lucky dragon #5

Take a fission bomb. (This is, fortunately, the hardest part.) Salt it – bolting cobalt jackets to the casing is one of the simplest and best ways – and, for preference, blow it somewhere nice and high up.* No matter where you set it up, though, you will kill a lot of people, due partly to the jackets producing years of massively radioactive fallout, and partly due to the fact you’ve just set off a goddamn fission bomb.

This is a scary device.

Take a briefcase full of TNT or some other conventional explosive. Pack some isotopes around it, the meanest, most radioactive shit you can obtain. (This is even more difficult than it sounds.) Leave it in the middle of a busy city; blow it when it’s surrounded by people, if you can, because blast aside, you will kill nobody.

This is a device capable of causing scares.

To be precise, this is a crappy, worthless weapon, capable of causing scares when gossip-mongering rags know what sells to gullible tech-illiterates who assume that anything involving “nuclear material” will cause a mushroom cloud and a sea of glass, rather than an expensive cleanup and a very mildly elevated cancer risk.

A “dirty bomb” is not a nuclear weapon. It is barely even a conventional weapon. It is a car bomb with media-supplemented delusions of grandeur. Even the most ferocious radioactive material you can put in one is incapable of doing serious damage to anyone or anything in the short time between detonation and mass evacuation, and it is not capable of causing any kind of nuclear reaction. It’s a spectacularly stupid, expensive and ineffectual way of poisoning people, worse than just dumping a wheelbarrow of caesium into the reservoir and watching it fizz. If you really seriously want to kill people, probably the cheapest, easiest and most effective way is a crate of AKs and a few men who can fire from the shoulder and aren’t afraid to die.

The world had pretty much forgotten about Osama bin Laden until today. His death changes precisely nothing; he could have died ten years ago and it would have made no difference whatsoever. This time around, can we have our bomb scares with a little less bullshit?

* Hell, if you can get it up a decent way in the sky you can get an EMP out of it and cause the ever-more-cliched, ever-more-potentially-crippling internetpocalypse in addition to your straight fission bomb and cobalt-salted storm of ions – though if you have both nuclear weapons and that sort of delivery system, why is this even a question, and why are you reading my blog?

we both go down together

(I have an awful lot of “something learned” posts built up over the last few months; the drafts all sit together in neat rows in my dropbox, forgotten or badly timed. Releasing them all at once would turn this blog into Nothing But Warwank, which is imperfectly desirable. But they’re going to come out some day.)

Nukes were It, right? After their invention, there couldn’t really be war between nuclear-armed nations; armies were obsolete and irrelevant, war was a matter of brinkmanship, with the end of mankind a scatter of warheads a way.

Well, obviously untrue in detail, but something that I hadn’t thought about came up in our Op Art lecture about nuclear strategy: how, for a while – possibly the most dangerous while the world had seen – nuclear weapons weren’t the be-all and end-all, and thus stood a much more terrifying chance of actually being used. (Asked Peter Gray, who really knows this topic, about this, and he confirmed it.)

In the early Cold War days, before both sides had an arsenal that could murder the planet (and the delivery systems to effectively use it), they were really just another weapon; generals’ bluntest instruments, rather than politicians’ final sanction. Another bomb, just one that could light up entire cities. The French honestly considered using nukes at Dien Bien Phu but decided against it because of how it would have fucked everything up forever; now, because they didn’t, we study the Vietnam War, rather than the French Indochina War, and the number of atomics used in anger stands at a mere two too many.

And to counter the Warsaw Pact’s numberless armies, and the deep-battle capability that unravelled the Japanese Empire in eleven days flat, NATO put nuclear warheads in damn near everything: nuclear artillery shells, nuclear landmines, nuclear depth charges, nuclear air-to-air rockets, shoulder-fired recoilless guns with nuclear warheads. Which, looking back, was utterly insane: but the concept of a “limited nuclear exchange,” whose limitations would almost certainly have been purely technical, somehow prevailed in the minds of planners.

Then came ICBMs and MIRVed-up citykillers by the thousands, and mutually assured annihilation. And in a nuclear total war, if you have the capability, everything is a target. Everything. Military, infrastructure, communications, agriculture, population. And that was so utterly, unconscionably insane that it made the world almost safe. For the first time ever, the idea that this weapon would be so horrific that nobody would dare use it – which builders of better weapons have been saying, wrongly, more or less since day one – was true.

But they weren’t the instant game-changer it’s too easy to believe. (For all the Soviet-downplaying postwar press, it wasn’t even the atomics which brought Japan down – look up Operation August Storm sometime.) For a few dark years, the game was the same; just got more fierce.

there are power lines in our bloodlines

Let me just set the record straight: The Dreyse needle gun was a bad weapon.

Yes, it introduced quick breech-loading fire to the battlefield and was one of the most important early steps in the development of bolt actions. Yes, the Prussians used it to very impressive effect against the Austrians in ’66, especially at Königgrätz. But it was a fatally flawed gun.

The needle system that gave it its name, based on having a primer inside the cartridge rather at one end (that was struck by a needle penetrating the cartridge) was inherently incredibly flimsy, and the needle broke all the time; the muzzle velocity (and thus range) was miserably bad; the obturation seal on the bolt was flawed, so that after a few rounds it spat hot gas into the the face of the user and set him firing from the hip, turning a nineteenth-century rifleman with a bolt-action masterpiece of fine engineering and mass production into a blindly flailing seventeenth-century musketeer.

It was a Bad Gun, never mind that it could briefly, occasionally do what nobody else could, and that such a device got standardised knowing its massive flaws says things that aren’t really surprising about how much the Prussians really cared for their men. The Chassepot left it, deservedly, in the dust.

None of you will ever have heard of the Dreyse needle rifle, but I need to get this off my chest. Now, back to Ian Hogg’s superbly written illustrated history of ammunition (aka The Big Book of Wargasms.)