A Foxfire just swept over us

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0101775/quotes

IMDb


Drop Dead Fred (1991)

Quotes


Fred: Well why don't we harpoon Charles straight through the head, drag him back to the apartment, and hit him with a hammer until he agrees to come back?

Elizabeth: Harpoon him through the head. That won't work Fred.










http://www.divxmoviesenglishsubtitles.com/O/O_Brother_Where_Art_Thou.html


O Brother Where Art Thou


Homer Stokes, servant of|the little man. Right, little fella?
He ain't lyin'!
Ladies and gentlemen,|the little man has admonished me
to grasp the broom of reform
and sweep this state clean!
It's gonna be,|"Back to the flour mill, Pappy"!
The interests can handle themselves!
Come Tuesday,|we're gonna sweep the rascals out!










http://www.chakoteya.net/movies/movie8.html

Star Trek: First Contact


PICARD: There's a... There's a new faction that wants to prevent your launch tomorrow morning. But we're here to help you. This may be difficult for you to accept, but you are not in Montana anymore. You are on a ship, ...a spaceship, orbiting the Earth at an altitude of...

LILY: If you want to help me, get me out of here.

PICARD: All right. ...You want a way out. Here it is.

(Picard opens a panel in the hull revealing a view of Earth)

LILY: What is this?

PICARD: Australia, New Guinea, The Solomons. Montana will be up soon but you may want to hold your breath. It's a long way down.










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Star Trek: First Contact


[Montana settlement]

LILY: Come on.

COCHRANE: Good night Eddie. (to Lily) ...Go home.










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Star Trek: First Contact


[Enterprise-E bridge]

PICARD: Data, put Starfleet frequency one four eight six on audio.

DATA: Aye sir.

FLEET COMMUNICATIONS: Flagship to Endeavor. Standby to engage at grid A-fifteen. ...Defiant and Bozeman, fall back to mobile position one. ...Acknowledge. ...We have it in visual range.










http://www.chakoteya.net/movies/movie8.html

Star Trek: First Contact


[Montana settlement]

(while Lily watches the Enterprise enters the vortex. Cochrane is socialising in the bar with the Vulcans.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt


Tom Clancy

Red Storm Rising


17 - The Frisbees of Dreamland


Lockheed called her the Ghostrider. The pilots called her the Frisbee, the F-19A, the secretly developed Stealth attack fighter. She had no corners, no box shapes to allow radar signals to bounce cleanly off her. Her high-bypass turbofans were designed to emit a blurry infrared signature at most. From above, her wings appeared to mimic the shape of a cathedral bell. From in front, they curved oddly toward the ground, earning her the affectionate nickname of Frisbee. Though she was a masterpiece of electronic technology inside, she usually didn't use her active systems. Radars and radios made electronic noise that an enemy might detect, and the whole idea of the Frisbee was that she didn't seem to exist at all.

Far over their heads on both sides of the border, hundreds of fighter aircraft played a deadly game of bluff, racing toward the border and then turning away, both sides trying to goad the other into committing to battle. Each side had airborne radar aircraft with which to control such a battle and so gain the advantage in a war which, though few yet knew it, had already begun.

And we're getting a quick one in, Ellington thought. We're finally doing something smart! He'd had a hundred missions over Vietnam in the first production F-111A fighters. The Duke was the Air Force's leading expert on covert low-level missions, and it was said that he could "bull's-eye a chuckhole in a Kansas tornado at midnight." That wasn't quite true. The Frisbee could never handle a tornado. The sad truth was that the F-19 handled like a pig-a consequence of her ungainly design. But Ellington didn't care. Being invisible was better than being agile, he judged, knowing that he was about to prove or disprove that proposition.

The Frisbee squadron was now penetrating the most concentrated SAM belt the world had ever known.

"Range to primary target is now sixty miles," Eisly advised. "All onboard systems continue nominal. No radars are locked onto us. Lookin' good, Duke."

"Roger." Ellington pushed the stick forward and dived as they passed over the crest of a small hill, then bottomed out at eighty feet over a wheatfield. The Duke was playing his game to the limit, drawing on years of experience in low-level attacks. Their primary target was a Soviet IL-76 Mainstay, an AWACS-type aircraft that was circling near Magdeburg, agreeably within ten miles of their secondary target, the E-8 highway bridges over the Elbe at Hohenroarthe. The mission was getting a lot hairier. The closer they got to the Mainstay the more radar signal hit their aircraft, its intensity growing at a square function. Sooner or later, enough signal would be reflected back to the Mainstay to be detectable, even by curved wings made of radar-transparent composites. All the Stealth technology did was to make radar detection harder, not impossible. Would they be seen by the Mainstay? If so, when, and how quickly would the Russians react?

Keep her on the deck, he told himself. Play the game by the rules you've practiced out. They had rehearsed this mission for nine days in "Dreamland," the top-secret exercise area in the sprawl of Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada. Even the E-3A Sentry could barely make them out at forty miles, and the Sentry was a far better radar platform than the Mainstay, wasn't it?

That's what you're here to find out, boy . . .

There were five Mainstays on duty, all a hundred klicks east of the inter-German border. A nice safe distance, what with over three hundred fighters between them and the border.

"Twenty miles, Duke."

"Right. Call it off, Don."

"Roge. Still no fire-control emanations on us, and no search stuff is lingering our way. Lots of radio chatter, but mostly west of us. Very little VOX coming from the target."

Ellington reached his left hand down to arm the four AIM-9M Sidewinder missiles hanging under his wings. The weapon-indicator light blinked a lethal, friendly green.

"Eighteen miles. Target appears to be circling normally, not taking evasive action."

Ten miles to the minute, Ellington computed in his mind, one minute forty seconds.

"Sixteen miles." Eisly read the numbers off a computer readout keyed to the NAVSTAR satellite navigation system.

The Mainstay would not have a chance. The Frisbee would not begin to climb until she was directly underneath the target. Fourteen miles. Twelve. Ten. Eight. Six miles to the converted air transport.

"The Mainstay just reversed her turn-yeah, she's jinking. A Foxfire just swept over us," Eisly said evenly. A MiG-25 interceptor, presumably acting on instructions from the IL-76, was now searching for them. With its high power and small arc, the Foxfire stood a good chance of acquiring them, Stealth technology or not. "The Mainstay might have us."

"Anything locked on us?"

"Not yet." Eisly's eyes were glued to the threat-receiver instruments. No missile-control radars had centered on the Frisbee yet. "Coming under the target."

"Right. Climbing now." Ellington eased back on his stick and punched up full afterburners. The Frisbee's engines could only give him Mach 1.3, but this was the place to use all the power he had. According to the weather people, these clouds topped out at twenty thousand feet, and the IL-76 would be about five thousand above that. Now the Frisbee was vulnerable. No longer lost in the ground clutter, her engines radiating their maximum signature, the Stealth aircraft was broadcasting her presence.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt


Tom Clancy

Red Storm Rising


19 – Journeys End/Journeys Begin


"Take her up to periscope depth," he ordered. "It's time to check for orders, and we'll try an ESM sweep to see what's happening."

Not a simple procedure, that. The submarine came up slowly, cautiously, turning to allow her sonar to make certain that there was not a ship around.

"Raise the ESM."

An electronics technician pressed the button to raise the mast for his broad-band receiver. The board lit up instantly.

"Numerous electronic sources, sir. Three J-band search sets, lots of other stuff. Lots of VHF and UHF chatter. The recorders are going."

That figures, McCafferty thought. The odds against having anyone here after us are pretty low, though. "Up scope."

The captain angled the search-scope lens upward to scan the sky for a nearby aircraft and made a quick turn around the horizon. He noticed something odd, and had to angle down the lens to see what it was.

There was a green smoke marker not two hundred yards away. McCafferty cringed and spun the instrument back around. A multiengine aircraft was coming out of the haze-directly in at them.

The captain reached up and spun the periscope wheel, lowering the instrument. "Take her down! All ahead flank! Make your depth eight hundred feet!" Where the hell did he come from?

The submarine's engines fairly exploded into action. A flurry of orders had the helmsmen push their controls to the stops.

"Torpedo in the water, starboard side!'' a sonarman screamed.

McCafferty reacted at once. "Left full rudder!"

"Left full rudder, aye!" The speed log was at ten knots and rising quickly. They passed below one hundred feet.

"Torpedo bearing one-seven-five relative. It's pinging. Doesn't have us yet."

"Fire off a noisemaker."

Seventy feet aft of the control room, a five-inch canister was ejected from a launcher. It immediately started making all kinds of noise for the torpedo to home in on.

"Noisemaker away!"










http://www.chakoteya.net/movies/movie8.html

Star Trek: First Contact


PICARD: I think it's time we made a discrete exit.

RIKER: Riker to Enterprise. Stand by to beam us up.

LILY: You've got to go? ...I envy you. The world you're going to.

PICARD: I envy you. Taking these first steps into a new frontier. ...I shall miss you, Lily.

(Picard kisses her on the cheek)

PICARD: Picard to Enterprise. Energise.

[Enterprise-E bridge]

PICARD: Report.

WORF: The moon's gravitational field obscured our warp signature. The Vulcans did not detect us.

LAFORGE: Captain, I've reconfigured our warp field to match the chronometric readings of the Borg sphere.

PICARD: Recreate the vortex, Commander.

LAFORGE: Aye sir.

RIKER: All decks report ready.

DATA: Helm standing by.

PICARD: Mister Data, lay in a course for the twenty-fourth century. I suspect our future is there waiting for us.



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 6:23 PM Pacific Time near Seattle Washington State USA Thursday 15 August 2013