Saphroneth's smaller snippets

That does not include Loops material.

The things I have done which could fit here, off the top of my head:

- My Spyro fics (posted on fanfiction.net, story unfinished).
- Some Ace Combat 7 fic (unfinished, unposted).
- A Familiar of Zero/Pern crossover, involving Ruth.
- Three or four different Naruto concepts.
- The redo of my Saruman of Many Devices fic, which is largely storyboarded out but not entirely.

So does this mean we'll see some Spyro stuff from you once more?

So excited to see more of Namikaze! It really did bug me that Naruto's pranks/traps never went anywhere.

So does this mean we'll see some Spyro stuff from you once more?

Lurtz looked up at the sound of a footfall, and closed the copy of The Fall of Númenor he'd been halfway through reading.

"You don't need to remain silent on my account," he said.

There was a long pause, perhaps five or ten seconds, and Lurtz was just wondering if he'd misheard when Aragorn came around the door to Rivendell's library.

"Is something wrong?" Lurtz asked.

"Nothing that should alarm," Aragorn told him. "It's passing strange to see an orc in Rivendell, but I was having trouble sleeping. Old certainties are much changed in recent months."

His gaze lifted to the open window, and followed the moonlight to the table at which Lurtz sat. "I am sure my foster father would not begrudge you a candle."

"Uruk-Hai, not orc," Lurtz corrected him. "The difference is that we're untroubled by the light of the Sun, though I believe my sight at night is better than most humans. I can read by the light of the Moon well enough."

He stretched slightly, then decided to test something. "Does it bother you, that I'm part orc?"

"I could ask you the same question," Aragorn replied, leaning against a bookshelf. "Does it bother you?"

Lurtz didn't answer for a long moment.

"I could point out that I asked you first, but it's a fair question," he decided. "I think… it's said that orcs came from those elves who fell into the clutches of Morgoth, who either did not travel west or who did but then turned away from the journey, and who were corrupted by darkness. And if that's true, then I am indeed fallen…"

He tapped The Fall of Númenor. "But the world is fallen. That's the lesson of history, I think – of Beleriand, Númenor, of Arnor, of everything. If you assume you cannot fall, then that is pride and it will lead you to a bad end."

"You speak as if you expect the Dark Lord to triumph," Aragorn observed.

"Not while blood runs in my veins, by Aule's forge and Yavanna's fruits," Lurtz swore. "I know the danger, Aragorn, and I will watch for it every day of my life; I know there are some temptations which should not be risked, except by a better man than me. But I will never let that stop me from fighting for Saruman's vision – which starts with the Dark Lord defeated, and ends with all the good things of this world and the last put together into Arda Healed."

The Chieftain of the Dúnedain nodded slightly.

"It is something I wonder about, though," Lurtz went on. "If an elf who falls into the influence of darkness leads to an orc, what would happen to an orc who turned back towards the light? And when they travel to Mandos' halls, what doom awaits?"

"These are weighty matters," Aragorn agreed. "And I cannot deny that it is strange to speak of such things with a part-orc."

"More used to debating the merits of free trade by fighting off bandits," Lurtz said, nodding, and smirked when he won a startled laugh from the Dúnedain.

Both were quiet for a long moment, then, and Lurtz turned to look at the shelves before Aragorn spoke up again.

"Nai hiruvalyë Valimar,"he said, softly, and by the time Lurtz had turned back he was gone.

Notes:

This was basically my proof of concept scene to see if I could write in a bit more of a LOTR flavour.

Golem 1 KNOCKER commented that drones were "somewhat clever decoys", which this unit was displeased by. Golem 1 then offered to buy dinner for any pilot who shot down a drone.

As a consequence of this offer, unit TR1GG3R has treated the rest of Mage and Golem squadrons to a dinner at an expensive restaurant. Unit TR1GG3R was unable to attend owing to size.

Looking forward to whatever comes, as it comes!

Notes:

This was basically my proof of concept scene to see if I could write in a bit more of a LOTR flavour.

"He's an adorable little fox, my ningen have taken to him already. I think I'll call him Namikaze."

Sarutobi choked. So did both his guards.

So funny... I really hope you get the chance to write more of this at some point.

During this engagement, Mage 1 CLOWN told this unit to show other squadrons that we "get wet, wild and do dirty, dirty things." Based on analysis of combat chatter, this unit believes that the appropriate course of action would be to file a harassment claim.

...It's even possible to do that?!

Personally I really love the Naruto and LOTR snippets more, although the Naruto one kind of meanders through the stations of Canon.... And seems more snippet ficcy than something along the lines of HiaD - actually I'd call the LOTR one more HiaD-y in terms of having to have a more linear plot and the Naruto one more AotP-like in that it can skip time every now and then.

I don't know the Trigg3r one at all, and the format of it might be easy to write but it doesn't hook me in the slightest, personally speaking.

Although, for the Naruto one, it would be interesting to see Naruto's character development purely from outside perspectives only....

(Not that I think that my opinion comes first here at all - it's about what you want to write, and what sort of story/snippet style you feel best suits your needs right now. I certainly enjoyed reading everything!)

Elements of the LRSSG were deployed to Sierraplata as part of STRIDER Squadron on a ballistic missile base suppression mission, MAGIC SPEAR, on 2 September 2019.

This unit was designated as flight lead, and owing to the difficulty of direct penetration of hardened ballistic missile silos this unit's inbuilt tactical laser system was modified to act as a targeting indicator for orbiting high altitude bombers equipped with deep penetration bombs.

This unit is sure that it specified to the ordnance techs to allow this unit to switch it back to destruction mode, but like the work ticket to restore this unit's explosive bolts to eject the ADF-11 module it was not completed.

After the successful destruction of five IRBM silos on the ground, it was determined that the silo field additionally contained three concealed IRBM silos which had not been in the intelligence briefing. These silos launched without sufficient warning for on-ground destruction, and this unit was forced to engage the remaining three IRBMs during their boost phase.

It is in this period that this unit particularly regretted the inactivation of standard mode on the Tactical Laser System.

During the mission this unit destroyed multiple ground defence installations and tanks, in addition to five IRBM silos on the ground, and additionally shot down 4x AV-8B 5x AH-64D 4x Typhoon 1x Ch-47 3x IRBM 1x SU-35S 2x MiG-21.

This unit wishes to register the strongest possible objection to the intelligence failure regarding the count of IRBMs in the Sierraplata field.

This unit would also like to register the precise amount of ass that Strider 2 COUNT kicked on this mission, on his direct request after the conclusion of the engagement. That precise amount of ass is: 1x AH-64D.

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

I do have to admit, though, it wasn't as bad as Megalith. Not quite.

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

Mission 14 (DLC 1):

Strider squadron was detached from normal service to engage in operation SIGHTHOUND, on September 4 2019. This mission diverted Strider from preparations to attack Farbanti, and was considered to be a target of opportunity against the greatest remaining threat of Erusean strategic counteroffensive operations, that being the nuclear ballistic artillery submarine Alicorn, based at Artiglio Port.

While the briefing indicated that Strider squadron would be supported by Drake and Enchanter squadrons from the commencement of the operation, the actual mission commencement saw the carrier group formed around the Puffin requiring urgent air support while Drake and Enchanter squadrons were still several minutes out owing to delay in arrival of allied aircraft.

This unit engaged immediately upon getting hard radar contact on enemy aircraft and continued doing so after allied aircraft arrived, facing an extreme number of aircraft both providing CAP over the Alicorn and attempting to sink ships from the Puffin task force.

Strider 2 COUNT mentioned that as the enemy were not drones, fighting was 'as hard on them as it is on us'. Based on this and on the fact that this unit was responsible for the overwhelming majority of enemy casualties during the operation this unit has concluded that Strider 2 COUNT is not convinced his current squadron leader is a drone.

Enemy fighter pilots mentioned the same fact, i.e. that this unit was not a drone and therefore the fighting would be hard on this unit as well, and this unit is tempted to instead conclude that fighter pilots are idiots.

This unit notwithstanding.

Around 8 minutes 30 seconds into the operation a pair of Su-47 Berkut fighters entered the airspace, shooting down one Erusean fighter before activating advanced ECM and attempting to attack this unit. This unit evaded and engaged with pulse laser fire and missiles enhanced by Enchanter squadron's ESM, and after one of the two Su-47 took a hit both aircraft promptly disengaged. During the engagement both fighter pilots were engaged in chatter on an encrypted Osean military frequency, which this unit considers suspicious and deeply unusual.

Admittedly this unit has been equipped with a multiplex decryption unit enabling the interception of a broad range of enemy chatter, but this unit still considers it highly anomalous.

This unit destroyed all enemy aircraft within the operational area, including all reinforcements, plus all ground defences and anti-shipping weaponry within the dockyards area except for the Alicorn itself owing to mission parameters.

As the Puffin task force approached within landing range, however, the Alicorn entered a state of mutiny against the Erusean navy and denied a scuttle order. It powered up rail turrets and VLS systems before immediately engaging and destroying the entire task force. Four Rafale fighters were then launched, one equipped with a cruise missile carrying a repurposed nuclear artillery warhead from the Alicorn main gun, and this unit was directed to engage the escaping aircraft rather than the Alicorn herself; this was successful.

Over the course of the operation this unit destroyed 8x F-4E 21x F/A-18F 32x F-15E 4x Su-57 20x Typhoon 2x YF-23 7x F-22A 5x F-35C 8x AV-8B 2x MiG-31 3x EA-18G 7x SU-34 4x Rafale M, totalling 125 aircraft, and 18 ground targets. This unit estimates that allied units may have destroyed up to 3 enemy aircraft.

This unit considers their contribution valuable.

This unit would also like to note that barrage jamming makes this unit's fins hurt.

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

Addendum:

I know I shouldn't, but I feel responsible for some of what happened.

The captain of the Alicorn… he's known as the Hero of Comberth Harbour. That means a lot of what makes him who he is comes from the destruction of the Invincible Fleet.

Something I did.

From a continuity of experience point of view, I certainly did it.

It's in my tactical evaluation database, but it's more than that. I remember the destruction of the Invincible Fleet at Comberth Harbour – destroying the main Erusean fleet in a single afternoon.

Every target, every bomb, every missile.

But that wasn't really 'me'. That was Mobius 1, ISAF officer, who could be considered my parent.

That doesn't help with the feeling of responsibility.

I wonder if the Osean Air Force will consider this a positive sign. They've finally built artificial intelligence, and it's discovered artificial guilt.

It's growing on me.

I wonder if the Osean Air Force will consider this a positive sign. They've finally built artificial intelligence, and it's discovered artificial guilt.

This, after the witty one-liners and considerate call-backs (... and call-outs, for underperforming allies *coughcough*), means I am receiving a well-rounded emotional flight path from these snippets. Very nice~

The sun was just starting to set, casting an orange glow across Saruman's Vale, and he leaned on his staff as he contemplated… possibilities.

He had a mighty fortress, all but invulnerable if it could but be manned. He had a strategic position, and a sharp mind, and he had been planning for many years.

The world was coming to the end of an Age. The signs were there, for those who had the wit to see them… and at such a time, there were great prizes to be grasped.

Saruman turned from the window, and strode over to a stone plinth.

There were still some years until that final moment, but Saruman needed to judge his moment perfectly… and that meant he needed more information. Information that could best be gained from the Palantír.

He had been using the Palantír more and more often, over the last decades. At first it had been something to use with great caution, for while he was the warden of Isengard and could thus command the stone it was still unclear who might have been on the other end of the connection… then, as his confidence had grown, and he had asserted control over Isengard in his own right, he had begun making use of it more regularly. It was too useful, to look and see what was happening hundreds of miles away and without the slightest inconvenience.

By now, there was almost a need to use the stone, again and again, though Saruman dismissed the idle thought that it could be anything troubling. He was Saruman the White, Curunir, master of the Order of Wizards… there was nothing to fear from a stone.

He swept the cloth aside, driven by his impulse, but the force was too much. It moved the Orthanc-stone out of the small depression it had been resting in, and it rolled for a moment before dropping off the plinth and hitting the floor with an echoing crash.

The swirling clouds that marked a ready Palantír vanished in an instant, replaced with gloss-black stone.

The need to use the Palantír evaporated in a moment, but Saruman was more concerned with whether it was damaged. He bent down, leaning his staff of office against the nearest support, and picked the stone up with both hands before carefully lifting it back to the pedestal.

"It cannot be broken," he said, half to convince himself, but the words seemed more correct even as he spoke. "Such a fine piece of craftswork is not so fragile as that."

Replacing the stone on its pedestal, he stretched out his hand and focused.

I am Saruman, he thought, certain in his identity and position. Master of wizards, ruler of Isengard, and rightful owner of the Orthanc-stone.

The stone's surface remained blank for a long moment, then changed – and kept changing, showing a confusing blur of images.

First there was a flaming lidless eye – but only for a moment, before it was snatched away by an onrushing tide of other visions, seeming without form or direction. One moment it would be a fantastically complex machine with gears and whirling parts and other things Saruman could not even put a name to, then a glorious and verdant valley, and then the pelting rains of a thunderstorm washing clean over the land before that was replaced in turn by a moon-lit heath on which stag chased wolf.

The swirling depths of a cup of wine, and clouds parting to show a clear sky. Flowers blooming, amid deep woods. Then a loom in an ethereal hall, and the next second a beautiful garden upon an island set in a lake.

There was an eagle soaring in a starlit sky, and when it turned its gaze to him Saruman realized that the visions had expanded to the point that they surrounded him from top to bottom – surrounding him and leaving him with little but awareness of his own body, in a way which he had never known a Palantír to work before.

He focused his will, struggling to focus the stone on what he desired to see.

Another change, and now a seed grew from a notched hole in a metal block. It reached out, thickening and browning, forming a handle, and the block was a hammer, and Saruman was starting to grasp at the intent when suddenly everything vanished.

There was only a silvery surface all around, like a mirror, but it reflected nothing because there was nothing to reflect – nothing but an all-suffusing illumination.

"What is this?" he asked, and the surrounds drank up the words.

Observe.

The voice was dispassionate, and a moment later there were wonders.

The silvery mirror vanished, replaced by a view of Isengard – changed, with smoke and soot in the air and with the trees within the circle gone entirely. Fires burned in the underground caverns, and drawn up before the tower were thousands upon thousands of armoured soldiers with pikes and shields and blades.

Standing upon the balcony of Orthanc was Saruman himself, commanding the army – his army! - to march out and conquer Rohan.

The very sight of it thrilled Saruman. The stones could not show falsehood, only truth, so this had to be the future, and that future had to be certain. A future with a mighty army at his command…

Observe.

The vision vanished, replaced with another. This time it was the fortress of Helm's Deep, in the west of Rohan, besieged by his army.

An eruption of flame and force breached the wall, and his soldiers poured in. Then the vision stuttered, and showed a last sally by the men of Rohan – and a charge of hundreds more horsemen, who broke his army and sent them reeling back in retreat.

Observe.

Saruman himself, but stripped of his power, pathetically weak. In the Shire, with a few burly men all he had left, and then even that lost to him.

"Why do you show me this?" Saruman asked, though he could barely hear his own voice. "What purpose does it serve?"

Observe.

This time, the view was of Eriador, one of the many times Saruman had travelled the Greenway north – until the folk of the Shire had begun to notice him, and he had ended the practice.

That much was from his own memories, so close he could almost imagine turning to the right and going to Ost-in-Edhil, but then the view rose up and away. It showed the whole of the land west of the Misty Mountains, and letters and numbers in Adûnaic appeared to show carefully caveated estimates of population.

The numbers were at the same time shockingly low and yet higher than Saruman had suspected… but only because he had thought Eriador to be an empty land, with almost no men at all.

Arrows drew themselves in, each accompanied by a murmur from that strange disembodied voice.

Campaigns of Angmar. Great plague. Continuous raids. Civilizational collapse.

"I know," Saruman replied, but the words sounded off.

He'd known, intellectually, but seeing it like this gave it a different cast.

"Who are you?"

Observe.

This time he saw Mordor, and Sauron's armies marching out of the Black Gates, out of the Morgul vale. Forcing the Anduin river, burning and destroying, and reducing Gondor to a ruin. The White City was hollowed out and gutted, Dol Amroth crumbled, and at the end of it all a dark power ruled over all of Middle-Earth.

Victory of Sauron entity produces stability, but not innovation. Reduced horizons for those involved. Stagnation results as Sauron entity seeks total control.

"Whatever you are, you are not of the Palantír," Saruman decided. "The seeing stones can show the truth only, but these are possibilities, and if they could show possibilities then they could show anything."

This time his voice had a snap of command. "What are you? Name yourself!"

My designation is Central.

That was no name Saruman had ever heard before, but the voice continued.

You are Saruman, it declared. What do you want?

Saruman's first impulse was to answer that he wanted to defeat Sauron, the same half-answer he had told himself, but the visions… they indicated that this Central knew him better than he knew himself. Somehow.

But what did he want?

For years now, perhaps decades, the answer had been… he wanted power. Power to set the world right.

His idea of what was right had changed, over time, he now recognized, and in ways he did not fully understand. Much, he now supposed, like Pallando and Alatar – and Radagast, and even Gandalf – had been changed, by their time on Middle-Earth and by their experiences here.

"I do not know," he answered, eventually, then reconsidered. "No, I know what I want. I want to make Middle-Earth whole again."

His thoughts drifted to the empty lands of Eregion, and then to Rohan. Rohan was a strong country and a strong people, for these times, and their full muster was around twelve thousand horsemen, but that was nothing compared to what armies once were.

To the faded glory of Gondor, long besieged, and to lost Beleriand…

Yes. You will do very well.

The words carried a momentary sense of what Central was, and in that moment it took Sauron's breath away.

Central was like a machine, or device, rather than a spirit. But the word machine barely did it any justice – Central was made out of rules and ideas and numbers, assembled together like the parts of a clock, and so complex that thought and even perhaps life emerged simply from the combination.

"I will do very well?" he asked. "For what?"

Single dominance structures are either unstable or stagnant. Neither is an appropriate course for the future of this world.

Observe.

When the visions ended, Saruman stepped backwards and picked up his staff, then leaned on it.

He was having trouble assimilating everything.

Central's visions, or projections, or whatever the correct label was, had laid out in excruciating detail – full-colour detail, as realistic as if it were really happening – how bad it would be for Sauron to regain his Ring. Then they had laid out how Saruman taking it would be just as much of a disaster, in a different way – how the very nature of the Ring itself was that it could be compelled to serve another master, but that it had so much of Sauron's malice in it that it would make the new master into just another Sauron – different in goals, perhaps, but all the same in how it would all work out in the end.

It also laid Saruman's flaws, and vices, and weaknesses, open like a dispassionate surgeon – not condemning, simply matter-of-fact. And it was impossible to argue, because it was as precise as a mathematical proof… and because it also outlined how his own behaviour had changed since he had begun risking the Palantír. The Palantír which had never truly been his to command, as he had neither been given the position of steward by the Kings of Gondor themselves nor given the right by anyone to claim the tower for his own.

He stood there, wrestling with his thoughts, until he realized that it had grown dark outside.

"Central," he said, raising his head. "The Ring must be destroyed. But what else must be done?"

Observe.

This time, Saruman was nowhere near the Palantír, but the projection dropped around him anyway.

It showed him an enormous force of Men with shields and spears, who looked a little like the Men of Harad or from even further south than that distant land – black in colour, and carrying hide shields and clubs and short stabbing spears.

Saruman estimated it at around twelve thousand of the strange Men, formed into a horseshoe shape on a grassy plain, and who beat their shields and spears and hammered the ground with their feet.

Light dropped over his vision, highlighting the spearmen, and strange words appeared in no language Saruman knew. They were organized into regiments, each labelled as an ibutho, and some were flanking forces while others were the main body. Another indicator showed a force still hiding in the grass.

Then the view jumped to show a different group of Men, these ones more like Arnorians by complexion, each wearing a red uniform and armed with nothing but a peculiar spear.

No, Saruman thought, examining it. A spear, yes, but the blade was detachable. There was something else about it.

Observe, Central instructed again, as the view pulled back to show the red-uniformed men were in a huge, hollow square formation. It looked like one for defence against cavalry, or for all-around defence, but the ranks were far too thin.

Then smoke jetted from the levelled weapons, and dozens of the first group of spearmen went down at once – smashed down from hundreds of yards away.

Battle of Ulundi, Central explained, as the battle played out. Example of correct tactics for defeating force at significant technological disparity.

A second battle appeared, this one showing the same two types of force contending, but this time the red-uniformed Men were in a loose formation and the spearmen ran through the fire – taking horrendous casualties, but absorbing them bravely and carrying right through into spear range.

Isandlwhana. Example of incorrect tactics for the situation.

Weapons are a force multiplier.

"A lever, then," Saruman decided. "They amplify effort, but if used wrongly then they will not work."

That was something he could deal with.

"How are these weapons made?"

Observe.

A black powder, which was lit by touching a burning taper to it; it erupted in a puff of white smoke, much like one of Gandalf's fireworks.

Then the projection changed; this time, it showed a tiny piece of the powder and the amount of smoke that came out… smoke and hot gas, much more hot gas than smoke in terms of the amount of volume that came out.

It changed again, and showed the powder being poured into an iron vessel. The lid was closed-

"I see," Saruman interrupted. "When it is confined, the gas will build up; it will force itself out."

Correct. It is called a bomb.

The iron vessel was lit by a fuse, and after a long moment it erupted – sending fragments of iron flying in all directions, at wicked speed.

"Then…" Saruman continued, turning the realization over in his head and comparing it to the weapons he had seen. "If there is only one opening, then it would force itself through the opening at great force, potentially almost as great as the force required to rupture the iron vessel itself."

As stated, you will do very well.

Observe...

Hours later, when the visions ended, Saruman knew what he had to do.

The intelligence – Central – could offer advice. It could show him the most likely outcomes of certain decisions, and give him plentiful examples of what appeared to be other worlds. But it could not form his plans for him, and it could not act by itself.

Once Saruman had begun, though, Central could fill in the details. Could warn of pitfalls. All to ensure his choices were as informed as possible, without taking the choices away from him.

It was all the sort of thing that fairly resonated with the way the Valar did things, though Central seemed unsure about the details of who the Valar were and in what way they were relevant.

Still, there was work to be done.

The next time one of Saruman's deliveries arrived – of food, and other supplies, and a quantity of the pipeweed from the Shire which he had begun smoking for no reason he wanted to admit to himself – Saruman asked for a word with the men who had brought it in.

He needed agents. And workers.

And he would take whoever he could get, but there were certain sorts in particular who he wished to bring in. He would need Men, and Dwarves – and Orcs – but while those would form the majority of his support staff, they would not be the only ones. And they would not be the ones to form the fighting force he would need, if he was to participate in the coming war.

Do you know what magic can do? Saruman asked.

No information is available besides what can be gained from your own experiences.

Saruman had found that Central could be contacted without his needing to actually be close to the Palantír, which had been a great help, though the visions produced were not quite as real and vivid. It was still a great advantage, and one he intended to use… not least since Central had also confirmed that the Palantír it had taken over was now disconnected from the network.

The idea that his thoughts and memories were an open book was worrying, even disturbing, but Saruman ignored it. He had too much to do to waste time worrying over something that was, on the whole, beneficial.

I have a plan, he explained. Aule, my master, once created the Dwarves from the rock of Arda and breathed life into them. I believe I may be able to do something similar… but there is another matter, as well.

He strode out onto the star platform at the top of Isengard, and raised his voice. "Crows of Eriador and of Fangorn! Crebain I name you! I have need of you!"

Saruman struck the floor with his staff, which lit up for a moment, and a ripple of power made the air tremble for a moment.

Patiently, the White Wizard waited for several minutes, until black shapes began to gather in the sky. More and more gathered, until they formed a whirlwind of glossy feathers and bright, intelligent eyes.

"I have need of eyes and ears," he said. "Of messengers, who can bring my commands to the ears of others and fly faster than any horse or other animal could move along the ground."

The crows spread out, talking to one another, then a dozen alighted on the star platform.

"We are listening, Wizard," one said. "But we will not agree to do your bidding for no reward."

Saruman smiled slightly. "I had not thought you would. Nor will I ask you for a decision today."

He raised his voice. "My starting offer is this. You will form a separate arm of my organization, and carry messages, and scout. I cannot promise you the hours you will work, for they may be long if there is need, but I can promise that they will be fair. In return, you will get food and board, and support for those of you who become ill or wounded, and you will get pay as well to spend on what it is you desire beyond your food. I would hear what you and the rest of the Crebain think of this offer, here in three days at the setting of the sun."

The crows exploded away, clustered together into a body as the discussion began, and Saruman smiled slightly.

Refactoring analysis to allow for avian reconnaissance and communication assets,Central whispered inside his mind.

"Leave some of the trees," Saruman instructed, walking through the grounds of Isengard. "We will need more clear space, later, but much of our manufacturing must be underground. That is where the space is, or where it will be."

"We need fuel, though," said one of the Dwarves. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea, Lord Wizard, but we'll need wood to make things and much more than that to burn."

Saruman waved his hand. "That will be taken care of. I will be requiring the establishment of coal mines, for fuel, as it will serve well depending on the quality."

Central's visions swam in front of his eyes for a moment – always with more time for him to absorb them than there really should have been – and he slowed.

"I suggest you try around ninety feet down, to begin," he said. "Dig an exploratory shaft around that far down relative to the south-western wall."

"Yes, Lord Wizard," agreed the Dwarf. "Bain, Narvi, with me."

As they went off, Saruman turned to one of the Men. "We must also establish a facility for the production of nitre," he informed them. "This will mean the collection of human and animal waste."

"Disgusting work, if you don't mind my saying, sir," the man mumbled.

"And yet vital work," Saruman replied. "Large amounts of it will be animal waste, however. We will also require cattle…"

The conversation went on, establishing the areas which Isengard would be focusing on as it went from isolated, almost-deserted fortress to military power in its own right.

There was steel to organize, and water, contained in hydraulic accumulators before being released to run machines. There were wargs to source, provisions to gain and food to grow – potatoes would be a significant part of that – and there was cloth and leather and a whole panoply besides.

It would take years. But it was a challenge, one of moving parts and machines and thought, and that was just what Saruman relished.

"Show me," Saruman ordered.

Central's view shimmered around him, showing an ingot of iron.

Cast iron. Easily produced, in comparative terms. Hard but brittle.

"Of course," the Istar agreed. "Hard enough for some weapons, but it will not serve for a sword or armour. For that we need steel."

Wrought iron or steel, Central corrected. Wrought iron has been heated in a puddling furnace to burn off carbon. Steel is similar but differs in the heat it has been subjected to.

"Puddling furnace," Saruman repeated. "I have heard of something similar. Show me."

The vision formed, and Saruman frowned. It appeared that his guess had been incorrect, and the puddling term was merely a coincidental similarity with the method he knew.

"Can steel be produced in a similar way?" he asked.

Low carbon steel can be produced most efficiently at projected level of development through the Bessmer process.

"Show me."

Another image, this time of a mighty vessel made of some refractory material and holding tons of molten iron. Air was blown through it, and the iron changed, and Saruman considered.

And understood.

"The air burns away what is not iron," he said. "Which keeps the material hotter, and which makes it purer at the same time."

Burns away carbon and other impurities, Central confirmed. Best combined with addition of known quantity scrap to control end product.

"I wonder what Gandalf would think of this," Saruman wondered, with a chuckle. "He has always favoured fire, and fire that purifies would entertain him, but I do not imagine this new industry would suit his tastes."

There was always more to be done. Simply setting up the underground rooms was a whole task, and the light channels to allow them to be lit was another, and manufacturing clay and firebrick – blowing glass – manufacturing armour, using light chain mail for the most part.

Wargs were sourced as well, and bred, and trained, and the ones who took to the training best bred again. Saruman had plans for them… the raw savagery of existing wargs was good for orcish irregular cavalry, but so much of the value of the weapons Central was showing him was the geometric order and regularity they provided. What he wanted was wargs that were still predatory, but biddable… and he would need thousands of them.

As many as possible.

Though those weapons themselves were still visions, a dream in the mind of an intelligence which seemed to know everything about any technical field.

Observe, Central stated, and showed one of the long metal barrels. The view showed that the interior of the weapon's barrel was a near perfect circle.

Half of the barrel went transparent, and black powder was poured into the muzzle and rammed back into the breech. Then a lead ball, which Central showed was slightly smaller than the barrel itself.

A spark lit the powder, and it forced the ball out in a great eruption of smoke.

Central then showed the process of the ball travelling down the barrel, bouncing from one side of the barrel to the other. The location of the last bounce was random, and it meant that the ball came out almost aimed correctly but not quite.

Initial dispersion from random direction of bounce. Magnus effect amplifies dispersion owing to random direction of spin.

Then… you showed that the ball was not quite the same size as the barrel. Is that something that could be fixed?

Central showed two possibilities. One was the ball being so close to a tight fit that it took an age to hammer it down the barrel; the other was that the ball got stuck in the barrel, and when fired the force of the explosion had nowhere to go and broke out the back of the barrel.

Motive force provided by the production of large quantities of gas, Central clarified. Gas expands, and will break out however it can. Path of least resistance.

There must be another solution, Saruman declared. If the ball cannot be prevented from bouncing or spinning, can it not be made predictable instead of random?

Correct. There was the ghost of surprise in Central's words, a rare example of tone from the artificial intelligence, and Saruman smiled.

He could certainly think of that as a triumph.

Consistency of spin and lack of bounce achieved by rifling, Central continued. Causes slower loading.

Images flashed by, one after another, and Saruman held up a quelling hand.

"First we must be able to produce the barrels," he said. "If I have understood your descriptions, then we will need smooth barrels before we can make them rifled, and the rifled barrels will serve for the more advanced weapons as well."

Correct. The approach you describe allows flexibility.

"For we do not know when the war will be," Saruman mused.

In the year three thousand and twelve of the Third Age, the first of Saruman's new type of soldier were born.

He had given long consideration to whether to take this step, a blending of magic and science which he was sure the other members of the White Council would view as truly foul, but his plans required it.

Eriador and the land to the west of the Misty Mountains was simply too sparsely populated, except for the Men of Dunland, and they would not truly be sufficient for the army he needed to create – their own culture was too set, fixed in its ways, and while with time he could change it there was not enough time to be had. All the technically minded Men he could gather would not even suffice to fill the support infrastructure he would require, and would barely begin to fill the regiments he needed.

The same calculus applied to the Dwarves – there were some he could entice down from their fastnesses, and others who wandered Eriador and the lands to the east of the Misty Mountains who could be brought on board, and they would be invaluable. But the numbers did not line up there either.

And there were so few Elves who could be contacted (and even fewer who would be willing to join) that to imagine forming a force of Elves was a mere fancy.

Orcs… there were more Orcs, and they could be swayed more easily, but they did not truly fit the requirements Saruman had. They were too sensitive to light, and there were half-a-dozen other problems… not least that he might have to fight alongside the Men of Rohan or of Gondor, and a normal Orcish force would be entirely too easy to misinterpret.

So it was that Saruman had begun the process of bringing about the Uruk-Hai. Blend of man and orc, through a great work which Saruman thought might have been similar in nature to those which had created the Orcs in the first place – though turned to entirely different ends – and, Saruman hoped, with some of the strengths of both. They would be able to walk in the sun without fear, like Men, and have the strength of Orcs, and if Saruman's plans were successful then they would form a new people of Middle-Earth.

A free people.

An accident in the manufacture of the gunpowder, and two workers lost. Another maimed, and Saruman gave him a new role – one where he could still work, still help out, but without the need for his crippled leg to carry him.

Central whispered in Saruman's ear that it was a useful action to improve his charisma factor, and Saruman scowled – rounding on the dry presence in his mind.

Does it matter to you? Saruman demanded. That his whole life changed in an instant, ruined? I did what I could to help because it was important.

Three years ago it would not have mattered to you, Central said. Not as an argument, just as simple fact.

Saruman could not argue, and he wondered what it said about him that he had to accept that truth.

Had he changed so much in only a few years? And if he had, was it only reverting to how he should have been before?

Saruman was old, as the race of Men reckoned their lives. He was certainly older than any Man since the days of lost Númenor, and he was fairly sure that few Dwarfs could live to see his age… and he had been a bearded old man for all that time. Orcs lived short lives too, though almost any Elf yet abroad would have lived for longer than he had.

And for all of that, or because of all of that, he had never in his whole life been so aware of the time things took.

Projections and predictions constantly scrolled through his mind, Central updating him as the Uruk-Hai grew and learned and as the capabilities of his industrial base slowly, painfully expanded. As he gained manpower, and resources, and developed tooling and techniques and experience – creating good steel with the right particles and impurities to make good gun-rolling iron, boring out barrels in the most durable steel he could make with fragments of Mithril acting like the industrial diamonds Central had shown him in strange visions, assembling stocks from wood and locks from small metal parts… it all took time, and all too much of it required his own personal intervention, and yet Saruman had to invest precious time and effort in making as sure as possible that his workers could do their assigned tasks without his personal involvement.

That meant slower production now, and then slower production in future as those artisans he had trained had to train their juniors in the same methods, but eventually it would lead to higher productivity. Not for the muskets, which were now slowly being produced as test weapons, but for their rifled descendants.

"Well?" Saruman asked, examining one of the weapons in question. "Does it fit your standards?"

It is an imperfect weapon. Does it fit yours?

The wizard turned it over, examining it from first one side and then another.

There was a long, smooth barrel, attached to the stock below by three bands, and the stock continued to provide a plate which could be rested against the shoulder. A slot under the barrel carried the ram rod, and the lock held a piece of flint which could snap closed and produce a shower of sparks across the steel of the frizzen.

In actual use, Saruman knew, there would be gunpowder in the frizzen. It would ignite from the sparks, and fire, and the ball would come out at great speed.

He pulled the hammer back, then pulled the trigger, and the flint snapped home sharply with a shower of sparks. Then he looked down the barrel, and Central drew an image across his eyes – a precise measurement of the bore width of the weapon, from the breech to the muzzle.

It was quite regular.

"It seems to be adequate," Saruman said, after considering further. "I will have twenty examples made, and check that the parts are interchangeable. That, I understand, is as important as the quality of the individual weapon.

Individual weapons that are not made with interchangeable parts are functional. However, weapons built with interchangeable parts are more easily maintained and the consistency in manufacturing means a higher acceptance rate.

"That is what we will do, then," Saruman decided. "And then begin with the rifling. But you mentioned a better system than the flintlock."

Percussion cap, Central agreed. Observe.

This time, the vision showed a small metallic object, cylindrical with a wide base, and obviously very small. It was placed into a receptacle in the breech of the weapon, which fit it snugly, and the hammer was pulled back before coming down sharply.

This time there was no flint, but the musket fired anyway.

Central's vision changed, slicing away half of the percussion cap, and replayed the event in slow motion. The hammer came down, striking the percussion cap, and the contents of the small metal cap detonated with a flash.

Percussion cap contains primary explosive, detonated by shock, Central explained. Greater effort and complexity at manufacture yields a superior weapon.

"Can it be done?" Saruman demanded. "What would the improvement be?"

Observe.

A rainy field, with around a hundred Uruk-Hai loading musket weapons as a force of armoured Men closed in on them. They worked with fluid drill and desperate haste, ramming the charge and ball down the barrel before raising the weapons to their shoulders.

A shouted command from one holding a sword, and they fired with a crisp bang. But some of them had not fired, nearly twenty in all, and they scrubbed at the priming pans before giving it up as their enemies approached…

Damp powder, Central stated. Misfire. Observe.

This time, instead of a pinch of powder, there was a tiny metal cap which went into the pan. The hammers fell, and every musket fired.

Percussion cap improves water resistance, Central summarized. Ignition delay is reduced. Drill is simplified. Flint replacement is not required.

"I see," Saruman said, blinking the vision away. "Then there is no time to waste."

Notes:

I know a significant amount more about the advantages and disadvantages of many aspects of firearms tech than I did about a decade ago... also, I've got more sense of the amount of prep work Saruman is truly going to need to do.

The planned course of events thus far is here:

Prospective Saruman OMD rewrite timeline

Sheet1 Year,Isengard,Rohan,Gondor,Fellowship,Mordor/ other villains,North/ Arnor,East 3010,April 15, 3010,Saruman makes contact with Central Saruman recruits men, orcs, dwarves 3012,First Uruks born, production scales up over time Process of engineering more agreeable wargs Musket evaluation Can...

docs.google.com

"I do not know," he answered, eventually, then reconsidered. "No, I know what I want. I want to make Middle-Earth whole again."

"Then…" Saruman continued, turning the realization over in his head and comparing it to the weapons he had seen. "If there is only one opening, then it would force itself through the opening at great force, potentially almost as great as the force required to rupture the iron vessel itself."

As stated, you will do very well.

Refactoring analysis to allow for avian reconnaissance and communication assets, Central whispered inside his mind.

I must say, this is shaping up swimmingly, Saruman gets to show off his own cleverness, and Central is just a bit less omniscient.

You know, I think a large portion of Saruman's issues might stem from the fact that he was almost the only one of the Five who actually volunteered for this duty in the first place. Saruman volunteered, Gandalf was ordered to go by Manwë, Saruman had Radagast foisted on him by Yavanna (he was none too pleased by that at all) Alatar (one of the blues) did volunteer, and he invited Wosshisname the other Blue along as a friend. So right from the start he was probably feeling quite undermined, especially after Gandalf and Radagast apparently wandered off to go be useless (to his eyes). Oh, and Círdan decided to hand off Narya to Gandalf instead of him, just to salt the wound and drive home the implication that Gandalf was the one who was really in charge.

You can see how all that would grate on a soul...

Honestly I'm going to read whichever you go with regardless so pick whichever you feel you'll have the most fun writing.

The ongoing degeneration of Middle-Earth civilization from the original worked well too. The image of a fur-clad orc and human fighting in front of the stub of Saruman's tower really stuck with me.

One of the things I intend to do with this incarnation of the fic would be to apply my now rather better understanding of both the Legendarium and military tactics and technology, while another is to try and have the momentum to actually get to the gunpowder vs gunpowder section of the story.

I also intend to have several new military actions taking place. And dragons getting involved.