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Bayraktar TB2 Watch

strange how people fetishise weapons in song. the clash's 'tommy gun'

the irish brigade's sam song

my little armalite

and of course this ukrainian ditty
 
Interesting background on the Bayruktar, including stats, like they can stay in the air for up to 27 hours! :bigeyes:


​

 
cupid_stunt said:
Interesting background on the Bayruktar, including stats, like they can stay in the air for up to 27 hours! :bigeyes:


​

Click to expand...

I can't say I'm personally a fan of drones. I imagine one day we'll be worrying about them fucking us up as they do in Kurdistan.

Two things from that vid...

1. They can be equipped with thermobaric weapons - something only the baddies do :hmm:

2. Something that makes me warm to them slightly... At 3.25 on, you'll notice that the Ukrainian Navy made a really sweet choice to paint a big fucking seagull on the side.

Bayruktar. Coming to piss on your chips!
 
Dogsauce said:
Used by Turkey for violent repression of Kurdish separatists, so not always the good guys.
Click to expand...

Also by the Azeris against the Armenians while invading/retaking large bits of Nagorno Karabakh/Artsakh recently, when the Western media line tended towards the 'terrifyingly evil new weapons of 21st century war' line on them, and Russia was sometimes portrayed as the hardcore but basically good big brother stepping in to keep the other lot apart, protect civilians, guarantee humanitarian access corridor etc etc etc. How times change :(
 
Pickman's model said:
strange how people fetishise weapons in song. the clash's 'tommy gun'

the irish brigade's sam song

my little armalite

and of course this ukrainian ditty
Click to expand...

Been going on for years. Even the rhyme scheme of the drone one is similar to Mr Kipplings. And his version does acknowledge how we killed and stole our way to tuning a quarter of the world.

IN the days of lace-ruffles, perukes and brocade
Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despise –
An out-spoken, flinty-lipped, brazen-faced jade,
With a habit of looking men straight in the eyes –
At Blenheim and Ramillies fops would confess
They were pierced to the heart by the charms of Brown Bess.

Though her sight was not long and her weight was not small,
Yet her actions were winning, her language was clear;
And everyone bowed as she opened the ball
On the arm of some high-gaitered, grim grenadier.
Half Europe admitted the striking success
Of the dances and routs that were given by Brown Bess.

When ruffles were turned into stiff leather stocks,
And people wore pigtails instead of perukes,
Brown Bess never altered her iron-grey locks.
She knew she was valued for more than her looks.
"Oh, powder and patches was always my dress,
And I think am killing enough," said Brown Bess.

So she followed her red-coats, whatever they did,
From the heights of Quebec to the plains of Assaye,
From Gibraltar to Acre, Cape Town and Madrid,
And nothing about her was changed on the way;
(But most of the Empire which now we possess
Was won through those years by old-fashioned Brown Bess.)

In stubborn retreat or in stately advance,
From the Portugal coast to the cork-woods of Spain,
She had puzzled some excellent Marshals of France
Till none of them wanted to meet her again:
But later, near Brussels, Napoleon - no less –
Arranged for a Waterloo ball with Brown Bess.

She had danced till the dawn of that terrible day –
She danced till the dusk of more terrible night,
And before her linked squares his battalions gave way,
And her long fierce quadrilles put his lancers to flight:
And when his gilt carriage drove off in the press,
"I have danced my last dance for the world!" said Brown Bess.

If you go to Museums – there's one in Whitehall –
Where old weapons are shown with their names writ beneath,
You will find her, upstanding, her back to the wall,
As stiff as a ramrod, the flint in her teeth.
And if ever we English had reason to bless
Any arm save our mothers', that arm is Brown Bess!
 
A380 said:
Been going on for years. Even the rhyme scheme of the drone one is similar to Mr Kipplings. And his version does acknowledge how we killed and stole our way to tuning a quarter of the world.

IN the days of lace-ruffles, perukes and brocade
Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despise –
An out-spoken, flinty-lipped, brazen-faced jade,
With a habit of looking men straight in the eyes –
At Blenheim and Ramillies fops would confess
They were pierced to the heart by the charms of Brown Bess.

Though her sight was not long and her weight was not small,
Yet her actions were winning, her language was clear;
And everyone bowed as she opened the ball
On the arm of some high-gaitered, grim grenadier.
Half Europe admitted the striking success
Of the dances and routs that were given by Brown Bess.

When ruffles were turned into stiff leather stocks,
And people wore pigtails instead of perukes,
Brown Bess never altered her iron-grey locks.
She knew she was valued for more than her looks.
"Oh, powder and patches was always my dress,
And I think am killing enough," said Brown Bess.

So she followed her red-coats, whatever they did,
From the heights of Quebec to the plains of Assaye,
From Gibraltar to Acre, Cape Town and Madrid,
And nothing about her was changed on the way;
(But most of the Empire which now we possess
Was won through those years by old-fashioned Brown Bess.)

In stubborn retreat or in stately advance,
From the Portugal coast to the cork-woods of Spain,
She had puzzled some excellent Marshals of France
Till none of them wanted to meet her again:
But later, near Brussels, Napoleon - no less –
Arranged for a Waterloo ball with Brown Bess.

She had danced till the dawn of that terrible day –
She danced till the dusk of more terrible night,
And before her linked squares his battalions gave way,
And her long fierce quadrilles put his lancers to flight:
And when his gilt carriage drove off in the press,
"I have danced my last dance for the world!" said Brown Bess.

If you go to Museums – there's one in Whitehall –
Where old weapons are shown with their names writ beneath,
You will find her, upstanding, her back to the wall,
As stiff as a ramrod, the flint in her teeth.
And if ever we English had reason to bless
Any arm save our mothers', that arm is Brown Bess!
Click to expand...

I wonder is there a drill track somewhere singing the praises of the SA80?

Probly not.
 
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