http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088172/quotes
IMDb
Starman (1984)
Quotes
Trucker: [muttering] Every goddamn place you go!
2016_Nk20_DSCN2690.JPG
From 7/18/1988 to 5/13/2006 is 6508 days
From 1/18/1991 to 11/12/2008 is 6508 days
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt
Red Storm Rising (1986)
Tom Clancy
40 – The Killing Ground
ALFELD, FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY
It was too far for artillery support from the NATO lines, and they'd been forced to leave their own guns behind. Mackall trained his gunsights through the haze and saw the advancing Russian formations. He estimated two regiments. That made it a division-sized attack in the classic two-up, one-back fashion. Hmm. I don't see any SAM launchers upfront The colonel in overall command started giving his orders over the command circuit. Friendly air was coming in.
"Red Storm Rising"
Apache attack choppers popped up right behind the Cav's positions. They moved south to flank the advancing Russian vehicles, jinking and skidding as they launched their Hellfire missiles into the leading echelon of tanks. Their pilots sought out missile-launch vehicles but found none. Next came the A10s. The ugly twin-engine aircraft swooped low, free for once of the SAM threat. Their rotary cannon and cluster bombs continued the job of the Apaches.
"They're coming in dumb, boss," the gunner commented.
"Maybe they're green, Woody."
"Okay by me."
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: From: Kerry Burgess
To: Kerry Burgess
Sent: Saturday, May 13, 2006 1:49:58 PM
Subject: Sleep journal 5/13/06
In an office, my boss's boss, was telling me that I had made history today. She said something about me proving how a single person can make a difference. She handed me some stuff including a chain that you use for dog tags. I was looking at it and there was something about it being too long, or needing to have some links taken out of it. I don't recognize me boss's boss, but my boss was familar. The senior person told me that my boss appreciate's people that are passionate about their work, after I was commenting on how much I enjoy my work.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 13 May 2006 excerpt end]
http://www.tv.com/shows/american-masters-1986/a-duke-named-ellington-1150407/
tv.com
PBS American Masters Season 3 Episode 2
A Duke Named Ellington
Aired Wednesday 9:00 PM Jul 18, 1988 on PBS
AIRED: 7/18/88
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt
Red Storm Rising (1986)
Tom Clancy
17 – The Frisbees of Dreamland
Red Storm Rising
GERMANY, FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA
The view would have been frightening to most men. There were solid clouds overhead at four thousand feet. He flew through showers that he more heard than saw on this black night, and the dark outlines of trees appeared to reach up and snatch at his speeding fighter. Only a madman would be so low on such a night-so much the better, he smiled inside his oxygen mask.
Colonel Douglas Ellington's fingertips caressed the control stick of his F-19A Ghostrider attack fighter, while his other hand rested on the side-by-side throttle controls on the left-side cockpit wall. The head-up display projected on the windshield in front of him reported 625 knots Indicated Air Speed, a hundred six feet of altitude, a heading of 013, and around the numbers was a monocolor holographic image of the terrain before him. The image came from a forward-looking infrared camera in the fighter's nose, augmented by an invisible laser that interrogated the ground eight times per second. For peripheral vision, his oversized helmet was fitted with low-light goggles.
"Raisin' hell over our heads," his back-seater reported. Major Don Eisly monitored the radio and radar signals, as well as their own instruments: "All systems continue nominal, range to target now ninety miles."
"Right," the Duke responded. It had been an automatic nickname for Ellington, who even looked vaguely like the jazz musician.
Ellington relished the mission. They were skimming north at perilously low level over the angular terrain of East Germany, and their Frisbee, never more than two hundred feet off the ground, jerked up and down to the pilot's constant course adjustments.
"Red Storm Rising"
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. Climb faster, baby . . .
"Red Storm Rising"
"Tallyho!" Ellington said too loudly over the intercom as he burst through the clouds, and the night-vision systems instantly showed him the Mainstay, five miles away and diving for cover in front of him. Too late. The head-on closing speed was nearly a thousand miles per hour.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0099587/releaseinfo
IMDb
Flight of the Intruder (1991)
Release Info
USA 18 January 1991
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 11/12/08 10:44 PM
http://my.excite.com/tv/prog.jsp?id=MV000073230000&sid=31556&sn=AMCP&st=200811122230&cn=50
The Gauntlet (1977)
50 AMCP: Wednesday, November 12 10:30 PM
1977, R, **1/2, 01:49, Color, English, United States,
Las Vegas oddsmakers say a detective (Clint Eastwood) and a prostitute (Sondra Locke) will never make it back to Phoenix alive.
Cast: Clint Eastwood, Sondra Locke, Pat Hingle, William Prince, Bill McKinney, Mara Corday Director(s): Clint Eastwood
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 12 November 2008 excerpt end]
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: 11/12/08 11:15 PM
Isn't that the name of that sculpture I was sitting at all those days in front of the Seattle P-I building and where the USS Momsen was anchored? Something about a rock and a hard place? There are three concrete foundations and there is some kind of motion that is supposed to be established by the placement of the large boulders next to the foundation. At one end, the concrete foundations are separate, in the middle section they are partially touching and then at the other end, the rock is on top of the concrete foundation.
http://www.cswap.com/1977/The_Gauntlet/cap/en/2_Parts/a/00_32
The Gauntlet
:32:05
lf them two are examples,
l'd say the folks hunting for her. . .
:32:08
. . .have the initials M-O-B.
:32:13
You didn't tell me
it was the Mob after us. . .
:32:16
. . .raising the odds.
:32:17
Who the hell are you protecting?
:32:19
l'm not protecting anybody.
l didn't know.
:32:24
Shit!
:32:27
Now you got the cops
on your ass too.
:32:30
The good guys and the bad guys.
:32:32
You're between a rock
and a hard place, boy.
:32:35
You ain't got a chance in hell.
No, sir!
:32:39
What do you say, colonel?
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 12 November 2008 excerpt end]
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1978 film "Capricorn One" DVD video:
00:21:19
US Navy Commander John Walker: I think I'm going to throw up.
US Air Force lieutenant colonel Peter Willis: Well, that'll solve everything.
1978 film "Capricorn One" DVD video:
00:06:26
Horace: Four billion dollars to put crazy people into space.
Walker: Keeps us off the streets.
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: - posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 6:06 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Friday 10 October 2014 - http://hvom.blogspot.com/2014/10/patient-zero.html
At first I thought the air quality was just bad. I was coughing and I thought the reason was the so-called ridiculously resilient ridge of High Pressure causing stagnant air and wood smoke pollution.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 10 October 2014 excerpt ends]
"Flight of the Intruder"
Stephen Coonts
St. Martin's Paperbacks
Pocket Books edition / October 1987
St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / July 2006
Page 42
His hands were still shaking. Adrenaline aftershock, he decided. He picked up a sheet of paper and placed it on top of his splayed fingertips. The paper vibrated. Like everything else in his life, like the targets, like what happened to Morgan, it was beyond his control. He stared into the shadows of the room. He remembered the look on Morgan's face, and the gagging
JOURNAL ARCHIVE: Posted by H.V.O.M at 2:55 AM Friday, July 22, 2011
I wouldn't even make this kind of report normally and I have resisted for a few minutes the impulse to write about this but I just cannot shake the feeling that it is important to note.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 22 July 2011 excerpt ends]
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html
Rainbow Six (1998)
Tom Clancy
CHAPTER 33
THE GAMES BEGIN
Starting in about four weeks, people would think themselves mildly ill. Some would see their personal physicians, and be diagnosed as flu victims, told to take aspirin, drink fluids, and rest in front of the TV. They would do this, and feel better-because seeing a doctor usually did that to people-for a day or so. But they would not be getting better. Sooner or later, they'd develop the internal bleeds that Shiva ultimately caused, and then, about five weeks after the initial release of the nano-capsules, some doctor would run an antibody test and be aghast to learn that something like the famous and feared Ebola fever was back.
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt
Red Storm Rising (1986)
Tom Clancy
6 – The Watchers
Lowe's uniform blouse hung in the comer. Toland sipped at his coffee and surveyed its four rows of decorations. There were three repeat pips on his Vietnam service ribbon. And a Navy Cross. Dressed in the olive-green sweater affected by Marine officers, Lowe was not a big man, and his Midwest accent gave evidence of a relaxed, almost bored outlook on life. But his brown eyes said something else entirely. Colonel Lowe was thinking along Toland's lines already, and he was not the least happy about it.
"Chuck, if they are really preparing for some action-action on a large scale, they just can't mess with a few colonels. Something else will start showing up. They'll have to do some work at the bottom, too."
"Red Storm Rising"
"Yeah, that's the next thing we have to look for. I sent a request into DIA yesterday. From now on, when Red Star comes out, the attach??? in Moscow will send a photo-facsimile to us via satellite. If they start doing that, it'll sure as hell turn up in Kraznaya Zvesda. Bob, I think you've opened a very interesting can of worms, and you're not going to be alone examining it."
Toland finished his coffee. The Soviets had taken an entire class of fleet ballistic missile submarines out of service. They were conducting arms talks in Vienna. They were buying grain from America and Canada under surprisingly favorable terms, even allowing American hulls to handle 20 percent of the cargo. How did this jibe with the signs he had seen? Logically it didn't, except in one specific case-and that wasn't possible. Was it?
SHPOLA, THE UKRAINE
The crashing sound of the 125mm tank gun was enough to strip the hair off your head, Alekseyev thought, but after five hours of running this exercise, it came through his ear protectors as a dull ringing sound. This morning the ground had been covered with grass and dotted with new saplings, but now it was a uniform wasteland of mud, marked only with the tread marks of T-80 main battle tanks and BMP armored infantry fighting vehicles. Three times the regiment had run this exercise, simulating a frontal assault of tanks and mounted infantry against an enemy of equal strength. Ninety mobile guns had supplied fire support, along with a battery of rocket launchers. Three times.
Alekseyev turned, removing his helmet and earmuffs to look at the regimental commander. "A Guards regiment, eh, Comrade Colonel? Elite soldiers of the Red Army? These tit-sucking children couldn't guard a Turkish whorehouse, much less do anything worthwhile inside of it! And what have you been doing for the past four years commanding this rolling circus, Comrade Colonel? You have learned to kill your whole command three times! Your artillery observers are not located properly. Your tanks and infantry carriers still can't coordinate their movements, and your tank gunners can't find targets three meters high! If that had been a NATO force holding that ridge, you and your command would be dead!" Alekseyev examined the colonel's face. His demeanor was changing from red-fear to white-anger. Good. "The loss of these people is no great penalty for the State, but that is valuable equipment, burning valuable fuel, shooting valuable ordnance, and taking up my valuable time! Comrade Colonel, I must leave you now. First I will throw up. Then I will fly to my command post. I will be back. When I come back, we will run this exercise again. Your men will perform properly, Comrade Colonel, or you will spend the rest of your miserable life counting trees!"
- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 2:32 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Wednesday 25 May 2016
