I believe it was a minimum of ?99? people to avoid inbreeding when starting a new population.
I do actually believe in capitalism—even believe that monopolies are okay as long as they're privately owned, but I also believe in a strong benevolent government. Basically I believe it's the governments sole purpose to keep its citizens alive, healthy, and provided with the best opportunities available. Housing, healthcare, food, water, and education are basic rights, so the government should provide them.
I edited because too long is bad for comprehension.
Well, what causes the increased risk? Is it an increased chance of new mutations?
This is the consultation. Instruction costs extra.
Is that enough? Science says... Not enough!
That depends on how you classify inbreeding.
ur mad lol
Easy, our nation’s Founding Father served in the jungles of Vietnam as an Infantry Sergeant with the Paratroops. The vast majority of our people pattern themselves after him - avoid a fight when you can, when you can’t win quickly by disabling not killing. Sounds of “One Tin Soldier” by Coven playing quietly in the background.
That doesn't sound particularly pacifist... But with enough PR it can! By god, I— we are going to make so much money!
We always assume that any nation not in the World Assembly is a puppet. And we talk to ourselves too!
Small Brother doesn't talk to himself. He has a special aide to listen to him, so that he can talk to the aide rather than to himself. When the aide is off-work, Small brother calls the aide's phone's answering machine and records his thoughts. It is the aide's job to bring the tape next morning so small brother can hear what he said to the aide the day (or night) before. Long live Small Brother.
“Load ‘em up! We’re going!”
“Good luck, boys!”
“Bring back Smirnov’s head for us, will you?!”
The jeers of the flight attendants continued as Iryna and her wingmen clamored up into their aircraft under their separate hardened shelters, performing pre-flight checks and gauging fuel levels, armaments, and equipment checks. The PkV-16 was a fairly new and hardy aircraft; even though Iryna Vlasenko had heard the (former) Department of War had already been intending to replace it, she had developed a fondness for the aircraft.
Within half an hour, a squadron of fighter aircraft lifted off the runways of Sladkoye, their nozzles shooting spikes of controlled, bluish-purple flame as they accelerated and ascended in altitude. The fighters had a diverse spread of equipment-- several had electronic warfare equipment, others had full loads of ground-strike missiles and runway bombs while being escorted by aircraft with a variety of air-to-air missiles.
The bleak landscape of her homeland passed under Vlasenko, the alabaster cells of Sladkoye soon replaced by former forests intersected by railroads and dirt roads meeting up with isolated cottages; meanwhile, the dark Zaporozhian Cordillera approached. It was not quite a mountain as much as it was a range of steep, grassy knolls-- but its height was confirmed with the obscured peaks by clouds.
Alfa-Alfa, do you read? Alfa-Alfa, SITREP, if you please. I repeat...
Vlasenko sat forward and toggled the radio transmitter.
“Molot, this is Alfa-Alfa. Performing roll-call. Stand by.” A pause as she changed modes by a flip of a switch. “This is Alfa-Alfa, sounding off.”
The responses from the squadron began in order, beginning with Alpha-Beta to Alpha-Sierra. The eighteen aircraft all reported that their systems were functional; Vlasenko toggled her radio back.
“Molot, all green. Heading southwest, airspeed Mach 1.3. Fuel reserves 33% or less. What do you advise?”
Alfa-Alfa, you are approaching rendezvous point, decrease airspeed to subsonic and wait for T147.
Iryna complied, informing her squadron and pulling her throttle towards her as she suddenly found it easier to breathe. Soon, her heads-up display identified an incoming aircraft; T147 identified themselves and adjusted to come up alongside the formation. They refueled, replenishing their fuel stores before the converted transport-tanker veered off while pulling in its hose-- by this point, they had passed the mountains and were now on the other side, high above the Earth within the cloud cover.
She was completely blind in her cockpit-- clouds were all she saw as her aircraft whipped through the formations at Mach 1.6. Precipitation began to streak across the canopy from nose to tail-- it was a rather damp morning for those down there.
“Squadron: be advised, we’re going to decrease our altitude on route to the target. All copy?”
“I copy, Alfa.”
“Alfa, I copy.”
“I copy, Alfa.’
“I copy, Alfa.”
“I copy.” And so forth.
Waiting a few moments, Iryna rolled the PkV-16 left until she was nearly upside-down before pulling the stick towards her, putting the plane into a dive. Her airspeed increased until they were breaking Mach 2 and began to pull up, only 2000 meters above the ground.
“150 klicks from target, keep your eyes peeled.” Their target, as they had been briefed, was a major airbase west of Maksima: they were to destroy the enemy’s capability to deploy their air force any longer-- their attack was part of a combined operation against similar targets in Chevray, Harsk, and Korf. If luck allowed, they could devastate the FRCP’s aerial capability.
“Alfa, enemy contact- bearing 186 degrees west.”
She jerked her head to her radar display-- red diamonds appeared to her right, first by a handful, then by the dozen.
“Missiles inbound! Escorts E-A-E!” Iryna shouted before breaking formation. EAE-- shorthand for Evade And Engage. She yanked the control stick and pushed the throttle forwards, bringing a rapid change in vector before deploying chaff and flares-- the cloud of metal scraps soon passed her by as the streaking barrage of red-pink flares continued. She watched as one of the bogeys rushed towards her before making a last-minute adjustment to a point behind her. The missile zoomed past, falling for the chaff.
“Alfa, we’re disengaging. We’ll take these strike packages where they belong. Alfa-Indigo, out.”
“Copy. Engage while you can-- I’ll join you shortly, Alfa-alfa out.”
Then, Iryna felt a heavy weight push her back into her seat as she made a tight turn to come about their opponents; still beyond visual range, Iryna made two locks and fired two missiles from her air-to-air loadout respectively before maneuvering once again to follow the seven distant squadron-mates.
“Alfa Squadron, I believe they know we’re here. Keep your eyes peeled for triple ‘A’ and more where they came from.”
“Roger, Alfa lead.”
Iryna used the back of a gloved hand to quickly wipe the sweat from her brow and readjust her flight suit, all the while examining the landscape as she soared past. The deep, endless dark green of the mountainous forests was quickly replaced by less-than-green grass and stumps as Cossack civilization reached greedily into their timber supply. Ahead, little faraway streets could be made out, winding across the steppes. Though her eyes could not see them, infrared sensors told Vlasenko that there were homes spotted throughout the landscape who had presumably been ordered to shut off their lights for security.
“70 klicks from target.” Came a remark from her radio. Focusing once again, Iryna toggled her helmet-mounted radio and checked her munitions.
“Launch PK-- Let’s rattle their air defenses,” Iryna ordered. She and two other fighters hardly flinched as one of their missiles held under their fuselages raced forward, the dual-pulsed rocket motors pushing the anti-radiation missiles far beyond the maximum speeds of their aircraft. The missiles homed on the emissions of air defenses until they detonated, showering the faraway steel latticework of the radars with fragmentation that ripped through the lightly armored equipment.
It was then that the airfield actually came into view-- rows upon rows of hardened aircraft shelters and ammunition and fuel depots surrounded the expansive, criss-cross network of paved runway.
“Alfa squadron, target’s in sight. If you’ve got munitions, use them.”
Runway bombs assaulted the tarmac, cleaving craters through the concrete and earth; EO-guided bombs dropped on the earth-covered aircraft shelters were destroyed as the doors flew outwards in a puff of flame; and fighters parked in the open, the pilots of which clamored to get into the cockpit, were annihilated as rockets streaked downward and engulfed them and their aircraft in violent blasts. Within minutes, the alarms long since raised, the airbase burned. Stripes of thick, black smoke rose from the burning fuel depots while rubble and aircraft parts were strewn across the runway. Little efforts to extinguish the fires afterward were underway by the time the entirety of the squadron left the area.