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JcDent posted:Hey, look, someone mentioned my neck in the woods, and it's a) not me b) not in the context of Poland in the 1920's. Interesting, speaking of Lithuanian folk tales Algirdas J. Greimas mentions most folk tales that have a brother and a sister go on a adventure together usually end in an incestuous relationship but he didn't give any examples. Could you please elaborate on that? E: Pilėnai always reminds me of an old Lithuanian folk tale where a bunch of widows hang themselves when they learn their husbands aren't coming back from the war. T___A fucked around with this message at 09:39 on Mar 24, 2016 |
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Mar 24, 2016 09:10
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I can't really say. I got into sci-fi in second grade and never looked back at traditional stories. I only remember short tales are usually morality tales (featuring Dievas, which translates into "God", the prime god of Lithuanian pantheon. Boy, at least one thing helped Lithuanians christianize, I guess). If you want basically the Lithuanian tale, it's Eglė, Queen Of Serpents which I guess speaks out against the "they're taking are wiminz" sentiment.
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Mar 24, 2016 09:28
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The Lone Badger posted:I had read it as having these specific planes dating from WW2, rather than just the design. No, sorry. While it is not inconceivable that they may have gotten soviet surplus, I can't say I have any idea whether it happened.
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Mar 24, 2016 09:48
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Back by popular remand! (Sorry) Part 6: Baker in Prison "Wormwood Scrubbs! As we approached it, we looked with interest at the building which was to be our home for the next year of our lives. Its gateway with the heavy gates was grim and unhomely enough. The gateway passed, we saw before us a decorous carriage-drive, encircling a trim lawn most fiercely kept, it’s borders gay with red geraniums. “The prisoners’ geranium is deepest red” I chanted happily.” It’s the 25th of May 1917, and George Baker, his conscience free of any guilt he felt at doing alternative service, is cheerfully off to prison for the next year of hard labour and, he thinks, a certain amount of worthy moral suffering. In the next eleven months he will, variously, be insufferably smug about his ethics, sink into deep depression, go “slightly mad” as he calls it, write a novel, wrestle with his desires for his girlfriend, and continue to be hounded by even more evangelical Christians. It will not be a very nice time, for all that he sings as he enters the prison. With a last goodbye to the two pictures of “the little brown slip of a girl”, and an anti-lice bath where, bizarrely, he thinks of H.G Well’s Ann Veronica and then “my young militant of the Bletchington Esplanade, my heroine of holloway, the girl of the bleeding cheek” and is given his prisoner’s uniform, flannel with broad black arrows. He’s no longer a man, just a number (“C-2-Something”) The first night is actually not that bad. George takes solace in memories of Ibsen and reflects that if the worst they can throw at him is a “little, quiet room” then everything will be alright. He has a copy of the Bible, a book of psalms that he ends up quite enjoying and his thoughts turn to the “disturbing presence of the little brown slip of a girl with the cool and quizzical eyes who came between me and my books and my thoughts and my dreams”. How Jolly, indeed. “Whereas upon Salisbury Plain I had oozed self-lathing, in these first days at the Scrubs I oozed self-satisfaction. My smugness balanced between the sublime and the ridiculous...” But it will be three months before he comes out of the “first division”, the break-your-spirit-you-orrible-little-man phase of prison life. Three months without any hard labour, but also without seeing anyone other than a warden and an old lag who sweeps outside - and a librarian who lends him Volume 2 of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall, which, George being George, not only adores but annotates on his writing slate. His year in prison will be marked by the “Rule of Silence” where no prisoner is allowed to speak unless invited to by a guard, an ever-shortening ration based on the then understanding of what constituted a starvation diet, and crippling isolation. In his first month, he is “a writer of words” and a “thinker of thoughts”, but he finds that “the mental soil which is not renewed grows quickly impoverished”. He’s still feeling cocky after a month, but then time slips out of his grasp: “At the end of my first temporal month, I gibed at the Scrubs. At the end of my second, I tried to gibe but could not. At the end of my third, I neither gibed nor tried to gibe. In prison life is leaden. Lead and poison have this in common: the poison of body set up by the first, and the poison of soul set up by the second are alike culminative.” He’s allowed exercise after the second month: “Round and round and round and round. A walking Number before me, a walking number behind me, each at a yards space from the walking number that was I. Round and round and round and round with tongues silent and shoes shuffling.” Exercise in the Scrubs seems pretty trippy in all honesty. Silent rings of men shuffling around, incapable of moving, speaking or catching each other’s eyes. George’s descriptions have him as a goldfish, a cadaver, a soldier, a sheep. As the weeks and months tick on, all his old fears assail him again: “it seemed that the very thing I had dreaded for twenty years previously had come to pass. I was buried alive in a stone coffin; all men acquiesced in my living death, as all men who had once cared nothing that little boys died, and were put into wooden boxes and buried in a deep hole dug in the cold earth” His one moment of human connection is when he steals a flower he spies in the exercise yard, and is caught looking at it (“oh for something, anything to look at but the cold walls of my stone grey coffin”) by a warder. He lets him off with a warning, and George goes to shake his hand: “I don’t shake hands with Conchies. I was in south Africa. Joined the boys again in August 14 and Jerry put me out of mess at Mons” “I’m sorry - it’s all the more decent of you not to run me” “Not so much yap or I’ll run you yet” “He turned to go, I murmured “Good bye Dolly, I must leave you” It’s a Boer War music hall song, and another window into the kind of Objector George was. Yes, as the warder quickly grasps, the point of their conversations becomes George trying to gently lead him to share his views on war, but he’s not (to not put too fine a point on it) a terribly insufferable evangelist about peace. He realises it’s not propaganda playing on idiocy (an all too common explanation for why people support war from pacifists then and now), but an honest sense of patriotism, pride and duty that had led his warder to fight in two of Britain’s imperial follies. It seems this approach works, and George becomes “friends”, as much as a warder and prisoner could be. This form of pacifist work was ad-hoc, and I think must of the justification for it as explicitly peace-work comes post war, but George chucks it in anyway: “We are proud to think that we made the air of those living graves a little sweeter by our stay in them. This small service we have done to our country, whose prisons disgrace the fairness of her name” He’s such a nice boy, isn’t he. By July 1917 he’s out of the First Division and allowed to occasionally see other people - but not speak to them. He’s been making mailbags slowly but surely (he will get better), and now has a stripe on his arm, showing that he’s responsible enough to possibly receive a fiction book to read. It’s also when his introduction to the starvation diet of prison starts to weigh heavy on his “soul and stomach”, and he gives a (lengthy) description of the food situation in the scrubs: “a mug of unsweetened porridge - good thick stuff a few ounces of brown rye bread - good stuff likewise a pint of ships cocoa - abombinable one ounce of cheese one ounce of surely the vilest tasting margarine which man has eaten. In appearance it resembled the disgusting greasy axles of railway goods trucks. Such grease would, I am convinced, have possessed a less objectionable taste... very soon, with my blunt-edged tin knife I would scrape every vestige of this abomination from the small tin which contained it, that none of it’s preciousness might be wasted” The food is disgusting, and there’s bugger all of it. Hunger begins to be the sole consideration on his mind. Things are getting worse. He gets two visits during his 22 months in prison, and regards it as a blessing. Ravaged by hunger and depression, he has turned “more beast than man”. His company for whispered conversation is a bigamist on one side and a burglar (“the burglar, I found, had contempt for petty thieves. Professional pride was as highly developed in the Scrubs as in men of the most superior suburbs”) on the other, but he’ll soon be placed in the Conscientious Objector wing, between a Scottish ILP man and a Peculiar Person (a small Essex-based dissenting sect) which he finds far more objectionable. The Peculiar Person Particularly, has he “has a singing voice which, for the sake of the lions, I hoped no early christian had possessed”. His ILP neighbour has devised an intricate tap-code system that he tries to encourage George to learn. His messages are impossibly long and incredibly boring, and George reads his Bible, his Gibbon and sinks into depression, “in such peace as was permitted to me by the muffled warblings of the Peculiar Person and his disconsolate insistence upon the blood of the lamb”. George gets lonelier and lonelier as he meets more Scrubs characters. We have the militant Chaplain who gives George the strength to endure through hatred, the “Socialist initial-fiend” constantly trying to find out which of the myriad tiny groups of the left George belongs to (he makes one up, the “PAP, the Philosophical Anarchist Party”), the long-gone Sinn Feiners who had scratched “Freedom for Ireland! Pierce for Ireland!” into the walls of his cell the previous summer. He goes a little mad. Reading only poetry and Gibbon will do that to a man, you know. He’s followed by a “phantom woman”, at first only in dreams, but then in his cell, behind his shoulder, never quite in or out of reach, sitting and watching him with fierce scorn so that he hides his head in shame. She appears to him as his fiery suffragette from Blachington, always judging, always watching, reaching out to him in the middle of the night... He’s comforted by the fact that other COs see similar (or worse) things - and one, very probably, is haunted by visions to the extent he’s sent to an asylum, dying there a month after discharge. I’ve checked this out, and George was right - Evelyn Wilfred Harbord, an Ipswich CO, died in Hanwwell Asylum September 1917 after discharge from Wormwood Scrubs. Insanity in prison was not rare for COs - and some never recovered. “They went mad in prison, or after release from it. For Peace, they gave up the light of their reason, as Tommy and Hans, poor devils, in their thousands gave up theirs”. But with familiarity breeds a little contempt, and she’s soon a (particularly beautiful) cell-mate, that George talks to, sees in the moonlight and always feels judged by. He finds “frivolity my best weapon against fear”. He talks to his phantom, calls her “darling” and names her “Yolande”, and makes her the star of his soon-to-be-written novel, which he is busy writing page by page on the slate he is provided with in September. Every day he will write a new page, erase it, and write another. Page by torturous page he will write the great epic of his times. Inspired in part by the sexual and scatalogical graffiti in his cell, he resolves to write his first book on “Human Psychology as revealed through Inscriptions in Public Lavatories” but it doesn’t get very far - though he does believe that: “as the science of the body is... approached pathologically, so it may well be that the science of the mind is best approached lavatorially” but the novel continues apace, a rollicking thousand-page thriller filled with heaving bosoms, adolescent yearning, action, philosophy, caves, smugglers and customs agents, starring George Baker as a young boy, who is scared and slightly aroused by his encounters with Yolande, the phantom of the Sussex cave system, and also Cathleen, an irish woman-journalist with flaming red hair and a saucy lip. It races between the channel islands, reveals secrets of love, peace and romance, fine french wines and the lips and awkwardly described “great white lily” of her décolletage, and George is free! Free! FREE! He writes “the End”, and he exults in his fantastic powers of creation, feeling as if he has communed with the very gods themselves! “I thought then that the whole was a masterpiece of romance; I know now that it was a masterpiece of romantical tripe”. But then, he can’t remember any of it. The months he’s worked on the novel, and all he can remember is that Cathleen has nice lips that he’d very much like to kiss really, and also that smugglers on the Sussex coast isn’t really a very exciting plot. “the fancy fled; sadness returned. Desolation crept upon me. My book was gone from me. My book was dead. I was alone.” Poor George. It’s Christmas, 1917. He still has four months to go.
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Mar 24, 2016 17:09
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One more fun thing to  at for the sea-launched V2 - it's liquid-fuelled. Can't transport it fuelled, so you have to bring along your A-stoff and B-stoff and whatever other -stoffs separately, then erect  , and finally fuel... while sloshing about in the mid-Atlantic area. Hope you've still got adequate weather forecasting, yo.
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Mar 24, 2016 17:54
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Oh good Lord. I have a documentary about the ME-163 Komet, the little egg-shaped rocket plane that could take off and climb virtually straight up to get to the bomber streams, and there is an actual German training film showing how they fueled it. In this case the two ingredients were called C-stoff and T-Stoff if I recall correctly, and it was a nightmare. C-Stoff truck would pull up and fuel one tank, then the truck driven off and everything carefully hosed off and wiped down before the T-Stoff truck would pull up and fill the other tank. The guys who did this were all wearing something like 1945 Hasmat suits. Getting a drop of one mixed with the other would result in open flame, and things could go from 0 to 10 on the disaster scale real quick if anything went wrong. The thought of trying to do something similar at sea is horrific. e: at about 31:00 of this video https://youtu.be/-XeIWojX3nw MrMojok fucked around with this message at 18:24 on Mar 24, 2016 |
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Mar 24, 2016 18:17
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lenoon posted:Back by popular remand! (Sorry) This is amazing, thanks
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Mar 24, 2016 18:18
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MrMojok posted:Oh good Lord. I have a documentary about the ME-163 Komet, the little egg-shaped rocket plane that could take off and climb virtually straight up to get to the bomber streams, and there is an actual German training film showing how they fueled it. Get your stoffs here! The LOX/ethanol & water isn't quite as exciting to play with, but, per Wikipedia, "the fuel and oxidizer pumps were driven by a steam turbine, and the steam was produced by concentrated hydrogen peroxide with sodium permanganate catalyst." Zamboni Apocalypse fucked around with this message at 18:32 on Mar 24, 2016 |
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Mar 24, 2016 18:26
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I assume everyone here's read Ignition? If not, you should. http://library.sciencemadness.org/library/books/ignition.pdf EDIT: ^^^ Liquid oxygen has to be kept at below -119 C or it turns directly into gas. You can imagine how fun that would be on a submarine. And hydrogen peroxide is basically hell. quote:Hydrogen peroxide decomposes according to the equation H2O2 —> Fangz fucked around with this message at 19:05 on Mar 24, 2016 |
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Mar 24, 2016 18:52
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lenoon posted:He’s no longer a free man, just a number (“C-2-Something”) Fixed that for you. George's story is still fascinating and touching, thanks for posting. The numbers of them with mental trouble is understandable, but really sad - do you know if they're unusually high, perhaps due to being treated differently by the staff and other prisoners? I was surprised to hear the Peculiar People were about in 1917, I'd always thought they disappeared in the 19th century or something. They're apparently still around, even.
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Mar 24, 2016 19:22
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lenoon posted:The Peculiar Person Particularly, has he “has a singing voice which, for the sake of the lions, I hoped no early christian had possessed”. 
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Mar 24, 2016 19:54
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100 Years Ago Roll up, roll up, I've got a 10-shilling voucher for a lucky reader to spend at Gamages. Can you guess the flaw in Germany's latest submarine policy? It becomes explosively clear today. General Haig has some genuinely very interesting and reasonable thoughts about how to use his cavalry; the going is getting very slightly easier for Grigoris Balakian; E.S. Thompson takes my advice to go see the doctor and I immediately regret giving it to him; Edward Mousley needs a new chess partner; and the Sunny Subaltern shows himself to be perhaps rather less naive than I've given him credit for. Fangz posted:Do we expect that Cockie survived the war? Mousley appears not to know. There are a few different possibilities. If he'd healed enough to walk well by the end of the siege, then (spoilers!) he probably goes into captivity with everyone else, and has as good a chance as any other officer; certainly much better than any of his men since, as an officer and a gentleman, he gets excused things like "work". If he were still bed-ridden at the end, it gets a lot less promising. There's a small chance that he might have been part of a few small prisoner exchanges of wounded for fit men, but most of the wounded exchanged were Indians. He might also have been allowed to stay in Kut or Baghdad while his leg healed. However, it's also very possible that they made him march anyway, his wound meant he couldn't keep the pace, and he would have been left to die in the desert somewhere between Baghdad and Aleppo. We might be able to work out who he was if anyone could come up with a detailed list of the officers with the Sixth Divisional Ammunition Column, but I'm not holding my breath on that score.
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Mar 24, 2016 19:55
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JcDent posted:Hey, look, someone mentioned my neck in the woods, and it's a) not me b) not in the context of Poland in the 1920's. Oh. A bit post-pagan times. Just a bit though. Seriously, I'm such a huge fan of this picture, and the battle. You can dispense with Soviet propaganda about the order serving as a precursor to the Nazis, and still heartily approve of every occasion on which they got their asses kicked.
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Mar 24, 2016 23:19
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MrMojok posted:Oh good Lord. I have a documentary about the ME-163 Komet, the little egg-shaped rocket plane that could take off and climb virtually straight up to get to the bomber streams, and there is an actual German training film showing how they fueled it. German weapons procurement is weird. Pilots: "We can't match the power and maneuverability of Allied fighters, and their campaigns are devastating because they focus on taking out our planes while they're still on the runway like we used to do." German MIC: "Here's a five-pound plane filled with rocket fuel to strap to your rear end. Everyone else, keep attacking civilian targets." Soldiers: "Please, please don't put these bigger guns on our vehicles. They lack the explosive power of the smaller ones. We mostly want better hatches, vision devices, and ease of repair and maitenance." German MIC: "Gotcha. Here's an un-tested SPG mounted on a chassis that was rejected by the German army but was built and forced into service anyway." Plan Z fucked around with this message at 11:29 on Mar 25, 2016 |
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Mar 25, 2016 11:12
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Fangz posted:I assume everyone here's read Ignition? If not, you should.  sort of book. Thanks!
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Mar 25, 2016 11:43
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Plan Z posted:German weapons procurement is weird. German engineering is very big on solving issues. It is somewhat less big on deciding whether or not it is economical to solve the issue, whether it is the right issue to solve first or not, or whether the issue needs to be solved at all. Tanks get taken out by enemy guns? Make Armor heavier. Tank now too heavy to cross bridges? Make tank able to drive underwater.
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Mar 25, 2016 14:52
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Holy poo poo, Belgian WWI soldiers looked loving awesome and I had no idea all this time. Look at those hats!
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Mar 25, 2016 16:08
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Plan Z posted:
You got it, boss 
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Mar 25, 2016 16:15
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Empress Theonora posted:Holy poo poo, Belgian WWI soldiers looked loving awesome and I had no idea all this time.
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Mar 25, 2016 16:16
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Empress Theonora posted:Holy poo poo, Belgian WWI soldiers looked loving awesome and I had no idea all this time. I know, right? Also, carts being hauled by dogs
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Mar 25, 2016 16:18
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MrMojok posted:Nebakenezzar, I just wanted to say thanks for your posts of the last couple of days. Nazi lunacy never fails to amaze me, and some of this stuff you've posted has it in spades.    MrMojok posted:Oh good Lord. I have a documentary about the ME-163 Komet, the little egg-shaped rocket plane that could take off and climb virtually straight up to get to the bomber streams, and there is an actual German training film showing how they fueled it. Just to go back to "very poor ideas" for a moment, even the Nazis probably would have recognized the problems with fueling. I looked up the missile barge's entry in My Tank is Fight, and EPG points out that the Nazis had developed a new rocket fuel in 1945 for their stillborn SAM project. It used vinyl isobutyl ether, and something called 'SV-stoff' - 90% nitric acid, 10% sulfuric acid. While pretty horrible from most perspectives, it was stable loaded into the munition for months on end. (The V-2's stock fuel was A-stoff, was 75 percent ethanol and 25% water, and B-stoff, which, and there's no way around this, was liquid oxygen. LOX is comically dangerous stuff, and it requires intense refrigeration to stay liquid.) It was If you were going to barge-attack the United States, you'd be well advised to implement that stable fuel in your....Sea-2? 
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Mar 25, 2016 16:38
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Retarded Pimp posted:How else would you dress to put the kibosh on the Kaiser? In the skins of flayed Congolese, seeing as though it's Belgium.
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Mar 25, 2016 16:42
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Nebakenezzer posted:
As Ignition describes, mixed acid would have been a terrible idea, as subsequent experiments made clear: quote:An alternative to RFNA was mixed acid, essentially WFNA to which
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Mar 25, 2016 17:11
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Fangz posted:As Ignition describes, mixed acid would have been a terrible idea, as subsequent experiments made clear: Haha, amazing. I love Ignition! I wonder if the Nazis would have learned this the hard way. That just makes the idea of towed V-2 submarine barges even more disastrous, doesn't it
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Mar 25, 2016 17:20
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Clearly the solution is a bigger barge 
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Mar 25, 2016 17:43
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Ensign Expendable posted:You got it, boss Ah yes, the dreaded Doppelmaus
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Mar 25, 2016 18:02
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Somehow, Germans decided that the T-28 and T-35 were good ideas.
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Mar 25, 2016 18:07
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sarmhan posted:Somehow, Germans decided that the T-28 and T-35 were good ideas. The T-28 equivalent would be the Neubaufahrzeug. 
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Mar 25, 2016 18:43
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FAUXTON posted:In the skins of flayed Congolese, seeing as though it's Belgium. At that point of the war the Germans had plenty of rubber for any quota.
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Mar 25, 2016 18:55
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Ensign Expendable posted:The T-28 equivalent would be the Neubaufahrzeug. Never noticed until now that's basically a Panzer I turret on the left
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Mar 25, 2016 19:57
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Archangel posted:German engineering is very big on solving issues. It is somewhat less big on deciding whether or not it is economical to solve the issue, whether it is the right issue to solve first or not, or whether the issue needs to be solved at all. Someone should really do an Insane Nazi Projects megathread. You couldn't make half of this poo poo up if you tried.
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Mar 25, 2016 20:27
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Plan Z posted:Never noticed until now that's basically a Panzer I turret on the left Yeah, why waste a perfectly good machinegun turret design?
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Mar 25, 2016 21:01
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Comrade Koba posted:Someone should really do an Insane Nazi Projects megathread. You couldn't make half of this poo poo up if you tried. Could be fun depending on the subforum.
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Mar 25, 2016 21:47
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Plan Z posted:Could be fun depending on the subforum. I'd also love a Wehraboo Debunking Megathread. I know there are lots of quality posts on the subject in this very thread, but I'd really love to have an easy-to-read reference handy the next time some loving idiot posts a 5000 word essay on how the MG-42 and King Tiger were the greatest marvels of human engineering ever to see the light of day.
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Mar 25, 2016 22:32
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Having fired a mg-42 it was the greatest 1 second $20 could buy.
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Mar 25, 2016 22:40
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On that topic, there's an often quoted stat that the Panther was comparable to the Pz IV in terms of manufacture cost and speed. I always wondered about that, noting that even into the late stages of the war the Pz IV was still being built in substantial numbers. So what gives? Some guesses: 1. The numbers are incomparable because they were comparing early war pz IVs to late war panzers? 2. Only some factories can be converted to produce the Panther? 3. The Nazis wanted to keep the pz IV around for some other reason (StuG conversions?)
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Mar 25, 2016 22:44
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Comrade Koba posted:I'd also love a Wehraboo Debunking Megathread. I know there are lots of quality posts on the subject in this very thread, but I'd really love to have an easy-to-read reference handy the next time some loving idiot posts a 5000 word essay on how the MG-42 and King Tiger were the greatest marvels of human engineering ever to see the light of day. That would be awesome to have, sadly though the most fervant Wehrboo will ignore the facts and happily sit in his man operated sea launched death rocket chamber.
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Mar 25, 2016 23:10
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Converting factories to produce a new model of tank requires production to be interrupted for some time, and it takes more time still for production to ramp up to previous levels once the switch over has been made. The Panzer IV was getting outdated, but wasn't completely obsolete, so the Germans wouldn't have wanted to (or couldn't afford to) suffer the disruption in tank production unless absolutely forced to. Maybe if the war had dragged on and newer, better protected models of tanks began being fielded by the Allies as their main medium tanks the Panzer IV may have ceased production, but as long as it was "good enough", having Panzer IVs was better than having no tanks.
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Mar 25, 2016 23:12
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Comrade Koba posted:I'd also love a Wehraboo Debunking Megathread. I know there are lots of quality posts on the subject in this very thread, but I'd really love to have an easy-to-read reference handy the next time some loving idiot posts a 5000 word essay on how the MG-42 and King Tiger were the greatest marvels of human engineering ever to see the light of day. Isn't that this thread basically? Fangz posted:On that topic, there's an often quoted stat that the Panther was comparable to the Pz IV in terms of manufacture cost and speed. I always wondered about that, noting that even into the late stages of the war the Pz IV was still being built in substantial numbers. So what gives? The PzIV could drive more than 150 km without breaking down and the Germans naturally wanted to retain some ability for strategic offensives that weren't along a railroad.
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Mar 25, 2016 23:13
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meanwhile, in mercenary news https://theintercept.com/2016/03/24/blackwater-founder-erik-prince-under-federal-investigation/
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Mar 25, 2016 23:21
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