GreyBeard Dreaming

Thursday, November 13, 2014

BugWarz




BugWarz
“all across the nation, 
there’s an odd, 
unusual vibration”

Younger and not so young boys enter consumer grade total immersion  virtual reality tanks at random times and in random locations all across The Second Republic of Texas….nothing is planned. There IS no plan. The tanks are provided free by BugWarz , a wholly owned subsidiary of  the TexasRaiders, which is a private firm contracted to defend Texas and it’s interests.

Depending on the nature of the ‘game’ the ‘player’ is, or is not in some form of a cockpit.  Most are just ‘floating free”.  As some of the “players’ are ‘booting up’ others are calling it quits.  Some play daily and for long periods of time, others play very seldom and of short duration, and others still of any variation in between.

BugWarz is the farm league, so to speak, of the TexasRaiderz.  It is where the next generation of combat tele-operators are trained. It’s a life and death, no holds barred, pest control operations all across the parks, yards and fields of the State.  

Insects can become pesticide resistant.  NO bug becomes resistant to being chopped into tiny pieces.  

Somewhere in an undisclosed location in the State,  Pest Control Managers monitor and control these young players.  Rules of Engagement are implemented, changed, and manipulated as deemed fit. The managers control if, where and how much violence is implemented., what type of, if any, munitions are used.  Mission control is tough on these managers.  At any time a star player might have to go potty,  need a cookie or a nap.  Not every manager can handle the stress.

Young pre hormonal boys and some girls (and not a few older siblings and parents)  get to do the fun stuff. It’s a game to them. Once immersed they have no idea if it’s real or Virtual Reality.

Johnny hops down from the dinner table and runs into his room.  He’s a pro at getting into his VR tank and getting all hooked up.  Soon he’s ready for action and sends the “good to go” signal…..

………...and he wakes up.

……...seated in rows with dozens of other similar young pilots.  Up in front of the crowd is a colonel smoking a cigar.

Ok listen up boys”  says the portly officer around his cigar.  

Tonight’s action is mosquito control.  You will be flying specially designed skeeeter fighters.  “

He puffed on his cigar for a minute and looked the boys in the eyes.  Even though Johnny is several rows back it feels as if the big man is looking right at him.

“Mosquito’s are killers boys.  Every years millions of people around the world die from disease carried by these insects.  We’re depending on you boys to save the planet.”  He paused for a minute...and said..

“Go make us proud boys….”.

<fade out>...............<fade in>

Johnny is in the cockpit of an parasite fighter aircraft, a sickle class anti mosquito fighter.  His aircraft, like dozens of others, is suspended beneath the wing of a mother ship.  

“Ok boyz...this is your captain” a voice over the ship-to-ship intercom announced.  “We are approaching our target area.  We’re counting on you to kill mosquito’s…”..

Shortly...Johhny felt a ‘down elevator’ feeling and his air craft was dropped from the mother ship.  The mothership provided targeting information and vectored Johnny toward a Swarm of mosquitos…

As young as he was Johnny wasn’t into tactic much. Ramming was about it.  That was OK.

“Johnny Alpha, swarm vector 47 d” came the voice.  Johnny had no idea what the words meant.  They sounded really cool though.  His fighter pretty much flew itself and soon he was in and amongst a group of flying bugs.

“hiiiiya’...cried Johnny as he energetically operated the controls of his aircraft.  The skeeter-sickle twisted, dodged ,bucked and weaved as Johnny steered it into mosquitos.  The name sickle was deliberate since the fighter had a small sickle shaped blade on it’s nose.  The blade was ultra sharp even if it was tiny a mere touch would slice a mosquito into pieces.  Johnny sliced a lot of mosquito’s that night.

“Time for Bed” johnny’ came a voice over the intercomm

“Awww momm...ten more minutes” he cajoled.  Sometimes it worked.

“not this time Johnny” came the comforting voice “we have an early day tomorrow”.

The door of heaven opened and the face of an angel appeared framed in the doorway.  His mother reached into the child sized HIGHFIVEtm , disconnected him, and lifted him out.  Gently she carried him to bed.

In another area of operations a light appeared on the BugWarztm manager’s screen.  It indicated a vacant fighter.  He thought about things for a minute then decided it was late enough. There would probably be no more youngsters available to occupy that fighter tonight.   He pressed a button and the destruct sequence was transmitted to the bug fighter.  

A tiny flash of lighted illuminated the darkness  and the tiny SkeeterSickletm fractured into a million tiny specks of sand..for an instant it a pinch of dust drifted in the breeze.  It dissipated and was gone as if it had never been.

As the night progressed and it got later, more and more BugFighterstm checked out in a blaze of glory.  Eventually only a few old men and women remained fighting the enemies of mankind.




Military Action Out of State
We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.:George Orwell

Older and not so young boys enter consumer grade total immersion  virtual reality tanks at random times and in random locations across The Second Republic of Texas. Nothing is planned. The tanks are provided by the TexasRaiderstm a private firm contracted to defend Texas and it’s interests. Depending on the nature of the ‘game’ the ‘player’ is or is not in some form of a cockpit.  Most are just ‘floating free”.  As some of the “players’ are ‘booting up’ others are calling it quits.  Some play daily, others play very seldom.

A few, a very, very few live in HIGHFIVES.  The military is their life.  They live for the fight.

Somewhere in an undisclosed location Military Commanders monitor and control these players.  Rules of Engagement are implemented, changed, and manipulated as deemed fit. The commanders control if, where and how violence is implemented., what type of, if any, munitions are used.  Young boys awash in hormones get to do the fun stuff. It’s a game to them.  They have no idea if it’s real or Virtual Reality.

For Example: In “Nowherestan” a squad of semi-autonomous tele-operated robot infantry on area patrol come under fire.  They return fire, counter-attack and wipe out their assailants.

This happens all over Nowherestan.  Sometimes the robots lose..roadside bombs and RPG ambushes….but .most times they win.  When they lose heavier and heavier weapons are brought to bear until the opposition is eradicated.

In this manner a few elite and highly trained professionals, and policy makers control a force of millions of hormone crazed killing machines.  The boys controlling these robots have no clue as to what they are doing.  As far as they are concerned they are playing a video game.  The commanders never have a shortage of grunts.

Advanced 3D printers can churn out teleoperated robots by the dozen...cheap.  Maintenance is not even attempted.  They are one time use, throwaway  items.  The robots and their weapons dissolve at the end of each engagement.

It’s a green war.