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FORTRESS FORD AND BATTLESHIP BUICK Mitch didn't get out much, at least not like his peers. He did quite a bit of traveling, most of it through an old-fashioned telegraph key. Jacob Keller got him started in ham radio, right after the drunk driver took Mitch's legs: Mitch threw himself into learning Morse code and radio theory, antenna theory and propagation, he studied with a single minded focus: when he sat for his exams, he paid his money to take the Technician exam, then for no extra cost, he immediately took (and passed) the Extra and the Advanced as well. When his set began an urgent set of tones, he drove his powered wheelchair over to his shack bench, frowned, reached for the key and sent a quick burst, then went to his window and picked up a set of binoculars. He had a bay window that afforded him 270 degrees of view; as he was well up on the mountainside, he had a grand vista ahead of him, none of which he saw. He turned the focus wheel, leaned forward, watched for several long moments, then backed his chair, turned it, gripped the key again and sent one word: ALIVE Angela's Gammaw still taught, in spite of her being dead for a lot of years now. Angela's Gammaw videotaped a variety of presentations for the Academy, and Angela watched every last one of them, from early childhood to the present day. Willamina could convey an idea fast, clearly, concisely, and did: she taught her troops that there is no such thing as routine patrol, and there is sure as hell no such thing as a routine traffic stop, and she set up a variety of realistic scenarios based on actual stops gone bad. Angela called in a plate, pulled over a vehicle: she'd not come to a full stop behind the subject vehicle when the driver's door flew open, the driver came out, running toward her, shooting. Angela dumped the shifter in Go Backwards gear and quite honestly mashed the throttle: her cruiser screamed backwards, the driver ran back into his car, he started to jackrabbit out of there, until Angela rammed his rear quarter panel, PIT-ing him, hard, when he was barely moving. She backed up, yanked the shifter savagely into gear: the driver started moving again and Angela rammed him again, hard, just behind the driver's door, shoving him sideways and into the ditch. She just honestly bulldozed him off the roadway and over on his side. Angela backed again, made a quick sweep of her mirrors: she reached up, hit the release, shouldered her own door open and stepped out, using her engine block and front wheel for cover. She jacked a round of genuine US Military 00 Buck into her Ithaca, dropped the barrel level, glared through the ghost ring peep, and waited. Her tan cruiser's big block engine whispered mechanical secrets to itself, patiently waiting for the next demand upon its services; her red-and-blue LED bar, and the other pretty little lights Weenkeeng and Bleenkeeng fore, aft and on running boards and mirrors, were silent; Angela waited, knowing the other driver's only exit was through his driver's-side door, unless he kicked his windshield out -- which would give her well more than enough advance warning, to line up a killing shot if need be. Michael and Victoria sat side by side at what used to be Jacob's ham radio desk. It now belonged to the twins. Victoria had the enlarged map on display; she'd placed rectangular markers to show the positions of Angela's cruiser, and as best they could estimate, location of the subject vehicle. It was too far away for them to intervene, and they knew better than to interfere with a law enforcement matter, but both knew the moment Angela's windshield starburst with the first hostile gunshot, and both sprinted upstairs, to where the scanner patiently ran the bands, and their natural affinity for things electronic enabled them to play back radio traffic, and they heard Angela's professional voice -- she sounded different when she spoke professionally -- call in the plate number and location, then they heard the sound of bullet strikes, the squall of tires, the sound of the well-muffled engine's protest and Angela's clipped, "Shots fired, taking evasive, backup, NOW!" Michael consulted another map, turned an antenna's directional control: a Yagi-Uda swung obediently in response to his safecracker's touch on the directional knob, then he gripped the straight key and tapped out a message to a set of ears he knew would be listening. Mitch watched, shocked, as the tan Sheriff's cruiser rammed the vehicle, turning it: his mouth opened in surprise as he saw the cruiser, like a bull, lower its head and ram the stopped car in the side, pushing it off the roadway and into the ditch, where it rocked once and stayed. He made a mental note to rig a relay so he could run a key from his chair, while here in his overwatch, and kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. He pulled back and sent Michael a one word reply, then rolled back into his bay window, glass glued to his eyes, watching. Angela waited for backup, then took a ballistic shield, jumped the ditch, walked around the car and tapped on its underside. "Anybody home?" she called. The reply from within was less than kindly in nature. "Tell you what," Angela called, and she smiled as she did: "Roll down your window, throw out your gun and we'll get you out of there!" The reply was to fire a half-dozen rounds through the bottom of the car. "I thought you might say that," Angela muttered: she went to the back of the car, smacked the back glass with a glass breaker, dropped the pointy nosed hammerhead. She pulled the pin on a tear dust grenade, drove its end into the roof of the car, then tossed the can inside. A muted detonation, a cloud: blinded, unable to breathe, the driver fought his way out the back and through what used to be his rear window, where he was cheerfully dogpiled and cuffed. Mitch waited until the rescue truck unspooled a compressed air line and blew the excess tear dust off the prisoner and out of his hair, then rolled back to his key and sent a brief reply to Michael. Victoria's eyes met her twin's and they smiled a quiet smile of satisfaction as they heard the all-well, as they listened to Angela requesting a shots-fired team to help process the scene. Michael and Victoria were as accustomed to watching their Gammaw's training videos as was their older sister. They watched as their Gammaw's voice narrated the scene as a driver stepped out of a simulated stopped vehicle and charged the camera, firing paintballs as he came: splats of red blasted against the windshield and Willamina's voice said "Congratulations, you're dead. Now let's see how else we might handle this." Pale eyed twins watched and listened as the stopped vehicle's driver's door flew open, as the driver emerged weapon in hand, as the camera's vehicle accelerated hard in reverse. "Distance is your friend, and your vehicle provides some cover," Willamina's voice said. "Your vehicle gives you speed, mobility and protection. It runs faster than you can, it hits harder than you can. The vehicle itself is a weapon and can be used to counter deadly force." The scene changed, melted, coalesced into an attractive woman with Marine-short hair and a tailored suit dress, behind a podium, in front of the now-blank projector screen behind her. "Remember, boys and girls," she smiled, "when you are behind the wheel, on duty or off, you are driving Fortress Ford, and Battleship Buick!"

In that first picture she looks like Darla from the Little Rascals !

I had a similar idea for clearing the camps out . . .

Wait, 1.525 is longer than 1.455. I thought you said they were too long?

Nope, I don't leave firearms unattended in vehicles. I would never rely on anything electronic to work 100% of the time.

I'm glad that they reestablished communication with Nomad and that it, and Voyager 2, are still relaying information back to Earth. Launched the same year I graduated high school and the same month I moved out of the house and out on my own at 17. I'm still about 10 miles from where I launched from, Voyager 1 is 15 billion miles away from where it launched from...Hmm. Every time I hear about Voyager 1 (and 2), it reminds of the Star Trek episode with the spacecraft Nomad in it.

I personally will not use this kind of safe or gun box. At least not yet (waiting to see how the technology improves). I have had a computer for work that required a fingerprint to access and it failed to recognize my print roughly 10% of the time. That's not much when you're trying to access your laptop, but it's WAY to high of a failure rate for accessing your firearm if you need it for self defense. Then there is the consideration of batteries draining or running low and you not realizing it until you need to access the box. Just my 2 cents, but I always recommend a box with some kind of mechanical opening method instead of biometric.

HARLEYSuzuki

... trying to think of something intelligent, educational, informative, supportive, actually useful and at least a little entertaining, and the mind just went blank! As I suffer a terrible condition -- you might've heard of it, Hoof In Mouth syndrome -- might be I'd be wise just to stay hush! What was it the wise man admonished me? ... "a closed mouth gathers no foot ..." Looking forward to your after action report! Safe travels, enjoy yourself!

Spam!

Justice of the Peace

GOODY !!! ...... it's Trunk Monkey time .... again

I am super excited for you two and can't wait to hear about all the fun! Keep that foot off the ground Blackwater. You got this and ENJOY! Hugs

You say you wonder, but deep down you know they can’t.

I’ll never tell.

Tetralogy!

One week left and the fun begins.

ham

painted white , if formal

Shooter should have declared the malfunction and safely grounded the revolver. TO should have waited until the end of the stage to verify the position of the unfired round in the cylinder (SDQ if under the hammer). If the TO had simply advised the shooter to safely stage the revolver instead of reholstering it, THAT would have been considered "proper coaching" to avoid the possibilty of a SDQ = No RESHOOT. Shooter should have appealed the miscall up the chain of command & received a RESHOOT for RO interference: SHB p.20

MISSES do not "carry forward" on a reshoot. SHB p.44

yes - we have had a good many years here going on 40+ for me over half ,my life but we are talking of leaving - they tax our SS and we are older with a large house thats a lot of work now , we are looking to move as soon as grandkids come of age , a lear or so - work in progress , that channel carries all my westerns - rifleman , ponderosa , wagon train , gunsmoke , green acres , petticoat junction , beverly hillbillys , mayberry , im sure there are others in times ive never watched , all the things i remember asa a kid as well as those i watched later , some i never watched - a lot of B&W , i watched them on B*W TVs that didnt get color ....whats not in color today ? im watching it mostly these days ,

thanks - i was the fallen and i cant get up guy last fall , - i always scoffed at that as i had never experienced brady cardia ...........now i understand , you guys work hard - took three to get me out of the house and still broke something my wife put back together so no problem , thanks to all that do the EMT work , it made my episode much easier , u laterally could not get to the car when my wife was wanting to take me in , i wont scoff at the fall and i cant get up again , im not sure why others might experience it but with bradycardia you literally are sleeping while wide awake and you can move but you have nothing to stand /walk / do anything but sit or lie in whatever position you are in , i fif not realize it came n slow - i kept getting tired faster and with less efforts , i just said i was getting old and less capable , now im able and i can , im not 50 again but im not yet 75 either - thats next year , i have more energy and can operate normal again , i still dont like ladders but i can again climb one without getting woozy , not that i wantto ,

Launched in 1977, it’s now 15 billion miles from earth. It took 5 months to fix a glitch in its computers. Think about that, the computers aboard are over 47 years old, and the engineers communicate with it using 1977 computers and their ancient language from earth. A stunning achievement! https://abcnews.go.com/amp/Technology/nasa-voyager-1-spacecraft-sending-readable-data-back-earth/story?id=109572983

Anzac Day 2024 Dad was in the A.I.F 2/7th Commando's. he did his Commando Training at the Guerrilla Warfare School at Wilsons Promontory in Victoria and Queensland before shipping out to New Guinea, the 2/7th Commando Company was formed in May of 1942. They all signed that they would undertake suicide missions if asked. He was a forward scout for his section, the day he turned 19 in the jungles of New Guinea they defeated numerous frontal Japanese attacks and he saw almost continuous heavy action against the Japanese in the Ramu Valley, Wewak, Wau and Bena where the 2/7th Commandos conducted long range patrol and reconnaissance operations to harass the Japanese. The Commando Companies were at first issued Thompson .45acp caliber submachine guns. Later they were issued the Owen Submachine gun in 9mm caliber. The Commandos didn't favour them as they didn't have the stopping power of the bigger .45acp round, every time they came in contact with and American unit who were fascinated with the Owens, they quickly did trades of their Owens for Thompsons. He brought home two Samurai swords taken from two dead Japanese officers, even though the two swords lived on top of their wardrobe Mum was always terrified my older brothers would get them down and hurt themselves, so Dad donated them to Bomaderry RSL and they were in the foyer until the RSL closed down. He came home with a lot health problems and was in and out of Concord Repatriation Hospital a lot through my childhood. Mums only sibling her brother Ron was a Corporal in the RAAF and was shot down by a Japanese Zero over the coast of Rabaul, there were no survivors and a rescue plane only found an oil slick on the water where his bomber and crew went down. My Grandfather (Mums Dad) was a Sergeant in the RAAF at the time he lost his only son, he later went onto become a Wing Commander in the RAAF. The Australian Govt gave my Grandmother (Mums Mother) the medal to denote that she had given one son for Australia. My Dad's great Uncle was an Australian Trooper in the Boer War (I have his spurs). My Dad's Uncle was gassed in the trenches in France in WWI, he was repatriated back to Australia and lived only to 35. My Dad's brother also was in the A.I.F and served in New Guinea. Dad's cousin was in the A.I.F and a Rat of Tobruk. My brother was in 1 Commando Company (1 Cdo Coy). My nephew was an Australian Artillery Army Captain and served in Iraq. A note - The Family business was Dale & Sons Tannery in Botany started in Armidale in 1887 and moved to Botany in 1898, because leather was such an important item for Australia's war effort it was a protected industry, meaning that non of the workers had to enlist. All my relatives working at the Tannery through all of Australia's conflicts signed up and served. The photos below are of Dad's medals and the hat band with the 'Double Diamond' patch off his slouch hat that he wore in New Guinea. Photo of my Uncle Ron and Grandfather Stan and their medals. Plaque commemorating Ron's sacrifice. The medal 'awarded' to my grandmother for her sacrifice of her only son. My brother Gary Dale. My nephew Cooper Dale. LEST WE FORGET