Somehow Palpatine Returned?

 "Somehow, Palpatine returned."

-Poe Dameron in Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

At the end of Return of the Jedi, Palpatine is thrown down a deep shaft on the Death Star and apparently explodes and/or is incinerated. The flames of the explosion rise to the top of the shaft. A short time later, the Death Star itself explodes. 

Palpatine's screams are audible for several seconds as he falls (I counted 12 seconds from when he dropped until the explosion), indicating he fell at least a few hundred meters. So even if he hadn't exploded, the fall would have surely killed him, and if he somehow survived both the fall and the explosion, he couldn't have possibly survived the destruction of the Death Star. That explosion was so large, it was visible hundreds of miles away on the surface of Endor. 

Good fiction requires plausibility or at least internal consistency. Try harder, screenwriters.

A Dwarf and His Centaur

When the mountains were new and the stars were young, the world was filled with monsters and magic. Deep in a dark forest, lived a tribe of dwarves. They were expert craftsmen, and though their town was small and isolated, it was safe and prosperous. Merchants from near and far came to the dwarves to purchase their wares, and this is how a certain young dwarf named Egil caught a glimpse of a centaur for the first time. The centaurs lived far away in the plains. They were divided among many tribes and fought each other and outsiders with equal frequency and ferocity. Thus, they were always buying armor and weapons with the money they got from bartering away the loot they had plundered. Once Egil was practicing archery with his crossbow near the main market. A centaur happened to be passing by, and upon seeing Egil's marksmanship, approached and struck up a conversation.

"You shoot well, dwarf. My name is Iskander."

"I'm Egil, pleased to meet you. What can I do for you?"

"I've fought in many battles, but without much distinction. Would you consider a partnership? Ride on my back and shoot your crossbow at the distant enemies. I'll take care of the ones who get close with my sword."

Iskander drew his sword for dramatic effect. The shimmering scimitar sang when drawn from its scabbard. 

Egil took a moment to ponder this proposal. Warriors were highly honored among his people, though very few ever fought, and almost never as allies of outsiders. He responded to the offer as only a dwarf could.

"When's in it for me?"

"Oh, you dwarves. So greedy. Does not the glory of victory in battle thrill you in the slightest?"

"Aye, but such glory comes at a very heavy price. Surely you've had comrades who were killed or wounded."

"Indeed, you speak the truth. I see you're a cunning one who knows his worth. In that case, as long as we fight together, we shall split all the booty we capture fifty-fifty. How does that sound?"

"Iskander, I am at your service. Let us go forth at once."

And so they rode out on the road that led from the forest to the plain. There were inns and towns along the way, so they did not need to carry many supplies. Centaurs are nomads by nature and are accustomed to traveling light. As for dwarves, they are a frugal and practical sort. Besides his crossbow and arrows, Egil brought a dagger, some silver coins, a telescope, and a bottle of poison. 

After a day of journeying on the road, they stopped at an inn for the night. The innkeeper struggled to accommodate Iskander as the inn was built with two-legged customers in mind. Just about everyone else in the tavern was a man except for a few serving wenches. As the odd duo drank their ale and ate their supper, strangers gawked at them. Never before had such a pair been seen by human eyes. They ordered another round of ale, as both centaurs and dwarves are notorious heavy drinkers. There was something odd about the wench who served them. Iskander's curiosity overwhelmed him. 

"Madam, forgive me if I insult you. You're too pretty to be working in a place like this."

"You speak kindly, good stranger. Alas, I learned long ago it's best to keep my woes to myself."

"What a pity. This dwarf and I are riding off to seek our fortune and glory in the plains. There is enough room on my back if you'd like to join us."

Egil knew at once this was false, and that he might be the one to end up walking the rest of the way to the plains, or else be forced to find another beast to ride. The wench seemed to perceive the concern in his eyes. 

"I'd prefer to ride a horse, if you can get one for me."

"Fear not, fair maiden. Come, Egil. Let's chug our ale and get on with business."

After quaffing the ale, Iskander cleared his throat, stamped a hoof on the table, and bellowed "hark, ye fine men! I seek a good horse, for which I will trade my shield. Who wishes to trade?"  

A large hooded man near the fireplace arose and made his way toward Iskander. 

"I have a suitable horse. Wait here, and I'll bring it around for you to see out front. I'll come for you again when all is ready."

A few minutes later, the hooded man returned and beckoned them to come see the horse. It was a fine stallion, though a bit old. 

"He's big and strong, as you can see. He spent most his life pulling a plow", said the hooded man.

"What say you, madam?", said Iskander to the wench. 

"You won't find a better horse on short notice. He's worth the price of your shield. Also, my name is Circe."

"It's settled then. Here, stranger. Take my shield. Circe, see to it that your new horse has a place for the night. We'll all meet again the morning."

Dawn broke and the new trio prepared to go forth. After a few more days on the road, they reached the plain. From there, Iskander guided them to the territory of his tribe. They reached the camp near dusk. It was lively with the sound of hooves, laughter, and conversation. They made their way to the center of the camp where the chief centaur lay resting in front of a fire. 

"Mind your manners", whispered Iskander to his companions, "with any luck, he'll give us an easy quest to accomplish."

"Iskander, welcome back", said the chief centaur in low, bored tones. "I see you've brough guests with you. Hopefully they will be of use for the raid I have in mind."

"A raid?, Oh sire, you honor me. Please tell me more."

"The clan across the river has been giving us trouble for some time, as you know. I believe you and your new allies have the power to defeat our tribe's nemesis once and for all. Therefore, go and attack them at once however you see fit. Bring me the head of the enemy's chief or do not return at all. Those are your orders. Good luck."

At that, Iskander bowed politely and led his companions to a resting place in the camp. All three of them were eaten up with worry. How could they defeat a whole clan of centaurs? They drifted off to uneasy sleep. 

They set out early in search of the foe. Egil had pondered their dilemma during the night and had an idea.

"Iskander, I will lend Circe my telescope so she can scout the enemy. It's unlikely they will take notice of her, and she will be able to do it safely from afar."

"What say you, Circe?"

"Seems sensible and easy enough. Good thinking, Egil. When I'm finished, we'll all rendezvous at the river crossing."

She took the telescope and rode ahead. A few miles after the river crossing, she caught a glimpse of the camp. It was much bigger than the camp of Iskander's people. There was no way this would be a regular battle. She spied the whole place thoroughly and made note of the enemy chief's appearance and location. 

They all met again at the river crossing just as planned. It was time for another war council.

"There will be a full moon tonight, so it will be easy enough to see, but hard to see me", said Egil. "I'll sneak near enough and shoot a poison-tipped arrow at the enemy chief. That's the easy part. I'm not sure how we'll recover his head."

"Centaurs generally bury their dead as soon as possible. Since it is considered bad luck to camp where a centaur has been killed, they will move elsewhere after no more than a day. Thus, once Egil's arrow has found its mark, all we need to do after is wait until nightfall to dig up the body so I can chop off the head."

All went according to plan. Egil carefully crept up on his quarry and slew him with a poison-tipped arrow. In the morning, their were wails of despair and grief from the enemy, who hastily buried their leader before galloping off. In their haste, the abandoned many bulky, but precious items. It was far too much for the three of them to carry. They worked together to exhume the corpse, and Iskander decapitated it. They returned to their own camp triumphantly with Iskander displaying the head, which he dropped at the feat of his chief.

The whole tribe was rallied to gather the spoils of war at the abandoned camp, and later there was a great feast in honor of the trio. Circe and Egil were about to head back to the forest when the chief bade them to wait.

"I have a special charm", he explained, "bestowed upon me as a gift from a wizard. I can grant one wish to each of you. What shall it be?"

Iskander wished for a mighty army, and it was so. Later, he conquered all his rivals and united the centaurs under a single banner.

Egil wished for long life and happiness. He lived centuries longer than any other dwarf in contentment.

Circe wished to be a queen and became beloved by her subjects.

None of these things happened right away, of course. But those are all stories for another time. 

Great Moments in Online Dating

Back in 2021, I chatted up a woman online. She must have enjoyed my jokes as she sent me this picture:

The conversation which came beforehand:

Me: Why did the pizza burn the hipster's tongue? Because he ate it before it was cool.

Her: Is that somehow related to eating pussy?

Me: I suppose it could be with enough effort. There are restaurants in Japan where men eat off of naked ladies. That must make for interesting job interviews. 

"What did you do at your last job?"

"I was a plate."

Her: I've never had sushi but I would probably be a plate

Me: Yeah, the life of an animate utensil is not for me. Which reminds me of the terrifying philosophical implications of the cursed servants in Beauty and the Beast. 

Her: Anne rice wrote a version of beauty and the Beast that's erotica. Beauty was a sex slave

Me: Kinky. Was it called "50 Shades of Grey Poupon"?  

Her: [sends pic of herself with her underwear in her mouth]

Me: You see, that's the sort pic that I just couldn't pull off. Not that I've ever tried to entice women by sending them pictures of me with my underwear in my mouth. There's a first time for everything though. 

Telemachus of Ithaca

In the years that passed after his father Odysseus returned home after his long wandering, Telemachus grew to the peak to maturity in the summer of his youth. At the same time, both his parents aged and entered the autumn years of midlife. Odysseus, once so mighty and cunning, became feeble and dull of sight, hearing, and mind. He knew it was time for his son to take over as king, for Telemachus was now more fit for battle. Telemachus took the throne and immediately took to the tasks of administering his domain. One gloomy evening as he was busy studying some maps and scrolls, a servant called for him. Odysseus was on his deathbed, and there was not much time left. The ailing hero gasped for breath and beckoned his son and only child to hear his last words. Telemachus bent down to his father's ear and heard thus: 

"My son, be strong to do good."

At this, the chest of the once mighty Odysseus fell gently as the strong hand of fate gripped him and darkness shrouded his eyes. Poor Penelope, so heartbroken was she to have lost her one true love, fell into a deep despair and perished herself barely a fortnight later. They were buried side by side along with their ancestors and countrymen in the family crypt of the royal house of Ithaca. Hardly a single day passed without Telemachus visiting his parents' graves to contemplate, pray, and give offerings to the gods. He was comforted by the thought that they were surely together in the afterlife, where they leisurely strolled through the forever golden fields of Elysium.   

 

It came to pass that Sparta, the staunch ally of Ithaca during the Trojan War, fell into disorder when its king, Agamemnon, died suddenly of illness. There was a brief power struggle before a greedy and ambitious captain named Solon seized power and ruthlessly stamped out all opposition. Not long after, he became greedy for new land and battles, and turned a jealous eye toward Ithaca, which seemed ripe for conquest. The men of Ithaca were of course, decent warriors, but hardly a match for the Spartan army, which was feared by all of Greece and many foreign nations as well. Besides being inferior to the Spartans in quality, they were also outnumbered by at least three to one. The temples of Ithaca were crowded those days with worshippers beseeching the gods for a miracle which might save them. In private meetings with his counselors, Telemachus said that it was good for the people to pray, but those who pray with deeds are the most beloved by Zeus and his ilk.

With that in mind, Telemachus concluded that Poseidon was the logical choice for a divine ally. Despite being tormented by the sea god for 10 long years, Odysseus spent his final years singing praises to the deity whose favor allowed him to return to his homeland. Eurymachus, the wisest counselor and oldest friend of the late Odysseus suggested that the blessings of Athena might be sought as well. "Because, oh my king", said Eurymachus, "it was the protection of the goddess Athena who helped your father survive so many perils during his painful journey." Telemachus agreed, and so a decree went throughout the land that all the people should pray to Athena and Poseidon on alternate days, so as to gain the equal favor of both.

Meanwhile, on Mount Olympus, heavenly abode of the gods, the residents watched the unfolding events on earth with great interest. The conflicts and travails of mortals were a kind of sport for them, and entertainment is as essential for immortals as it is for the common folk. It was no great surprise that Ares, god of war, favored the Spartans. "Their bloodlust pleases me, and I long to hear dying screams, shouts of triumph, and the clatter of spear, sword, and shield", said Ares. Zeus, having the deciding vote on the council of the gods decided that if Ares were helping the stronger side, then it was only fair that both Athena and Poseidon would help the weaker. "It is best to maintain balance in all things", explained Zeus, "just as the golden mean is found throughout nature."  

Telemachus and his advisors pondered long into the night how best to exploit their divine reinforcements. Once more, Eurymachus had the best stratagem. "Let us send out two ships: one to recruit some of the deadly sirens and the other to the cyclops Polyphemus. Odysseus told the tales of both many times, and how bitterly he lamented the loss of so many of his crew to their evil power. We must trust in the grace of Athena to keep our crews safe." At once, two ships set sail just as planned, one bound for the sirens' shoals and the other to the island of Polyphemus. Athena shielded the ears of the sailors against the enchanted songs of the sirens and compelled them to follow the ship back to Ithaca. In the wink of an eye, Athena was speaking with Polyphemus, who was still struggling with the blindness inflicted by a ruse of Odysseus. "Let us make a trade", offered Athena, "I shall restore your sight, and in return, you will come to fight with the son of Odysseus. In this way, let the bitterness between your two houses fade into memory."

Polyphemus rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a few moments as he considered this proposal, but of course, the words of the goddess were so sweet that no living thing could fail to be convinced by them. "It has been very hard to have walked in darkness all these years. I'm almost helpless, despite my size and strength. You drive a hard bargain, goddess, but I cannot help but accept. For such a favor, one of equal measure must be granted." When the crew arrive, they were surprised to see a healthy Polyphemus there to greet them. They worked together to build a giant canoe so that the cyclops could paddle himself with them back to Ithaca. Polyphemus of course, could paddle much faster than the wind could blow, and so ended up towing the ship back to Ithaca in less than half the time it took to sail there. 

They all arrived just in time with the Spartan army less than a day's march away from the city gates of Ithaca. Telemachus dispatched the sirens to hide in a cove which the Spartans would pass by. When they did, they sang their haunting melody, and many Spartan soldiers were irresistibly drawn into the sea where they drowned. In this way, Solon lost half his force. Just before the gates of Ithaca stood Polyphemus, armed with a stockpile of boulders. He hurled them with all his might, and a another third of the invading horde was either crushed or fled in a panic. The remaining third encircled the cyclops. After a prolonged melee, Polyphemus saw that this time, discretion was the better part of valor, and put up his hands to surrender after being impaled countless times by Spartan spears. 

Solon's forces were now outnumbered by the army of Ithaca two to one. From a tower on the city wall, Telemachus called out to Solon. "King Solon, you and your men have fought bravely today, and have even taken a mighty cyclops prisoner. Surely the demands of honor have been satisfied. Go home and take the cyclops with you as a trophy. No one else needs to die here today." As Solon considered these words, the invisible spirit of Ares whispered in his ear that it was best to cut his losses. Ares greatly feared the mockery of the gods if the battle continued, and he, invincible god of war, ended up on the losing side. After some silence, Solon gave his reply: "I challenge you to single combat. If I win, Ithaca is mine. If you win, my family will swear by the river Styx that Sparta will never again attack Ithaca."

Telemachus nodded in assent before announcing "as the challenged party, I have choice of weapons, and I choose my father's bow. You may borrow it and shoot at me first, if you are even strong enough to string." Telemachus knew also that the Spartans considered bows the weapons of cowards, and hardly any ever practiced with them.

A wave of laughter erupted from the ranks of Ithaca. Solon turned slowly to his cyclops hostage before responding, "you fool! Was your father stronger than this cyclops? Surely, he can string the bow. Polyphemus, I command you to fetch me the bow and string it. Fetch me his quiver of arrows as well,"

This was a complication Telemachus had not expected, and he silently cursed himself for being outwitted by a simple-minded Spartan. Even so, he made his promise and stood on the field in front of Solon and in range of the bow. Solon nocked an arrow confidently, took aim, and let loose. The arrow grazed the cheek of Telemachus, and instantly he put his hand on the wound while the Spartans snickered. Solon was a spectacular archer for a Spartan, but no match for Telemachus. Polyphemus returned the bow to the king of Ithaca who readied and took aim. Just before he let loose, he was startled by an owl fluttering over his head and missed his mark wide. The were groans and gasps from the ranks of Ithaca. 

Telemachus felt thousands of eyes upon him and spoke quickly. "It seems we have a draw. Let us all go home." The pleading of Ares had grown to a fever pitch during the duel, and at last, Solon made a brief bow, before gesturing his army to march back the way it came. 

There was a great celebration in Ithaca that night, though Telemachus was preoccupied with the owl. Was it an omen? If so, of what and from whom. As he looked out on the city, his eye was drawn toward an owl perched on top of a statue of Athena. "Well, there's no sign clearer than that", he thought as he raised his wine goblet to his lips. "I never should have doubted that she'd save the son of Odysseus."

Greetings to my readers in Hong Kong

Congrats, you guys are number one, for the past 30 days at least. I wonder how many of those hits are from PLA Unit 61398 using VPNs based in Hong Kong. Wikipedia says:

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PLA Unit 61398 (also known as APT1, Comment Crew, Comment Panda, GIF89a, or Byzantine Candor; Chinese: 61398部队, Pinyin: 61398 bùduì) is the Military Unit Cover Designator (MUCD)[1] of a People's Liberation Army advanced persistent threat unit that has been alleged to be a source of Chinese computer hacking attacks.[2][3][4] The unit is stationed in Pudong, Shanghai[5], and has been cited by US intelligence agencies since 2002.

***

I hope Hong Kong keeps its semi-autonomy and relative freedom. Its history is proof that the rule of law, civil liberties, and free markets bring prosperity and stability to all who embrace those ideas. 

Dream Cheese

The blue spots in blue cheese are from mold. In fact, the mold is of the genus Penicillium, and thus blue cheese itself contains the antibiotic penicillin. However, like other fungi, the mold also secretes mild hallucinogens. There have been experiments which have confirmed that eating a small amount of blue cheese before bed produces vivid dreams more often than a placebo. I have done my own experiments in this regard and can say conclusively that for me at least, blue cheese is dream cheese. It works particularly well when paired with a strong red wine, but any alcohol at all seems to heighten the effect. The LSD advocate Timothy Leary said a hallucinogenic experience depends on set and setting, and it is most desirable to carefully control both in order to avoid a so-called bad trip. In my view, the only bad trips are the ones you wish for, but never go on. 

My first voyage into dream land was somewhat unplanned. At the time, I didn't know that whatever I watched or listened to before bed would set the stage for the upcoming dream. I ate the dream cheese and drank some wine. After that, I watched a documentary about an undersea lab and habitat. The structure was about 50 ft below sea level and had bunks for four people, though there were usually only two or three people there at any given time. In many regards, it was cramped like a spacecraft and its occupants had similar challenges to astronauts. The project was the brainchild of Cold War era scientists who saw the ocean floor as a new arena in the simmering global conflict. As the documentary ended, I felt my eyelids get heavy. It was time to turn out the lights and see what would happen next. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt a kind of slow sinking sensation. In subjective time, I felt like I'd been sinking for an hour.

At last, I touched down on the sand with a gentle thud. As I stood up and looked around, I could see a trail of bubbles coming up from my regulator. They rose up hundreds of feet to the surface while faint rays of sunlight danced around me. It appeared I had weights on my boots and waist for negative buoyancy, and my field of vision was restricted by a small porthole-like opening just in front of my eyes. Ahead in the distance, a stranger beckoned me to come. It was slow going, but eventually we came face to face. At least, we could see each other's eyes, but not much else. We walked on a sandy path through a sort of garden, except with coral and fish instead of birds and flowers. A humpback whale swam over us and bellowed out the first bars of its song. It was a haunting series of moans and whines. My companion and I continued our stroll until we reached a huge structure with a ladder poking down. It was a long climb, perhaps 50 feet, though of course, I had no worry of being injured in case I fell. 

At the end of the ladder, I breached the surface, and an unseen device grabbed me and lifted me out of the entry pool. It set me down on a bench where I removed my helmet and was able to look around more easily. I was inside some huge undersea facility. Here and there, groups of workers moved to and fro while others hunched over consoles. There were multiple floors inside though it was all made of a kind of steel grating. I removed the rest of my diving suit with some difficulty and donned a pair of flip flops to explore the interior of the vessel. At this point, my companion was long gone somehow, but perhaps he or she would turn up again later. I made my way to what appeared to be the largest and busiest section. There were a few dozen workers at computer consoles and several large screens. Some of them showed maps while others showed live video of divers working on the sea floor.  

As I walked past the consoles, I could see what all the workers were doing. It was interesting that none of them seemed to pay the slightest attention to me. In fact, the workers would always scatter or otherwise turn their backs on me whenever I approached. On a platform high above it all, I saw a luxurious chair with control panels on either side. As it was empty and this was a dream, I decided I might as well sit in the big boss chair. After the strain of my submarine sojourn, it was a great relief to have a comfortable place to sit. As I played with the controls on the console, I was able to change view on the big screen. One button changed the view on the screen to a large, intimidating logo. It featured an octopus with its tentacles wrapped around the globe. Was this the logo of the organization which owned the undersea facility I was in? It seemed likely. It also seemed likely that this was some sort of sinister organization. 

I spent a long time sitting in that chair and no one came up to kick me out of it. Thus, I could only conclude that I was the head honcho of whatever this nefarious enterprise might be. A moment later, one of my underlings handed me a kind of remote control with an ominous red button on it. I was unsure whether I should push it or not. Curiosity got the best of me in the end. After all, this was a dream. What's the worst that could happen? I pushed the button and watched a montage of destruction on the screen. It seemed famous seaside cities around the world were being hit by tidal waves. Another one of my underlings was about to hand me a drink when he tripped and spilled it on me. As soon as I felt the wetness, I awoke. Apparently, I had sleepwalked to my refrigerator and in my stupor, knocked a plastic jug of water onto the floor. It appeared I had made a half-hearted attempt to mop it up with a towel before lying down in it. Later, I realized the only question left was at what point in the dream did I get wet in real life. 

Lazarus Chip

We were ushered into the amphitheater and ordered to take our places. Below us, a huge drill sergeant pounded on his chest and dared for a volunteer. At a few moments, one stood up and walked down towards the stage. "The average soldier", bellowed the drill sergeant, "has only his feeble survival instinct to draw upon. The soldier here now on the stage before you is a cut above the rest. He is just here to give a double blood donation and be subject to a minor medical experiment. Everyone, let's all applaud for our brave volunteer today."

We all stood and applauded. It came as a shock to many of us that anyone would volunteer for the cruel and ghoulish experiment which was to follow. "Now," continued the drill sergeant, "our brave volunteer here will donate two pints of blood, which will help critically wounded soldiers in our hospitals." At this, all us soldiers in the stands rose up to applaud. What a brave young man, we all thought, to subject himself not just to physical discomfort, but shame and humiliation at the hands of the cruel drill sergeant. 

It took about 20 minutes for the two pints of blood to be harvested from the brave volunteer. When that was finished, a team of scientists and technicians came upon the stage with all kinds of ghastly machines. The drill sergeant came to the volunteer and held his hand. The usual cruel look in his eyes was replaced with one of admiration. 

"Young man, you should be proud of yourself. Your family is proud of you. Your fellow soldiers are proud of you. I am proud of you."

At this, and spontaneously, we all arose to applaud the bravery of the common soldier from our ranks. 

"Soldiers, you may be seated. Now, our brave volunteer here is about to have a Lazarus chip implanted at the base of his brain. The Lazarus Chip was developed as an artificial survival mechanism. When a soldier with the implant has a heart rate below 70 beats per minute, or a systolic blood pressure rate below 110, the chip turns on and assumes full control of the skeletal muscles in the patient's body until those numbers reach those of a healthy adult. Let's show our support now as our brave volunteer has the chip implanted."

It only took a moment for the weird machine to graft the chip into the back of our comrade's head. We all rose to applaud once more, but with apprehension about what was to come next.

The drill sergeant drew a knife with one hand, and with the other, he picked up a baseball bat hidden on the stage. We all gasped in horror. With a bat in one hand and a knife in the other, the drill sergeant closed in on the brave volunteer, now weakened by blood loss and still lying on the bed. There was a terrible knock as the drill sergeant whacked the volunteer's head hard with the bat. All of us soldiers in the stands winced at the sound. 

Then, all at once, the volunteer lept up and grabbed the drill sergeant's hands. For about a minute, the drill feebly tried to stab or bludgeon the volunteer. They grappled for another minute until the volunteer used a judo throw to hurl the drill sergeant off the stage. He landed with a thud.

The drill sergeant rose up and dusted himself off. "Now soldiers", he spoke, "perhaps you see the power of technology which is here for you. You are all brave men, but the war we face is hard, and so we need all the help we can get. You are not required to be implanted with the Lazarus chip, but I hope for your sake that you take it. It has saved many of my friends. Soldiers, you are dismissed!"

We stood in unison and quietly filed back to our bunks in the base dorms. Of course, all we could talk about was whether to get the chip implant or not. For some, it was a more practical matter as they were the only surviving relative of their family. For others, it was a more utilitarian calculation. Why get killed if a chip can keep you alive? Is it dishonorable to win if a program is doing the fighting for you?

When the day came, us soldiers were separated into two lines: those taking the chip and the rest. From what I could tell, about 95% of us chose to take the chip implant. I and my friends were among the rest. We soon became a tight-knit group as our status as a minority made it hard for us to maintain our previous friendships.

Later and very quietly, a general gathered us to say that we were an elite group, and that those who refused the implant were the best soldiers. He added that since there were so few of us, we must fight with other so-called chipped soldiers. I was OK with it, but many of my friends balked. We all sighed loudly at our disappointment.

 

The drill sergeant pointed at me. "You! I need a guy to establish a beach head on Chalupa Prime. Are you in or not? Say no, and you can spend the next three years scrubbing rust off freighters until your discharge."

The words of my response formed slowly in my head. "I'm in, tough guy. And when me and my guys win, we're gonna drink you and all your candy-ass shit-dick friends under the table...drill sergeant."

The burly drill sergeant laughed until he coughed. "Ha! Soldier, what's your name and the name of your unit?"

I thought for a moment before blurting out "Murphy. Murphy's Marauders."

"Well, hot damn man, maybe you're a soldier after all. Get your guys down to the armory and suit up. Chalupa Prime is a tough nut to crack, so I've heard. You're gonna need flamethrowers, grenade launchers, shoulder-fired nuclear weapons..."

"Yeah, I get the picture. Drill sergeant, are we done here?"

"Yes. God speed and good luck, Murphy."  

Practical Politics

When Machiavelli wrote The Prince, he avoided any discussion about what a good or bad ruler is. Instead, his focus was on which leaders kept and remained in power. 

By taking this amoral and cynical perspective, we can more clearly see the results of the political process anywhere. 

In general, and in the US in particular, the following hold true:

In local politics, weather and sports can affect elections. The factor of probability plays a greater part.

In other elections, the incumbent usually wins, unless there is poor economy, or a 3rd party candidate splits the vote.

Successful candidates are tall, male, belong to the majority ethnic group and religion, are between 40 and 70 years of age, are the children of successful politicians, and have been educated in foreign or prestigious institutions. 

Here are some insightful quotes from Reason magazine on this farce:

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The 1992 election was not an isolated historical curiosity. Studies find that voters in both the United States and around the world routinely reward and punish incumbent politicians for events they have little or no control over, while often ignoring more subtle policy effects that the incumbents really are responsible for. Short-term trends in the economy are the most ubiquitous example. But they are far from the only one. Voters also reward and punish incumbents for such events as droughts, shark attacks, and even local sports team victories.

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And

***

The problem is not just that ignorance might cause the electorate to choose the "wrong" candidate out of those who get nominated by the major parties. It is also that it reduces the quality of the choices available to us in the first place. Knowing that they face a largely ignorant electorate, candidates and parties adopt platforms and campaign strategies that cater to that ignorance. In that respect, public ignorance helps ensure that we are all losers long before election day.

***

So there it is. Politicians know that most voters are ignorant and irrational, and so appeal to their emotions rather than reason. 

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.

In his renowned quote, Winston Churchill boldly expresses his skepticism towards democracy when he states: "The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter."

Fabian tactics and the porcupine strategy for Taiwan

Taiwan has enough space in its air raid shelters, though perhaps it may be short of enough supplies to outlast a blockade. The initial Chinese attack on Taiwan will come from ballistic and cruise missiles. Once those are exhausted in perhaps a month or two, the Chinese will use manned aircraft to bombard the island.

For this second phase, it is vital that Taiwan preserve its air force in hardened bunkers rather than send it out to intercept Chinese incursions into its airspace. Taiwanese pilots should also be trained on US carrier-based aircraft, as it is easier to move and support such aircraft with existing hardware. The mere act of painting Taiwanese markings on US carrier-based fighters would give China pause. 

At least one US carrier battle group should be anchored off Taiwan at all times. It should be rotated with a second group based in Japan or South Korea. Any friendly ships that dock in Taiwan should bring food, water, medicine, and fuel to add to Taiwan's national emergency stockpile. 

If the Taiwanese air force is defeated, the next vital phase will require the mass use of anti-ship missiles to counter the Chinese invasion fleet. Sea mines dropped from aircraft could also be useful. More useful still would be to retrofit torpedoes with guidance systems and so turn them into undersea drones that could be launched without aircraft, subs, or ships. Such a system would be an update of the old Brennan torpedo which was launched from shore. 

Above all, it is vitally important to thwart a Chinese amphibious assault. If they succeed in establishing a beachhead, it is only a matter of weeks or months before they conquer the island. 

The Chinese know they have most of the advantages in the coming war, and that includes deciding when it will begin. 

The war in Ukraine is winding down and Russia is on track to win a Pyrrhic victory there. After that, the Chinese are certain to ask favors of Russia as China helped Russia so much in Ukraine. 

I hope for a Taiwanese victory when the war comes. Hope is not a strategy. 

Obscure but important Supreme Court cases and the real Rule 34

Probably the biggest problem with the so-called rule of law is that what the Supreme Court thinks the law is might be very different from what you, me, or a majority of Americans think. 

from Wikipedia:

Fleming v. Nestor

***

A 1954 amendment to the Social Security Act stripped old-age benefits from contributors who were deported under the Immigration and Nationality Act. The following year Ephram Nestor, an alien from Bulgaria who had paid into Social Security for 19 years, began drawing benefits. Nestor was subsequently deported for involvement in the Communist Party, and his benefits were terminated. He sued the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare on the basis that the amendment had deprived him of a property interest in Social Security without due process and was therefore invalid.

...

The Court ruled that there is no contractual right to receive Social Security payments. Payments due under Social Security are not “property” and are not protected by the Takings Clause of the Fifth Amendment. The interest of a beneficiary of Social Security is protected only by the Due Process Clause.

***

Bottom line, the government has no obligation to pay Social Security to anyone. 

Wickard v. Filburn

***

An Ohio farmer, Roscoe Filburn, was growing wheat to feed animals on his own farm. The U.S. government had established limits on wheat production, based on the acreage owned by a farmer, to stabilize wheat prices and supplies. Filburn grew more than was permitted and so was ordered to pay a penalty. In response, he said that because his wheat was not sold, it could not be regulated as commerce, let alone "interstate" commerce (described in the Constitution as "Commerce ... among the several states"). The Supreme Court disagreed: "Whether the subject of the regulation in question was 'production', 'consumption', or 'marketing' is, therefore, not material for purposes of deciding the question of federal power before us. ... But even if appellee's activity be local and though it may not be regarded as commerce, it may still, whatever its nature, be reached by Congress if it exerts a substantial economic effect on interstate commerce and this irrespective of whether such effect is what might at some earlier time have been defined as 'direct' or 'indirect'.

***

So there you have it. Anything that could possibly affect interstate commerce is interstate commerce, even if nothing is being bought or sold. This absurd ruling has yet to be overturned. 

United States v. Reynolds

***

Three employees of the Radio Corporation of America, an Air Force contractor, were killed when a B-29 Superfortress crashed in 1948 in Waycross, Georgia. Their widows brought an action in tort seeking damages in federal court, under the Federal Tort Claims Act. As part of this action, they requested production of accident reports concerning the crash, but were told by the Air Force that the release of such details would threaten national security. Because of the failure of the government to produce the documents, a directed verdict in favor of the plaintiffs was granted by the trial court. The judgment was affirmed by the United States Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit. The United States Supreme Court reversed the decision, and remanded it to the trial court. After this, a settlement was reached with the widows, who received an aggregate sum of $170,000 in exchange for a release of liability to the Government.

***

There are good reasons to keep secrets. However, the US government and military too often use secrecy and national security as a pretext for deflecting criticism and scrutiny from their failures and crimes. In this case, the widows were essentially paid hush money to prevent an embarrassing investigation into the circumstances of the crash. 

On a related note, it was amusing to read that there is in fact a Rule 34 in the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, and it does not involve pornography. The rule states:

***

a party can seek documents and other real objects from parties and non parties

***

The good news in all of this is that Supreme Court decisions can be overturned, though that often takes decades if it happens at all. 

I, Soldier - part 38

 I was initially optimistic when Reagan became president. Iran freed our hostages the day he was inaugurated. Reagan gave eloquent speeches and talked a good game about reducing government spending. He never actually got around to that part though. Instead, he shoveled more money into the military-industrial complex and got us into a proxy war against the Soviets in Afghanistan. Hundreds of our Marines were killed by a suicide truck bomb in Lebanon shortly after Reagan deployed them there. That misadventure didn't stop Reagan from bombing Libya a few years later. I was left with a terrible feeling that the US would one day be involved in another long quagmire in the Middle East similar to one in Vietnam.

Alexandra was not a fan of Reagan either. She didn't think a former actor was qualified to lead a nation, even if he had been the governor of California beforehand. I noted that Reagan was a Democrat as a governor but then switched parties when he ran successfully for president. It was another piece of evidence to support my theory that the ideal political strategy is to be a flip-flopper. In fiction, this idea was presented in 1984 where the totalitarian government of Oceania falsifies its own past newspapers and such to cover up its inconsistencies.

I turned 38 in 1983. It was good year for me. I bought a TRS-80 computer to replace my Underwood typewriter. Pioneer 10 passed Neptune and so set a new record for the greatest distance traveled by a manmade object. Alexandra and I watched the launch of the Challenger space shuttle in Cape Canaveral. She insisted our kids wear earmuffs for the launch, though we were so far away, it was about as loud as a fireworks show. It was a night launch; the first of its kind. It was in incredible to see that orange plume of flame from the engines against the pitch-black sky. It was like a reverse shooting star seen from up close.

The election of Thatcher was encouraging. It was nice to see a new conservative leader in Britain, and a woman to boot. Despite decades of Soviet subversion, Britain had not fallen to communism. If anything, the USSR was failing. They bought 10 million tons of grain from us in 1973. Later, Carter put an embargo on grain exports to the USSR as a punishment for invading Afghanistan. Reagan, despite his tough-on-communism rhetoric, campaigned on lifting the ban, and so easily won the farmer vote in all the midwestern states. Just as no one expected Nixon to open up diplomatic relations with red China, no one expected an ex-Democrat to lift a grain export ban on our arch-nemesis. 

On the whole, as I entered statistical midlife, at least according to actuarial tables, I felt at peace. I had a wife and children, no health or money concerns, and the painful memories of my time overseas had greatly dimmed. I continued to be thankful that I left the Army with all the body parts I came in with. So many others weren't nearly as lucky. Reconnecting with my mother was a risky move, but worth it. To keep my spirits up, I taped a quote to Alexandra's picture on my nightstand so they would be the first things I'd see every morning. That quote is:

***

The key to happiness is freedom and the key to freedom is courage.

-Thucydides

***

THE END

I, Soldier - part 37

Once, Quint was sleepless. So I held him in my lap, and we watched TV together until the sign-off message came. The national anthem played, the Iwo Jima flag raising statue was shown, and Quint drifted off to sleep not long after. I did the same thing with Cathy a few times. The Star-Spangled Banner seemed to comfort them both. Alexandra spoke with me one time after one of these incidents.

"When we talk, I'm usually the one asking the questions. What questions do you have for me?"

"When we first met, you were dressed as a hippie. Are you?"

"No, in fact, my father served in the Army in WW2, just like yours. I was raised in a conservative, patriotic home. That's why my parents sent me to Catholic school. I told you that the first night we spent together."

"Oh right, I forgot. Sorry. My life has been a long, strange journey and I forget important details sometimes."

"Clearly. Keep talking."

"What do you believe about politics and religion?"

"I'm skeptical of organized religion in general and anything else that seeks to demean women. For similar reasons, in politics, I favor the liberal side."

"What's so great about them? The first state to give women the right to vote was Wyoming. It was also the first place in the world to give women the right to vote. That place is hardly a liberal Mecca. Cowboys can be surprisingly progressive."

"I did not know any of that. Tell me more."

"Wyoming is the center of my spiritual universe. I love that place. Great scenery, friendly people, and plenty of space if you just want to be left alone. I passed through there a few times."

"Do you like living in a city like DC?"

"It's OK. There are advantages to living here. I prefer to be wild and free. I got used to that in the jungle."

"It seems like you miss the jungle, as you call it."

"Yeah. It was the time of my life where I felt like I was doing something important, something special."

"You're doing important things now; by being my husband and a father to our children."

"I tell myself that life is a special operation. It helps me carry on."

"Keep carrying on. Don't give up, soldier. Ever thought about going on a new adventure? It could be good for you."

"Maybe years from now, when our kids don't need me to take care of them. I'd like to build a boat and sail around the world. Or maybe walk to Tierra del Fuego at the tip of South America from here."

"Running with the bulls in Pamplona would be safer, cheaper, and take less time."

"Good point. That's also the reason I have no desire to climb Mt Everest."

"You could go on a river cruise through Europe. We only visited three cities there on our honeymoon."

"Yeah. I've always wanted to see the sunrise in Istanbul. A trip like that wouldn't take long. It would also be safe and cheap. The Oriental Express is another option for that. I like trains. Get on at Paris, pass through a dozen countries or so, and get off in Istanbul."

"That's a great idea. Plan out that trip. I can come with you when the time is right. I'd like to see more of the world."

"In the meantime, I'll focus on my writing. It's a cheap hobby. I'm reminded of the guy who wrote The Anatomy of Melancholy. Writing was therapy for him, so he wrote his own encyclopedia filled with whatever he thought was interesting."

"I think whatever book you end up writing will sell well."

So that was the genesis of the idea. The entelechy of it unfolded gradually. The word was coined by Aristotle. Entelechy is garbled Greek for actuality. It's a good look I continued to study Greek long after my interest in dinosaurs waned. There was always something interesting to be discovered. The words lactose and galaxy both come from the Greek word for milk. Saying the Milky Way Galaxy is like saying the Milky Way Milky. Though my single favorite bit of Greek trivia is that the words potion, poison, potable, and symposium all come from the Greek word that means drink. Symposium literally means "drinking-together-place". Having been invited to speak at a few conferences, I can assure that the booze flows freely during happy hour.

The Anatomy of Melancholy merits a digression. It's a remarkable book that touches on many subjects, and so is basically a miniature encyclopedia. The author, Robert Burton, defines melancholy as:

***

Melancholy, the subject of our present discourse, is either in disposition or in habit. In disposition, is that transitory Melancholy which goes and comes upon every small occasion of sorrow, need, sickness, trouble, fear, grief, passion, or perturbation of the mind, any manner of care, discontent, or thought, which causes anguish, dulness, heaviness and vexation of spirit, any ways opposite to pleasure, mirth, joy, delight, causing forwardness in us, or a dislike. In which equivocal and improper sense, we call him melancholy, that is dull, sad, sour, lumpish, ill-disposed, solitary, any way moved, or displeased. And from these melancholy dispositions no man living is free, no Stoic, none so wise, none so happy, none so patient, so generous, so godly, so divine, that can vindicate himself; so well-composed, but more or less, some time or other, he feels the smart of it. Melancholy in this sense is the character of Mortality... This Melancholy of which we are to treat, is a habit, a serious ailment, a settled humour, as Aurelianus and others call it, not errant, but fixed: and as it was long increasing, so, now being (pleasant or painful) grown to a habit, it will hardly be removed.

***

He also wrote "I write of Melancholy by being busy to avoid Melancholy." That's something I can relate to.

I, Soldier - part 36

 "OK, new topic. Do you think I could get elected President?"

"Yes, but we'd need to raise a lot more money somehow. TV ads aren't cheap. Maybe someday there will be a cheaper way to reach millions of voters."

"What is the best way to raise money for an election campaign?"

"Giving exclusive speeches that only rich people can afford to attend is a common method. Book deals are another. There are other legal, yet dishonest methods, like selling art through an intermediary. It's basically money laundering. The good news is 18 presidents were US representatives first. 20 were governors before becoming presidents. Those are the top two previous jobs for presidents, besides being a lawyer."

"Should I try to become a governor? Or seek some other experience?"

"The longer you stay in Congress, the better your chances are. If you get offered a cabinet position, I'd take it. Same goes for an offer to be someone's running mate as vice president. You have a solid place on a powerful committee. Try to become in charge of it. The chair of the Appropriations Committee is the second most important representative after the Speaker of the House. That's another office you could aim for in the future." 

"And you...what are your plans?"

"I'm not ambitious anymore. When I was young, I thought that maybe I could become a general or some other great military leader. Later, I was convinced I would die in battle in my 20s. From my perspective, I have already reached Valhalla. I climbed all the mountains and killed all the dragons. Now all I want to do is live quietly in peace, help you with your endeavors, and watch our kids grow up."

"There's an air of sadness in your words; a taste of unfulfilled dreams."

"Maybe. That's your perspective. From my point of view, once you've cheated death enough times, you start to feel sorry for the Grim Reaper."

"You're never too old for a new adventure. Keep an open mind. For me."

"Roger, good copy."

Given the demands of parenthood, I didn't want to stray too far from home. I decided to spend my free time reading the classics and writing poetry. It was a nice change of pace from writing military articles. Many men have written on war, yet poetry has had a greater impact on civilization. I particularly enjoyed Kipling and his famous poem If. Here it is:

***

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

***

Kipling was a soldier himself and had a reputation as a patriot. His only son was later killed in battle during WW1.

Another poem that spoke to me strongly is Invictus. It was written by a man who had a leg amputated because of tuberculosis and then had to have the other leg amputated a few months later. 

***

Out of the night that covers me

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul.

***

The poems of Kobayashi Issa also spoke to me. His pen name means Small Forest One Cup of Tea. Despite a life full of tragedy which included the death of his mother, wife, and children, he remained optimistic and often funny. He wrote thousands of haikus, often about animals. My two favorite poems of his are below:

***

New Year's Day—

everything is in blossom!

I feel about average.

...

O snail

Climb Mount Fuji,

But slowly, slowly!

***

I, Soldier - part 35

The accident at the Three Mile Island nuclear power plant was a particularly depressing day for me. I became convinced that no new nuclear power plants would be built, and the existing ones would be shut down eventually. Something similar happened to warplanes for a while after Billy Mitchell proved it was possible to sink a battleship with a bomb or torpedo dropped from an airplane. Love for battleships was deeply ingrained in the Navy at the time, and instead of being rewarded for his innovation, Mitchell was court-martialed on trumped-up charges of insubordination.  

As I researched US military history and reminisced on my time in the Army, the same pattern emerged over and over. It was the way bureaucratic concerns and entrenched interests stood in the way of innovation and common sense. One of the things that cheered me was reading Army manuals written by men who were also interested in reform. In an Army manual on the use of military intelligence, I found the following:

***

At the outset of the Spanish-American War, Colonel Arthur L. Wagner was head of the Military Information Division (the War Department’s embryonic intelligence organization). Driven by public sentiment, President McKinley and Secretary of War Russell A. Alger were determined to attack Spanish forces in Cuba not later than summer 1898. Wagner at once prepared a careful assessment of the Spanish forces, terrain, climate and environmental conditions in Cuba—the basic intelligence needed for operational planning. Wagner’s assessment also identified recurring outbreaks of yellow fever in Cuba during the summer months as a crucial planning consideration. At a White House meeting, Wagner recommended postponement of any invasion until the winter months in order to reduce what would otherwise be heavy American losses from the disease. President McKinley reluctantly endorsed his view. As they left the meeting, Secretary of War Alger was furious with Colonel Wagner. “You have made it impossible for my plan of campaign to be carried out,” he told Wagner. “I will see to it that you do not receive any promotions in the Army in the future.” 

The Secretary of War made good on his promise, for although Colonel Wagner was promoted years later to brigadier general, the notice of his appointment reached him on his death bed. Furthermore, Alger influenced McKinley to reauthorize a summer invasion of Cuba. Fortunately, United States forces won a quick victory, but as Wagner predicted, the effects of disease soon devastated the force. The ravages of yellow fever, typhoid, malaria and dysentery accounted for more than 85 percent of total casualties and were so severe that by August 1898 less than one quarter of the invasion force remained fit for service. According to his peers, Wagner deliberately jeopardized his career in order to satisfy a sense of duty, rather than bow to political pressure. Information that American lives could be saved by avoiding the worst time of the year for yellow fever was more important to him than currying favor with the Secretary of War. 

***

I was moved by the integrity of Colonel Wagner's actions. It made me wonder how many times Colonel Truman faced similar dilemmas in his career. During my time in Vietnam, the military intelligence reports I received from others, whose names I rarely learned, were crucial to my decision-making. Military intelligence might be everyone's favorite oxymoron, but for me, it was a matter of life or death. I called Trautman and asked if he remembered the names of anyone who helped prepare reports for me, because I wanted to send letters of thanks to all of them. He gave me a few names, I wrote the letters, but only got one response. It read:

***

Your letter came as a welcome surprise. I had begun to doubt whether I had done anything worthwhile during the war. Maybe someday when the memorial is complete, we can visit it together.

***

I had read a bit about the planned Vietnam War Memorial. It was supposed to be a simple black wall with the names of all 58,000 American troops who died there. It seemed a bit ugly to me. A war memorial that size should at least have a flag and a statue. 

My favorite soldier from the Vietnam War was Specialist Minnock. I never met him, but I read about him. He was a signals intelligence analyst. Through his work, he became convinced the enemy would attack at a certain place and time. Because of his low rank, he feared he would not be believed by his South Vietnamese counterpart, so he impersonated a US Army captain when he gave his presentation. The ruse worked, his advice was followed, and the predicted attack was repulsed with minimal friendly casualties. 

One night, after Alexandra came home, she asked me what I thought about the wall.

"It's an odd situation, my dear. I sort of understand now how Confederate veterans must have felt about the memorials set up for them. That is, it's a nice gesture, but doesn't undo the damage of the defeat, and the pain of being on the losing side. Still, it's important that we have such reminders of the risks of war."

"What do you think about Confederate flags and monuments?"

"I grew up seeing them all the time, so for me, they're just a bit of history. It's like seeing a picture of the pyramids in Egypt. The only emotion I feel is curiosity for a bygone era. There were surely Egyptians centuries after the pyramids were built who wanted them demolished. Many ancient monuments have been defaced in Egypt and elsewhere over the centuries. That doesn't make it right, though."

"What if people want them removed because they don't like them or think they're hateful?"

"Emotions are always valid, even if the reasons for them aren't. People are free to dislike things and petition to have them removed or demolished. I think there's a lot to be said for leaving history out in the open where everyone can see it. It's like having lots of little museums everywhere."

"Lots of offensive things get banned, censored, or regulated. It's still illegal to swear on broadcast TV and that's enforced with fines."

"Yes, but Fahrenheit 451 and 1984 are not an instruction manuals nor should they be. The FCC should stick with regulating the electromagnetic spectrum. It's a classic case of mission creep. It's the same reason the feds went after marijuana after Prohibition ended."

I, Soldier - part 34

Alexandra continued to get funding for NASA projects. I could tell she was proud of that, as she spoke often of the various spacecraft and missions that were being planned. It was hard to keep up with the Apollo program while it was underway, as I was busy with college and later the Army. The space race did interest me as a kid. Sputnik was visible with a telescope and I remember building a crystal set radio to pick up its "beep beep beep" signal. 

I continued to write military articles for think tanks, though at a much-reduced pace. On the conventional side, I noted that the US military should greatly reduce airborne training given the high casualty rates from operations during WW2 as well the danger and expense of the training. It's a great for getting attention and I admit to enjoying the sight of paratroopers descending en masse. And of course there was my own experience from Vietnam, though I suspect my success in that raid was due more to luck than anything else. No one wants to admit how often the outcome of a battle or war hinges on luck or unforeseen factors. 

There was an amphibious landing during WW2 which failed because no one bother to check the phase of the moon, and so they miscalculated the tide. It was the Battle of Tarawa, I think. Because they overestimated the depth of the water, the landing crafts got stuck on the coral reef surrounding the island and the Marines had to wade several hundred yards to reach the shore, all the while under intense enemy fire. It was another one of those times when astronomy had military consequences. The exact event at Tarawa was an apogean neap tide, meaning the moon was at its apogee, or furthest point from the earth. There was another time during WW2 where a German submarine was able to take advantage of the opposite effect to enter a harbor and sink the HMS Royal Oak. 

In the realm of nuclear strategy, I was critical of the nuclear triad, that is, bombers, submarines, and land-based missiles. I noted that deploying a warhead from a land-based missile was about one tenth the cost of doing the same with a bomber or a submarine, and that in any case, we had almost 40 times as many nuclear warheads as what could possibly be necessary, even for a full-scale nuclear war. In my article, I noted:

***

In 1957, Admiral Arleigh Burke, then the chief of naval operations, estimated that 720 warheads aboard 45 Polaris submarines were sufficient to achieve deterrence. This figure took into account the fact that some weapons would not work and that some would be destroyed in a Soviet attack (Burke felt that just 232 warheads were required to destroy the Soviet Union). At the time Burke made this estimate, the U.S. arsenal already held six times as many warheads.

Several years later, in 1960, General Maxwell Taylor, former Army chief of staff and future chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, wrote that “a few hundred” missiles (armed with a few hundred warheads) was adequate to deter the Soviet Union. Yet by this time the United States had some 7,000 strategic nuclear warheads.

*** 

If Japan was forced to surrender with just two relatively weak atomic bombs, then surely a few hundred much more powerful hydrogen bombs would have an even greater psychological effect. Furthermore, if the idea was to deploy as many warheads as possible, land-based missiles would be the most effective way. 

I also wrote about the nuclear war maneuvers the Air Force conducted with bombers early on in the Cold War. Basically, large numbers of bombers were sent on practice bombing runs of American and European cities to test how well commanders could coordinate such operations. It's interesting that the US inadvertently became the beginning of the Soviet bomber force after an American B-29 bomber ditched in the USSR during WW2 and was reverse-engineered by Soviet technicians. The Soviets went on to produce hundreds of such copies which they called the Tu-4. 

I didn't expect my articles would have much of an effect. Too many people were getting rich off our bloated military, and when that many people are getting a piece of the action, the gravy train keeps rolling. It was frustrating to see the same mistakes being made as during the Civil War, where repeating rifles and Gatling guns were slow to be introduced despite Lincoln's orders. The established officers and military contractors stymied the reform.

There was an attempt in the 1950s to build a nuclear-powered bomber which could stay aloft for 120 hours at a time. JFK cut the funding to that project not long after taking office. By that time, it was clear that missiles and not bombers were the best tool for long-range nuclear attack. Unlike bombers or subs, land-based missiles require far less maintenance, and so all the expense of things like resupply at sea or port, aerial refueling, etc., is prevented.  

Meanwhile, the Soviet strategy for undermining the US did not rely on nuclear weapons at all. Instead, they focused on propaganda and psychological warfare. They weren't even much interested in espionage per se, as far as I could tell. The secret of nuclear weapons was lost to them during WW2, and that was the most important one we had.

By the time Reagan got elected a few years later, I all but given up on writing military articles, as I was sure they would fall on deaf ears. I do remember criticizing Reagan's so-called Strategic Defense Initiative as a provocative boondoggle and a technological pipe dream. In the press, the idea was derided as "Star Wars". It was one of the few times I agreed with the media on a military matter or even in general.

I, Soldier - part 33

One evening, we were cooking dinner together. The conversation turned to nuclear power. I had been reading up on it and had been exchanging letters with some scientists on the matter. 

"Tom, do you think nuclear power is the future?"

"Yes. The waste problem is not nearly as serious as most people think. Spent fuel rods only emit alpha and beta particles, which can be stopped with cardboard. They do emit such particles in dangerous amounts for hundreds of years though. Basically, radioactive materials like are only dangerous if you eat or breathe them."

"Everything I've heard and read about nuclear power suggests that it's expensive and dangerous."

"See that smoke detector up there? It uses nuclear energy. It works off the radioactive isotope Americium-241. The principle is the same as a Geiger counter. The isotope's radiation charges the air near it. If that charge changes because of smoke, the circuit which powers the alarm is triggered. If you look closely at the label on the side facing the ceiling, you'll see a warning not to tamper with it because there is radioactive material inside."

"So there's a nuclear reactor in my kitchen. Great."

"It doesn't emit enough radiation to be harmful. We all get exposed to natural sources of radiation which our bodies are adapted to continually repair. The plastic case shields us from the alpha and cluster radiation, and only a tiny amount of gamma radiation leaks out. It's very hard to shield against gamma radiation and x-rays. That's why you wear a lead vest when you get x-rayed at the dentist. Your skull protects your brain and the lead vest protects your other vital organs."

"Does anything else in this house emit radiation?"

"Our TV puts out a small amount of X-rays. If I had a Geiger counter, I could prove it to you. Radium was once used for making glow-in-the-dark watch dials. The women who painted them were told to lick the brushes. Many of them got radiation poisoning from swallowing small amounts of radium. Marie Curie probably died of radiation poisoning because of her work with radioactive materials. No one knew about the risks back then."

"Kind of like how everybody smoked back when no one knew about the health risks."

"Basically, yes. Same idea. Every form of technology can be dangerous. We don't stop using electricity even though people die in electrical accidents every year. Same goes for cars, airplanes, medicine, surgery...hell, even fire can be dangerous. It's amusing to think about what sort of debates cavemen had over fire safety."

"Alas, The Flintstones were silent on that subject. It's as mysterious as how Wilma managed to acquire a pearl necklace despite clearly living far inland."

"And it would take Fred far more effort to move his car around than to simply walk. Though I enjoyed the dinosaur workers at the quarry. And all the critters who said 'eh, it's a living'."

"I would not mind a vacuum cleaner in the shape of a baby elephant."

"I should add that nuclear energy is great for space probes. Solar power isn't practical once you get more than about 93 million miles away from the sun, which is about how far away we are. A nuclear thermocouple is the solution to that."

"What's a thermocouple?"

"If you take two wires made out different metal, say copper and steel, and join both ends, you can get electricity by heating one end. This is how an electric thermometer works. Your body heat powers the thermocouple and different amounts of heat create different amounts of electricity which a circuit can detect and measure. So for a space probe, it can get all the electricity it needs for hundreds of years if the heat of radioactive decay is used to power the thermocouple. The Soviets have been using decay heat reactors to power unmanned lighthouses near the Arctic circle for a long time. Nobody would want to work in such a harsh and isolated environment."

"I've read a bit about the nuclear reactors the Navy uses on subs. They have a great safety record."

"Right. We have dozens of nuclear reactors moving around in the ocean, yet people are scared of a stationary one on land. I guess the association with nuclear weapons is what gets people upset."

"Is there anything the Science Committee can do to promote nuclear power?"

"Deregulating the nuclear industry would be best, but it's a tough sell. And I doubt the Department of Energy will ever be disbanded. It used to be called the Atomic Energy Commission, if I recall correctly. It got renamed, sort of like how the War Department became the Department of Defense."

"It sounds like I might need to trade favors to get any support for nuclear power."

"Not necessarily. Simply advocating for it could be useful. You could try a petition from scientists. The Pioneer 10 probe which NASA launched a few years ago gets its electricity from a plutonium thermocouple. Not many people know about that."

"I don't want to be a shill for the nuclear industry."

"You won't be as long as you're being honest and factual. The campaign contributions might come in handy. As Voltaire said, don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good."

"We certainly do not live in the best of all possible worlds."

"It doesn't matter how slowly you move as long as you don't stop, according to Confucius. Ancient Chinese philosophers are worth reading."

"I'll keep that in mind, Hong Kong Phooey."

I had become an expert of sorts in cartoons during my adventures as Mr. Mom. There was often one playing on the TV whenever Alexandra came home for lunch or dinner. The kids liked the talking animals and wackiness; I liked the easter egg adult jokes hidden in the dialog. Perhaps someday there would be a TV channel with just cartoons; a sort of "cartoon network" if you will. The excursions to local sights continued. Cathy particularly enjoyed riding the life-size triceratops statue at the National Mall in front of the natural history museum. It was named Uncle Beazley after a dinosaur in a children's book. What a shame it would be if kids were ever forbidden to ride that statue. 

I, Soldier - part 32

Alexandra continued to network and I continued to advise her. She got a seat on the Appropriations Committee as a junior member and also on the Science, Space, and Technology Committee. I also started writing military articles for think tanks. My own combat experience helped me get my foot in the door, but what really helped was my knowledge of current events and military history. The weapons change, but the same tactics and strategies show up over and over, and the same goes for the flaws that lead to defeat and the virtues that lead to victory. I didn't expect my articles to change much, I just enjoyed the attention and the money I got for them. It's hard to stop or change an idea when a lot of people have a stake in not changing it. Fight the ocean and you will drown. It's hard to make an impression on the world; the best the greatest souls have ever done is leave a dent, which often becomes obscured through nearby dents. It's like a wall covered in graffiti; it's hard to tell who wrote first or best, only that many have written and a lot of it is not worth reading. 

Cathy had begun to walk and talk. It's interesting how quickly someone's personality becomes visible. She always seemed to find a way to climb to some precarious position. I once watched from where she couldn't see me as she escaped from a playpen, moved as quickly and quietly as possible into the kitchen, then stacked some books to create a crude ladder to reach the counter where I put some fresh chocolate chip cookies. In fairness, I left the tools she needed to reach the prize, which I had also placed intentionally. On the floor nearby, I placed cushions as a safety measure. Before she could ascend her book-ladder, I stopped her and we each ate a cookie. I decided the experiment had been a success and there was no reason to let it continue.

Alexandra became pregnant again, but continued to work with a gradually reduced pace. Her energy seemed boundless. When Jimmy Carter took office, it seemed her star would rise or fall with his. I advised her to hedge her bets by making some connections with the opposition. A lot of deals are made in the cloak room. So much so in fact that when Thomas Edison proposed a device that would allow all members of Congress to vote remotely from home via telegraph, it was bitterly opposed. The reason why was voting by telegraph, while allowing senators and such to spend more time with their constituents, completely removed the face-to-face interactions that so many politicians depended on. It was reminiscent of a Roman emperor, Vespasian, if my memory serves, who opposed a certain type of crane as it required less labor and would put many people out of work. In fact, the word sabotage comes from the act of throwing a wooden shoe, or sabot, into a factory machine to get it to stop turning. Many workers during the Industrial Revolution opposed various kinds of new labor-saving devices. 

The next few years were a series of psychological setbacks for me in spite of the birth of my next child, a son. Alexandra let me pick the name, so I decided on Quint, after the shark hunter from the film Jaws. I loved that movie. The first setback was the Three Mile Island nuclear disaster. All though the accident itself was minor, it more or less killed the reputation of nuclear power, something which I always thought would be the future. Then came the Iran hostage crisis, which for me was like watching the Fall of Saigon all over again. There was a failed rescue operation, the news of which depressed me further. I decided that focusing on my children and marriage would ease my troubled mind. I took Cathy to the various Smithsonian museums, though she was still a bit young to appreciate the exhibits. It was great for me to see so much natural history on display. I was taken back to my childhood and the many hours I spent reading the encyclopedia and other books about such things. 

Alexandra's political career seemed rock-solid. She won re-election easily and was clearly enjoying her work. I tried not to spoil her fun with too much realism. The Mars landing idea she had led to other more practical deals, though she never gave up on it. There was a joint US-USSR space mission called Apollo-Soyuz in which an American spacecraft docked with a Soviet one in 1975. It was literally a friendly handshake in orbit. Alexandra was not involved in funding that, but she did continue to advocate for more joint missions, but that wouldn't happen again until many years later with the Shuttle-Mir program, which paved the way for the International Space Station. She did succeed in getting funding for the Viking program, which landed two unmanned probes on Mars. It was a successor to the Mariner program of the 1960s in which probes flew by and orbited Venus and Mars. 

It's interesting to note that the guy who literally helped NASA get off the ground was an ex-Nazi rocket scientist named Wernher von Braun. The rocket which took the Apollo astronauts to the moon was basically a supersized version of the German V2 ballistic missile. It became the first object to reach space in 1944, 25 years before the moon landing. The V2 had a single stage, whereas the Saturn V moon rocket had several stages that fired one after another so it could travel farther and faster. Von Braun wrote a book in 1948 called The Mars Project in which he explained the design of a spacecraft that could carry human explorers there. 

In my own home state of West Virginia, there was a man named Homer Hickam who built model rockets with his friends as a teen. He was inspired by the launch of Sputnik in 1957. He learned to scuba dive in the Army as a hobby and later ended up working for NASA designing underwater training to simulate the weightlessness of being in space. I heard him give a speech much later where he said that astronauts are easy to teach because they already know everything. But I digress. Often.

I, Soldier - part 31

"Good thinking, my dear. My plan B was to feed her some egg drop soup."

"That probably would have worked, but I am well-equipped to solve the problem."

"OK, so what are your goals in Congress?"

"Ooh, so many things. Universal healthcare for one."

"That will be a hard road to travel."

"Don't tell why it can't be done. Think, soldier! Find a way to win."

"It would require the abolition of the income tax, which few will miss."

"How do we do that?"

"Amend the Constitution. That is also hard to do. What else do you want?"

"A Mars landing like the Apollo program."

"I like that idea. If we could get Soviet or Chinese help with that, it would ease international tensions. Talk to the Florida representative for Cape Canaveral. I'm sure he won't mind another vote to help fund NASA. The easiest thing to get Congress to do besides pass laws is to spend more money."

"Oh, Captain Cynical, what am I to do with you?"

"I forget who said it, but the quote is: the power of accurate observation is called cynicism by those who don't have it. Egg roll? I wanted to leave one for you just in case."

"How generous. Keep eating like that and lying in bed all day, and you will turn into a walrus."

"Goo-goo-g'joob, my dear, as the Beatles would say. I'll buy an exercise bike when we move into our new place."

"There have been a bunch of assassinations over the past few years. How do you feel about guns?"

"The second amendment made all the other ones possible. In the first draft of the constitution, the right to keep and bear arms was the first amendment."

"But it only applies to well-regulated militias."

"Not so. Several state constitutions written at the same time also have amendments which explicitly protect the individual right to keep and bear arms."

"OK, leaving the law aside, is there a way to reduce gun violence?"

"Ending Prohibition reduced the homicide rate. Ending Nixon's war on drugs would have a similar effect."

"Is there anything we can do to reduce poverty?"

"The short answer is deregulation, starting with abolishing the minimum wage. Minimum wage equals minimum jobs."

"I'm glad I'm the one who gets to vote and not you, Count Dracula."

"If anything, I'm the Renfield in this relationship. Which is fine, as I have in fact eaten bugs before."

"Every time I think you've said the weirdest thing I've ever heard, you somehow manage to top yourself."

"Excellence is a habit, not an attribute, as Aristotle said. Or was that Plato? Whatever, it's all Greek to me."

"I know I asked you way back when we first met, but what do you really believe about religion and politics?"

"Enlightenment values are good. I like free speech and freedom of religion a lot. There are good moral teachings in Christianity, though I like the saying about how there are many paths to the top of the mountain. FDR spoke about freedom from want and freedom from fear. Those two are too easily subject to abuse, though I agree that no one should live in poverty in a country as prosperous as ours. If people should be free, then they must be free to make mistakes rather than be forced by some authority to act otherwise. This concept that people are free to sin is found in Christianity and is the basis of a lot of early American legal thinking. Even the Soviets quoted from the Bible in their constitution in which they wrote that people who don't work shouldn't eat. As it turned out, communism was a great weight loss program, though often with fatal results. Marx phrased that as: from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs. Marx for his part, gave the world little more than long-winded nastygrams. He spent his whole life mooching off rich friends."

"What if we became more like Sweden? It's a free country, but with very little poverty and various government programs for healthcare and education."

"It'd be hard to implement that here for reasons of scale and culture. It's easier to make government programs work in a small country with homogeneous culture like Sweden. New York City has about the same number of people, but because of its cultural diversity and other reasons, its programs have had a poor track record. New York City is an interesting laboratory for our country. If you can get something to work there, it'll probably work in every other city and even in rural areas. Talking to representatives from there is a good way to get a feel for national politics in general. I think there's about ten representatives in total for that city in Congress."

"I like the part of the Constitution where it talks about promoting the general welfare and ensuring domestic tranquility."

"Yeah, me too. It's the greatest preamble ever written. Life, liberty, and the pursuit happiness is a great line, though I think that's from the Declaration of Independence. It's been a long time since civics class."

"We've talked enough, you've eaten enough, and Cathy is asleep. Let's head home."

"Solid logic."

We moved into a new apartment not far from the Capitol. The metro opened later that year, and it made it a lot easier to get around the city. Alexandra also liked using public transit. Like I promised, I bought an exercise bike to keep my weight down, though when spring came, I got more activity from carrying Cathy around. I was reminded of a story about a famous Greek strong man, Milo of Croton, who carried a newborn calf on his shoulders every day. As the calf grew, so did his muscles. There came a point when he was unable to lift it. I hoped that there would never come a day when I could not lift something as heavy as an average woman.