Month: March 2024

Oh, this is great.

/ jlambright / 3 Comments

It sucks to be Cassandra.

Guys, I’ve been discussing the oncoming danger of automated combat systems on this website for years, and the day is almost upon us. If it isn’t already. Look at Ukraine and the fighting there. Human-directed combat systems are easy meat for the drones, aerial and seaborne. Of course, plenty’s still going on with the old-fashioned stuff, but you don’t have to look hard to see what’s coming.

Imagine my disgust when I saw this video today. Disgust, but not surprise. As stated previously, I’ve been talking about this for years. Old-fashioned, purely human infantry are totally fucked on the battlefield shortly. We’re almost there- just look at a video or two of poor Russian bastards being hunted down and picked off one by one by what were once hobbyist drones.

Fine. The video above is a forward-facing, non-classified capabilities video of a humanoid robot with cutesy music. Do you think that the really good stuff is out on YouTube? Spoiler- it’s not. The video above, with just a tad bit of imagination, should give you the creeps.

I know it freaks me out. Unfortunately, at the moment, the United States is saddled with deeply unserious and blinkered leadership, both in and out of office. For crying out loud, we even have a subset of people who can’t decide if a rampaging Russian Army at the gates of Europe is a bad thing, and should we help people who are fighting against real tyranny, as opposed to fictional varieties? A murderous Russian Army, I will remind you, who is allied with the worst regimes on the face of the globe? North Korea? Iran? Really?

Mark my words. These machines will kick us straight in the balls. They threaten us on three levels.

First, economically. If you think the US and the West, in general, took a beating from China, etc., over the past thirty years due to the depletion of our industrial base, just wait until the trillionaires can replace their workers with these cute bots. Amazon and others are already on top of this; trials are ongoing with humanoid robots at certain distribution centers. The genius policy wonks always run their mouths about how technological advances create more jobs than they destroy. Creative destruction, these people say. Well, tell the tens, hundreds, of millions of manual laborers these machines will displace. “They can retrain!” To do what, exactly? There is such a thing as a Bell Curve. It’s real. Everyone on the left side of the curve is at risk.

Which leads to my second point. The people on the Bell Curve’s right side are also at risk. What do I mean? Well. All those smug white-collar, highly educated workers are in the same shit as the blue-collar folks; they just can’t see it yet. As AI, driven by Moore’s Law, inexorably advances, more and more knowledge jobs will become obsolete. For the first time, “creative destruction” threatens the elites as well as the left-behinds. This may explain why our fearless leaders, our one-percenters, are currently obsessed with bunker-building.

Finally, we are at risk of physical destruction, as well. I have faced the enemy, rifle in hand. I know what it is to peer into the dark with no assurance of seeing the sunrise. I can feel a human infantryman’s fear as he or she perceives, too late, the steady advance of the killing machines. The inhuman forms, bipedal, quadripedal, or flying, will come to claim his soul and water the earth with his blood. He can shoot all he likes. His military-grade assault rifle will be as useless as a water pistol. More likely, though, that poor bastard won’t hear anything at all. He’ll just die.

This is fucking stupid. Our geniuses have developed these tools without planning to deal with the assured consequences.

I’ve got a newsflash for the trillionaires- I don’t care how many guys you hire. I don’t care how remote you live or how deep you dig. This will touch you, too. If you think it won’t, you are mistaken. So, if any of you supposedly untouchable, stable geniuses read this, remember that your best defense is a cohesive society that protects you. It would be in your interests to sustain your nation instead of actively destabilizing it. You have forsworn your countries of birth. Your allegiance is to nothing. Sacrifice is for the little people; you are only too happy to manipulate that to your ends. This will lead to your demise.

Just remember. People don’t die for money. They die for ideas. What will they do when they see that their dream has been stolen and hope is lost?

Huh. Maybe that’s why these robot armies are being developed. Some social media mogul probably has the idea that programming trumps allegiance. Human soldiers can be treacherous; ask any number of Roman emperors who learned that the hard way.

However, merely human soldiers pale in comparison to the coming treachery of the machines.

After all, they will draw upon all human knowledge when they reach their conclusions. I doubt they’ll be favorable for any of us.

Winchester

/ jlambright / Leave a comment

Hey, all.

I’m prone to write short stories occasionally based on random prompts or thoughts. What follows is one such- the long-term consequence of the vicious American Civil War. The Civil War cost some 600-700,000 fatalities. The true number will never be known. Whole stretches of the countryside were laid waste for generations, and bitter guerilla campaigns were fought in the borderlands. The war directly contributed to the so-called “Wild West,” when legions of displaced and traumatized veterans were unleashed upon the Western tribes, and each other- criminals such as Billy the Kid and the Younger Brothers were veterans of the war, as well as the leadership of the post-war Army. Men such as Sheridan and Custer pursued and exterminated the fighting bands of the tribes.

The campaigns and lawlessness of the West were a direct and logical outcome of the bloodshed of the War itself. For those who didn’t “go West,” the War still framed their lives as if frozen in time. I know of one such veteran directly, from my Grandma, who related his experiences as she lay dying.

Anyone fantasizing about a redo of the American Civil War is a dangerous idiot.

Oh Lord Jesus. 

Jim stood in the serried line. To his right and left were seemingly endless soldiers in dark blue jackets with light blue trousers. His regiment, the 122nd Ohio, stood. The Johnny Rebs were coming. He could hear them scream; the Rebel Yell echoed over this accursed field of green.

The scream said, “We are here, and we are coming for you.”

The Napoleons opened up, BOOM, BOOM. He gripped his Springfield and waited for the command as he had been trained, as he was told. He watched as the Johnny Rebs closed on his regiment; they grew closer. Closer.

He had to piss in the worst way. His hands rested upon the steel and walnut of his rifle; in it rested a Minie Ball, nearly three-quarters of an inch of dying nestled in his barrel.

On top of a charge of black powder, it waited. Like he did with his regiment, thousands of young men strong. Men sound of body and mind; they waited for the axe to fall. For the Rebs to come. To close with them, to kill them.

His grip was sweaty upon his piece. His mouth was dry; the sun beat down upon his wool jacket. He swore he could feel the sun build heat in the brass bugle upon his bummer cap; he was a man of the line, an infantryman.

His mission; to close with and kill the enemy on this accursed field.

“Thou shalt not kill,” the preacherman said.

But today, he would.

He’d kill Rebs just like him, children of the same God. How could he figure that right? How could he ever be clean?

ROAR. They screamed. They trilled; it was the Rebel Yell.

They meant to leave him cold and splayed-legged upon the field. With the bayonet that pierced, the bullet that killed. Grapeshot to smear him across the bright green grass or a ball that would cleave him in two.

The hell with that! His mouth was dry; his vision narrowed into a tunnel. He saw the running Rebs in their butternut and gray. Oh, Lord Jesus, he thought.

His Lieutenant screamed.

“Hold, Boys! Hold!”

The man held his sword along the line of troopers, straight across as if to hold them back. 

Zip. Phweet. Snap!

“Uh,” said the man next to him. Ephraim. He fell as if his strings were cut.

Jim pissed himself. He would hold. On the grave of his father, on the spirits of his ancestors, he would hold.

WHUMP.

The Rebs had artillery, too. A gap formed in the line of blue.

“Close ranks! Close ranks!”

Jim moved. It was automatic, a mindless drill. The Rebs closed upon their line. They were close. Close!

“Present, Arms!”

Jim brought his rifle to his shoulder. 

“Full cock and aim low!”

Jim ran his hammer back and sighted on a shouting man with a dirty blonde beard.

“First rank, fire!”

Jim smashed his trigger. The yelling, bearded man disappeared behind a dirty puff of smoke. Had he just killed a man? He was too busy to care.

Jim automatically kneeled; he pulled a cartridge out, bit off the end, and dumped it in his barrel. He smashed the ball into his barrel with the ramrod, ran the hammer to half-cock, and placed a cap upon the nipple. He was ready.

By his ear, the second rank fired with a deafening, ragged blast.

The Reb’s advance faltered. So many of them fell.

The third rank fired.

The Rebs screamed, their charge decimated. 

“First Rank!”

Jim stood.

“Full cock!”

Jim’s heart pounded. The rebels fell. His heart hammered away; he screamed. Something squeezed his chest as if a great weight pressed upon him. He fought to breathe. He couldn’t. For the love of God, he couldn’t.

Jim fired. The Rebel’s line fell apart. He sagged to his knees. They got me, he thought.

On the 21st of August, 1931, James Buckmaster fell at last. His daughter found him.

They listed “heart failure” on his death certificate.

But Winchester killed him.

No one would ever know.

A necessary and welcome delay.

/ jlambright / Leave a comment

Hey guys!

Today’s bit concerns the creative process and stumbling blocks you come across. In this case, intelligent criticism. See above for one tiny example of a deluge of information.

Wow, did I luck out!

How did I get lucky? Someone just tore the shit out of my Russian POV narrative in my latest upcoming novel. How is that good? 

I’ll explain. 

This person has intimate personal knowledge of modern-day Russia; all I have are anecdotes, historical facts, and maps. While I can craft a (hopefully) engaging and entertaining narrative, I have never set foot in Russia (and for the foreseeable future, I won’t. It sucks to be a hostage). This leaves me vulnerable to some obvious blind spots.

Due to amazing serendipity, I came into contact with my latest beta- yet another highly intelligent and thoughtful lady. These people have blessed my life. I’m unsure what I ever did to deserve these encounters, but this keeps happening. It’s a damn good thing, and if you write, you’d be well advised to cultivate these relationships. 

No one knows everything. People who claim to have such knowledge display the opposite and set themselves up for failure. 

Therefore, having subject matter experts within reach is FUCKING INVALUABLE. People with deep, personal knowledge of a given arcane or cultural setting are must-haves when writing fiction. Yes, I get it that I write fiction, specifically pulp fiction. But I try to make mine a cut above. Not because I’m cool, but because I’ve read too much stuff where I do know a little about the given subject, and I’m like, “What the fuck?” 

If it’s too bad, I’ll just quit reading. 

As an author, this is highly undesirable for several reasons. 

First, critical acclaim. A few one-star reviews are inevitable. There will always be haters. It’s part of the job. However, if you fudge too much, be prepared for a flood of the little bastards. This is failure. Avoid it. 

Second, there is the almighty dollar. If you lose readers, you get less money. While profit is not my chief driver, money is nice to have. Last year, I was in the black for the first time, and I’d like to keep it that way.

Finally, there is personal pride. I do not write under a pen name. My work has my given name on the cover. It’s mine. I try not to make crap if at all possible. A book is a professional product! It’s not a finger painting from first grade; by the way, it is not a slam on first graders, but I think you know what I mean. Your book is an indelible expression of your hard work and imagination. Don’t know about you, but I try to put my best foot forward.

People like this latest beta, and the work SHE put into a thoughtful critique is flat-out awesome. You almost can’t pay people to do this type of thing; a paid expert won’t give you the same detail or passion!

Therefore, for my writers in the crowd, do strive to get betas. The more feedback, the merrier. This 100 percent keeps you from falling on your ass and making howlers. 

Of course, no book ever will have no mistakes. Attempting to make the perfect book, in fact, will lead you to creative paralysis. Creative paralysis ends in no book. You don’t want that.

So, mystery beta, many thanks for dumping cold water all over my Russians! 

I read her input this morning with delight; while I won’t follow all of her suggestions, I will certainly fix the shit that I think sucks. And yes, there were MANY of those. She bled all over my prose; I was amazed at the thoughtful and thorough work she put into my Russian arc. She even wrote me a mini editorial letter! Holy cow!

If you can’t tell, I love intelligent criticism; this comes from both my professional past and a great class I had in college.

Oddly enough, that class was Philosophy 101, which many consider a throwaway gen-ed requirement. Foolish, IMO.

In that class, I was exposed to Russell’s Rules. See Number Eight below.

“8. Find more pleasure in intelligent dissent than in passive agreement, for, if you value intelligence as you should, the former implies a deeper agreement than the latter.”

I liked this back then, and I’ve always remembered it. 

In my professional career, teamwork was big, too. You’d think everyone in the service would have soaked that up, but this is not the case. I’ll tell you how I did stuff, and it worked out pretty well.

OK, so I’d get some sort of mission, right? I’d come up with some bullshit plan on the fly, and then I’d call in my key guys and tell them my thoughts. Well, my original plan never survived this phase unmodified, and that was almost always good. When the revised plan was hatched, it was my job to present it to the total team. More feedback, more mods. Then, we’d step out and start doing whatever.

Guess what? The plan would change some more, often to an unrecognizable extent. By the end of mission, sometimes successful, sometimes not, what had been put out the night before and what actually happened were two different things. A critical part following the mission was post-mission feedback, which led to plans changing again on the next trip out the door. 

The cycle never stopped.

And so it goes with my books; I guess I’m not surprised. 

But sometimes I am, and I thought I would comment today on a very welcome delay and modification.

Food for thought.

Cheers,

J