NationStates Jolt Archive

The pamphlets distributed around in various military-interest magazines and such are notoriously cheap--printed in a flimsy, inexpensive paper with the thickness of the onionskin found in mass-produced bibles and the texture of comic book paper. The advertisements inside are of an appropriately unrealistic bent, with each page being headed by a pixellated icon of sorts, followed by a description of the item, and cost. The bottom each page provides contact information for mail orders or ordering by phone. An indicated website follows almost exactly the same format, with the same icons.

SCORCH Armaments Corporation
A proud corporation of the Strategic Coalition for Offensive Research and Corporate Hegemony

Are you in need of quick, mobile, inexpensive firepower? CorpArms has the answer for you! Using the long history of the Ten Colors and their experience in armored combat, SCORCH has a complete line of armored fighting vehicles and accessories using tried and true technologies at factory-direct prices because we don't rely on middlemen or anything else that gets in the way of producing effective, efficient fighting vehicles. No billion-dollar advertising campaigns; no phalanxes of marketing specialists to give our tanks fancy names--just good, simple weapons where we pass the savings onto you! Call us and your order will be shipped immediately from our warehouses to your location of choice. And remember, with the purchase of any new tank, you get ninety-nine baby missiles absolutely free!

Updates

Need something a bit less lethal but still effective? Try our DirtFoam(TM) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=7657027#post7657027) line or our Riot Weapon (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=7753570#post7753570) line!

Tanks

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/scout-tank.gif
Scout Tank
Main Gun: 122mm L/24 variable ordinance cannon
Ammunition capacity: $FALSE_DATA
Crew: 3 (Commander, Driver, Gunner)
Armor: 40-80 mm steel
Mass: 40 tons
Top Speed: 96 kph (88 kph with governor)
Vertical Obstacle Clearance: 0.25 meters
Trench-Crossing Length: 2 meters
Cost: $*25,000

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/heavy-tank.gif
Medium Tank
Main Gun: 180mm L/22 variable ordinance cannon
Ammunition capacity: $FALSE_DATA
Crew: 4 (Commander, Driver, Feed Operator, Gunner)
Armor: 40-120 mm steel
Mass: 55 tons
Top Speed: 88 kph (80 kph with governor)
Vertical Obstacle Clearance: 0.33 meters
Trench-Crossing Length: 2.6 meters
Cost: $*50,000

80mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/baby-missile.gif
Baby Missile
A small rocket-assisted shell with a standard high-explosive fragmentation belt around a self-forging copper projectile core. Capable of killing infantry within 3-4 meters of impact and penetrating light armor (especially the top of tank hulls, where the rocket-assisted ballistic arc makes it shine).
Cost: $*400 for 10

122mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/missile.gif
Missile
A larger rocket-assisted shell, also with a standard high-explosive fragmentation belt around a self-forging copper projectile core. Capable of killing infantry within 6-8 meters of impact and penetrating heavier armor, even the gun shields and front hulls of light to medium tanks.
Cost: $*1,875 for 5

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/baby-missile.gifhttp://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/baby-missile.gifhttp://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/baby-missile.gif
Baby MIRV
A standard Missile rocket carrying three unguided Baby Missile warheads for a greater damage spread (if somewhat decreased damage volume). The bus jettisons and the submunitions deploy at the top of the arc, so dispersal increases predictably with range.
Cost: $*400 for 3

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/baby-nuke.gif
Baby Nuke
A rocket-propelled tactical nuclear fission warhead with a one kiloton yield, producing a fireball 80m across that lasts for under a quarter of a second (with near-certain tank kills at that range). It can annihilate infantry up to 280 meters from impact point, severely damage buildings 700 meters away, and cause 3rd degree burns up to 680 meters away. This is recommended for use at long ranges only.
Cost: $*10,000 for 3

180mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/funky-bomb.gif
Funky Bomb
A larger self-propelled rocket truck (originally built for the MIRV) that carries both a central Baby Nuke warhead and two belts of five extremely corrosive acid chemical warheads for a total of ten. These ten submunitions are ejected before the Baby Nuke is detonated, then ride on the resulting blast wave on their waverider aeroshells. The relatively low density of these subsidiary warheads allow them to scatter a great distance, and the pattern is generally unpredictable. These acidic nerve-gas weapons are instantly lethal to most forms of life and are highly reactive, capable of oxidizing metals combustively. The Funky Bomb is recommended as an extreme-range weapon only.
Cost: $*7,000 for 2

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/mirv.gif
MIRV
A Funky Bomb rocket carrying five unguided Missile warheads for a greater damage spread than a single Missile. The bus jettisons and the submunitions deploy at the top of the arc, so dispersal increases predictably with range.
Cost: $*10,000 for 3

Contact Us With Your Order Today!

The SCORCH Standard International Trade Dollar ($*) is currently pegged at thirty Standard International Trade Dollars ($). SCORCH is not responsible for any damages resulting from the misuse of these products. All purchases are made "as is" and are nonrefundable. Returns will be handled on a case-by-case basis and those found to have reasonable grievance will be credited the price of the returned equipment (minus depreciation) to future CorpArms sales.

From a trade convention (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=7582339&postcount=58)
"This contains our needs for your devices, as well as color specifications and coordinates where delivery will have to be made. Strict disretion is needed for this, you realize." Her translator lets out what sounds like stones rolling over each other, but is actually a small chuckle.

The order details out 40 Scout Tanks, 15 Medium Tanks, 4,000 rounds of baby missile ammo, 1,000 rounds of Missile ammo, 300 rounds of Baby MIRVs, and 120 rounds of Funky Bombs. The tanks are requested in a navy blue color.
The order, sent in by Commissar Jenkins via secure paper transmission once he returns, climbs rather quickly up the Trade line and then back down the Distribution line, with copies sent to Marketing and over to CorpWork--more tanks would have to be produced to keep the warehouse with sufficient standby wares to ensure quick delivery.

The warehouse, as it stands now, holds about a hundred tanks and around ten thousand each of Baby Missiles, Missiles, and their derivatives, with around a thousand each of the more esoteric weapons. The requested items are quickly done over in the requested paint job, then loaded onto armored trains which drag their cargo overland to the seaport. An old, clunky, but servicable transport, not noticably different than probably millions of others like her that ply the seas, takes on her cargo in nondescript boxes labeled "BREAD." She sets out, running low under her load, and steams at a decent but unexemplary pace towards the islands of Sakkra, reaching port in two weeks.

All told, from order to delivery, the process takes about a month depending on warehouse stocks alone. Not bad.

From the same trade convention (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=7598884&postcount=71)
"Right now our funds are rather limited, but we expect to have some large sources of income in a fairly short period of time. Tell you what - we'll start with ten scout tanks and five medium tanks. Um...fifteen hundred baby missiles, five hundred missiles, three hundred baby MIRVS, thirty regular MIRVS, and, hmmm...three Baby Nukes, and two Funky Bombs. If we like what we see, I think I can assure you that you'll be seeing a lot more orders."

He calculates up the cost, and says, "Can you accept a direct transfer from the First Bank of Moneylaunderingstan? I can pay up front - I know that you wouldn't do anything untoward like take the money and run."
This report, plus a receipt of sale, took the same route. Still, as payment wasn't made up front, all that remained was appropriate funds from this... Moneylaunderingstan.

Huzzah for telegrams.

Somewhere in the sunny south Pacific Ocean, three oil supertankers quietly rust, run aground on a high sandbar and lashed together in international waters. Across the sides of the three supertankers, painted in white-on-red which was perhaps garish at one time but is now fading and peeling like the rest of the ship, reads "MONEYLAUNDERINGSTAN."

This is the sole territorial possession of the Sultanate of Moneylaunderingstan, a little home-away-from-home engineered and owned in whole by the Sicilian mafia. Moneylaunderingstani passports, drivers licenses, birth certificates, death certificates, and citizenships can be easily purchased for varying amounts of money in quite a few places of ill repute around the world and are generally sold under the slogan "a measure of freedom in a strict world." There are no drug, religion, or political laws in Moneylaunderingstan; rather, there are no laws at all except don't kill so that it cuts into the profits and Il Sultano gets his cut... which is appropriate, given that most of Moneylaunderingstan's few million "citizens" live nowhere near the rusting hulks, instead enjoying the rights of their citizenship: a place to escape to, just in case.

There are, in fact, a few hundred of these exiles living on the oil supertankers which tend to their cargoes--while the tankers are dilapidated on the outside, on the inside they are filled with servers, money houses, and all sorts of instrumentality that allows Moneylaunderingstan to live up to its name. This is its primary form of revenue, actually; skimming off the top of the funds it is asked to 'make disappear.' Money changes hands, quite literally, constantly, books are kept sloppily, and it is all one-hundred-percent legal... in Moneylaunderingstan. They don't care where the money comes from or where it goes out to, as long as Il Sultano gets his cut.

So... they're like what Swiss banks are reputed to be, except they openly admit it.

Idly looking out of the windows of his plush office, Il Sultano Bonsignore "Piranha" Venditti crushes out another cigarette in the ornate elephant-tusk ivory ashtray on his mohagany desk. Most "citizens" thought (accurately) that living in Moneylaunderingstan was dirty, smelly, hard, and otherwise unpleasant. Of course it was, for the servitors doing the 'hard labor' of making money trails disappear below decks. Above deck, however... it wasn't so bad. Not so bad at all.

The phone on his desk--the handset crafted from pure obsidian on a whim and excess cash to burn--rings; Venditti reaches over, picks it up, and puts it to his ear where it taps lightly against the hard plastic arm of his broad, dark sunglasses. "Yeah, what?"

The phone buzzes momentarily.

"Oh yeah, those cats. We got their funds?"

Buzz buzz buzz.

"Yeah, good, yeah. Just send it along, then, from the slush. Make it disappear, baby. Yeah. Yeah. Peace."

Returning the obsidian headset to its cradle made of the skull of a Siberian tiger, Bonsignore leans back in his chair, kicks his Gucci's up onto the desk, and pulls another cigarette from the inside of his sport coat, placing it between his lips and lighting it with a firestarter shaped like a hand grenade. A long draw, and a puff. Those... mother of whatever people would get their money, happy customers all around, and he gets another cut.

It's good to be Il Sultano.

http://www.actdumb.com/img/03c-xluigi-xvercotti-0120-0150.jpg
Il Sultano Bonsignore "Piranha" Venditti

Money received, another shipment is sent out from the warehouse. Time... again a month, give or take. Still, such a sudden drain on the warehouse shows a need to increase production, or at least dedicate an amount of the current production of 40,000 tanks per annum... where they go, exactly, is anyone's guess. With one tank built every 13.14 minutes, this means that the extant surplus is already quite large...

...and so that surplus could be dedicated to trade. Each of the Ten Colors maintains an army of 10,000 tanks or so of varying types, and the growth rate of their armies combined is nowhere near 40,000 tanks a year, as there is no real war to reduce their number via attrition, although gritstorms do take their toll on the vehicles.

That solves the stock problem, at least. As for transportation... it seems sufficient, for now.

Back in the labs...

A wrinkled scientist holds his small sheet of onionskin paper like a holy icon, begging the Commissar of the SubOffice of Materiel Research, Weapons, Non-Lethal to look at its scrawls that go every which way like a schizophrenic's notebook. "I have it, Lord Commissar, I have it!"

The commissar in question carefully, gently brushes the man's arms aside. "You have what, minion?"

The scientist steps back and smiles. "I have unlocked another secret of the Color Wars, Lord Commissar. They describe weapons used to bury enemy tanks and to create artificial land, filling in craters and such. We were thrown off by the name 'dirt bomb,' because how can one pack cubic meters of dirt into a shell? What it actually is a sort of polymer foam with the macroscopic properties of dirt but a very low mass."

"What? Small terms, please. Don't make me get out the stopwatch."

The scientist nods, composes himself, and repeats. "I have designed a shell that carries a very densely-packed foam. When the shell breaks, the foam expands and creates a mound that looks, from a distance, like dirt and can be driven over and walked on like dirt; it even slows and stops shells like dirt. However, it's just a plastic foam--bubbles."

The Lord Commissar raises an eyebrow incredulously. "This will have to be tested, you know..."

"Of course, Lord Commissar. But I believe it will work."

Dunbarrow hereby introduces the BioGen Select Weapon.

Got a problem with fat people?

Does the wrong skin-colour annoy you?

Is there nothing so abhorrent to you as bad breath?

Buy our BioGen Select Weapon... and watch your enemies break down under virus weaponry.

Dunbarrow BioGen Select... swift as Ebola, deadly as the Plague, and wholly selective.

One medium sized package of DBGS, guaranteed to cleanse 5 million subhumans or 3 millions humans, can be yours for only 1 trillion dollars.
Wholesale inquiries welcome.

Get yours today!

A Message from the SubOffice of Advertising, Reactive, Antagonistic (Competition)

No soliciting, please--at least, not without arranging an appropriate advertising space deal via the SubOffice of Advertising, Extracorporate Contracting first. The first offense gets a warning; continued violation of our advertising space will be punished with a summary tank rush and Baby Nuke bombardment.

Working out an advertising agreement's a lot less expensive than limited nuclear war, especially at SCORCH's cut rates! Get thirty minutes of daily advertising time on state television for only thirty Standard International Trade Dollars a second! Radio ad space at ten Standard International Trade Dollars a second! Print advertising, only ONE Standard International Trade Dollar a square inch a day! This gets you exposure to MoAG's six-hundred-million-strong market at list prices lower than industry standard!

Come to SCORCH for all your military (and advertising) needs!

Inside the light tank, the gunner fits the 122-millimeter shell manually into the breech of the cannon, closes the breech and reconnects the autoloader by pulling a lever forward and down until heavy-sprung latches curve over the cylindrical jams and snap down with a distinctive crack. "Gun reddah, suh!"

The commander nods and looks through his episcope towards the target site. The gunner had already lined the barrel up, correcting for wind... very good job. "Okah, ink-lation tirty-sev'n, powauh three-twenty-six."

"Inkleation thirtahsev'n, powar tree-tenty-six." The gunner turns the power-assisted handled wheels that control the inclination and burn of the charge, making sure the needles on his two gauges line up with the numbers ordered. "Redeah."

"FI-UH!"

The primary charge blasts, getting the modified Missile out of the barrel, then the rocket motor engages, speeding the projectile on its way towards its target, a wooden mock-up of a tank. The round crunches through the wooden glacis plate and strikes the hard ground below.

"Made uh 'ole, we did..."

Suddenly, the tank disappears as a giant mound of... well... dirt appears from within it and expands over it, creating a mound a good six meters tall and twelve meters in horizontal radius.

The tank crew boggles.

On a nearby hillside in another tank, the scientist smiles and nods, taking down notes. "Good, very good." Tapping the driver next to him on the shoulder, he leans back into his bucket seat as the medium tank lurches forward, driving towards the mound. It begins plying through the 'dirt,' slowly making its way up... then gets stuck about half way, treads digging themslves into the loose, foamed 'dirt,' which apparently has the tensile and compressive strength of very fine sand.

Hmm, the scientist thinks, I'll have to increase the amount of carbon in the mixture. Yes, I think that will work. More bonds and chains.

2 funky bombs please

2 funky bombs please
Response from the SubOffice of Trade, Extranational, Storefront Sales

Order received. Two funky bombs have been moved from the warehouse for shipping-standby; once we recieve the bill of 7,000 Standard International Trade Dollars they will immediately be shipped to the location of your choice.

We extend, as a courtesy, a reminder that all SCORCH goods are tamper-resistant, i.e. they have a tendency to explode when opened or probed. Not that we'd accuse you of such a thing, no; simply that we don't want any accidents to come about due to curious technicians and the like.

Respectfully,

Commissar David Enter

Introducing!

DirtFoam(TM)!

MoAG scientists have revolutionized the future of combat engineering with their new polymer-chain invention, DirtFoam! Compressible via our special process into rounds, it expands into a massive mound of a dirt-like substance upon impact. Use it to ford rivers, or dam them completely! Fill trenches and craters for better mobility! Bury enemy soldiers, vehicles, or buildings to immobilize them!

DirtFoam has the macroscopic properties of moderately dense clay but only masses a few kilograms in total. Thus, it is unlikely to crush anything, although infantry will probably asphyxiate, similar to being buried alive. DirtFoam is suitable for engineering use, for burying enemy vehicles and equipment, and perhaps for large scale riot control, pending advances in the technology.

80mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/dirt-clod.gif
Dirt Clod
A small DirtFoam (TM) warhead mounted onto a Baby Missile rocket bus, the Dirt Clod is a less-than-lethal weapon that produces a mound of DirtFoam approximately six meters in radius and two meters tall.
Cost: $*5000 for 10

122mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/dirt-ball.gif
Dirt Ball
A larger DirtFoam (TM) warhead, like the Dirt Clod, mounted onto a standard Missile rocket bus, the Dirt Ball is a less-than-lethal weapon that produces a mound of DirtFoam approximately ten meters in radius and four meters tall.
Cost: $*5000 for 5

180mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/ton-of-dirt.gif
Ton Of Dirt
Our largest DirtFoam (TM) warhead mounted onto a MIRV truck, the Ton of Dirt is a less-than-lethal weapon that produces a mound of DirtFoam approximately fifteen meters in radius and five to six meters tall.
Cost: $*6750 for 2

Need something a bit more violent? Check our primary storefront! (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=7578530)

I'll have 5 Dirt Balls please.

and by the way I think u mean ™ not (TM) ;)

I'll have 5 Dirt Balls please.

and by the way I think u mean ™ not (TM) ;)
Response from the SubOffice of Trade, Extranational, Storefront Sales

Five Dirt Balls are pegged from production to go to you, to be shipped with the Funky Bombs upon payment of your total bill of 12,000 Standard International Trade Dollars.

And ™ is a violation of the Work Ethic. The Holy Workers of SCORCH avoided placing a ™ key on the keyboard for good reason; alt-codes are shirk.

Respectfully,

Commissar David Enter

*$12,000 SITDs wired*

*$12,000 SITDs wired*
With the money "wired" through uninterceptable, uncorruptable, and probably untracable means, the seven total rounds in question are placed not on a bulk hauler, as that would be inefficient. Instead, a smaller vessel in slightly better upkeep takes them on as cargo and steams to The Phoenix Militia, cutting down delivery time to two and a half weeks.

With DirtFoam(TM) round production proceeding apace, the strategic minds of SCORCH, as well as the various militaries of the Ten Colors, ran their simulations on small battles and large wars fought with this new and relatively rare (and thus expensive) munition. A problem arises--when compared to relatively conventional weaponry, DirtFoam(TM) provides an unusual advantage. Anything buried is essentially destroyed. Entire advances can be stopped, repelled, and turned into a rout using this weapon.

It is, quite simply, unbalanced.

What is needed to balance the equation, to make an opposition actually survive such an onslaught--because, if the opposition cannot survive, then there is no war; if there is no war, then there are no arms sales; if there are no arms sales, then there is no SCORCH--is something that can essentially nullify the effect of DirtFoam(TM).

Several design teams from several Colors take up the challenge. One begins dabbling with sonic technologies, thinking that perhaps resonance could be useful in solving this. Another works on analog robotics, or, more accurately, automata; believing that the simplest way to remove dirt is to dig through it.

Perhaps both are right, perhaps neither is. Either way, funding is applied and the avenues searched, for the greater glory of the Work Ethic and its hand-in-hand greater profit for SCORCH.

"So... it is a... robot?" The commissar frowns--robots and artificials were responsible for some of the greatest excesses of the Color Wars, especially the sociopathic Cyborgs. MoAG was lucky that they were so rare.

"No, not a robot, Lord Commissar," replies the scientist, "but an automata. Nothing but gears and clockwork. Look." Tapping a little lever on the shell-less mechanical critter on the table, it springs to life with the growling of flywheels and supercoiled springs. The metal drill bits to the front and to the side spring to life, and the little machine scrambles about the top of the table--and the commissar leaps backward a full meter and a half, much to the delight of the scientist. "It moves in a slightly chaotic but predictable fashion controlled by several magnetic pendulums governed by cams. If we can get powerful enough springs, and hard enough drills, then these can burrow through even clay--or DirtFoam(TM)--with relative ease."

The commissar nods, quickly trying to regain his composure despite the fact that he still shivers a little. "Good... uh... I guess. Yes, good. When can you have it done by?"

The scientist sighs. "That's the problem. Electrical motors don't have enough torque and the size is too small for a big motor, so we need springs. The problem is finding a metal that can withstand the stress of being compressed as much as we need without fracturing. Our current steel alloy is insufficient. We need to do more research first, but that's a matter for the metallurgists."

"Hrm. Then they must work more quickly." The commissar cracks his knuckles. "Back to work, minion--I will now discuss with the metallurgists why they do not have a proper alloy yet."

The scientist nods and scurries back to work, full expecting to see an all-new metallurgy team by tomorrow.

We'll take 40 funky bombs and 40 MIRV's.

-------------Money Wired on Confirmation-----------------------

We'll take 40 funky bombs and 40 MIRV's.

-------------Money Wired on Confirmation-----------------------
Response from the SubOffice of Trade, Extranational, Storefront Sales

Understood. Forty Funky Bombs at seven thousand per two and forty MIRVs at ten thousand per three is one-hundred forty thousand for the Funky Bombs and... hrm... forty isn't divisible by three without a remainder.

We can send you 40 Funky Bombs and 42 MIRVs for a total of $*280,000 if that is acceptable. We'll get them ready on a boat to ship them to you pending your confirmation of our offer--40 Funky Bombs and 39 MIRVs total out to be $*270,000. 39 MIRVs or 42 for only $*10,000 more--it's your choice.

Sincerely,

Commissar David Enter

------------

And, true to his word, the weapons are placed on another boat, ready to ship. Estimated time to arrival: Two weeks.

(OOC: sorry for the horrible rp before, don't know what came over me)

Concordiat Department of War- Procurement Division

We will gladly take 42 MIRV's $10,000 is but a pittance. The money has been wired to a secure Grand Cayman Bank account, # 65739264. Thank you for processing our order so quickly. We eagerly await the arrival of our funky bombs and MIRVs.

(OOC: sorry for the horrible rp before, don't know what came over me)

Concordiat Department of War- Procurement Division

We will gladly take 42 MIRV's $10,000 is but a pittance. The money has been wired to a secure Grand Cayman Bank account, # 65739264. Thank you for processing our order so quickly. We eagerly await the arrival of our funky bombs and MIRVs.
Response from the SubOffice of Trade, Extranational, Storefront Sales

Understood--we will ship these goods immediately and you can expect them in two to three weeks. Thank you for choosing the Strategic Coalition for Offensive Research and Corporate Hegemony for your armament needs.

Respectfully,

Commissar David Enter

------------

The light cargo vessel, already loaded, gets the signal and steams out of port on its relatively efficient diesel screws. A newer model than the rusty super-container ships that survive from the Color Wars, it surpasses expectations and makes the trip in around a week and a half.

The prototype weapon is not exactly something that inspires awe, essentially being a sphere with several depressions in it that resemble metallic speakers. The commissar in charge of new less-than-lethal counterweapons design pokes it experimentally with a finger. "Okay... so what is it?"

"It's a sonic weapon, Lord Commissar," replies the nondescript scientist minion in his equally nondescript faded denim utility uniform, "it produces sound at the resonance frequency of bedrock or clay... or DirtFoam(TM). This needs to be set before firing, but shouldn't change within a battle."

The commissar nods impatiently. "Yes, yes. What does it do?"

"To put it simply, it shakes things apart using sound. DirtFoam(TM) disintegrates into a soft powdery substance; bedrock and clay gravelize. It won't tear holes under tanks, but it can take chunks out of cliffsides and steep hills."

"When will it be ready for deployment?"

"We need to make a few more tests. As an anti-terrain weapon it should be relatively harmless, albeit unpleasant, for unprotected people so it might be useful as a less-than-lethal anti-riot weapon."

"Good. Report to me when you're done--you are progressing much faster than the Digger teams."

The minion-scientist salutes. "Understood, Lord Commissar."

"Another turn..."

Click click click click click click click, replies the tightening thick torsion spring to the moment imparted to it by the burly minion's wrench. The heavy ratchet clicks off every five degrees of motion, the other gears and cams of the clockwork automata moving slowly in reverse.

The scientist, standing behind a convenient pane of bullet-resistant glass, nods. "Very good. Another turn should be sufficient."

The burly man grunts, slots his crescent wrench on the hexagonal nut again, and turns. Click click click click click SPRANG! The thick weld between the torsion spring and the turning plate yields suddenly, then fails as shear stresses exceed the steel alloy's ultimate stress and the metal literally tears itself apart to achieve equilibrium. The spring releases all of its stored torsion, whirling around, the automata's clockwork gliding along almost soundlessly, especially compared to the rattling of the drill bits against the heavy wooden table splintering under the onslaught. The minion, putting his weight into the wrench, no longer has any support and falls forward; the resulting spinning metal on clothing, skin, and bone is somewhat too unpleasant to relate.

The scientist sighs and takes notes. The digger mechanism does work, after all, and the spring did not fail when they tried to overtighten it. Welding technology needs to be improved before diggers can be deployed.

Meanwhile, on the firing range, the newly-christened Riot Bombs detach from their standard missile rocket trucks and arc through the air, landing on the ground with a crunch, then emits a sort of crackly static buzz. Nothing else happens. The scientist in the test tank winces.

"Hrm. Note to self--either harden components or install a proximity fuse. Actually, given the speakers... fused round, most certainly."

1000 funky bombs monney wired

Commissar David Enter frowns and folds his arms. "They just sent the money? Didn't wait for confirmation or anything?"

The minion, one of the few literate ones, shrugged. "It looks that way, Lord Commissar. Problem is, they wired 'monney.'"

"Yes," Enter rolls his eyes, "I know he sent money, minion. Stop shirking and get to work."

"Not Em-Oh-En-Ee-Why money, Lord Commissar," the minion says in a hurt voice, "Em-Oh-En-En-Ee-Why. Monney." He emphasizes the middle dual consonant, stretching it out a few hairs too long.

Enter blinks. "Monney."

"Yes, Lord Commissar. Monney."

Enter nods. "Fine. I'll reply with a statement saying that we're going to ship the goods, but, as we both know, we only ship the goods for money. Meanwhile, you call up Moneylaunderingstan and see if they can't get that second en out."

"Yes, Lord Commissar."

Response from the SubOffice of Trade, Extranational, Storefront Sales

Monney received. The ghoods that you ordered, onety thousand Funky Bombs, have been shlipped.

Reshpectfully,

Commissar David Enter

After checking his daily summary of telegrams, Il Sultano picks up the obsidian handset and puts it to his ear, loudly chewing on a piece of mint-flavored gum. "Yeah, yeah, baby, got your telegram. Monney, eh? Yeah, we can fix up that monney for you.

"You see," he continues, kicking back in his red velvet chair stuffed with bald eagle chick down, "what we do, is we'll convert the monney into less reputable portions of money and then work our way up. Now I shouldn't be tellin' you this, Commasser, but I like you and you do good bidness, and you commie boys won't have any luck keepin' up with the family connexions, you see.

"Anyway, what we do is we convert the monney, being in idiot cash--that being what we call republic credits in the biz--and then we convert it to dinars, dinars to rubles, rubles to lira, lira to francs, francs to shekels, shekels to dollars, dollars back to francs, francs back to dollars, dollars to workreps, workreps to rubles, and then roubles to chickens. Then we have a boy down in Economicdisasteristan trade all those chickens for cows, cows to sheep, sheep to emus, emus to emu burgers, emu burgers for buffalo, and buffalo for wolf pelts. Then we take the wolf pelts, get the same workers we have in Economicdisasteristan that we literallyhire for peanuts make them into designer wares, then sell 'em for profit to everywhere else under all the good Sicilian labels. We take the money from that and convert it into whatever the hell the Grendels use... that dick itch powder stuff... then into credits, credits to credits, credits to credits, credits to credits, credits to credits, credits to credits, credits to credits, credits to credits, credits to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars..."

Bonsignore coughs and mutters in a wry voice. "Sorry, baby, gettin' parched." Leaning forward, he takes a big sip of Antarctic glacier water out of a large crystal goblet made of diamonds glued together. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. Dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, dollars to dollars, and then we finally put 'em into the least tracable, most easily finagled currency of all, the Menelmacari Credit.

"Ya get all that? No? Didn't think so. Ciao, baby." Grinning to himself, the Sultan of Moneylaunderingstan puts the phone back into its Siberian tigerskull cradle and proceeds to do something completely different from what he just described.

http://www.actdumb.com/img/03c-xluigi-xvercotti-0120-0150.jpg
Il Sultano Bonsignore "Piranha" Venditti

With just over three million SITDs in pure profit received from Moneylaunderingstan after having a slight... service performed, Commissar Enter's career in SCORCH gets just that much better. Admittedly, his SubOffice is already an important one and life there isn't bad... but his stipend increases, he receives more SCORCH benefits, and he can finally move out of the warrens underneath the MultiColor City, industrial capital of SCORCH.

He looks most content when he moves from his officer's barracks in the deep, poorly lit underground to his new private steel-walled room four meters square with a photograph of the Verdant Wastes in one corner in lieu of a window. This more expensive Commissar's bread doesn't seem to have quite so much sawdust in it, although he continues to drink the sawdust-heavy Victory Coffee--the 'special blend' where they actually paint the sawdust black so one can imagine that they are coffee grounds. Enter's little secret is that by brewing the painted sawdust in a special way, it acts as a very mild narcotic and hallucinogen. Yes, this is the life.

Meanwhile, both programs proceed apace. The Riot weapons get their fuses, and, due to a serendipitous in-barrel 'detonation,' a new and wholly unintended application is discovered. As for the heavy spring in the Digger, the steel spring is certainly strong enough, but welds are never as strong as the things they are welding. It is possible to cast the spring and the turning plate in one piece, but the molds are one-time usage and thus far too expensive for mass production. There has to be some way to do it, though...

...and another design team comes up with an interesting new weapon concept. "Here's the plan--we put a unitary warhead--or, maybe, a missile warhead--into this gyro-stabilized monowheel."

"What?"

"It'll be a sphere that goes on the outside of the munition. The weapon is kept upright inside the sphere with a gyroscope while the spherical wheel just... rolls. Down hills and such."

"So it's a Roller."

"Exactly!"

Research never ends in MoAG.

Introducing!

Riot Weapons!

After revolutionizing the world of combat engineering with DirtFoam(TM) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=7657027&postcount=12), SCORCH is now pleased to provide a new, less-than-lethal weapon that can also help with landscaping! Riot Weapons use ultrasonic frequencies that build up resonance in rocks or clay, causing them to shake themselves apart into gravel! This reduces DirtFoam(TM) to a powder and can chew holes in mountainsides, and can be just the thing to aid in digging projects. Additionally, the sonic waves cause extreme discomfort to unprotected people, so Riot Weapons can be very useful in quelling, as per their name, riots without actually harming anyone too badly--if that's what you want to do, then SCORCH can provide!

80mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/riot-charge.gif
Riot Charge
A single-use less-than-lethal Riot Weapon that activates in the barrel, using the barrel to focus its effect into a thirty- to sixty-degree cone of sonic energy with a range from fifty to twenty-five meters respectively. It can disable unprotected personnel, crumble rock, and disintegrate DirtFoam(TM) within its field of effect.
Cost: $*2000 for 10

122mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/riot-blast.gif
Riot Blast
A larger single-use less-than-lethal Riot Weapon that activates in the barrel, using the barrel to focus its effect into a thirty- to sixty-degree cone of sonic energy with a range from one hundred to fifty meters respectively. It can disable unprotected personnel, crumble rock, and disintegrate DirtFoam(TM) within its field of effect.
Cost: $*5000 for 5

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/riot-bomb.gif
Riot Bomb
This Riot Weapon warhead rides on a standard Missile truck and activates at a given proximity from the ground, emanating sonic waves in a sphere with a ten-meter radius. It can disable unprotected personnel, crumble rock, and disintegrate DirtFoam(TM) within its field of effect.
Cost: $*5000 for 5

180mm Weapons

http://hometown.aol.co.uk/Terrorfex%20Uk/heavy-riot-bomb.gif
Heavy Riot Bomb
This Riot Weapon warhead rides on a standard Baby Nuke truck and activates at a given proximity from the ground, emanating sonic waves in a sphere with a twenty-meter radius. It can disable unprotected personnel, crumble rock, and disintegrate DirtFoam(TM) within its field of effect.
Cost: $*4750 for 2

Need something a bit more violent? Check our primary storefront! (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=7578530)

Sorry for the long pause--things out of my control. Anyway, I'm back with more militarized silliness.

IC:

Research proceeds apace, as it always does in MoAG. The Digger project continues to get many kinks worked out of it, but some just don't seem to go away...

"It's rather... erratic, isn't it?" The commissar raises an eybrow, leaning back slightly as the automata hops out of the ground right after plunging into it, skittering over the top and not digging like it should.

"Well... ah... yes, Lord Commissar," replied the scientist standing next to him. "That's the result of using a spring-actuated dual pendulum as a guidance mechanism. Its movements are highly chaotic--while this is usually enough to dig so many tunnels that the ground just collapses, this means that sometimes it just... ah... pops out and doesn't do much of anything. Usually it's a good idea to fire the digger into large mounds of earth, rather than small raised hills and the like. The smaller the mound, the more likely the digger will simply pop out."

The commissar nods. "So I see."

The Roller project is a different story, being a very simple concept. Put a warhead into a sphere, and put little casters around the warhead so it can roll around inside the sphere--or, more accurately, the sphere can roll around the gyrostabilized warhead. A metal detector does well for determining when it's under a tank and an accelerometer can measure if it's stopped, giving it two reasons to explode. The problem lies in fitting the sphere into standard guns, as the warheads themselves aren't exactly small.