Seeds (finally)-

They followed the river as it meandered across the Plain. The dots of trees became clusters became copses became a forest. A nasty brown scar marked the massive logging camp. Their orders were quite clear. �Wing One to flight. We have to put on our show. Descend to three thousand spans and make a pass up the river. Then break west and climb to thirty thousand before heading to the target.� Mirl announced.

�Copy.�

�Copy.�

The river was black and brown with logs grouped together to float downstream. Stick figures hopped from one precarious perch to the next and tugs pushed and pulled the islands of wood. People started looking up as they heard the wings approaching. By the time they passed over the main sawmill, a crowd had gathered to wave jubilantly. They made their one pass, then banked west to begin a corkscrew climb to height.

The navigator presented Mirl with a best guess line for the river between its disappearance under tree cover and reappearance at the Big Lazy. They marked up three bombing runs that would straddle the water and level trees and structures on the shore. �If they really wanted us to do it properly, they would give us incendiaries.� The navigator opined.

�The object is spoiled if we burn down the forest to protect the loggers. Pass these lines to the others.�

From above, it was a very unspectacular run. They passed diagonally across the supposed track of the river, dropping sticks of bombs at count intervals. The forest canopy shook with the explosions below, and one bomb hit a large enough branch to detonate far above the ground. Some trees tumbled, but the holes they left revealed nothing. They turned and headed back to base. �Same again tomorrow.� Mirl sighed.

Okay, maybe I won’t write Open Sourrce Environment. I know what I want to say, but I can’t quite put it together in my head how I want to say it. I’m off to the Lakes this weekend for my cousin’s wedding. If I don’t get too drunk at the reception, maybe on Sunday I can formulate my position. Maybe.

Seeds–

Shot pistols generally spat clusters of small metal balls in a lethal cone out to a few hundred spans. Mirl�s gunnery officer had perfected a far more interesting projectile. Harren steadied the extended stock against his shoulder and took aim on an Albo.

The recoil nearly toppled him from his chair. Halfway to the old plane a thin trail of flame traced the bullet�s path. It passed through the canvas and the inside of the plane was illuminated with bright yellow light. Harren pulled back the lever over the barrel and fed another shell into the chamber. This time he stood to put a shot through the canopy of the next Albo over. He collapsed into his chair and guzzled down another mouthful of the mechanics� searing liquor. �What is in those things?�

Mirl held up a shell. It had a metal skin, scarred with predetermined fragmentation lines. �There are two chambers inside. The contents react violently with each other. The propellant dries a nail through them both and they start reacting at about two hundred spans. When the shell splits it releases flaming liquid in all directions. Or it would explode at about a thousand spans and do the same thing.�

�Really?� Harren cranked the handle and fired straight up.

They watched the fire trail thicken and eventually blossom into a white hot teardrop. �We should move.� Suggested Mirl.

�Why?�

�What goes up must come down.�

�Oh. Of course.� They grabbed the bottles of liquor and bag of ammunition and wandered a wavering line back to the mess. Harren remembered the chairs as he stood at the door, and looked back to see them both in flames.

There were mounted commendations all the way down the main table. Each sat atop the growing tower of ale and spirit bottles the associated crew were consuming. Harren�s gunship raid and Mirl�s high altitude bombing were being lauded as grand shows of strength. The heroes were due to embark on a publicity tour. �Drink your fill boys, for tomorrow we must entertain our public!� There was a roar from the crews and a hammering of the table that toppled two bottle towers.

They collapsed onto a bench seat. �Where have they sent you?� Mirl asked.

�Back to Reff, to shine above the grimy city, then some middle of nowhere air show and finally on to Stran Island to talk with the Navy about combined force attacks.�

�We are going even further north, to show the damned logging camps that we care about them by mercilessly bombing trees.�

�Ay?�

�This supposed Hidden Army in the woods. Every time a logger gets toxicated and falls in the river it�s all about the Hidden Army. So we are going to bomb the forest around the river and maybe kill some river reptiles.�

�That sounds like more action than I will see.�

�Death from above!�

�Death from above!� They saluted each other with spirit bottles.

During the World Summit, all the conservative blogs took great pleasure in pretending that sustainable development was all about keeping developing nations down by not allowing them ‘Western style economies.’ Which anyone with a clue (and, I think, some of them) can tell is either a stupid interpretation or willful misrepresentation. I’ve been cogitating a way to argue the case against them, and today I think I came up with it. The working title is ‘Open Source Environment’ and I’ll try to get it posted by the end of the week.

Seeds–

Wire had been strung between the trees above the tunnel mouth to catch the radio waves bounced off the atmosphere. Lensman took the coded pages and translated them with a one time pad. There was a simple request and a number of suggested map references.

The squad assembled under the evening sun around the roasting goat that Kess had shot. Lensman laid a large map on the flat stone that served as a table. �We have been asked to carry out harassing attacks and sabotage on the enemy in certain regions.� Once they were in the field, strike squads could only be asked to make attacks. Their longevity was a prime concern and survival their main mission. Lensman circled six areas with a wax pencil. �I know some of these targets are on the Plains,� he pre-empted Mov�s complaint, �and there is further to fall back. But they are unlikely to search for us in the mountains.�

Rey leaned over the map. �These three areas are closely grouped. If we coordinate attacks the confusion should allow us time to withdraw.�

�And they are closer to the hills.� Kess added, with relief, �We can block any pursuit easier where the land has proper contours.�

�Four day�s march. Assemble all the equipment you need and we shall leave in the morning.�

Quite a productive day, I now have Seeds material until Wednesday. Tomorrow I hope to get through to sometime next week-

Navigation in the mountains was all about landmarks, triangulating one peak against another gave a plane�s location. Over the ocean, there were no visual pointers and Jay was triangulating to radio sources.

By now they had flown into the new day and in all directions they could see the haze grey of the planes� camouflage. Occasional specks of white trailed behind boats, but they were the only indications of life.

The directional receiver in the nose had located four radio sources. The angles to these tallied with Jay�s mental arithmetic on air speed and wind direction. �Come about two degrees south.� She told Reed. The plane banked lightly and the rest of the wing followed. They had been describing a shallow zig-zag about their plotted course. �The wing drop tanks are almost empty. I will empty them and release them. No point in wasting fuel dragging them.�

�We must be nearing the point of no return.�

�We just passed it. I only hope we can keep our feet dry in this direction.�