Logs for ShadowRN and Associated Mailing Lists

From:	Jaimie Nicholson <jaimie.nicholson@********.OTAGO.AC.NZ>
Subject:	Scouting
Date:	Tue, 19 Aug 1997 13:32:25 +1200

Message no. 1 *****PRIVATE: Ice
>>>>>[I've finished the matrix part of the site evaluation, I've got some
files for whoever runs that part of it when Ronin goes in. Speaking of
whom, where is he?]<<<<<
-- Squatter <19:28:11/08-18-58>

*****PRIVATE: Squatter
>>>>>[Send me the files, I'll put them together with what I've got on the
astral defenses, and give them to Ronin when he comes crawling back from
wherever he snuck off to. Which, I think, is something to do with getting
some new bio- or cyber-ware.]<<<<<
-- Ice <21:07:22/08-18-58>

*****PRIVATE: Ice
>>>>>[+++++Include file trixmap.txt]<<<<<
-- Squatter <21:40:16/08-18-58>

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Re: Scouting
Date:	Wed, 20 Aug 1997 18:38:45 +0100

Message no. 2 *****INTERNAL: Valkyrie Project
*****Personal log
>>>>>[Lively stuff from both sides. And useful, since the two Lynches
will probably be part of the evaluation when we try to sell it to the
UCAS...

+++++download: Valkyrie_evaluation_08-19-58.vid
+++++begin simsense playback

Arashi's POV, riding in the Valkyrie's bubble of multi-sensor data:
flying at economical cruise through the cloudy, dark night sky.

A Confederacy Air Force AWACS - airframe number eleven, according to the
signal analysers - is scanning the area and seeing no return from the
Valkyrie, and a few other aircraft are in the area, most civilian. A
handful of ships are crawling across the ocean below, and the system is
conserving clock cycles by ignoring land traffic.

The comm system is radiating a tightbeam beacon signal, and two air
contacts - tagged as friendly - are closing in from that bearing. As
they come into visual range they flick on formation lights, settling
into a comfortable echelon. Two MiG-57s, graceful in the starlight.

"So glad you could join us." Arashi says cheerfully over the tightbeam.
"I had an idea for adding some realism to our pretence. What's your fuel
state, and are we clear?"

"Eleven three. Quiet night. Nobody else within thirty miles." Lynch's
voice responds.

"Thirteen two. Lynch was low drag, burned more." Lilith drawls. "Are you
proposing what I think...?"

"You're both itching to try it anyway." Arashi chuckles, then switches
the tightbeam towards Stockdale Field. "Arashi. Request permission for
some hassle time with Psycho and the Lady."

There is a pause.

"Control. Approved." Luttwidge says at last, doubt almost audible in his
voice: then you almost hear inspiration dawn. "That's a good idea."

Lynch enquires "ROE"?

"Guns only. Turn away, open a few miles, head-to-head pass and then game
on. Game over on first bingo," Arashi says over the comm. Then,
internally, "MAX, reconfigure systems to training mode." The expert
system quickly reconfigures the fighter, making the Valkyrie both ready
for a duel and inhibiting its formidable armament.

"You got it." Both MiGs are suddenly opening distance as they turn away,
Arashi pulling in the opposite direction.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" MAX's synthetic voice asks with a
fair approximation of curiosity.

"Heh. Think we'll have problems?"

MAX replies by bringing up a comparative flight envelope display in the
lower corner of the view; the answer seems to be decisively negative, at
least plane-on-plane. It then says, "Wrong interpretation of query.
Current mission is searching for a hostile stealth fighter. Training in
a hostile environment is...stupid."

"Probably. Any signs of the Ghost?"

"Nothing above 2%."

"While we play, keep an eye out. This just might be what it takes to
get its attention."

"Understood. Suggest awareness of cooperative tactics of Lady and
Psycho, given previous experience."

"Exactly." Arashi chuckles, keys her radio. "Turning in now."

"Lady. Roger." comes the terse reply, and the two blips of the MiGs are
closing rapidly in a head-on pass.

The MiGs break in opposite directions: one high and left, the other low
and right. Arashi follows the high aircraft - after a moment her sensors
identify it as Lilith's - in a turn far tighter than the MiGs could ever
achieve, the G-meter sliding up past an eye-watering fourteen Gs and her
tail sliding out from behind with thrust vectoring.

The MiG is already reversing its turn, generating angle-off and skidding
away from Arashi's gunsight pipper: the sensitive IR sensors decade down
as the MiG-57's twin engines spear blue-white flame, holding the
climbing turn and daring the Valkyrie to follow it up.

Strange feelings across your body, or through the plane, as the Ares
fighter reconfigures and adapts: rearranging its geometry for more
agility in the turning fight Lilith is pulling Arashi into-

"Psycho's closing from behind, and Lady's leading us into his arc." MAX
highlights Lynch's incoming fighter in red and projects a tight
distorting cone of cannon fire ahead of him.

"Exactly."

Lilith is running out of room to manoeuvre, the Valkyrie rapidly closing
off her options. Her superb flying has kept her alive so far, but she
and Arashi are well-matched in skill and the outclassed MiG-57 can't do
more than delay the inevitable against a Valkyrie on her tail.

But Lynch is within seconds of gun range, and Arashi breaks away from
Lilith to snap the nose around at her husband, the two fighters flashing
past each other at a combined speed of over a thousand miles an hour.

"Compare footage later?" suggests Lynch, still opening the distance as
Arashi snap-rolls and pulls under in a split-S, ducking under Lilith's
pursuit: her MiG can't generate enough negative-G to put the pipper on
the Valkyrie in time.

"Sure. You're dead." Arashi says good-naturedly, though her damage
display suggests that there is a 31% chance of cannon strikes to her own
left wing.

Lynch is accelerating clear of the fight in full 'burner, and Lilith
must be near the limits of both the MiG's and her own performance as she
follows Arashi, still managing to stay on the Valkyrie's tail for the
moment. "Where's he going?" Arashi asks.

"Currently in a kick-yo-yo returning to our vector", MAX responds,
designating a possible flight path as Arashi concentrates for a moment
on keeping the Valkyrie out of Lilith's pipper and forcing the MiG out
in front: MAX has helpfully included a projection of where Lilith's
shells would go to assist Arashi, and again the MiG is clearly
outclassed despite Lilith's skillful flying.

"What... oh, damn, you're right." A note of admiration in Arashi's
voice, as Lynch's MiG-57 screams in towards her at just a fraction short
of Mach 1 and she breaks into a diving turn, jinking across the line of
Lynch's fire to present the smallest, fastest target for the least
amount of time. Snapping the nose across in a 'hook' to fire after him
as he blasts through, she manages an extreme-range gun shot on his
retreating tail.

"Neat trick. Lilith tries to keep me busy. Lynch keeps slashing until he
kills me or someone runs out of fuel." Arashi comments.

Lilith had almost overshot Arashi after the hook, and the Valkyrie
punishes her for that mistake by turning easily inside her. Suddenly
Lilith is prey, not predator, once again flying only to survive. As
Arashi closes for the kill, the MiG streams vapour in a diving high-G
barrel roll.

Arashi grunts "Nice try..." as the Valkyrie follows the manoevre almost
effortlessly, variable-geometry wings sighing slightly as it bleeds
speed just slightly slower than the MiG while matching its flight path,
the Russian-built fighter drifting out in front -

"Psycho's coming in _fast!_" snaps MAX.

"I know-"

"Supersonic! On collision course!" MAX's synthetic voice is anxious but
Arashi refuses to break away even as she realizes just how much speed
Lynch has gained by following the dueling fighters down: he's closing in
at Mach 1.3, straight and fast on what looks like a ramming trajectory -

The Ares fighter, as if by itself, pulls into a savagely tight spiral
dive, short on airspeed and needing to generate angles to evade the
collision, and Lynch's MiG screams by: the Valkyrie rocks slightly in
the shocks from its Mach cone. As Arashi pulls back around to attack
Lilith again, she sees the twin spears of afterburner flame wink out.

"Psycho. Skosh fuel. Knock it off, knock it off." He sounds breathless;
happy; and regretful that the melee has to end. Lilith clicks her mike
twice also, throttling back to cruise power.

"Not bad for antiques." Arashi allows over the radio. "Remind me to
teach MAX how to play chicken some time. She's not yet very good at
fighting dirty."

"Then let's be sure to help her learn, while it's still only pretend."
purrs Lilith. It sounds like she's talking around her fangs, and you
idly wonder what shape she's taken in her cockpit at the moment.

"Play chicken...? Understood. Was my evasive action override wrong?"
MAX sounds vaguely puzzled.

Switching off the radio, Arashi replies, "Knowing Lynch...probably not.
If he was counting on you to dodge, and we didn't, we'd probably both be
confetti by now, so you did the right thing. What's the score?"

"Two possible short bursts on us, neither fatal. Probable gun hits on
both adversaries. Situation even when combat aborted. Given adversary
fuel limits, further combat would have been to our advantage."

"Maybe... they cover each other well." Arashi muses. "But if we can hold
those two in a two-on-one, we can conquer the world with even numbers.
Can't wait to see what they could do in real Valkyries."

The three aircraft return to their loose formation, on the way home.
+++++end download]<<<<<
-- Samuel O'Roarke <18:38:41/08-20-58>
Valkyrie Project Chief
Ares Special Projects

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Scouting
Date:	Sat, 25 Oct 1997 09:45:54 +0100

Message no. 3 *****PRIVATE: Weaver
>>>>>[The job is simple. I require a certain place of business - a club
in Tarislar called the Easy Eight - to be discreetly scouted, and its
operating patterns - deliveries, security, times when it's most and
least busy - recorded. Discretion is essential.

If you accept, this will automatically become available.

+++++include escrow credit transfer >>25% advance<<]<<<<<
-- Uncle Joe <09:45:14/10-25-58>

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Scouting
Date:	Mon, 3 Nov 1997 18:11:06 +0000

Message no. 4 *****INTERNAL: SIGANet
+++++routing via tacstation Aden-42
>>>>>[TO: Jason Lynch Archive

This is getting creepy. The gap between what intel's reporting and
what's on the ground is growing.

+++++begin video
The Scarab is following the road - not the wide, metalled main highway,
but a dusty track that must be hellish during the rains. Rounding a
curve, a small village is visible, a dozen or so buildings scattered
along the track. One decrepit UAZ jeep, its rear deck expanded with a
jury-rigged flatbed of timbers, is the only vehicle visible. The three
people visible look at the oncoming Scarab and flee into their huts, as
Lynch approaches.

"Not good." He says thoughtfully, as he parks next to the UAZ and climbs
out, retrieving his rifle. Passing the ancient jeep, he pauses to lean
in and check the ignition. Turning the key, the solenoid gives only a
weak click.

"Okay. Let's see what we can do." Turning back to the Scarab, he
extracts a pair of jumper cables, rapidly setting them up: the scout
vehicle's engine starts easily, and Lynch checks the connections
carefully (the UAZ's engine is dirty, but the Russian-built vehicle is
designed to survive far worse abuse than mere neglect) before turning
the ignition on.

The oil and generator lights glow, but the fuel gauge hardly moves: so
before he tries the starter, Lynch adds five gallons of diesel from one
of the jerrycans strapped to the Scarab's rear. Looking up, he sees
several faces in doorways and windows: they vanish when he waves.

The UAZ's engine turns over reluctantly at first, then faster, and then
begins to fire raggedly. Lynch pauses to ease the load on the battery,
letting it absorb current from the Scarab for the lifetime of one
cigarette, before cranking it again. This time, after a dozen
revolutions, the old diesel condescends to run under its own power:
three cylinders firing, then the fourth grumpily agrees to cut in.

Lynch turns back to the huts and gives a thumbs-up, then disconnects the
jumper cables. As he turns back from stowing them, he sees an old man
approaching. He's followed at a distance by a teenage girl armed with an
old but functional G3 rifle (twin to the weapon Lynch carries, except
his is a scoped and short-barrelled carbine version) who watches him
warily.

"Thank you, for helping us." The old man bows his head. "How may we
repay you?" The old man's Arabic is subtitled for those who don't speak
it.

"It was a small gift, no more. I would only ask to speak with you
awhile." Lynch replies, in the same language: he doesn't sound like a
native, but his command of the language is serviceable.

"Then come with me, and share what hospitality we can offer." The
elderly man indicates his home. "I am Hassan bin Kimur."

"Jason Lynch. Could no-one else repair your vehicle?"

"It was Nasim's vehicle, and he kept it running. But he follows Akbar
and his Jihad now." The old man grimaces and the girl - still keeping
the rifle not-quite-aimed at Lynch - spits. "He would have brought it to
be part of Akbar's force, but they did not want an old farm truck, so
they took the fuel and left it." He holds the door and Lynch steps
inside.

The house is what you'd expect from villagers who scratch a livelihood
from this hard land. No electricity, no running water. Light, in the
daytime, is the window: at night it's oil lamps. The furnishings are
few, and mostly old: wood is rare here, and fuel for the fire is dried
animal dung.

At a gesture from the man, the young woman slings the rifle and moves
off, and returns with two pieces of unleavened bread and two earthenware
beakers of water, which she hands to the two men as they sit.

"Blessings upon this house and my hosts." Lynch says formally, before
taking a bite of the bread and washing it down with the water. The old
man, too, eats and drinks a little before he speaks.

"So, you are not with Akbar. You wish to learn of him?"

"Please."

The old man finishes his water. "They are the scum of the earth. Akbar
takes the Prophet's teachings and warps them to suit his own ends. His
men are mere bandits, yet now with their new weapons they crow and caper
as if they were trained soldiers like yourself."

"You flatter me."

"I was a soldier once. I see in your face, in your bearing, in the way
you carry your rifle, that you have stared into the face of battle many
times. You are a warrior." The old man nods.

"New weapons. What does that mean?"

"Rifles. Rocket launchers. Vehicles. Many, many weapons, more even than
the Government troops."

This obviously gives Lynch pause. "This far south?"

"For weeks now. Their noise shakes the valleys sometimes."

There is a long pause.

"Local support. How is he liked around here?"

"He is not. He draws the young men from their homes with his twisted
gospel and promises of war and loot and plunder: and when they return,
they do so to steal and to rape. In Akbar's world, women are chattels to
be used at will. Yasmina had to live in the hills for two weeks, after
Nazim returned and claimed her. She slashed his face and escaped. Others
were less fortunate. They took many of the sheep and the goats, all the
food they could find, and anything else that took their fancy. Winter
will be hard for us now. If Akbar falls, many will bless you."

Lynch nods, calmly. "I see. We will bear that in mind."

The old man sighs. "I do not like to beg, but we must. Could you, or
your comrades at the mines, sell us some fuel? We can repay you, but not
for some weeks: now the truck is running we can trade again, but to do
so we must have fuel."
+++++end video

That's the key part.

Remember to pass that request on when I get back to the camp. We shoud
be able to spare some JP-8.

Worrying. Very worrying. I've got tank tracks, signs of military
presence, locals telling me these Yemeni Jihad cowboys are in the area.
Yet NRO have missed it completely.

Fits what we got from Monolith, though: they know the pass schedule for
the Keyhole birds and make sure they're not under one.

No chance of reangling a satellite, let alone changing an orbit. Not
until something blows up, meaning "too late". Okay, a few more days of
scouting, see what I can turn up now I know what I'm looking for.

This worries me.]<<<<<
-- 1Lt J R W Lynch <17:59:42/11-03-58>
Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency

From:	Justin Fang <justinf@****.CALTECH.EDU>
Subject:	Re: Scouting
Date:	Fri, 24 Jul 1998 22:28:15 -0700

Message no. 5 *****PRIVATE: Easy
>>>>>[I won't need the guards after all. I still don't know what the
concrete
guys are up to, but it looks like you may be able to ask them yourself.

The cement trucks belong to a construction company owned by a guy named Luigi
Bartolo. Sound familiar? Their escorts are a random mix of Bartolo's guys,
Serenity Security, and assorted gangers.

Simple, stress-free job, call it >>small sum<<.]<<<<<
-- Sam-I-Am <22:19:50/07-24-59>

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