I am sorry to be late on a glorious Saturday morning. There is a lot going on. The War might be tomorrow, according to the people in Washington. They seem to be releasing what we knew as “classified” information in an off-the-cuff manner intended to undermine the Russian narrative that somehow the Ukrainian government is conducting some sort of genocidal warfare against ethnic Russian residents of two cities on the eastern shore of the magnificent Dnepr River.

It is a new sort of campaign. On Fox, one of the sample of media sources we touch on at The Farm each morning to provide balance in the staged media, a helmeted and vested correspondent was marching with his back to the front, concentrating on his camera crew and displaying emotion.

We decided if the conflict is not going to start until our world spins around once more, we could do something else. “Are we going to plow through the past again?” asked Splash. “It all just seems weird now. We looked at stuff from the archives in 2004 that included some older material from the early 1980s. Things were sort of crazy then. But not as crazy as they are now.”

DeMille was tired and willing to let Splash rant for a while before imposing order on the Writer’s Section. Loma was awake. Melissa was busy doing something involving chocolate and some sort of rich aromatic batter in the kitchenette. Rocket clearly was ready to do something that involved motion.

“This could pass for one of the greatest shows on earth,” he said. “Hard to imagine that we have done with so much in this young year, and we have dug such a hole already. The Mainstream Media is a strange beast, isn’t it?”

There was some generalized nodding on that. Buck looked like he might start a tutorial to contextualize events that demonstrate change in the world we once knew and apparently no longer understand. He had a sheaf of papers in one hand. “I have collected some of the responses to yesterday’s outing on our regular unintended felonious activity. We are sort of like those insurrectionists up in Ottawa.”

“We share some of their cold today. And the National Weather Service people say we should avoid policing up all the branches and limbs that broke off the trees in the January storms and burning them.”

“It is still a mess out there. So why are the Weather Guessers warning us?”

“Well, out in the country, some people gather the debris together and burn it near where it fell. With expected winds in the afternoon, they predict some of the fires could start a conflagration that burns down the Bunk House.”

Splash looked alarmed. “Do they recommend we take stockpiles of consumable goods someplace else? Wouldn’t it be easier to drink it where it is?”

No one else seemed to be quite ready to worry about preserving the Belmont Farms stockpiles by transferring it from glass containers to our internal organs. Even lunch seemed a little problematic, what with the chocolaty smell emanating from the toaster oven.

Rocket looked a little wistful “We used to get hostile fire pay. Not that the hostiles actually paid us for it. Our own Government padded the paycheck for being in places that could blow up.”

“These days that seems to be just about anywhere,” said Melissa, stirring something dark and thick in one of the deep pottery bowls. “I can understand that. I have drawn hostile fire pay a couple times in a checkered career, usually inadvertently. Truth be told, my favorite episode was qualifying for the tax break while staying at the Zagreb Intercontinental Hotel. Nice place.”

“With a fire warning from the Experts at the Weather Service, that should qualify us for additional rations, you know? The Farm is in potential hazard conditions. Do we talk to HR or Legal first to request equity pay?”

DeMille smiled as the conversation became more animated, poised on the logical point that it was possible, at least theoretically, that ground combat could break out at any moment. “Let’s try to stay on things that are relevant, shall we? Clear skies and a little breeze shouldn’t necessarily require danger pay. We would break the budget.”

“No one else seems to care about that. They can just print more downtown.”

“But isn’t that the problem? Just making more paper won’t make things better.”

This was clearly veering into Buck’s territory of that thing he calls ‘Economics.’ He rose in that authoritative posture he must have used at the head of a classroom. “We have an established precedent on how to proceed. Those that have not seen hostile fire- and I count myself among them- will never know the lingering consequences of it, either economically or personally. Then-Senator Clinton was asked one time to sit on a flak jacket on one of her flights overseas, just in case. She considered it dangerous, and the fact that her C-17 took the cork-screw approach to an airfield wasn’t ‘danger’ the way we normally understand it. It was simply prudent.”

Loma frowned, old memories turning him grim. “The real deal changes people. It is different in the air. A pal who served in Iraq a couple times told me a story that summed it up pretty well. Years after, when he was back, he was on the bridge of a ship and something went “bang” on the deck below. Most of the officers he was with went quickly to the rail to look down and see what happened. The three combat vets were flat on the steel and did not rise until they knew it was not incoming fire.”

DeMille was more accustomed to life on submarines, where hitting the deck rarely changed much of anything. Sometimes the deck hit him. He brushed the matter aside. “Air, ground or on ships, it is just common sense to keep your wits about you. Even here on a normally fertile Farm we could be facing a combustive conflagration.”

Splash nodded in agreement. “But it is important to start the paperwork before it actually starts. Then you can buy enough Belmont Farms to get through whatever happens.”

“Moved and seconded,” said DeMille. “Tomorrow the Distillery is closed. Forewarned is forearmed. Somebody find the keys to the truck.”

It sounded like the meeting was over. Melissa looked up and put down her wooden spoon carefully. “So long as there is going to be an arms race, we need to have some brownies stocked up.”

There was general agreement on that and additional commentary on what beneficial additives should be considered. Splash said we should task the young Attorney to start drafting paperwork and get ready for lunch, just in case. These days, anything can happen.

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