Matthew S. Williams's Blog, page 174

125,000 Hits! Thank You All!

Okay, it seems I have a few things to be thankful for this week. Well for starters, there’s my health. You always have to be thankful when that’s in your favor. Second, there’s the positive feedback I’ve been getting for my serial novel Whiskey Delta, which is just a few chapters shy of completion. Third, there is the nomination for the Beautiful Blogger Award (thank you Maarit-Johanna!)

And last, but not least, there’s the fact that I passed the 125,000 hit mark this evening. As far as milestone go, its a bit arbitrary, not like 100,000 or anything. But I still feel like some celebration is in order and some thanks are due. So as usual, thanks a million to those of you who have tuned in to my site on one or more occasions, and a special, hearty thank you to those who make it a regular scheduled stop on their daily jaunts through the ether of cyberspace!

One of these days, I hope to be able to afford a getaway where I can host gathering of this nature, but in person! They always say that the internet is excelling at bringing people together and fostering communities, but I still look forward to the day when I can actually meet some of the people I talk to regularly on this thing. But until then, I guess this interface will have to suffice, and for my part, I hope to be able to continue to provide entertainment. Thanks again and keep on trucking! And of course, there’s more to follow, so stay tuned…

Oh, and it seems I also passed another milestone. This is my 601st post, which makes Whiskey Delta – Chapter 36 the 600th. How about that?

Whiskey Delta – Chapter 36

“You know how they say you only hurt the ones you love? Well, it works both ways.”

- Chuck Palahniuk

They wandered out from the tree line and spotted the Stryker. Whitman and Kobayashi saw them coming and ran to meet them.

“Sarge? What the fuck!”

Whitman’s eyes went wide at the sight of Dezba’s… situation. His reaction was just slightly less dramatic when he saw Braun limping along with Saunder next to him, a decapitated head in his hand.

“Holy shit, is that-?”

“Private, get the biohazard bag,” ordered Saunders.

“Yes… ma’am,” he said in her direction, then looked back at Braun. “Sir, what about the chopper?”

“Do as she says, Private. We’ll worry about that later.”

Whitman nodded and ran for the back of the vehicle. Kobayashi traded place with him and offered to help Saunders. They did an awkward dance as they tried to negotiate what would be done with the head.

“Oh Jesus,” she said, taking it from Braun’s right hand and holding it at arm’s length. Passing Braun onto Kobayashi’s significantly larger shoulder was then easy. She waited by the side while the big man helped him to the rear of the vehicle, waited for Whitman to clear it before bringing him inside.

He sat him down next to Dezba. The other three were eying them both carefully and fearfully. Their suits were still singed and and their faces looked burnt. Dezba did his best to hid the stump too. No sense in letting them witness the full horror of what they’d been through. Braun was also thankful for the lengths they were going to to bag the head outside. Any sight of it would probably send them into a fit again.

Kobayashi was still on hand and tending to the both of them. Grabbing his med kit, he produced two vials of hydromorphone and proceeded to administer the first to Dezba. Popping the cap, he slammed it into the side of his leg, where the Kevlar didn’t cover. He moved to Braun next.

“No way, not me.”

“Sir, you’re in pain,” he said, holding the syringe up. “You don’t get some relief, you’re gonna pass out.”

“You give me that, I’m likely to pass out anyway. Even if I was awake, I would be no use to anyone.”

“Sir, I-”

“End of discussion Kobes. You put that thing away and don’t bring it out until we’re safe.”

Kobayashi shook his head, but obliged. Placing it in his pocket with the other spike he carried, he looked over to Beaumont and the others next. Braun knew what he meant. With the chopper situation unfolding, it might be time.

“Tell him,” he said. “They deserves to make that call themselves.”

Kobayashi nodded and hopped over to Beaumont’s side. He produced the syringe of Diazapam and offered it to him. A low-voiced conversation followed, one which Braun couldn’t hear. However, the reaction he was clear on.

“No, sir,” he said aloud. “I won’t take it.”

Kobayahsi whispered some word of caution, but Beaumont’s reply was equally emphatic.

“No… Your CO isn’t taking anything to numb himself. Neither am I. I want to be clear too, in case I can help.”

Kobayashi looked at him men. They all nodded their agreement. They looked galvanized, after a fashion. Still shaky and frightened, but possessed of something new and zealous as well. Perhaps their little operation into the woods had put them in mind of what they once were, what they were once capable of.

Braun was forced to smile. He looked at Dezba, across from him, who was slowly beginning to fade. The morphine was taking effect and the pain slowly disappearing. His arm fell to his lap, where the burnt stump was now clear. Beaumont saw it, but didn’t freak out immediately. That alone was something.

“What happened there?” he asked.

“Had a run in with some hungry Whiskeys,” Braun said, giving Dezba’s foot a light kick with his own. “But this tough son of a bitch wasn’t willing to oblige them. Rather cut off his own hand than let them eat it.”

Beaumont stirred uncomfortably in his seat. But he noticed his men looking at it too, and chose to laugh. It was a mighty nervous one, but it seemed to do them some good. In turn, they laughed too. Soon, they filled the cabin with it. It even began to sound genuine after a few seconds.

Only Dezba didn’t join in. Poor fellow was already halfway to a blissful coma.

A loud knock sounded at the rear. Braun’s head spun to look automatically. Whitman was standing there next to Saunders.

“Sir, we got it bagged… but uh…” he motioned skyward.

“Yeah, the chopper,” he said with a sigh. It was a terrible effort to get himself to his feet, but with a little help, he was clear of the cabin and out the rear in mere seconds. He looked skyward and heard the rotors beating the air. It seemed to be coming from the east now, echoing of the walls of the Reservoir canyon.

“Cobb, what’s the UAV say?”

Cobb produced the tablet and put it in front of Braun’s eyes. Sure enough, the Apache’s thermal signature placed directly above the water. The bright light of the fires could be seen just to the left of that on the screen, spreading south of the grassy field and north in the forest line. It was a wonder they had found their way through it. But at the end of the day, that had proven to be the least of their complications.

And only one remained, thought it might prove to be the most complicated of all.

“He’s surveying the field,” he observed. “Probably wondering what the hell we got up to out there.”

“How’s he going to react when he sees us?”

Good question, Braun thought. And an inevitable one, seeing as how they couldn’t exactly sit tight and wait for him to leave. He checked his chrono. The day was spent and their evac would be arriving in a few hours, just enough to get to the exfil site, and that was yet to be determined. With their added numbers, they couldn’t rely on the Skyhooks, nor could they hope to board the AC-130 that would be picking them up on anything other than a proper runway.

All indications pointed to immediate departure and to head straight for the airfield. The only question was, what were their odds?

He waved Whitman over. “Private, it’s fair to say know this vehicle better than any of us. You studied the specs so you could know her inside and out, right?”

“Yes, sir. Dezba and myself, sir.”

Braun nodded to the back of the cabin where Dezba was now fast asleep. “Yeah, well he’s not exactly available right now. So I ask you, what’s that chopper’s loudout and what are our odds of repelling him?”

Whitman looked in the chopper’s direction, shook his head. “I dunno, I saw four rocket mounts, no Hellfires. But that’s more than enough to take us out, it comes to that.”

Braun nodded and raised his hand. “Yes, but what are the odds of us surviving a single direct hit from those rockets?”

“A single direct hit?” Whitman repeated. “You mean, he fires a full spread, only one hits us direct?” Braun nodded. “Uh, not bad. We might lose some armor plating, maybe even the engine. But we might just survive the hit. Why?”

“What about that gun? How many shots will it take him to punch through the chassis?”

Whitman shrugged. “They’re designed to deal with trucks mainly. But he gets a dozen or so good shots in, we’re pretty much done for.”

Braun nodded. That’s precisely what he was hoping for. Without anti-tank missiles, their quarry wouldn’t be able to simply lay off a single shot and destroy them. He would have to stay on them, guiding his munitions and bullets until he was sure they were dead. Just enough time for them to squeeze off some “death from above!” And he was sure they could return fire on him until the missile reached it.

“Alright. Ready for wheels up. Cobb’s your new gunner. He’ll run the UAV from the gunner’s spot. We can’t wait any longer.”

“Yes, sir.” Whitman said with a nod and ran for the cabin, calling Cobb to him along the way.

Braun waved to Saunders just as soon as Whitman was gone. She came to his side and prepared to help him back into the cabin. Braun waved her help away and addressed her instead.

“Corporal. I need to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything, sir.”

“I need you to step up and take the role of NCO. Dezba’s done for the count and won’t be resuming his duties for the duration of this mission which,” he checked his chrono again. “Will be ending in a matter of hours.”

She smiled. “I’d be honored, sir.”

“Good, I can think of nobody better for the job, or to coordinate our dubious extraction plan.”

Her smile faded. “Oh, God, are we really doing that?”

Braun chuckled. “I don’t see a choice. We still got our friends to worry about, and as long as that chopper is dogging us, we can’t ditch the Stryker.”

“Oh boy,” she muttered.

“Just as soon as the Colonel gets here and radioes in, I need you to arrange the alternate pickup we talked about. Your primary job will be to convince her to go for it. You catch me?”

“No guaranteeing she will, but I’ll try.”

“Oh she will,” Braun said, eying the bag in the rear of their cabin. “She doesn’t have a choice either. None of us do anymore.”

Chuck Yeager Breaks the Sound Barrier… Again!

A very interesting anniversary came to pass this past October 14th. It was exactly 65 years ago to the day that pilot and daredevil Chuck Yeager became the first man to break the sound barrier. Yeager was just 24 years old when he made history on that day, and his exploits went on to be  chronicled in the book (and film) “The Right Stuff”. And wouldn’t you know it; Yeager, now 89, chose to make the occasion by breaking the sound barrier again.

But before getting into that, I would like to provide a recap on the events surrounding Yeager’s historic accomplishment. The year was 1947, the Second World War had ended just two years before, and for those old enough to remember, the world was a pretty scary place as Russian and American scientists competed to be the first to break scientific and technological barriers. In this particular race, the US was the first, when from his Bell X-1 rocket craft, Yeager reached a speed of 1126 km/h (700 miles per hour), or Mach 1.06, at an altitude of 13100 meters (43,000 feet).

For many years, Yeager found himself being chased by younger pilots in newer craft as they sought to challenge him and break new records in speed. Never the one to shy away from a fight, Yeager continually outdid them, setting new records for supersonic speed until his eventual retirement, by which time the astronauts were making the big headlines by being the first human beings to make it into space and orbit the planet.

Yeager retired with honors, having earned himself the rank of Brigadier General in the Air Force. And just the other day, Yeager celebrated the anniversary of his historic flight by stepping into the back seat of a retired F-15 fighter that broke the sound barrier at 10:24 a.m. on Sunday.

Check out the video of Yeager’s latest flight below.

More News From Curiosity!

Last weekend, Curiosity began conducting the “scooping” portion of its mission; in essence, taking samples of Martian soil from the area known as the Rocknest, and examining them using it’s array of sensors. In the course of doing so, it came across another interesting find – a series of shiny objects, not unlike the small shard of plastic it had discovered ten days earlier.

However, NASA indicated after a preliminary examination that unlike that shard of plastic, these objects did not come from Curiosity itself. According to John Grotzinger, a project scientist with the Mars Science Laboratory, “As the science team thought about it more and more, the bright object is about the same size as the granules that it’s in and it is not uniformly bright. We went back and forth, and the majority of the science team thinks this is indigenous to Mars.”

One hypothesis is that the specks are natural geologic material that might have a broken-off from larger crystalline formations, known as a cleavage, and became dispersed through the soil. These crystalline minerals are more adept at reflecting sunlight than the soil that contains them, hence why they appeared after Curiosity’s scooping exposed them to Martian daylight.

According to Grotzinger, the next step is to examine them using the ChemCam, “a remote sensing tool that has spectacular spatial resolution, and aim it right on that fleck. Then we’ll aim it on another darker grain and try to decide if it is a different class of mineral.” And that’s just one of the fancy tools it will be employing. Another is the Chemistry and Mineralogy (CheMin) instrument, which analyzes samples of dirt to determine what minerals the sample contains. The team announced at a press conference the rover successfully placed a small sample of soil inside this sensor, and expects results in short order.

Stay tuned for more new from Mars!

Source: Universe Today

Whiskey Delta – Chapter 35

“When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.”

-Edmund Burke

The pain was coming back with a vengeance, but he still had an overabundance of adrenaline to keep him going. Fire at your heels had a way of doing that though. With Mance’s head in one hand, Dezba’s arm in the other, he pushed forward as hard as he could, making for the safety of the unburning brush.

Dezba’s yelling could eventually be heard over the noise of the fire. He was asking for him to stop, but he refused until they were surrounded by cool dirt and trees that weren’t blazing. It took several more efforts, and Dezba’s struggles weren’t making it any easier. He was clutching something too, he could tell.

Finally, they cleared the flames and Braun fell to his knees. Pain and exhaustion overtook him, every last breath spent and the terrible pain spreading through him. And in spite of the flames, he was beginning to feel particularly cold too. Didn’t make sense, but what did at the moment?

He was on his hands and his knees before he knew it. A small blackout, lasting only seconds. He struggled for breath and tried to ignore the inevitable pain of filling his lungs.

“LT…” Dezba cried. Braun took several more breaths. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with, he could feel himself getting choked up. He had laid there and watched, helpless to do anything to help him. And now, safe but damned. He couldn’t bare to look.

“LT, sir!” he repeated. Braun slid his feet beneath him and tried to sit up. He had a good idea what was coming and reached for his pistol.

“Can you hear me, sir?” He was beginning to crawl towards Braun’s left side. Braun looked at the M9 in his hand and thought about using it on himself too. He couldn’t, he knew. Nor would he. But it felt a lot more just than doing his friend, or letting him do it to himself.

“Give me your knife, sir.”

Braun looked up and frowned. Why would he ask for his KBAR? Was he planning on doing this Seppuku style?

“You knife… I need it!”

And then there was his voice. Not weak and hollow, as they all seemed after being bit. He sounded desperate and angry, like his usual self. Braun took a deep breath and turned. There, lying on the ground, Dezba was holding his left wrist, blood streaming from the fingers where the glove had been broken.

Braun moved quickly now. The pain had become irrelevant. Any traces of exhaustion faded like a cloud of smoke.

“What the hell happened?”

Dezba raised his hand and barked in agony. “What’s it look like? They got my fucking hand! They were going for my neck and I had to jam them in their fucking mouths.”

“Shit,” Braun breathed. Smart motherfucker! He was bit alright, but managed to avoid the fatal kind. At least for a few minutes. Braun grabbed his right arm by the elbow and tried to pull him to his feet.

“C’mon! Stryker’s not far. We can have Kobayashi take a look.”

“No time! Gimme your knife!”

Braun looked down at his KBAR. The damn thing was still covered in gore. Even if he torched it, there’d be no way to be sure.

“It’s no good,” he said.

Dezba moaned and ducked his head. “Then get mine. And grab me an incendiary.”

Braun felt a surge of nausea again. The day was proving just a little too much. Rotting flesh, burning skin, decapitations, and now an amputation. When did he become capable of handling all that in one day? But he obliged. He had to.

Dezba’s KBAR was right where it needed to be. He couldn’t get to his stomach in time, so grabbed an incendiary was his own pouch. He came around to Dezba’s front and eyed the shaky, bloody mass that was his hand. His grip around his wrist looked terribly tight. But then again, it would need to be. At a time like this, a man would be willing to know through his own limbs to keep the infection from spreading. That, or the more surgical option…

“You want me to do it?”

Dezba shook his head. His face was growing incredibly pale now. “I can’t let go…”

Braun closed his eyes and nodded. So it was on him. Of course it was. He was the LT. And blood for blood, he owed Dezba big.

“Alright…” he said, positioning the knife like a scalpel. He reached to Dezba’s hand and pulled it across his knee. Dezba kept it gripped, would do so until the very last second. He propped the incendiary next to his foot, at the ready so he could grab it in time.

“Alright…” he said again. “On three…”

Dezba nodded and began to breath real shallow. He nodded with each count…

“One… two…”

His hand slipped from his wrist.

“Three!”

The knife seemed to come down of its own accord. The first hit landed in flesh and stopped at the bone. Dezba let out a muffled scream. Braun raised the knife again and plunged it down harder. The knife cut through bone and tendon and even pierced his thigh armor a little. He raised it one last time and brought it down, severing the other bone and the last of the fleshy attachments. Blood began to spurt and Dezba’s screams flowed freely. He pulled his arm away instinctively and clutched it to his chest. The infected hand fell by the wayside.

Braun’s hands scooped up the incendiary and pulled the pin in one quick flash. In another, he was on top of Dezba and fighting for the stump he just created. With some minor wrestling, he pulled it towards him and attached the flaming tip to the stump.

Dezba screamed through the worst of it. After several seconds, Braun tossed the incendiary in the bushes. He ran and grabbed the infected hand and tossed it in too. He doubted Dezba would want to keep it.

On the ground, Dezba slowed his screams and began to breath deep. For a second, Braun just watched him, stuck in disbelief. The tough son of a bitch. Gave his own hand to be chopped off and then asked for a cauterizing to chase it. He didn’t look too happy, but his odds of surviving had just increased exponentially.

That much was good. And once he got him up and back to the Stryker, they could get him some morphine to numb the pain.

Braun turned around, ducked his head, and finally threw up.

*                     *                    *

Three silhouettes were standing in the field. The smoke had descended on the tall grass and gave everything a very gloomy look. But it was the right kind of gloom, the kind that always followed a terrible, pitch battle. Braun thought they looked comical, but to them, he and Dezba must have looked downright cliche. Two soldiers, one huddled and needing to be carried and the other one limping.

The silhouette with the large rifle raised her hand. Braun raised his right in return, and got another damn stab!

“LT! Sarge!” yelled Mill. The three of them quickly descended as soon as they got a clear enough look at them. In addition to the limping and huddling, they could see the blood and burn marks too. Mill and Cobb grabbed a hold of Dezba and took him off Braun’s arm. They were quick to notice his stump and began making a big deal of it as they helped him along.

“Holy shit, what the hell happened to you?!”

“Jeezus, Sarge. You do that yourself?”

Braun nearly bent in half once he was free, every muscle in his body demanding that he huddle up into a little ball and wait for relief. Saunders was on him too quick though, helping him up.

“Sir, are you okay?”

“Broken ribs,” he moaned. “Might have a hairline fracture too,” he said, looking to his forearm. The pain was creeping up on him, but the extent of it was beginning to feel indicative of greater wounds.

“Alright, hang on,” she put his left arm around her shoulder and started guiding him through the grass. “We’ll get you to the vehicle, get some morphine in you.”

“No! No morphine. I need to stay clear.”

“Sir, you -”

“The Sarge is unable to take command here, and no offense to you, but I’ve delegated authority enough for one day.”

She sighed. “None taken, sir. But if you start passing out, it’s mine to take anyway.”

Braun chuckled, then moaned. Lord knew some morphine would feel great right now. But he absolutely had to stay awake and alert right now, as much as that was possible. He looked to their feet as they walked, spotting the holes in the grass as they moved. Here and there, he could even make out the fallen bodies of Whiskeys. They extended all the way to the treeline, far more than he expected to see. And the majority of them seem clustered right in front of where Saunders and the sqaud had made their stand. An impressive sight.

“You did okay out here,” he said, nodding to the pile of bodies nearest the trees. “You held fast.”

Saunders smiled. “Those were our orders, sir.”

Whiskey Delta – Chapter 34

“Never forget that it is when a soldier is cornered that he becomes more dangerous than he’s ever been before.”

-Major General Michael Thur

The heat entered his helmet like a thousand hot needles. What was worse, he could feel Mance’s teeth digging into the hand he had thrown up to cover his face. Lastly, his right arm was being pressed into his side. He held it tight to is chest to cover his ribs but quickly realized it was futile. Mance’s pressing weight was shoving his elbow directly into the spot he was trying to protect.

Between all that, he was barely aware of the flaming face that was less than a foot from his own. His own yelps of pain were barely audible over the roaring noise of the fire and the pounding of his own heart. He turned his head sideways to see several burning bodies standing over Dezba too.

He had dropped a few as they charged, capped a few more was they fell upon him and he was forced to draw his sidearm. But now he in roughly the same spot Braun was, pinned to the ground. Except that he had at least three Whiskeys to contend with, not just the one. He felt a spike of adrenaline as he realized they would be through his armor faster than Mance could get through his. But there was nothing he could do so long as Mance had him pinned…

He looked back into his attackers eyes. The flesh around them was charged and flaking, but his milky white globes still looked intact. The way he was staring so intently at him again let him know that sure as shit, he could see him just fine.

The teeth were digging in tighter, and chips of them were breaking off against his armored glove. Mance didn’t seem to care. Even if his teeth went to shards, he would dig until they broke through the seal. Braun stopped yelling and began muttering to himself.

“No… not like this. Not like this. Not here…”

Mance bit down even harder and began pressing forward. Their faces were less than six inches from each other now, and Braun could smell nothing but his fetid cooked flesh. He felt another source of discomfort now, coming from his stomach.

“Oh God!” Braun drew a breath through his lips and spat. Directly into Mance’s face. He recoiled just enough…

The butt of his right hand went up and struck Mance in the nose. The broken bridge curled sideways and cleared his left hand too. But Mance was back on him in no time. Damn Whiskeys don’t mind a broken nose, he reminded himself. Both hands were now needed to hold Mance’s neck and keep him at a distance.

But that too was proving futile. Whiskeys didn’t mind pain. And even if they did, Mance didn’t have broken ribs to contend with.

A loud, angry grunt from his right told him sent him looking in Dezba’s direction. The three above him were on top of him, and one of the heads was closed around his neck. Braun felt his heart smash as it became clear that the worst thing that could have happened just did.

A voice screamed. His.

“Aaron! NO!”

His legs were kicking. The pistol in his right hand was going off against the ground, where one had it pinned. Dezba continued to cry out, he crazy bastard fighting it out even as he they were ripping into him. Braun felt another scream rising from h9is stomach, but this onecarried something stronger and better than the last one. The pain in his side and the fatigue in his bones faded as adrenaline shot through him, fury numbing everything but the fire in his chest.

He pulled his left arm over and put it in Mance’s face. This narrowed the gap between them again, but it let him get his right arm free. He struggled to slip it down to his waste, doing his best to ignore the stabs that this was producing. Couldn’t let them stop him now, he was almost there. He felt the reassuring handle at his belt and wrapped his fingers. The angle was awkward, he could barely get a proper grip. And the pain was returning and making it harder.

Fuck you, he told himself. Reach it! His body obeyed and grabbed just enough of the hilt to feel it budge. He reached forward to grab more and gave it another tug. One more and he felt it clear.

Out it came, slicing at Mance’s right side and forcing him to produce  a slight howl. He didn’t seem to mind much, but he sure as hell noticed. He stretched out his right arm, ugly flesh covered in singed fabric to grab hold of it. Braun felt the vice-like grib tighten around his wrist and yelled angrily. They struggled several times, the only communication between them now a series of angry bellows.

Braun looked at Dezba’s feet one more time. His kicking and struggling appeared to be diminishing, his legs succumbing to fatigue. His attacks looked just about done with him.

And there it was, the final surge he needed. He looked at his wrist and began twisting to get some leverage. In his hand, he spun the knife around, aiming the blade downward. It was just about free. He looked Mance in the eye again…

“Nice try, asshole. But your heads mine!”

Mance howled once last time. Braun’s hand got free.

The knife plunged into his neck, all the way to the hilt. Mance’s screams were muffled by the terrible noise of blood and air streaming from his throat. Grabbing his head with one hand and shoving the other into his side, Braun threw Mance off and rolled over on top of him. He grabbed the knife with his right hand and pulled it loose, spun it around again.

He drew it back as far as he could and chopped. Again. Again. Mance’s body shook under the weight of the blows. The knife tore it’s way through flesh and tendon, until the head was hanging by a single knot of bone. Braun breathed hard, but drew back for one final blow.

The head came off clean and Mance’s body fell dead. He turned clumsily to his left, the bleeding head hanging from his fingers. The three remaining bodies that stood over Dezba were the only things that moved amidst the killing field.

He drew his pistol and aimed.

Three shots completed the slaughter. Braun dropped his pistol to his side and raised his left hand. The look in the eyes filled him a funny feeling. He had never seen that look before, even on the faces of Whiskey that lay dying.

It was the look of abject fear, the kind of terror that only filled one’s eyes when they knew with certainty that they were they had been beaten. When they knew they were going to die terribly. Braun raised the head up into the air. Amidst the flames, smoke and terrible heat that was scalding his face, he let out another terrible noise.

He laughed, hard.

It was followed by some words. Teary, angry words.

“I beat you, you undead son of a bitch. I FUCKING BEAT YOU!”

Watch Historic Skydive From Baumgartner’s POV

At this point in time, I’m sure everyone has heard about Baumgartner’s historic space jump which took him from the edge of space and deposited safely him into the record books for all time. However, amidst all the news and footage of Baumgartner’s 38,000 meter/126,000 foot jump, which involved 4 minute and 19 seconds freefall and the breaking of the sound barrier, one nagging question emerged. Where as the footage from Felix’s own chest camera?

Well, as luck would have it, the video was made available just a day later. Naturally, the crews had to access it from his suit, process it and upload it to the internet. With technology being what it is today, people expect things to be instantly available. Yet it seems that some things still have to be waited on. But I think you’ll agree once you watch this footage, a mere 24 hour wait was well worth it. Or in my case, a full four days. My apologies to my followers!

Space Shuttle Endeavour’s 2-Day Drive Through LA

Last week, amidst massive crowds and plenty of photo ops, the Space Shuttle Endeavour made a two day circuit of Los Angeles in order to mark its retirement. This was Endeavour’s 26th mission, the previous 25 having all taken place in orbit of the planet, a full 4671 orbits to be precise! During this time, Photographer/cinematographer Matthew Givot and his team followed the shuttle during the 2-day ‘endeavor’ – a drive that included photo-ops of the shuttle driving past several well-known L.A. landmarks – and compiled the footage into a nice 3-minute video (see below).

Showing the many twists and turns that were involved, not to mention stops for photo shoots and the crowds who showed up to pay their respects, the video concludes with Endeavour being brought into her new home, the California Science Center, where she will remain on display for years to come. Here, she joins such historic air and space craft as the A 12 Blackbird, the Apollo-Soyuz command module, Explorer 1, and the Viking Lander. Exhibitions for the Endeavour are reported to begin on October 30th, and are expected to draw some serious crowds!

On a side note, I have to admit that I feel bad for neglecting to mention Endeavour in any of my previous posts. For months now, news has been coming in about its final mission, but I was so caught up in my own story work and posts about cybernetics and other such stuff that I completely passed over it. I’m hoping this sets things to rights a little, as it would be a travesty if I didn’t acknowledge the retirement of this veteran spacecraft and all its accomplished over the years. Not to mention all the astronauts its delivered home, safe and sound. Good work, Endeavour! Enjoy the retirement, you’ve earned it!

Source: Universe Today, California Science Center

Also, if you want to see more of Endeavour’s cross-LA drive, Robert Pearlman has a gallery of over 150 images at collectSPACE.com, and NASA’s Flickr page has a huge collection, too.

The Future is Here: Insect Biobots!

One small step for man, one giant leap for man-machine interface! Or man-roach interface, I guess! It seems that researchers at the iBionicS lab at North Carolina State University have created a remote-control system to stimulate and steer cockroaches. This report came at the 34th Annual International Conference of the IEEE Engineering in Medicine & Biology Society last month, and represents quite the step forward for cybernetics.

In short, the research team equipped a Madagascar hissing cockroach with a circuit board that connects directly to its antennae. It’s a well known fact that cockroaches, in addition to being nuclear war-resistant, use their two antennas to find their way around. By sending electrical signals to one or the other, they were able to steer the cockroach as it made its way around.

To be fair, this is not the first case of insect cyborgs being developed. In 2009, the researchers at iBionicS unveiled a similar program using remote-controlled hawk moths. In that same year, the University of California, Berkeley, and the University of Michigan presented their collaborate project: remote-controlled beetles! Here, the beetles had electrodes wired into their brains and flight muscles which were used to command them to take off and steer them while in the air.

Interestingly enough, research in both of these latter cases was being funded by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) with the goal of creating remote-controlled insects could go where humans cannot and aid in search-and-rescue or even spy missions. You’ve heard of UAV’s, aka. spy drones, doing reconnaissance, right? Well look out! The next time you see a flying beetle or a hawk moth, you could be on someone’s camera. Smile before you step on it!

And be sure to check out the video below of iBionicS lad testing their remote-control roach steering system.

Source: Discover Magazine

Whiskey Delta – Chapter 33

“The problems of victory are more agreeable than those of defeat, but they are no less difficult.”

-Winston Churchill

Fire before them, fire behind them, Braun thought. And which one would take them before the day was over, he wondered. They would be beating a hasty retreat through the one to the south, but that was assuming they secured their objective and weren’t consumed by the fire to the north, the one which was rising to meet them now.

Twenty meters forward into the bush now, and Mance was still a ghost. Another twenty in any direction now, and there was nothing but burning underbrush. Small flames triggered by thermal charges, sucking in air and threatening to climb the stalks of the nearby trees. Though thick, the orange light was growing, slipping between the cracks in the foliage. Soon enough, the sun would not be the thing lighting the forest floor.

They stopped. Unless Mance had run sideways the second Dezba’s shots went off, there was no way he had made it outside the flaming horseshoe they had created. The flames were well above head height already, and everyone knew that the Whiskeys had a visceral fear of fire. What’s more, even Mance couldn’t have moved fast enough to get outside the blast radius.

Unless he was caught in the blast radius, Braun realized. If that were the case, he would be in serious danger of being burnt to a crisp.

“Fuck me,” he whispered to himself, and slammed his visor shut. Keying the comm, he called on Dezba to do some hazardous duty.

“Sarge, much as I hate this, we’re gonna have to go in there.”

“Sir, are you sure? These suits haven’t’ been heat tested past a certain point.”

“I know!” he replied. “And you’re going to have to shut down your climate control and stick to recirc, can’t risk any outside heat getting in.”

“Sir… with that kind of heat and no AC, we’ll cook inside these suits.”

“Dammit! We’re out of options! Mance is in there somewhere and we gotta find him before every trace of him burns up, including the antibodies he carries!”

Dezba lowered his head, but then nodded and reached to the suits control pad on his left arm. He shuts down his suits environmental controls and gave Braun the thumbs up. Braun did the same, and aimed his weapon directly into the flames.

Braun took a deep breath and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his side. Perhaps that was one thing he could look forward to once they immersed themselves in the flame, a little relief from his broken bones. It was said that one source of agony could quickly make you forget about another… or so he hoped.

They inched forward and pushed through a small cropping of huckleberry. The fire was just beyond them now, not more than ten meters ahead. Already, their visors were beginning to fog a little from the recirculation of the suits air, the dehumidifiers struggling to keep up. And they weren’t even in the thick of it yet. How stupid it seemed, and how unavoidable.

At the end of every desperate ploy, there was always the next, it seemed. What did it say about him that he was constantly the one to be making them? And for that matter, was that the reason why Dezba constantly found himself next to him? He always believed that Dezba was the right kind of crazy, except when he wasn’t. If they were going to take Mance down and make it out, he would need to access that for the both of them. Otherwise, they were right fucked!

Five meters, the flames were a vertical wall, the flames rolling like the waves of a waterfall, but moving ever upwards. Braun looked at Dezba, saw him bracing just as he was. Shoulders back, rifle forward, feet poised apart about a shoulders-width. Any second now, they would have press forward, and they were understandably hesitant. Dezba nodded that he was ready. Braun returned it. His rids were still aching like hell!

He set his left foot forward…

*                    *                    *

“Stryker team, this is alpha? Say again, over.”

Whitman pressed the comm and grunted his frustration. “I say again, the chopper is coming back!”

The rotors were just visible over the tree tops. Whitman couldn’t see the loadout, but it was fair to say it was carrying a good complement of Hydra rockets. They made a real dent when it came to the Whiskey hoards and were far more versatile than anti-tank missiles. That was a bit of a relief, as any of those would make life very difficult for them as soon as their wheels went up!

“We’re engaged and waiting on the LT and Sarge to return. I’ve got no authorization to fire on a friendly.”

“Wait, he’s not even there?!” Whitman demanded.

“Negative. They’ve pursued Pappa Zulu into the bush and are off the squad frequency.”

Whitman let go of the comm and let out a profound “Shit!” He keyed it again. “Well get on the horn with him, we need authorization in case this bird aint exactly friendly.”

There was a sound of popping in the background when Saunders came back. “We’re engaged, hes’ engaged. Look to your own sector and just stay under cover.” Another burst of gunfire. “The LT will be back!”

Whitman let go and cursed again. Kobayashi was monitoring the line and didn’t look too enthused either. “What the fuck is going on over there?”

“Everybody’s tied down,” he replied with a shrug. “They can’t move to help us, we can’t move to help them. Guess we just keep our heads down and pray he doesn’t find us.”

“Right…” Whitman looked to the rear cabin door. Inside, Beaumont and his men were all sitting, waiting, and doing their best to keep it together. The sound of the rotors wasn’t doing them much good either. At some point, it must have reminded them of the last chopper ride they took. But as long as it wasn’t the cracking sound of repeating gunfire or the blood-curdling roar of Whiskeys, them seemed to do okay with it.

Which was good too, because he knew Kobayashi was checking on them. The spike in his pocket was at the ready just in case.

The bird was circling a few hundred meters away, doing its best to keep moving. Clearly, the pilot had been spooked by that missile and didn’t want to hover in any one place for too long. And yet, all Whitman could think about was those damn rockets, not to mention the chain gun it had slung underneath. Thirty millimeter slugs, packed with high-explosives and shooting at a rate of several hundred per minute. The damn thing was made out light armored vehicles. And their Stryker was nothing if not a lightly armored vehicle! Hell, they even designated it as such!

Fuck! This must be how the Whiskeys feel, he thought, and it kind of pissed him off. He never imagined he’d be on the wrong end of all that artillery. And maybe it was just pep pills, but the sight of it was making him mighty nervous too.

He back at their vehicle, considered the obvious and decided to run it Kobayashi.

“What do you suppose the odds are that we could take that thing down… you know, with the M151?”

Kobayashi looked at the gun on top of their vehicle. His head did the bobbing motion that indicated he was calculating it out.

“As far as punching holes in him, she can do it. Only problem is maintaining accuracy long enough. Turrets not designed for shooting down aircraft, too much lateral and horizontal corrections to be made. Plus, we start shooting at him, he starts shooting at us.”

Whitman nodded. “Right, we start shooting, he knows for sure we’re hostile and starts loosing all the shit he’s carrying on us.”

Kobayashi nodded back. “We blow that and our cover, the only two things working for us right now.”

And that’s how it was. The thought of jumping in the vehicle and driving into the woods had crossed his mind too. But in that scenario, assuming they didn’t immediately slam the Stryker into a tree and get stuck, they were likely to get spotted very quickly and shot at too. Why the hell did this all need to happen now, especially when he’d popped just one too many pills? Did the bottle say on the side, ‘may cause irreperable fuck ups to happen’?

He began to curl his left hand into a fist, trying to squeeze out the antsy that was getting to him. There was nothing they could do about their situation, short of waiting. But what he wanted more than anything was to quell what the pills were doing to him. Everything else would be so much easier to deal with if he weren’t so fucked right now!

“What you were saying earlier… you wouldn’t happen to have any Kush on ya, would ya?”

Kobayashi laughed nervously. “I wish.”

*                    *                    *

Braun waved his hand into the flickering mess. To his fore, the flames were beginning to recede around the stalks of the thin trees, but there were plenty of fires beyond that. What’s more, the smoke and haze was filling all the spaces in between. When they dissipated, he only got a few quick seconds of visibility before they closed in again. And on top of all that, he could feel the pinch of the heat coming through his Kevlar. Still, if Mance was anywhere on the forest floor beneath, he’d have seen him.

“Any sign?” he called to Dezba.

“Zero contact!”

Braun waved his weapon into the mass and tried spotting through the scope. Same problem there. Too much heat, too much light. And that was when the haze of smoke was so dense it was impenetrable. And any further in and they’d start heating up much faster. But the floor in front of them was clear.

“‘I’m going in deeper!”

“Sir, wait!” called Dezba. Braun stopped and waited for him to say something more. Nothing came.

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“Listen, sir.”

Braun wanted to reply that that was a bit of an issue right now. With his visor down, it was hard to hear anything outside his suit, and he wasn’t exactly in a position to raise it right now. But he couldn’t. Braun was still holding the damn transmit button down, making it impossible for him to reply.

But then he caught something. A faint noise coming through the helmet.

Loud, pained, and hollow sounding. He couldn’t tell if what he was hearing was the roar of wind, or the roar of a dozen voices.

“Hold,” he ordered. Braun began to scan to his left. Dezba inched up beside him and began scanning to the left. They could see now, to their backs they had a few feet of fire rising. They were within the horseshoe now, though it was closing to form a circle now.

Inside a burning ring. How appropriate.

Braun could it better now. It was rising and coming closer.

“Sir? What is that?”

“I don’t know…” he said, aiming his weapon into what he suspected was the heart of it. “Hold steady…”

And then another sound came. Braun looked down at his stock just for a second. Long enough that he didn’t see the form emerging out of the fire.

“Sarge!” he yelled, and squeezed off a shot. He was hit hard, his ribs screaming in pain again. A second later he was down, the flaming mass on top of him. Many more pushed through moved on Dezba too. He couldn’t see if they brought him down. All he saw was the blackened mass staring down into his visor.

“Sarge!” he yelled again, into his helmet. Hands descended onto his face and began throwing his head left and right. He could just make out the white patches in the face that was staring into his. The same cracked teeth, and a very angry set of eyes…