All,

Wow, you chaps have been busy. I am sneaking this message in from work as my pc is lying in little peices in my home office. Upgrades are exciting until it's actually time to put the darn thing together. I should be done and back in flying condition by the weekend.
When complete my Spit will be equipped with an AMD xp1800 engine. I cant wait!

Great tales one and all.

TALLY HO!

'He does not die who can bequeath some influence on the land he knows'.

Hilaire Belloc.

Yes, my friend JRT. You can expect that.....SNAFU, Bader, Pijlie, Arch, Old Dux and Grief1 will return, but in a way that.....

Folks,

SNAFU! You continue to be counted amongst us the living. Pardon me while I jump for Joy. Drat, Joy got up and went home. Ah well, I've just risked kicking over the goldfish bowl again dancing a happy jig.

Wow, some people are just wallowing in good fortune. What a computer you will have. Please tell us IL2 will not be garnering all your time now that you can whip it into submission.

With that much CPU power you may have certain problems. When you pop the switch on that sucker always look out a window to see if any power poles have been sucked into the house. They run pretty hot too. The fastest CPUs run so hot now that they have heat sinks as large as my wife's first home-made buttermilk biscuit and my first HDD (20 meg).

Don't forget lots of fans and plenty of ventillation. All the new boxes are good. One of those nifty liquid nitrogen cooling systems would be a nice gift for our SNAFU folks if you're so inclined. It will keep him posting here and can even keep his beer cool in a pinch.

Keep us posted.

Old Dux:

Evoking the writings of the great Catholic historian, eh?

I seem to remember...

“Because my faltering feet may fail to dare
The first descendant of the steps of Hell
Give me the Word in time that triumphs there.
I too must pass into the misty hollow..." something, something, sorry.

Or perhaps:

"I challenged and I kept the Faith,
The bleeding path alone I trod;
It darkens. Stand about my wraith,
And harbor me--almighty God."

I happen not to be Catholic myself, although several of our friends and acquaintances are. I’m Southern Baptist by trade. Yes, some of us New World heathens claim at least a smattering knowledge of religion.

We in the colonies regularly visit the church of our choice for weddings, funerals, christenings, annual fund raisers, fried fish, barbecued chicken and spaghetti dinners, or what you clever Britts call “jumble sales” and bazaars. On occasion we sit fidgiting, thinking of football, through the odd soul stirring sermon on Sunday.

Being Baptists, the very first thing we do on returning home from one of those glorious sermons is to brush all the fire and brimstone from our hair and clothing.

Like Mark Twain, I'd much rather go to church than to the Opera and the only thing I don't like much about the Opera is the singing.

Being a curious fellow by nature and not altogether uneducated beyond my own chosen faith, I did enjoy “Characters of the Reformation” (is that correct?). I once flipped a page or two of that dusty tome for some course or other.

I do love to read. My greedy mind causes my squinting bloodshots to graze across the pages of a good book like a starving sheep goes for a choise acre of Fescue.

Well chosen lines, Old Man, me thinks. Is there not a message there for all of us?

Usually my memory is like a Teflon coated sieve with a hole the size of a basketball in it when it comes to retaining and then reciting the works of the great writers. Why I do not know. Just something else I've forgotten, I suppose.

I easily remember less meaningful things like my sixth grade girlfriend's phone number and a verse like "Candy is dandy...but liquor is quicker."

Of coarse you must admit, that handy verse is so darn applicable and appropriate now that Valentine's Day draws near.

I suspect an off-beat tale of the great BOB written by none other than you Sir Dux may be waiting in the wings. Will it feature the return of the HWH prodigals in some unexpected, perhaps diabolical fashion? I eagerly await that post.

Hasta la vista amigo. Trabajo pronto por favor. Oops, sorry, I had Mexican food for dinner.

------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-19-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-19-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-19-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-19-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-19-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-19-2002).]

JRT:
I can understand your frustration. People like to lurk and passively consume. This is not meant as very much of a flame; I do the same myself sometimes. This is a major problem in the free programming scene, there are people who can't handle this and stop programming for free and I think most have a smaller or larger problem with it.


Here are some *slightly* beautified numbers about a free game. The following text was written by the author of the game. His full time job is to write the gfx for the F16 and F18 simulators of the American forces. He is one of my personal heros . When I need a humbling experience, i just speak to him about graphics, games, flight sims etc.

----------- snip -----------
Let me tell you about Tux-A-Quest-for-Herring.

It was the first *ever* 3D game for Linux. I was 'slashdotted' *TWICE*
(once when I released initial screenshots and again when the game
was ready for release). I've had 5-star ratings (the best possible)
on every review site I know of (TwoCows, HappyPenguin, etc)..every major
Linux distribution has it on their CD...so I have to imagine that people
generally like it a lot.

I got:

150,000 people visiting the web site over the first 12 hours.
15,000 people downloaded it in the first 12 hours.
1,500 emails complaining/complimenting/thanking me for TuxAQFH
within the next week or so.
...one year later...
150 people are subscribed to the Tux mailing lists.
15 people have *ever* offered to help with artwork/music/models.
1.5 (OK...2 actually) other people have actually contributed
*anything* to Tux *ever*. One piece of unusable music - and a
couple of unusable models. No significant chunks of code at all.
*NONE* of those things has ever been useful enough to distribute with
the game.
------------ snip ------------

I would expect many people reading your posts but not replying.

Admins, do we have any statistics on how many people lurk here oposed to the active reader/writers?

I read all the new stories here and really like the athmosphere. I find it interesting, that AFAIK all past and present posters on the forum show the ugly face of war (at least additionally), unlike some of the "war is great fun as long as you dish it out" posts on some other forums. I really have to say that I enjoy all of the stories on this forum.

Regarding you, JRT, I have to say that you have an excellent grasp of the english language and are a great story teller. If you would write a book, maybe you would even beat Anne McCaffrey, although that is a feat that is almost impossible for mere humans . Really: I like the words you use, it is sort of a "posh" language, in a positive way, it is just not overdone. Also, while my father, also a physicist raised me on the "brief is better, don't pad your articles with styrofoam" maxime, I learned a long time ago that this is true for factious articles, but not stories. Stories often work well because certain things are repeated with other words. Again, you are excellent at this and your phantasie (sp?) helps you find nice ways of making your point and repating it in several, different ways.


[This message has been edited by Osram (edited 01-19-2002).]

Crackle This commander Timdog Crackle I am under attack by Empire Earth repeat ubder attack Must pull away to play BOB....

Jolly Roger Too
As with all those so capable, you must definately "write as doth the man live". There are few so driven as to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) as those so blessed of passion and endowed with imagination.
A picture, so the saying has it, is worth a thousand words. But so simple an image lives only for the moment, even though the picture that descibes it may live for ever.
Words rouse nations. Words comfort us when we are down. Words describe thoughts and feelings in a way that pictures cannot. Words are not cheap. They are our opportunity.
All those that post here share those thoughts and feelings. Even though they describe events in a far off time when most of us were not even born, the writings here are much more than 'posts'. They are marks of respect. In a world where that quality is increasingly rare, it is a worthy thing you do. As Osram says in other words, humility is the common thread.
You are a scribe, and one with a touch of pure genius no less. These writings bear testimony, you are amongst your own.

Zerosan the (occasionally) Magnificent

Folks,

Osram:

Mein Freund, Ihre Anregung Wörter haben mich erzwungen, von Ohr zu Ohr zu erröten.

Or something close to that, sorry, my German syntax and grammar is atrocious.

You mention the "Dragons of Pern" and McCaffrey's classic "Pegasus" series? Well, I have no illusions that would place me anywhere near her league believe me. Believe me, b e l i e v e m e, b e l...i e v e ...... m e..........

As for that reverberating echo similar to that written above. I continue to hear it on this thread along with those miserable crickets chirping their bristly little legs off in the empty void. This doesn't really bother me all that much. I'd probably keep on writing this mess of mine even if no one else posted a story or commented favorably. This is therapy fellows.

How truly kind and thoughtful it was for you of all people to take so much of your valuable time writing such a lengthy and inspiring post. Of coarse everyone on this forum already knows how unselfish with your time you are, don't we? And we thank you.

Let me say that I have printed out this post of yours and if ever I actually am silly enough to feel just a tad under appreciated, I shall bring out your words and read them again and again slowly until the fog lifts.

I certainly can commiserate with you regarding your experience with the great unwashed multitudes and their response (or lack there of) to your amazing Linux freeware/shareware game.

The Linux crowd is a special breed. A cut above in many ways I think. I have never worn a Penguin suit or a "Got Root?" shirt myself, however I would have expected better from them.

In the final analysis you must do the work for yourself. Share it with others if you like but place no conditions on it. Expect no vallidation of your generocity.

I have been in the advertising/public relations business since Adam and Eve opened their first apple sauce stand. Ok, almost that long.

We except that most folks will happily complain about the smallest imperfection but few are willing to take the time to express any appreciation whatsoever no matter how wonderful the product or service might be.

This trait is hard wired into our nature so we must all learn to live with it until we can, with help from the likes of you, my friend, finally reprogram it.

Danke.


------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-19-2002).]

While waiting for further battle reports, I thought you might enjoy reading
some excerpts from a civilians view of the Battle of Britain.

Mrs. Margaret Kennedy was a novelist. In 1940, she and her two children, along
with their Nanny and the daughter of friends in London moved from their home in
Sussex to the small town of Porthmerryn on the coast of Wales. The contents of
her journal were published in 1941 as "Where Stands a Winged Sentry". An
excellent read.

******************************************************************************
"Porthmerryn, July, 1940:

Soldiers are here at last. A lot of them arrived at Carrick Bay this week.
The girls and I were walking along the cliff path when we heard a chorus of jovial
whoops. Just above us was a very ugly little hotel from every window of which
soldiers' heads were sticking; they were packed so tight that it looked as if
the stunted little building must be all solid soldier inside, like a tin of
sardines.
I suppose I must look less matronly and more glamorous when viewed from above
than I do on the level; or perhaps they were starving for female companionship.
Anyway I got a rousing welcome and many compliments on my personal appearance.
The girls were much impressed and exclaimed:
"Oh Mother! Those soldiers are shouting to you. They asked if Sunday is your
day off. Do they know you?"
Today we got our share at Porthmerryn. A lot of them are billeted at the hotel
where we have lunch. They spent the afternoon drilling on the sands, somewhat
hampered by hundreds of admiring babies who sat in rings round their feet.
Slightly older children drilled in solemn rows behind them, copying all their
movements with great exactitude.
Magnus and Mary {Two of Mrs. Kennedy's friends in Porthmerryn - DonE} were
watching some of them putting barbed wire round the reservoir. A lady came up
to them with that glare of universal misanthropy in her eyes which often denotes
a pacifist. She pointed to the soldiers and said:
"Isn't that a horrible sight?"
They said no, they didn't find it so.
She raised her arms to heaven and said:
"I suppose you want to see the whole countryside drenched in blood?"
Magnus pondered for a few seconds, and then said, very mildly:
"Yes."
As if, on thinking it over, he had decided that he did want to see the
countryside drenched in blood.
The lady looked rather frightened and hurried on.
Answer fools according to their folly.
***

Nanny, usually so imperturbable, took it into her head to give me the
dickens of a fright today. She came rushing in, her hand over her heart, and
gasped out:
"Oh... Mrs. Aitken's gardener's been up, and he says they are in the
town, and we must all stay in our houses, and we mustn't be frightened if we
hear firing."
Well, of course, I thought they were the Germans. Anybody would.
I went all gooseflesh for a minute and my hair stood up on my head like
the fretful porcupine's. Then I went onto the back veranda and began to put
on my thick boots with nails in them. I've often wondered what I would do if
I heard the Germans had landed. Now I know. As I wrestled with the laces I
began to tick off in my mind the other things I must do: hide food and maps,
put money inside corsets, look out gas masks, ration books and identity cards,
have everyone's knapsacks ready packed, and make everyone put on their thick
boots. I was perfectly obsessed with the idea of boots. Freud knows why.
Nanny came and stood watching me, breathing heavily, but faintly pleased
to have made her soft employer jump.
"How," I asked, "did Mrs. Aitken's gardener know?"
"He said the Town Crier is going round."
I laced a second or two longer and then realized that this sounded a
bit odd. Surely, even in Porthmerryn an invasion would not be announced in
this Ye Olde Worlde way.
Just then we heard a distant handbell and a long howl:
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! GAWD... SAVE... THE... KING... AND ALL.. TH' NATION..."
Amen, I thought as we rushed down to the gate.
The Crier is a seedy old man and he doesn't wear a cocked hat any more.
They say his last one blew off into the sea twelve years ago and the
borough authorities would not buy him another. So he wears a checked cloth
cap which he raises whenever he mentions the King. I couldn't make out a word
he said, but Nanny began to look slightly disappointed.
"Oh," she said, "so it's only Our Boys after all."
"What does he say?"
"He says they're having maneuvers in the town this morning and will
everybody keep out of Fore Street and Gabriel Street, between eleven and twelve,
and we must not be nervous if we hear firing, because it's only Our Boys."
I sat down and took off my boots. For two pins I'd have thrown them at
Nanny's head.
*****************************************************************************

"My Soul, there is a country
Afar beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skillful in the wars...

Henry Vaughan



[This message has been edited by Donnybrooke (edited 01-19-2002).]

D*mn, I am an idiot . I see that people reading my post *have* to think I was the author of the game. This is not true. I have edited my post, so that this is made clear.


JRT, thank you for your kind words .

Folks,

Zerosan2:

Thank you.

Join me in that most secret place hidden deep between my sharply pointed ears. Do not worry about your family, friends, the kettle on the stove or other pressing commitments. I know that your time is both valuable and limited. We will not tarry long and you will enjoy the visit.

Forget the pressing world of crashing twin towers and crying babies. Come with me to that last special place where Spitfires still soar in the same rarified air that only moments ago was crowded with blood-red dragons or a tight formation of Sopwith Camels.

Stay with me a moment and read while I wrestle with this teeming, constantly changing world. A world vast and rich beyond all but imagination itself and instantly conjured out of pure thought. This is a world powdered with heroic adventure that is as real to me tonight as any world you might know. Yet be warned, it is all too easily lost to us, and for days......

Ok, that was a bit much, sorry. When we put our thoughts down upon paper or dancing across this CRT screen, for that matter, we invite the world to glimpse the innermost workings of our mind (warts and all). We allow the world to view itself through our own subjective eyes.

It is a brave thing to do, I think. Not all here have that courage. You do, and I do. Perhaps some here might say that too many do? Meaning me.

Our minds reach out across the land, or the broad ocean to connect with the speed of a spark of electricity. We are all different and we are the same. Inspired by our common experiences with BOB and through our written words we compare both our differences and our commonality.

On HWH we are often privileged to gaze for just a tightly held moment upon someone else’s world. I enjoy that. I also enjoy some company tramping happily around in mine.

Here, we battle daily with the rigors of reality and usually we win. Here we may create a world as we think it should be and allow others to look upon that vision. Great battles are fought and heroes celebrated with nary a drop of blood spilled.

Here, our minds can safely touch and I suspect that they are slightly different for the experience. From that moment on our version of the world has changed. Even our mind’s eye has refocused just a bit.

My mind is a better place to inhabit having met yours...and all the others.

Thanks Rowan. And thank you Zerosan2.



------------------
"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"