A Series Of Increasingly Loud Bangs

If You Stop To Think About It -
That kind of sums up the development of human civilisation.  Hom. Sap. can be thought of as progressing from gunpowder, at first in rockets and then in firearms, then to chemical explosives such as TNT (trinitrotoluene if we're being formal), then to the nuclear bomb and now the thermonuclear warhead (yes, they are different).

Read 'em and quiver!

     For Yes! we have returned to that BBC sidebar article that was more of a sketched outline of things as they might develop -
     Here an aside.  The word "Adumbrate" popped into my mind about 20 minutes ago.
     "Forsooth!" quoth I.  "What can this word mean?" and I firmly intended to have a consult of my Collins Concise, except I forgot until sitting down, and then it was impossible to move because my beer was over here, and my sweet chilli rice crackers were over here, and that source of inspiration and desperation my notebook was down here - do you see?  So I cheated and looked on the internet <for shame! - Mister Hand>.  It means "To foreshadow an event" and inevitably it comes from Latin - "Ad" meaning "To" and "Umbra" being, of course, "Shadow".

I adumbrate that a villain or two is in for a very unpleasant experience

     So the BBC article adumbrates.  There, you see how it all fits seamlessly together?
     Anyway, the article states that the lines between conventional and nuclear weapons are in a process of blurring, and that distinctions between them are going to become harder to make.  My reading of this was that the very biggest conventional bombs are bordering on the yields that a very small nuclear weapon would generate; a theme the article completely ignores.  If I've misunderstood Mister Acton, the author, then that's my fault, but my point is also valid.
     To continue: let us wheel on Grand Slam, a piece of nastiness invented and used by Perfidious Albion in the latter stages of the Second Unpleasantness.  Art?

"Don't drop it.  Please."

     This monster came in at 10 tons of explosive.  For decades it was the largest piece of flying fatality around, and the original nuclear detonations were measured in terms of how many "Grand Slams" they related to.
     Not to be outdone and playing the long game, the South Canadians brought out the MOAB, which supposedly means "Massive Ordnance Air Blast" but we all know is really "Mother Of All Bombs".  This beast has a yield of 11 tons.  Art?

"Hey, guys, do you hear a ticking sound?"

     Of course the Ruffians refused to be upstaged by this, as they are insanely jealous of anyone anywhere doing better than them (they still haven't forgiven the South Canadians from getting to the Moon first, nor Perfidious Albion for inventing the dreadnought).  Bring on the "Father Of All Bombs".  Art?

Daddy

     This monster detonates with a yield of 44 tons, which, as others have commented, is almost the yield of the "suitcase" nuke S.A.D.A.M. (yes, really).*  This, Conrad feels, is where the blurring of lines begins.  Small nuke?  Very large bomb?  You can tell which has destroyed a city block, if you're willing to carry out forensic analysis of what's left - which may not be politically expedient, if an offended populace are baying for blood or revenge - "Nuke <insert nation perceived as hostile here> NOW!" shriek the placards ...
     Now, given Hom. Sap.'s propensity to carry on researching new and interesting ways of blowing things up, the FOAB is almost certainly not the last word on this topic.
     Hello, motley!  Here, have a biscuit.  No, no, it's not poisoned.**

Blimey, that was a bit grim, wasn't it?  Let's get diverted with another invasion of Holy Mother Russia, although probably not how you imagined it - 

Say Hello To Novaya Zemlya (Or, Grin And Bear It)
This is one of the remotest human settlements there is.  Art?

Where the red dot is

     These islands are home to several thousand Ruffians, who must be incredibly hardy folk to live up there on the roof of the world, without the bright lights of Moscow to sustain them.  
     These solitary souls are now having to cope with large numbers of marauding polar bears, who have come hunting for food on land, since the polar ice is melting at an incredible rate.  This brings them into contact with, and occasional dining upon, the hapless locals.  Showing that not all Ruffian government is venal and wicked, the bears have been declared an endangered species, and you may NOT shoot them.

"Good!"

      With up to 50 of these creatures roaming around, however, the other shoe is going to drop at some point.  Polar bears are not remotely cuddly or cute, after all, and are as likely to bite one's head off and feast on your bloody carcass as they are to go rooting through litter bins for offal.  I can already hear what Tsar Putin is shrieking and slavering down the telephone:  "They're American polar bears!  They're saboteurs!  They're making me look bad!  Okay if they're not American polar bears then they're miserable hybrid Chinese-German polar bears, bred from a research program funded by the British!  Take them by helicopter to the South Pole!  Damn damn damn - I swore I'd never use the word "Pole" again after those traitors in Warsaw betrayed me - nurse, my medicine -"
     At which point we shall leave the searing political satire behind.



Right!  I need to go get some tea and prep for Brazil Nut and Banana Bread, so we shall call it quits here for tonight.  Later, chelovek!


*  Special Atomic Demolition Munition.
**  This is me playing mind games with the motley.