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Cancer Grand Master

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

Think again about successful non-rotating spherical projectile as in questions (1) through (3). The launched projectile strikes the top of a signboard and sticks to it. (The impact point is at the same height as the launch point; there's a slight slope.)

 

The signboard is 1 m tall and has a mass of 0.6 kg. (The moment of inertia of a rectangular slab like the signboard rotating around it's bottom edge is I = 1/3 m a^2 where m is the mass and a is the height of the slab.)

 

Assume the force profile of the impact is rectangular -- that is, the force is constant for the duration of the impact. The duration of the impact is set by the velocity of the projectile (you should have got this in problem (1)) and the projectile diameter of 0.04 m.

 

The signboard is on a base 0.1 wide. The base does not contribute to the inertia of the signboard.

 

Does the impact knock the sign over?

 

(20 points; show all your work)

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Susano Grand Master

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

Think again about successful non-rotating spherical projectile as in questions (1) through (3). The launched projectile strikes the top of a signboard and sticks to it. (The impact point is at the same height as the launch point; there's a slight slope.)

 

The signboard is 1 m tall and has a mass of 0.6 kg. (The moment of inertia of a rectangular slab like the signboard rotating around it's bottom edge is I = 1/3 m a^2 where m is the mass and a is the height of the slab.)

 

Assume the force profile of the impact is rectangular -- that is, the force is constant for the duration of the impact. The duration of the impact is set by the velocity of the projectile (you should have got this in problem (1)) and the projectile diameter of 0.04 m.

 

The signboard is on a base 0.1 wide. The base does not contribute to the inertia of the signboard.

 

Does the impact knock the sign over?

 

(20 points; show all your work)

 

Dunno... how many points of Knockback Resistance does the sign have, and is the projectile a Normal Attack or Killing?

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Cancer Grand Master

Cancer

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

The rest of that exam...

============

A slingshot can be modeled as a single spring used to throw projectiles.

 

Assume a large slingshot can throw a projectile of mass 0.3 kg 60 meters when it is launched at an angle of 20 degrees above the horizontal.

 

1. How much energy is stored in this slingshot just prior to releasing the projectile? (10 points)

 

2. The spring begins with a length of 1.8 m and is pulled to a length of 5.5 m while getting ready to launch. What is the spring constant of this spring? What tension is in the spring? (10 points)

 

3. If the spring is a solid cylinder with a diameter of 1 cm, what is Young's modulus for the spring material? (10 points)

 

 

Suppose that at the instant of launch the projectile (initially a solid sphere) breaks into two equal pieces of 0.15 kg connected by a thin, negligible-mass rod 0.10 m long. In this process, half the kinetic energy of the projectile is transformed into rotational kinetic energy as the "dumbbell" starts spinning around its center.

 

4. With what angular velocity does the "dumbbell" projectile rotate? (10 points)

 

5. How far from the launch point does the "dumbbell" projectile land? (10 points)

==================

So to answer your question, the projectile does normal damage (in fact, the projectile is a water balloon and I'd look at ways of reducing the BODY damage done), the sign has not bought any extra knockback resistance, so it's set by the sign's BODY rating. (It hasn't bought any special defenses at all.)

 

EDIT: BTW, that entire problem is taken from real-life experience from my double life as an undergrad when by night I was boss and artificer for the Midnight Water Balloon Terrorists on campus.

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Susano Grand Master

Susano

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

So to answer your question, the projectile does normal damage (in fact, the projectile is a water balloon and I'd look at ways of reducing the BODY damage done), the sign has not bought any extra knockback resistance, so it's set by the sign's BODY rating. (It hasn't bought any special defenses at all.)

 

I can't see a water balloon doing more than 6d6, and since the average on the 2d6 Knockback dice is 7, I say the sign goes less than 1 meter after impact. However, this value may be 3+ meters if the sign is half human size.

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MisterVimes Mentor

MisterVimes

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

Ingredients

 

* 1 quart chicken broth

* 2 ounces dried mushrooms

* 1 cup chopped onion

* 1 cup chopped celery

* 1 cup chopped green pepper

* 1 tablespoon vegetable oil

* 1 tablespoon kosher salt

* 3 cups Challah bread, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (from approximately 4 to 5 slices)

* 4 ounces unsweetened dried cherries, approximately 1 cup

* 2 ounces chopped pecans, approximately 1/2 cup

* 2 whole eggs, beaten

* 2 teaspoons dried rubbed sage

* 2 teaspoons dried parsley

* 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

 

Directions

 

Heat the chicken broth in the microwave in a large microwave-proof container. Place mushrooms in a glass bowl and pour heated broth over them. Cover and allow to sit for 35 minutes.

 

In a large mixing bowl toss the onion, celery, and green pepper with the oil and salt. Place the vegetables on a sheet pan and roast for 35 minutes. During the last 10 minutes of cooking, spread the cubed bread over the vegetables, return to the oven, and continue cooking.

 

Drain mushrooms, reserving 1 cup of liquid. Chop the mushrooms and place in a large microwave-proof bowl with the vegetables and bread, reserved chicken stock, cherries, pecans, eggs, sage, parsley and black pepper. Stir well in order to break up pieces of bread. Use your hands to combine, if necessary. Heat the stuffing in a microwave on high power for 6 minutes.

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Ragitsu Grand Master

Ragitsu

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Re: Ctrl+V

 

We spent four days here scouting around and watching the roads. Nothing much happened. We had a minor fight break out over something that was probably bull****. James decked this guy and Kenny threatened to shoot him. I was out watching the road. Apparently it was resolved with few ill feelings. Little else went on, really.

 

A pair of Combine APCs go up and down the road every night around 6 PM. Twilight. They usually keep about ten minutes between themselves. I don't know what they are doing, but they are consistent and hence a target. Last night I went out with James and took a look at Bridge Point itself - there are a lot "harder" targets, but this is still tough. We've got about thirty Combine personnel there, two APCs in addition to the pair that patrol the road, and two mounted guns. We couldn't take the men alone, much less the men with anything else. And with that many, they could easily call in a gunship. Fighting the combine is a tricky business. Their suits have life monitors and radios built in - the controllers can pinpoint exactly where a metrocop or soldier dies thanks to GPS tracking. It's not even a matter of killing them quickly so they cannot radio for backup - every time you kill one, you run a risk. A huge risk. If enough go offline in a designated area, they send a helicopter or gunship. Or a strider. Very bad. To kill is to be marked. Thank the Good Lord that the Combine haven't figured out infrared imaging. You can run. And sometimes, you can hide.

 

Tonight we are going to detonate two IEDs and with any luck, kill. We will place our IEDs on the road, with about a hundred yards between the two. When the first APC gets near the second, we'll detonate it and hopefully disable the APC before it chews us up with its gun. Hopefully, the second IED will disable the second APC (or the second APC will get close enough for it to do any damage). Then we will run. We have a rendezvous point five miles from the road, and we've already moved our camp. Good thing we're all in shape, although we are somewhat malnourished. It's hard to go from eating multivitamins and a balanced diet to the flesh of aliens and whatever slop we can come up with. Some of us wither, some of us simply lose our fat reserves, and a select few thrive on it. I am not one of those few, sadly.

 

We have a bare minimum of equipment. Weapons, extra ammunition, some food, warlike things. The witching hour is approaching. The sun is low in the sky, casting a pale light over the Ukrainian waste that reminds me of dreams I had as a child, dreams of being alone out in the fields and forests with a sun in the sky that gives you no warmth. It just sits there, illuminating the environment. Everything is washed out. The light is diffused, almost as if there was cloud cover, but there isn't. That's a sign of pollution. There's something bad in the air. It's muggy, hazy, thick. Some people say the Combine do it. Others say it's psychological. I don't know what to think, because I don't have anything but guesses. What do the Combine want, anyway?

 

As far as I know, they aren't mining. They process us into stalkers, yes. They have militarized some of our populace, yes. But why are we worth turning into an army? What makes us better than those Striders? It is entirely inconceivable to me that they need us for their armies. I'd say their militarization of some of their species is psychological. It's not a robot alien cyborg that's oppressing us, but a human - albeit a human in a funny suit. I don't know. Maybe it's something else.

 

The time approaches.

 

 

 

10/2/2014, 1:22 AM

 

We did it.

 

The group went silent as a tomb under the twilight sky. The throb of the Combine APC's engines was heard, quite faintly at first. The throb turned into a whine as it picked up speed. We had set up the IED at a curve in the road. There was a pothole that we dug deeper, and covered with a thin layer of dirt. The gods of damaged roadways were with us. It was directly in the middle. The 105mm shell would do plenty of damage to a vehicle on either side of the road. We had concealed a wire over to my position on the cliff. When I touched the lead to the battery, the current would be completed and my device would explode instantly. I hoped.

 

The APC was going a good forty miles an hour or so when it came into view. Everyone inhaled and held their breath. People tensed. Some covered their ears. I smiled. They didn't slow for the corner. I fired off the IED.

 

It was a satisfying explosion. The instant before you set off a bomb, you can see it in your mind. You can see the explosion, tearing through metal and plastic and sending shrapnel into flesh and tearing people apart. It's sexual. It's fulfilling. To see your work come together and tear apart something is a wonderful feeling. When these people you tear apart represent something that you are diametrically opposed to, it's just that much better. It's better than shooting someone, and almost as good as killing with your hands. It's a feeling of power, you know. All you did was wire something up, dig a hole, bury it, and press a button. Lives are lost. Lives of your enemies. It's good, and right. It's not like those shitheads we fought in the old wars. They were fighting a people, not an oppressor. Ours is a war of absolutes. The Combine are an absolute evil. There is no good in them. Their intentions are unquestionable, even if the whys and wherefores are unknown. They are here to subject us to slavery. Wallace Breen is the head of a body of traitors. These traitors are worse than the people who betray their countries, ideals, or even their own families. These people have betrayed their very race. Not only have they betrayed us, they actively help keep us down. They have committed the worst evil. They are beyond redemption. Race, politics, none of that matters now. You're for us, or against us. If you're against us, I, and any other member of the Resistance, will kill you. And we'll enjoy it. Not like the fuckheads in the old wars enjoyed it. That was perverse. It was an exercise in senseless death. I enjoyed killing them. And I enjoyed killing those Combine.

 

Because they were dead. When the smoke and dust cleared, we couldn't find the APC. A smouldering crater was what remained of my IED. Trees near the road had been scoured by shrapnel. We quickly ascertained what had happened to the APC, and I got visual confirmation - the explosion had propelled it violently to the right, and that, combined with the speed of the vehicle, had sent it over the edge. They would drown. A fitting end. Roughly fifty feet of the cold, unforgiving embalming fluid of the Black Sea would seal their doom.

 

I ran back up the hill. People were murmuring softly, smiles for all. Our first kill. And not only was it a kill, it was a spectacular kill, on a tough target. May God be as merciful to us again for the second APC.

 

It was moving much more slowly. Doubtless, the destruction of the first APC had reached the Combine in some form or another. It stopped about a hundred feet from my first IED and disembarked six Combine. The sun was nearly gone. The witching hour was here.

 

Kenny told everyone to hold their fire in a harsh whisper. The troops moved forward alone, and peeked around the bend. This was going to be hard. The destruction of the APC was 100% necessary, or else it would drive us down and cut us to shreds. Kenny quickly thought of something, the same thing I did, and took two men with him down the other side of the bluff. I knew what he was going to do. It was dangerous, but necessary. By opening fire on the Combine that had rounded the corner and were now inspecting the crater left by my explosive device, they would likely coax the APC around the corner - and into my explosives.

 

And it worked. Kenny's distinctive sounding Kalashnikov was the source of the first shot. Or more of, burst. Kenny had an older model, but years of trigger discipline and firing weapons in general meant that he used full auto in a controllable fashion. The other weapons began to crack too, and one of the Combine went down, thrashing and probably screaming into his mic. The APC gunned the engine and moved forward. They had fallen for our ploy. I didn't spend much time thinking of my handiwork. I wanted to get some shooting time in.

 

My second device exploded, and it didn't have the spectacular effect of sending the vehicle off the edge. Instead, it enveloped the APC in a cloud of debris, smoke, and flame. I guess the other shell was in worse shape than this one, because this... this was beautiful. It was devastating. It's a testament to the Combine that the APC didn't disintegrate. It stopped moving though, after tumbling for a few hundred feet. We could deal with anything in there later.

 

I dropped the fuse mechanism and picked up my M91/30 PU.

 

The sound of the explosion and the sight of their APC flying past their heads had given the five remaining Combine up front a start. They had taken cover on the side of the road behind a large rockslide, three of them laying down suppressing fire against Kenny and his group, while two watched the other direction for whatever had destroyed their APC. The light was getting dim, but there was enough to see through a rifle scope. I flicked off my safety and began to descend the slope that led down away from the road. If I could get on the road itself, I could set up on a small rise and take out the Combine rather easily.

 

The two that were with me on the bluff I motioned to go down to Kenny and his group, and they complied. We'd have a withering hail of fire on one side, and myself and a sniper rifle on the other. I stayed low as I ran towards the rise. I could hear our bullets hissing over my head. I knew Kenny wouldn't be terribly concerned about fratricide, since I had taken tactics into my own hands, and it was my own risk to run. Not that great of a risk, really. Most of the bullets fired by my squad hit the ground far short of me. I crawled up over the top of the rise, and got a scope picture.

 

One of the two watching my direction had gone back to firing back at Kenny and his group. They were all armed with those wretched pulse rifles the Combine love to use. Blue muzzle flash lit them up, and gave me better silhouettes to target. You take three deep breaths, sort of hyperventilate a bit - then you take a breath and exhale halfway. This keeps you steady. Can't have the rifle wobbling. You take into account bullet drop and wind - there is no wind, and after enough years of shooting firearms, you sort of get a feel for bullet drop over range. I figured it was safe to assume the 7.62x54 round shot about as flat as a .30-06. Oh, for the bygone days of battle rifles.

 

I aimed roughly around the neck at one of the Combine. The drop would have hit him in the upper chest. He got hit by a bullet, and dropped like a stone. Fine by me. I leveled on the Combine watching my direction, waited for a half second, and fired.

 

I thank the Good Lord for that rifle. I thank Papa Stalin and the Communist war machine that made millions of them during World War II. I thank the people in the Gulags that put it together. I thank the Ukrainian officer in that armory for giving it to me, and the dead man without boots for leading me there. If detonating a bomb is the climactic end to hours of loving attention, firing a high-powered rifle is a "quickie". One that you can repeat many times over in a small period of time. The thing roars in the fast approaching light, a gout of flame shooting out of the end, and a good bit of recoil as the powder in the round is turned from potential energy into kinetic energy. I was rewarded with a sight I won't soon forget. He was lying there, on the ground, thrashing. His aqua vitae was draining out of him faster than if I had shot a barrel full of water. His tissues were horribly destroyed, if not directly by the bullet, than indirectly by the shockwave in his body the bullet had made. But this isn't a ballistics lesson.

 

I cycled the action, a smoking shell goes flying to my right. I regain the scope picture. Where there were four, there were now three. I made it two, but I jerked slightly and the bullet went awry and destroyed one of the Combine's shoulders. Another shell flew to my right. The next target I was going to shoot went down screaming and clutching at his neck. The last standing Combine surrendered.

 

My ears were ringing from the bark of the Mosin. The survivor walked around in front of the stone, into the open arms of my squad, and laid down his weapon and grenades. Mindful of an ambush, Kenny yelled something at me that was unintelligible, but I got the gist of it anyway. I stood up and started to run down towards the Combine. Kenny and his people swarmed up towards the survivor.

 

Blood. All over the place. And none of it was ours. Miraculously, we had not suffered one major injury. The gods of war were kind to us.

 

We met at the stones.

 

"Jack, take Liam and go take a look at that APC."

 

Liam was a big man, and he had a big gun. I nodded at him.

 

"That was awesome dude."

 

"I know, Liam."

 

I set my Mosin down, and ran over to the smouldering wreck of the APC. The door was blown half off, so after we set up in position, I gave it a good kick and opened it with the tip of my boot, raising my 1911 and flicking off the safety as I did.

 

No survivors. There was a hole in the bottom, a long, jagged crack, and the Combine who was sitting on it was liquidated. Almost literally. Small chunks of him lay around the crew compartment. The second Combine was a lot more recognizable, but still very very dead. Liam grinned. I cracked a smile. We ran back to the larger group. Time was still of the essence.

 

Everyone had surrounded the standing Combine and Kenny was interrogating him. Liam followed me around the rockslide. The ones that were thrashing had died, or were on their last legs. The one with a shattered soldier was still alive, bleeding like an animal. I smiled at Liam, and stomped on the Combine's neck. After a few repeated applications, his breathing turned from labored to coughing and wheezing. If he didn't bleed to death, he'd die in about five minutes from lack of oxygen to the brain. Most people don't think about the trachea. It's like a fuel line to your body. If you cut it, or damage it, the body runs out of fuel. There are so many ways to snuff out a human life. 95% of them work on human cyborgs.

 

We applied one of the other ways to the survivor. When we were done interrogating him, we tore off his helmet and beat his head into a chunky pate on the road with the buttstocks of our weapons. I feel guilty about this now; we wasted precious time. Even at this point, I still don't know if we have any pursuers. Anyway.

 

We gathered up the weapons. Grenades. Pulse rifles. The occasional sidearm. Grenades are something I've missed dearly over the past several years. I hate the pulse rifles. They are ugly, short, alien. Devastating, but they look like ass and handle that way. I only had about fifty pounds of gear on me for the run back. It was more or less the same of the others. We looked at the scene of carnage we had created for one last time, and I wished so dearly for a Polaroid camera. This is the sort of picture-perfect moment you want to save for a photo album to give to your grandchildren. Your enemies are dead, lying in pools of their own blood and the blood of their friends. Or at the bottom of the ocean. Or coating the inside of an armored personnel carrier. You have wreaked havoc, and you have left your mark on the world with the blood of your enemies. This is the way it should be. This is the way it is. We have annihilated a technologically superior force, and a numerically superior force. We are the victors, the men and women who stand on the necks of kings and empires. We feel like a million bucks.

 

Nothing else happened, really. We were long gone by the time the reinforcements showed up. They took a guess where we were heading anyway. Even now, I have no way of telling if there's an entire platoon of Combine surrounding us. But even if there is, that was worth it. I bloodied my hands once again, and I am happy.

 

Goodnight.

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