“A weapon that kills without honor, without skill, but even so, it gives power and victory and Victory wipes away dishonor.
Category: Well I thought it was neat!
I snapped this picture in the waiting room at my clinic. These friable acoustic
ceiling tiles are absolutely everywhere. We generally don’t think much about them until there’s nothing else about which to think.
So, I’m sitting here alone in the semi-darkness, staring at those institutional ceiling tiles wearing one of those absurd open-backed surgical gowns. It is blue with a faded flower print. Who made that decision?
I’m patiently awaiting a minor medical procedure. It really isn’t a big deal. I’ve been clearing my throat a lot and asked a colleague to take a peek inside just to make sure there wasn’t something we could do about it. My wife calls it my moose call. It is worse after meals and is justifiably annoying for those around me.
The possibility I might die from this is fairly small. There is some anesthesia involved. However, I rather suspect that statistically speaking, the really dangerous bit was the drive to the clinic. The possibility of my buddy coming back to tell me he found something truly horrible is also fairly minuscule. But that is not the case with everybody in this building today. It also will not always be the case with me.
I have faced my own death before. At some point, if I feel really froggy, I’ll share the details with you guys. I was a soldier, and soldiering is innately dangerous. I have also had five people die in my arms. That’s the sort of thing to make a guy wax introspective. But back to those ceiling tiles …
Those things are everywhere. Dropped ceilings are all the rage in institutional settings. When I worked on the psych ward in residency, the facility sported two sequential locked doors, like a prison. In theory, you couldn’t get in or out without clearing each barrier in order, but they still outfitted the place with those dropped ceilings replete with ceiling tiles.
One young man took it as a challenge to elope from the place. He told us as much. And then, one evening, he just vanished. It was pretty amazing. They reviewed the security footage, but the kid was just gone. As they say, the authorities were vexed.
The following day one of the elderly patients complained that a little monkey had scampered out of the ceiling and eaten her breakfast. At first, everyone just wrote that off as some mystical combination of her rarefied mental illness, advanced age and her sparkling personality. And then somebody thought about that little missing dude. You guessed it; he had been hiding in the ceiling overnight. I am still amazed he found someplace comfortable enough to tolerate the experience.
Think back to the last time you had to endure something ghastly at the dentist. Perhaps you had a tooth extracted, a cavity filled, or a canal rooted. I recall the last time that happened to me. I was staring at those institutional ceiling tiles and wishing I could be absolutely anywhere but there. How about if we took that to the next level?
They call it the Big Blue Marble. Our time on this lovely little
ball is limited. It behooves us all to think a bit about that.
I once toured the death house at Fort Leavenworth, Kan. The facility was constructed by the inmates and was configured to accommodate lethal injection as the method de mortis. It was an utterly fascinating place.
The room itself was covered on the inside with soundproof material and sported two walls comprised of one-way mirrors — one for the victim’s family and the other for government witnesses. How does one get invited to something like that? Would anyone think ill of you if you respectfully declined? Does anybody ever do so?
I realized at the time I would likely never have the opportunity again, presupposing that I successfully resisted the urge to kill anybody, so I resolved to maximize the experience. The table was built like a cross with heavy leather tie-down straps. I climbed up on it and spread my arms out on the thing just to see how it felt. The table was hard. Apparently, Uncle Sam saw little need to waste resources on comfort given the circumstances.
As I reclined onto that table and imagined the dark circumstances surrounding their using it for real, I was struck by those ubiquitous acoustic ceiling tiles. The corner of one of them was cut away to admit a small microphone. The condemned got three minutes to speak before the warden departed the room. In such an institutional setting, when you die, you die alone.
The bottom line is that those benign unremarkable ceiling tiles play witness to some awfully profound human drama. They adorn my own medical office as well as that of my dentist. The trauma bays in the big urban medical center where I learned my craft sported them as well. That was the most dramatic place I had ever imagined. There is literally no telling how many people died horribly staring at those things.
Our sojourn on this odd blue orb is, by definition, time-limited. Everybody dies. Sometimes it is quick; other times, it takes a while. If you could tolerate a little unsolicited advice, if you haven’t already, you need to get right with God. The time to think about that for the first time is not when you are staring desperately up at those blasted ceiling tiles.
Whether it’s from sci-fi movies, video games, or books, we’ve often been told that present-day firearms will be replaced by high-tech blasters decked out with buttons, screens, and battery packs in the future. But is it true? We’ve also been told that our four-wheeled vehicles will be replaced by flying cars, jetpacks, and hoverboards, but we haven’t seen anyone zipping around town like Marty McFly or the Jetsons.
A company known as ArcFlash Labs has been pushing the envelope with 3D-printed electromagnetic guns that have become more sophisticated and powerful with each new model. The latest creation, the ArcFlash Labs EMG-02 coilgun, was recently tested in a video from Forgotten Weapons. The results have us thinking that those sci-fi blasters might not be so far-fetched after all.
Above: This coilgun fires cylindrical pieces of steel using a 15kW Gauss accelerator. No gunpowder, primer, or casing required.
The EMG-02 is described by ArcFlash Labs as a “10-stage medium voltage capacitor augmented fully-automatic coilgun.” That’s a mouthful, but in simpler terms, it uses electromagnetic coils to accelerate solid steel projectiles to about 250 feet per second (75 meters per second). We’ve seen the term “railgun” used to describe this category of electronic weapon, but that’s not accurate in this case. It’s a coilgun or gauss gun (not a gauss rifle, since it has a smooth bore).
This still from the Forgotten Weapons video shows the ArcFlash Labs EMG-02 below its predecessor, the ArcFlash EMG-01. On the 01, ten cylindrical capacitors at the bottom of the handguard powered eight coils around the barrel; on the 02, there’s one huge capacitor inside the shoulder stock, which powers ten coils around the barrel. Several other improvements have been made, including the use of an off-the-shelf lithium-ion drill battery. Improved efficiency allows the EMG-02 to fire up to 13 rounds per second.
The EMG-02 is a variable-caliber weapon, since it can accept steel armatures (i.e. sections of ordinary dowel pin) from 1/4-inch to 4/16-inch (6-8mm) in diameter and 3/4-inch to 13/16-inch (19-22mm) in length. The ammo is loaded into an included magazine, which holds 15 to 18 rounds, depending on diameter.
Above: Iain from Forgotten Weapons holds the ArcFlash Labs EMG-02 with a 20V drill battery installed.
Of course, there are some drawbacks and growing pains associated with all cutting-edge technologies, and this appears to be true of the EMG-02 as well. In the Forgotten Weapons video, Iain mentions that the weapon isn’t especially accurate, and demonstrates this by showing shot groups at the range. The projectiles tumble after leaving the barrel, since they’re not stabilized by rifling. It’s also expensive compared to most modern carbines, at an MSRP of $2,795. However, it’s exciting to watch this tech develop and consider where it might be 5 or 10 years from now.
Check out the video below from RECOILtv, and for more info on the ArcFlash Labs EMG-02, go to ArcFlashLabs.com.
Grandparents weren’t born old and wise. In their prime,
they were likely markedly cooler than we are.
“Hi, this seat taken?” the man asked.
He was unnaturally handsome. His piercing blue eyes nearly took her breath away.
“Saving it for you,” the young lady responded coyly.
She absentmindedly straightened her airline-issue blue polyester skirt. The woman was objectively gorgeous in her own right.
“I’ll have what the lady’s having,” the man gestured to the bartender. “And get her another while you’re at it, brother. Thanks.”
In moments the barkeep returned with two glasses of ice water.
“The name’s Ricky,” the big man said, extending his hand. “You a pilot?”
She smiled. “I’m Nancy Frierson and don’t be silly. I’ve been a stewardess with Pan Am since ’47.” She studied him with an experienced eye. He was fit and hard, and he had the look.
“Europe or the Pacific?” she asked.
The man diverted his gaze to his glass, though the electric smile never left his face. “Europe,” he said.
“Yeah, me, too,” Nancy responded. “I was a nurse in France for 7 months. Afterward, I lost my enthusiasm for nursing, but I enjoyed the travel, so here we are. What did you do?”
“OSS. Know anything about that?” he asked flatly.
“Not really,” she answered. He obviously didn’t much want to talk about it. “How about now? What brings you to the airport in DC?”
“I still work for the government, though I’m based out of Chicago nowadays. I have a meeting this evening then I’m likely heading back tomorrow. You?” he asked.
“I’m deadheading to London in the morning. Pan Am puts us crew up in the Omni Shoreham when we’re stuck here overnight. I’m based out of Atlanta. We cycle through Paris, Stockholm, and Oslo before rotating back to London and heading home to the States. Repeat as necessary every other week. It’s a good job. I get to meet some interesting people.”
There was that smile again. She loved the way it made her feel.
Ricky and Nancy chatted for another half an hour, burning through the standard fodder about family, hobbies, and favorite places to eat on the continent. It was clear that he was as well-traveled as she was. Ricky suddenly glanced at his watch and frowned.
“I am truly sorry,” he said with sincere regret. “But I’m going to miss my meeting if I’m not careful. It has been a genuine pleasure meeting you, Nancy Frierson from Atlanta.” He dismounted the bar stool and hefted his canvas bag. The man took the woman’s hand and then leaned forward to kiss her softly on the forehead. She squeezed his hand back. As he walked away, she wondered what sort of man had a meeting at 7:30 on a Sunday night in Washington, D.C.
The unexpected knock startled her. Nancy set her mystery book aside and made her way to the door to her hotel room, checking that the chain was fastened and that her sweatshirt was presentable. She cracked the door and was shocked to see Ricky standing alone in the hallway.
“May I come in?” he asked.
Her first inclination was to say he most certainly could not, but there was something about his face. Though she struggled to place it, she had seen that look somewhere before. Against her better judgment, she closed the door, unfastened the chain, and opened it again. Ricky pressed inside without fanfare. She subconsciously checked the hallway. No one else was around.
The M-3A1 Grease Gun was designed with the espionage mission in mind.
As she turned around, the man dropped his heavy bag onto the bed and removed his long coat. She then noticed the sticky black wetness on his left upper arm. There was a small corresponding tear to the man’s pea coat that she had not seen previously. The bag was open this time, and the pistol grip of an M-3 Grease Gun protruded through the slash. The man retrieved a GI-issue battle dressing from the bag before sitting heavily on the room’s small sofa.
“I am truly sorry to barge in on you like this,” the man said, fatigue now heavy in his voice. “I really do work for the government, but what I do is best kept removed from the local police.”
He dropped his flannel shirt to expose a deep ugly gouge across his left deltoid. Nancy had seen enough gunshot wounds in France to recognize this one. Without really thinking, she soaked a towel in warm water and used it to clean the wound before dressing it properly. Ricky was pleased to see that she really did know what she was doing.
Rock and Nans were the best grandparents a guy could ever hope to have. They were married for 57 years. As far as we knew, Rock’s entire adult life was spent working for the railroad. We grandchildren loved going to work with him and climbing on the trains.
Everybody wonders how their grandparents first met. Rock didn’t admit the truth to me until three weeks before he died. That last operational mission had been to interdict a meet between a turncoat American nuclear scientist and a Russian agent in rural Virginia. Grandpa Rock said he personally set the Russian H-bomb back 5 years. However, after that evening in Nan’s room, he knew it was time to settle down. An assassin’s life was no way to raise a family.
