posted by me, Kerry Burgess: December 31, 2020
http://www. online-literature. com/bible/Genesis/
Literature Network
Genesis
6:5 And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.
6:6 And it repented the LORD that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart.
6:7 And the LORD said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them.
Red Storm Rising (1986) - Tom Clancy
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 26
"Welcome, Comrade General," said a dirty-faced Red Army colonel.
"Where is the divisional commander?"
"I'm in command. The General was killed day before yesterday by enemy artillery fire. We have to move the CP twice a day. They are becoming very skilled at locating us."
"Your situation?" Alekseyev asked curtly.
"The men are tired, but they can still fight. We are not getting sufficient air support, and the NATO fighters give us no rest at night. We have about half our nominal combat strength, except in artillery. That's down to a third. The Americans have just changed tactics on us. Now, instead of attacking the leading tank formations, they are sending their aircraft after our guns first. We were badly hurt last night. Just as we were launching a regimental attack, four of their ground-attack fighters nearly wiped out a battalion of mobile guns. The attack failed."
"What about concealment!" Alekseyev demanded.
"Ask the devil's mother why it doesn't work," the colonel shot back. "Their radar aircraft can evidently track vehicles on the ground-we've tried jamming, we've tried lures. Sometimes it works, but sometimes not. The division command post has been attacked twice. My regiments are commanded by majors, my battalions by captains. NATO tactics are to go for the unit commanders, and the bastards are good at it.
Red Storm Rising (1986) - Tom Clancy
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 27
NORWEGIAN SEA
Cruising at an altitude of thirty-six thousand feet the Tomcats flew racetrack-shaped patterns north and south of the predicted course for the Soviet tankers. Their powerful search/missile-guidance radars were shut down. Instead, they swept the skies with a built-in TV camera that could identify aircraft as far as forty miles away. Conditions were ideal, a clear sky with only a few high cirrus clouds; the fighters left no contrails that might warn another aircraft of their presence. The pilots curved their fighters around the sky, their eyes shifting out to check the horizon, then in to check engine instruments, a cycle repeated every ten seconds.
"Well, lookie here . . ." the squadron commander said to his weapons operator. The flight officer in the Tomcat's back seat centered the TV camera on the aircraft.
"Looks like a Badger to me."
"I don't suppose he's alone. Let's wait."
"Roge."
The bomber was over forty miles off. Soon two more appeared, along with something smaller.
"That's a fighter. So, they have fighter escorts this far out, eh? I count a total of . . . six targets." The weapons operator tightened up his shoulder straps, then activated his missile controls. "All weapons armed and ready. Fighters first?"
"Fighters first, light 'em up," the pilot agreed. He toggled up his radio. "Two, this is Lead, we have four tankers and a pair of fighters on a course of about zero-eight-five, forty miles west of my position. We are engaging now. Come on in. Over."
"Roger that. On the way, Lead. Out." Two brought his interceptor into a tight turn and advanced his throttles to the stops.
The leader's radar activated. They now had two fighters and four tankers identified. The first two Phoenixes would be targeted on the fighters.
"Shoot!"
The two missiles dropped clear of their shackle points and ignited, leading the Tomcat to the targets.
The Russian tankers had detected the fighter's AWG-9 radar and were already trying to evade. Their escorting fighters went to full power and activated their own missile-guidance radars, only to find that they were still outside missile range to the attacking fighters. Both switched on their jamming pods and began to jink their aircraft up and down as they closed in hope of launching their own missiles. They couldn't run away, there wasn't enough fuel for that, and their mission was to keep the fighters off the tankers.
The Phoenix missiles burned through the air at Mach 5, closing the distance to their targets in just under a minute. One Soviet pilot never saw the missile, and was blotted from the sky in a ball of red and black. The other did, and threw his stick over, a second before the missile exploded. It nearly missed, but fragments tore into the fighter's port wing. The pilot struggled to regain control as he fell from the sky.
Behind the fighters, the tankers split up, two heading north, the other pair south. The lead Tomcat took the northern pair and killed both with his remaining two Phoenixes. His wingman racing up from the north fired two missiles, hitting with one, and missing with the other, as the missile was confused by the Badger's jamming gear.
Red Storm Rising (1986) - Tom Clancy
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 20 – The Dance of the Vampires
The Badger crews exchanged looks of relief. They had detected the American radar signals fifteen minutes before, and knew that each kilometer south meant a greater chance that they would run into a cloud of enemy fighters. Aboard each aircraft the navigator and bombardier worked quickly to feed strike information into the Kelt missiles slung under each wing.
Eight hundred miles to their southwest, the Backfire crews advanced their throttles slightly, plotting a course to the datum point supplied by the raid commander. Having circled far around the American formation, they would now be controlled by the strike officer aboard the first Bear to make electronic contact with the Hawkeyes. They had a solid fix on the NATO formation, but they needed better if they were to locate and engage the carriers. These crews were not relieved, but excited. Now came the challenging part. The battle plan had been formulated a year before and practiced-over land exclusively-five times. Four times it had worked.
Aboard eighty Badger bombers, pilots checked their watches, counting off the seconds to 0615 Zulu.
"Launch!"
The lead Badger launched eight seconds early. First one, then the second, aircraft-shaped Kelt dropped free of its pylon, falling several hundred feet before their turbojet engines ran up to full power. Running on autopilot, the Kelts climbed back to thirty thousand feet and cruised on south at six hundred knots indicated air speed. The bomber crews watched their birds proceed for a minute or two, then each of the bombers turned slowly and gracefully for home, their mission done. Six Badger-J stand-off jamming aircraft continued south. They would stay sixty kilometers behind the Kelts. Their crews were nervous but confident. It would not be easy for American radar to bum through their powerful jammers, and in any case, the Americans would soon have many targets to concern them.
The Kelts continued on, straight and level. They carried their own electronic equipment, which would be triggered automatically by sensors in their tail fins. When they entered the theoretical arc of the Hawkeyes' radar range, transponders in their noses clicked on.
USS NIMITZ
"Radar contacts! Designate Raid-1, bearing three-four-niner, range four-six-zero miles. Numerous contacts, count one-four-zero contacts, course one-seven-five, speed six hundred knots."
The master tactical scope plotted the contacts electronically, and a pair of plexiglass plates showed another visual display.
"So, here they come," Baker said quietly. "Right on time. Comments?"
"I-" Toland didn't get a chance.
The computer display went white.
"Clipper Base, this is Hawk-Three. We're getting some jamming," reported the senior airborne control officer. "We plot six, possibly seven jammers, bearing three-four-zero to zero-three-zero. Pretty powerful stuff. Estimate we have stand-off jammers
of my original-work
Event Date variable: 12/31/2020
Search Date variable: 11/21/1994
From 11/21/1994 ( ) To 12/31/2020 ( ) is 9537 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 12/13/1991 ( ) is 9537 days
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9721660/
The Stand
S1.E3
Blank Page
Episode aired Dec 31, 2020
Flagg communicates with Nick and Nadine, and sends a message to Abigail and the Committee
IMDb
In Harm's Way (1965)
Quotes
Admiral Kimmel: It is my duty to inform you that you have been relieved of your command, pending the findings of a court of inquiry.
Captain Torrey: I don't understand, sir.
Admiral Kimmel: You weren't zig-zagging when you took the two torpedoes.
Captain Torrey: I was stretching my fuel, sir.
Admiral Kimmel: If you didn't have fuel to complete your mission, why didn't you turn back for Pearl?
Captain Torrey: My mission was to intercept and engage an enemy of greatly superior strength, sir. I could only take that one way: that my group was expendable.
Admiral Kimmel: I doubt if a court of inquiry will accept that. Captain, you're about to be caught in a vacuum between a peacetime Navy and a wartime Navy. Six months from now, they'll be making admirals out of captains who exhibit some guts. But right now, they're only reacting to the Pearl Harbor disaster, and punishment is order-of-the-day. Of course, you don't have to abide by what a court of inquiry decides. You can ask for general court-martial, get yourself a couple of crack sea lawyers, and make a fight of it.
Captain Torrey: I wouldn't care to do that, sir.
Admiral Kimmel: Why not?
Captain Torrey: Second-generation Navy, Admiral.
Admiral Kimmel: I see. I don't plan to ask for court-martial either, Captain, and I've lost a fleet. So I expect we'll both just take what they give us, and trust it will be a useful job somewhere.
IMDb
The Last Boy Scout (1991)
Quotes
[Joe gets to his office, after waking up next to a dead squirrel a bunch of kids threw in his car]
Mike Matthews: What'd you do last night?
Joe Hallenbeck: I think I fucked a squirrel to death, and don't remember.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 23
Randall Flagg, the dark man, strode south on US 51, listening to the nightsounds that pressed close on both sides of this narrow road that would take him sooner or later out of Idaho and into Nevada. From Nevada he might go anywhere. From New Orleans to Nogales, from Portland, Oregon, to Portland, Maine, it was his country, and none knew or loved it better. He knew where the roads went, and he walked them at night. Now, an hour before dawn, he was somewhere between Grasmere and Riddle, west of Twin Falls, still north of the Duck Valley Reservation that spreads across two states. And wasn’t it fine?
He walked rapidly, rundown bootheels clocking against the paved surface of the road, and if car lights showed on the horizon he faded back and back, down over the soft shoulder to the high grass where the night bugs made their homes… and the car would pass him, the driver perhaps feeling a slight chill as if he had driven through an air pocket, his sleeping wife and children stirring uneasily, as if all had been touched with a bad dream at the same instant.
He walked south, south on US 51, the worn heels of his sharp-toed cowboy boots clocking on the pavement; a tall man of no age in faded, pegged jeans and a denim jacket. His pockets were stuffed with fifty different kinds of conflicting literature—pamphlets for all seasons, rhetoric for all reasons. When this man handed you a tract you took it no matter what the subject: the dangers of atomic power plants, the role played by the International Jewish Cartel in the overthrow of friendly governments, the CIA-Contra-cocaine connection, the farm workers’ unions, the Jehovah’s Witnesses (If You Can Answer These Ten Questions “Yes,” You Have Been SAVED!), the Blacks for Militant Equality, the Kode of the Klan. He had them all, and more, too. There was a button on each breast of his denim jacket. On the right, a yellow smile-face. On the left, a pig wearing a policeman’s cap. The legend was written beneath in red letters which dripped to simulate blood: HOW’S YOUR PORK?
He moved on, not pausing, not slowing, but alive to the night. His eyes seemed almost frantic with the night’s possibilities. There was a Boy Scout knapsack on his back, old and battered. There was a dark hilarity in his face, and perhaps in his heart, too, you would think—and you would be right.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 32
The guard said he was feeling fine himself, but he was going to get the Christ out just as soon as his shift was over. He had heard the army was going to roadblock US 17 and I-10 and US 80 by tomorrow morning, and he was going to load up his wife and kid and all the food he could get his hands on and stay up in the mountains until it all blew over. He had a cabin up there, the guard said, and if anyone tried to get within thirty yards of it, he would put a bullet in his head.
The next morning Trask had a runny nose and said he felt feverish. He had been nearly gibbering with panic, Lloyd remembered as he sucked his fingers. Trask had yelled at every guard who passed to get him the fuck out before he got really sick or something. The guards never even looked at him, or at any of the other prisoners, who were now as restless as underfed lions in the zoo. That was when Lloyd started to feel scared. Usually there were as many as twenty different screws on the floor at any given time. So how come he had seen only four or five different faces on the other side of the bars?
That day, the twenty-seventh, Lloyd had begun eating only half of the meals that were thrust through the bars at him, and saving the other half—precious little—under his bunk mattress.
Yesterday Trask had gone into sudden convulsions. His face had turned as black as the ace of spades and he had died. Lloyd had looked longingly at Trask’s half-eaten lunch, but he had no way to reach it. Yesterday afternoon there had still been a few guards on the floor, but they weren’t carrying anyone down to the infirmary anymore, no matter how sick. Maybe they were dying down in the infirmary, too, and the warden decided to stop wasting the effort. No one came to remove Trask’s body.
Lloyd napped late yesterday afternoon. When he woke, the Maximum Security corridors were empty. No supper had been served. Now the place really did sound like the lion house at the zoo. Lloyd wasn’t imaginative enough to wonder how much more savage it would have sounded if Maximum Security had been filled to its capacity. He had no idea how many were still alive and lively enough to yell for their supper, but the echoes made it sound like more. All Lloyd knew for sure was that Trask was gathering flies on his right, and the cell on his left was empty. The former occupant, a young jive-talking black guy who had tried to mug an old lady and had killed her instead, had been taken to the infirmary days back. Across the way he could see two empty cells and the dangling feet of a man who was in for killing his wife and his brother-in-law during a penny Pokeno game. The Pokeno Killer, as he had been called, had apparently opted out with his belt, or if they had taken that, his own pair of pants.
Later that night, after the lights had come on automatically, Lloyd had eaten some of the beans he had saved from two days ago. They tasted horrible but he ate them anyway. He washed them down with water from the toilet bowl and then crawled up on his bunk and clasped his knees against his chest, cursing Poke for getting him into such a mess. It was all Poke’s fault. On his own, Lloyd never would have been ambitious to get into more than small-time trouble.
Little by little, the roaring for food had quieted down, and Lloyd suspected he wasn’t the only one who had been squirreling away some insurance. But he didn’t have much. If he had really believed this was going to happen, he would have put away more. There was something in the back of his mind that he didn’t want to see. It was as if there was a set of flapping drapes in the back of his mind, with something behind them. You could only see that thing’s bony, skeletal feet below the hem of the drapes. That’s all you wanted to see. Because the feet belonged to a nodding, emaciated corpse, and his name was STARVATION.
“Oh no,” Lloyd said. “Someone’s gonna come. Sure they are. Just as sure as shit sticks to a blanket.”
But he kept remembering the rabbit.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
“Mother? ”
“I know what you can do with your mother,” Lloyd muttered.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
“MOOOOTHERRRR —” The voice came drifting up at the steel throat of the holding cells again, as mournful as a foghorn.
“Jesus,” Lloyd muttered. “Holy Jesus. SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP, YA FUCKIN DIMWIT! ”
“MOOOOOOOTHERRRRRRRRRR —”
excerpts
https://www.presidency.ucsb.edu/documents/radio-and-television-address-the-american-people-the-nuclear-test-ban-treaty
The American Presidency Project
JOHN F. KENNEDY
35th President of the United States: 1961 ‐ 1963
Radio and Television Address to the American People on the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty
July 26, 1963
A war today or tomorrow, if it led to nuclear war, would not be like any war in history. A full-scale nuclear exchange, lasting less than 60 minutes, with the weapons now in existence, could wipe out more than 300 million Americans, Europeans, and Russians, as well as untold numbers elsewhere. And the survivors, as Chairman Khrushchev warned the Communist Chinese, "the survivors would envy the dead." For they would inherit a world so devastated by explosions and poison and fire that today we cannot even conceive of its horrors.
From 8/3/1998 ( "Rainbow Six" by Tom Clancy ) To 12/31/2020 ( ) is 8186 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 4/1/1988 ( premiere USA film "The Seventh Sign" ) is 8186 days
- by me, Kerry Wayne Burgess, posted by me: 10:25 AM Pacific-timezone USA Thursday 07/31/2025
