#aircraft carriers are wild man

[thatsrightice]

THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER ROCK

Saw this video on tik tok and loved it so much. Of course I immediately knew it wasn’t an aircraft carrier, but because I’m me I did some digging on the effects of rough seas on aircraft carriers.

I remember seeing the pitching deck covered in an episode of Carrier, a PBS documentary covering life on an aircraft carrier that I refuse to shut up about. In a previous post I highlighted the effects of the pitching deck on pilots during nighttime carrier landings and just how TERRIFYING they are by adding a video from PBS Carrier episode Rite of Passage. During that episode a pilot had this to say:

Dude, all I know was I was in close and they’re like ‘a little power’ and I look down and saw the ******* back of the ship above me and I was like AHHHHHHH!!!!

But it’s dark and we can’t really see from that one video just how much it’s moving but like holy swear word tumblr won’t let me say!

And it’s crazy because to those below deck it looks a little different. Thanks to the sheer size and intricate design of aircraft carriers, there’s nothing more than a little sway to those on board.

I mean one wrong step and you’ll be hitting something hard I’m sure.

Of course there’s more to it than that. One person stated that you really just had to time when to go up ladders like when the ship falls off of a big wave you’ll kind of float up the ladder. He also had the following to say:

The North Atlantic is a bitch during winter. On the USS Kennedy 1976, in really bad weather, the seas were very rough. The ship turns into the waves, and goes up and down, no “rolling”. I watched 6 sailors, watching the TV in the berthing compartment, rise 4 feet into the air, and fall back to the Deck. no one even moved from the chairs. They were watching the recorded “Muppet Show”. A big hit back then!

Insane.

[radioactive-mouse]

martyn/grian is so wild to me because like. yeah i get that they don’t interact a whole lot but i don’t think i’ve literally ever seen it in the wild. i don’t think i’ve ever even heard a ship name for them or ANYTHING. i am alone in my little sailboat sandwiched between two aircraft carriers labeled TREEBARK and SCARIAN. like not that i’m not also insane abt those two but like NO ONE? NO ONE IS HERE WITH ME? “ohhhh theyre narrative foils 😈” yeah yeah we all know now draw them making out like a man

[la-grosse-patate]

Summary: After one successful expedition, Roger and Isabel land in a safe spot to asses the damage, refuel and admire... the... sunset ☀ Wordcount: 875

If Isabel had any more coherent thoughts left in her brain, they died on that damned aircraft carrier. Either squashed under dozens of pairs of motocross boots and beefed up cars, or pulverized by highwaymen bullets and rockets. And despite the tranquility of their hidden safe spot, the constant sizzling of her abused eardrums only seemed to get worse

With one shaky hand placed atop her still racing heart, she was glad to see that Timber was in much better shape than her.

“A few bullet holes here and there,” Roger’s voice echoed from behind her, where he knelt next to his beloved helicopter, “but nothing La Grosse Patate can’t handle.”

It was good news, right? Sure, she could walk away with permanent hearing loss, but they all made it through. Timber was alright, Roger was alright, La Grosse Patate... Had new ventilation holes, but by the grace of God, they were all fine.

Right?

A light chuckle escaped her throat, though it carried no amusement.

Rush would scold her, give her the ‘I told you so’ speech. Tell her that the risk wasn’t worth the reward. And even though the last few minutes of her mission were a blur, fragments of what had transpired at the lighthouse during her and Timber’s frantic escape were slowly starting to come back to her.

The captain didn’t expect shit to go south so quickly. One minute she was sneaking around, playing deadly ninja, the next she was running for her life with that stupid fucking package. And waiting for Roger to come pick her up felt like the longest two minutes of her life.

Maybe Rush was right, after all.

Still in flight mode, still high on adrenaline, she felt as wild as the sky looked.

Hues of pink and orange graced her tired eyes, and she felt the corners of her lips turn upwards. Happy to see that mother nature still did her thing. It was like she knew just what Isabel needed in that moment.

But as she stood there, admiring the show of colors, stars and clouds, she failed to notice Roger slowly making his way towards her.

“Enjoying the view, captain?”

Her dumb smile dropped from her face faster than Nana’s victims.

Come on, girl.

Scrambling to find two brain cells to rub together, “Yeah, it’s... nice,” was all she could muster before bowing her head in shame and defeat.

As the pilot came to stand in front of her, she felt her neck getting warmer. How he managed to turn her brain to mush in a matter of seconds was beyond her. She was pathetic.

“You did great back there, chérie.”

Suddenly, the sand beneath her feet became absolutely enthralling.

“You should have seen Timber,” she deflected, trying her damned hardest not to let the blush creep higher than the scarf around her neck. “He tore their asses to shreds. Shreds, I’m telling you.”

Proud of herself for finally forming a somewhat proper sentence, she lifted her gaze to look for her canine companion. For a distraction.

But instead of keeping her mouth shut, she opened it again to ramble some more.

“It was a total massacre. Timber went for their faces everytime,” she beamed like a proud mother. “Couple guys even threw themselves into the water to run from him, but I’m pretty sure they met an even worse fate,” she nodded to herself, staring at the ground. “Sharks, y’know?” she elaborated, meeting the man’s eyes to make sure he understood what she meant. “There- there are sharks in the water there and...”

When the puzzled look on his face turned to mirth, and his boisterous laugh filled her still buzzing ears, she felt as if the weight of a thousand aircraft carriers lifted from her chest.

“Besides,” she ventured with renewed confidence, “you did all the hard work. Flying us all the way here, I mean... that’s a lot of unslept hours, and stress, and...”

Roger shook his head, and she shut right up.

“Seeing you kick ass gives me all the strength I need, Isabelle,” he assured her. A gentle smile still tugged at his lips. “And when that truck exploded, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Fuzzy memories replayed in her mind, rewinding to the exact moment she discovered those crates of fireworks and rigged the highwaymen truck that carried them. That was, in fact, a genius move on her part. Funny how she totally forgot she did that.

“En fait, the second most beautiful thing,” he corrected.

Isabel made a face. How dare he downplay her work, her craft and her tactics, when she’d just infiltrated the enemy stronghold, outsmarted the most dominant faction in the region and stole their most precious resources gosh dang it he was smiling, he was smiling at her, why was he smiling at her?

Once her face started flushing, there was no stopping it. And when she felt her ears burn, she prayed with every fiber of her being that the deeper orange shades in the sky did a great job at concealing the color in her cheeks.

Come on girl.

“You know what, I agree. This... sunset,” she scoffed, gesturing towards the view in front of them. “You don’t see this everyday. God really said ‘bless this day in particular’.”

Decided to draw the most simple thing ever to try and get myself back into shape. I haven't touched my graphic tablet in a very long time and my skills have gotten a bit rusty. As for my writing, well... English is not my first language.

Taglist [opt in/out here]: @theelderhazelnut @ravenmind2001 @where-she-went @skoll-sun-eater @thepachy

@whatwouldvalerydo @pnathaniellgsilver @yokobai @silvertonguedelf @josephseedismyfather

@noodlecupcakes @raresvtm @titiagls @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn

[mariacallous]

“I am opposed to war, unless in self-defense.” This was the most-liked comment on Douyin—the Chinese counterpart to TikTok—in reaction to a speech delivered by Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi on Jan. 9. In his address, Wang previewed China’s top diplomatic goals for 2024 and emphasized “the unwavering resolve of all 1.4 billion Chinese citizens to achieve reunification with Taiwan,” a statement made just days prior to the island’s general elections.

The broader reaction to Wang’s remarks likely wasn’t what the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) hoped for: Tens of thousands of Chinese social media users responded, many of them with grievances, sarcasm, and defiance, widely questioning the costs of a potential war.

One man from Shanghai complained, “Who is going to fight the war? If I die, who is going to pay my mortgage or my car loan?” Wang’s speech framed “national unification” as one of “China’s core interests,” but as one user from Hunan rebutted, “[China’s] core interests are that every Chinese can be treated equally and have access to elderly care and health care.” The pushback went beyond economic and social grievances. Some posters were even bolder, suggesting that Taiwan’s democracy may demonstrate a political alternative to mainland China: “The fact that Taiwanese choose their own way of life,” said one commentator from Shandong, “might show that Chinese people can take a different route.”

The mood among social media users is a sharp departure from past elections. After almost every Taiwanese general election since 2016, a wave of pro-war fever has swept the Chinese internet. After Taiwan’s 2020 elections, for example, upbeat war enthusiasts in China produced oil paintings that illustrated wild fantasies of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) capturing Taiwanese President Tsai Ing-wen alive after landing in Taiwan and forcing her to sign an official surrender document onboard a Chinese aircraft carrier—a scene reminiscent of the 1945 Japanese surrender that ended World War II.

In 2021, one of the most popular songs to go viral on Chinese social media was “Take A Bullet Train to Taiwan in 2035.” Its allusion to a high-speed rail line connecting Beijing and Taipei was a dog whistle to nationalist masses who hoped that unification was on the horizon—by force, if necessary.

Absent from these fantasies, however, was the blood and violence that accompanies real war. At the time, China’s star was rising on the international stage, and public confidence was riding high on China’s success in controlling the COVID-19 pandemic within its borders. As such, the sentiments surrounding unification and the use of military force were quite romantic; many people believed that victory over Taiwan would be easy, that the Taiwanese would surrender voluntarily if the PLA simply blockaded the island.

In 2024, however, things have changed. The most recent Taiwanese presidential election—in which the pro-independence Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) won a repeat victory—served as an uncomfortable reminder to the Chinese public that neither Taiwanese politicians nor voters are interested in Beijing’s plans for political unification. Although the forceful unification narrative still exists, any push from nationalists to reignite war fever has now run into a wall of skepticism following the DPP victory.

“Wake up,” one Weibo user wrote in opposition to the broader online calls for forceful unification. “Stop dreaming,” another echoed. The defiant voices are becoming a common reaction to the suggested use of military force to an extent rarely seen, given the massive culture of censorship on Chinese social media.

A clear reason for this change is China’s economic slowdown. While Taiwan went to the polls in 2024, China was grappling with a youth unemployment rate above 20 percent, a housing market crisis with sales down by 45 percent, and a stock market in free fall that lost $6 trillion in just three years, the likes of which haven’t been seen in almost a decade. News about Taiwanese elections failed to arouse the same nationalistic reactions among the preoccupied Chinese public that had occurred in the previous two contests.

Instead, the 2024 elections triggered a flood of complaints: “Sort out our own economy, what a mess.” a Shanghai resident said angrily. “Look at our stock market,” an apparently frustrated investor from Hunan grieved, “It’d be better to keep the status quo, and leave Taiwanese alone.” The gloomy economy has made some commenters question the underlying justification for war: “With low-income people making less than 1,000 yuan a month ($140), and the national insurance tax going up, huge medical bills, and unaffordable apartments, why do you want forceful unification? I don’t get it.”

“It is the economy that really matters,” another person from Tianjin pointed out. “[Taiwan] being independent or not has nothing to do with ordinary people.”

The changing attitudes toward Taiwan’s elections reflect a broader shift in public sentiment in China’s online space. Discontent about the country’s poor economic reality has been growing louder, drowning out calls for a military takeover.

Ironically, the CCP’s own past propaganda efforts contributed to this cooling effect. Right before Nancy Pelosi, then the speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, visited Taiwan in August 2022, official and semiofficial rhetoric in mainland China was so belligerent that it led many Chinese to believe that the day of unification had finally arrived and that the military would shoot down her plane and launch its attack on Taiwan imminently.

This was the peak of forceful unification hysteria, but it only left its crusaders disappointed. In the end, there was not only no shootdown of Pelosi’s plane, but there also weren’t even military exercises conducted before she left Taiwan. Many Chinese, especially forceful unification advocates, felt betrayed and disillusioned by their government’s failure to follow through on its belligerent rhetoric, and the after-effects of this letdown are still being felt today.

During Taiwan’s 2024 elections, war enthusiasts were continuously reminded of Beijing’s military inaction following Pelosi’s trip to Taiwan. “Have you guys forgotten Pelosi?” one said. One commonly repeated joke, observing the lack of military action, scoffed that the only thing that was fired up when Pelosi visited was the stove in her hotel. The kinds of threats that once resonated with nationalists now drew widespread ridicule online: “delusion,” “talking a big game,” “an unrealistic fantasy,” and “all hat, no cattle.”

Meanwhile, at the other end of the Chinese political spectrum, the 2024 election prompted the resurgence of the view among many liberals that Taiwan’s democracy represents a desirable political model. In the early 2010s, many Chinese saw Taiwan as a beacon of hope for Chinese society—a liberal, civic, and democratic alternative to the one-party state. The liberal Chinese writer Han Han coined a popular phrase—“The most beautiful scenery of Taiwan is its people.”—that encapsulated the view of how trustworthy and free a people can become under democracy.

But after the crackdown on liberal intellectuals and online speech under Chinese leader Xi Jinping, the honeymoon did not last long and was gradually replaced by a climate of xenophobia, jingoism, war euphoria, and a longing for unification by force. Making matters worse, a growing nationalist mood in Taiwan led many to believe that Taiwanese looked down on mainlanders.

The 2024 elections, however, prompted a renewed interest from the Chinese public about their neighbor, home to the world’s only Chinese-speaking democracy. News about Taiwanese elections aroused great curiosity on Weibo about the nuts and bolts of the electoral process—what a ballot looks like, how many ballots one can cast, how votes are counted, and how candidates are selected. When a few Taiwanese Weibo users answered these questions, they were liked and retweeted by thousands of Chinese accounts, drawing genuine admiration and blessings from many.

“Are we going to see one day like this?” one user from Gansu wondered with a crying emoji. “Maybe this is accumulating experience for our own future: giving speeches, holding debates, and counting votes,” commented another, from Tianjin.

China’s shifting public sentiment is bound to have repercussions for cross-strait relations, but it would probably be a bridge too far to infer that the Chinese public will fiercely oppose a war in the Taiwan Strait. Ultimately, the nationalist base remains. At present, the euphoria about forceful unification is quieting down, mainly because the party’s over-the-top propaganda failed to meet the expectations of its most ardent supporters. But if aggressive rhetoric were followed by military action in the future, war fever could be easily fanned again.

Despite the prevalence of extreme nationalism, Chinese public opinion is more divided on Taiwan than it seems, and these divisions are only likely to increase. What concerns most ordinary Chinese are decent jobs, good income, accumulating savings for retirement, and getting affordable access to health care and housing.

So long as the economy is struggling and people’s livelihoods are threatened, there is no guarantee that the CCP’s attempts to exploit nationalism will work; quite the opposite, it could be faced with plenty of pushback.

[pollyna]

notes more than anything else. (half mine and half @redhead-writes 🫶)

- Post mission de-aged Bradley, nobody knows about icemav even if they're married, and baby goose goes and calls Mav paps! and Ice dad! like 0.3 seconds a part in front of the whole fucking entire squadron;

- And maybe he de-ages to a moment when Carole was already starting to be sick, spend a lot of time in the hospital so Baby Goose was at home with Ice while Mav was in deployed and he finds himself on the carrier and Ice isn't anywhere to be seen and panics because papa papa where's dad why Dad isn't here? and everybody believes he's talking about Nick and Mav doesn't know what to do because is back is killing him but he doesn't want to let Bradley go;

- Mav literally has to pick him up because he's six and he wants to be hugged by his dad and he's wearing too big clothes and what are we playing at?

- Baby Goose is little but the carrier is full jets and be can't contain himself from pointing around and screaming "ARE THOSE PLANES? DID DAD FINALLY GET US ALLOWANCE TO FLY? DID YOU FINALLY CONVINCE HIM PAPA???" and, in the same sentence,"DID WE PAINT THE HELMET TOGETHER PAPA????"

- All in all, Bobby is the first one to get out of shock. He knows Maverick must be injured. So he talks with Bradley, introducing himself and how papa is a bit hurt, so Bob will be his own personal carrier for today. Promises that they will stay close to Maverick. Javy is next to get out of it and commands others getting food and juice, and maybe some kid clothes and tries to ask, very gently, which his Bradley's favourite food without making him noticing that they're taking Mav away;

- Natasha is inventing wild stories about dragons while he cuddles between Jake's arms, because he looks comfy, and everybody else's is there just looking out for him. Bob is the one with Maverick mostly because he seems to know if someone doesn't take the man to the infirmary, he won't go;

- there's then the small matter of Hondo calling Ice, who's in Washington D.C., and the moment his voice is on the other side of the phone Bradley doesn't hear anything else and starts crying because dad dad where are you papa is hurt please dad come to take us home. Ice is shocked. This sounds like their Baby Goose when he was little, and he can't think about Hondo pranking him on something that important. Especially when he doesn't know anything about Mav yet. So the man is on the first plane to his husband and son. It takes hours, and Bradley ends up sleeping with Mav and eats terrible pancakes cutted by little jets because Yale is that good with plastic knife and fork. And then he has this kid who's not taller than his knees that looks at him like he's his whole world and calls him dad and hugs him and oh oh god baby goose it's all okay, it's going to be okay;

- You look old dad. Were we separeted for so long?, baby goose asked, when they're both sitting by Mav. Papa looks old too, he has a lot funny lines over his face, but his voice is the same. Yours isn't what I remember it was! How could we be separated for so long? My stomach hurts so much when I think we dowhen I think we were apart! It's okay if you or papa can't take me up on your shoulder again, I still love you but please please I don't want to miss you anymore! Mav finds them like that, Bradley on Ice's lap, both of them crying softly and hugging each other. We're together now baby, everything's gonna be okay, papa and dad are here he murmurs kissing Ice's forehead and messing with Bradley's curls. We're going to fix this and when you'll be big again we're going to fix it all, I swear;

-It takes the aircraft five days to get back to coast and all the barracks are too small but the captain leaves the three of them his quarters and they sleep half on the floor and half of the bed, cuddling with baby goose and Mav feels like he's thirty again and nothing got wrong again. Ice kisses him a little harder and the whole world discovers them but it has so little relevance because, even if just for a little longer, they just want to enjoy what life gave them;

- Being ashore, with a kid between his arms and his husband's arm around his wrist, is probably one of the strangest sensation Mav ever felt. He dreamt of it for years, every time he was back from deployment and Ice had to wait him home because not even taking Bradley with him could justify their reaction. But now he has it all and they're going home;

- They fall asleep in front of the TV, dinner forgot on the table a couple of feels from them, baby Goose cuddling between Ice and Mav's chest. The next morning Bradley is back to being himself, and his first reaction is to run because that's Mav and Ice and he supposed to be resenting them but he can't move. Doesn't want to, at least for a little longer.

Loosely inspired by this fic.

[unearthlyfromage]

The Costs of Our Hubris; Chapter 3 "Bones and Skin" Out Now!

Shoutout to @trangenderstan, my co-visionist and who I owe this entire thing too, really. This AU wouldn't be the way it is today if it weren't for him.

Read it on AO3 here

Or read it below the cut!

Skittering up buildings and slinking through the shadows of alleyways, an intense gaze peered through every gap and crack of old sturdy walls. He was stalking for another one in a derelict market, a cesspool, a melting pot of neighboring planets all outpouring resources to sell for the highest bidder.

The place reeked of alien meats and vegetables and cheap jewelry, he could smell it all through the large gap between his closed jaws. The closest Stan would ever get to closing his mouth for his teeth were in the way.

All for naught, Stan was beginning to realize, as he couldn’t see nor taste any filth in the surrounding area. There was no stench of guilt or pen ink, nor any wild brown hair or large cloaked humans. He’d been at this for months, yet he’d only snuffed out a few dozen of those six-fingered bastards. They’re getting smarter.

Scoffing in disgust at the wasted time, he turned his direction forward from his hiding. He made his form known to the crowds, a curled and twisted figure standing taller among most as he approached the wall of living beings, watching them all part and scramble in fear the moment his clawed and deformed feet disturbed the chaotic river they’d amassed.

Glaring at them all with disinterest and disgust he paid no mind to their frantic chattering in hushed cowering tones, the shining sigil of Cipher on his clothes reminding them to stay away should they have a single coherent thought.

Stopping at a rarities stall, his neck snapped to the cowering shopkeep, the many-eyed man low and away from his table. Sneering at him, he turned and slammed his hands on the rickety old wood, claws tearing deep marks in the grain as he leaned in close.

“I want that.” He growled, pointing to a golden 8 Ball. Gulping down the heart in his throat, the man tore his eyes away from Stan to glance at it, though it wasn’t any longer than a split second, that’s usually all it took.

“F-Fifty, for that.” He stuttered, slowly holding his many hands up to try and calm him. Growling, he reached out to grasp his clothes, dragging him up and through the gap in the table to slam him against the post. Stan got close to his face as the shopkeep yelled in his panic, every inch of him trembling. “Yer payment is your life. Fairtrade?” He grins, and the man nods as he laughs airlessly, gasping and choking on his breath as Stan drops him.

Expression fading to a sneer he watched him scramble back into his hut of a pop-up to grab the ball, setting it down and thanking him profusely. Taking them Stan quickly moved on, stopping to shake it and watch the liquid slosh around, chuckling at the simple Maybe?’ it gave in response. Surely he’d like another one, especially one as shiny as this.

Stuffing it in his bag as he continued forward, ripping into and scavenging every shop of interest until he had about ten or twelve little trinkets of varying shapes sizes, and origins.

Without any other needs, he lumbered to an open rift and crawled through it, leaving a ravaged and panicked market behind him.

It took him a small while of random rift portals to reach where he wanted to pray.

This world was a cold and empty one that he knew well, a scrapyard for abandoned aircraft on a planet doomed to rot uninhabited thanks to the radiation. He liked to stay here often, his own home away from home. Digging his claws in titanium hulls to drag himself up and through the refuse, he stood on top of the hulking carrier to scan the skyline to find his spot.

The rotting and rusting materials underneath his marred and mangled feet groaned and cracked under his weight. He was gone by the time it would’ve caved, jumping and lurching from crash to crash steadily ascending a monstrous mountain, one of the last remnants of the actual ground beneath the refuse, sometimes weaving his way through openings and through ship to ship in a practiced rat crawl to reach his favorite piece of garbage to rest in.

Feet digging into the flesh of the ship that peeked over a cliffside, he swung back and forth to build his momentum before letting go and grabbing at the edge of a spacecraft so high up and embedded in the mountainside he was in line with the mint green clouds. Sighing in contentment as he pushed himself up into his ‘house’, he walked in and smoothed a blackened hand over the cold walls, humming happily.

He meandered his way through, passing by old and desecrated corpses of all manner of beings. Bounty hunters, mostly. People that would come here to try and find him, and the unlucky bastards that did would never leave this derelict planet. All of his most enjoyable chases happened here, times where he’d bob and weave on the ceilings and walls snatching them from above when they’d least expect it, mimicking the sounds of their comrades when all was quiet and dark to watch them get closer before finally realizing something was off, always far too late. His favorite chase was a unique circumstance, one had gotten away. It was the one he wanted the most.

He knows for a fact that six-digited rat will never forget him, even if he did squeak away by the skin of his teeth. He had him by the neck, to the wall, he could feel his heartbeat in the pads of his fingers as he squeezed. If only the rest of his crew were dead, he would’ve gotten everything he wanted out of that rush.

Turning a corner he walked ever deeper into the ship, the further any natural rays of light became the more the walls began to glow, Stan had long since coated the place in bioluminescent plant matter. Be it sap from the planet's weird and warped trees or the various other plant life still surviving on a planet so irradiated. He could see in the dark, but lighting it up made it feel more.. homely, in a way.

Eventually, the metal walls gave way into rock-hard dirt, Stan having hollowed out a cave for praying in. Setting his bag down on a pile of bones, he began to carve new symbols to join the countless others that littered the walls and ceiling, whispering an incantation he knew better than English at this point. The sound echoed and warbled around the room, he didn’t stop etching symbols until he ran out of room, collapsing in the center on a carving of his God as his chanting grew in intensity.

His eyes rolled into the back of his skull as he belted what sounded like gibberish to anyone who didn’t understand. His body contorted as his limbs stretched out, yelling love and devotion for his creator as the bones shook and tremored, begging to come home, pleading for his aid in ode Stan's words garbling through coughs as he hacked up a black, viscous liquid, pooling and squirming and bubbling as the bones raised gently in the air.

Spiraling into a circle on the wall, the liquid burning a trail upwards to stretch and fill the void within, a spark of light bursting from the middle as orange light cracked the black tar and spider webbed outward, shards falling to reveal a portal of bleeding intense colors, the orange and red hues of his true home basking him in its light as Stan finally slowed to a silence, sitting there to sunbathe in the impossible dry warmth emanating from the rift.

Getting his fill, he rose to stand and lumbered over to the bag, grabbing it with a trembling hand as he turned to walk inside, the rift fizzling and shorting out soon after.

The room fell back into its desolation, the bones falling to the floor with hollow thumps, some dry enough to crack and shatter.

~~

They had lost yet another one.

A horrible crime scene awaited the small party of five that descended from the ship to do a welfare check on one of their researchers, a Ford tasked with collecting sap samples for adhesives in their projects.

Standing there in the quiet one-man research station, the red smears along the clawed-up walls and floors and ceilings growing thicker around the site of the body made a chill run down his spine.

The scene was quiet, and anything but serene. Walking through it was a tense dread he would never get used to. The lights along the walls buzzed and flickered, still dull and dim from within. It was a stark contrast to the frantic, clawed-open hole in the side of the building. The odd and colorful forest outside is a stark contrast to the grim murder within. Purple trees have grown into woven patterns and spiraled upwards topped with teal and cerulean leaves, samples this Ford had dedicated his past year to studying. Turning to look down the hall at the lumps of torn-up human meat sprawled on the floor, lifeless and red, he couldn’t help but call that year a wasted effort.

The place was haunting. The conical dome shape of the main room was left marginally untouched by the carnage. There was no struggle, Origin would call it vandalism more than anything else. Destroying books and carving symbols and runes into the walls - incantations that needed further research. Raising the camera with limp hands he took photos, the others doing the same in the other rooms. The only footprints - if he could call them that, the claw markings looked more like hands or a bird’s talons than anything else - were ones leading outside. So either this thing cleaned up and returned to ruin the place, or it had done it before killing him. It's unlikely, given it was clear this one hadn’t even taken his gun out.

It was a growing addition to this creature's Modus Operandi. Rarely, if ever, does the victim get a chance to react past realizing what’s happening to him. Staring despondently at the footprints, he leaned his nose against the dull red fabric wrapped around his neck, eyes narrowing.

“It came in from up there.” One of the members of the small five-person crime scene analysis group piped up, a Stan, one of the very few they have on deck that likes to get more involved. Turning to face him and up at the open AC vent, he hums in acknowledgment.

“Didn’t notice that before. Good eye.” He walked closer to the center of the dome, looking up to peer through as much of the vent as was visible. Dents and claw marks are vaguely highlighted by the small lights dotting the ceiling. It seemed big enough for a person to fit through if they were fine with confined spaces and didn’t have too much mass.

Judging by how the insides looked twisted and bent outwards, he’d guess one of those things wasn’t quite the case.

The Stan, Jellyfish they call him - a comedic nickname that didn’t fit the tall imposing figure, face set hard. “I think we should cut our losses and get out, just in case it comes back anytime soon.” The man wanted to get out of here just as much as Origin did, and he couldn’t blame the want.

Walking along the destruction, nothing was done for a strict purpose. The crunching of glass under his boots and the breeze against his back from the open hole were sensations he could do without. Looking up again at the vent, paranoid more than anything else, he noticed the steady red flashing of the base’s security system. “We could try the cameras?” He turned to look at Jelly and the others he’d been talking to.

Glancing at Origin, he hummed. “They’re always corrupted. So says R, at least.” He turned his gaze to them now, eyes staring squinting in scrutiny at the idea. “Unless these have audio, it wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

Cursing under his breath, he shook his head. “Go grab the feed.” He demands with some air of leadership or power, digging his hands in his pockets. “I have a feeling about this. If it’s a wasted effort we’ll call this one inconclusive just like all the others, and never come back. How is that?”

He could hear Jelly scoff and walk away without another word, but Origin wasn’t looking at him, instead analyzing the disfigured handprint on the wall. The outline of something that was once human, if the shape was anything to go by.

It burned a pit in his stomach, gulping uneasily. His face stayed hardened and expressionless, but he couldn’t stop the uneasy sensation in his gut, the broiling and rolling feeling of discomfort that clawed its way up his throat and made a home in his skull. These scenes made him feel nostalgic, in ways he could never place and didn’t want to think about.

Instead, he turned heel and walked towards the body, arms wrenched tight to his back as he looked down at the mangled figure of himself. The smell was pungent, and the first thing to hit him, but beyond that was the damage done. Torn open and vivisected violently, face torn up and disfigured, the hands were missing. All of these deaths were so personal, so angry, and targeted.

He had a horrible feeling for what or who this could be, and what its intentions would be.

“We have the footage,” he could hear Jelly say somewhere beyond the hall, “we should be going. The people from the medical wing said they would bury the body. Come on boss.” Origin's face tightened at the nickname. He wasn’t his boss, not traditionally at least. He held domain over the prison cells and nothing more.

“I’m not your employer. Don’t call me that.” He leaves the body behind, his navy trenchcoat stained purplish at the ends thanks to the still-drying puddle surrounding the body.

Leaving three of them down on the planet for burial left a foul taste in Origin's mouth, they still didn’t know for certain whether or not this monster was gone. Though if it was still lurking, he had high doubts it would’ve let them romp around inside taking samples and photos and analysis of the crimes.

They sat in silence, waiting for the pod to dock in place and once it had, they gave each other a stiff nod and headed for the hull, their voices chattering in various conversations. It took a while to get used to being surrounded by himself, even if none of these cosmic clones were exactly like him.

Staring up at the large, wide robotic figure standing in the center of the steering column, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I hope you’re done spending quality time with the ship, I require your assistance if you don't mind.”

At first, there was no response. But he knew damn well R heard him. He heard everything in this ship, he WAS this ship… at least in part, when he was docked and controlling it. A synthesized sigh left the robot, relaxing from his stiffened ram rod pose to turn and face him, the only indication that he was looking at him was two LED orbs flashed up on the panel of his face.

“Yes?” his tone was bored, the deep mechanical imitation of a man's voice as he descended the steps and stood opposite him, staring down at him in a cold foreboding manner.

“I need you to watch this footage and tell us what you find.” Origin showed off the small drive, and while R gave no verbal response, he stretched out a metal six-digit hand in emphasis for him to hand it over. “If this is another disappointment, I will refuse to watch anything else you give me.”

“I assure you, this one has promise.” Huffing, the metal man pushed aside synthetic hair to plug it into an empty slot at the base of his neck, staring down at the floor. “Fine. Then you will watch it with me.”

The cameras behind his LED screen, the closest one could compare to eyes, lit up and cast a projection on the metal floor of the ship. Standing up straighter, he tinkered with the opacity and volume, before allowing it to play. Keeping his distance from R, he watched as the researcher, a Ford that hadn’t chosen a unique nickname for himself - most that opt to research off ship didn’t bother - sat there writing down his report for the day.

He remembered that being their first tip something was wrong. They always reported something every day, even if it was just a personal status report. A confirmation they were still alive.

It was normal, for the day-to-day of a research base, and R fast-forwarded until something changed. Stopping at the small squeak of the vent grate opening, Origin was surprised it did have sound.

He leaned in to try and look at what emerged, but it was the same thing it always was. A distorted and fizzling, popping black shape. Stray particulates fade away and ooze off the footage itself.

They weren't quite sure why it was this mass of particles, like a burning singe in an old reel, creating negative space. But they knew it wasn't normal. R had equated it to radiation particles, and seeing it in motion Origin was inclined to agree.

It watched him, whatever it was, and waited for him to get up and walk out. Now alone the thing chuckled to itself, a low and distorted gruff sound that was hauntingly human. It sounded almost familiar, which served to unnerve all the more.

Watching further, it skittered down the wall like a spider, waiting over the doorway for him before finally choosing to strike, jumping him and goring him in the hallway. The sounds of his screams and this things distorted laughter were loud, loud enough for Origin to cringe and press his face into the old fabric of his scarf, closing his eyes. R was kind enough to pause it immediately, rewinding to play the laugh again.

“Something familiar, in that laugh.” He mumbles and stops sharing to play around with it, distorting it further until he plays it again.

Through the static and distortion, the altered and squealing of his screaming and the contorted squishing and ripping, the noise made the baby hairs at the nape of Origin's neck stand on end, there was a sound objectively scarier.

It was once warm and inviting, a comforting hug in verbal form. A sound of nostalgia and sleepless nights together as children. A familiar and frequent sound among the ship's walls. Though it was mangled and bastardized, wrong and distorted, it was unmistakable. It's that gruff, loud bark of a laugh.

Stanley.

[draco-the-voiddragon]

I just had a really crazy dream last night.

I was at work on trash duty, but our office was a weird aircraft carrier boat launch on a mountain lake. My supervisor, who has a really quiet raspy voice (chain smoker), was yelling at me from a dozen yards away while piloting a gondola at the start of our shift.

I had four wings for some reason and we had to go down a cliff to start collecting trash. The supervisor (Let's call him Leroy) opted to RAGDOLL DOWN THE CLIFFSIDE WITH THE GONDOLA! I glided down safely.

Upon starting to collect trash, we found a park where some laser fight broke out resulting in several singed stumps. A boy in a family nearby had his hair slightly burning, so I went and put it out with a bubble of water. I then made another water bubble and pulled out a straw for him to drink. His mother thanked me and said the boy would find a way to muddy it.

At the end of the dream, a man with brass knuckles made of dynamite jump scared me with a fist to the face. That was 2 hours ago from the time I write this (8:25 PST).

My circadian rhythm kicked in and I woke up from the grog. I hate that my dreams can be so wild yet end so abruptly, but it's nice sometimes.

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE WILD BLUE YONDER!

Lucy & Aviation

Thanks to Orville and Wilbur Wright, the world became a smaller place and travel by air become as commonplace as train or car travel. Lucille Ball and her many characters had lots of reasons to take to the ‘friendly skies’ - here are just a few. 

Orville and Wilbur Wright were inventors and pioneers of aviation. In 1903 the Wright brothers achieved the first powered, sustained and controlled airplane flight; they surpassed their own milestone two years later when they built and flew the first fully practical airplane. The Wrights were mentioned several times in the Lucyverse:

Olin Howland (Mr. Skinner in “First Stop” 1955) ~ As a young man he learned flying from the Wright Brothers.

“Speech for a Civic Organization” (1949) ~ Liz intends to speak about the Wright Brothers, despite her favorite husband’s objections.

“The Good Years” (1962) ~ Orville and Wilbur were mentioned in the special starring Lucille Ball and Henry Fonda.

“Swing Out Sweet Land” (1970) ~ Rowan and Martin played the Wright Brothers and Lucy voiced the Statue of Liberty in John Wayne’s TV special celebrating American history.  

As a busy radio, film and television star, Lucille Ball was constantly photographed boarding and disembarking from aircraft. 

1930′s ~ Young model Lucille Ball holds a model airplane for a photo shoot. 

May 1938 ~ Publicists created fascinating and completely untrue backgrounds for Hollywood stars. In this article, Monroe Lathrop claims that Lucille Ball was a skilled aviatrix who shot crocodiles while flying over a jungle river. 

“On a visit to Colombia, Lucille, avid for new adventure, went with friends Into the jungle, meeting a flood that had swollen the streams and overrun the banks with huge crocodiles. Instead of heeding the natives' warning, Lucille went to wireless station, ordered an airplane and rifles, and spent a day pumping lead into the big green saurians. Natives rewarded her with a generous helping of crocodile steak later.”

Five Came Back (1939) ~ Nine passengers from all walks of life and a crew of three take off from Los Angeles, bound for Panama City, but a sudden storm blows them off course and causes the plane to crash in the Amazon jungle. Lucille Ball played passenger Peggy Nolan. The B film helped Ball launch an A list career.

1940s ~ Lucille Ball posing in a biplane cockpit.

June 1943 - Newspapers reported that Jimmy Cagney had christened a B-17 bomber named The Lucille Ball. After it was scrapped due to battle damage, a second bomber was christened The Lucille Ball in 1944. 

A Woman of Distinction (1950) ~ Lucille Ball appears in a cameo as herself, a jet-setting film star, in this Rosalind Russell / Ray Milland film. 

“Return Home From Europe” (1956) ~ To get back to New York in time to play the Roxy, the Ricardos and Mertzes fly home from Europe, rather than go by ship. Unable to whittle down her luggage allowance, Lucy is intent on smuggling a cheese aboard, disguising it as a baby. 

There are establishing shots of Pan American World Airways (PAA) President Clipper Service. The Clipper in the insert shot is named Bald Eagle. There are two insert shots of Pan Am aircraft: one taking off, and one in mid-flight. The DC-7C (nicknamed “seven seas”) first entered service for Pan Am in December 1955 and was dubbed “the zenith of piston-engine technology.” Pan Am had 27 DC-7Cs flying during 1956. By 1958, jet travel began to overtake propeller airplanes.

The interior of the aircraft was recreated on the Desilu soundstage. The PAA logo is visible on blankets and tote bags, items provided by Pan Am for the use of their name and images of their aircraft as well as possible other promotional consideration. 

“The Ricardos Visit Cuba” (1956) ~ While in Miami, the gang flies to Havana to visit Ricky’s family. 

The gang once again flies Pan American Airways, the same carrier they took home from Europe.  The airline folded in 1991.  

As with their previous flight, there is an establishing shot of the plane in the air and the interior was recreated on the Desilu soundstage. The set is basically the same one used in “Return Home from Europe”.  It also features PAA branded promotional items. 

“Lucy Goes To Alaska” (1959) ~ The Ricardos and Merztes fly to the brand new state of Alaska, where Ricky and Fred have bought some land and Ricky is doing a TV show with Red Skelton.  Although the action is set in and around Nome, the second unit footage was filmed in Lake Arrowhead, California, about 100 miles from Hollywood. The exteriors were done with doubles and none of the regular cast left their newly-purchased Desilu (formerly RKO) Studio. 

To get from Westport CT to Nome AK, the gang first flies United Airlines, then transfers to Alaska Airlines. There is establishing footage of both planes in mid-flight.

The set features a couple of travel posters for Alaska Airlines, enticing viewers to visit the 49th state for tourism. In the second half of the hour, a small propeller plane is introduced to rescue Red and Lucy from a blizzard.  

RED: “What’s that blue stuff?” ESKIMO PILOT: “Sky.” LUCY (To Red): “You act as though you’ve never seen sky before.” RED: “I haven’t. I live in Los Angeles.”

The plane is buried in a snowbank. Lucy pays an eskimo pilot $100 to fly her and Red to safety. 

While the plane in the snowbank was filmed in the Hollywood studio, the safe landing was done at Lake Arrowhead using actor doubles. 

“The Ricardos Go To Japan” (1959) ~ The final time we see the gang airborne is on a trip to Japan. Although there is a poster for Japan Airlines (JAL)  in the airport...

 According to the establishing footage of the jet in mid-air, the foursome travels  on United Airlines.

The Facts of Life (1960) ~ The film about two marrieds flirting with infidelity has Kitty Weaver (Lucille Ball) waiting at the airport where a United Airlines jet can be seen on the tarmac in the background. 

“Mr. & Mrs.” aka “The Lucille Ball Comedy Hour” (1964) ~ A comedy special in which Lucille Ball plays the head of a studio trying to track down Bob Hope to star in a show about husband and wife television stars. The first half concerns Lucy's tracking the elusive Hope all around the world. In San Francisco, there is establishing footage of a jet landing which was supplied courtesy of TWA, a carrier that went out of business in 2001.  

“The Victor Borge Comedy Theatre” (1962) & “Lucy Flies To London” (1966) ~ The unaired pilot for an unsold comedy anthology series hosted by Borge featured a sketch starring Gale Gordon and Lucille Ball as two strangers on a plan. 

It was filmed before “The Lucy Show” paired the two as a comedy duo. In the pilot, the characters were strangers. Gordon played a businessman and Ball a neurotic first-time flyer. 

When it came time for Lucy Carmichael to fly to London for the special “Lucy in London”, the writers realized they could recycle the script from the un-aired pilot for “The Lucy Show” episode. The dialogue is nearly identical, now with the added context that Mr. Mooney and Lucy are boss and secretary.

“Lucy in London” (1966) ~ An hour-long special set in England and filmed on location. The sequence involving Lucy de-planing from the Pan Am clipper jet had to be accomplished in between flights already on the tarmac at Heathrow. No planes were available to be grounded for a day of shooting. Coincidentally (or perhaps not) Pan Am was also the carrier when Lucy Ricardo flew home from Europe and from Miami to Havana on “I Love Lucy.”  

“Viv Visits Lucy” (1967) ~ To greet her old friend, Lucy meets her at the airport, where a backdrop shows jets on the tarmac. Lucy looks up and sees Viv’s flight approaching. 

LUCY: “Oh, look! Someone’s hanging out of the plane. It look like Viv!” PILOT: “That’s the landing gear.” LUCY: “Oh.” 

“Little Old Lucy” (1967) ~ When the 90 year-old president of the bank (Dennis Day) is in town and needs an escort to the bank’s banquet, Lucy is volunteered.  Lucy and Mr. Mooney meet him at the airport, where jets can be seen in the background. 

“Lucy and Carol Burnett: Part 1 & 2″ (1967) ~ Lucy and Carol Tilford (Carol Burnett) sign up to be flight attendants, then put on a variety show celebrating aviation. They are employed by the fictional Globe World Airlines. 

Instead of asking bachlor GWA VP Mr. Brenner if he would like coffee, tea or milk, Lucy says “coffee, tea or me”!  Earlier in 1967, the book Coffee Tea or Me? was published. It was the alleged memoirs of two stewardess and their romantic and sexual escapades in the air. The popularity of this book may be the reason for this episode.

Frustrated by Lucy and Carol's bungling, Mr. Brenner (Rhodes Reason) says “Is this any way to run an airline?”  The line gets a huge reaction from the studio audience. In 1963 a National Airlines TV commercial featured a flight attendant asking “Is this any way to run an airline? You bet it is!”  In 1966, singer Tom Paxton wrote and recorded a song with the same title.

In Part Two, their musical salute to aviation features Buddy Rogers and Richard Arlen, stars of the very first Academy-Award winning motion picture Wings (1929), a movie about flight. Coincidentally, on the same day this airline-themed episode premiered, the supersonic Concorde was unveiled in France. Also on this date, newspapers announced the crash of a twin-engine plane in Madison, Wisconsin that killed recording star Otis Redding and six others.   

The revue ends with “The Army Air Corps Song” with flight attendants and college boys perched on the wings of a bi-plane. 

“Lucy and the Great Airport Chase” (1969) ~ Filmed entirely on location at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX), Lucy and Harry get caught up in chasing down spies. Part of the chase takes them onto the tarmac with the jets. 

A Douglas DC-8-52 of United Airlines is on the right and Douglas DC-8-54AF Jet Trader of United Airlines Jet Freighter is in the background.

“The Carol Burnett Show” (1969) ~ In a sketch, Lucy and Carol play flight attendnts and Harvey Korman plays a mysterious passenger with a Fidel Castro-like beard, cigars tucked in his breast pocket, and a Spanish accent. When this episode was aired, hijackings were in the news. 

“Lucy, the Sky Diver” (1970) ~ Trying to show her kids how dangerous their hobbies are, Lucy jumps from a plane!  Although there is second unit location footage of the plane and Lucy floating down on her parachute, Lucille Ball remained at the studio with a recreation of the aircraft and a simulated parachute. 

“Lucy, the Part-Time Wife” (1970) ~ Lucy and Harry go to the airport to meet an old flame of his (Carole Cook). The airport background shows jets on the tarmac. 

“Lucy Helps David Frost Go Night-Night” (1971) ~ Lucy takes an assignment accompanying David Frost on a transatlantic flight so that he can get some rest. Thanks to Lucy, his flight is anything but restful!  The first class section of a 747 was recreated for the episode. 

The jet seen in the stock footage of the airport is a Pan Am Boeing 747 with an upper deck first class lounge.

David Frost reckons that he has taken 346 air trips or traveled 1,853,000 miles!

Mame (1974) ~ At the end of the film, Auntie Mame waves goodbye to Patrick, has she flies off to her next adventure. 

“Lucy Gets Lucky” (1975) ~ Although Lucy Collins took the bus to Las Vegas to see her favorite star Dean Martin, at the end of the special she flies off into the sunset with him on his private jet. Dreams come true! 

[cksmart-world]

SMART BOMB

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

January 9, 2024

GOV. “SMILEYFACE” COX TRAMPLING OUT EVIL DIVERSITY

In a stunning and heroic reversal Utah Gov. Spencer “Smileyface” Cox came out against decency (DEI) because, he said, it's “bordering on EVIL.” The move is nothing short of brave because in years past he has hailed decency (DEI) as a way to bring people together. “It's about kindness and love for our fellow travelers.” But that was then — now he's calling for universities to “disempower DEI bureaucrats, responsible to no one, who have turned campuses to laughingstocks.” Laughingstocks for god's sake! This, of course, has nothing to do with the presidents of M.I.T., Harvard and University of Pennsylvania getting skinned alive before the special congressional inquisition regarding the blatant elitism of colleges and the DEI movement to put minorities and queers in charge of just about everything. The Republican Party is sick of pandering to people who advance only due to their female gender, color, and gender identity. Now, the GOP is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. This DEI stuff is even worse than CRT (critical race theory), where small white children are taught to hate themselves. Sure, disemboweling people at televised congressional hearings is never pretty but we have an election coming up and a democracy to defend — at least until Trump is elected.

GET YOUR ASHES SPREAD ON THE MOON — FOR REAL

People can get hung up on where their ashes should be spread after cremation. Some folks just say things for conversation sake, like: “I want my ashes spread on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland.” Strangely enough, people really do get their ashes dumped at Disneyland. It requires something like an E Ticket. Other popular places folks get their ashes spread include Yellowstone, Glacier National Park and the Grand Canyon. And now — you guessed it — you can get you ashes spread or dumped, as the case may be, on the moon. United Launch Alliance in conjunction with Astrobotic are planning to launch ashes to the moon, despite objections from the Navajo Nation that it flies in the face of their spirituality. “Máíí’ Hosh,” as the moon is called in Navajo, is their spiritual guide and protector. The tribe has protested to NASA, but the space agency apparently has no jurisdiction over lunar ash spreading. Regulations seem to be sorely lacking up there. Imagine you're a Navajo and you seek guidance on your journey of self discovery only to look up and know that white man has messed everything up again. The CEO of the space-ashes project put it this way: “We do not and never have let religious beliefs dictate humanity's space efforts." Well, there goes the neighborhood.

VIDEO: GOD GAVE US TRUMP

God is looking down on the Earth as the video opens with this narration: "On June 14th, 1946, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, 'I need a caretaker.' So God gave us Trump." No Wilson, we are not making this up. It's something North Korean dictator Kim Jung Un would produce to remind his countrymen how great he is. "God said, 'I need someone to wake up before dawn, fix this country, work all day, fight the Marxists, eat supper, then go to the Oval Office and stay past midnight... So God made Trump." It could be a skit on Saturday Night Live. But this is no joke — it goes on for another 2 minutes and would make Moses blush. "I need someone… who can make money from the tar of the sand [and] turn liquid to gold.” At a rally in Madison City, Iowa, last week, God's caretaker said this: “I could tell you about the elevators on an [aircraft] carrier and they decided not to use hydraulic like the John Deere tractor, they decided to use magnets... to lift up the elevators with seven planes.” he said to the crowd. “Now all I know about magnets is this, give me a glass of water, let me drop it on the magnets, that’s the end of the magnets. Why didn’t they use John Deere... Do you like John Deere? I like John Deere.” God really does work in mysterious ways.

Post script — That's going to do it for another frigid week here at Smart Bomb where we keep track of the chill factor so you don't have to. Don't worry, spring is only four or five months away. Speaking of chilling, Republicans are very good at bending the English language to their benefit. “Tax and spend liberals.” “Let's go Brandon.” “Stop the Steal.” Here's are the newest words to go through the GOP's twisted connotation machine: diversity, equity and inclusion. Who could have predicted that “diversity” would become a nasty word. Of course, we've known for a long time that the Republican Party is not a hotbed of diversity. But now they're saying it out loud. It's the Civil Rights Movement in reverse. And their habitual projection seems to be at work: “DEI is just another name for racism.” Translation — if you support diversity you are a racist. Next we may see folks in white robes and conical hats burning crosses. Two steps forward and one step back. Or is it one step forward and two back. “This is the beginning of the end for DEI in America’s institutions,”said conservative activist Chris Rufo. Here at Smart Bomb we prefer a quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. “Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”

Hey Wilson, how about you and the guys in the band serve up something upbeat that we can sing and dance to. You know, a nice, little ditty to put us in a good mood so we can face the rest of January. We've got the Wolf Moon coming up a little later this month, so take it away:

Well, it's a marvelous night for a Moondance With the stars up above in your eyes A fantabulous night to make romance 'Neath the cover of January skies And all the leaves on the trees are falling To the sound of the breezes that blow And I'm trying to please to the calling Of your heart-strings that play soft and low And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush Well, I wanna make love to you tonight I can't wait 'til the morning has come And I know that the time is just right And straight into my arms you will run And when you come my heart will be waiting To make sure that you're never alone There and then all my dreams will come true, dear There and then I will make you my own And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside And I know how much you want me that you can't hide One more Moondance with you in the moonlight On a magic night In the moonlight On a magic night Can't I just have one more dance with you my love

(Moondance — Van Morrison)

[redeyedroid]

Read a soldier's account of war and fear is an ever present. Be it Peter White's With The Jocks, where his almost every move is preceded by the fear of the unknown German, and where an unnamed Scottish infantryman compares the night before an attack to that of a condemned man - the difference being that a condemned man lives the experience but once. Or in George MacDonald Fraser's Quartered Safe Out Here where the author describes standing alone in front of three bunkers, his sweat turning to ice.

These are obvious examples of fear in war, but it manifests in different ways. One is obsession with the enemy's equipment. In With The Jocks, every German artillery piece, every shell, is automatically referred to as an '88' after the famous anti-aircraft gun that the Germans also used as an anti-tank gun. It had been used to devastating effect against British tanks in the deserts of North Africa and entered into the obsessions and fears of the British. And so, White calls everything an 88, no matter that they had been far less effective in Normandy than Libya.

Or there's the famous Tiger tank. Every German tank was a Tiger to the men on the other side. It's gun could destroy the Allied tanks it opposed at 3 or 4 times the distance the guns of Allied tanks could penetrate it's armour. It didn't matter that in Normandy in 1944 there were never more than 80 or 90 Tigers in service at any given moment, or that tank-versus-tank combat accounted for approximately 6% of the shells fired by British tanks. The fear of being trapped in a burning tank, at the mercy of a big cat was there. And it has remained ever since.

Wars are won by stuff. Having more guns and tanks and planes, in the right place, and keeping them supplied and operational. If you want to go really wild, you can say that there were no decisive battles in the Second World War - that is to say no engagements that fundamentally changed the outcome. It's why there's a famous maxim that amateurs study tactics, professionals study logistics. It's why Eisenhower listed the Jeep and the Dakota in his list of things that won the war.

To digress, this has been in evidence for nearly a year in Ukraine, where an ostensibly much more powerful Russian military has struggled to keep it's forces supplied and reinforced in the face of a smartly organised and led Ukrainian defence. For politicians in general, and autocrats in particular, military spending is best used on big, prestige projects like aircraft carriers, or tanks, or fighter jets. Not much in the way of cool photo ops to be had beside cargo planes, no matter how essential they are.

The Allies understood. Their tanks were reliable, easily fixed and maintained. They were transportable. Sherman tanks, made in Michigan had to be moved by rail, loaded into ships and moved thousands of miles. They could drive over a Bailey Bridge (secretly one of the greatest innovations and solutions of the war).  In the final months of the war,  the US introduced the Pershing and the British the Centurion, the first battle tanks of the Cold War, modern, balanced, powerful tanks, but with earlier designs the Allies prioritised the logistical, operational aspects of their tank designs at the expense of protection and weaponry.

The Germans did not make such compromises. The Tiger was a massively inefficient, fuel-hungry beast built by a nation that was chronically short of oil. It was heavy - too heavy for most bridges and roads - and so it had to be transported by rail. Only it was too wide for rolling stock, so the tracks had to be taken off and replaced with narrower ones for travel. The later model Koenigstiger used the same engine, but were tons heavier and thus much, much slower. Many examples of the preposterous Jagdtiger self-propelled gun were destroyed by their own crews after they broke down or ran out of petrol.

A fearsome weapon on the battlefield, but expensive and unreliable off it, the Tiger was a massive headache and there were never enough of them available. Of all it's variants, the Germans made about two thousand vehicles. The Americans made forty thousand Shermans. The Soviets another forty thousand T-34s. The Wehrmacht remained largely horse-drawn in the final year of the war, while Allied forces were fully motorised, long convoys of truck and planes keeping their forces supplied and organised when and where the Germans could not.

But the Tiger lives on in the imagination, because of the fear it generated among Allied soldiers. Because logistics and reliability and big-picture thinking mean fuck all to a man in a tank about to break cover and who knows that if he's in the wrong place at the wrong time, the 88mm shell from a Tiger will kill him long before he gets any opportunity to return fire.