Fourteen
January 2253
New Albion
Glengarry was now reduced to a smoking ruin; the Grugell had briefly withdrawn from the surface, and three days later bombarded the city with five fission bombs. The guerillas continued to operate in the Crow Ridge mountains, while the Grugell countered by establishing a new Occupation base three thousand miles away on the small island continent west of the main landmass, and conducting an extensive air offensive against the human camps. Two temporary camps had been attacked and destroyed, and Jason MacFeeters’ guerrillas had only two downed Grugell scout craft to show for it.
Marine Lieutenant Mark Jerrold was hoping to change all that.
On the ninth of June, in the middle of a chilly autumn New Albion night, the Lieutenant – he had in fact been promoted to Captain but had no way of knowing it – convened a meeting of his NCOs and the chief guerilla leaders.
“It sure would be nice to get some help from the Navy, here,” Jason MacFeeters grouched as the group gathered around a tiny, cheerless campfire.
“Their Occupation ship is gone. I’ll take that for starters, even if a privateer did it and not the Navy.” Lieutenant Jerrold had gotten some news from another Force Recon team that had dropped in three months earlier.
“Bloody nice, that. But it does damn all to help us deal with the Grugell already down here, you know. They’re over there across a couple thousand miles of bloody ocean, and we’re stuck to the ground with a couple hundred fighters scurrying around in these damnable hills, hiding our families in caves and dodging fire from whatever scout ships decide to fly over and take shots at us.”
“That’s what I mean to solve,” Jerrold grinned. “Sergeant Morris, if you would?”
Gunnery Sergeant Tinker Morris, late of the Special Air Service, scraped a patch of sandy soil clear with his battered boot and began sketching out a diagram.
“Gentlemen. Twenty kilometers south of here, the West Branch River flows through a steep canyon. Two weeks ago, Master Gunnery Sergeant Smith and I went on a wee stroll and planted remote sensors in this canyon to test a theory we had developed after seeing two Grugell scout ships descend below the canyon walls as we watched from the savannah above. The sensors have since confirmed what we suspected.”
“And that would be?” The Marines had come to know that MacFeeters’ supply of patience was short.
“There’s a sharp bend in the canyon about one kilometer down from its start,” Morris continued. “On the inside of that bend, where the canyon widens out a bit, there’s a large spit of flat land, grown up with a few small trees and some grass. Our friends the Grugell have been using it as a bit of a picnic area. Scout ships passing that way, a minimum of one per week, generally stop there, set down, and let their troops wander around a bit and eat their lunches near the river. One would suppose they find it a safe and protected area.”
“Leave it to a Welshman to take forever to get to the bloody point,” MacFeeters observed.
“Patience, Mister MacFeeters, is a virtue in planning military operations.” The jibe wasn’t lost on the surly Scot, and while his temper bridled a bit, he held his tongue as Morris continued.
“Now, there is bloody little cover in the canyon bend, but there is deeper soil back amongst the trees where we could place a few spider-holes, and here across the river there are two large caves. The upstream one isn’t very useful for our purposes, but the downstream one has a large, open mouth that faces directly towards the Grugell’s favored landing spot. As it happens, the West Branch runs over a shingly spot just there, and it’s only a few inches deep right now at the end of the dry season.”
“There has to be easier ways to destroy a little scout ship,” one of the guerilla fighters piped up from the back of the gathered group.
“We aren’t planning to destroy one, mate,” Morris replied. “We are planning to capture one.”
A burst of surprised murmuring went around the group before Lieutenant Jerrold held up his hand for silence.
“We know three things about the Grugell operations on this planet as of right now,” the Lieutenant pointed out, “One. They didn’t like us blowing up half their leadership several months ago in Glengarry. Two. They know we have no transport other than our feet, so they’ve cleverly – they think – moved their base to a place that’s impossible for us to reach, so they can hurt us, but we can’t hurt them. Three. They don’t expect we ever will be able to reach that base, so they aren’t posting any guards around the place – no guns, no guard towers, nothing. The last drop boat in here six weeks ago contained a few orbital shots of the place taken by the privateer that dropped in the supplies.” Reaching into his right-side cargo pocket, Jerrold withdrew several prints. “You can see here, there’s no perimeter, no guards, no arms – just a landing field, with buildings lined up neatly on either side, and a large construction over here that we presume is their headquarters building.” He passed the prints around. “Now, you may remember that one of the items in that last drop boat was a large, heavy object in a sealed titanium case.”
“Damned right,” someone in the darkness complained. “I had to help carry the bloody thing a good twenty kilometers up here.”
“That ‘bloody thing,’ gentlemen, is a ten-kiloton fission device. Now I intend to capture a Grugell scout ship, and I intend to use it to deliver this device to the largely unguarded Grugell headquarters. The details are what we are here to work out.”
There was silence for ten seconds, fifteen, before Jason MacFeeters stood up and reached to shake Lieutenant Jerrold’s hand. “Consider my earlier complaints retracted, old man,” he grinned. “Sounds like a hell of a plan. Let’s do it.”
Tarbos – Fleet Headquarters
“Things aren’t going all that well.”
The President’s comment raised the hairs on the back of Fleet Admiral Kosake’s neck. He knew that the war with the Grugell Empire was barely being held short of a disaster.
“We expected to fight a holding action for the first few months, Madam President,” Kosake demurred. “It takes time to bring new ships online.”
“Why have you declined to approve any new privateer ships? We have two more that are capable of beginning operations immediately. The least of them packs the firepower of a scout ship, and the larger one is almost the equivalent of a frigate.”
Kosake looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure about approving untrained crews and ships. We don’t know where they’ve come from, how they’re organized…” He stopped as the President’s glare stabbed across the desk.
“Admiral Kosake, you know damned well that the performance of the privateers to date has been sterling – on a par in every way with our Navy ships. The Shade Tree’s operations around New Albion have been nothing less than brilliant, and the Red Witch has been returning invaluable intelligence from the frontier around Fortune. We can’t afford to refuse the use of armed ships and crews, Admiral. We’ve lost New Albion, we may yet lose Fortune, and while Admiral Gauss has been running an admirable hit-and-run campaign, he’s down to the carrier, two cruisers, and three frigates.” Three ships, including the Orleans, were in the Fleet dock at Halifax undergoing major repairs. “He can’t keep that up for very long.” She stood up suddenly, taking the Fleet Admiral and her bevy of Secret Service guardians by surprise. Pointing a long finger across Kosake’s desk, she issued her pronouncement: “Fleet Admiral Kosake, you have on your desk applications to approve two more privateer ships for operations in the contested systems. You will review those applications by this time tomorrow. If you fail to approve even one of them, I’ll expect a detailed explanation why. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Madam President,” the Admiral whispered. The Commander in Chief had spoken, and he could offer no argument.
“Very well. Let me make this plain, Admiral Kosake. I mean to see this war fought well and won. If you can’t make that happen, I’ll find someone who can.”
Deep Space, near Fortune
“Admiral, Reuben James reports her repairs are complete.”
Gauss looked up from the chair he now habitually occupied in the Mountain View’s Combat Information Center. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off a chronic lack of sleep. Captain Jensen was no better off; Gauss noted dark circles under his aide’s eyes. “What’s the flagship’s status?”
“Shields at eighty percent. Two particle beam emitters are down, and can’t be fixed until we get to a Fleet dock. Fighter wings are at seventy percent strength.”
“It will have to do, won’t it?” Gauss stood up and walked over to the Navigation tank. “OK, let’s see what we’ve got. Any word from that pirate hovering out there off Fortune?”
“Not in the last twelve hours.” The Red Witch had provided intelligence on Grugell operations near Fortune for the last twelve days that had Gauss thinking that the enemy might try another move on that world.
“We may have to pull out of this sector.” Missile inventories were down, and all ships were operating on less than full capacity. “We’ve got to re-arm, and get these ships up to par. That means hitting the docks at either Tarbos or Halifax. Unless we want to go to Earth.”
“That means abandoning Fortune to the Grugell,” Captain Jensen pointed out.
“Maybe not. Do you think that the Red Witch could slip in and out of the system undetected?”
“I imagine so. He’s been doing very well at staying undetected so far, and he’s managed to take out a Grugell frigate in the process.”
“Good. Let’s head up to Signals. I’ve got an idea.”
The Shade Tree
Faint glints of New Albion’s sun struck off the Shade Tree’s matte black hull as the privateer swung into a trail position behind a Grugell cruiser.
“Shrikes one and three checked and ready in all respects,” the Weapons tech called out.
“Scanning?” Captain Jean Barrett was getting nervous; the Shade Tree had left the shelter of a large asteroid only moments before as the Grugell cruiser passed.
“He’s showing turn to starboard. He’s picked us up.”
“I figured he would. Weapons, launch now-now-now! Helm, come to new course ninety by forty, ahead full. Get us to transit as fast as you can…” her barked orders were cut short by an impact that threw her out of her Bridge chair. “Evasive maneuvers! Weapons, get a lock on the source of that blast and engage with particle beams. Helm, get us the hell out of here!” She climbed to her feet, wincing at a sprained ankle, and got back into her chair, taking a moment to fasten the restraint belt.
Behind the privateer, a Grugell frigate decloaked, the silver shape swimming into view even as a torpedo leaped from the silver hull and raced towards the Shade Tree.
“Evading,” the Helmsman called out. “Torpedo is homing. We’re gaining speed – three minutes to transit.”
“Both Shrikes have hit the cruiser,” Weapons shouted. “Some visible damage – cruiser is still maneuvering.”
“Damn. They suckered us in,” Barrett snapped. “Get me data on that torpedo!”
“Missed us on the first pass, Captain. It’s turning for another try. Coming in from our ten o’clock.”
“Helm, come to one-fifteen by ten. Weapons, engage that torpedo with the aft projector.”
From the rear of the Shade Tree’s cylindrical hull, a line of almost invisible force shimmered out, seeking the racing torpedo and finding it only a hundred meters short of the ship’s hull. The resulting explosion rocked the privateer mercilessly.
“Are we still here?” Barrett asked a moment later, blinking at the haze of smoke that filled the Bridge. “Anyone hurt?”
Nobody was seriously injured. “Captain, there’s been some damage to the drive, but we’re still going to make subspace – about a minute fifteen.” Barrett’s Helmsman had a smear of blood on the side of his head where he’s been thrown to the deck, but he was back at his station and functioning.
“Aft particle beam projector’s busted, Captain,” Weapons reported.
“Come about, bring us right at them,” Barrett ordered. “Weapons, stand by forward projectors.”
“Forward projectors charged and ready in all respects.”
The ship turned sluggishly. Bolts of green from the pursuing frigate shot past, and one hit, tearing into the privateer’s Engineering section, ripping two compartments open to space.
“Forty seconds to transit!”
Both forward particle beams spat their defiance at the Grugell frigate as the Shade Tree accelerated, but the beams glanced off the gleaming silver ship’s shields. “We may as well be throwing spitballs,” Barrett muttered.
The Scanning tech let out a scream at her station, “Torpedo launch astern!” Behind them, the damaged Grugell cruiser had managed to come about, and launched two torpedoes. “We should make transit in time to shake them. We’re already pulling away.”
“Teach them to launch from dead astern,” Barrett observed. The only way a sub-light missile or torpedo could catch a ship accelerating towards subspace was to be launched from the forward quarter to intercept the faster ship.
Two more anti-proton bolts smashed into the Shade Tree’s shields before the ship escaped into subspace. The moment the main display jumped from a normal star field to the weird, shifting patterns of subspace, Captain Barrett was barking orders.
“All right,” she snapped, “I’ll be needing damage reports from all stations. Weps, give me a full weapons inventory, if we’ve got anything left at all. Navs, I want best possible trajectory to Tarbos.”
“I didn’t get a chance for a hard position and bearing fix before we jumped, Captain – we’ll have to drop out of subspace for a few seconds.”
“Fine, set it up – Helm, fifteen minutes from now, program in a deceleration curve that will drop us out of subspace for fifteen seconds, and then accelerate us right back again. Navs, you’ll have that fifteen seconds to get your readings and program your trajectory.”
“I can do that, Captain.”
“You’ll have to. OK, I’m going aft to see how bad that frigate tore us up.” Good thing my insurance is paid up, she thought wryly.
The tiny Engineering section was a shambles. The two broken sections had been sealed automatically as the bulkhead doors slammed shut, but Captain Barrett got the bad news from the junior engineering tech the moment she walked into the smoke-filled Environmental compartment: “Chief Wilson was in there, ma’am.” He pointed at the ruptured compartment. The Shade Tree’s Chief Engineer, Geri Wilson, was scattered somewhere in space back in the New Albion system. With her went any hope of comprehensive repairs until the ship reached Tarbos.
To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.
“ ten-kiloton fission device “
Giggity.
I woulda fired Kosake on the spot for talking that shit.
Bureaucrat is gonna protect his bureaucracy, even the military.
Hey Rhywun:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qD38C8gf1oA
The gay millionaires puff piece was the most depressing thing I’ve read all week.
Hey, they managed to find a place for themselves and their vinyl collection for only $6.8 million. That takes doing!
Glad I could help!
Quest to capture the last nickel
“Think like a ‘Nike dropping a sneaker’ is the vision,” Simpson told CNBC during an event at the Michigan International Speedway racetrack here promoting the company’s efforts. “We’re significantly increasing our investment in this group to bring more choice and to engage customers in this aftersales.”
Automakers have long used special-edition vehicles and souped-up models to boost vehicle prices and profits, but Ford says it is methodically taking steps to increase customers’ ability to customize vehicles across all price levels.
That includes expanding accessories as well as investing additional resources in Ford Custom Garage, which launched last year as a one-stop shop for customizations from the carmaker.
Ford Custom Garage’s first shoe-like “vehicle drop” occurred Monday. It unveiled a sunrise-inspired Ford Bronco SUV that wouldn’t be out of place in a new Barbie movie — although the company’s designers say they did not have the Mattel toy in mind when developing the vehicle.
I wonder if I could “personalize” one with rubber floor mats, roll up windows, a manual transmission and a naturally aspirated V8.
Don’t be silly, nobody would want something like that. And besides, CAFE and NHS regulations would require Ford to sell something like that for $120k+ in order to make a profit.
You can get them. Typically a fleet vehicle option though. And you won’t be able to get the nice stereo with a rubber mat. That only comes with the $9000 interior package.
I can always install a nice stereo myself. https://www.the12volt.com/
Probably a lot cheaper to buy a stripped one and a Godzilla from Ford Racing than anything the factory would sell you.
Haven’t they figured out how to make the car flatline if you install an aftermarket stereo to avoid the package pricing? Man, they are slacking. That special stain resistant coating on the tires and micro etching of the vin on the windows is important stuff some consumers might miss out on without the ‘trim package’ game.
The automaker said it will produce 1,000 of the limited-edition Broncos with the Desert Rising package as part of the Ford Custom Garage’s new Bronco Horizon Series. The $13,695 package boosts the vehicle’s price to $57,350.
Other full packages through the Ford Custom Garage start at thousands of dollars and can run up to $16,000 to $18,000 for some Mustang performance packages and nearly $27,000 for a special performance version of the F-150 pickup truck.
When marketing majors rule the world.
Yes. I suspect that many of our social problems would resolve themselves inside a single generation, if we dumped all the marketing execs into a large pit and filled it in.
HEY.
(I’m a advertising creative director but yes a lot of marketing folks are worthless)
Nobody needs more than one model of truck, sedan, coupe, and suv. Any color, as long as it is black or olive drab.
Thanks for the story Animal. It is the bright spot of Mondays.
The gay millionaires puff piece was the most depressing thing I’ve read all week.
“These are not the oligarchs you’re looking for.”
https://deadline.com/2026/07/atari-universal-deal-10-game-ip-script-matt-reilly-carl-hampe-entertainment-360-1237001656/
I for one, cannot wait to see the movie based on Asteroids.
That could be made to work. And you can’t be accused of ruining the story.
One could already argue it was made when they made Armageddon.
“There were no Asteroids. There was no Shooting. There was no shooting of asteroids. 0/10 Stars”
UCS: from this morning, here’s a little on swamp drainage…
https://strethamoldengine.com/history-of-fen-drainage
🥳
Thank you.
How do you go back and forth from one edge of known space to the other in order to win?
One could already argue it was made when they made Armageddon.
A closer analog would be Star Wars when they got chased into the asteroid field.
Take that premise, but make the ship a privateer with the appropriate weapons to blast asteroids and then turn and hunt their chasers.
Don’t be silly, nobody would want something like that.
You’re right. What could I have been thinking? It’s not like people are out there paying $40k or more for a fifty year old Bronco Mk1 with rubber floor mats and roll up windows. That would be crazy.
That was sarcasm. Partly.
Personally I’d love a new Bronco with a V8 and a six-speed stick and mechanical 4WD. But I don’t think I’d be willing to pay for what one would cost if it were made new…
And a solid Dana 44 front axle.
I’d settle for a naturally aspirated 6. All the turbo 4 stuff is for the birds.
I’m sorry RJ, you’re in the wrong place. We only deal in the unnatural here.
Sticker on my old Dodge Omni turbo – “natural aspiration is nice, but I’d rather be blown.”
3/4 Ton 4×4 pickup with turbo diesel and real Allison transmission. Extended cab with 8′ box. No DEF, DPF, EGR, or touchscreen. Power windows and mirrors. (or just like the one I already have but with 300K miles less)
No spyware.
Thus, no modern vehicles.
Netflix exec admits to using Special K under medical supervision during a corporate trust-building exercise, and is promptly fired for it.
First, what a bunch of uptight anal-retentive bean counters (no surprise though, Netflix was literally founded on and made their fortune through high-level bean counting.)
Second, let this be a lesson – don’t ever share anything with anyone, especially not with corporate bean-counters and their ilk.
HOLLYWOOD IS DEAD
Ha!… those exercises want you to secretly admit how you love “Big Brother”… not that you are in any way an outlier.
I will put them next to those anonymous management evaluations that “you haven’t filled out yet”.
Here I was hoping the guy was fired for eating Kellogg’s Special K.
He shit his pants during the meeting.
Netflix exec and his nurse buddy, drug starlet with Special K and have the team run a train to build trust, or at least mutually assured destruction. That’s how I am interpreting that story from the headline, and I will not read it to change my mind.
He’s got it all figured out
He announced that certain necessities in each of New York’s five neighborhood groceries will be discounted by 30%.
Items like produce and pasta, meat and seafood, bread and yogurt, rice and beans, and more.
“Once a month, our five city run grocery stores will set prices for this core set of goods at 30% below typical retail prices. No exceptions, no gimmicks. The savings will last for the entire month. That means no weekly fluctuations nor sticker shock at the checkout line,” Mamdani said.
——-
Critics have said the city-run stores will hurt small, privately-run, neighborhood bodegas.
The mayor disagrees, saying that the city’s groceries won’t sell items like cigarettes, alcohol and lottery tickets.
How much for the magic beans?
The good news is they are free, the bad news is they are out and don’t know when they’ll be back in stock.
“To be honest, the last time the truck arrived, it was empty. Then they banned diesel trucks in the city, so now the driver arrives on a bicycle with an empty backet. We sign for the nothing, and he goes on his way.”
You beat me to it. Nobody will ever get that price.
Nobody not connected anyways.
Still doesn’t beat the usual five finger discount.
city’s groceries won’t sell items like cigarettes, alcohol and lottery tickets
The most heavily taxed things the poor buy.
Typically a fleet vehicle option though.
It’s like Alibaba. You have to buy in lots of fifty.
I’d say your “trust building exercise” was not successful, Netflix.
The good news is they are free, the bad news is they are out and don’t know when they’ll be back in stock.
I watched an old movie a while back which featured a (((stereotypical))) eastern European shopkeeper. A woman comes in and asks for some cheese.
-How much?
– Twenty five cents a pound (I told you it was an old movie)
-That much? Schwartz down the the block has it for fifteen.
-So go buy from him.
-He’s sold out.
-If I didn’t have any I’d sell it for a nickel.
Was the shopkeeper Cuddles Sakall?
https://www.newschannel5.com/hannahcanhelp/country-star-john-rich-steps-in-after-hannah-can-help-covers-tennessee-farmers-irs-dispute
In 2022, Wilson Kirby received a $20,000 tax refund by mistake. He says he tried to return the money immediately, but the IRS was not satisfied. The agency then charged him more than $4,000 in interest on the money he attempted to give back, withheld his entire tax refund last year, and threatened to seize his property.
“You’re not supposed to try to fix the problem, you’re supposed to be fined in punishment for the error. No, it doesn’t matter that it was our error, you are guilty.”
Where is COMRADE TRUMP to straighten out the IRS on this matter?
singer-songwriter John Rich reached out directly, saying the case fell under his scope of work with the White House on protecting American landowners.
Trump appointed Rich as a “Special Envoy for American Landowners.” That’s where COMRADE TRUMP is.
And a retarded child shall lead them
Democratic political strategist James Carville on Sunday said David Hogg, former Democratic National Committee (DNC) vice chair, should succeed current chair Ken Martin, calling the DNC “dysfunctional.”
——-
“If David Hogg wants to take it over, I ain’t stopping you,” he continued. “Go ahead, man, I don’t really care. And I don’t think, at the end of the day, well, they might be fine people. I know some of them are not particularly determined.”
That’s quite an enthusiastic endorsement.
Miniboss Hogg?
When things are going so poorly that you think David Hogg is an improvement, you’ve got a problem.
Sticker on my old Dodge Omni turbo – “natural aspiration is nice, but I’d rather be blown.”
Don’t forget “I’d rather be blown than stroked.”
Stay safe Wisconsin, Illinois, and Indiana Glibs. We’re having a whole afternoon of severe storms and possible tornadoes. It’s crazy when Ryan Hall mentions your town.
When will we be forbidden from driving vehicles without the mandatory surveillance systems built into them?
Will government ban them first? Or will insurers refuse to insure them?
An unelected bureaucrat will pressure the insurance agencies to require them.
I don’t think the insurance companies will actually wait for that.
Cash for Clunkers 2
No cash, just updated “road safety” guidelines tied to this or that funding stream or regulatory regime.
Will government ban them first? Or will insurers refuse to insure them?
There’s always the California way; just refuse to register them.
Refusing to register them is banning them.