What would a 'transhuman' or an 'extropian' do with this, I wonder... ?

Excerpts from 'My War Gone By; I Miss It So' (Anthony Loyd, 1999)

No weapon frightens me as much as the shell. Bullets have a certain logic. Put a sizeable enough piece of concrete between yourself and the firer and you will be untouched. Run between cover, for it is difficult even for an experienced shot to hit a man who sprints fast. Even when people around you are hhit the wounds seldom seem so bad, unless the bullet has tumbled in flight or hit them in the head. But shells? They can do things to the human body you never believed possible; turn it inside out like a steaming rose; bend it backwards and through itself; chop it up; shred it; pulp it: mutilations so base and vile they never stopped revolting me. And there is no real cover from shell fire. Shells can drop out of the sky to your feet, or smash their way through any piece of architecture to find you. Some of the ordancance the Russians were using was slicing through ten-story buildings before exploding in the basement. Shells could arrive silently and unannounced, or whitsle and howl their way in, a sound that somehow seems to tear at your nerves more than warn you of anything. It's only the detonation which always seems the same - a feeling as much as a sound, a hideous suck-roar-thump that in itself, should you be close enough, can collapse your palate and liquefy your brain.

There is a philosophical element to it all too: a bullet may or may not have your number on it, but I am sure shells are merely engraved with 'to who it may concern'.

-- scott (hma5_5@hotmail.com), February 05, 2000

Answers

And then there's this, "Robot Aircraft to Dominate Future Air Forces". Not exactly unexpected, given the increasing desire to fight by remote control. Higlight of the article? "The challenge with drones is controlling them, and especially making sure they know which side to attack." No kidding.

-- Skinny Rob (skinny_rob@hotmail.com), February 22, 2000.