Saturday, September 30, 2006

Zvezda

This isn't a scientific observation or anything, but it seems to me that the first major exports from Eastern Europe I saw after the breakup of the Soviet Union were plastic models. The Czechs seemed to lead the way, but the Russians were not long in following.

Who remembers the old Ogonek models from the days of the Cold War? Or VEB from East Germany? I paid through the nose to get a VEB model of a Tu-20 "Bear" strategic bomber, and I seem to remember it being the worst thing I ever bought. Not just the worst model, but the worst thing. Worse than the Rotato. Worse than the tube of flat tire sealer than had congealed in the can. Worse than the DVD of "Random Hearts." Worse, indeed, than my 1970 AMC Hornet.

But to quote the movie announcer dude, a new wind was about to blow. Among the first true Russian-made model companies to arise after the tawdy collapse of the USSR was Zvezda. The first Zvezda kits I saw were actually reboxed by Italeri, so at least they had professional graphics and Italeri's traditional ugly but functional instructions. But then I started to see Zvezda stuff in actual Zvezda boxes, though I use the term "boxes" with caution. They weren't so much boxes as monuments to flimsiness. Get them a little wet and they dissolve like toilet paper, and some of them had such a strange texture you almost wonder if they were made of cardboard or recycled skin.

But today, they turn out excellent kits. The most recent Zvezda kits I've bought are their 1/72nd scale Il-2M3 Sturmovik and their 1/72nd scale Roman trireme. They carry on their tradition of having slightly less than optimal instructions and boxes, but the part that counts, the plastic stuff in the box, is excellent. They are to be commended. They are so much better than the dreadful Ogonek things of the Khrushchev era.

I think it was inevitable that we (the West, that is) would win the Cold War. When I was a kid, practically every weapon in the US arsenal was available as a model, especially airplanes. Almost no Warsaw Pact stuff was available. For years the only Soviet models I knew of were an old off-scale Monogram Tu-16 Badger and a very early MiG-21F (so early it was even predated the MiG-21PFMA).

One look at my ceiling could have predicted the outcome. A hundred USAF and USN aircraft, and two Russian ones. I almost felt like loaning them an A-5 Vigilante just so it wouldn't be so grossly unfair.

What was my point?

The Wine Report

I don't know very much about wine. Sad to say, most of the wine I've had over the years has come in boxes, except for the two gigantic magnums of wine I was saddled with after my brother's wedding. I felt a little odd going back to the hotel with wine bottles the size of infants under my arms, but they insisted I take them.

Never mind. It gets iniquitous from there.

The point is that I don't know anything about wine. I have a friend who tries to teach me wine lore, but it's a little bit like trying to teach a chimpanzee about fire. Her task is both Herculean and thankless, but I appreciate the gesture anyway.

So with that in mind, I now wish to give my review of Redwood Creek Syrah, a bottle of wine I just happened to find in the pantry.

My attempts to taste said wine were frustrated by the fact that the bottle was sealed with some thin but incredibly tough material that reminded me of scrith from the "Ringworld" novel. I could find no obvious way to get through the scrith, and somehow I don't imagine gentlemen gnaw the stuff off, so I found a small knife and managed to hack my way through the tough material with only a small loss of personal dignity.

So now I hefted my enormous German-made corkscrew and gave the bottle a once-over. Yep, there was the cork, and yep, there was the corkscrew. Within a few seconds I had the screw in the cork, and then progress shuddered to a halt again.

My corkscrew isn't a lever-action corkscrew; it's basically just a heavy brass handle with a steel screw in it. No levers, no mechanical advantage. Now, I'm not a weak person. I can usually break kitchen gadgets without really trying, or meaning to, but I gave the corkscrew a good yank and nothing happened. Presently it turned into a classic contest of strength, brute force versus the immovable object. I knew I was starting to lose the war when the idea of squirting a little Liquid Wrench onto the cork occurred to me. But then I remembered all those movies where suave gentlemen open wine bottles with magnificent poise and without breaking a sweat and use of Liquid Wrench.

It finally came out with a loud and startling foomp sound, and the recoil of my hand flying toward the ceiling nearly hyperextended my elbow. At last it was out, but surely there must be a better way.

So I poured a couple of fingers into the nearest thing I have to a wine glass, which is to say, a regular tumbler. But at least it was transparent, allowing me to appreciate the subtle colors of the... Hey, what gives, it's black! And so it was, jet black, looking more like a slug of flat Jolt cola or really old coffee than wine. I turned on more lights and suddenly the color became apparent - deep red, very rich-looking, so close to black that in bad light you'd be excused for thinking it was a cup of old motor oil.

I like to smell my wine before I drink it. I think it makes me look sophisticated and helps to make me feel less guilty for washing out relish jars and using them as emergency drinking glasses. So this Syrah struck me has having a particularly bold aroma. I couldn't tell you if it was fruity, smoking, redolent of flint and tinder, wonderfully mineral or what. I just know that it was a lot smellier than the wine I get out of the box.

And then, on to the taste test.

Hey, it's pretty good! I can't describe it, but I like it.

And people say I can't be taught anything!

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Artillery Fire Request

Good morning and welcome to the 1st Armored Division’s Automated Artillery Fire Request Line. If you are calling from a touch-tone radio, press 1 now, otherwise wait on the line and one of our artillery fire request operators will be with you as soon as possible.

beep

Thank you. To speed your artillery fire request, please consider the following options:

If you are assaulting a fixed enemy position, press 1
If you are engaging the enemy in a meeting engagement, press 2
If you are in mobile defense, press 3
If you are defending in fixed positions, press 4
If you are being overrun, press 5

beep

Thank you. To speed your artillery fire request, please consider the following options:

If you wish an 81mm mortar fire mission, press 1
If you wish a 155mm howitzer fire mission, press 2
If you wish an 8-inch howitzer fire mission, press 3
If you wish MLRS support, press 4
If none of these options meet your needs, please stay on the line and an artillery fire request operator will be with you as soon as possible.

beep

Thank you. To speed your artillery fire request, please choose one of the following options

To select illumination rounds, press 1
To select smoke rounds, press 2
To select high explosive rounds, press 3
To select Improved Conventional Munitions, press 4
To select FASCAM, press 5
To select nuclear or chemical rounds, please stay on the line. The Secretary of Defense will be with you as soon as possible to work with you to solve your special artillery needs.

beep

Thank you. To speed your artillery fire request, please enter the desired impact point. Enter the four-digit map number, then press pound, then enter the six-digit coordinate of the impact point on the map, then press pound again.

beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beepity-beep

Thank you. Stand by for map verification. Our records show that that grid location is on the friendly side of the FEBA. This fire mission may cause friendly casualties. To proceed with the fire mission, press 1. To cancel the fire mission, press 2. To talk to an artillery fire request operator, remain on the line.

beep

Thank you. You wish 155mm Improved Conventional Munitions fire on grid location 182874 on map 1883. Is this correct? Press 1 to accept these choices. Press 2 to change them.

beep

Please enter your battalion code and press pound.

beep-beep-beep-beep

Thank you. Please stand by while your fire request is processed.

We are sorry. All of our artillery batteries are currently in use. Please try again later, and thank you for using the 1st Armored Division's Automated Artillery Fire Request Line.

click.

Comic Books

I went to a local comic book convention yesterday, and boy did I feel out of place. I was literally the only guy there wearing a shirt with buttons on it. Everyone else (meaning a couple thousand comic book fans) was either in costume or wearing the new American uniform, the ironic T-shirt. You've seen them - the network administrators who wear T-shirts bearing Spam logos, the world-weary angstmongers with the Jetsons T-shirts, the stoners with the DARE T-shirts.

But it's all fundamentally harmless and they all seemed quite happy in their geekdom, so who am I to harsh their collective buzz? Just because I was the only guy there in a blue checked shirt with buttons doesn't give me a right to snicker at the outrageous anime costumes... does it?

I didn't buy very much, and let's be honest, the main reason most people go to such conventions is to buy stuff. My comic book tastes are quite pedestrian. I don't read the major cash cow comics like X-men, Batman, Superman, or the Avengers. Nor do I read the "edgy" independent comics, which as far as I can tell are mostly peopled by foul-mouthed slackers. I don't read manga or anime because I find the characteristic anime wink unsettling and the stories generally incomprehensible. It's as though I was supposed to do some readings first to help me understand them. I don't read most of the horror comics either, though I do dabble in the occasional Rob Zombie effort simply because of his strange mental landscape.

I used to read Sergeant Rock, which shouldn't really surprise anyone. Sergeant Fury and his Howling Commandos was good, and I was a devotee of Ghost Tank. But they don't make comics like those any more - the closest thing to them I've seen in years was DC's very uncharacteristic but interesting Light Brigade, but that was a short-run thing probably not to be repeated. A close second would the Predator "Sands of Time" thing, which managed to combine the historical battle of Verdun in World War One with science fiction in the form of the Predator and form a most satisfactory whole.

I like to read the Punisher, which is entirely unreconstructed and devoid of redeeming social value but at least doesn't confront me with moral ambiguities. There are the bad guys, there is the Punisher, and there are innocent people. Very easy to grasp, quite unlike the strange amorality that seems to afflict a lot of anime. I particularly liked the "Born" series - the full page illustration of a red-eyed Castle standing in the shambles of a Vietnam firebase with an M60 in one hand and napalm smoke rising in the background in the shape of the Punisher skull was worth the price of the entire book.

I like to read Black Widow, because I am essentially a product of the Cold War and I find all that KGB spy stuff interesting. I was especially amused when the Black Widow stopped wearing the equipment on her wrists, complaining that the equipment was old Warsaw Pact issue stuff and therefore heavy, antiquated and unreliable. I have less use for Black Widow when she represents nothing but a love interest for other comic book figures, such as Daredevil. I particularly liked the idea of two Black Widows, one who had split from the program and the other who was still with the program and out to 86 the renegade one.

I liked the old Dark Horse Aliens and Alien-versus-Predator comics, though I found I wasn't as excited by the Earth War or Hive War books and stopped reading them.

But my favorite was Red Star. It was beautifully written and beautifully drawn, and was unique in its ability to evoke emotions. I'd try to describe it, but nothing I can say would do it justice. It is to comic books what The Lord of the Rings is to fantasy fiction.

A Correction

Last night I was whining because my legs hurt. That wasn't quite true, and in the spirit of complete disclosure (or complete boredom) I now wish to set the record straight.

I suffer from what is called "Restless Legs Syndrome." It's an apparently neurological condition where when one is trying to sleep, one's legs feel like they want to run a marathon. The sensation is difficult to describe. Mostly it's just an overpowering desire to move one's legs, sort of like Tourette's Syndrome only affecting the legs. I call it "Creepy Legs" because they don't hurt, really, they just feel really strange and creepy and the only thing that helps is moving them. I tell people my legs hurt because everyone knows was pain is, but only 2.7% of the population understands what creepy legs is. How do you describe to someone who doesn't have it the intense and overpowering urge to move your legs? And it's not just a psychological thing where you lay there and think "I believe I'll thrash my legs just to amuse myself." No, it actually feels weird - it feels like there is electrically charged dryer lint between your skin and your muscles.

It varies in degree. Many nights I don't have it at all, and many nights I do. Usually just sleeping in a particular position with my legs stretched a certain way is all the relief that is required, but sometimes it's worse than that. Standing up for a minute or two helps, and curiously enough, standing on one leg (either one) seems to help even more. Sometimes I have to walk for a while. And sometimes nothing helps and I have to just get out of bed and sit at the computer.

It usually starts just as I am about to fall asleep, in that weird netherworld between consciousness and sleep where (among other things) I have all sorts of peculiar "dreamlets", things that aren't really dreams but aren't really real either (hypnagogic hallucinations, I think they are called). If it's bad, I have to get up and walk around, but curiously, the medical evidence suggests that walking around isn't what helps, it's the elevated level of attentiveness. I think that's why standing on one leg is pretty effective - not being a gymnast, I have to concentrate a certain amount to balance, and the act of concentration is probably what brings the good, not the actual muscle movements.

I've never been able to discern a pattern. Exercizing before bed neither hurts nor helps. Hot baths neither hurt nor help. Eliminating sugar from my diet helps to a point, and leaving my legs uncovered when I get in bed helps to a point. Nothing seems to reliably banish it, though I know of a way to trigger it that works every time. If I take a nap in the afternoon, I always get creepy legs; it's just a matter of how long it takes. And the attacks are extremely intense and annoying, so bad that when they come, I often leap out of bed as though the house is on fire. Needless to say, I don't take a lot of afternoon naps.

I used to take clonazepam, which doesn't really do anything about the condition; it just sedates one and allows one to sleep through the creepiness. Very odd medication, clonazepam. It would make me goofy. I would blurt nonsense phrases and would be filled with a strange and, at bedtime anyway, entirely inappropriate sense of euphoria. I would wander around, blunder into walls and basically comport myself like a sixteen-year-old who had just had his first beer. I'm told that I would occasionally start laughing for no obvious reason, though I hasten to point out that I do that most of the time even without clonazepam.

Clonazepam is not without its risks, including habituation (which I noticed) and addiction (which I also noticed, though I suspect my addiction was psychological rather than physical - I became uneasy when my prescription ran out). It has other side-effects, including an odd thing called "emotional anesthesia." That didn't sound like something I wanted, so I stopped taking clonazepam and figured that a certain amount of disturbed sleep was better than emotional anesthesia, whatever that was. Why couldn't the chief side-effect of clonazepam been boss sound effects? I mean really.

So these days I do battle with creepy legs mano a mano, without pharmacological reinforcement. Some days I win, and some days I don't. Last night I didn't.

(cough cough) Excuse me!

I was watching a TV show about the New Horizons spacecraft currently en route to Pluto, and the narrator mentioned that it was launched with an Atlas booster, "America's most powerful booster."

The Atlas 5 is a good booster, though I'm still a bit wary of its Russian-made engine, not because it is Russian-made but because it seems to run at an unbelievably high chamber pressure. I seem to recall a chamber pressure of something like 300 Bar, versus the 70 Bar or so that the F-1 ran at. That's a lot of pressure and I find it a tad worrisome. But it is still a good booster, far and away more capable than the Delta II family. But the claim that it is America's most powerful booster is not true.

The Delta IV Heavy lifts more than the Atlas 552, and the Space Shuttle lifts more yet.

Why does this bother me? I don't know. My only defense is that it is very late at night and I'm very sleepy, but my legs hurt and I can't sleep, so I post useless rants.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

PETA vs Steve Irwin

It seems to me that PETA would be a lot more successful if they stopped turning on people who are really their allies.

I read an article a little while ago on the PETA website that scourged Steve Irwin, even in death, for a wide range of alleged offenses, including invasion of personal crocodilian space and disturbances of animal dens. I guess they'd be happier if Steve Irwin left the crocodile where it was and let some Australian rancher put a couple of .303 rounds through its brain.

You'd think they'd have something good to say about someone who put a good deal of his personal fortune into conservation and who worked fairly tirelessly on the behalf of animals. Alas, earwax. PETA or at least the elitist who wrote the attack on Steve Irwin seems unable to get past the fact that Steve Irwin jumped on crocodiles. But when development and crocodiles come into conflict, crocodiles are going to lose. That's a fact of life. It may not be right, but that's the way it is. So we can either let the crocodile remain where it is and eventually be gunned down, or we can capture it and move it elsewhere, where it has a chance of living. Oh, wait, no we can't; we'd have to use rope and duct tape and jump on top of it and wound its self-esteem. "Hand me my Enfield, better we pop this thing now than violate its personal space in an attempt to rescue it."

Or maybe they're just irritated because Steve Irwin was more popular than PETA will ever be. Millions of people watched his TV shows. Millions of people roll their eyes when PETA is mentioned.

But it seems that it's PETA's way or the highway. Maybe that was Steve Irwin's real crime - he didn't submit to PETA orthodoxy.

There are two ways of effecting change. One is to be a relentless scold who constantly wags a disapproving finger at everything, no matter how well-intentioned. That is, to make people change because they get sick of listening to you whine. The other is to change the world through enthusiasm and involvement. That is, to make people change because they want to change.

I'll let history judge who is more successful in the end.

That reminds me - I need to have my propane tank refilled so I can barbecue some ribeyes over the weekend. Oh, that was catty of me, wasn't it?

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Trouble With My Priorities

Every now and then I look at my accumulation of stuff and swear all sorts of mighty oaths to simplify my life. This usually means that I intend to try to liquidate some of my junk on eBay. Now and then I actually do, but in the meantime I backfill the old junk with even more new junk and end up even deeper in the hole.

Lately I've taken to buying things via eBay, so the great engine of life simplification has suddenly turned into the great engine of junk accumulation.

I am doomed.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Luft 46

In the admittedly small world of model airplane enthusiasts, there is a smaller circle of enthusiasts who stalk the "Luft 46" collection. It stands for "Luftwaffe 1946" and supposes that World War Two had lasted into 1946, giving the Germans time to fully develop many of the wonder weapons that existed either as a loose collection of sketches or half-finished wooden mockups in April of 1945 when events in the Fuehrerbunker moved into the final act.

I used to heap endless quantities of scorn on the Luft 46 fashion trend, even going so far as to accuse some of its more notable practitioners of closet Nazi worship. Now, I'm not one of those modelers who gets offended if someone puts a swastika on model Fw190 - I recognize the difference between building a model airplane and celebrating (or, for that matter, hating) the cause that the swastika represents. But the Luft 46 thing seemed a bit much, even for me, a veteran of many an Me-109 and Hs-129 model.

But now... I don't know. Maybe I'm mellowing with age, or maybe I've forgotten how to be indignant, but I have to say, there are aspects of the Luft 46 thing that appeal to me. I didn't realize the extent of the infection until the other way when I was reviewing my Wall O' Unbuilt Models and discovered (with some shock) that I have three Arado Ar-234s of various sorts, two identical Bachem Natters, two Me-163s (not technically Luft 46 but in the same spirit), two "German guided missile" kits, and two variants of the V2 ballistic missile, in this case the A9 and the A4b (if the A9 and A4b don't qualify as Luft 46, I have no idea what would).

I don't know why I find this surprising, but I do.

A River Ran Through It


Behold! Water!

This actually happened a week ago, but it wasn't until today that I got around to writing about it. We had a rather intense thunderstorm last Saturday morning. We got quite a bit of rain out of it, but there was a good deal more rain north of us. Our part of the rain didn't produce any runoff to speak of, but about an hour after it stopped raining, the general north-to-south drainage pattern saw to it that all the rain that came down north of us then proceeded down our wash. At first it was a flow of brown water about a foot wide. Then two feet wide. Then many feet wide. In the photograph above, the water is about 25 feet wide and about four feet deep at its deepest point, right next to the largish green tree. That's a lot of water around these parts.

But it wasn't so bad. The wash is wide and deep and easily accomodated the flow, though with what I imagine hydrologists would call "significant recontouring of the flood plain". Nothing was damaged, other than my self-esteem for appearing in this photograph, and the flow did a pretty good job of tearing out and flushing away the dead weeds and half-dead brush that had been clogging the wash.

I'm the one on the left, shoveling dirt onto an impromptu levee to keep the water from overtopping a low spot on the bank and proceeding down a secondary channel that is barely visible just below my soggy feet.

Man do I ever look seedy in that photograph!

Friday, September 15, 2006

"I Didn't See You"

I am not a small person. I'm no NFL lineman, but I stand about 6'4" and my weight remains classified but on the high side of 250 pounds. I'm hard to overlook, let's put it that way.

Why is this relevant? I stopped at the grocery store on the way home from work. I had had a migraine most of the day, and worse than that what I suspect was a basal migraine, where the pain is more in the back of the head just above the neck and not on the side of the head. I find these headaches disturbing. I smell things that aren't there. I have visual disturbances. I become very sensitive to light (but curiously, music is calming, even the death metal that I tend to prefer these days). My mood becomes odd. Not evil, not dark, just... odd.

The point isn't to brag about the severity of my headache. I'm just pointing out that I had a headache and decided to stop at the grocery store and get, among other things, carbonated water. Sometimes drinking a lot of water helps. Sometimes it doesn't. So I was walking across the parking lot toward the store entrance. Granted, I was walking with one eye closed because it feels better to close my left eye when I have these sorts of headaches. Actually, it feels better to close my right eye, but I can't close my right eye indepedently, only my left eye.

I waited for traffic to clear. A car stopped on my left. A minivan stopped on my right. I started to cross the last stretch of parking lot to get to the sidewalk and suddenly the minivan shot forward at more or less full throttle, and then came to a screeching halt about three feet away from me. So I stare at the alleged driver of this misbegotten heap, giving her my best one-eyed look of utter disbelief.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," she said from inside the van.

Sorry, she didn't see me??? She didn't see a 6'4" man in a bright pink shirt eight feet in front of her van, after she had already stopped to let me cross?

I think I am dubious.

So what could she have been looking at, if not the road in front of her? And if she wasn't looking, why had she mashed the pedal to the metal? Who goes to full throttle in a Safeway parking lot anyway?

Oh, I know what it was - I just figured it out. She was stunned to the point of incoherence by my raw animal magnetism. That must be it. I feel better already!

Friday, September 08, 2006

Almost Sad

Well, it is done - I have vanquished the pile of gravel in my yard. And, like a remorseful big game hunter who has just gunned down the last hairless beaked gnunnel left in the wild, I sort of wish I hadn't.

Not that I was in love with the pile. Nor were the pile and I really friends. The sight of the pile didn't fill my heart with desperate yearning, nor did it greet me in the mornings with a hearty "Howdy, neighbor! Pull up a chair and set a spell!" It was more European than that. I'd look out the window and the pile would say "Ah, Herr Doktor, I see that you haven't yet slipped into the cold sleep of death." And I would screw in my monocle and say "Ja, Herr Pile, dat vich does not kill me makes me schtronger. Und vun day, you'll experience an involuntary Anschluss mit the rest of my front yard." And the pile would emit a cold, sinister laugh.

No, our relationship wasn't very friendly. We weren't even at the point where we exchanged Christmas cards or wan, insincere birthday greetings. But we didn't hate one another either. Mostly it was a combination of mild European contempt and benign lack of interest. (The difference between mild European contempt and mild American contempt, it occurs to me, is that mild American contempt generally involves cursing while the European variant doesn't. I don't have a problem with cursing, but having been brought up on a steady diet of Alistair MacLean spy novels, I prefer my contempt cool and reserved, thank you very much.)

Well, the Anschlussing is complete. The pile and my front yard are now one, and I find myself somewhat at sea. Toward what do I now direct my mild European contempt? I'm sure I'll think of something. If nothing else, I have a sudden profusion of cardboard boxes that need to be cut up and stuffed into the trash can. It's hard to work up proper contempt for cardboard. It's so fundamentally harmless and defenseless that it's like feeling contempt for a manatee - it just doesn't seem fair. A friend of mine in high school once described that as being like "stepping on a puppy's head" - it's wrong, and it's unsporting to boot. But since cardboard is all I have for the time being, it'll have to do.

Cardboard boxes of the world, tremble.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

One-Sentence Novel

"Drat, now we'll never reach Swakopmund," Rachel said in exasperation as the last camel rolled over and died, spilling its cargo of tea, silver flatware and rope sandals down the flank of the sand dune and into the brackish water of the alkaki spring.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Imagine My Horror!

I felt the urge to write today, as I often do, and I sat down at the computer thinking I would be channeling the spirit of Ernest Hemingway. Alas, it turned out I was channeling the spirit of Ernest T. Bass.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Change in Format

Veterans of my blog (at least I hope there are veterans of my blog) will note that I changed the format. I found it difficult to read the posts in my old blog, and I figured that if I was having trouble figuring out what I was saying, my many visitors would have no chance at all. I think this new format is easier to read, but I think all sorts of unlikely things.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

BMD

I see we managed to intercept another test missile with a kinetic kill vehicle over the Pacific. It's quite a technical achievement and I'm impressed that the kinetic kill vehicle can guide itself to hard impact at such a high closing rate.

Missile defense isn't entirely new. We first proposed the Sentinel system in the 1960s, if I recall, which was supposed to provide a "thin" defense over the entire United States. Not enough to take the edge of a determined Soviet attack, but maybe enough to blunt an attack from a lesser nuclear threat (that is, the People's Republic of China). The system comprised two missiles - Spartan, a long-range missile designed for exo-atmospheric interceptions, armed with a thermonuclear warhead and designed to score X-ray kills against incoming warheads. The other missile was the Sprint, a short-range terminal defense missile armed with a neutron bomb and designed to score neutron kills against incoming warheads. The Sprint in particular was a fabulous piece of rocket technology.

The value of this "thin defense" was eventually adjudged to be not worth the money, so the project was rescoped into Safeguard, which would protect a small number of ICBM silos in the Northern Great Plains. It used the same basic missiles, Spartan and Sprint, but now instead of protecting cities, it protected ICBM silos. (This has value in nuclear game theory. Whether one wants to believe it or not, the "doctrine" of Mutual Assured Destruction was the underpinning of the nuclear standoff, and any attempt to "harden" the civilian population was seen as destabilizing. On the other hand, hardening nuclear forces was seen as stabilizing because it made the enemy even more uncertain that his first strike could seriously incapacitate the enemy).

Safeguard was operational for a few days, but in the end it was canceled. One big reason was that its stated mission - reinforcing MAD by protecting US ICBM silos - seemed a little redunant in view of the fact that even one US Navy ballistic missile submarine could devastate the Soviet Union. The Soviets could never besure of killing all our submarines in a first strike, so the real nuclear safeguard lay in our submarines, not in the small set of Safeguard-protected ICBM silos. (A US nuclear submarine at the time carried 16 Poseideon missiles, each armed with about ten nuclear weapons and a few decoys. That's about 160 warheads, enough to wipe the Communist aggressors off the map. And that's just one submarine.)

And there the matter rested, inactivity enforced by the ABM Treaty. But in the 1980s, the US Army carried out the "Homing Overlay" experiments, an attempt to develop a missile that could destroy an incoming enemy warhead by direct impact. Homing Overlay didn't require nukes to compensate for errors in guidance; technology was adjudged sufficiently mature to enable direct hits. Homing Overlay was ultimately successful in intercepting a test missile, and the modern US ballistic missile defense system appears to be really nothing more than a better-developed Homing Overlay system.

In missile defense, there are roughly four "kill zones", or more properly four kill-times. They are, in order of effectiveness:

1. Prelaunch. Blowing the enemy's missiles up on the ground. This is both easy and hard. It's easy because if you can get a spy close enough to the missile she can simply stab it with an icepick. It's hard because it's hard to get enough spies that close to enemy missiles. In practice you end up having to rely on standoff kill techniques, preferably fast ones, and if the enemy shows any inclination to base his missiles in silos, you're basically forced to use nukes to preempt the enemy attack. This requires precise intelligence and carries significant political costs - try explaining to the world that you nuked Kreplakistan off the face of the Earth because you had a hunch they were going to launch a missile. And what if you're wrong?

2. Boost phase. Blowing up the booster while it is still burning. This is perhaps the best time to intercept an enemy missile. Their booster is still burning, producing a very energetic exhaust plume that is painfully easy for infra-red systems to track. The missile isn't moving very fast (in the early part of the boost phase at least) and best of all, you don't have to actually disable the warhead, just the booster. Liquid-fuel boosters are quite easy to disable. A brick would suffice. Solid-fuel boosters are harder to disable because their steel combustion chamber walls provide an armor effect for free, but it can still be done. The chief problem with boost-phase interception is the time problem. You've got a few minutes at the most in which to detect the launch, characterize its trajectory, assign an interceptor, and kill it. Time-of-flight considerations mean that your interceptor missiles have to be either in or very near the hostile country. The US Navy is developing the SM-3 and SM-4 missiles which may have some utility in boost-phase interceptions, but as a general rule of thumb, boost-phase interception pretty much requires directed energy weapons (lasers, particle beams and the like).

3. Exo-atmospheric phase (often called the mid-course phase). Blowing up the warhead while it is still outside the atmosphere. The idea here is that shortly after the enemy launches its missiles, you launch your interceptors. Once out of the atmosphere, the kill vehicle tracks the enemy warhead by some means (infra-red, most likely) and steers itself in for the kill. The actual interception takes place at altitudes of over 100 miles, above the atmosphere. The advantages of this are that the interception takes place above the atmosphere and presumably over an ocean, so if you use thermonuclear weapons (as Spartan did) to enhance your kill ratio, you don't have to worry so much about radiation. Also, enemy warheads in the exo-atmospheric phase aren't really able to maneuver all that much. Once you have a good estimate of its trajectory, getting the interceptor to the target is largely a matter of mathematics. The main disadvantage is the kill ratio may not be all that great. The enemy's booster has burned out so you don't have that juicy exhaust plume to track. The enemy warhead is moving about as fast as it ever will, so your closing rate may well be on the order of five kilometers per second. The fairly late intercept also gives the enemy time to deploy various countermeasures, chiefly balloons and other decoys, so your tracking and classification problem is more difficult. The Safeguard system's Spartan missile was designed to operate in this phase. It used a thermonuclear weapon whose powerful pulse of X-ray radiation could degrade, deactive or seriously mess up an enemy warhead even if the Spartan missed by a fairly wide margin. More modern systems delete the thermonuclear weapon and aim to destroy the enemy warhead by physically smacking into it at extremely high speed - again, a brick would suffice if you could somehow guide the brick to its target.

4. Terminal defense. Intercepting the warhead just over its target. This is the least feasible technique, used only in desperation. It amounts to intercepting the enemy warhead directly over its target, presumably a city. Reaction time is critical as the enemy warhead is coming down extremely quickly. The enemy warhead can also use the atmosphere to maneuver, flying a primitive but reasonably effective spiral evasion pattern that, at high enough speeds, makes interception very difficult. You'll need to augment your interceptor with nuclear weapons to improve your chance of a kill. The Sprint missile used a neutron bomb (also known as an "ERRB" or "Enhanced-Radiation Reduced-Blast" warhead, basically a thermonuclear weapon whose X-ray mirrors don't absorb neutrons). The pulse of neutrons from the ERRB warhead had a pretty good chance of either deactivating the enemy nuke or causing it to fizzle in a low-order detonation, especially if it used plutonium instead of uranium. Good, right? Well, not really. According to the designer of the neutron bomb, detonating a neutron bomb ten miles above a city would produce so much neutron radiation at ground level it would kill trees and grass, not to mention people. So maybe you're better off not intercepting the warhead at all and hoping that it's a dud (which isn't necessarily a vain hope).

It thus strikes me that kinetic exo-atmospheric kill is the only feasible interception technique. Boost-phase interception requires reaction times faster than missiles can provide, and terminal phase interception causes so much damage it's hard to see how a successful interception is any better than an unsuccessful one.

So where do I stand on all of this politically?

I was opposed to deployment of anything like the Reagan Star Wars program, for the following reasons. First, I thought it was too expensive and would bankrupt the country. Second, I thought it was inherently destabilizing and would make nuclear war more likely rather than less likely. (Assume you're the Soviet commander in chief and your staff tells you that tomorrow the Americans are going to turn on a ballistic missile defense system that can intercept 99.9% of your warheads. What do you do? Submit to American supremacy, or nuke them before they turn the system on?) And third, I couldn't imagine how the system could ever be subjected to a full-scale test. Its first combat employment would be its first test, and I just didn't think that was good.

I was in favor of Star Wars research. My rule of thumb is that more research is always better than less research. It's difficult to say what will come out of any given line of research, and I was prepared to fund Star Wars research at a modest level even though I was quite sure that a functional Star Wars system would never come out of the end of the research pipeline. But other stuff might, and I couldn't say what.

I am in favor of US Army and US Navy attempst to develop theater-level ballistic missile defenses, in particular the US Navy's Aegis effort. Protection of fielded forces from enemy ballistic missiles seems like a worthy goal to me, and forward-deployed warships armed with SM-3 or SM-4 missiles seems like a reasonable basis for such a system.

I am also in favor of the current GMD system deployed in Alaksa and California, but only so long as its objectives are clearly stated. It should not be sold as a nationwide defense system, because it can't deliver on that claim. It can't blunt a Chinese attack, far less a Russian one, and attempts to morph it into such a system turn it into just another variant of Star Wars. But as long as the system's objective is to defeat small attacks from countries like North Korea and Iran, I am in favor of it. Intercepting ten relatively crude North Korean ICBMs is something I believe the system can affordably do.

It's a matter of percentages. Let's say that the GMD system can intercept 50% of incoming warheads. Say the North Koreans launch ten missiles. We pick off five. The result is a horrendous catastrophe in that we lose five cities, but better to lose five cities than ten (though one could assume that the North Koreans would double-target five cities, so we'd lose two or three). Now let's assume a Chinese attack. I'm not saying that a Chinese attack is likely, but just for the sake of discussion let's make that supposition. They could probably deliver 400 warheads in a first strike. We intercept 200. That leaves 200, and 200 nukes on the United States would still be the end of American civilization, so why bother? Better in this case to work to make sure the war never happens in the first place than to try to survive 200 nukes.

My point is that as long as the objectives of ballistic missile defense remain modest - blunting a North Korean attack, say - I'm in favor. But the moment the system begins to be sold as a Star Wars-like system capable of blunting a full scale attack from other quarters, I'm opposed for the same reasons I was opposed to the original Star Wars program - cost, destabilizing influence, and untestability.

The best nuclear war, of course, is the nuclear war that is never fought. The best arms race is the arms race that doesn't cost any money. The best missile defense system is one that can protect us against rogue states who have no vested interest in the status quo, but one that is not so large that it makes countries who do have a vested interest in the status quo nervous. The system needs to be big enough to blunt a North Korean attack, but not nearly big enough to give Chinese and Russian nuclear strategists the jitters - or American taxpayers the vapors.

And that's where I stand.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Venting Again

I smoke. That bothers a lot of people, so for the remainder of this post I'll refer to smoking as eating celery.

So, I eat celery. At work, I go outside every hour and a half or so to eat a piece of celery, and I try to think when I do. Sometimes I think about work issues - why do I gotta malloc this turkey every time, isn't there a better way? Sometimes I assemble highly tentative to-do lists for when I get home - after I shovel some gravel, I'll bring peace to the Middle East. Other times I just take vacations and compare and contrast the organization and employment of legions in the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire.

The point is that when I go outside to eat celery, I don't go out to exchange small talk with random celery-eaters that I don't know. I'm not good at small talk. I find it tedious and the effort of engaging in pointless chit-chat usually drains me. And it never fails that while I'm trying to enjoy my four minutes of celery-eating peace and quiet, someone decides that I have to be spoken to.

There are several types. There is the Manhandler. He doesn't beat around the bush. He sees me and he steers straight toward me like a Mark-48 torpedo homing in on a supertanker. Then he starts talking. The one good thing about the Manhandler is that he never shuts up and never expects a reply, so I can restrict my involvement to saying things like "Huh" or "I didn't know that." One of the bad things about the Manhandler is that he is constantly adjusting the lie of his reproductive organ in his trousers (hence his nickname). Another bad thing is that every few minutes he sticks his tongue out, very far out, Gene Simmons out, and waggles it all around his face. It's like a particularly large and agile snail doing a mating dance. Maybe some people find men who won't shut up and who waggle their tongues and adjust their penises attractive, but I'm not one of them. And one piece of celery isn't enough. He wants to eat five or six of them, and the whole time I stand there and long for death. If I try to withdraw, he follows me to my cubicle. He's also the guy who ate my peanuts one day, entirely without permission, and left the shells all over the floor.

While I'm at it, what is it with people and my peanuts? Why does everyone assume that I don't want my peanuts? "You gonna eat those?" they ask, pointing at my bag of peanuts. Did I miss a memo about peanuts or something? I guess they think I bring peanuts to work every day because I hate peanuts. Peanuts are relatively inexpensive and widely available, so it's not like I'm bringing macadamia nuts to work or anything, but it never fails. I've taken to hiding my peanuts until I'm ready to eat them because I'm afraid I'll scream the next time someone tries to hijack my peanuts.

Then there's Mr. Smooth. He comes out. He sees me. He pauses nearby. He kicks a pebble. He saunters around to the other side. He looks at his watch. He comes a little closer. And the whole time I know exactly what he's going to say: "What do you think of this weather." And presently there he is, invading my personal space without being invited, and he says "What do you think about this weather?" The worst part isn't the conversation; it is the inevitable nature of the Smooth Ritual that drives me nuts. Here's pretty much a verbatim conversation repeated about fifty million times:

"What do you think about this weather?"
"It's hot."
"Yeah, and I'm getting too old for this."

It's not that I'm a dyed-in-the-wool misanthrope. It's not that I think my thoughts are so important they can't be interrupted. I just want a few minutes of peace and quiet when I go outside, and I almost never get it. After a while you develop a feel for who will let you eat your celery in peace and who won't, and if the celery-eating area isn't clear, I go back to my desk.

It's kind of like urinal conversationalists. I don't intend to spend much time discussing urinals save to point out that some guys think the fact that you're all in more or less the same spot doing more or less the same thing gives them license to talk to anyone. You're there taking care of matters, and you suddenly hear a voice: "I bought four thousand rounds of Chinese 7.62mm ammo the other day." So you look around to see who might be the recipient of this bit of news, and with a sinking feeling, you realize that you are the recipient, and there's some guy you don't know from Adam telling you about how he has ten thousand rounds of ammunition in his basement.

That's it. I need a piece of celery.

Yoo-Hoo!

No wonder I haven't felt very good lately - my horoscope indicates that I've been drinking the wrong stuff. I just read on AOL that the preferred soft drink for Cancers is Yoohoo. And here I've been drinking this "water" crap. Doh!

Who comes up with this stuff, and why aren't they ashamed?