his head.

Does everything the hard way, like making love standing upin a hammock.

Does the work of three men: Larry, Curly, and Moe. (Three Stooges)

Doesn't adjust for leap years.

Doesn't consider his drive a slice unless it lands two fairways over.

Doesn't have a fart's prayer in a hurricane.

Doesn't have a round in every chamber.

Doesn't have all his cornflakes in one box.

Doesn't have all his dogs on one leash / cups in the cupboard /groceries in the same bag.

Doesn't have all the dots on his dice / pens in her plotter.

Doesn't have both oars in the water -- can't even find the damn boat.

Doesn't have elastic in both of his socks.

Doesn't have his belt through all the loops.

Doesn't have sixteen annas to the rupee.

Doesn't have the brain power to toast a crouton.

Doesn't have the sense God gave an animal cracker.

Doesn't have two neurons to rub together.

Doesn't just know nothing; doesn't even suspect much.

Doesn't just wear perfume, she marinates in it.

Doesn't know much, but leads the league in nostril hair. -- Billing

Doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his balls.

Doesn't know which side the toast is buttered on.

Doesn't need to worry about excess knowledge.

Doesn't put the cross-hairs on the target.

Doesn't quite sample at the Nyquist rate.

Doesn't suffer from ear pressure when flying at altitude.

Doesn't suffer from stress, she's a carrier.

Don't blame him, he's from Uranus.

Don't know what his problem is, but it's hard to pronounce.

Donated her body to science fiction.

Donated her body to scientists... Before she was done using it.

Downhill skiing in Iowa.

Driveway doesn't quite reach the garage.

Driving at night with the lights off.

Driving down the road of life with his sun shield in place.

Driving with his tailgate down (and stuff is falling out).

Driving with two wheels in the sand / not all wheels on the pavement.

Dropped his second stage too soon.

Dropped on his head as a child.

Dumb as asphalt / dirt / a mud fence / a stump / a sack of hammers.

Dumber than a chicken / box of hair/rocks / sled tracks.

During evolution his ancestors were in the control group.

Ears are redirected to /dev/null.

Easier to count the bricks left than the bricks missing.

Echoes between the ears.

Eight pawns short of a gambit.

Either the good twin or the evil one, hard to say.

Electroencephalographically challenged.

Elevator doesn't go all the way to the top floor / penthouse /mezzanine.

Elevator goes all the way to the top but the door doesn't open.

Elevator is on the ground floor and he's pushing the Down button.

Elevator to the brain suite is out of order.

Emails a one-line contribution to this list with a full copy ofthe list attached.

End of season sale at the cerebral department. -- Gareth Blackstock

Enjoys listening to telemarketers.

Enough sawdust between the ears to bed an elephant.

Even a two button mouse gives him too many options.

Even in victory, he's a loser.

Evidence for the theory of a missing link.

Evolved from a toxic waste dump.

Failed the Turing test.

Fell out of the family tree.

Fifty-one cards short of a full deck.

Fighting the war with a starter pistol / water pistol /pop gun / cap gun.

Finds a flat by swapping tires.

Finds canonical humor collections amusing.

Finds Sesame Street / knock-knock jokes challenging.

Fired from McDonald's for having a short attention span.

Fired her retro-rockets a little late.

Flaky.

Flying on a cold shot. (Inadequate force from a steam catapultlaunch on an aircraft carrier.)

Flying/landing on one engine.

Focused like a 12 gauge shotgun.

Fog rolled in the day he was born, and a bit of it never rolled out.

Folds ace plus red jack hand when playing blackjack.

For those who never forget a face, his is an exception.

Foreign substances float in his cranial fluids.

Forgot to pay his brain bill.

Found his marbles, but is playing jacks with them.

Four bits short of a full DEC.

Four bows short of a string quartet.

Four cents short of a nickel.

Fruit looking for a cake to happen.

Full of wisdumb.

Full throttle, dry tank.

Fur coat and no knickers. (Scottish expression.)

Gasoline engine, diesel fuel.

Gates/barriers are down, the lights are flashing, but thetrain isn't coming.

Gavel doesn't quite hit the bench.

Gears grind/don't always mesh.

Gets a charge out of pissing on electric fences.

Gets her mail at an unknown zip code.

Gets his orders from another planet.

Gets hypnotized on the de-spun section.

Gets lost in thought -- it's unfamiliar territory.

Gets parity errors under load.

Gives a lot of bull for somebody what ain't got no cattle.

Goalie for the dart team.

God might still use him for miracle practice.

God's favorite target for lightning strikes.

Goes with the flow... He's a bed wetter.

Good at quantum tunneling but not much else.

Got a life, but wasn't sure what to do with it.

Got help, but it didn't help. -- Bob Thaves

Got his brains as a stocking stuffer.

Got into the gene pool while the lifeguard wasn't watching.

Got up on the wrong side of bed again this morning -- like always.

Guillotining him would make only an aesthetic difference.

Gyros are loose.

Habits explainable if he was raised by wolves.

Had a head crash / her server's crashed.

Had his brain been constructed of silk, he would have beenhard-pressed to find the material to make a canarya set of cami-knickers. -- P.G. Wodehouse

Half a bubble off plumb. -- attributed to Mark Twain

Happiness is seeing her picture on a milk carton.

Hard to distinguish from the tail end of a horse.

Hard to tell if he has an ace up his sleeve or if the ace ismissing from his deck altogether.

Has 100-meter talent, but is half a mile into the marathon of life.

Has a bird's-eye view, and a brain to match.

Has a bus fault problem.

Has a divide-by-zero look on his face.

Has a face only a mother could love -- but she hates it too.

Has a few wait states.

Has a full six-pack but lacks the plastic thing to hold them together.

Has a leak in his ceiling.

Has a mind like a mousetrap, but should let some of those poor mice go.

Has a one-way ticket on the Disoriented Express.

Has a personality all her own... No one else wanted it. -- Jim Davis

Has a pulse, but that's about all.

Has a random memory fault.

Has a slow clock.

Has a sparse matrix. (Beware, "matrix" comes from the Latin "womb".)

Has a two-bit operating system.

Has achieved inner peace, but still displays outer obnoxiousness.

Has all her bricks, but no cement holding them together.

Has all the brains God gave a duck's ass.

Has an hourglass figure, but most of the sand is on thep.m. side. -- Thaves

Has an inferiority complex, but not a very good one.

Has an IQ one lower than it takes to grunt.

Has been seen tossing bread crumbs to helicopters.

Has change for a seven dollar bill.

Has delusions of adequacy.

Has FINO (first in never out) memory.

Has her headquarters where her hindquarters should be.

Has his brain on cruise control again.

Has his solar panels aimed at the moon.

Has it floored in neutral.

Has lots of books, but all he does is lick the ink off the pages.

Has no discretionary intellect.

Has no upper stage.

Has nothing to say, but delights in saying it.

Has only one chopstick in the chowmein.

Has over 1000 funny insults saved in a file, but can'tremember any of them.

Has plenty of talent and vision, just doesn't give a damn.

Has resonance where others have brains.

Has signs on both ears saying "Space for Rent".

Has so few thoughts that when he free associates, it's likewatching tennis.

Has the attention span of an overripe grapefruit.

Has the brains of a house plant / turnip (cooked).

Has the Grand Canyon under the crew cut.

Has the IQ of a salad bar / an ice cube / three below houseplant.

Has the keen awareness of an ostrich in hiding.

Has the mental agility of a soap dish. -- National Lampoon

Has the personality of a snail on Valium.

Has the same talent as Dr. Doolittle.

Has two brains; one is lost and the other is out looking for it.

Hasn't caught on that X and Y are relative values.

Hasn't got all his china in the cupboard.

Hasn't got the brains God gave a cat.

Hasn't got the brains of a retarded anvil/oyster.

Hasn't lost his mind -- it's backed up on tape somewhere.

Having a party in his head, but no one else is invited / dancing.

He came, he saw, he clutched.

HE CAN ONLY TYPE IN UPPER CASE.

He can push but he can't pop.

He demonstrates that beauty times brains is a constant.

He donated his brain to science but they made an early withdrawal.

He fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

He has a bad brains-to-balls ratio.

He has a good point... Six inches above his eyes.

He has the wisdom of youth, and the energy of old age.

He has two left feet.

He hasn't a single redeeming vice. -- Oscar Wilde

He is a man of few words and he does not know what eitherof them mean. -- Prachett

He is a mouth-breather.

He knows computers... He's not fit for contact with humans.

He went off to cry to mommie/auntie.

[themummersfolly]

The Psychopomp pt.1

Here’s a little bit of space opera for your holiday break enjoyment. The full piece is about 16k words long; I’ll post it in installments. 

Let me know what you think!

-------

Psychopomp (noun): a guide of souls to the place of the dead. - Oxford English Dictionary

           It was just another proxy war out in the Disputed Colonies. Epsilon Eridani this time, the settlement on the moon Ottsland. Insurgents allied with the Interstellar Union had established a base in the polar region, threatening the interests of the Terran Federation. In the halls of the legislature, politicians cried for action, and so the fleet was dispatched.

           Colonel Emelia Worthy’s job was simple: after the initial bombing was finished and the threat was subdued, her team was to train an indigenous military force to ensure Ottsland’s continued liberty. In other words, give them phase rifles, teach them to shoot, and ensure that the generation now applying to Sandhurst would have an enemy in the next war. No one with any experience pretended differently. In the short term, it would keep the insurgency at bay; the rest was the politicians’ problem.

           Intelligence probes showed a substantial force, well-equipped by rebel standards, but nothing a Terran carrier group couldn’t deal with. The Strategists aboard the HMS Psychopomp had predicted a straightforward action – and the Strategists were never wrong. So when the first reconnaissance planes suddenly stopped transmitting, it was assumed to be a technical problem.

           “Well, route it through the telecom satellites!” Admiral Hicks-Perry huffed. The communications officer on the bridge of the Resolute input the data, tapping on the console as it processed.

           “Perhaps you should have postponed your golf plans, sir.” Colonel Worthy stared at the telemetry hologram, updating in real time. She was on the bridge at the Admiral’s invitation, a courtesy extended to the commander of the ground force.

           “Rubbish. Every campaign has a minor glitch or two. We’ll be back on Earth before the weekend.”

           The hologram showed telecom satellites, but not the markers of the reconnaissance craft. “This may be more than a glitch.”

           “Oh, for God’s sake, this isn’t the 2010’s. We haven’t had an unforeseen eventuality since –”

           “Sir.” It was the communications officer. “Telecom passwords have been changed.”

           “Wha –” Hicks-Perry sputtered. “When were they changed?”

           The officer scanned his data. “Less than ten minutes after our arrival.”

Worthy turned her gaze back to the telemetry. First disappearing reconnaissance planes, now this. Even if they knew when we would arrive, the satellites are controlled by the allied government…

           “They’ve got someone inside Ottsland City,” she muttered.

           “What?”

           “Either the insurgents have seized satellite ops, or they’ve got someone working on the inside. Sir, I must advise we move the carrier group to a higher orbit.”

           Admiral Hicks-Perry blinked. It wasn’t Worthy’s place to advise; she was a military officer, not a Strategist. He swallowed and turned back to the communications officer.

           “Send a dispatch to the Psychopomp. Tell them we’ve lost communication with our reconnaissance planes and Ottsland telecom. Ask them for a reevaluation.”

-------

           The theory behind the Strategic Corps had been proposed in 2178, during the Kuiper-Earth War. A rudimentary task force had been in effect by the end of the war, just in time for the final engagements; in the ensuing decades it saw extensive service. Despite its success, early recruiting rates were so low the program nearly ceased to exist; after all, only so many top-ranked cadets suffered complete paralysis at any given time, and selecting the right sort of minds from the populace proved difficult. Advocates turned to a genetic method designed for colonists, selecting for intellect and ruthlessness instead of hardiness. Some careful manipulations at birth took care of the physical requirements, and then it was off to a rigorous education in the military arts.

           “Imagine,” proponents had said. “The mind of a brilliant general, totally dedicated to war! The perfect servant of the state, a machine for creating victories!”

           “Imagine,” detractors had said. “The mind of a brilliant sociopath when he finds out he’s nothing to you but a machine.”

           And then, a ten-year-old girl produced by the program orchestrated the victory at 42 Draconis b. That was the year Emelia Worthy graduated from Sandhurst, and the debate had already been settled. The Strategic Corps was there to stay.

           Staring at the telemetry, Colonel Worthy wished the Strategic Corps would hurry up.

           “Don’t be impatient.” Commander Singh stepped up next to her. “They’ll let us know what we need to do.”

           “And in the meantime, whoever’s down there knows full bloody well we’re here. They’ve got something planned. We should reevaluate from a safer distance.”

           Singh shook his head. “That would reset all the calculations –”

           “When all this breaks loose, we’re not going to have time to wait for new orders. Haven’t you read your Clausewitz?”

           “Sir! Transmission from the Psychopomp!” The ensign’s voice cut across their muttered conversation.

           Singh turned to join the Admiral. “Trust, Colonel. The Strategists have it in hand.”

           Worthy watched Commander Singh join the Admiral and Captain Davies, keeping the telemetry hologram in the corner of her vision. In front of them, the screen showed a man with the shaved head and tech implants of the Support branch of the Strategic Corps – a handler, they called them. The computer-generated voice that accompanied the transmission didn’t belong to him, but to a Strategist out of sight behind him; the handler made adjustments so it was clear on the other end.

           “How do you know they’re real?” her nephew had asked. It was Christmas, and he had just learned that Strategists were rarely, if ever, seen by the troops they commanded. “How do you know it’s not just the handlers?”

           “Oh, they’re real, all right.”

           The transmission was still open, but whatever needed to be said, had been. Admiral Hicks-Perry nodded to Captain Davies, who turned to relay the latest orders –

           Something moved on telemetry.

           Worthy turned. Missiles!

           “Set course heading…” Captain Davies stammered to a halt as he noticed the hologram. He met Worthy’s eyes, face full of shock.

           Ask them to reevaluate!

           BOOM! The shock ran the length of the ship. Warning lights blared.

           “We’re taking fire! Howell and Inquisitor report damage –”

           “Hull breach, Section 8 –”

           “Pegasus asks if they should return fire –"

           The Admiral was shouting at the transmission to the Psychopomp, demanding to know what to do. Worthy saw Davies staring at him.

            Dammit, Hicks-Perry, this is your fleet! Worthy would never know for sure if she had shouted it aloud or not. Something thunderous struck behind her, drowning out everything else.

           When her senses returned, she was on her knees. The port side of the bridge was on fire. People were down, and there was blood on the deck. Hicks-Perry finally abandoned the transmission screen and seized a fire extinguisher.

           “Admiral. ADMIRAL.” It was the handler this time. “We’re falling back.”

           It wasn’t an order, or even a suggestion, but it was good enough.

           “Do we still have power?” Hicks-Perry shouted.

           Singh staggered to a console. “Affirmative, engines online. What heading?”

           The fire was out, mostly. “Get me the fleet.”

           The communications officer was slumped over his station, blood everywhere. An ensign, rushing to take his place, faltered. Worthy seized the man – dead, unconscious, who knew – and pulled him away from the console, wiping it clean with her sleeve.

           “Get to it.”

           Another screen opened, divided and tagged with each ship’s designation. The Admiral addressed it.

           “All ships, fall back. Follow the Psychopomp’s heading –” he paused while Singh relayed it from telemetry. “Regroup at –”

           “Incoming jump pattern,” Singh called out. “Brace for radiation wave.”

           WHUMP. The shock ran through the bulkheads and made the lights flicker. Worthy turned to the hologram, which had become badly pixelated. The newcomer’s markings belonged to the insurgency, but the ship itself was a Unionist design. It was between them and the Psychopomp. Ahead, the battleship Pegasus banked hard to avoid a collision. Flashes appeared between the two ships, and suddenly the side of the Pegasus’s hull bulged in an explosion.

           Hicks-Perry’s mouth fell open.

           “Get us out of here,” Worthy heard herself say. Singh stared at her. His face had gone grey. “Get us out of here!” she bellowed, and he turned to the screen the Admiral was neglecting and started shouting orders.

           “The comet belt! Regroup in the comet belt! Do whatever you have to to get there!” He shut off the connection and began calling directions to engineering.

           Hicks-Perry was still staring at the blank screen. His hands shook.

           “Where’s Davies?” he mumbled. “Where’s Davies?”

           Captain Davies lay at his feet, his head in a pool of blood.

          “Admiral.” Hicks-Perry didn’t respond until Worthy lay a hand on his shoulder. “Admiral, we should step into the corridor. The medical team needs room to work.”

[newsnigeria]

Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/iran-prevails-over-the-usa/

Iran prevails over the USA, twice, but this is far from over

[this analysis was written for the Unz Review]

An Iranian official has announced that the UK-flagged tanker Stena Impero was free to leave.  Remember the Stena Impero?  This is the tanker the IRGC arrested after the Empire committed an act of piracy on the high seas and seized the Iranian tanker Grace 1.  Col Cassad posted a good summary of this info-battle, blow by blow (corrected machine translation):

Britain, at the instigation of the US, seizes the Iranian tanker Grace 1 and demands from Iran guarantees that it in any case does not go to Syria.

Iran, in response, captures the British tanker Stena Impero and says it will not retreat until the British releases Grace 1.  British ships that guarded merchant ships in the Strait of Hormuz were warned that they would be destroyed if they interfered with the IRGC’s actions.

After 2 months, Britain officially releases Grace 1, which is renamed Adrian Darya 1. It raised the Iranian flag and changed the crew.

The British government says the tanker is released under Iran’s obligations not to unload the tanker at the Syrian port of Banias or anywhere else in Syria. Iran denies this.

The US officially requires Britain and Gibraltar to arrest Adrian Darya 1 and not let him into Syria, as it violates the sanctions regime. Britain and Gibraltar refuse the US.

Adrian Darya 1 reaches the coast of Syria and after a few days on the beam of Banias, unloads its cargo in Syria. The Iranian government says it has not made any commitments to anyone.

After Adrian Darya 1 left Syria, Iran announced that it was ready to release the British tanker. The goal has been achieved.

This is truly an amazing series of steps, really!

The USA is the undisputed maritime hyper-power, not only because of its huge fleet, but because of its network of bases all over the planet (700-1000 depending on how you count) and, possibly even more importantly, a network of so-called “allies”, “friends”, “partners” and “willing coalition members” (aka de facto US colonies) worldwide.  In comparison, Iran is a tiny dwarf, at least in maritime terms.  But, as the US expression goes, “it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog” which decides the outcome.

And then there is the (provisional) outcome of the Houthi strike on the Saudi oil installations.  The Saudis appeared to be pushing for war against Iran, as did Pompeo, but Trump apparently decided otherwise:

Some have focused on the fact that Trump said that it was “easy” to attack Iran.  Others have ridiculed Trump for his silly bragging about how US military gear would operate in spite of the dismal failure of both US cruise missile attacks (on Syria) and the Patriot SAMs (in the KSA).  But all that bragging is simply obligatory verbal flag-waving; this is what the current political culture in the USA demands from all politicians.  But I think that the key part of his comments is when he says that to simply attack would be “easy” (at least for him it would) but that this would not show strength.  I also notice that Trump referred to those who predicted that he would start a war and said that they were wrong about him.  Trump also acknowledged that a lot of people are happy that he does not strike (while others deplored that, of course, beginning with the entire US pseudo-liberal & pseudo-Left media and politicians).  The one exception has been, again, Tulsi Gabbard who posted this after Trump declared that the US was “locked and loaded”:

Whatever may be the case, this time again, Trump seemed to have taken a last minute decision to scrap the attack the Neocons have been dreaming about for decades.

I think that I made my opinion about Trump pretty clear, yet I also have to repeat that all these “climbdowns” by Trump are, just by themselves, a good enough reason to justify a vote for Trump.  Simply put; since Trump came to power we saw a lot of hubris, nonsense, ignorance and stupidity.  But we did NOT see a war, especially not a major one.  I will never be able to prove that, but I strongly believe that if Hillary had won, the Middle-East would have already exploded (most likely after a US attempt at imposing a no-fly zone over Syria).

We are also very lucky that, at least in this case, the rapid every four year Presidential election in the USA contributes to keep Trump (and his Neocon masters) in check: Trump probably figured out that a blockade of Venezuela or, even more so, a strike on Iran would severely compromise his chances of being re-elected, especially since neither theater offers the US any exit strategy.

Still, following these immensely embarrassing defeats, Trump and his advisors had to come up with something “manly” (which they confuse with “macho”) and make some loud statements about sending more forces to the Persian Gulf and beefing up the Saudi air defenses.  This will change nothing.  Iran is already the most over-sanctioned country on the planet and we have seen what US air defense can, and cannot do.  Truth be told, this is all about face-saving and I don’t mind any face-saving inanities as long as they make it possible to avoid a real shooting war.

Still, the closer we get to the next US election, the more Trump should not only carefully filter what he says, he would be well advised to give some clear and strict instructions to his entire Administration about what they can say and what they cannot say.  Of course, in the case of a rabid megalomaniac like Pompeo, no such “talking points” will be enough: Trump needs to fire this psychopath ASAP and appoint a real diplomat as Secretary of State.  After all, Pompeo belongs in the same padded room as Bolton.

Now if we look at the situation from the Iranian point of view, it is most interesting.  First, for context, I recommend the recent articles posted by Iranian analysts on the blog, especially the following ones:

“War Gaming the Persian Gulf Conflict” by Black Archer Williams

“Karbala, The Path of Most Resistance” by Mansoureh Tadjik

“Resistance report: Syrian Army takes the initiative in Idlib while Washington blames its failures on Iran again” by Aram Mirzaei

I also recommend my recent interview with Professor Marandi.

I recommend all these Iranian voices because they are so totally absent from the political discussions on the Middle-East, at least in western media.  Williams, Tadjik, Mirzaei and Marandi are very different people, they also have different point of views and focuses of interest, but when you read them you realize how confident and determined Iranians are.  I am in contact with Iranians abroad and in Iran and all of them, with no exception, share that calm determination.  It seems that, just like Russians, Iranians most certainly don’t want war, but they are ready for it.

The Iranian preferred strategy is also clear: just the way Hezbollah keeps Israel in check so will the Houthis with the KSA.  The Houthis, who are now in a very strong negotiation position, have offered to stop striking the KSA if the Saudis do likewise.  Now, the Saudis, just like the Israelis, are too weak to accept any such offer, that is paradoxical but true: if the Saudis officially took the deal, that would “seal” their defeat in the eyes of their own public opinion.  Having said that, I can’t believe that the Saudis believe their own propaganda about war against Iran.  No matter how delusional and arrogant the Saudi leaders are, surely they must realize what a war against Iran would mean for the House of Saud (although when I read this I wonder)!  It is one thing to murder defenseless Shias in the KSA, Bahrain or Yemen and quite another to take on “the country which trained Hezbollah”.

Speaking of delusional behavior, the Europeans finally did fall in line behind their AngloZionist overlords and agreed to blame Iran for the attack under what I call the “Skripal rules of evidence” aka “highly likely“.  The more things change, the more they remain the same I suppose…

It is pretty clear that all the members of the Axis of Kindness (USA, KSA, Israel) are in deep trouble on the internal front: Trump is busy with the “Zelensky vs Biden” scandal, especially now since the Dems are opening impeachment procedures, the latest elections failed to deliver the result Bibi wanted, as for the Saudis, after pushing for war they now have to settle for more sanctions and radars, hardly a winning combination.

The Saudis are too weak, clueless and obese (physically and mentally) to get anything done by themselves.  But the USA and Israel are now in a dire need to show some kind of “victory” over, well, somebody.  Anybody will do.  Thus the US have just denied visas 10 members of the Russian delegation to the United Nations (thereby violating yet another US obligation under international law, but nobody in the US cares about such minor trivialities as international law); and just to show how amazingly powerful the Empire is, the Iranian delegation to the UN received the same “punished bad boys” treatment: truly, a triumph worthy of a superpower!  Last minute update: the US is now revoking Iranian student visas and denying entry to Venezuelan diplomats.

This “war of visas” is the US equivalent of the “war on statues” the Ukrainians, Balts and the Poles have been waging to try to distract their population from the comprador policies of their governments.

As for the Israelis, I now expect the Israelis to strike some empty building in Syria (or even in Gaza!).

Conclusion: facts don’t really matter anymore, and neither does logic

Ten years ago Chris Hedges wrote a book called “Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle ” and, a full decade later, this title is still an extremely accurate diagnostic.  What Hedges politely called the “end of literacy” can be observed in all its facets, listening to US political and military leaders. While most of them are, indeed, morally bankrupt and even psychopaths, it is their level of ignorance and incompetence which is the most amazing.  First, the Russians spoke of “non-agreement-capable” “partners” but eventually Putin quipped that it was hard to work with “people who confuse Austria and Australia“.  This all, by the way, applies as much to the Obama Administration as it does to the Trump Administration: their common motto could have been “illusions über alles” or something similar.  Once a political culture fully enters into the realm of illusions and delusions the end is near because no real-world problem ever gets tackled: it only gets obfuscated, denied and drowned into an ocean of triumphalist back-slapping and other forms of self-worship.

Post scriptum: the US goes crazy but Trump just might survive after all

So the Dems decided to try to impeach Trump.  While I always expected the Neocons to treat Trump as the “disposable President” which they would try to use to do all the stuff they don’t want to be blamed for directly, and then toss him away once they squeezed him for everything he could give them, I am still appalled by the nerve, the arrogance and the total dishonesty of the Dems (see my rant here).

My gut feeling is that Trump just might beat this one for the very same reason he won the first time around: because the other side is even worse (except Tulsi Gabbard, of course).

Of course, an attack on Iran would be a welcome distraction à la “wag the dog” and Trump might be tempted.  Hopefully, the Dems will self-destruct fast enough for Trump not to have to consider this.

The Saker

[ralphmorgan-blog1]

‘We could be gone tomorrow’: Life in North Korea’s crosshairs

Hagata, Guam (CNN)With rough, calloused hands, Guam local Marco Martinez steadily trims his fishing line.

The 27-year-old is preparing to cast into the turquoise ocean that extends as far as the eye can see -- the same waters that North Korea is developing a plan to send four missiles into, less than 25 miles from where he stands.

"If it does happen, OK, it happens, but I just try not to really think about it," Martinez told CNN.

Martinez was born and raised on this small island of 160,000 or so people. They're used to living with intimidation from North Korea, including in 2013 when Pyongyang warned that the island was within its "striking range."

However, the latest round of tensions firmly puts Guam at the center of a very specific and potent threat.

A plan to fire four ballistic missiles into the stunning blue waters off the coast is being prepared for Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un by mid-August, state media reported Thursday. No one knows if or when the North Korea leader will give the order to launch.

North Korea's estimated splashdown of the missiles would place them just outside Guam's 12 nautical mile territorial waters, but well within its 200 nautical mile Exclusive Economic Zone -- waters where locals fish for tuna and blue marlin.

Like Martinez, most of the dozen or so residents CNN spoke to weren't panicked.

The US military has a large presence here -- its bases cover almost a third of the island's land area and -- and prepares for worst-case scenarios like this.

However, that doesn't mean people aren't worried, said Jodiann Santos, who works at the Guam Museum.

"We're told to keep calm and that we're well-protected, but the reality is we could be here today and gone tomorrow," she said.

The island's Governor, Eddie Calvo, has offered assurances, saying the island is well-protected, including with the THAAD missile defense system, which is specifically designed to shoot down ballistic missiles.

"There is no panic in Guam," Calvo told CNN. "I'm not trying to overlook it or understate it. We understand the threats, but we also don't want to panic anybody, and we don't want to jump to conclusions based on rhetoric."

As he fishes, Martinez says North Korea remains at the back of his mind, despite his best efforts not to think about it. And he's pretty sure he's not alone.

"Sometimes I feel like they fear it but they just don't want to show it, don't want to express it," Martinez said. "That's just sometimes how people are -- they don't want to show their fear inside."

Mushroom cloud lattes

If there is fear among Guam's younger community, however, you wouldn't know it at Infusion Coffee.

The irreverent young staff behind the counter joke about the North Korean threat -- they're even trying to perfect a mushroom cloud design in the foam on their lattes.

"We take it lightheartedly," said Mark Alex, 26. "We also know it's very serious. We know that any moment, they could send those (weapons) ... but I think a lot of us in the end are not too worried."

However, as customers sip on their coffee and grab lunch, Kim Jong Un's threat is what many are talking about.

But it's not the same talk of impending crisis you hear from politicians on the US mainland, a place where Guam is rarely seen on the news. People are worried about their families stressing out, not a nuclear showdown.

"Most people that live here, they've heard this before," said Aaron Burger, who's lived here more than a decade. "I'm really not concerned about it. We've been talking about this for more than two years."

The silver lining, in Burger's view, is that people in the mainland US now knew more about his adopted home -- an island that was a Spanish colony before the US took control in 1898.

Burger said the news is prompting his family to ask him when he's coming home.

No stranger to conflict

There's no sign that people are considering leaving, especially those who were born and raised here, many of whom belong to the native Chamorro population.

Guam is also a popular destination for Asian tourists, especially from Japan and South Korea but, for now, there are no real signs that travelers are canceling trips -- it's hard to to find a room at the resorts dotted around the island.

The island is no stranger to conflict. It was occupied by the Japanese for three years during World War II -- the only US territory to be invaded -- and the July 21 Liberation Day holiday is one of Guam's biggest celebrations.

"If our past generations dealt with it, so can we," said Santos, the Guam Museum employee, who was born and raised on the island.

"There's nothing in the world other than God that would make me relocate and move away from my home."

More From this publisher : HERE

=> *********************************************** Read Full Article Here: ‘We could be gone tomorrow’: Life in North Korea’s crosshairs ************************************ =>

‘We could be gone tomorrow’: Life in North Korea’s crosshairs was originally posted by A 18 MOA Top News from around

[mechagalaxy]

John T. Mainer - Pirates

Pirates: You can’t cheat an honest man, but boy can you mess with the crooked ones.

Spirit of Bunny was in rough shape. We had suffered supply shortages all war, running actually out of missiles half way through the Zeon conflict. It got so bad we loaded fire suppression rounds, flares, and my personal favorite, the condom dispensing cluster munition usually reserved for Mardi-gras, Saturnalia, and Mayday celebrations.

We got some kills anyway. Dr Oki O’Connor was taken by rank trickery when we faked a hack of his research and streamed it live during my attack. He stopped dodging long enough to pump some really top rate virus code into the data stream, terrified we were leaking his research. Actually it was a collection of his presentations and papers mixed together with some utterly BS data our Artificial Intelligence (The Mighty Beatrice) made up that she swore would be close if Oki was on the right track. I guess he must be, because he lost his mind, then his mecha as he forgot about the fight and purged our fake data with extreme prejudice. Ooops. We have helped fund his research in the past, and I guess he never saw the tactical utility of those neat updates he sends.

We were in terrible shape, and needed some breathing room to rearm. That is when the pirates hit us. The Pirate King descended with every unhung criminal scumbag. Wow, they were all nicely painted, fully armed, and I swear some of those were our missiles. Fudge puppets. I really don’t like those guys. They look like they even had a full night’s sleep before their rampage. Now I really hate them.

“Spirit of Bunny leader, this is the Pirate King. Surrender and you may keep your lives. Your pilots stole my Commissars, return them before this gets ugly”

The Pirate king was hailing me with a challenge. Oh man. I do not do diplomacy without caffine, and we are all out of stim packs because some PIRATE FUDGE MUPPET stole them. Now the fudge muppet pirate king was hailing me. Oh well. Time to do my imitation of a civilized Clan Leader. Its not very good, I don’t practice it that often, and the laughter when I try it with other clans makes it even harder for me to pull it off straight faced.

I turned to my 20 ton specialists and asked “OK you lunatics, was it you Don, or you Fritz who stole the nice pirates Commissar?”

Both were grinning and waving. Awesome, they both did it. Well if the Pirates had messed with us all war stealing our supplies and sabotaging our war with Leviathan, Juggernaut and Zeon, then my boys and girls deserved a little payback, and it was only fair the pirates who stole so much from us should do the bulk of the work themselves. Time to unleash my greatest weapon; BS. I call it Brilliant Stratagem, but the rest of Mecha Galaxy calls is Bull Shite.

“If you aim so much as a single weapon at us, our allies in Leviathan, Juggernaut and Zeon will wipe you from existence. You could not stand against us all, and if you bring your forces against any one of us, the rest will trap and annihilate you.”

The Pirate King snarled and raised his fist to us, hurling his defiance. The effect was somewhat spoiled as he splattered the camera with his drool and his appearance was blotchy through the spit covered lens as he ranted and raved.

“You stinking Clansmen are all in it together, you are all conspiring to keep us from what is rightfully ours. If you stinking Clanners were wiped out real men like me would be running the Galaxy, not forced to piracy just to survive!”

Wow, someone has a little inferiority complex, good think he was in a 100 tonner, that much inferiorty complex just won’t fit in a 90 ton cockpit. He really has no clue that he is a pirate loser because he took up piracy, not because the Clans play nice with each other. We shoot each other for fun and profit. On a good day we even do it from the front, but bad days happen too. Clan solidarity? Its like Galactic Peace or honest politicians; only in fiction.

The Pirate King bought it hook line and sinker though. He radioed his troops and fell back for re-enforcements. He was really ticked off. I guess he really didn’t like people stealing his stuff. Funny, you think a pirate would be more philosophical about the whole property ownership/grand theft mecha thing.

“I am coming for you, I will send my forces against all of you. Your allies won’t save you, they will BURN WITH YOU CLAN SCUM!”

As the pirates disappeared through the portal, I gave the warning order to strip every bit of ammo from every lineup other than our mains, and get ready for a full scale pirate assault. I figured to use the chart data from the Commissars to hit them on their base, and see if we can steal some of their stuff while they are out getting slaughtered.

Don Lindley piped up from his stolen Commisar “Hey boss, that bit about the other clans coming to help us if the pirates attacked……are you mental? What do you figure they would really do?”

One of my jobs as chieftain is to educate my officers as to the finer points of strategic analysis, and this was just such a teaching moment.

“Well, Juggernaut would make popcorn and draft beer to watch from the hilltops as we played Spartan 300 to the pirate kings hordes. Expect lots of cheering, cat calls and smartass remarks as the bodies start stacking deep. They would probably salute our colours as they finally fell, then get back to looting the galaxy, like they do on every day that ends in y”

“Leviathan would set up a mobile HQ on the ridge, deploy full sensor drones. I would expect full tactical analysis with overlays, and messages from their leadership asking for my reasoning behind individual deployments they were arguing over. At some point they would set the prettier bits to music and publish a video of the better moments, either the really brave, or the really stupid, depending on what was more impressive. You know they would treat the whole thing like an advanced strategic and tactical study, their poor Junior officers would be writing papers about it long after our ashes cooled.”

“Zeon would wait until we had wiped out at least half, by that point we would be in deep, deep caka, surrounded, totally out of ammunition, and about ready to get slaughtered, then they would pull a colony drop and wipe them out. Possibly us too, but hey if you can’t take a joke, you joined the wrong outfit. They do have a soft spot for us, and wouldn’t let us actually get wiped out, but we would never hear the end of it.”

Don whistled. “You totally BS’d him. The Pirate King bought that whole ‘clans stick together’ line, now he’s going to throw his army at Juggernaut, Leviathan, Zeon AND us!”

Mariea Lindley said with a kind of reverent awe, visions of our own three recent ass kickings dancing in her head.

“They are going to get SLAUGHTERED!”

The Spirit of Bunny went to raid the Pirate King, and the forces Xeon had recruited to crush the clans, we went to war not with a song in our heart, but giggling like fools.

I gave the order from the Spirit of Bunny code book.

“Attention to orders, the Spirit of Bunny will execute the following contingency plan as follows: Hold my beer. I say again. Hold my beer”

And the raid was on.

John T Mainer 28840

[vanquisher2099]

Part 25: A Puzzling Piece

A polite, yet irritatingly firm knock on the office door shook Detective Leavitt out of the reveille he’d fallen into while looking over the ballistics report on the apartment shooting/bombing. He waved without bothering to look, and was thoroughly unsurprised to hear Agent Hernandez’s voice as the door opened.

“Detective, am I correct in assuming the investigation is going as poorly as ever?”

Leavitt frowned, but was mollified by the cup of coffee Hernandez placed on his desk a moment later. “Just trying to figure out where the hell our shooter got this kind of firepower. Lab says our man was killed by a smart bullet.” Smart bullets were, in practical terms, less like bullets and more like very small, self-directed missiles without an explosive payload. They also were very tightly regulated and all but impossible for even the more powerful syndicates to get their hands on.

A small twitch of an eyebrow was the only sign that Hernandez had not already known this. John picked up on it, having learned over the past few weeks a significant amount of the stoic FBI agent’s tells, and smirked. “Didn’t know that one, huh? Whoever wanted our man dead wasn’t playing around. Problem is, it doesn’t add up. We know there had to be two people in the apartment based on the sounds of a struggle before the gunshots, but if that’s the case…”

“Why use a smart bullet for an up-close fight?” Hernandez finished Leavitt’s sentence and frowned.

Leavitt nodded. “Right. Smart bullets are rifle weapons, and there’s no evidence of a rifle at the scene apart from the one we found in the panic room.”

“So what’s your thinking then, detective?”

“There was a third person there, maybe even unrelated to whatever was happening in the apartment.”

“Forgive my skepticism, detective, but that’s a mighty big leap. Is it not more possible that a two-man team was dispatched to…dispatch our victim?”

Leavitt shook his head. “Normally I’d say yes, if it weren’t for this.” He reached for another folder and flipped it open. “It’s the autopsy report on our victim. They pulled a firmware report out of the core, and according to this there were at least ten minutes between the gunshots recorded and the shot that took out our man. If that’s true, then the bomb went off about thirty seconds after our man died. That’s not a lot of time for our second person to get to the panic room.”

“Not necessarily. Those gunshots surveillance recorded could have been fired by our victim into the first assailant. He leaves the first guy down in the bedroom, and heads out, then our first assailant crawls into the panic room and triggers a contingency plan. It’s not unusual among the sorts of hit squads that would have access to smart bullets for that sort of thing. I’m told the Japanese syndicates do it all the time.”

“This isn’t Japan.”

Hernandez waved a hand dismissively. “That was not my point. My point is your theory of an unrelated third party showing up is too large a leap when other explanations have yet to be ruled out.”

Leavitt considered this statement for a moment. “So you’re saying we are looking at a two-man assassination team? Who the hell was this guy?”

“I can help with that.” Harold said, sweeping into the office and conveniently ignoring that he should have been in the office an hour ago. “We got a report back from the FBI.”

Hernandez looked vaguely surprised, which is about as surprised as he was capable of looking on a given day. “Strange that I’ve not heard about it.”

Harold shrugged. “Maybe you just haven’t checked your messages recently. Or maybe they decided the investigators should know first, not their babysitter.”

“What’s the report say?”

“I haven’t read it yet. I just printed it out.” Harold tossed a folder on the desk. “Figured we take a look together, see what we can see.”

Leavitt flipped the folder open and scanned the first page. “So this Mario Cabrera name has been used before – we already knew that. The FBI checked surveillance at the last two hotels where the name was used, and found this guy.” Here he pointed at a shot of a nondescript face, salt and pepper hair, distinguished. “Fed that through facial recognition, and they got several other hits across the country, including a grab from a surveillance drone that captured footage of a fellow the NYPD would dearly love to get their hands on – he was a person of interest in the assassination of the mayor there five years ago – although at the time he was trading under the name Jack Fruhling.”

“So our guy goes on the run after whacking the mayor, moves around the country, and fucks up? Maybe a particularly proud New Yorker finds him and decides to take the law into his own hands?” Harold snorted. “I take it back. This wasn’t any help at all.”

“I would be very interested to know,” Hernandez interjected, “whether or not these other appearances in other towns can also be linked to disappearances or assassinations.”

“Now who’s jumping to conclusions?” Leavitt couldn’t resist a dig. “Killing a mayor doesn’t make you a professional assassin, you know.”

“True. But killing a mayor and twenty other people might – particularly if those twenty other people are key witnesses, syndicate members, or politicians.”

“Do we chase down this Jack Fruhling name too, see if it shows anywhere?” Harold said, unexpectedly taking Hernandez’s side. “Might give us some more killings to work with.”

“Has he been in Chicago before this? I can have the archives pull any cases that might relate to him.” Leavitt was already moving to make the appropriate requests as he asked.

“Good initiative, detective. I am pleased to see something like competence from this department.”

“Did you hear that John? That’s a complement from our federal overlord. We should be flattered.” Harold’s tone indicated that he was anything but flattered.

A brief twitch that Leavitt generally interpreted as amusement flashed across Hernadez’s face. “Yeah I heard it, Harry. I’m just not sure I believe it. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I would suggest that while we wait to hear back, we return to the question of the murder weapon.”

Harold looked puzzled. “We’re not counting the bomb as a murder weapon?”

“No. A smart bullet is our murder weapon, as Detective Leavitt informed me earlier. The bomb, I think, was more of a statement than a weapon.”

“Or insurance if the bullet didn’t do the trick. Our guy’s a full prosthetic, remember? I hear you can have your brain wherever you want it.”

Hernandez shook his head. “Not that particular model. That was designed to be as real as possible – they even color the internal lubrication red so that it looks like blood. Indistinguishable from the real thing, unless you happen to look a little further beneath the surface.”

“So our guy didn’t want people to know he was full prosthetic?” Harold tilted his head like a confused dog. “I thought the full prosthetic folk were all about being proud of their bodies or whatever. The receptionist downstairs sure as hell is.”

Leavitt rolled his eyes. “People who have been in serious accidents might not want to show they’re different. Not everyone goes full prosthetic as a lifestyle statement.” He was quiet for a second, before adding in a thoughtful tone. “But they might as a security measure.”

The statement hung in the air for a moment. Hernandez was the first to speak. “The computer hardware we found slagged in that panic room…” he said, slowly. “How powerful do you suppose it was?”

“I didn’t get a close look at it. Why?”

Rather than answering the question, Hernandez stood up suddenly and began heading for the door. “I’m going back to the apartment to have another look.”

Harold raised an eyebrow. “What for? The scene’s been scanned and logged, you can pull it up here.”

“I need to look inside that hardware. Our man might not be dead after all.”

Part 26

Part 24