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US Forest Service guide to partially or totally obliterating a horse carcass with explosives

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so i downloaded an oblivion overhaul so i can get more hair options for my character but uninstalled it immediately cause it did this to the emperor

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Tomska going hard on Twitter again.

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Last Flight

The moonlit sea slid by beneath the two Meteors. It felt to Collins like they hadn't seen anyone for hours, but they didn't have that kind of flight time. Every so often the crippled engine sputtered, he felt the plane slow, watched the altimeter bleed the height he was trying to save for the glide, precious feet slipping into the sea like his fuel.

He and Davies had gamed it out on their channel together in the first few minutes after they escaped the blockade, trying to weigh their options and what might have happened on the Island, what might have happened to the relief fleet, where they might go now. Even on a full tank they'd never make it to Papua. Illustrious had to be somewhere in the Philippine Sea, that was certain, far out of reach dueling with Kaga-- or else she and her escort were simply sunk. Flying to her, they would run out of fuel somewhere south of Taiwan and get shot down by Japanese patrols.

The only thing for it, they had decided, was the Philippines. The Americans might throw them in jail, might hand them over to the Japanese, but then they might not. Assuming no leaks, they would run out of fuel a few kilometers north of Luzon, and then they could drift in, make a belly landing on some beach or even land on an airstrip if they could make contact with someone.

It was about the best plan they were going to get.

Speaking of making contact, he decided to try again, flicking his comms to the distress channel for ships. He took a moment to steady himself, then spoke.

"Mayday, mayday, emergency. Survivors from the siege of Hong Kong flying southeast, bearing 1-3-0 toward Luzon. Insufficient fuel to reach land; engines damaged. If any League of Nations or friendly ships are receiving this transmission, please respond. Repeat, emergency, crippled RAF fighters request assistance, en route from Hong Kong to Manila, running out of fuel. Please."

Tenser than ever, he listened for a response. Static. Listened some more, hoping to catch some semblance of speech in the static, and nearly jumped with excitement to hear a human voice until he realized it was Badger. "We might get some shipping traffic, but that's it," he commented, not chastising his friend so much as commiserating. "And it'll probably be Japs."

"I know. Right now-- if I spoke it well enough I might ask them for help too."

"They'd shoot us."

"Maybe." They flew on.

The comment stuck in Collins' mind more than he liked. He thought of Campbell, stumbling back to the Island…the rest of the squadron, left behind, surrendering to the IJA. Would they be shot? Sent off to a prison camp in the interior?

"We wouldn't have to worry about it if Control had done its job." Badger broke his despairing reverie, and anger flared to replace it. This was all down to command incompetence-- incompetence or malice. His fist clenched against the lever thinking of it for the first time since they'd fled. Shattered wrecks strewn on the airstrip at Von Seeckt with his comrades still inside, James' plane blossoming into a ball of fire, Parker sinking under the waves.

He hated that bitch in the red planes. Sylvie Dorn. He had read her file over and over in the brig, burned her face into his memory. He didn't care what Jaeger was like, that he seemed to have a shred of honor-- he had a murderer in his command staff, as far as Collins was concerned, and she would pay for it.

But she only killed James, didn't she.

Adlai. He'd made them stick it out over Guangzhou, he'd refused to send them more fighters over Hong Kong, kept the ceasefire from them too.

He'd killed them all.

He'd pay for it too.

Not that Collins told Badger any of that. His wingman would never rat on him intentionally, but they'd probably be questioned, and having murderous intent toward your former air controller would raise red flags. He just took a breath, tried to calm himself, let the death grip release. "Yeah," he finally radioed back. "They really fucked up bad."

"…anyway. How's your fuel?" Better to get back on survival.

"Little more'n forty. I don't think my fuel lines got hit-- the black squadron's commander, I charged him and it spooked'em. I'll probably make it over land."

Though he couldn't see it, Collins shook his head. "Yeah, you're doing better than me. And that wasn't their commander. It was a stand-in. Whoever it was probably wasn't used to leading so many planes."

"Eh? 'ow you know? Maybe he was just off 'is game."

"Because the black squadron is the first of their wing. Schwarze," he muttered it like a curse. "Their commander was the thief who stole my plane."

Davies whistled. "One 'ell of a trophy. Pilots are a mess without a commander, they teach the Russians that, they say. Kill the head of the snake and the rest falls apart."

"…I hope Temple is having a better time of it than that," Collins finally said, after a long silence. They could see the island at this point, black against the black sky, and yet-- Badger was doing much better than him. Twenty gallons in his tank would be generous, and as Collins stared at the fuel gauge it seemed to drop visibly, ticking away his life, ticking away the time Temple Squadron had a deserter for a commander instead of a dead commander.

The broken engine sputtered again, the airframe shook around him, he sank a few dozen more feet. "I might make it with the glide, but I might have to ditch in the water. We'll see."

"Right."

He made another distress call, but the two pilots didn't say much more to each other. Even when the engine 'ran,' now, it didn't want to put out the same kind of thrust. The speed indicator kept dropping, the altitude indicator, the fuel indicator, all ticking down, grains of sand in an hourglass as Luzon crawled closer.

Maybe thirty klicks out, the pierced engine stopped for good, then the other a few moments later, as the last of the fuel burned up or dripped into the sea. "Fucker. I'm out. I think there's a beach…a little south of our bearing?"

Badger took a deep breath on comms, steeling himself. "I see it. Are you going to try and ditch there?"

"No better options, are there?"

"No." The second pilot hesitated. "I'll bring help back. I still have a ways left to go."

"Yeah. You've been gimping your speed to stay with me too."

The less-damaged plane and its pilot separated from Collins, and started to accelerate, banking away to the south where the lights of a city gleamed. "I'll be back. Really. Even if you're dead I'll be back."

Collins didn't respond. And now he was alone. No men to protect, just his own skin.

They'd practiced engine-out landings, but this wasn't that, there was no runway. He was just falling out of the sky. He pulled the plane into a glide configuration, didn't bother but to glance at the altimeter now, just watched the sea and the strip of sand loom up to meet him. He wasn't going to make it. There would be no leaving a trail screaming onto the beach, he was going to skip across the water like a rock and his plane would shatter and sink and none of them would know what happened to him. God.

An instant before his borrowed Meteor hit the waves, Collins wondered if Davies would make it to an airstrip. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the canopy splintering from the impact.

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cunt

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IJN Musashi at anchor outside Hong Kong. The landmass visible in the background is the Dapeng Peninsula.

Note the forward trim of the patrol boat near her funnel. This was the vessel that carried an envoy from Hong Kong Governor Mark Young, supposedly to negotiate evacuations; Japanese sailors later reported that British emissaries explained their boat's trim by saying it had a leaky hull prone to taking on water. In fact, it was loaded with several tons of high explosive. Shortly after Musashi engaged her cranes to take the enemy boat on board, it exploded, damaging her upper decks, destroying the long-range comms antenna and several anti-aircraft guns, and causing the turret at her stern to list to one side. The damage looked more serious than it really was, and initial observers reported that the armored portions of the hull had been damaged, as well as the primary superstructure. In fact, the flagship remained seaworthy and capable of combat— though in an extended engagement such as the British Exile leadership had planned, the damage to her main guns and AA complement would no doubt have left her vulnerable to further attack.

Some historians speculate that the bombs were supposed to explode at the waterline, which, judging by the damage that was done to the battleship's more lightly armored upper decks, could have inflicted a wound necessitating immediate repair and possibly even one that would sink the ship. Alternately, penetrating the stern turret's magazine and causing a secondary explosion could have broken the ship in half.

Besides the pilot and purported British negotiator, both of whom were killed by the blast, seven Japanese sailors died instantly and twenty-six were seriously injured. Of those 26, one was the ship's captain and commander of the overall blockade fleet, Admiral Mineichi Koga, who had left the bridge to meet the negotiators. His injury, and the reluctance of Vice Admiral Shigeru Fukudome to order a retaliatory bombardment, kept the fleet immobilized for over an hour before Admiral Koga's passing.

— Extract from The Imperial Japanese Navy, 1918-1948, by E. Herbert Norman

Original images

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it me

Fratricide. Two Meteors ratefight above a bay in Hong Kong during the Japanese blockade. In the background, over the beach, a flight of Schwalbes chases another Meteor. Oil on canvas, 1944.

Original landscape, original planes

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this sentence makes me feel like a fucking lovecraftian protagonist hearing some alien keening sound and feeling an instinct older than mankind kick in at the basal ganglia telling them fight, kill, rip or tear or run--this is something inimical to you, to life itself, this is what the ending sounds like. Your Wholesome Obsession With Wumpus. this is my fucking jason bourne activation phrase i read this and came to with bruises underneath my fingernails and a czech bureaucrat's windpipe lodged between my teeth. Your Wholesome Obsession With Wumpus. that's what's written on the gates of hell

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man this is like the worst year for tech and websites

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Yoooooo!!!!

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I love driving at the exact speed limit and having speeders behind me get frustrated. i will get to my destination when I get to my destination and so will you. im teaching you patience right now. you should be listening & learning.