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(sent from me)
Also,
As a human don't you ever get weary? Do you resent this thankless
task you've been given?
I realize we are different in many ways, perhaps even genetically, but
aren't there times that even Illuminons want to take a rest under a
shade tree for a few minutes and let the world melt away? (no metaphor
intended)
-----
(Maban's reply - also the last thing I heard from him)
At times yes. I must admit times of late have been... less chaotic.
Isolation- exile- hiding- call it what you will. but its more like a vacation in my mind.
I finally have the time I need to get what I deem important done. It's a nice feeling not having a council breathing down my neck.
But none the less I have duties to uphold. But yes, I agree sometimes clarity can only be found through distancing oneself from the task at hand.
Originally posted by emsed1
Just looked at the latest webbot report and it's ugly, but seems to resonate with some of the things Maban said, particularly about the recovery of 'alien technology'.
There are far more troubling things in there though.
It indicates a market collapse on Oct. 25th; protest and violence over swine flu vaccination; a revolutionary movement in the US; and efforts by TPTB to convince a lot of 'new agers' that they are 'special' and have 'alien DNA' and should join the govt/leaders because they are special.
This meme is supposedly already being subtly introduced in places (probably like ATS) and media.
It looks grim over the next couple of years if webbot is to be believed.
It suggests there will be two entities that are identified as 'thieves' or 'liberators of an alien device' that will steal the device and return home in glory, perhaps in late 2010.
So, my question is - do you guys give any credibility to webbot and what are your thoughts about it's predictions?
Originally posted by emsed1
I actually started a novel about Maban and pounded out the first couple of chapters. He liked it, although it was sort of a fanciful Clancy-esque thriller centering around his adventures in Iceland.
Originally posted by emsed1
I actually started a novel about Maban and pounded out the first couple of chapters. He liked it, although it was sort of a fanciful Clancy-esque thriller centering around his adventures in Iceland.
More and more I've been thinking about either a book or web site dedicated to these threads.
Does anyone know how to print or export an entire thread?
PROLOGUE
The entire Toronto Shard knew it was coming but the sheer audacity of it's arrival shocked even the most meticulous ops planners. Attrition be damned, the Shards would continue the mission until the end. Until death.
----------------------------
Still sore from his less-than-elegant landing after a helicopter fast-rope, Robert Maban tried to make his six foot frame as compact as possible. Each small movement brought a silent wince to his face.
The pungent smell of burnt powder hung in the air even now. More than forty-five minutes had elapsed since the sound of the last distant gunshots had echoed through the now-empty complex.
Maban was no stranger to discomfort and even the searing pain from newly-torn tendons did not provoke him to begin moving until he had made the conscious decision to do so. A lifetime of work in countless operations had honed his ability to contain discomfort and emotion.
This time was different, though, and Maban felt the first tiny flashes of uneasiness in his gut. This time they had chosen to strike directly at the heart of the Shard in broad daylight, in public view.
He knew exactly what they were after and he knew that sooner or later he would be the only one standing between it and them.
After taking a long, slow breath to clear his mind, he pulled the slide on his IWI Jericho back just far enough to visualize the chamber and confirm that a round was seated and ready.
"Ten plus one," he muttered silently to himself. Ten plus one was not a lot, but for Robert Maban it was going to have to be enough...
Chapter One
“Approaching the LZ“, the pilot’s voice crackled over the headset with a strong Ukrainian accent.
Robert Maban leaned firmly against the back of his seat and pulled his shoulder straps tight. He had always enjoyed training missions in the German-made BK-117 helicopter, but this time the stakes were for real and the ride was about to get interesting.
As if skimming the treetops at dawn in the Icelandic summer at 130 knots wasn’t scary enough the pilot had a sadistic streak and loved to exploit the particular capabilities of the BK-117, often to the chagrin of his passengers. The ride didn’t bother Maban, but as he sat in his rear-facing bulkhead seat he could just make out the green pallor on the faces of a couple of his troops.
Every few seconds Maban could hear the “whoop whoop” of the radar altimeter in his headset. It was "annoying but necessary" the pilot, Pyoter “Ivan” Imanovich, had told him when they lifted off the freighter an hour earlier to begin the pre-dawn insertion.
Maban felt the pull of his facial muscles and his body weight began to strain against the shoulder straps as Ivan pulled the BK into a steep climb over the approaching ridgeline. The unique rigid-rotor system on the helicopter often made for a rough and noisy ride, but the brilliance of the German designers became apparent when it was necessary to perform “unorthodox” maneuvers.
Maban’s second-in-command, James “Tenzin” Cordero, was seated directly across from him. His eyes were closed and his helmeted head was resting gently against the cabin wall. “Damn him”, Maban cursed to himself, “If I have to be awake for this joyride then so does he.”
He kicked Tenzin hard in the knee pad. “Wake up, Pinoy!”, he shouted over the intercom system, “You are going to miss the party.”
The low-pitched grumble of rotor blades straining against g-forces began to fade as the helicopter reached the crest of the ridgeline. Ivan laughed maniacally as he shoved the cyclic forward, nosing the craft over dramatically.
“I hope you capitalist bitches brought your puke bags!” he laughed as the previously heavy occupants began to feel their bodies give way to weightlessness.
The BK hung motionless for a brief instant over the ridge as the red morning light filled the cabin. In another time or place the acrobatics would have drawn oohs and aahs from airshow spectators, but on this early morning the “zero-g pushover” maneuver was being used to keep the team’s approach to Shard headquarters as stealthy as possible.
The startling change in orientation drew involuntary gasps from even the most hardened team members in the cabin. Everything that wasn’t strapped down began to float upward involuntarily. Arms, legs and friction straps hung in the air as the relative silence of the unloaded rotor system began to give way to the roar of air as the helicopter entered a steep dive.
“Two minutes, bitches”, Ivan said sarcastically. “Don’t get your soft capitalist asses shot because you will pay for cleaning of helicopter if you bleed in it!”
The last two minutes of the ride were a blur. Maban glanced at his chronograph and pulled the bolt back slightly on the MP-5 strapped to his chest for what seemed like the twentieth time during the short ride. The chamber was, of course, loaded so it was more an exercise in distraction than anything else. Tenzin and the other three team members performed similar rituals.
In the other rear-facing seat was Roger McKim, a gangly red-haired kid with a pale complexion. His eyes were closed and he was sweating profusely in the oversized BDUs and body armor that he had been hastily dressed in for the mission. McKim was not a member of the strike team, but he had been added to the package at the last minute because Maban needed a safecracker and McKim was the best available on short notice.
Tenzin noticed the serious frown and distant gaze on Maban’s face. With a grin he said, “Might as well go with the flow, Chief, we are already in the short strokes and it’s too late to pull out now!”
A year after the banking crisis brought Iceland to the brink of bankruptcy, the island nation is mired in the deepest recession among advanced economies. The stock market has lost 97 percent of its value, and more than 780 companies have buckled under the weight of foreign currency loans as the value of the krona, the country's currency, plunged. Consumers refuse to borrow at Europe's highest interest rates, and international banks reject requests for new financing.
Originally posted by emsed1
Iceland Freeze
Originally posted by emsed1
reply to post by EnlightenUp
doh!
must be a conspiracy
Originally posted by emsed1
reply to post by EnlightenUp
That sounds like an episode of "House". :-)
To Ancient Egyptians, it was the heart and not the brain that was the seat of emotion and thought, including the will and intentions. In Egyptian religion, the heart was the key to the afterlife. It was conceived as proceeding at death to the future world, where it gave evidence for, or against, its possessor. It was thought that the heart was examined by Anubis and the deities during the Weighing of the Heart ceremony. If the heart weighed more than the feather of Maat, it was immediately consumed by the monster Ammit. This is evidenced by the many expressions in the Egyptian language which incorporate the word ib, Awt-ib: happiness (literally, wideness of heart), Xak-ib: estranged (literally, truncated of heart). This word was transcribed by Wallis Budge as 'Ab'.