#thermite explosions

[damez1979]

Call of Duty Vanguard: Operation Tonga – Daring D-Day Sabotage!

[mothmothm0th]

remember: a maid only has allegiance to its contract. negotiate accordingly. a witch whose coven i visited sometimes had negotiated the contract to end "when this house falls" and provisions against murder, arson and damage caused by neglect, she thought she had nabbed a servant for eternal life

but relocating a thermite nest into the basement wasn't neglect

[xenonreality]

So here's the integza Mod Suggestions video (https://youtu.be/EnbgUTJiQdg) have fun & enjoy I sat down & just recorded it it's only just under 12 minutes

Here is the talking in my car with my dog Phaser video (https://youtu.be/Mxd2vUQ37ZA) it's under an hour long, just.

This is the Basic Strange Object Stars I think exist (https://youtu.be/mMb_7R4XTAo) because basic Bayes theorem & logic dictates you can actually think & know from what is observed can & should be there. It's raw I recorded it while walking my dog early in the morning. It's just over 27 minutes long.

This is the How to make Explosive Thermite to be used in an afterburner Detonation rocket engine (https://youtu.be/fUYrMMapuF0) that even goes over a few more details for how to easily not have it blow up, melt, & even simply create it using around the house materials. Why didn't you think of it, probably because you don't like to use simple Bayes theorem & think through problems. Or not really, it is me being really smart & intelligent that helps while I work on it conceptually. But hey, people be people who aren't worth anything, like them saying that work isn't work & not worth anything. 😏 It's just over 18 minutes long.

Here's 3 more videos as a bonus , one is about public toilets (https://youtu.be/MhSAiop2Dd8) it's just under 10 minutes long. This one is about the Gen z gender gap on voting (https://youtu.be/uVvoRe1N4lo) it's just over 27 minutes long & this one is about the adpocalypse situation on twitch (https://youtu.be/IYvB2XBYXK4) it's just under 5 minutes long

[howtofightwrite]

I’m not sure if this is off topic for your blog, but out of fear for my search history and the police, I wanted to ask if there is a means of someone producing a homemade bomb or something throwable that generates high levels of heat?

For context, the character I am writing is a lab intern that is secretly studying how to get rid of a parasite (think of something like Venom/Carnage) that can only be injured/destroyed with high levels of heat.

Two thoughts come to mind immediately, thermite and white phosphorous. So, in both cases, we're going to be setting metals on fire.

Thermite is more of a process than a specific chemical composition, which means getting the materials to make thermite explosives isn't that challenging. It involves getting a highly reactive metal, and then getting it to oxidize aggressively. Turns out, if you force aluminum to rust on the spot, it gets a bit warm. In some cases (such as with copper) the reaction is energetic enough to cause molten metal to splatter.

Because we're talking about different chemical mixtures, it's a bit hard to predict the exact tempreture, but most thermite reactions (at least, all of the ones I've ever looked up) will burn in excess of 2000K (3000F.)

Rigging thermite into a more portable form isn't that complicated, and crude pipe bomb-like containers should get the job done. Though, this would likely cause further problems.

The second option is white phosphorous. This burns at a lower temperature (around 800C), but this stuff ignites on contact with oxygen. Something you might be able to find in the air you're breathing. White phosphorous is a bit more tightly controlled, and is used in a wide variety of munitions. (In theory, it's used for tracers, as the phosphorous will ignite and glow while the round is traveling to its destination.) Because it will continue to burn in the wound, white phosphorous wounds are particularly horrific (as you'll see, if you ever visit the Wikipedia page.) However, it is already available as a payload for most military small arms cartridges.

A third option is classic napalm. This stuff tends to burn north of 800C. The actual material is a bit more disturbing than you might realize. Nalpalm isn't just a burning liquid, it's more like a burning goop, that sticks to whatever it hits... and continues to burn. Imagine a Vaseline sprayer (except, the Vaseline is ignited just after it leaves the nozzle.) Producing napalm in a modern chemlab, with a reasonable stockpile of ingredients shouldn't be too difficult, though it's unlikely the stockroom would have enough of the relevant chemicals to make much of the stuff. (Nalpalm flamethrowers go through a lot of fuel, so making the stuff on site might not be a great option.)

Using any of these methods will get a lot of attention on your character. While we tend to overestimate just how much casual searches for this kind of information are likely to land you on a watch list (this used to be more true than it is today), actually using them in the field will get an anti-terrorism taskforce crawling down around your character's ears. (Especially if they're making thermite loaded pipe bombs.)

Now, here's the funny thing about all of this: It's unnecessary.

You've got a monster that is vulnerable to flames. The simplest, and cheapest solution, is probably to go buy one of those orange, plastic, flare guns. This'll set you back less than $40 dollars (plus the cost of the included flares.) Then load up on extra flares, (at this moment, they're around $10 per flare.) (If you already have a 12 gauge shotgun, you can skip the flare gun entirely, and just buy 12ga flare shells.)

Those flares burn at similar temperatures to white phosphorous rounds, and are much, much, less regulated. (Though, if you're wandering out and buying up hundreds of flare shell rounds, that's likely to raise a few eyebrows.) (This is also true of normal emergency flares, similar temperatures, and they burn for much longer.)

This is without even thinking about Dragon's Breath shells, which will burn in the range of some of the hotter thermite reaction ranges. (To be honest, it probably is a thermite reaction, but I'd need to look into them a bit more to verify that.)

So, ultimately, the problem for a monster vulnerable to heat is that there are a lot of ways to throw burning metal at it, and let that cook it for you.

-Starke

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[writingfromasgard]

This is dumb and stupid and i didnt proof so read it or don't

When you find an old bottle of iron pills rummaging through John's medicine cabinet, you offer to take them off his hands. He doesn't ask why.

He should have.

Johnny comes into your garage as your playing with the iron oxide you've made, the pretty red color catches his eyes.

"Wot's tha?"

"Soon to be thermite." You answer.

There's a brief look in Johnny's eyes and he bolts off to his car.

Before he's back, you're mixing the aluminum powder you've had stored away with it - all while humming some tune stuck in your head.

You hear a throat clear and look over to see Johnny on one knee, a ring - a very small gem stone and worn looking ring - in his fingers.

"Will ye marry me?"

"I don't think John would appreciate it if I did." You glance at the garage door, John with a unlit cigar in his mouth and a raised brow.

"Yer makin' thermite! I'm a demo--"

"Making thermite?" John's voice interrupts.

"It's for the termite mound in the back." You reply.

"Doll.." John sighed deeply, "you have to stop making explosive compounds in my garage."

"She's done this b'fore?" Johnny asked.

"Ohhh.. it was one time! You shouldn't smoke in enclosed spaces in the first place!" You whined.

"Giv it to Soap." His voice is too stern for you to shoot back an argument.

You grumbled the entire time you were putting it into a adequate container and shoved it at Johnny's chest.

"You never let me have any fun." You watch with longing as Johnny delivers it to his car.

"I'm saving you from being on a watchlist." John gruffed, pulling you into a soft kiss.

[veikkoalen]

😳

@veikkoalen

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PART 1]

Don't ask me why I wrote chapter two literally a day after the first, it's a mix of the nice comments I got and the fact I'm enjoying myself more than I expected, haha.

Ghost crashes into his desk chair, throwing two folders on the table. One was the Sergeant’s report, which he had to go through and approve before forwarding to Price, and the other…

The other was Soap’s personal file. He technically didn’t have clearance for it anymore, but Price left it on his desk next to the report, and Ghost figured he won’t notice if it disappeared for a couple hours.

Besides… he was supposed to read it before the mission. He just didn’t care in the past.

Ghost opens the file, and immediately gets greeted by a picture of Soap. He’s younger and seemed to be holding back a smile for the photo. 

John “Soap” MacTavish. Somehow, Ghost can’t see how this fiery Sergeant shares a name with the captain.

The rest of the file is pretty standard. Born in Scotland (In a town Ghost never heard of), age 27, enlisted at 16. It gets more interesting when he reaches the Revenant section.

Or, whatever he can see from it. His Reaping, his first death, is completely blacked out. His powers list the explosion immunity and creation, but another line is censored. Ghost feels cheated of information - the amount of red tape around Soap would be concerning, if it didn’t make him that more intrigued.

He flips through his previous missions fairly quickly, not expecting much of it to be uncensored. Lad was SAS before dying, the reports are practically a solid block of black ink.

Ghost continues to the medical reports, fully intending to skip those as well, and he keeps flipping, and flipping, and flipping…

An icy hand grabs at his throat. Frowning, he slowly flips back.

The frozen feeling persists when he starts reading. 4 years ago, mission in Austria. Exposure to thermite explosion, 3 fingers missing and loss of motor function to his left leg. 11 months ago, C4 accident, right ear, eye, and majority of throat missing. 2 years ago, grenade explosion, massive damage to liver and stomach.

Combing through all records, Ghost took a moment to realize no medical procedure was noted. Which means Soap didn’t receive any.

He shut the folder.

Something different from the freezing horror he initially felt started rising within him. It was rage.

The personal folder gets thrown aside, and Ghost focuses on the mission report. Right. Perhaps this will shed more light on what Soap is capable of, because honestly right now he can’t bare thinking about how much damage the Sergeant suffered through any longer.

The report is well-written, as any soldier of Soap’s rank would be. Ghost enjoys seeing just how competent Soap was, clearing rooms at neck breaking speed. What catches his eyes is the reason the explosion at the warehouse happened.

He never did get an answer to that…

As it turns out, Soap did get spotted. But according to the report, it wasn’t a hostile that activated the explosive. No, Soap himself did that. The reason given is “estimated risk to Bravo 0-7”.

…Soap thought he was in danger?

Ghost racks his brain trying to understand why. Did he think Ghost didn’t clear the third floor yet? Did he think… they were going to alert backup?

And he decides to… blow himself up.

He hastily signs the document and grabs both folders. So much information, missing, blacked out, red tape stopping him from understanding. Ghost has long learned that he won’t, can’t understand everything, orders from higher up not to be questioned. But it has never bothered him more. 

Never left this feeling of missing out.

When Ghost reaches Price’s office, the light is on and a lingering smell of cigars wafts even through the closed door. Shit. He’ll have to explain how the amount of folders he took suddenly multiplied.

“Weird how that happens, doesn't it Ghost?” Price shouts from beyond the door.

Bloody hell his stupid mind reading powers can be a real pain in the-

“You better not finish that thought Lieutenant!” 

Sighing, Ghost finally opens the door. “I thought you’re on break, Captain”, he places the folders on his desk.

Price glares at the two folders before he looks back at him, eyebrow raised, “clearly”.

Ghost glares back. Not like he has anything to say to his defence.

Price breaks the tension with a little huff, “You know you could’ve just asked for the file, right? I could tell the Sergeant left an impression on you.” he laughs.

Not needing the Captain to mock him further, he bites back “report’s signed, permission to be dismissed?”

Price smirks and dismisses him. Ghost doesn’t miss the thought that leaked from him, “told you, you two would get along.”

He walks away before Price could read his own.

Smoking becomes less intimidating after you die once. Honestly, if it comes to the point he dies from lung cancer, he’ll be happy.

He’ll take that little comfort either way. Watching the smoke dissipate to the night sky, a handful of stars shining through. Little droplets of rain drizzle on the tin roof above him. It’s almost peaceful. 

Almost. If only he couldn’t hear Gaz complaining from the floor above him.

“Look, he’s doing it again.” the recruit next to him makes a questioning sound, “Ghost, he’s bloody brooding. I swear, he’s been like this even since that mission with the revenant, what’s his name…”

The recruit mumbles something, “right! MacTavish. I’ll pay a good amount to know what happened with him… you think-”

Ghost slams a fist at the tin roof, “I can fuckin’ hear ya Garrick!”.

“Good! Tell me what happened there!”

He throws the cigarette and stomps it. Can’t get a moment of silence around here…

Gaz still tries to interrogate him while Ghost walks back to his room. He would talk to him when he feels like it, kindly suggest to never bring up that mission again. 

Ghost doesn’t need more things to remind him of the Sergeant.

Sometimes he wonders if he ever was as bad as these rookies. Watching one trip on thin air, taking down 3 others poor sods trying to complete a run, he rather believe he wasn’t.

He approaches the 4 idiots, who are now literally shaking while craning their neck to look at their lieutenant. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get up!”.

The rookies finally pull their heads out of their arse and scramble up. While they try to get back on track, he shouts, “five more laps for you four! Get a move on!”.

The ones that finished the training murmur behind him something that sounds like a long list of expletives, maybe about wishing his mother got an abortion or the likes. 

Ghost couldn’t care less. But, for the sake of discipline, he throws a scowl at the group, shutting them instantly. 

It’s on days like these, where Gaz is away on mission, and Price buried under mountains of paperwork, that Ghost’s thoughts wander back to that mission six months ago. To a certain Scottish Sergeant, to daft jokes and a weird shared understanding. Fingers flickering with flames, blue eyes shining with them.

Useless thoughts. All they do is leave a bitter trail behind them.

On days like these, he can’t help but crave bitterness. 

The recruits finally finish their run, and Ghost dismisses them before they can cause more trouble, effectively declaring it “not his problem”. He should be more grateful of Garrick, he’s much better at handling the FNGs.

As he makes his way to the showers, one Private stops him. He looks familiar, but Ghost doesn’t bother learning any of their names.

“Captain Price orders you to his office.” the Private almost sneers at him. Ghost nods and walks away. 

Once, a long time ago, he might’ve put the Private in his place, perhaps when he cared more. Now he knows better. His powers speak loud and clear. If he wished, he could wipe the entire base off the face of this godforsaken earth. It might be because of this fact, most soldiers abhor him.

They can’t help hating what they don’t understand.

Three well practiced knocks and a “come in!”, Ghost stands in front of the Captain. Price looks surprisingly chipper for the amount of files on his desk. That makes one of them.

“To what do I owe the occasion, Captain?”

Price flashes a warm smile (one he would call fatherly if the connotation didn’t want to make him want to puke) “I’m considering adding a new member to the 141”.

His first reaction is ‘fuck no’, and Price’s face sours at that. But Ghost is willing to entertain the Captain, so he asks, “you got any candidates?”.

Price motions to the dozen or so files on his desk, “take a look”.

Ghost raises an eyebrow before sitting down and taking one at random. Sergeant Thomas Anderson, 28. Revenant powers… “Breathing underwater? Really.” Ghost shuts the folder and glances at Price, “I’ll take him when we go on a bust against ultranationalists from Atlantis”.

“Not everyone is as deadly as you, Simon” Price sighs, “go on, check the others.”

Several files later Ghost is left wondering how many practically useless revenants are out there. He’s sure just thinking this is considered some sort of blasphemy among Reapers, but as he wasn’t struck down by an eldritch being yet, it’s safe to say he’s free to continue looking down at them.

He knows deep down it’s not their powers that bother him. Hell, Garrick’s Gravity manipulation isn’t that lethal, but the Sergeant knows how to effectively use it to his advantage.

Ghost simply can’t see himself working with any of them. He understands they’re in desperate need for more taskforce members, no matter how strong its three revenants are, but if they’re about to add a forth, he better be useful.

Scouring the table, Ghost realizes he went through all folders already. Price picks up on that.

“None of them up to your standard?”

Ghost crosses his arms, “not in the slightest”.

He spots a personal file on a cabinet on Price’s left, “what’s with that one?” he nods towards it.

Price turns his head, “ah, he’s currently on a long term assignment. Higher ups aren’t gonna let that one transfer so easily.”

Ghost’s interest was piqued, and he leaned to grab it. Price didn’t stop him, but he had a weird glint in his eyes. Ghost gets the feeling this outcome wasn’t unplanned.

He opens the folder and a pair of familiar blue eyes stare back. He looks up at Price.

The captain tilts his head, “well? In terms of strength, no one gets close to MacTavish. I’d dare say you and him could be evenly matched-”

“I’ll take him.”

Price falters, “what?”

“I’ll accept a new member if it was Soap.” Ghost states, leaving no room for argument. A bubbling feeling of excitement washes through him, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. The mountains of questions Soap left behind him come back to the forefront of his mind. 

And he feels… hopeful.

Price shakes the surprise off his features, and he looks tiredly at the file, “...I can’t promise any miracles, but I’ll do my best to get him.” He takes out a well deserved cigar, “I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you Captain”, the words don’t encapsulate just how grateful Ghost is.

“Now scram, I have about 50 calls to make.” Price waves his hand and picks up the phone. Ghost makes his exit before the Captain changes his mind.

Garrick returns from his assignment the following morning. The reason Ghost knows that is he watches the door to mess being slammed open while he tries to drink his morning tea.

“GHOST!” Gaz shouts, swiveling his head side to side, searching for him. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could actually go invisible like some rumors suggest.

But alas, he finds him quickly enough, and rushes to his table, uncaring of the several heads following his actions. 

“Garrick” Ghost greets him, “how was the missio-”.

“We’re getting a new 141 member?!” Gaz cut him off, the excitement in his voice palpable, and he visibly starts floating a few inches off ground. Ghost tries to be annoyed with him, but he always found Gaz’s more energetic approach to life endearing.

“Nothing’s final yet, settle down.”

“But you know who it is, right?” Gaz sits in the chair in front of him, “c’mon, you gotta tell me!”

Ghost considers lying and saying he has no clue either, but he figures he might as well rip the band-aid now.

“It’s Sergeant MacTavish.” he tries to sound bored.

By the mischievous look on Garrick, he knows he failed miserably, “ohoho Ghost… Did you suggest your mysterious Sergeant to Price?” he grins like the menace he is, “seems like you won’t be able to hide what happened on ‘The Mission’ for much longer-”

Ghost slams his mug on the table, “nothing to hide, Sergeant.”

But Gaz is already 3 steps ahead in his brain, “I’ve heard he can create explosions, you think he could shoot up like a rocket? Could work well with my powers…”

Ghost stands up and groans, “he’s not a bloody spaceship Gaz, fuckin’ hell…”

He has a feeling Garrick and MacTavish will get along just fine.

The following days are… weird. Ghost never waited in anticipation for something as impatiently as he does right now. The clock seems to tick at a snail’s pace, and he finds his focus impaired. Thank his Reaper he’s not on a mission right about now…

Price is practically living in his office, constantly making calls and going through document after document. From what he understands, Soap is highly sought after for his explosion immunity, the best defuser there is.

Ghost is bitterly reminded of the huge pile of medical records in his personal file. That taste he rather not chase.

As for Gaz… His excitement grows by the day. It reminds Ghost that while the Sergeant is very friendly and always finds someone to talk to, he’s also one of the very few revenants on base.

He wonders if it feels as alienating as it does for him from time to time.

It’s not for 2 weeks later that he and Gaz are summoned to Price’s office. The place reeks of cigar smoke, and Price himself looks like he’s in need of at least 24 hours of sleep. But a triumphant attitude emanates from him in waves, and Ghost knows before he even opens his mouth what he’s about to say.

“It wasn’t easy, and I had to use every connection I had up there, but I got great news for you lads.”

Gaz smiles brightly, and turns his head to look at Ghost.

“I can finally say Sergeant Soap MacTavish is officially a member of the 141”.

Garrick cheers and floats high enough that Ghost has to drag him down before he slams his head against the ceiling, and sees the Captain’s expression shift.

“But…” Ghost starts for him. Of course this wouldn’t be this simple, nothing ever is.

Price exhales loudly, “Soap still has a couple of unfinished missions he will need to attend before he can join us fully.”

Gaz finally picks up on the mood shift, ‘...he will still be with us on base though, right?”

“Yes”, the Captain scratches under his iconic hat, and not for the first time Ghost wonders if it’s glued on with the way it refuses to fall off, “he will train with us, so take those few weeks as an opportunity to learn to work together. He’s quite powerful, and I think you will find… creative ways to work together.” with that last sentence, he glances at Ghost. Curious.

“When will the Sergeant arrive?” Ghost asks.

Price takes a quick look at the calendar, “3 days, early morning.”

That sends Garrick on a marathon of questions to Price, and Ghost retreats to into his mind.

3 days… 3 days and he will see those flames dance again. That Scottish lilt and crooked smile. 

Ghost feels his mouth stretch in a hesitant smile, as if the muscles almost forgot the movement, and notices Price mirroring it.

Perhaps he could give a chance to hope.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! I appreciate it a lot <3

[tacticalkevlar]

@the-wild-card-hand asked "So...Liz...don't be mad~" Thermite had a bit of a nervous smile on his face as he poked his head around the corner

That was never a good start to a conversation. Not one that she would look forward to. A skeptical look as her eyes shifted from the monitor in front of her. "This oughta be good. Are you, by chance, tied to that explosion I heard? Maybe ten minutes ago?"

[r6shippingdelivery]

Any headcanons for Caveira and Fenrir? They seem like they'd be good friends but like the hangout in dead silence type

Oh nonnie, while I have seen some really cute fanart of these two being friends, I don't personally think they'd be on good terms, sorry 😅

My HCs about their dynamics under the cut, since it's not really what you asked for, but my analysis of why they'd be wary of each other.

Caveira is the leader of the stealth and intel gathering team, I don't believe for one second she wouldn't be mistrustful of Fenrir and his convenient timing to join them, especially since shortly after that clusterfuck of a mission happened and several operators were injured in the explosion. Her specialty is interrogation, and the questioning Thermite did of Fenrir was... laughably easy. But since she wasn't allowed to interrogate him, apparently, she does not trust he's not hiding something. She might not be openly confrontational, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's keeping an eye on what he does, waiting for him to slip up and show his true colors.

On his end, I think Fenrir is smart enough to know he should avoid Caveira. Her reputation and aura are surely ruthless and pretty terrifying, and catching her attention is the last thing he'd want, he's already in enough shaky ground and disliked by too many people. So he avoids her, and she lets him be as long as he keeps his head down. Because the only thing probably keeping him from getting a personal interrogation session at Caveira's hands is that he hasn't done anything to warrant closer inspection from her.

[mariacallous]

One innovation is a newly tested GPS-guided bomb that is very similar to the French AASM Hammer. The Ukrainian high-precision glide bomb can cover a distance of up to 64 km. If Ukraine can establish local production of the new bomb, it can begin to match Russia’s glider bombing campaign.

The new bomb will add to a growing portfolio of Ukrainian-made munitions that includes the Neptune cruise missile, the new Palyanytsya missile drone, and a host of one-way strike drones, including at least two models of unmanned sport aircraft that can fly a thousand km with an explosive payload. By creating its own high-precision military technology, Ukraine frees itself from complete dependence on its allies for the supply and use of these types of weapons.

The head of Ukrainian intelligence, Kyrylo Budanov, said that Ukraine is producing unmanned aerial vehicles capable of traveling 1,800 km.

Also, the Armed Forces of Ukraine used an “innovative solution” for attacks on Russian positions using so-calleddragon drones, that drop a thermite mixture on enemy positions.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

The badge was meant to be a flaming ‘Excalibur’ - recalling the Lewes bomb that contained both plastic explosive and inflammable thermite with time pencils. I knew that, but most of us called the stylised badge a ‘winged dagger’ and it made a better title for a book than ‘Flaming Sword’ ‘Who Dares Wins’ etc. the sword looks more like a commando knife and was certainly not meant to be a ‘Sword of Damocles’.

Roy Farran, ‘Winged Dagger’ (1948)

The badge of the Special Air Service was created by Corporal Bob Tait in October 1941, who would survive the war and die in retirement in 1975.

Robert ‘Bob’ Duncan Tait was a founding member of ‘L Detachment’, later the SAS, and is credited with the design of the most coveted military badge in the world: the SAS winged dagger. Tait was part of 11 Commando before he was invited to join L Detachment under the direction of Col. Stirling while fighting in North Africa in World War Two.

He survived the regiment’s first disastrous operation: a parachute drop in support of the Operation Crusader offensive in Libya in November 1941. It proved to be an unmitigated disaster when 22 men out of 60 were either killed or captured by the Germans.

The second was far more successful and saw Bob Tait as one of five commandos who snuck into a German aerodrome deep behind enemy lines and laid explosives that destroyed 37 aircraft. The raid secured the future of the SAS as it convinced military chiefs a specially trained unit that could operate behind enemy lines was needed.

In between the raids, the members of the newly formed unit held an informal competition to design the insignia for the regiment. Tait’s design of King Arthur’s Excalibur sword - not a dagger as commonly thought - with light blue wings either side of it was voted the best by the rest of the men and is the cap badge still in use today.

The SAS insignia represents King Arthur’s flaming sword Excalibur - not the dagger as it came to seen as.  Indeed the name ‘the Winged Dagger’ appears to have first been published in a SHAEF communique of 1944 which was then quoted in the Sunday Times and Observer newspapers.

Having already been awarded a Military Cross and Bar with the 3rd Hussars, Roy Farran joined 2nd SAS in 1943. Although not serving with the Regiment when the insignia were developed, his book, ‘Winged Dagger’ was truly the first book to shed light on the SAS when it was published in 1948. The image of the ‘winged dagger’ stuck in the public consciousness.

Early examples were made up by Cairo tailors and many variants can be seen.

By March 1944, the 1st and 2nd SAS Regiments returned to the United Kingdom and joined a newly formed SAS Brigade, a component of 1st Airborne Corps, commanded by Lieutenant General Frederick ‘Boy’ Browning, with Brigadier Roderick McLeod in charge of the SAS.  Many more badges would be required, and it was essential that a standardised design was agreed upon - see top right.

In March 1951 the Malayan Scouts adopted the maroon beret and the badge of the Special Air Service and this was worn by the members of 21 SAS who formed the new B Squadron - see centre left. The instruction that brought the Malayan Scouts into the British Army Order of Battle as 22 SAS Regiment dates from 16th July 1952.

The central badge was worn by 21 SAS on the right arm when it was formed in 1947. At that stage they wore the Mars and Minerva cap badge of the Artists Rifles on their maroon berets which was of similar design. However, in 1956, these were swapped, and the design of the beret badge was published in that year (rather curiously on a crudely cut out backing)

The 1956 badge was worn throughout the 1960s - see bottom left. But this had become somewhat anaemic by the early 1980s. The current pattern is shown bottom right.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 18 - Vex

Post-TFS Dark Vanguard Europa Vex firefight go!

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Mind the Hydra death blast!" the Drifter shouted as he slid along the snow covered incline, shards of ice and Stasis skittering along down with him.

Eris, floating in the air, covered her eyes with one arm while continuing to mutter in the guttural language of the Hive, maintaining her protective spell. Glowing Soulfire and Hive energy formed a large pale green sphere emanating from where she floated, keeping herself and Ana Bray safe.

The sound of a small thermite explosion filled their ears.

One of the guardians with them was not quick enough. If ghosts could sigh, the Titan's ghost absolutely would have as it appeared beside the corpse and opened its shell to begin reviving its chosen next to the remains of the Hydra.

A Hunter crouched behind Stasis shards from one of the Drifter's glacier grenades, using a sniper rifle to take out anything shooting at Eris and Ana. Another Hunter took a running leap, pulling out their Golden Gun and vaporizing a Cyclops attempting to pick them all off at range.

The Drifter tumbled out sideways in front of the doorway Eris was protecting, coming up on one knee and gunning down four Vex before tumbling away again.

Elsie Bray was short-range teleporting around the battle, tripping Goblins, picking off Minotaurs with headshots from her pulse rifle, tossing Stasis grenades left and right.

"I've almost got it!" Ana spoke into their shared comms as she continued accessing the panel within Eris' sphere of Hive magic protection.

"Incoming Harpies on the ice flows!" the Drifter called out.

"Mine!" their Warlock companion called out, floating up in the air to cast a Needlestorm.

The Drifter scanned the firefight and his eyes caught a Minotaur about to snipe the Warlock out of the air. Trust barked at his side and the Minotaur went down in a heap of metal and Radiolaria before it could take the shot.

"Dammit!" Elsie shouted angrily. "Wyvern on the field!"

"Shit," the Drifter swore. "You!" he slid in next to the Solar Hunter and tapped them on the shoulder. "How long till you can Golden Gun again?"

"Almost there."

"Come with Drifter. It's chicken roasting time."

The Hunter nodded and followed him. They worked their way around the edge of the battle, ducking and running, until they snuck in behind the Wyvern and its accompanying half-dozen Goblins, marching toward the entrance where Eris was protecting Ana.

Six shots from the Drifter took out the Goblins and the Wyvern turned to face them, the long tendrils around its shield wings fluttering in the cold Europan sunlight. It would have been pretty if it wasn't about to kill them.

The Wyvern leaped up, ready to pounce and land on the Drifter. He watched it, his eyes calculating… waiting… waiting… He rolled at the last second before the Wyvern landed, barely avoiding the concussive blast.

"Any time now would be great!" the Drifter called out over his shoulder as the Wyvern began to walk toward him, its long metal legs almost prancing as it fired its warp lance turrets. The Drifter ducked behind cover, narrowly avoiding the blasts of Void energy hitting all around him.

The Hunter's Golden Gun rang out. The Wyvern melted into a pile of scrap and sparks.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner!" the Drifter said as he grinned, nodding at the Hunter.

"I'm in!" Ana announced over their shared comms. "Everyone get inside so I can close this door!"

"Don't have to tell us twice, Sister!" the Drifter replied, climbing on the back of the Hunter's sparrow.

A frozen Ahamkara bone whipped past them as they flew through the door, immobilizing the Hobgoblin which had them in its sights.

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[roachsideblog]

COD GORETOBER DAY 10! Woo, still only a day late.

Blacklist tinyduckies goretober 2024 and tinyduckies kinktober 2024 if youre sick of this <3

Prompt: Surgery (thanks, @nonsenseafterdark !)

Words: ~1k

TWs: Insects, gore, body horror, medical horror, burns, torture, blood, insect/animal death, being drugged, gangrene, decay, emetophobia/vomit. No human death though. But maybe that makes this worse <3

Summary: Makarov tried playing surgeon and kidnapped Captain Soap to show off his results.

Shit's fucked up. I'm not kidding. Dead Dove, babes.

~~~

Smoke from the blast obscured Soap’s vision as he climbed through the hole he just made in a cinderblock wall. Makarov’s base of operations—the heart of everything they’d been fighting for so long, the final barrier between him and avenging two of his best men. It was quiet compared to the facility’s perimeter lined with guard towers but he dare not think too hard about the ‘Q’ word. He steeled himself, crouching below the black sooty clouds, smelling thermite even through his filtered mask. A faint buzzing sound emanated from down the hall.

Lt. Simon Riley and Sgt. Gary Sanderson. Ghost and Roach. Shot dead by General Shepherd, their bodies burnt to a crisp. All they wanted was to defeat Makarov. To ensure weapons of mass destruction never made it into nefarious hands.

He crept along the concrete floor. The buzzing grew louder. There was nothing. No one. Not until a staircase appeared, leading down into a dark room. Descending, the air was stagnant and sickeningly sweet with the smell of decay growing stronger and stronger with every step until Soap’s eyes watered.

Through the threshold. He checked his six and—

A sharp pain pierced his upper arm. A goddamn blow dart hung from his flesh by its needle as if he were a wild animal. His heartrate began to slow immediately, dizziness taking hold.

Footsteps.

Soap jerked up, saw Makarov emerge from the abyss ahead, then collapsed before managing to fire a single round.

…

He woke tied to a metal chair. The buzzing was louder than any explosion. It was deafening in the tiny, dark room. The walls, floors, and ceiling were painted black.

A corpse fly landed on Soap’s nose. He shook it off, only to startle thousands more into the air.

Only upon further inspection did Soap realize all the dark surfaces were actually coated in insects that wriggled like ferrofluid.

He gagged, mask nowhere to be seen. The stench of death was unbearable but if he breathed through his mouth the flies sensed its moisture and flew in. Breathe through his nose and the smell brought tears to his eyes that the nasty things landed on his cheeks to lap up. He scrunched his eyes, forcing air out of his nostrils to keep curious corpse flies out.

The walls were light gray concrete.

A floodlight turned on and they all went mad, nearly blotting out its intense light. They rammed into its glass case, shoved themselves inside to fry on its bulbs.

“Captain MacTavish!” called a familiar Russian accent. Makarov. He had to yell over the roar of wings. Lucky bastard had a hazmat suit with a face shield as he appeared from the glare of the light, every footfall crushing flies.

Soap couldn’t reply lest a fly crawl down his throat carrying remnants of whatever attracted them here. Rage filled his veins.

“You've been such a pain in my ass. A pest, if you will.” He laughed and gestured around. “Seems you fit right in. Tell me, why are you here?”

Soap’s nostrils flared.

“Yeah, yeah. To put a bullet in my brain. I know. Show some introspection skills. Because I think you’re here for the same reason all these fucking bugs are,” he spat, grinding his toe on the floor. Flies fled but it was too crowded; an unlucky handful were mashed into paste. “You’re confused, I bet. Don’t worry. All will be revealed.”

With Soap silenced by disgust, Makarov disappeared again, though not for long. He came back holding a rope that disappeared behind the light. He stopped walking when it grew tight. Faintly, Soap could hear someone shambling. Something dragging. The rope went slack and Makarov yanked it tight again, causing whoever was on the other end to stumble forward and pick up the pace. Their movements grew louder. The humid, rotten smell got thicker. Ragged wheezes could be heard, as if their lungs didn’t inflate fully. They groaned in pain.

Flies cleared the area near Soap and raced for Makarov’s victim. He gulped hard, on the edge of his seat wondering what the fuck was about to reveal itself.

Suddenly, a massive frame blocked the floodlight.

A wide set of shoulders. A torso about two men across. Yet the person was average height, if a little tall. Makarov leaned on Soap’s shoulder and yanked them closer. The silhouette became clear. It had three legs. Two heads.

Ghost and Roach shambled into the light. They were sewn together with thick leather thread, sutures not quite healing as their burned skin remained in active decay. About half their flesh remained pink and red, the other half varying shades of blue bruises, pale bloodless patches, and green gangrenous bits. Veins bulged. Roach was missing his right arm, leg, and that side of his face. Ghost’s legs did the walking, the right and middle two, while Roach’s left leg dragged limp on the ground as if his ankle weren’t fully attached.

Soap gasped at the horrific sight, coughing up flies.

“Had to fit them together like puzzle pieces. Sanderson’s one half was burnt to a crisp; I didn’t even need to cut anything off. Pulled him apart with my bare hands like pulled pork. Wearing gloves, of course.”

Soap vomited into his lap. It couldn't be real. There must’ve been something more in that tranquilizer.

“You don’t appreciate art,” that fucking bastard scolded. “Anyway. Ghost’s left arm had to be amputated so their shoulders could connect. I think the burns acted like pottery slip—they fused together like two pieces of wet clay as they healed. Ha, ‘healed’ is such a funny word.”

Ghost’s eyes welled with tears. His polyester balaclava had melted into his face.

Roach groaned. Maybe if the skin around his mouth wasn't simultaneously stretched and sloughing off, Soap would hear him pleading for death. Goggle-shaped burns cut into his cheekbones and nose bridge.

“Care to join them, MacTavish?”

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 10 Trivia

Friendship backstories!

Senku's in first grade here, so he's either 6-7 depending on the time of year. He's got what is probably a leatherman and a mains testing screwdriver in his pocket (or a pen? I'm not sure if it's transparent or has writing).

On Senku's desk we have Boichi's mascot on the right, Doraemon manga on the left, NASA posters behind and an RX-78-2 Gundam in the middle.

Senku says he doesn't even know the first thing about science, but keeps specialised tools in his pocket..?

The book titles here are probably 「アリエナイ理科」 (Mad Science) and「マンガでわかる理科」 (Manga For Understanding Science).

Byakuya doesn't want to let go of the keys to the car here, the man has to tug them away from him…

There's a lot of random science items in here.

The pattern on Senku's pyjamas seems to disappear.

Iron sand wouldn't work for this application, as the sand tends to be magnetite rather than iron (III) oxide, which is necessary for the thermite reaction.

Thermite itself can be made with many combinations of metal power and a metal oxide.

Senku's testing the rocket engine's power here which is why it's contained in a frame.

The part that makes me sad is that Taiju's shoes are too small and worn out, who's been taking care of him if his parents are dead?

Baby's first branding?

Senku built a Tesla coil to defeat the bullies with as Taiju doesn't fight back. These are possible to build, but they're close range "weapons" only, and can be fatal if you get zapped by the wrong part due to the electrical current.

Ablative material is what is on the outside of a rocket, preventing it from getting shredded during ascent and reentry. The ones on a rocket are designed to disperse the heat and shed material slowly, protecting the internals.

The shopping list is for a small computer (Raspberry Pi), a device to interpret the signals from other sensors (transmission module), and something to measure direction and tilt (gyroscope).

Put together, Senku will be able to collect mid-flight data.

A Yagi-Uda antenna is just a directional antenna.

Why Taiju thought it was a good idea to open something with a skull and crossbones on it indoors and after knowing Senku for a while, I have no idea.

Taiju's doll lost a button after the explosion, and Senku's hair split in several places. In particular, the front strand split, just like the real Senku's!

The cervical plexus is a collection of nerves along the back of your neck. What Tsukasa proposes is severing the connection between the head and the rest of the body. If the injury is above the 3rd vertebra, Senku's breathing muscles will be paralysed.

As there are also arteries in that area, blocking those will prevent oxygen reaching the brain and Senku will fall unconscious quickly.

However, this is not an "instant" death.

I always wonder, if Tsukasa had had friends before petrification, would he have still done this to Senku?

It's also pretty funny that Tsukasa's fond flashbacks are mostly him interacting with Senku while naked.

[meriadoc-doc-hamilton]

I think I fucked up. Let's say, hypothetically, I was mixing IPS-N and HA tech for a breach and clear mech, Tortuga with a little bit of Ghenghis and Raleigh thrown in (I know, I know. Ghenghis isn't super groovy but I'm using the tech for actual, genuine plant removal type foliage management here.) And let's continue to hypothetically suggest that during a repair I accidentally connected the flamethrower fuel line to the decksweeper, and the shell belt to the flamethrower. Let's say this had also set off the bandolier of thermite charges when the compcon unit onboard tried to take a shot at some hostile wildlife. In this hypothetical scenario, how would you stabilize a Tortuga reactor encased in a 4 inch shell of slag at the base that's about 10 minutes from going supercritical? And failing that, how far away should I stand to watch? Big thanks

Alright: First question, do you have a Lancaster or a Napoleon handy? Both of those have systems you should be able to use to stabilize/contain it. Second, keep in mind that a reactor explosion isn't actually that large with modern mechs, so sometimes the best answer is just to leave with haste. If you haven't got access to either of those, work the problems from most to least danger. The immediate issue is the looming gas explosion from the fuel leak, so plug that as soon as possible. After you work that out, the next issue is the reactor detonation, so make use of your available resources. My first idea in that respect is using emergency cooling - such as possibly dumping it in spare reactor or laser coolant from other nearby mechs. Double check that the control plates are functional - they're likely to be broken, but sometimes they'll still work, especially if it's an IPS-N reactor type. If they're functional, they can almost solve the problem by themselves.

Hope this helps!

[rametarin]

thinking about a digital library system again.

The idea is it'd work like a real library. But only kinda.

See, you'd roll in there under the assumption you have some sort of E-reader sort of dealy-o. But the program on the application would be programmed to delete itself from your Card Application in the same time. As if you took out a book form the library, and it magically disappeared from your property back into the library at the scheduled time.

You would only be checking the copy out. Every book that would be in this library would be specifically published and understood under a license that everyone with a card has the right to read that specific digital copy so long as they announce themselves.

The original material copy of the books, the library would only own one of those, and they would be securely contained and prevented from damage from exposure to humidity, mold, light, or other. And further, the original copies would individually be in a place where potential saboteurs could not steal them or set them on fire.

This may sound a bit like overkill, but after reading about the ways in which people try to eliminate the identities and culture of other people (like the KGB), necessitating them to resort to more extreme methods like explosives or thermite forces them to expose what they really are.

This way not only is there as many copies of the book as anyone locally could ever want to service however many people actually live in a region or community, but you make that information and culture a harder target.