If they take away the guns…

Murder rates go down, right?  Or so the anti’s claim… There was one interviewed on Fox last night who, predictably, said words to the effect that we need to ban only some guns, e.g. ‘assault weapons’. His pedigree, if you will was that his daddy was a gun dealer, and he’s shot more guns than most people, and doesn’t see any use for ‘assault weapons’…

Well, Mexico has one, count ’em, ONE legal gun shop in the entire country. So their murder rate should be negligible, right?

Well, not so much…

Mexico marked another murderous milestone in its conflict with organised crime as the monthly homicide rate hit its highest level in 20 years.

Government statistics showed that 2,186 murders were committed in May, surpassing the previous monthly high of 2,131 in May 2011, according to a review of records that date back to 1997.

Mexico recorded 9,916 murders in the first five months of 2017, roughly a 30% increase over the same period last year.

Full article, HERE. From the Guardian no less!

By comparison, the US murder rate with guns for 2014, the last year ‘collated’, was just a tad over 10,000 murders FOR THE ENTIRE YEAR. And our country has roughly THREE times the population of Mexico.

Now we all know most of those murders are cartel types killing ‘somebody’ that crossed them, but there are occasions where the local vigilantes get some of their own back. But of course, that doesn’t count! Sigh…


Anybody interested in a short Novella???

A little over 18K words…

Originally written on spec for an anthology that is now not happening. So much for my luck… sigh

Anyhoo… Navy centric, San Diego area, in the middle of Calexit, after it becomes real.

One Year Later

Vice Admiral Matt Clayborn, Commander, Third Fleet, winced as he heard and felt a very large explosion. It rattled the windows in the office, prompting cheers from the staff that echoed down the hallway in the old administration building at NAS[1] North Island. The snatches of conversation he heard meant somebody had finally tried to access the bunkers at Coronado. Obviously they hadn’t succeeded. He thought, I’m just glad Rita isn’t here to see this. She called herself a California girl, loved the beaches…

It didn’t seem like it was only a year ago that Calexit had finally happened. Everybody said it was much ado about nothing. Except it wasn’t, when the reality of the split hit both sides. But we buried her in Louisiana, in the family plot. And Cherie and Lester are both well clear of this mess. Thankfully. Trying to get dependents out of this mess was almost as bad as trying to extract the recruiters. Try them as war criminals, my ass!  

Cali’d put up check stations at all major roads going out of the former state the first week, originally manned by state law enforcement personnel, but that had migrated in the last year to the Brownshirt Brigade, a quasi-official militia that more and more seemed to be made up of what used to be known as illegals. Except the term illegal was now only applied to the American military personnel still in California at MCAS[2] Miramar, North Island, 32nd Street, and MCB Camp Pendleton.

The first military personnel and bases to be evacuated had been those at Point Loma, where the subs were based. They had pulled out a week after Calexit in the middle of the night. SPAWAR[3] had been next, moving the scientists out of the facilities at the airport, bayside, and topside. He’d been directed by Chief of Naval Operations to abandon his compound at Point Loma, and relocate to NAS North Island the next day, effectively ceding all of Point Loma to Cali. The Marines had closed their San Diego boot camp, pulling everyone up to Pendleton in a quick, quiet, night move.

Next had been the Air Force, eight or nine months ago. It was hard to remember, considering all the riots that had occurred. Travis, yeah, Travis was the first base that got overrun. They’d salvaged most of the airplanes, but lost all the spares and facilities. Beale and McClellan went next, but they’d already evacuated most of their personnel and spares. He didn’t know about Edwards, other than they’d emptied it sometime around then, too.

He’d ordered the F-18s at NAS Lemoore flown out to the USS Nimitz, sent down from Bremerton to pick them up. The C-17s and C-2s had gotten all the spares and extra equipment out before the fires started, and most of the dependents had made it out. They said the Navy started the fires, but the Brownshirts, now known as Brownies were seen in the hangar just prior to the first fire starting.

The first incident in San Diego had been at the Navy Exchange and Commissary at 32nd Street five months ago. He’d interviewed two of the survivors, one young sailor from the Exchange, “It was like a horde of locusts Admiral, they just kept coming and coming. Security went down in the first rush, I saw them getting beaten with clubs. The men were grabbing good looking women and girls and… and… Well, raping them right there. Beating those that didn’t cooperate. The women were taking anything they could get their hands on. TVs, shoes, jewelry, clothes. They didn’t care what the men were doing, and I heard a lot of Spanish yelling back and forth, but I couldn’t understand most of it. We got some of the women and a few kids out the back door, and called security as soon as we saw what was happening.” He remembered the anguish on the young sailor’s face as he’d continued, “They got Danny, he… was the last man defending the door. One of those fuc… assholes hit him with a machete. That was the last thing I saw.”

The wife that had been at the Commissary told a similar story of brutality, mostly by the women, who swept the racks clean of food in what seemed like a matter of minutes, beating anyone with clubs that stood in their way. She too had survived by going out the back loading dock and running.

San Diego PD had been called, but refused to assist, saying it was federal property and they could do nothing. By the time Security had gotten there, they too were overwhelmed, and the Marine Ready Response had to come all the way from North Island, basically in time to pick up the pieces. Fifteen dead, at least thirty rapes reported, millions of dollars of lost merchandise, and both buildings lost to fire.

He’d called General Ericson at Pendleton, who had mobilized the 11th MEU[4], sending them down to set up a perimeter around the housing areas, and helping patrol the main shipyard across Harbor Drive. He’d also bumped up the number of Marines at North Island at the same time.

The Secretary of Defense, along with the service chiefs had decided to pull out all the civilian dependents after that, which really caused the next stage of the escalation against Americans left in Cali. Moonbeam, Cali’s leader, had put a policy in place that only allowed military and dependents out with what they could physically carry themselves. Cars, motorcycles, boats, trucks, moving vans had been confiscated and ‘reallocated’ to the ‘needy’ under that ruling. There had been the shootings on I-80 at the border, the first when the Air Force sergeant refused to give up his vehicle and walk his family across the line in the snowstorm. They’d killed him, his wife and three kids, just mowed them down with a Ma Deuce they’d procured from one of the state guard armories.

The Marines at 29 Palms had made a run for it about four months ago, managing to get across the river at Parker before the Brownies had time to react. They’d blown through the checkpoint in column, leaving eight dead Brownies, and a flattened checkpoint behind. They got not only their military equipment, but most of their own vehicles and families out, too. There had been more fires on bases after that.

The military south of LA had it a bit easier getting their dependents out, General Ericson at Pendleton had called up his Mexican counterpart and they’d agreed on a plan to cross at Otay Mesa after a feint toward San Ysidro on I-5. It had been quite the convoy, over six hundred vehicles of various types, escorted by tanks and up armored Humvees and shadowed by Cobra gunships in the middle of the night. The conga line had swung east far enough to pick up the Miramar dependents, then west to pick up the North Island and Coronado dependents. There had been some sniping, mostly random shots, but there had been six deaths, including one four year old little girl, the daughter of two Marine officers.

At the border, the Brownies were smart enough to stand aside as the convoy thundered across, then turned east following Federal Hwy 20 toward the Arizona border. The Mexican Marines did a fuel stop just west of Mexicali, giving everyone a chance to get out and stretch, and take a bathroom break, in addition to gassing up anyone who was short of gas. It had taken them three hours to get there, and it would take another three hours before the last vehicle pulled into the base at Yuma.

Captain Stephanie Jeans, an F-18 pilot with VMFA[5]-232 at Miramar, had been notified her daughter Mandy had been shot and killed during the escape while riding with her husband Paul’s mother. Her CO[6] had authorized her to fly to Yuma, where they had buried her daughter with full military honors. Two weeks later, silently vowing revenge, she’d returned to Miramar and duty, as her husband flew back to Okinawa and duty with 31st MEU. Paul’s mother, who had been living with them, went to Dallas to stay with her sister, and deal with Mandy’s death.

The Cali’s had tried turning off the water and power to the bases, but the Navy and Marines were self-sufficient. They had managed to cut the phone lines to the bases, but once again the military had plenty of communications equipment, and its own satellites, so it wasn’t a great loss, other than those who were addicted to Facebook and surfing the web.

He’d directed COMSURFPAC[7] and SOC[8] to relocate to NAS North Island, too. He’d sent all the ships up to Seal Beach to onload all the weapons they could carry, just two weeks before Point Magu and Point Hueneme had been ceded after they’d evacuated all their personnel.

The admiral wondered if he really regretted allowing the SEALS to, as they said, leave a few surprises for the looters in San Diego. With a sigh, he punched the intercom, dialing Captain James’ extension. After a couple of buzzes, he heard, “Captain James, how may I assist you, Admiral?”

“Mike, can you come down to my office please?”

“On the way, sir.”

Two minutes later, the wiry, five foot nine, slightly grey-haired captain, dressed in the SEALs version of multicam, walked into the admiral’s office, “Sit, Mike.”

Captain James sat on the couch as the Admiral got up and ambled around his desk to lean on the front of it, “Was that the ammo bunkers I heard go up a few minutes ago?”

“Yes, sir. We wired them to go sequentially. That should have taken care of a few of those assholes.”

“Mike, they…”

The captain waved his hand, “I know, Admiral. I know. They used to be Americans. Or maybe not. I’ve been sending out teams every night and most of the ones we’re seeing aren’t, well, let me rephrase that, the pieces we’re seeing, may or may not have been former Americans. They aren’t Americans anymore.”

“What have your folks seen around Point Loma?”

“Well, those people have finally got a chain mostly across the harbor mouth out there. So, technically, we’re trapped in here. Except that we can blow that thing in about ten minutes, anytime you tell us to.”

“I’m worried about the ships at Thirty-Second Street. Apparently there were a couple of mortar rounds lobbed in there last night, or at least that’s what they think it was. The Marine guards did a counter battery fire on it and hit the top of an apartment building a half mile from the gate. The Brownies tried another probe from the NASSCO[9] pier, but the Marines pushed them back pretty handily. I just don’t know how much longer…”

Captain James shrugged, “Good riddance. Those bastards…”

Admiral Clayborn pushed himself off the desk, “Mike, do I need to relieve you? I know you lost Trish and Mike Junior, and God knows I would do everything I could, if we could bring them and the others back, but I can’t. But I don’t want you to commit a massacre either.”

Captain James came slowly to attention, tears rolling down his face, “Admiral, do what you think is right. It was bad enough to lose Trish and Mikey to those bastards, but to have them broadcast their being beaten to death real time was… was… It should have been me! At least I’d have taken a few of those… Ah, fuck it Admiral, maybe you do need to relieve me before I go nuts and go charging down the Gas Light District shooting everybody I see.”

The admiral put a hand on Captain James’ shoulder, pushing him gently back down on the couch, “Dammit Mike, I need you. We’re the last outpost out here, and you’re my senior combat commander on the Navy side. I know how your folks feel about you and I know they’ll follow you anywhere you lead. I know you have been leading some of those recons yourself.”

“Lead by example, Admiral. Wasn’t that what you said when you took over Third Fleet?”

Admiral Clayborn sighed, “Yes, I did,” he smiled ruefully, “Hoist on my own petard, aren’t I?”

“We’re SEALs Admiral. If I can’t lead them, I don’t need to be in charge of them. Our code lays out a pretty simple mantra we live by every day. Loyalty to country, team and teammate. Serve with honor and integrity on and off the battlefield. Ready to lead, ready to follow, never quit. Take responsibility for your actions and the actions of your teammates. Excel as warriors through discipline and innovation. Train for war, fight to win, defeat our nation’s enemies. Earn your Trident every day. I’m just trying my best to earn that Trident every day.”

“Okay, Mike. Just, just do the best you can.”

“It’s all I know how to do, sir.”

“Are you going to send a team in again tonight?”

Captain James nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Give me a body count as soon as you can, I’ll need to alert the Pentagon. I know Moonbeam’s people will be screaming.”

Captain James came to attention, “Aye Aye, sir.”

Admiral Clayborn waved him away, “Thanks, Mike.”


      Admiral Clayborn walked slowly back to the beach cottage that was now his home, nodding to the Marine security guards that patrolled the beach as he passed them, deep in thought. He sat down in one of the beach chairs and watched as the sun set into the Pacific Ocean as the ready duty destroyer cruised slowly off the beach. An hour later, he finally got up and drove back into the office, which was thankfully quiet, except for the duty officer and watch team. Pulling up the daily briefs from the four stars in Hawaii, he reviewed them again, looking for a way out of the situation they were in. As the only American units left in Cali, he didn’t know which way to push, or how far. Concerned about what Captain James had said about the Brownies blocking the harbor, he drafted a quick personal message to COMPACFLT[10] at Pearl Harbor requesting permission to sortie one ship a day in and out in order to keep the channel open. Balancing that against the fuel available meant he had about a month before some serious decisions had to be made.

A young Navy commander stood at the door, “Admiral? Sir, I have Captain James’ report,”

“Thank you Commander, I’ll take it. Sorry, I was lost in thought there.”

Handing the report over the commander said, “Not a problem sir. Will there be anything else?”

The admiral glanced at the report and nodded, “Please send the duty yeoman around. I need to get a P-four out to the CNO[11] on the latest casualties.”

[1] Naval Air Station

[2] Marine Corps Air Station

[3] Space and Naval Warfare Command

[4] Marine Expeditionary Unit

[5] Marine Fighter/Attack Squadron

[6] Commanding Officer

[7] Commander, Surface Force Pacific

[8] Special Operations Command

[9] National Steel and Shipbuilding Co.

[10] Commander, Pacific Fleet

[11] Chief of Naval Operations



9 years ago this week, I was out ‘playing’ at working in Hawaii…

Or at least that was what I was accused of…

The only problem was, I’d been here the week before… Bonus points if you recognize this place…


I was bored. And being jet lagged by 13 hours, staying awake in the hot sun becomes a slight ‘issue’… And you can only sit and watch helos take off and land for so long, and swat so many bugs…

I’m in the one on the right, in the LEFT seat (in other words, I wasn’t driving) and was being cussed by the gent in the red shirt… LOL

One does see some ‘strange’ things when you’re out over the waters off Hawaii…

This was not only strange, it was ‘stupid’…

That was an idjit on a jet ski, quite a few miles out of Honolulu, and yes, that is a submarine on the left side of the picture.

When the scope turned and ‘looked’ at the jet ski, I think it scared the driver, because he turned around and hauled ass… We called it in, but I’m not sure what ever happened to him.

Answer to the pic at the top below the break-

Continue reading

Where do we go now???

We were talking yesterday about the current ‘trend’ in the media and country. It’s been ugly since November, and has only gotten worse…

There is no question Trump is a existential threat to not only the deep state, but the loonie left et al and their hangers on, the free cheese crowd, and those that suck at the .gov tit…

Throughout history, grandiose visions of world-altering consequences have motivated political assassins. Gavril Princip’s June 1914 rendezvous with Archduke Ferdinand in Sarajevo is a horrifying example.

Despite the historical track record, until James T. Hodgkinson’s June 2017 criminal assault on a Virginia baseball diamond, a chilling congressional coup d’état scenario which alters history in these United States would be little more than an edgy plot-line in a paperback thriller. In the Hollywood movie version there is a one hundred percent certainty right wing activists would be the monsters who attempted the coup.

Full article, HERE, from The Spectator.

And in a follow-up to the attempted murder of Republican Congressmen my a Bernie supporter, now the congresscritters want to be allowed to carry guns to protect themselves…

A Republican congressman is calling for legislation to allow members of Congress to carry firearms after a shooter this week targeted GOP lawmakers.

“We aren’t any more special than anybody else, but we’re targets,” Rep. Barry Loudermilk (R-GA) said. “This is exactly why there’s a lot of fear of doing town halls at this point.”

Full article, HERE at Foxnews.com.

Now I don’t disagree with him, per se, but what about US??? We’ve been trying to get reciprocity for YEARS! As far as I’m concerned, if they pass a reciprocity bill that INCLUDES us (John Q. Public), then I’m all in favor. If it’s ONLY for congress, hell no!!!

They ‘should’ be bound by the same laws as we are. Granted we elected them, but they are still not ‘special’ and deserving of anything more than you or I are.

There does seem to be a move afoot to actually push a reciprocity bill through, and I hope it comes to pass, if it does, that will nullify DC’s BS rules and they will finally have to obey Heller. Another thing it would do, is protect any poor bastard that gets stuck in any NY airport that has to pick up their bag and change airlines or terminals. Link HERE, to one set of stories…

Phishing at it’s finest…

Except… I’ve never been there, and I may have fallen off the turnip truck, but it WASN’T last night…

Especially since it was sent from a fake email address that doesn’t correspond with anything to do with the Harrisburg airport, and ‘originated’ overseas (spoofed [email protected])

Interim Assistance General Manager,
(Operations, Maintenance, Transportation)
Harrisburg International Airport Pennsylvania
One Terminal Drive, Middletown,
PA 17057, Pennsylvania USA

Hello Good Friend

                                            Your Abandoned Package For Delivery

I have very vital information to give to you, but first I must have your trust before I reveal it to you because it may cost me my job, so I need somebody that I can trust for me to be able to reveal the secret to you.

I am Mr.Charles J.Colocino JR, head of luggage/baggage storage facilities (Operations, Maintenance, and Transportation) here at the Harrisburg International Airport, Pennsylvania USA. During my recent withheld package routine check at the Airport Storage Vault, I discovered an abandoned shipment from a Diplomat from London and when scanned it revealed an undisclosed sum of money in a Metal Trunk Box weighing approximately 110kg. The consignment was abandoned because the Contents of the consignment was not properly declared by the consignee as “MONEY” rather it was declared as personal effect to avoid interrogation and also the inability of the diplomat to pay for the United States Non Inspection Charges which is $3,700USD. On my assumption the consignment is still left in our Storage House here at the Harrisburg International Airport Pennsylvania till date. The details of the consignment including your name, your email address and the official documents from the United Nations office in Geneva are tagged on it.

However, to enable me confirm if you are the actual recipient of this consignment as the assistant director of the Inspection Unit, I will advise you provide your current Phone Number and Full Address, to enable me cross check if it corresponds with the address on the official documents including the name of nearest Airport around your city. Please note that this consignment is supposed to have been returned to the United States Treasury Department as unclaimed delivery due to the delays in concluding the clearance processes so as a result of this, I will not be able to receive your details on my official email account. So in order words to enable me cross check your details, I will advise you send the required details to my private email address for quick processing and response. Once I confirm you as the actual recipient of the trunk box, I can get everything concluded within 48 hours upon your acceptance and proceed to your address for delivery.

Lastly, be informed that the reason I have taken it upon myself to contact you personally about this abandoned consignment is because I want us to transact this business and share the money 70% for you and 30% for me since the consignment has not yet been returned to the United States Treasury Department after being abandoned by the diplomat so immediately the confirmation is made, I will go ahead and pay for the United States Non Inspection Fee of $3,700 dollars and arrange for the box to be delivered to your doorstep Or I can bring it by myself to avoid any more trouble but you have to assure me of my
30% share.

I wait to hear from you urgently if you are still alive and I will appreciate if we can keep this deal confidential. Please get back to me via my private Email 🙁 [email protected] ) for further directives.


Mr.Charles J.Colocino JR

Interim Assistance General Manager,
Harrisburg International Airport Pennsylvania
One Terminal Drive, Middletown.
PA 17057, Pennsylvania USA

Interestingly, the gmail addy is valid, but I couldn’t track any deeper to find the redirect…

S 250 2.1.0 OK d7si501503ybm.71 – gsmtp
C RCPT TO: <[email protected]>
S 250 2.1.5 OK d7si501503ybm.71 – gsmtp
Verified address, not sending email.

If I wasn’t in the middle of writing, I’d be tempted to screw with them… sigh…

Remember, if that email seems too good to be true, it probably is! Don’t take anything for granted, especially these days if they want ANY personal information from you!!!

Insert reality here…

California, Oregon, and Washington are all starting to feel the effects of the $15/hr minimum wage issue…

In a pair of affluent coastal California counties, the canary in the mineshaft has gotten splayed, spatchcocked and plated over a bed of unintended consequences, garnished with sprigs of locally sourced economic distortion and non-GMO, “What the heck were they thinking?

Full article HERE, from the Fresno Bee. What is really interesting is that Fresno is NOT a high priced coastal city. They are in the Central Valley, and the major employers there are farms and the Lemoore Navy base. Those folks can’t afford to pay for the food if all the employees have to make $15/hr. Also, it will drive the entry level job market into the dirt (again)…

Reap what you sow California!!! 🙂


Intarwebz is back…

This gives a WHOLE new meaning to hold my beer and watch this…

Don’t know what was going on, but AT&T had a massive outage from Houston all the way up into OK, my bet is somebody cut a main fiber optic cable, somewhere…


Is out again. Sigh…

Go read the folks on the sidebar, hopefully I’ll have Internet back tomorrow and will try to get a post up then.

Posted from my iPhone.


Anybody remember flame wars???

I found this while searching for another file… From the mid-90s…



[ ] asshole [ ] fag [ ] ignorant snot [ ] prick [ ] nerd [ ] Elvis [ ] lonely masturbator [ ] computer geek [ ] retard [ ] sycophant [ ] David Sternlight

You are being flamed because

[ ] you continued a boring useless stupid thread

[ ] you repeatedly posted to the same thread that you just posted to

[ ] you repeatedly posted the same article

[ ] you posted a homework assignment

[ ] you posted a “test”

[ ] you used vi and left a whole bunch of editing garbage on the screen

[ ] you posted a request for an article which was posted three times in the past week

[ ] you claimed to have the original GGBJ

[ ] you posted some sort of religious crap that doesn’t belong in this group

[ ] you posted an article that was not funny, unoriginal and very boring

[ ] your mother dresses you funny

To recant, you must

[ ] actually post a humorous article

[ ] give up all your worldly possessions and become a Tibetan monk

[ ] go to the public library and try to do your own homework

[ ] hang yourself by the big toe for 72 hours

[ ] abstain from sex for a month (shouldn’t be too hard for you)

[ ] shave your head, paint a target on it, and go to Iraq

[ ] give your MP (Congressman in U.S.A., I guess) a donation of three hemp plants to decorate his office

[ ] become politically correct and demand that manholes be renamed to peroffspringopenings

[ ] cut your balls (or breasts, if you’re a woman) off

[ ] _________________________________________________


Thank you for the time you have taken to read this, and please desist from the offending behavior that led to this flame.





Rimworld- Update

Rimworld- Into the Green continues to sell at a modest pace, and the overall reviews are good, but I’m putting a bleg out there…

As I’ve said before, and others echoed, an author needs at least 50 reviews for Amazon to start paying attention to the book and start giving it wider publicity.

Right now, I’m only at 22 reviews, so if you’ve read it, and have time, please put an HONEST review up. Thanks in advance!

And for those who’ve been wondering if McDougal will have a part in the second book in the series, here’s a tease for ya…

Missed Me

McDougal bitched to himself, Bad enough I get left behind on a colony world, but insult to injury has me on a det with the local militia. I’m getting behind on the booze making, can’t do it out here, light years away. And these guys don’t break shit, so I’m bored… As he stepped out of the hab, he habitually jumped down the three steps, and survived the needle gun shot that was supposed to take him in the chest. He was on the ground, crouching behind the barrier before his brain caught up with what had just happened, What the fuck? These turds just tried to kill my lily white ass! Sonics may stop them from physically getting in, but that don’t stop anything else from getting in…

McDougal scrambled around the corner of the hab, jumped through the door of the maintenance module, and leaned against the wall, absently brushing the dirt from the front of his shipsuit.

“Hey, anybody see who shot at me?” He asked over his wrist comp.


“Somebody just tried to kill me, Rai! Didn’t you get that on surveillance?”

“You didn’t jump and fall?”

“Nooo, I think it was a needle gun.”

“Standby… Okay, yeah we missed that one. We were watching a disturbance down by the feeder. Might have been a decoy.”

Oh good, now they’re using decoys… I’m gonna fix that shit… Damn “So?”

“Yeah, we got video Senior. We’re putting it out, he’ll be on the arrest list in a few minutes.”

“So, what good does that do us?”

“Gonna put a warning out. You’re supposed to check surroundings before you open the hab or any other external door, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

McDougal powered up his maintenance system, pulled up the latest armored system diagrams and started drilling down, I know these fuckers have a repulsor module. Where is it? And how big? Ah, there you are you… Damn, that thing isn’t little! Hmmm, specs…

He pulled up the sonic fence specs on another screen, started comparing ranges and dug deeper into the repulsor module, If I back that range requirement down to… Match the sonics placement. Overbuilt to hell and gone. If I reduce that by a factor of… Three? Four, no, five.

That reminded him that he was going to work on an embedded code for the wrist comp that would allow the militia and GalPat to pass through the sonic fence by setting the mid-point to zero dB at six feet on approach and run it back up when the wrist comp was six feet past. Lemme see, 3 miles and hour, that’s… 4.4 fps, I want 12 feet, so… three second off pulse, mid-point between any two legs. That’ll also take care of the requirement to go exactly between the two designated legs, controlled by security, which should reduce the threat to us. And even better, I won’t have to walk all the way around the damn module when I need to get to the RCA.

Pulling himself away from that, he got back on designing a repulsor module that was only twenty pounds and a little over a foot in diameter. In order to solve the angularity issues, he decided to mold in two feet that aligned to the flat plate angle, and orthogonal to the gravity plane, which meant it should effectively brace itself against the planet itself. In addition to the feet, he decided to color the mold a dark grey on the external face, and white on the internal face, Even a GalPat troop can’t screw this one up! Maybe I should have directions, maybe something like front toward enemy… Didn’t they do something like that back in ancient history?

He occupied himself with revising the programming for the sonics while he waited for the fabber to spit out the module he’d designed. Now, where can I test this? Sure as hell ain’t going out there to do it. Wait a minute, I’ve got a sim here…

McDougal set up the simulator to duplicate a section of sonic fence to specification in quarter scale. Inserting the programming into his wrist comp, he walked up to the beam, watched it cut off, and restart four seconds later. When he moved off center, to either side, he felt the tingle of the fence, which meant he’d gotten it right.

“Hey, Senior.”

The call interrupted McDougal and he growled as he came up from the maintenance documents, “What?”

“Senior, Master Chief Magar. Did you file an incident report on that attempt on you this morning?”

“Uh, no? Didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“Ah, that explains why I have this uncorrelated report from Chief Rai on my datacomp. I’m pushing the report form to you. Please get it back in thirty. I have to brief the Captain at sixteen on status.”

“Uh, I’m in the middle of…”

“In thirty, Senior.”

“Yes, Master Chief.” McDougal glanced at his deskcomp to see a flashing red icon in the middle of the screen, sighed, and reached for it, punching the icon as he did so.

Mumbling to himself, he wrote up what he remembered, tagged the security video camera and timeframe, re-read it twice, and submitted it. Thought security was supposed to take care of that shit…


“So, that’s all I’ve got Captain Fargo, one probe at Feeder Six around zero five, and the attempt on Senior Sergeant McDougal at Feeder Three at zero eight. Perp was identified, arrest warrant issued, and he was taken into custody at eleven.” A picture flashed up in the holo, “Fedorice, Maurice. Age is thirty-six. Identified as anti-tech member. Works as a baker in an organic bakery in Center City. He’s not talking.”

Fargo growled, “What is it with these fuckers and needle guns?” Shaking his head, he asked more civilly, “Any idea why he was all the way out in Dove City? Also, any change in the frequency of attempts, Master Chief?”

Master Chief Magar shrugged, “They’re about the same, across the board. This is only the second attempt on one of the troops, and both of those have occurred at Feeder Three. I think that’s because that site is the most spread out. Remember, we couldn’t nestle the hab and maintenance modules right at the Feeder because of the terrain. That’s why we put McDougal and the big module out there. It’s also the only one were the shuttle can actually land inside the perimeter.”


“Double up security. Put an additional 360 system up there, put two more people on watch. I know that is gonna impact their quality, but we were planning on rotating teams around anyway, just to keep them fresh and alert.”

“Do we move the big module and McDougal?”

Master Chief grinned, “I wouldn’t. He’s out of everybody’s hair out there. And frankly, he’s pretty clueless when he goes to town. His situational awareness sucks. Besides if we move him, it’d have to be someplace else big enough to take the shuttle.”

Fargo leaned back and groaned, “You do have a point. Tip of the spear, he’s not. Okay, tomorrow we’ll do a few bounces with response teams. I want to make sure we do one at Feeder Three, fangs showing. Maybe that will slow them down a bit.”

The holo dinged three times, indicating an override, and a harried GalPat Lieutenant popped up, “Captain Fargo?”

“Go ahead.”

“Sir, that man arrested for the attempted murder at Feeder Three just suicided. Some kind of pill. We’ve notified the locals.”

Fargo slumped, “Suicided? Really? How did he manage… Oh, never mind. Duly noted, thank you.”

Fargo and the master chief exchanged looks, “This isn’t good. They’re escalating.”

Fargo nodded, “That’s what I was thinking. Put an alert out to everybody.”


McDougal popped the first module out of the fabber, checked the metals levels and added another fifty pounds of plasteel pellets, making a note to order spare metals and plasteel pellets. He idly wondered if he could snag some run time on the big fabber GalPat had in Center City, but decided to wait until he had two units to see if his idea actually worked.

He glanced up and was surprised to see it was seventeen already, and he got up slowly, stretched and set the prototype repulsor on the bench. Deciding he was done for the day, he quickly calculated the capacity of the fabber, added two more bars of metal, and programmed for two more modules, figuring it would take most of the night for them to run. He hit start, then checked the perimeter that he could see before opening the door, quickly closing it, and scampering into the hab module.

He headed to the autochef, fed in his order and turned to the little dining table, “Hey, Rai. Anything on that guy from this morning?”

Rai grimaced, “Dammit Mac, don’t you ever check your datacomp? They caught him, questioned him, and he suicided. It was on the alert broadcast an hour ago.”

“Oh. Uh, I… I was busy.”

“Well, thanks to you, we’re going to be doubling up. The captain is bringing another three-sixty head and monitoring station up here tomorrow. That means we’re going to have four on watch at a time. Which means we’re basically on port and report. You’re not qualified to stand watch are you?”

McDougal replied, “No, I’m only certified for maintenance. But I am duty maintenance for the entire det, not just you guys. And I’m the only maintainer out here.”

Rai grumbled but subsided, when McDougal pointed that out, “Okay, okay. We’re going to be rotated in a week anyway, so maybe we’ll rotate home before we have to come back up here.”

McDougal gave him a hands up gesture, “Sorry. It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

The autochef dinged, then spit out McDougal’s dinner. He grabbed it, flopped down at the other table, and ate as quickly as he could. He dumped the plate into the autochef’s return slot, and made for his coffin. Sliding in, he racked the deskcomp, checked the system alerts were all clear, and racked out.


McDougal made it to the maintenance module without getting shot at, which was, in his mind, a good thing. Two more units sat on the out tray of the fabber, and he sat them on the bench beside the original one. Running a check on the fabber, he grimaced, Dammit, out of metal. And I’m down to three barrels of plasteel. Maybe I can get some on the shuttle today, if I talk nice to supply… Flipping through the forms on his deskcomp, he found the supply request and plugged in enough metal bars and plasteel barrels to do at least six more units.

Once that was done, he rooted around in the parts bin, finally found the right cable and connected the mini-repulsor to the maintenance system. He gingerly applied power, and sighed with relief when the unit powered up without arcing or sparking.

Flipping back to the systems diagrams, he cobbled together a BIT test for the module, made sure it was facing away from him, and hit start. Thirty seconds later, it completed, and from all appearances met spec as he had modified it.

He duplicated the testing on the other two units, and only had to replace one molycirc that had a temp fluctuation issue that worried him. That one passed on retest, and he dug around for more cable. Finding one two hundred foot length, he called security on his wrist comp.

“Rai, Senior here. I need to run a quick test on a piece of hardware outside the module. Is the area clear where I can set up two units two hundred feet apart?”


Mac drummed his fingers nervously, until finally Rai came back, “Yeah, quiet as a mouse out there today. Not even the usual protesters by the gate.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll be out for about fifteen.” He picked up one unit, connected it to the cable, and carried it out toward the end of the compound until he ran out of cable. Hustling back, he connected the second unit to the other end, made sure the cable was taut, and plugged a second cable into that unit. Running it back in the module, he plugged it into the maintenance station. He started to power up the minis, but stopped, went to the door and looked out, confirming the white side faced him. Satisfied, he powered the units up, ran the BIT again, then hit activate for thirty seconds. There was a little instability for about ten seconds, but everything looked like it smoothed out.

He stuck his head back out the door, and was surprised to find the unit closest to the door buried about three inches in the ground. Huh, wonder what… Oh wait, if it braces, it might try to balance the forces across all the modules. Trotting out to the other module, it was sitting on rock, but there was a little indentation, so maybe his idea was right.

He powered the modules back up, stepped out of the door, and picked up some gravel that was everywhere. Flipping it at the imaginary line between the two units, he was gratified to see it cross that line and fall to the ground. Stepping back inside, he fiddled with the programming, truncating the outside halves of the modules, and only running full power between the two. He walked back out, picked up some more gravel and flipped it, with the same result. Walking well around where he thought the edge of the field was, he got on the gray side, picked up more gravel and flipped it at the line. It seemed to stop in mid-air and bounce to the ground. Picking up a bigger rock, he threw it at the line, it did the same thing.

His wrist comp beeped, and he glanced down at it, SHUTTLE INBOUND. ETA 6 MIN. “Shit, gotta shut this down,” McDougal grumbled to himself. He ran quickly back to the module, checked that the power feeds were still good, and powered the system down to standby.


Fargo looked over the Feeder Three site, mentally cataloging the issues, as he walked toward the perimeter. He saw a cable running to a strange gray and white object partially buried with another cable running from it to what looked like another one some distance away. Turning, he followed the cable with his eyes, surprised to see it terminating at the maintenance module. What the hell? What is this… He walked over to the module, opened the door and found McDougal deep in a maintenance screen, “Mac?”

McDougal looked up, then popped to attention, “Sorry, sir. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“What’s the gray and white ball that’s half buried out there?”

“Um, er… Something I’m trying out, sir.”

Fargo made a come on motion with his hand, “And?”

“Well, we had an attack out here, and… Well, I, uh… I kinda built a little repulsor module test bed.”

“A what?”

McDougal got, “Lemme show you, sir.” He stuck his head out the door, confirmed there wasn’t anyone near the two units, and powered them back up to full power. He walked out, Fargo following, picked up some gravel, and said, “See, from this side, it’s non-functional, er… It doesn’t stop anything.” He flipped the gravel over the line, and it fell to the ground on the other side. Walking around the module, he picked up more gravel and threw it at the line, where it bounced and hit the ground, “This side, it stops things from coming in.”

Looking around, he found a bigger rock, maybe 10-15 pounds, and heaved it at the line. It bounced too, landing about 3 feet from the line. Fargo cocked his head, “You did this Mac?”

“Yes, sir. I, um… I downsized a repulsor module from the armor, and…”

McDougal went down the nearrat hole into schematics, leaving Fargo shaking his head, until he interrupted, “Mac, I think this has some potential…”

“You do, sir?”

At least for here, Mac. How many of these things would you need to cover the perimeter?”

“Uh, standby one…” Turning to his datacomp, he quickly ran a set of calculations, “Um… Twenty-one. I can piggy back sonics modules…”

Fargo held up his hand, “No, we’ve already got those in place. I’ll hit GalPat for, what nineteen more modules? Can you send the data to their fabber?”

McDougal nodded quickly, “Yes, sir. Got it right here.” He typed something into the datacomp and continued, “It’s on cue for their fabber now. Just waiting for command approval.”

My coffee fund is getting low, so buy books! That way I stay awake and write… 🙂