• Family Room for Rent Near Me – Rent House in Jaipur, Flats Near Airport


    When Rohan relocated from Jaipur along with his spouse and two children and two kids, the first thing that came to his head was easy: "I need a safe, spacious family room for rent near me -- close to schools, hospitals, and ideally near Jaipur Airport so I can travel for work without stress." If you've ever tried to find families rooms, separate homes, or flats to rental in Jaipur and surrounding areas, then you'll realize there's a lot to be concerned about. There are endless listings, no information about prices, and homes appear appealing in pictures however, they're not as appealing in real. That's where HappyStay is able to help by providing authentic houses and flats to rent close to Jaipur Airport and Family Room for Rent Near you – Rent House in Jaipur, Flats Near Airport , crafted to satisfy the requirements of families in the modern age. Read More @ https://sites.google.com/view/for-familyy/home
    Family Room for Rent Near Me – Rent House in Jaipur, Flats Near Airport When Rohan relocated from Jaipur along with his spouse and two children and two kids, the first thing that came to his head was easy: "I need a safe, spacious family room for rent near me -- close to schools, hospitals, and ideally near Jaipur Airport so I can travel for work without stress." If you've ever tried to find families rooms, separate homes, or flats to rental in Jaipur and surrounding areas, then you'll realize there's a lot to be concerned about. There are endless listings, no information about prices, and homes appear appealing in pictures however, they're not as appealing in real. That's where HappyStay is able to help by providing authentic houses and flats to rent close to Jaipur Airport and Family Room for Rent Near you – Rent House in Jaipur, Flats Near Airport , crafted to satisfy the requirements of families in the modern age. Read More @ https://sites.google.com/view/for-familyy/home
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  • Post-Hospitalization Home Care Calgary

    How do you manage care after hospitalization in Calgary? Ephraim Stat Care offers post-hospitalization home care services to help patients recover safely at home. Our team provides wound care, medication support, mobility assistance, and daily living help while following medical recommendations. Ephraim Stat Care works closely with healthcare providers to ensure continuity of care. We focus on a smooth recovery process, reducing hospital readmissions and promoting healing in a familiar environment.
    Visit Our Profile : https://coolors.co/u/ephraim_stat_care
    Post-Hospitalization Home Care Calgary How do you manage care after hospitalization in Calgary? Ephraim Stat Care offers post-hospitalization home care services to help patients recover safely at home. Our team provides wound care, medication support, mobility assistance, and daily living help while following medical recommendations. Ephraim Stat Care works closely with healthcare providers to ensure continuity of care. We focus on a smooth recovery process, reducing hospital readmissions and promoting healing in a familiar environment. Visit Our Profile : https://coolors.co/u/ephraim_stat_care
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  • https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/reports/global-hospital-furniture-market
    https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/reports/global-hospital-furniture-market
    Hospital Furniture Market – Global Market – Industry Trends and Forecast to 2029 | Data Bridge Market Research
    The Hospital Furniture market was valued at USD 0.00 in 2023 and is expected to reach USD 0.00 by 2030, growing at a CAGR of 0% (2024-2030). Get insights on trends, segmentation, and key players with Data Bridge Market Research Reports.
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  • https://m2squareconsultancy.com/reports/hospital-acquired-infections-diagnostics-market
    https://m2squareconsultancy.com/reports/hospital-acquired-infections-diagnostics-market
    M2SQUARECONSULTANCY.COM
    Hospital Acquired Infections Diagnostics Market Size Analysis, Growth Trends & Forecast to 2033
    Hospital Acquired Infections Diagnostics Market Overview The Hospital Acquired Infections Diagnostics Market is projected to witness significant...
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  • https://m2squareconsultancy.com/reports/hospital-acquired-infections-diagnostics-market
    https://m2squareconsultancy.com/reports/hospital-acquired-infections-diagnostics-market
    M2SQUARECONSULTANCY.COM
    Hospital Acquired Infections Diagnostics Market Size Analysis, Growth Trends & Forecast to 2033
    Hospital Acquired Infections Diagnostics Market Overview The Hospital Acquired Infections Diagnostics Market is projected to witness significant...
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  • Hospital IT Solutions | Trusted by 750+ Hospitals Worldwide

    Nest Software provides advanced Hospital IT Solutions trusted by over 750 hospitals worldwide. Our innovative, integrated IT services streamline hospital workflows, improve patient care, and ensure the highest level of data security. With tailored solutions that meet the unique needs of healthcare providers, we help hospitals deliver exceptional service while protecting patient information.

    https://nspl.co.in/hospital-industry/
    #hospitalitsolutions
    Hospital IT Solutions | Trusted by 750+ Hospitals Worldwide Nest Software provides advanced Hospital IT Solutions trusted by over 750 hospitals worldwide. Our innovative, integrated IT services streamline hospital workflows, improve patient care, and ensure the highest level of data security. With tailored solutions that meet the unique needs of healthcare providers, we help hospitals deliver exceptional service while protecting patient information. https://nspl.co.in/hospital-industry/ #hospitalitsolutions
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  • Punarjan Ayurveda Hospitals in Chennai is one of India’s best Ayurveda treatment services and Cancer care. Rasayana Ayurveda Care is combined with conventional medications, and this supports cancer services being the Best Cancer Treatment Hospital In Chennai. We offer holistic services for cancer patients to manage the impacts of certain treatments. We work to ensure that cancer patients receive an improved quality of life. The support staff have qualified Ayurveda vaidyas who extend their hand in synchronizing standard treatment and Ayurvedic care.
    For more detail visit:https://www.punarjanayurveda.com/chennai/
    Punarjan Ayurveda Hospitals in Chennai is one of India’s best Ayurveda treatment services and Cancer care. Rasayana Ayurveda Care is combined with conventional medications, and this supports cancer services being the Best Cancer Treatment Hospital In Chennai. We offer holistic services for cancer patients to manage the impacts of certain treatments. We work to ensure that cancer patients receive an improved quality of life. The support staff have qualified Ayurveda vaidyas who extend their hand in synchronizing standard treatment and Ayurvedic care. For more detail visit:https://www.punarjanayurveda.com/chennai/
    WWW.PUNARJANAYURVEDA.COM
    Best Cancer Treatment Hospital In Chennai | Punarjan Ayurveda Hospitals
    Punarjan Ayurveda Hospital in Chennai integrates traditional Ayurveda with modern cancer care for comprehensive healing and recovery.
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  • Cancer Care for Heroes: Innovation in Radiation Therapy
    Category: Veteran Healthcare | Keywords: Cancer Treatment, Radiation Therapy, VA Hospitals

    Many veterans face long-term health challenges — including cancer. Radiation therapy is evolving to provide precision-targeted care with fewer side effects and shorter treatment times. Advanced platforms now use real-time imaging, proton therapy, and AI-enhanced dose mapping to treat various cancers more effectively.

    The Cancer Radiation Therapy Market is seeing major investments in VA systems, mobile treatment centers, and rural outreach programs. These innovations aim to ensure no veteran is left behind when it comes to life-saving care.

    Explore the market trends: https://www.businessmarketinsights.com/reports/cancer-radiation-therapy-market
    Cancer Care for Heroes: Innovation in Radiation Therapy Category: Veteran Healthcare | Keywords: Cancer Treatment, Radiation Therapy, VA Hospitals Many veterans face long-term health challenges — including cancer. Radiation therapy is evolving to provide precision-targeted care with fewer side effects and shorter treatment times. Advanced platforms now use real-time imaging, proton therapy, and AI-enhanced dose mapping to treat various cancers more effectively. The Cancer Radiation Therapy Market is seeing major investments in VA systems, mobile treatment centers, and rural outreach programs. These innovations aim to ensure no veteran is left behind when it comes to life-saving care. 📘 Explore the market trends: https://www.businessmarketinsights.com/reports/cancer-radiation-therapy-market
    WWW.BUSINESSMARKETINSIGHTS.COM
    Cancer Radiation Therapy Market Outlook (2021-2031) by Type, Field Strength, End User
    Cancer Radiation Therapy Market was valued at US$ 57,884.05 Million in 2024 and is projected to reach US$ 136,163.16 Million by 2031 with a CAGR of 13.1% from 2025 to 2031 segmented into Type, Field Strength, End User.
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  • Tactical Precision: How Robotics Are Reinventing Military Surgery
    Category: Defense Tech | Keywords: Robotic Surgery, Laparoscopic Systems, Veteran Surgical Care

    Robotic-assisted systems aren’t just for civilian hospitals — they’re rapidly becoming indispensable in military operating rooms and veteran healthcare. These advanced laparoscopic platforms provide precision under pressure, allowing surgeons to perform minimally invasive procedures with fewer complications and quicker recovery.

    Robotic systems now support combat medics, mobile surgical units, and VA hospitals handling trauma, orthopedic, and urological conditions. AI-enhanced control, 3D visualization, and remote operation make these systems a tactical advantage in both war zones and peace-time veteran care.

    Explore the full study: https://www.businessmarketinsights.com/reports/laparoscopic-robot-assisted-systems-market
    Tactical Precision: How Robotics Are Reinventing Military Surgery Category: Defense Tech | Keywords: Robotic Surgery, Laparoscopic Systems, Veteran Surgical Care Robotic-assisted systems aren’t just for civilian hospitals — they’re rapidly becoming indispensable in military operating rooms and veteran healthcare. These advanced laparoscopic platforms provide precision under pressure, allowing surgeons to perform minimally invasive procedures with fewer complications and quicker recovery. Robotic systems now support combat medics, mobile surgical units, and VA hospitals handling trauma, orthopedic, and urological conditions. AI-enhanced control, 3D visualization, and remote operation make these systems a tactical advantage in both war zones and peace-time veteran care. 📘 Explore the full study: https://www.businessmarketinsights.com/reports/laparoscopic-robot-assisted-systems-market
    WWW.BUSINESSMARKETINSIGHTS.COM
    Laparoscopic Robot Assisted Systems Market Outlook (2021-2031) by Product, Application, End User
    Laparoscopic Robot Assisted Systems Market was valued at US$ 2,387.52 Million in 2024 and is projected to reach US$ 5,002.32 Million by 2031 with a CAGR of 11.1% from 2025 to 2031 segmented into Product, Application, End User.
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  • Revolutionizing Military Healthcare: The Power of Modern X-Ray Imaging
    Category: Military Medicine | Keywords: X-Ray Imaging, Veteran Healthcare, Portable Diagnostics

    Timely diagnostics can mean the difference between life and death — especially in combat zones, VA hospitals, or remote deployments. The new generation of digital X-ray imaging devices is changing battlefield and veteran care forever.

    These systems offer high-speed imaging, cloud-based reporting, and AI-supported diagnosis, ensuring faster, more accurate results even in field environments. Portable X-ray units now enable mobile diagnostics in remote bases, emergency units, and disaster recovery areas.

    With the growing demand for veteran services and military readiness, this technology is a critical asset for tactical medics, VA professionals, and defense medical contractors.

    Learn more in the report: https://www.businessmarketinsights.com/reports/x-ray-imaging-devices-market
    Revolutionizing Military Healthcare: The Power of Modern X-Ray Imaging Category: Military Medicine | Keywords: X-Ray Imaging, Veteran Healthcare, Portable Diagnostics Timely diagnostics can mean the difference between life and death — especially in combat zones, VA hospitals, or remote deployments. The new generation of digital X-ray imaging devices is changing battlefield and veteran care forever. These systems offer high-speed imaging, cloud-based reporting, and AI-supported diagnosis, ensuring faster, more accurate results even in field environments. Portable X-ray units now enable mobile diagnostics in remote bases, emergency units, and disaster recovery areas. With the growing demand for veteran services and military readiness, this technology is a critical asset for tactical medics, VA professionals, and defense medical contractors. 📘 Learn more in the report: https://www.businessmarketinsights.com/reports/x-ray-imaging-devices-market
    WWW.BUSINESSMARKETINSIGHTS.COM
    X-Ray Imaging Devices Market Outlook (2021-2031) by Product Type, Portability, Technology, Application, and Geography
    X-Ray Imaging Devices Market was valued at US$ 5,338.76 Million in 2024 and is projected to reach US$ 6,382.7 Million by 2031 with a CAGR of 2.6% from 2025 to 2031 segmented into Product Type, Portability, Technology, Application.
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  • Hyderabad has an excellent infrastructure that has enabled numerous patients to get cancer treatment care. Many hospitals in Hyderabad have quickly embraced the treatment of cancers and are offering conventional treatment services. Still, Punarjan Ayurveda Hospitals is one of the best cancer hospital in Hyderabad.
    https://www.punarjanayurveda.com/hyderabad/
    Hyderabad has an excellent infrastructure that has enabled numerous patients to get cancer treatment care. Many hospitals in Hyderabad have quickly embraced the treatment of cancers and are offering conventional treatment services. Still, Punarjan Ayurveda Hospitals is one of the best cancer hospital in Hyderabad. https://www.punarjanayurveda.com/hyderabad/
    WWW.PUNARJANAYURVEDA.COM
    Cancer Hospital In Hyderabad | Punarjan Ayurveda
    Discover the best cancer hospital in Hyderabad; Punarjan Ayurveda Hospital, offering advanced and holistic treatment options for patients.
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  • The Punarjan Ayurveda Hospitals in Bangalore symbolizes one of the hope for many people suffering from this terrible condition, where an ancient Indian healing system is imbued with the best of modern treatment service and best cancer hospital in Bangalore.
    https://www.punarjanayurveda.com/bangalore/
    The Punarjan Ayurveda Hospitals in Bangalore symbolizes one of the hope for many people suffering from this terrible condition, where an ancient Indian healing system is imbued with the best of modern treatment service and best cancer hospital in Bangalore. https://www.punarjanayurveda.com/bangalore/
    WWW.PUNARJANAYURVEDA.COM
    Cancer Hospital in Bangalore | Punarjan Ayurveda
    Discover holistic cancer care at Punarjan Ayurveda Hospital in Bangalore. Expert integrative cancer care at the best Cancer Hospital in Bangalore.
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  • Tips to Get Affordable Hotel Rates

    Looking to book affordable hotels in Jaipur without compromising on comfort and quality? Experience exceptional hospitality at Anuraag Villa, where budget-friendly rates meet top-notch services, serene surroundings, and warm Rajasthani hospitality for a truly memorable stay in Pink City. Explore more @ https://www.anuraagvilla.com/
    Tips to Get Affordable Hotel Rates Looking to book affordable hotels in Jaipur without compromising on comfort and quality? Experience exceptional hospitality at Anuraag Villa, where budget-friendly rates meet top-notch services, serene surroundings, and warm Rajasthani hospitality for a truly memorable stay in Pink City. Explore more @ https://www.anuraagvilla.com/
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  • Pashtun

    Pashtuns (also called Pushtan, Paktun or Pathan) are the largest ethnic group in Afghanistan. Though their exact numbers are uncertain and as with other communities are contested, previous estimates have suggested that they make up around 42 per cent of the population. They live mainly in the south and the east of the country. They have a distinct language called Pashto (an official language since 1936) but also speak Pakhto, which are both Iranian dialects that fall within the Indo-European group of languages. They are generally able to speak Farsi when necessary, often relying on the language in the context of trade dealings in the region. It is speculated that Pashtuns are descendants of Eastern Iranians, who immigrated to the area from Persia. However, there is also an interesting legend, which claims that they actually originate from one of the ancient tribes of Israel. Pashtuns are Sunni Muslims and can also be found in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in Pakistan (about 14 million). They are seen as the historic founders of the Afghan Kingdom, with an apparent predominance in administration power until recently.

    The social structure of the Pashtuns is based on the Pashtunwali (or Pukhtunwali) code, which is a mixture of a tribal code of honour and local interpretations of Shari’a. This requires the speaking of Pashtu and the adherence to established customs. Hospitality, protection of their guests, defence of property, family honour and protection of the female relatives are some of the most important principles for Pashtuns. They rely on the tribal council jirga for the enforcement of disputes and local decision-making, as well as the seclusion of women from all affairs outside the home. A major aspect of the Pashtunwali code emphasizes personal authority and freedom. Women are required to wear full-face and full-length garments known as the burka. Pashtun culture is celebrated for its traditional music, dancing, poetry and storytelling.

    A majority of Pashtuns rely upon agriculture (irrigated wheat) and animal husbandry for their source of income, with some involved in trading in these and other commodities. Population relocation and poverty caused by the chronic lack of stability in Afghanistan has led to a rise in drug trafficking, mainly opium via Pakistan to Europe and North America. The difficult living conditions together with the lack of clean water and health care contributes to a short life expectancy of only about 46 years. Those living in the Kabul area seem to enjoy slightly better living standards.

    Tribal divisions

    Despite their past political dominance, Pashtuns have never formed a homogeneous group, and many have fallen victim to oppression at the hands of the elites from their own community. The power and leadership of individuals are perhaps what divides Pashtuns, not only into different tribes but also into numerous sub-tribes, each isolated within their own borders. Interference in each other’s affairs has caused conflict among sub-tribes throughout their history. Yet despite their infighting, they have generally rallied to form a unified front when challenged by external threats or interference by a central non-Pashtun government.

    Pakistan’s policy has been mainly supportive of the Pashtuns, especially in more recent times, but does not support the claim for self-determination of the 13 million Pashtuns living in the province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, out of fear of losing part of their territory.
    Pashtun Pashtuns (also called Pushtan, Paktun or Pathan) are the largest ethnic group in Afghanistan. Though their exact numbers are uncertain and as with other communities are contested, previous estimates have suggested that they make up around 42 per cent of the population. They live mainly in the south and the east of the country. They have a distinct language called Pashto (an official language since 1936) but also speak Pakhto, which are both Iranian dialects that fall within the Indo-European group of languages. They are generally able to speak Farsi when necessary, often relying on the language in the context of trade dealings in the region. It is speculated that Pashtuns are descendants of Eastern Iranians, who immigrated to the area from Persia. However, there is also an interesting legend, which claims that they actually originate from one of the ancient tribes of Israel. Pashtuns are Sunni Muslims and can also be found in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in Pakistan (about 14 million). They are seen as the historic founders of the Afghan Kingdom, with an apparent predominance in administration power until recently. The social structure of the Pashtuns is based on the Pashtunwali (or Pukhtunwali) code, which is a mixture of a tribal code of honour and local interpretations of Shari’a. This requires the speaking of Pashtu and the adherence to established customs. Hospitality, protection of their guests, defence of property, family honour and protection of the female relatives are some of the most important principles for Pashtuns. They rely on the tribal council jirga for the enforcement of disputes and local decision-making, as well as the seclusion of women from all affairs outside the home. A major aspect of the Pashtunwali code emphasizes personal authority and freedom. Women are required to wear full-face and full-length garments known as the burka. Pashtun culture is celebrated for its traditional music, dancing, poetry and storytelling. A majority of Pashtuns rely upon agriculture (irrigated wheat) and animal husbandry for their source of income, with some involved in trading in these and other commodities. Population relocation and poverty caused by the chronic lack of stability in Afghanistan has led to a rise in drug trafficking, mainly opium via Pakistan to Europe and North America. The difficult living conditions together with the lack of clean water and health care contributes to a short life expectancy of only about 46 years. Those living in the Kabul area seem to enjoy slightly better living standards. Tribal divisions Despite their past political dominance, Pashtuns have never formed a homogeneous group, and many have fallen victim to oppression at the hands of the elites from their own community. The power and leadership of individuals are perhaps what divides Pashtuns, not only into different tribes but also into numerous sub-tribes, each isolated within their own borders. Interference in each other’s affairs has caused conflict among sub-tribes throughout their history. Yet despite their infighting, they have generally rallied to form a unified front when challenged by external threats or interference by a central non-Pashtun government. Pakistan’s policy has been mainly supportive of the Pashtuns, especially in more recent times, but does not support the claim for self-determination of the 13 million Pashtuns living in the province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, out of fear of losing part of their territory.
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  • I was a Soldier or I Am A Veteran
    - By Colonel Daniel K. Cedusky, USA, Retired

    I was a Soldier or I am a Veteran: That’s the way it is, that’s what we were... ARE.

    We put it, simply, without any swagger, without any brag, in those four plain words.
    We speak them softly, just to ourselves. Others may have forgotten.

    They are a manifesto to mankind; speak those four words anywhere in the world — yes, anywhere — and many who hear will recognize their meaning.

    They are a pledge. A pledge that stems from a document which said: “I solemnly Swear”, “to protect and defend” and goes on from there, and from a Flag called “Old Glory”.

    Listen, and you can hear the voices echoing through them, words that sprang white-hot from bloody lips, shouts of “medic", whispers of “Oh God!”, forceful words of “Follow Me”. If you can’t hear them, you weren’t, if you can you are.

    “Don’t give up the ship! Fight her till she dies. Damn the torpedoes, Full Speed Ahead! Do you want to live forever? Don’t cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying.”
    Laughing words, and words cold as January ice, words that when spoken, were meant, “Wait till you see the whites of their eyes”.

    The echo’s of I was a Soldier. Say what you mean, mean what you say!

    You can hear the slow cadences at Gettysburg, or Arlington honoring not a man, but a Soldier, perhaps forgotten by his nation, his family.

    Oh! Those Broken Promises, VA claims, Homelessness, Divorces.

    You can hear those echoes as you have a beer at the “Post”, walk in a parade, go to The Wall, visit a VA hospital, hear the mournful sounds of Taps, or gaze upon the white crosses, or tall white stones, row upon row.

    But they aren’t just words; they’re a way of life, a pattern of living, or a way of dying.

    They made the evening, with another day’s work done; supper with the wife and kids. A Beer with friends; and no Gestapo snooping at the door and threatening to kick your teeth in.

    They gave you the right to choose who shall run our government for us, the right to a secret vote that counts just as much as the next fellow’s in the final tally; and the obligation to use that right, and guard it and keep it clean.

    They prove the right to hope, to dream, to pray, and the obligation to serve.

    These are some of the meanings of those four words, meanings we don’t often stop to tally up or even list.

    Only in the stillness of a moonless night, or in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon, or in the thin dawn of a new day, when our world is close about us, do they rise up in our memories and stir in our sentient hearts.

    And we are remembering family & buddies, who were at Iwo Jima, Wake Island, and Bataan, Inchon, and Chu Lai, Knox and Benning, Great Lakes and Paris Island, Travis and Chanute, Bagdad, Kabul, Kuwait City, and many other places long forgotten by our civilian friends.

    They are plain words, those four. Simple words.

    You could carve them on stone; you could carve them on the mountain ranges. You could sing them, to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.”

    But you needn’t. You needn’t do any of those things, for those words are graven in the hearts of Veterans, they are familiar to 24,000,000 tongues, every sound, and every syllable.

    If you must write them, put them on my Stone.

    But when you speak them, speak them softly, proudly, I will hear you, for I too, I was a Soldier, I AM A VETERAN."

    NSDQ!
    I was a Soldier or I Am A Veteran - By Colonel Daniel K. Cedusky, USA, Retired I was a Soldier or I am a Veteran: That’s the way it is, that’s what we were... ARE. We put it, simply, without any swagger, without any brag, in those four plain words. We speak them softly, just to ourselves. Others may have forgotten. They are a manifesto to mankind; speak those four words anywhere in the world — yes, anywhere — and many who hear will recognize their meaning. They are a pledge. A pledge that stems from a document which said: “I solemnly Swear”, “to protect and defend” and goes on from there, and from a Flag called “Old Glory”. Listen, and you can hear the voices echoing through them, words that sprang white-hot from bloody lips, shouts of “medic", whispers of “Oh God!”, forceful words of “Follow Me”. If you can’t hear them, you weren’t, if you can you are. “Don’t give up the ship! Fight her till she dies. Damn the torpedoes, Full Speed Ahead! Do you want to live forever? Don’t cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying.” Laughing words, and words cold as January ice, words that when spoken, were meant, “Wait till you see the whites of their eyes”. The echo’s of I was a Soldier. Say what you mean, mean what you say! You can hear the slow cadences at Gettysburg, or Arlington honoring not a man, but a Soldier, perhaps forgotten by his nation, his family. Oh! Those Broken Promises, VA claims, Homelessness, Divorces. You can hear those echoes as you have a beer at the “Post”, walk in a parade, go to The Wall, visit a VA hospital, hear the mournful sounds of Taps, or gaze upon the white crosses, or tall white stones, row upon row. But they aren’t just words; they’re a way of life, a pattern of living, or a way of dying. They made the evening, with another day’s work done; supper with the wife and kids. A Beer with friends; and no Gestapo snooping at the door and threatening to kick your teeth in. They gave you the right to choose who shall run our government for us, the right to a secret vote that counts just as much as the next fellow’s in the final tally; and the obligation to use that right, and guard it and keep it clean. They prove the right to hope, to dream, to pray, and the obligation to serve. These are some of the meanings of those four words, meanings we don’t often stop to tally up or even list. Only in the stillness of a moonless night, or in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon, or in the thin dawn of a new day, when our world is close about us, do they rise up in our memories and stir in our sentient hearts. And we are remembering family & buddies, who were at Iwo Jima, Wake Island, and Bataan, Inchon, and Chu Lai, Knox and Benning, Great Lakes and Paris Island, Travis and Chanute, Bagdad, Kabul, Kuwait City, and many other places long forgotten by our civilian friends. They are plain words, those four. Simple words. You could carve them on stone; you could carve them on the mountain ranges. You could sing them, to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.” But you needn’t. You needn’t do any of those things, for those words are graven in the hearts of Veterans, they are familiar to 24,000,000 tongues, every sound, and every syllable. If you must write them, put them on my Stone. But when you speak them, speak them softly, proudly, I will hear you, for I too, I was a Soldier, I AM A VETERAN." NSDQ!
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  • I was a Soldier or I Am A Veteran
    - By Colonel Daniel K. Cedusky, USA, Retired

    I was a Soldier or I am a Veteran: That’s the way it is, that’s what we were... ARE.

    We put it, simply, without any swagger, without any brag, in those four plain words.

    We speak them softly, just to ourselves. Others may have forgotten.

    They are a manifesto to mankind; speak those four words anywhere in the world — yes, anywhere — and many who hear will recognize their meaning.

    They are a pledge. A pledge that stems from a document which said: “I solemnly Swear”, “to protect and defend” and goes on from there, and from a Flag called “Old Glory”.

    Listen, and you can hear the voices echoing through them, words that sprang white-hot from bloody lips, shouts of “medic", whispers of “Oh God!”, forceful words of “Follow Me”. If you can’t hear them, you weren’t, if you can you are.
    “Don’t give up the ship! Fight her till she dies. Damn the torpedoes, Full Speed Ahead! Do you want to live forever? Don’t cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying.”

    Laughing words, and words cold as January ice, words that when spoken, were meant, “Wait till you see the whites of their eyes”. The echo’s of I was a Soldier. Say what you mean, mean what you say!

    You can hear the slow cadences at Gettysburg, or Arlington honoring not a man, but a Soldier, perhaps forgotten by his nation, his family.

    Oh! Those Broken Promises, VA claims, Homelessness, Divorces.

    You can hear those echoes as you have a beer at the “Post”, walk in a parade, go to The Wall, visit a VA hospital, hear the mournful sounds of Taps, or gaze upon the white crosses, or tall white stones, row upon row.

    But they aren’t just words; they’re a way of life, a pattern of living, or a way of dying.

    They made the evening, with another day’s work done; supper with the wife and kids. A Beer with friends; and no Gestapo snooping at the door and threatening to kick your teeth in.

    They gave you the right to choose who shall run our government for us, the right to a secret vote that counts just as much as the next fellow’s in the final tally; and the obligation to use that right, and guard it and keep it clean. They prove the right to hope, to dream, to pray, and the obligation to serve.

    These are some of the meanings of those four words, meanings we don’t often stop to tally up or even list.

    Only in the stillness of a moonless night, or in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon, or in the thin dawn of a new day, when our world is close about us, do they rise up in our memories and stir in our sentient hearts.

    And we are remembering family & buddies, who were at Iwo Jima, Wake Island, and Bataan, Inchon, and Chu Lai, Knox and Benning,
    Great Lakes and Paris Island, Travis and Chanute, Bagdad, Kabul, Kuwait City, and many other places long forgotten by our civilian friends.

    They are plain words, those four. Simple words.
    You could carve them on stone; you could carve them on the mountain ranges. You could sing them, to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.”

    But you needn’t. You needn’t do any of those things, for those words are graven in the hearts of Veterans, they are familiar to 24,000,000 tongues, every sound, and every syllable.

    If you must write them, put them on my Stone.

    But when you speak them, speak them softly, proudly, I will hear you, for I too, I was a Soldier, I AM A VETERAN."

    NSDQ!
    I was a Soldier or I Am A Veteran - By Colonel Daniel K. Cedusky, USA, Retired I was a Soldier or I am a Veteran: That’s the way it is, that’s what we were... ARE. We put it, simply, without any swagger, without any brag, in those four plain words. We speak them softly, just to ourselves. Others may have forgotten. They are a manifesto to mankind; speak those four words anywhere in the world — yes, anywhere — and many who hear will recognize their meaning. They are a pledge. A pledge that stems from a document which said: “I solemnly Swear”, “to protect and defend” and goes on from there, and from a Flag called “Old Glory”. Listen, and you can hear the voices echoing through them, words that sprang white-hot from bloody lips, shouts of “medic", whispers of “Oh God!”, forceful words of “Follow Me”. If you can’t hear them, you weren’t, if you can you are. “Don’t give up the ship! Fight her till she dies. Damn the torpedoes, Full Speed Ahead! Do you want to live forever? Don’t cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying.” Laughing words, and words cold as January ice, words that when spoken, were meant, “Wait till you see the whites of their eyes”. The echo’s of I was a Soldier. Say what you mean, mean what you say! You can hear the slow cadences at Gettysburg, or Arlington honoring not a man, but a Soldier, perhaps forgotten by his nation, his family. Oh! Those Broken Promises, VA claims, Homelessness, Divorces. You can hear those echoes as you have a beer at the “Post”, walk in a parade, go to The Wall, visit a VA hospital, hear the mournful sounds of Taps, or gaze upon the white crosses, or tall white stones, row upon row. But they aren’t just words; they’re a way of life, a pattern of living, or a way of dying. They made the evening, with another day’s work done; supper with the wife and kids. A Beer with friends; and no Gestapo snooping at the door and threatening to kick your teeth in. They gave you the right to choose who shall run our government for us, the right to a secret vote that counts just as much as the next fellow’s in the final tally; and the obligation to use that right, and guard it and keep it clean. They prove the right to hope, to dream, to pray, and the obligation to serve. These are some of the meanings of those four words, meanings we don’t often stop to tally up or even list. Only in the stillness of a moonless night, or in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon, or in the thin dawn of a new day, when our world is close about us, do they rise up in our memories and stir in our sentient hearts. And we are remembering family & buddies, who were at Iwo Jima, Wake Island, and Bataan, Inchon, and Chu Lai, Knox and Benning, Great Lakes and Paris Island, Travis and Chanute, Bagdad, Kabul, Kuwait City, and many other places long forgotten by our civilian friends. They are plain words, those four. Simple words. You could carve them on stone; you could carve them on the mountain ranges. You could sing them, to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.” But you needn’t. You needn’t do any of those things, for those words are graven in the hearts of Veterans, they are familiar to 24,000,000 tongues, every sound, and every syllable. If you must write them, put them on my Stone. But when you speak them, speak them softly, proudly, I will hear you, for I too, I was a Soldier, I AM A VETERAN." NSDQ!
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  • via: WW II uncovered
    ·
    🇺🇲WWII uncovered: Medal of Honor Recipient Jack Lummus: From the New York Giants to the Beaches of Iwo Jima

    Jack Lummus, of Ennis Texas, was a sports star at Baylor University. Excelling in both baseball and football, Jack was nominated for two consecutive years as an All-American. However he left Baylor early to enlist with the Army Air Corps. Unfortunately, Jack washed out in flight school.

    Jack returned to baseball briefly in the minor leagues and then signed with the New York Giants. As a rookie he played nine games. "On December 7, 1941, the Giants were playing the Brooklyn Dodgers. Around half-time, the Associated Press ticker in the press box gave out a message saying, "Airplanes identified as Japanese have attacked the American Naval Base at Pearl Harbor." The players continued the game, knowing nothing of the attack.

    Jack enlisted with the US Marine Corps on January 30, 1942. He graduated from Officer's Training School at Quantico on December 18, 1942. Initially, Lummus was assigned to the Marine Raiders at Camp Pendleton - ultimately attaching to the 27th Marines, 5th Marine Division.

    "In January 1944, he was assigned as Executive Officer, Company F, 2nd Battalion, 27th Marines. In August 1944, the Division was transferred to Camp Tarawa outside of Waimea, Hawaii. Lummus boarded the USS Henry Clay for the trip. After four months of training, the Division was assigned to the V Amphibious Corps and would fight to take the Island of Iwo Jima." - USMC Archive

    According to US Marine Corps records: "First Lieutenant Jack Lummus was in the first wave of Marines to land at Red One."

    "On March 6, Lummus was put in command of E Company’s third rifle platoon. Two days later, the platoon was at the spearhead of an assault on an objective near Kitano Point. As Lummus charged forward, assaulting pillboxes on his own, his men watched as he survived several shrapnel hits, only to step on a land mine. Despite horrific damage to his legs, Lummus continued to push his men forward, demanding that they not stop for him." - National World War II Museum

    According to the National World War II Museum: "Lummus was triaged and evacuated to the Fifth Division Hospital, where doctors did all they could to save his life. Despite 18 pints of blood transfusions and their best efforts, the damage to Lummus’ body was too much, even for his athletic frame. Before he died, Lummus said to one o f the surgeons, “I guess the New York Giants have lost the services of a damn good end.” A few hours later, Lummus asked for a sip of coffee, after which he laid back, closed his eyes, and smiled as he took his last breath."

    First Lieutenant Jack Lummus was 29 years old at the time of his passing.

    "Jack Lummus was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor on May 30, 1946.

    His military and athletic legacy continue today, as the U.S. Navy named a maritime prepositioning ship in his honor, the USNS 1st Lt Jack Lummus, in 1986, and the New York Giants inducted him into their Ring of Honor on October 11, 2015" - The National Medal of Honor Museum

    Jack lies in rest at Myrtle Cemetery in Ennis Texas. Lest We Forget.

    #ww2uncovered #honorourveterans #bayloruniversity #newyorkgiants #rememberthefallen #honorthefallen #MedalofHonor #iwojima #WWII #WWIIveteran #WorldWarII #lestweforget
    WWII uncovered©️ description and photos sourced by: USMC Archive, National World War II Museum, Baylor University and Ancestry Database
    via: WW II uncovered · 🇺🇲WWII uncovered: Medal of Honor Recipient Jack Lummus: From the New York Giants to the Beaches of Iwo Jima Jack Lummus, of Ennis Texas, was a sports star at Baylor University. Excelling in both baseball and football, Jack was nominated for two consecutive years as an All-American. However he left Baylor early to enlist with the Army Air Corps. Unfortunately, Jack washed out in flight school. Jack returned to baseball briefly in the minor leagues and then signed with the New York Giants. As a rookie he played nine games. "On December 7, 1941, the Giants were playing the Brooklyn Dodgers. Around half-time, the Associated Press ticker in the press box gave out a message saying, "Airplanes identified as Japanese have attacked the American Naval Base at Pearl Harbor." The players continued the game, knowing nothing of the attack. Jack enlisted with the US Marine Corps on January 30, 1942. He graduated from Officer's Training School at Quantico on December 18, 1942. Initially, Lummus was assigned to the Marine Raiders at Camp Pendleton - ultimately attaching to the 27th Marines, 5th Marine Division. "In January 1944, he was assigned as Executive Officer, Company F, 2nd Battalion, 27th Marines. In August 1944, the Division was transferred to Camp Tarawa outside of Waimea, Hawaii. Lummus boarded the USS Henry Clay for the trip. After four months of training, the Division was assigned to the V Amphibious Corps and would fight to take the Island of Iwo Jima." - USMC Archive According to US Marine Corps records: "First Lieutenant Jack Lummus was in the first wave of Marines to land at Red One." "On March 6, Lummus was put in command of E Company’s third rifle platoon. Two days later, the platoon was at the spearhead of an assault on an objective near Kitano Point. As Lummus charged forward, assaulting pillboxes on his own, his men watched as he survived several shrapnel hits, only to step on a land mine. Despite horrific damage to his legs, Lummus continued to push his men forward, demanding that they not stop for him." - National World War II Museum According to the National World War II Museum: "Lummus was triaged and evacuated to the Fifth Division Hospital, where doctors did all they could to save his life. Despite 18 pints of blood transfusions and their best efforts, the damage to Lummus’ body was too much, even for his athletic frame. Before he died, Lummus said to one o f the surgeons, “I guess the New York Giants have lost the services of a damn good end.” A few hours later, Lummus asked for a sip of coffee, after which he laid back, closed his eyes, and smiled as he took his last breath." First Lieutenant Jack Lummus was 29 years old at the time of his passing. "Jack Lummus was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor on May 30, 1946. His military and athletic legacy continue today, as the U.S. Navy named a maritime prepositioning ship in his honor, the USNS 1st Lt Jack Lummus, in 1986, and the New York Giants inducted him into their Ring of Honor on October 11, 2015" - The National Medal of Honor Museum Jack lies in rest at Myrtle Cemetery in Ennis Texas. Lest We Forget. #ww2uncovered #honorourveterans #bayloruniversity #newyorkgiants #rememberthefallen #honorthefallen #MedalofHonor #iwojima #WWII #WWIIveteran #WorldWarII #lestweforget WWII uncovered©️ description and photos sourced by: USMC Archive, National World War II Museum, Baylor University and Ancestry Database
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  • via: The Giant Killer
    ·
    Pictured are the eight U.S. Marines of the suicide mission "Doom Patrol" to recover the body of a dead Marine, Charlie Company, 7th Marine in Quảng Nam Province, 1968.

    In February 1968, eight Marines volunteered for a suicide mission. After 32 US casualties were incurred during the first 30 hours of Operation Pursuit. The operation was initiated in mid-February 1968 by the 1st Marine Division to search for enemy rocket caches in the mountains west of Da Nang.

    Operation Pursuit began at 11 a.m. on Feb. 14 as Charlie Company crossed the western end of Hill 10 while Delta Company departed from Hill 41, about 2 miles to the southeast. Accompanying them were 1st Division combat correspondent Sgt. Robert Bayer and photographer Cpl. R.J. Del Vecchio.

    The two companies linked up on the approach to Hills 270 and 310. The dense jungle growth at the base of Hill 270 channeled the Marines into a single-file column during the slow, exhausting climb that forced the men to hack out a trail with machetes. By 6:30 p.m., Delta Company had secured Objective 1, the saddle between Hills 270 and 310. Charlie Company had secured Objective 2, the top of Hill 270.

    Pfc. Michael J. Kelly, a member of the point squad who had been with the company for only two months, was hit by an enemy bullet that struck a grenade on his cartridge belt. The detonation killed Kelly, severing a leg in the process.

    Lt. Col. Bill Davis ordered Charlie and Delta companies of the 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, to get off Hills 270 and 310 and return to their base camps in the flatlands to the east.

    A little later the morning of Feb. 16, the acting commander of Charlie Company, 1st Lt. Dana F. MacCormack, whose men were descending from Hill 270, radioed Davis: “Here come the NVA, Colonel! I’ve got one more KIA that the last helo did not have room for. We are having a hell of a time carrying this body, and the bones are cutting up the body bag.”

    Davis, on Hill 310 with the battalion command group, told MacCormack to get Charlie Company off the mountain immediately to avoid any more casualties. And that meant leaving the body behind.

    Thousands of North Vietnamese Army troops had trekked down the Ho Chi Minh Trail in eastern Laos and moved through South Vietnam’s A Shau Valley before making their way to high ground, including Hills 270 and 310, overlooking an area known as Happy Valley and the Marine positions to the east.

    In early afternoon, out of food and water and low on ammunition, the weary, battle-shocked Marines of Charlie Company arrived at Hill 10 and were met by the actual company commander, Capt. Karl Ripplemeyer, who had been on leave and just returned. Delta Company, meanwhile, had reached its base camp on Hill 41.

    Davis radioed the regimental commander, Col. Ross R. Miner, and told him that the Marines were back at the command posts, but added that a dead Marine had to be left behind. A few hours later, Miner told Davis that a B-52 bombing mission was scheduled to strike Hills 270 and 310 and ordered him to send a team to recover Kelly’s body before the bombing started. Davis, however, did not want to risk any more lives in those mountains before the bombing runs were completed and argued against an immediate recovery mission, but Miner wouldn’t rescind his order.

    Davis discussed Miner’s order with Ripplemeyer, as well as the battalion operations officer and the officer who coordinated air support for the battalion. Davis decided to use Charlie Company volunteers for the recovery since they knew the location of Kelly’s body.

    “It was 100% a suicide mission,” Whittier, the 2nd Platoon lieutenant, would write to his wife on Feb. 17. “This is a point I can’t too heavily emphasize.”

    “Suicide mission” was an unintentionally appropriate term, given Charlie Company’s longstanding nickname: “Suicide Charley.” The unit had earned its nickname during the October 1942 Japanese assault on Guadalcanal, when 1st Battalion was led by Lt. Col. Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller, who later became the Corps’ most decorated Marine and finished his career as a lieutenant general. During that battle, Charlie Company held its line against a far larger Japanese force despite suffering heavy losses. The day after the fight, a white flag of parachute cloth with a picture of a skull and crossbones rose over the company’s position. Emblazoned on the flag was “Suicide Charley.”

    The patrol to recover Kelly’s body had only a few hours to prepare for its departure. A runner was sent to Charlie Company seeking the volunteers, including an experienced squad leader. John D. McCreless, then a 20-year-old sergeant, recalled: “When the decision came down to use a squad of volunteers, I got crazy and raised my hand and said I’d lead it.”

    Lance Cpl. Stephen B. McCashin responded similarly: “When I heard they were asking for volunteers, I said anyone who would go back into those mountains again would have to be crazy. I thought it was a suicide mission, but since I’m on my second tour here, I must be crazy, so I decided to go.”

    Pfc. Joseph A. Hamrick signed up because, he said, “I was the only one of the volunteers who knew exactly where the body was, so even though I had only been in the ‘Nam’ for a month and had never walked point, I figured I could go right to it.”

    The other Marines on the eight-man patrol were Pfc. Thomas M. Adamson, Lance Cpl. Tyree Albert Chamberlain, Pfc. Alfred P. Granados, Cpl. Billy R. Ranes and Pfc. Pedro A. Rodriguez. Someone—no one can remember exactly who—dubbed the volunteers the “Doom Patrol.”

    Granados, the radio operator, remembers their preparations. “Our equipment was light for a short recon patrol—no helmets, flak jackets or cartridge belts, and all but one of the men of the Doom Patrol asked to trade their M16s for the more reliable M14, and permission was granted,” he said. “We were to make no enemy contact, travel by stealth in the dark, get the body and return. If we ran into a superior enemy force, we were to abort, split up and get back any way we could.”

    Before the men departed, a senior staff sergeant told McCreless: “None of you will probably return alive, but to increase your chances, if things get hairy you can just bring back the leg.” The eight Marines weren’t totally on their own for the mission. The battalion air officer had arranged for continuous air support for the patrol.

    At 2 a.m. on Feb. 17, McCreless’ squad left Hill 10. A little more than an hour later, near the abandoned village of Phuoc Ninh —military maps distinguished villages with the same name by numbering them—the Marines spotted NVA soldiers moving toward their position. Chamberlain opened fire and killed one of them, but the patrol was now compromised. McCreless faced a difficult decision: abort the mission or stay the course. He spoke to the battalion command center and was told to proceed. No one wanted an empty casket sent to Kelly’s family, and the men on the mission knew the odds when they volunteered.

    On the move again toward the base of Hill 270, the Marines observed another enemy patrol, and McCreless stopped for an hour near another abandoned village, Phuoc Ninh, a precautionary pause in the dark to make sure there was no other NVA activity in the area before continuing their journey.

    By sunrise, around 5 a.m., the patrol had cleared the open rice paddy areas and started into the dense jungle on the side of the mountain—with a long march still ahead, which meant they would have to conduct their “stealth” mission in broad daylight. Three hours later, the men were in a flat area above the bomb crater where Kelly’s body lay, covered with a poncho. There they waited while pilots in O1-Bird Dog propeller-driven planes called in airstrikes.

    One of the pilots radioed McCreless to tell him that napalm drops by F-4 Phantom II fighter-bombers would land just forward of the bomb crater. He instructed the patrol members to take cover, take three deep breaths, exhale and hold their next breath. The napalm struck about a 100 yards in front of the patrol.
    Granados still remembers the intense heat and dust being sucked past his face into the inferno. The shock waves from the blast seemed to raise him off the ground.

    After the napalm flames diminished, Granados saw NVA soldiers emerging from bunkers and spider holes.
    McCreless, worried that the enemy troops were about to move against his seriously outnumbered men, yelled: “Get the leg, and let’s get the hell out!”

    Moments later, Ranes and Adamson dashed to the crater. They grabbed the severed leg and quickly strapped it to a backpack that Chamberlain carried. The eight Marines then ran back down the trail, amid the still-smoldering napalm and the enemy fire tearing into trees and brush around them. A final strafing run by F-4 Phantoms silenced the firing.

    After reaching the flatlands, the patrol came upon Charlie Company’s 1st Platoon, sent to assist the squad if any of the men had been wounded or killed. The platoon escorted McCreless’ squad to base camp, and by 2 p.m. all the Marines were back on Hill 10.

    Amid great rejoicing, Davis summoned the men to his quarters and handed them cigars and cold beer to celebrate their incredible accomplishment. (He wasn’t aware at that time that the full body had not been recovered.) As recounted in his autobiography Tet Marine, Davis told the Doom Patrol that he had been a fan of Suicide Charley since the Chosin Reservoir battle during the Korean War. “I’ve been proud of them during all these years, because they did great things at the Reservoir,” he said. “But never did they do anything greater than YOU did, as volunteers, last night and today.”

    McCreless said: “The only reason I can think of why we were able to pull it off is that the NVA just couldn’t believe that we were stupid enough to go in there and do what we did. They must have thought we were bait for some kind of trap.”

    After the celebration, Davis typed a letter to the commander of the 7th Marine Regiment:

    “Dear Colonel Miner, I’ve never been prouder to be a Marine than at this moment! This magnificent squad [from Suicide Charley] went on what appeared to be a suicide mission. I wish you could have heard this young Marine [Pfc. Joseph Hamrick] describe why he volunteered. He just couldn’t imagine that an empty casket would go to a Marine’s parents. He knew they had to do the job, and while he was scared all the way out, and all the way back, he knew that they just had to succeed. I’ve just lived through an experience that I’ll always hold dear to me. Semper Fi.”

    Within 10 hours of the patrol’s return, the B-52s from Andersen Air Force Base on Guam devastated the high ground on Hills 270 and 310. But the NVA would return to Hill 310, and many more Marines were wounded or killed there the following month during Operation Worth and in August during Operation Mameluke Thrust.

    On March 8, Whittier and McCreless were wounded. Later that day, at the Navy hospital in Da Nang, Whittier died from his wounds. A few days later, McCreless was medevaced to Japan for additional surgery. During fighting on May 30, Doom Patrol volunteer Rodriguez was killed.

    Men from E Company, 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines, found Kelly’s body on March 25 during Operation Worth. A medevac helicopter picked up the remains and took them to the mortuary in Da Nang. A funeral with a casket containing Kelly’s leg was held in his hometown of Findlay, Ohio, in March 1968. A second funeral, with the rest of his remains, was held in April 1968.

    Story by Jack Wells
    — Jack Wells served in Vietnam during 1968-69 as an artillery forward observer with Alpha and Bravo companies, 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, and later as executive officer of H Battery, 3rd Battalion, 11th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division.

    SALUTE!
    via: The Giant Killer · Pictured are the eight U.S. Marines of the suicide mission "Doom Patrol" to recover the body of a dead Marine, Charlie Company, 7th Marine in Quảng Nam Province, 1968. In February 1968, eight Marines volunteered for a suicide mission. After 32 US casualties were incurred during the first 30 hours of Operation Pursuit. The operation was initiated in mid-February 1968 by the 1st Marine Division to search for enemy rocket caches in the mountains west of Da Nang. Operation Pursuit began at 11 a.m. on Feb. 14 as Charlie Company crossed the western end of Hill 10 while Delta Company departed from Hill 41, about 2 miles to the southeast. Accompanying them were 1st Division combat correspondent Sgt. Robert Bayer and photographer Cpl. R.J. Del Vecchio. The two companies linked up on the approach to Hills 270 and 310. The dense jungle growth at the base of Hill 270 channeled the Marines into a single-file column during the slow, exhausting climb that forced the men to hack out a trail with machetes. By 6:30 p.m., Delta Company had secured Objective 1, the saddle between Hills 270 and 310. Charlie Company had secured Objective 2, the top of Hill 270. Pfc. Michael J. Kelly, a member of the point squad who had been with the company for only two months, was hit by an enemy bullet that struck a grenade on his cartridge belt. The detonation killed Kelly, severing a leg in the process. Lt. Col. Bill Davis ordered Charlie and Delta companies of the 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, to get off Hills 270 and 310 and return to their base camps in the flatlands to the east. A little later the morning of Feb. 16, the acting commander of Charlie Company, 1st Lt. Dana F. MacCormack, whose men were descending from Hill 270, radioed Davis: “Here come the NVA, Colonel! I’ve got one more KIA that the last helo did not have room for. We are having a hell of a time carrying this body, and the bones are cutting up the body bag.” Davis, on Hill 310 with the battalion command group, told MacCormack to get Charlie Company off the mountain immediately to avoid any more casualties. And that meant leaving the body behind. Thousands of North Vietnamese Army troops had trekked down the Ho Chi Minh Trail in eastern Laos and moved through South Vietnam’s A Shau Valley before making their way to high ground, including Hills 270 and 310, overlooking an area known as Happy Valley and the Marine positions to the east. In early afternoon, out of food and water and low on ammunition, the weary, battle-shocked Marines of Charlie Company arrived at Hill 10 and were met by the actual company commander, Capt. Karl Ripplemeyer, who had been on leave and just returned. Delta Company, meanwhile, had reached its base camp on Hill 41. Davis radioed the regimental commander, Col. Ross R. Miner, and told him that the Marines were back at the command posts, but added that a dead Marine had to be left behind. A few hours later, Miner told Davis that a B-52 bombing mission was scheduled to strike Hills 270 and 310 and ordered him to send a team to recover Kelly’s body before the bombing started. Davis, however, did not want to risk any more lives in those mountains before the bombing runs were completed and argued against an immediate recovery mission, but Miner wouldn’t rescind his order. Davis discussed Miner’s order with Ripplemeyer, as well as the battalion operations officer and the officer who coordinated air support for the battalion. Davis decided to use Charlie Company volunteers for the recovery since they knew the location of Kelly’s body. “It was 100% a suicide mission,” Whittier, the 2nd Platoon lieutenant, would write to his wife on Feb. 17. “This is a point I can’t too heavily emphasize.” “Suicide mission” was an unintentionally appropriate term, given Charlie Company’s longstanding nickname: “Suicide Charley.” The unit had earned its nickname during the October 1942 Japanese assault on Guadalcanal, when 1st Battalion was led by Lt. Col. Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller, who later became the Corps’ most decorated Marine and finished his career as a lieutenant general. During that battle, Charlie Company held its line against a far larger Japanese force despite suffering heavy losses. The day after the fight, a white flag of parachute cloth with a picture of a skull and crossbones rose over the company’s position. Emblazoned on the flag was “Suicide Charley.” The patrol to recover Kelly’s body had only a few hours to prepare for its departure. A runner was sent to Charlie Company seeking the volunteers, including an experienced squad leader. John D. McCreless, then a 20-year-old sergeant, recalled: “When the decision came down to use a squad of volunteers, I got crazy and raised my hand and said I’d lead it.” Lance Cpl. Stephen B. McCashin responded similarly: “When I heard they were asking for volunteers, I said anyone who would go back into those mountains again would have to be crazy. I thought it was a suicide mission, but since I’m on my second tour here, I must be crazy, so I decided to go.” Pfc. Joseph A. Hamrick signed up because, he said, “I was the only one of the volunteers who knew exactly where the body was, so even though I had only been in the ‘Nam’ for a month and had never walked point, I figured I could go right to it.” The other Marines on the eight-man patrol were Pfc. Thomas M. Adamson, Lance Cpl. Tyree Albert Chamberlain, Pfc. Alfred P. Granados, Cpl. Billy R. Ranes and Pfc. Pedro A. Rodriguez. Someone—no one can remember exactly who—dubbed the volunteers the “Doom Patrol.” Granados, the radio operator, remembers their preparations. “Our equipment was light for a short recon patrol—no helmets, flak jackets or cartridge belts, and all but one of the men of the Doom Patrol asked to trade their M16s for the more reliable M14, and permission was granted,” he said. “We were to make no enemy contact, travel by stealth in the dark, get the body and return. If we ran into a superior enemy force, we were to abort, split up and get back any way we could.” Before the men departed, a senior staff sergeant told McCreless: “None of you will probably return alive, but to increase your chances, if things get hairy you can just bring back the leg.” The eight Marines weren’t totally on their own for the mission. The battalion air officer had arranged for continuous air support for the patrol. At 2 a.m. on Feb. 17, McCreless’ squad left Hill 10. A little more than an hour later, near the abandoned village of Phuoc Ninh —military maps distinguished villages with the same name by numbering them—the Marines spotted NVA soldiers moving toward their position. Chamberlain opened fire and killed one of them, but the patrol was now compromised. McCreless faced a difficult decision: abort the mission or stay the course. He spoke to the battalion command center and was told to proceed. No one wanted an empty casket sent to Kelly’s family, and the men on the mission knew the odds when they volunteered. On the move again toward the base of Hill 270, the Marines observed another enemy patrol, and McCreless stopped for an hour near another abandoned village, Phuoc Ninh, a precautionary pause in the dark to make sure there was no other NVA activity in the area before continuing their journey. By sunrise, around 5 a.m., the patrol had cleared the open rice paddy areas and started into the dense jungle on the side of the mountain—with a long march still ahead, which meant they would have to conduct their “stealth” mission in broad daylight. Three hours later, the men were in a flat area above the bomb crater where Kelly’s body lay, covered with a poncho. There they waited while pilots in O1-Bird Dog propeller-driven planes called in airstrikes. One of the pilots radioed McCreless to tell him that napalm drops by F-4 Phantom II fighter-bombers would land just forward of the bomb crater. He instructed the patrol members to take cover, take three deep breaths, exhale and hold their next breath. The napalm struck about a 100 yards in front of the patrol. Granados still remembers the intense heat and dust being sucked past his face into the inferno. The shock waves from the blast seemed to raise him off the ground. After the napalm flames diminished, Granados saw NVA soldiers emerging from bunkers and spider holes. McCreless, worried that the enemy troops were about to move against his seriously outnumbered men, yelled: “Get the leg, and let’s get the hell out!” Moments later, Ranes and Adamson dashed to the crater. They grabbed the severed leg and quickly strapped it to a backpack that Chamberlain carried. The eight Marines then ran back down the trail, amid the still-smoldering napalm and the enemy fire tearing into trees and brush around them. A final strafing run by F-4 Phantoms silenced the firing. After reaching the flatlands, the patrol came upon Charlie Company’s 1st Platoon, sent to assist the squad if any of the men had been wounded or killed. The platoon escorted McCreless’ squad to base camp, and by 2 p.m. all the Marines were back on Hill 10. Amid great rejoicing, Davis summoned the men to his quarters and handed them cigars and cold beer to celebrate their incredible accomplishment. (He wasn’t aware at that time that the full body had not been recovered.) As recounted in his autobiography Tet Marine, Davis told the Doom Patrol that he had been a fan of Suicide Charley since the Chosin Reservoir battle during the Korean War. “I’ve been proud of them during all these years, because they did great things at the Reservoir,” he said. “But never did they do anything greater than YOU did, as volunteers, last night and today.” McCreless said: “The only reason I can think of why we were able to pull it off is that the NVA just couldn’t believe that we were stupid enough to go in there and do what we did. They must have thought we were bait for some kind of trap.” After the celebration, Davis typed a letter to the commander of the 7th Marine Regiment: “Dear Colonel Miner, I’ve never been prouder to be a Marine than at this moment! This magnificent squad [from Suicide Charley] went on what appeared to be a suicide mission. I wish you could have heard this young Marine [Pfc. Joseph Hamrick] describe why he volunteered. He just couldn’t imagine that an empty casket would go to a Marine’s parents. He knew they had to do the job, and while he was scared all the way out, and all the way back, he knew that they just had to succeed. I’ve just lived through an experience that I’ll always hold dear to me. Semper Fi.” Within 10 hours of the patrol’s return, the B-52s from Andersen Air Force Base on Guam devastated the high ground on Hills 270 and 310. But the NVA would return to Hill 310, and many more Marines were wounded or killed there the following month during Operation Worth and in August during Operation Mameluke Thrust. On March 8, Whittier and McCreless were wounded. Later that day, at the Navy hospital in Da Nang, Whittier died from his wounds. A few days later, McCreless was medevaced to Japan for additional surgery. During fighting on May 30, Doom Patrol volunteer Rodriguez was killed. Men from E Company, 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines, found Kelly’s body on March 25 during Operation Worth. A medevac helicopter picked up the remains and took them to the mortuary in Da Nang. A funeral with a casket containing Kelly’s leg was held in his hometown of Findlay, Ohio, in March 1968. A second funeral, with the rest of his remains, was held in April 1968. Story by Jack Wells — Jack Wells served in Vietnam during 1968-69 as an artillery forward observer with Alpha and Bravo companies, 1st Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, and later as executive officer of H Battery, 3rd Battalion, 11th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division. SALUTE!
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  • https://www.military.com/daily-news/2024/01/26/white-house-sets-new-guidelines-cabinet-notifications-after-austins-secret-hospitalization.html
    https://www.military.com/daily-news/2024/01/26/white-house-sets-new-guidelines-cabinet-notifications-after-austins-secret-hospitalization.html
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    White House Sets New Guidelines for Cabinet Notifications After Austin's Secret Hospitalization
    White House chief of staff Jeff Zients launched a review of existing notification procedures earlier this month shortly after Austin's hospitalization was disclosed, along with the Pentagon's failure to immediately alert the White House.
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  • The incredible story of POW Navy Pilot Dieter Dengler and his escape from a prison camp in Laos.

    Dieter Dengler (May 22, 1938 – February 7, 2001) was a German-born United States Navy aviator during the Vietnam War and, following six months of imprisonment and torture, became the first captured U.S. airman to escape enemy captivity during the war. Of seven prisoners of war who escaped together from a Pathet Lao prison camp in Laos, Dengler was one of two survivors (the other was Thailand citizen Phisit Intharathat). Dengler was rescued after 23 days on the run.

    Dieter Dengler was born and raised in the small town of Wildberg, in the Black Forest region of the German state of Baden-Württemberg. He grew up not knowing his father, who had been drafted into the German army in 1939 and was killed during World War II on the Eastern Front during the winter of 1943/44. Dengler became very close to his mother and brothers. Dengler's maternal grandfather, Hermann Schnuerle, claimed he refused to vote for Adolf Hitler in the 1934 elections. Subsequently he was paraded around town with a placard around his neck, was spat upon, and was then sent to labor in a rock mine for a year. Dengler credited his grandfather's resolve as a major inspiration during his time in Laos. His grandfather's steadfastness despite the great risks was one reason Dengler refused a North Vietnamese demand that he sign a document condemning American aggression in Southeast Asia.

    Dieter grew up in extreme poverty but always found ways to help his family survive. Dieter and his brothers would go into bombed-out buildings, tear off wallpaper, and bring it to their mother to boil for the nutrients in the wheat-based wallpaper paste. When members of the small group of Moroccans who lived in the area would slaughter sheep for their meals, Dieter would sneak over to their lodgings to take the scraps and leftovers they would not eat and his mother would make dinner from them. He also built a bicycle by scavenging from dumps. Dieter was apprenticed to a blacksmith at the age of 14. The blacksmith and the other boys, who worked six days a week building giant clocks and clock faces to repair German cathedrals, regularly beat him. Later in life Dieter thanked his former master "for his disciplined training and for helping Dieter become more capable, self-reliant and yes, 'tough enough to survive'".

    After seeing an advertisement in an American magazine, expressing a need for pilots, he decided to go to the United States. Although a family friend agreed to sponsor him, he lacked money for passage and came up with a plan to independently salvage brass and other metals to sell.

    In 1956, when he turned 18 and upon completion of his apprenticeship, Dengler hitchhiked to Hamburg and spent two weeks surviving on the streets before the ship set sail for New York City. While on the ship he saved fruit and sandwiches for the coming days and when going through customs the agent was astonished when the food tumbled out of his shirt. He lived on the streets of Manhattan for just over a week and eventually found his way to an Air Force recruiter. He was assured that piloting aircraft was what the Air Force was all about so he enlisted in June 1957 and went to basic training at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, Texas. After basic training, Dengler spent two years peeling potatoes and then transferred to a motor pool as a mechanic. His qualifications as a machinist led to an assignment as a gunsmith. He passed the test for aviation cadets but was told that only college graduates were selected to be pilots and his enlistment expired before he was selected for pilot training.

    After his discharge Dengler joined his brother working in a bakery shop near San Francisco and enrolled in San Francisco City College, then transferred to the College of San Mateo, where he studied aeronautics. Upon completion of two years of college he applied for the US Navy aviation cadet program and was accepted.
    Dengler would do whatever it took to become a pilot. In his inaugural flight at primary flight training, for example, the instructor told Dengler that if he became airsick and vomited in the cockpit that he would receive a "down" on his record. Students were only allowed three downs then they would wash out of flight training. The instructor took the plane through spins and loops causing Dengler to become dizzy and disoriented. Knowing he was about to vomit and not wanting to receive a "down", Dengler took off his boot, threw up into it and put it back on. At the end of the flight the instructor checked the cockpit and could smell the vomit, but couldn't find any evidence of it. He didn't get a "down".

    After his completion of flight training Dengler went to the Naval Air Station Corpus Christi, Texas for training as an attack pilot in the Douglas AD Skyraider. He joined VA-145 while the squadron was on shore duty at Naval Air Station Alameda, California. In 1965 the squadron joined the carrier USS Ranger. In December the carrier set sail for the coast of Vietnam. He was stationed initially at Dixie Station, off South Vietnam then moved north to Yankee Station for operations against North Vietnam.

    On February 1, 1966, the day after the carrier began flying missions from Yankee Station, Lieutenant, Junior Grade Dengler launched from the Ranger with three other aircraft on an interdiction mission against a truck convoy that had been reported in North Vietnam. Thunderstorms forced the pilots to divert to their secondary target, a road intersection located west of the Mu Gia Pass in Laos. At the time, U.S. air operations in Laos were classified "secret". Visibility was poor due to smoke from burning fields, and upon rolling in on the target, Dengler and the remainder of his flight lost sight of one another. Visibility was poor, and as Dengler rolled his Skyraider in on the target after flying for two-and-a-half hours into enemy territory, he was hit by anti-aircraft fire.

    "There was a large explosion on my right side," he remembered when interviewed shortly before his death in 2001.

    It was like lightning striking. The right wing was gone. The airplane seemed to cartwheel through the sky in slow motion. There were more explosions—boom, boom, boom—and I was still able to guide the plane into a clearing in Laos.
    He said: "Many times, people have asked me if I was afraid. Just before dying, there is no more fear. I felt I was floating."

    When his squadron mates realized that he had been downed, they remained confident that he would be rescued. Immediately after he was shot down, Dengler smashed his survival radio and hid most of his other survival equipment to keep Vietnamese or Lao search parties from finding it. The day after being shot down Dengler was apprehended by Pathet Lao troops, the Laotian equivalent of the Viet Cong.

    He was marched through the jungle, was tied on the ground to four stakes spreadeagled in order to stop him escaping at night. In the morning his face would be swollen from mosquito bites and he was unable to see.

    After an early escape attempt he was recaptured while drinking from a spring. According to Dengler he was tortured in retaliation:

    I had escaped from them, [and] they wanted to get even. He was hung upside down by his ankles with a nest of biting ants over his face until he lost consciousness, suspended in a freezing well at night so that if he fell asleep he might drown. On other occasions he was dragged through villages by a water buffalo, to the amusement of his guards, as they goaded the animal with a whip. He was asked by Pathet Lao officials to sign a document condemning the United States, but he refused and as a result he was tortured as tiny wedges of bamboo were inserted under his fingernails and into incisions on his body which grew and festered.

    "They were always thinking of something new to do to me." Dengler recalled. "One guy made a rope tourniquet around my upper arm. He inserted a piece of wood, and twisted and twisted until my nerves cut against the bone. The hand was completely unusable for six months."

    After some weeks Dengler was handed over to the Vietnamese. As they marched him through a village, a man slipped Dengler's engagement ring from his finger. Dengler complained to his guards. They found the culprit, summarily chopped off his finger with a machete and handed the ring back to Dengler.

    "I realized right there and then that you don't fool around with the Viet Cong", he said.
    Dengler had trained in escaping and survival at the Navy SERE survival school, where he had twice escaped from the mock-POW camp run by SERE instructors and Marine guards and was planning a third escape when the training ended. He had also set a record as the only student to gain weight (three pounds) during the SERE course; his childhood experiences had made him unafraid of eating whatever he could find and he had feasted on food the course instructors had thrown in the garbage.

    Dengler was eventually brought to a prison camp near the village of Par Kung where he met other POWs. The other six prisoners were:
    Phisit Intharathat (Thai)
    Prasit Promsuwan (Thai)
    Prasit Thanee (Thai)
    Y.C. To (Chinese)
    Eugene DeBruin (American)
    Duane W. Martin (American)

    Except for Martin, an Air Force helicopter pilot who had been shot down in North Vietnam nearly a year before, the other prisoners were civilians employed by Air America, a civilian airline owned by the Central Intelligence Agency. The civilians had been held by the Pathet Lao for over two and a half years when Dengler joined them.

    "I had hoped to see other pilots. What I saw horrified me. The first one who came out was carrying his intestines around in his hands. One had no teeth - plagued by awful infections, he had begged the others to knock them out with a rock and a rusty nail in order to release pus from his gums". "They had been there for two and a half years," said Dengler. "I looked at them and it was just awful. I realized that was how I would look in six months. I had to escape."

    The day he arrived in the camp, Dengler advised the other prisoners that he intended to escape and invited them to join him. They advised that he wait until the monsoon season when there would be plenty of water.

    Shortly after Dengler arrived, the prisoners were moved to a new camp ten miles away at Hoi Het. After the move, a strong debate ensued among the prisoners with Dengler, Martin and Prasit arguing for escape which the other prisoners, particularly Phisit initially opposed.

    As food began to run out, tension between the men grew: they were given just a single handful of rice to share while the guards would stalk deer, pulling the grass out of the animal's stomach for the prisoners to eat while they shared the meat. The prisoners' only "treats" were snakes they occasionally caught from the communal latrine or the rats that lived under their hut which they could spear with sharpened bamboo. At night the men were handcuffed together and shackled to wooden foot blocks. They suffered chronic dysentery and were made to lie in their excrement until morning.

    After several months, one of the Thai prisoners overheard the guards talking about shooting them in the jungle and making it look like an escape attempt. They too, were starving and wanted to return to their villages. With that revelation, everyone agreed and a date to escape was set. Their plan was to take over the camp and signal a C-130 Hercules flare-ship that made nightly visits to the area. Dengler loosened logs under the hut that allowed the prisoners to squeeze through. The plan was for him to go out when the guards were eating and seize their weapons and pass them to Phisit Intharathat and Promsuwan while Martin and DeBruin procured others from other locations.

    "I planned to capture the guards at lunchtime, when they put down their rifles to get their food. There were two minutes and twenty seconds in the day when I could strike." In that time Dengler had to release all the men from their handcuffs.

    Escape
    On June 29, 1966 while the guards were eating, the group slipped out of their hand-cuffs and foot restraints and grabbed the guards' unattended weapons which included M1 rifles, Chinese automatic rifles, an American carbine and at least one sub-machine gun as well as an early version of the AK47 automatic rifle, which Dengler used during the escape from the POW camp. Dengler went out first followed by Martin. He went to the guard hut and seized an M1 for himself and passed the American carbine to Martin. The guards realized the prisoners had escaped and five of them rushed toward Dengler, who shot at least three with the AK47. Phisit killed another guard as he reached for his rifle. Two others ran off, presumably to get help, although at least one had been wounded. The seven prisoners split into three groups. DeBruin was originally supposed to go with Dengler and Martin but decided to go with To, who was recovering from a fever and unable to keep up. They intended to get over the nearest ridge and wait for rescue. Dengler and Martin went off by themselves with the intention of heading for the Mekong River to escape to Thailand, but they never got more than a few miles from the camp from which they had escaped.

    "Seven of us escaped," said Dengler. "I was the only one who came out alive."
    With the exception of Phisit, who was recaptured and later rescued by Laotian troops, none of the other prisoners were ever seen again. DeBruin was reportedly captured and placed in another camp, then disappeared in 1968.

    Rescue
    Escape proved to be hazardous. Soon, the two men's feet were white, mangled stumps from trekking through the dense jungle. They found the sole of an old tennis shoe, which they wore alternately, strapping it onto a foot with rattan for a few moments' respite. In this way they were able to make their way to a fast-flowing river.

    "It was the highway to freedom," said Dengler, "We knew it would flow into the Mekong River, which would take us over the border into Thailand and to safety."

    The men built a raft and floated downstream on ferocious rapids, tying themselves to trees at night to stop themselves being washed away in the torrential water. By morning they would be covered in mud and hundreds of leeches. When they thought they were on their way to the Mekong, they discovered that they had gone around in a circle. They had spotted several villages but had not been detected. They set up camp in an abandoned village where they found shelter from the nearly incessant rain. They had brought rice with them and found other food, but were still on the verge of starvation. Their intent had been to signal a C-130 but at first lacked the energy to build a fire using primitive methods of rubbing bamboo together. Dengler finally managed to locate carbine cartridges that Martin had thrown away and used their powder to enhance the tinder and got a fire going. That night they lit torches and waved them in the shape of an S and O when a C-130 came over. The airplane circled and dropped a couple of flares and they were overjoyed, believing they had been spotted. They woke up the next morning to find the landscape covered by fog and drizzle, but when it lifted, no rescue force appeared.

    Martin, who was weak from starvation and was suffering from malaria, wanted to approach a nearby Akha village to steal some food. Dengler knew it was not a good idea, but refused to let his friend go near the village alone. They saw a little boy playing with a dog and the child ran into the village calling out "American!" Within seconds a villager appeared and they knelt down on the trail in supplication, but the man swung his machete and struck Martin in the leg. With the next swipe, Martin's head came off. Dengler jumped to his feet and rushed toward the villager, who turned and ran into the village to get help.

    I reached for the rubber sole from his foot, grabbed it and ran. From that moment on, all my motions became mechanical. I couldn't care less if I lived or died.

    Dengler recalls, it was a wild animal who gave him the mental strength to continue.
    "I was followed by this beautiful bear. He became like my pet dog and was the only friend I had."
    These were his darkest hours. Little more than a walking skeleton after weeks on the run, he floated in and out of a hallucinatory state.

    "I was just crawling along," he said. "Then I had a vision: these enormous doors opened up. Lots of horses came galloping out. They were not driven by death, but by angels. Death didn't want me."

    Dengler managed to evade the searchers who went out after him and escaped back into the jungle. He returned to the abandoned village where the two had been spending their time and where he and Martin had signaled the C-130. That night when a C-130 flare-ship came, Dengler set fire to the huts and burned the village down. The C-130 crew spotted the fires and dropped flares, but even though the crew reported their sighting when they returned to Udorn Royal Thai Air Force Base, the fires were not recognized by intelligence as having been a signal from a survivor.

    Deatrick has long marvelled at the fact that had he stuck to his original flight schedule on the morning of July 20, 1966, Dieter would not have been at the river to be sighted at that earlier hour. "If God put me on the earth for one reason," Deatrick says, "it was to find Dieter over there in the jungle." As it was, Deatrick describes it as "a million-in-one chance."
    -Excerpt from Dengler biography regarding the role of pilot Eugene Deatrick

    When a rescue force again failed to materialize, Dengler decided to find one of the parachutes from a flare for use as a possible signal. He found one on a bush and placed it in his rucksack. On July 20, 1966, after 23 days in the jungle, Dengler managed to signal an Air Force pilot with the parachute. A 2-ship flight of Air Force Skyraiders from the 1st Air Commando Squadron happened to fly up the river where Dengler was. Eugene Peyton Deatrick, the pilot of the lead plane and the squadron commander, spotted a flash of white while making a turn at the river's bend and came back and spotted a man waving something white. Deatrick and his wingman contacted rescue forces, but were told to ignore the sighting, as no airmen were known to be down in the area. Deatrick persisted and eventually managed to convince the command and control center to dispatch a rescue force. Fearing that Dengler might be a Viet Cong soldier, the helicopter crew restrained him when he was brought aboard.

    According to the documentary Little Dieter Needs to Fly Dengler said one of the flight crew who was holding him down pulled out a half eaten snake from underneath Dengler's clothing and was so surprised he nearly fell out of the helicopter. Dengler was stripped of his clothes to ensure he was not armed or in possession of a hand grenade. When questioned, Dengler told Air Force pararescue specialist Michael Leonard that he was a Navy Lieutenant JG who had escaped from a North Vietnamese prisoner of war camp two months earlier. Deatrick radioed the rescue helicopter crew to see if they could identify the person they had just hoisted up from the jungle. They reported that they had a man who claimed to be a downed Navy pilot who flew a Douglas A-1H Skyraider.

    It wasn't until after he reached the hospital at Da Nang that Dengler's identity was confirmed. A conflict between the Air Force and the Navy developed over who should control his debriefing and recovery. In an apparent attempt to prevent the Air Force from embarrassing them in some way, the Navy sent a team of SEALs into the hospital to steal Dengler. He was brought out of the hospital in a covered gurney and rushed to the air field, where he was placed aboard a Navy carrier delivery transport Grumman C-2A from VR-21 and flown to the Ranger where a welcoming party had been prepared. At night, however, he was tormented by awful terrors, and had to be tied to his bed. In the end, his friends put him to sleep in a cockpit, surrounded by pillows. "It was the only place I felt safe," he said.

    Dengler's deprivation from malnutrition and parasites caused the Navy doctors to order that he be airlifted to the United States.

    Later life and death
    Dengler recovered physically, but never put his ordeal behind him. As Werner Herzog described it in his documentary about Dengler, "Men are often haunted by things that happen to them in life, especially in war Their lives seem to be normal, but they are not."

    He remained in the navy for a year, was promoted to Lieutenant, and was trained to fly jets. When his military obligation was satisfied, he resigned from the Navy and applied for a position as an airline pilot with Trans World Airlines (TWA). He continued flying and survived four subsequent crashes as a civilian test pilot.

    In 1977, during a time when he was furloughed from TWA, Dengler returned to Laos and was greeted as a celebrity by the Pathet Lao. He was taken to the camp from which he had escaped and was surprised to discover that at one point he and Martin had been within a mile and a half of it.

    His fascination with airplanes and aviation continued for the remainder of his life. He continued flying almost up until his death. He took an early-retirement as a pilot for TWA sometime prior to 1985, but continued flying his meticulously restored Cessna 195, putting it on static display at numerous California air shows.

    In 2000, Dengler was inducted into the Gathering of Eagles program and told the story of his escape to groups of young military officers. Dengler was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, an incurable neurological disorder; on February 7, 2001, he rolled his wheelchair from his house down to the driveway of a fire station and shot himself. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. A Navy honor guard was present at the burial as well as a fly-over by Navy F-14 Tomcats.
    The incredible story of POW Navy Pilot Dieter Dengler and his escape from a prison camp in Laos. Dieter Dengler (May 22, 1938 – February 7, 2001) was a German-born United States Navy aviator during the Vietnam War and, following six months of imprisonment and torture, became the first captured U.S. airman to escape enemy captivity during the war. Of seven prisoners of war who escaped together from a Pathet Lao prison camp in Laos, Dengler was one of two survivors (the other was Thailand citizen Phisit Intharathat). Dengler was rescued after 23 days on the run. Dieter Dengler was born and raised in the small town of Wildberg, in the Black Forest region of the German state of Baden-Württemberg. He grew up not knowing his father, who had been drafted into the German army in 1939 and was killed during World War II on the Eastern Front during the winter of 1943/44. Dengler became very close to his mother and brothers. Dengler's maternal grandfather, Hermann Schnuerle, claimed he refused to vote for Adolf Hitler in the 1934 elections. Subsequently he was paraded around town with a placard around his neck, was spat upon, and was then sent to labor in a rock mine for a year. Dengler credited his grandfather's resolve as a major inspiration during his time in Laos. His grandfather's steadfastness despite the great risks was one reason Dengler refused a North Vietnamese demand that he sign a document condemning American aggression in Southeast Asia. Dieter grew up in extreme poverty but always found ways to help his family survive. Dieter and his brothers would go into bombed-out buildings, tear off wallpaper, and bring it to their mother to boil for the nutrients in the wheat-based wallpaper paste. When members of the small group of Moroccans who lived in the area would slaughter sheep for their meals, Dieter would sneak over to their lodgings to take the scraps and leftovers they would not eat and his mother would make dinner from them. He also built a bicycle by scavenging from dumps. Dieter was apprenticed to a blacksmith at the age of 14. The blacksmith and the other boys, who worked six days a week building giant clocks and clock faces to repair German cathedrals, regularly beat him. Later in life Dieter thanked his former master "for his disciplined training and for helping Dieter become more capable, self-reliant and yes, 'tough enough to survive'". After seeing an advertisement in an American magazine, expressing a need for pilots, he decided to go to the United States. Although a family friend agreed to sponsor him, he lacked money for passage and came up with a plan to independently salvage brass and other metals to sell. In 1956, when he turned 18 and upon completion of his apprenticeship, Dengler hitchhiked to Hamburg and spent two weeks surviving on the streets before the ship set sail for New York City. While on the ship he saved fruit and sandwiches for the coming days and when going through customs the agent was astonished when the food tumbled out of his shirt. He lived on the streets of Manhattan for just over a week and eventually found his way to an Air Force recruiter. He was assured that piloting aircraft was what the Air Force was all about so he enlisted in June 1957 and went to basic training at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, Texas. After basic training, Dengler spent two years peeling potatoes and then transferred to a motor pool as a mechanic. His qualifications as a machinist led to an assignment as a gunsmith. He passed the test for aviation cadets but was told that only college graduates were selected to be pilots and his enlistment expired before he was selected for pilot training. After his discharge Dengler joined his brother working in a bakery shop near San Francisco and enrolled in San Francisco City College, then transferred to the College of San Mateo, where he studied aeronautics. Upon completion of two years of college he applied for the US Navy aviation cadet program and was accepted. Dengler would do whatever it took to become a pilot. In his inaugural flight at primary flight training, for example, the instructor told Dengler that if he became airsick and vomited in the cockpit that he would receive a "down" on his record. Students were only allowed three downs then they would wash out of flight training. The instructor took the plane through spins and loops causing Dengler to become dizzy and disoriented. Knowing he was about to vomit and not wanting to receive a "down", Dengler took off his boot, threw up into it and put it back on. At the end of the flight the instructor checked the cockpit and could smell the vomit, but couldn't find any evidence of it. He didn't get a "down". After his completion of flight training Dengler went to the Naval Air Station Corpus Christi, Texas for training as an attack pilot in the Douglas AD Skyraider. He joined VA-145 while the squadron was on shore duty at Naval Air Station Alameda, California. In 1965 the squadron joined the carrier USS Ranger. In December the carrier set sail for the coast of Vietnam. He was stationed initially at Dixie Station, off South Vietnam then moved north to Yankee Station for operations against North Vietnam. On February 1, 1966, the day after the carrier began flying missions from Yankee Station, Lieutenant, Junior Grade Dengler launched from the Ranger with three other aircraft on an interdiction mission against a truck convoy that had been reported in North Vietnam. Thunderstorms forced the pilots to divert to their secondary target, a road intersection located west of the Mu Gia Pass in Laos. At the time, U.S. air operations in Laos were classified "secret". Visibility was poor due to smoke from burning fields, and upon rolling in on the target, Dengler and the remainder of his flight lost sight of one another. Visibility was poor, and as Dengler rolled his Skyraider in on the target after flying for two-and-a-half hours into enemy territory, he was hit by anti-aircraft fire. "There was a large explosion on my right side," he remembered when interviewed shortly before his death in 2001. It was like lightning striking. The right wing was gone. The airplane seemed to cartwheel through the sky in slow motion. There were more explosions—boom, boom, boom—and I was still able to guide the plane into a clearing in Laos. He said: "Many times, people have asked me if I was afraid. Just before dying, there is no more fear. I felt I was floating." When his squadron mates realized that he had been downed, they remained confident that he would be rescued. Immediately after he was shot down, Dengler smashed his survival radio and hid most of his other survival equipment to keep Vietnamese or Lao search parties from finding it. The day after being shot down Dengler was apprehended by Pathet Lao troops, the Laotian equivalent of the Viet Cong. He was marched through the jungle, was tied on the ground to four stakes spreadeagled in order to stop him escaping at night. In the morning his face would be swollen from mosquito bites and he was unable to see. After an early escape attempt he was recaptured while drinking from a spring. According to Dengler he was tortured in retaliation: I had escaped from them, [and] they wanted to get even. He was hung upside down by his ankles with a nest of biting ants over his face until he lost consciousness, suspended in a freezing well at night so that if he fell asleep he might drown. On other occasions he was dragged through villages by a water buffalo, to the amusement of his guards, as they goaded the animal with a whip. He was asked by Pathet Lao officials to sign a document condemning the United States, but he refused and as a result he was tortured as tiny wedges of bamboo were inserted under his fingernails and into incisions on his body which grew and festered. "They were always thinking of something new to do to me." Dengler recalled. "One guy made a rope tourniquet around my upper arm. He inserted a piece of wood, and twisted and twisted until my nerves cut against the bone. The hand was completely unusable for six months." After some weeks Dengler was handed over to the Vietnamese. As they marched him through a village, a man slipped Dengler's engagement ring from his finger. Dengler complained to his guards. They found the culprit, summarily chopped off his finger with a machete and handed the ring back to Dengler. "I realized right there and then that you don't fool around with the Viet Cong", he said. Dengler had trained in escaping and survival at the Navy SERE survival school, where he had twice escaped from the mock-POW camp run by SERE instructors and Marine guards and was planning a third escape when the training ended. He had also set a record as the only student to gain weight (three pounds) during the SERE course; his childhood experiences had made him unafraid of eating whatever he could find and he had feasted on food the course instructors had thrown in the garbage. Dengler was eventually brought to a prison camp near the village of Par Kung where he met other POWs. The other six prisoners were: Phisit Intharathat (Thai) Prasit Promsuwan (Thai) Prasit Thanee (Thai) Y.C. To (Chinese) Eugene DeBruin (American) Duane W. Martin (American) Except for Martin, an Air Force helicopter pilot who had been shot down in North Vietnam nearly a year before, the other prisoners were civilians employed by Air America, a civilian airline owned by the Central Intelligence Agency. The civilians had been held by the Pathet Lao for over two and a half years when Dengler joined them. "I had hoped to see other pilots. What I saw horrified me. The first one who came out was carrying his intestines around in his hands. One had no teeth - plagued by awful infections, he had begged the others to knock them out with a rock and a rusty nail in order to release pus from his gums". "They had been there for two and a half years," said Dengler. "I looked at them and it was just awful. I realized that was how I would look in six months. I had to escape." The day he arrived in the camp, Dengler advised the other prisoners that he intended to escape and invited them to join him. They advised that he wait until the monsoon season when there would be plenty of water. Shortly after Dengler arrived, the prisoners were moved to a new camp ten miles away at Hoi Het. After the move, a strong debate ensued among the prisoners with Dengler, Martin and Prasit arguing for escape which the other prisoners, particularly Phisit initially opposed. As food began to run out, tension between the men grew: they were given just a single handful of rice to share while the guards would stalk deer, pulling the grass out of the animal's stomach for the prisoners to eat while they shared the meat. The prisoners' only "treats" were snakes they occasionally caught from the communal latrine or the rats that lived under their hut which they could spear with sharpened bamboo. At night the men were handcuffed together and shackled to wooden foot blocks. They suffered chronic dysentery and were made to lie in their excrement until morning. After several months, one of the Thai prisoners overheard the guards talking about shooting them in the jungle and making it look like an escape attempt. They too, were starving and wanted to return to their villages. With that revelation, everyone agreed and a date to escape was set. Their plan was to take over the camp and signal a C-130 Hercules flare-ship that made nightly visits to the area. Dengler loosened logs under the hut that allowed the prisoners to squeeze through. The plan was for him to go out when the guards were eating and seize their weapons and pass them to Phisit Intharathat and Promsuwan while Martin and DeBruin procured others from other locations. "I planned to capture the guards at lunchtime, when they put down their rifles to get their food. There were two minutes and twenty seconds in the day when I could strike." In that time Dengler had to release all the men from their handcuffs. Escape On June 29, 1966 while the guards were eating, the group slipped out of their hand-cuffs and foot restraints and grabbed the guards' unattended weapons which included M1 rifles, Chinese automatic rifles, an American carbine and at least one sub-machine gun as well as an early version of the AK47 automatic rifle, which Dengler used during the escape from the POW camp. Dengler went out first followed by Martin. He went to the guard hut and seized an M1 for himself and passed the American carbine to Martin. The guards realized the prisoners had escaped and five of them rushed toward Dengler, who shot at least three with the AK47. Phisit killed another guard as he reached for his rifle. Two others ran off, presumably to get help, although at least one had been wounded. The seven prisoners split into three groups. DeBruin was originally supposed to go with Dengler and Martin but decided to go with To, who was recovering from a fever and unable to keep up. They intended to get over the nearest ridge and wait for rescue. Dengler and Martin went off by themselves with the intention of heading for the Mekong River to escape to Thailand, but they never got more than a few miles from the camp from which they had escaped. "Seven of us escaped," said Dengler. "I was the only one who came out alive." With the exception of Phisit, who was recaptured and later rescued by Laotian troops, none of the other prisoners were ever seen again. DeBruin was reportedly captured and placed in another camp, then disappeared in 1968. Rescue Escape proved to be hazardous. Soon, the two men's feet were white, mangled stumps from trekking through the dense jungle. They found the sole of an old tennis shoe, which they wore alternately, strapping it onto a foot with rattan for a few moments' respite. In this way they were able to make their way to a fast-flowing river. "It was the highway to freedom," said Dengler, "We knew it would flow into the Mekong River, which would take us over the border into Thailand and to safety." The men built a raft and floated downstream on ferocious rapids, tying themselves to trees at night to stop themselves being washed away in the torrential water. By morning they would be covered in mud and hundreds of leeches. When they thought they were on their way to the Mekong, they discovered that they had gone around in a circle. They had spotted several villages but had not been detected. They set up camp in an abandoned village where they found shelter from the nearly incessant rain. They had brought rice with them and found other food, but were still on the verge of starvation. Their intent had been to signal a C-130 but at first lacked the energy to build a fire using primitive methods of rubbing bamboo together. Dengler finally managed to locate carbine cartridges that Martin had thrown away and used their powder to enhance the tinder and got a fire going. That night they lit torches and waved them in the shape of an S and O when a C-130 came over. The airplane circled and dropped a couple of flares and they were overjoyed, believing they had been spotted. They woke up the next morning to find the landscape covered by fog and drizzle, but when it lifted, no rescue force appeared. Martin, who was weak from starvation and was suffering from malaria, wanted to approach a nearby Akha village to steal some food. Dengler knew it was not a good idea, but refused to let his friend go near the village alone. They saw a little boy playing with a dog and the child ran into the village calling out "American!" Within seconds a villager appeared and they knelt down on the trail in supplication, but the man swung his machete and struck Martin in the leg. With the next swipe, Martin's head came off. Dengler jumped to his feet and rushed toward the villager, who turned and ran into the village to get help. I reached for the rubber sole from his foot, grabbed it and ran. From that moment on, all my motions became mechanical. I couldn't care less if I lived or died. Dengler recalls, it was a wild animal who gave him the mental strength to continue. "I was followed by this beautiful bear. He became like my pet dog and was the only friend I had." These were his darkest hours. Little more than a walking skeleton after weeks on the run, he floated in and out of a hallucinatory state. "I was just crawling along," he said. "Then I had a vision: these enormous doors opened up. Lots of horses came galloping out. They were not driven by death, but by angels. Death didn't want me." Dengler managed to evade the searchers who went out after him and escaped back into the jungle. He returned to the abandoned village where the two had been spending their time and where he and Martin had signaled the C-130. That night when a C-130 flare-ship came, Dengler set fire to the huts and burned the village down. The C-130 crew spotted the fires and dropped flares, but even though the crew reported their sighting when they returned to Udorn Royal Thai Air Force Base, the fires were not recognized by intelligence as having been a signal from a survivor. Deatrick has long marvelled at the fact that had he stuck to his original flight schedule on the morning of July 20, 1966, Dieter would not have been at the river to be sighted at that earlier hour. "If God put me on the earth for one reason," Deatrick says, "it was to find Dieter over there in the jungle." As it was, Deatrick describes it as "a million-in-one chance." -Excerpt from Dengler biography regarding the role of pilot Eugene Deatrick When a rescue force again failed to materialize, Dengler decided to find one of the parachutes from a flare for use as a possible signal. He found one on a bush and placed it in his rucksack. On July 20, 1966, after 23 days in the jungle, Dengler managed to signal an Air Force pilot with the parachute. A 2-ship flight of Air Force Skyraiders from the 1st Air Commando Squadron happened to fly up the river where Dengler was. Eugene Peyton Deatrick, the pilot of the lead plane and the squadron commander, spotted a flash of white while making a turn at the river's bend and came back and spotted a man waving something white. Deatrick and his wingman contacted rescue forces, but were told to ignore the sighting, as no airmen were known to be down in the area. Deatrick persisted and eventually managed to convince the command and control center to dispatch a rescue force. Fearing that Dengler might be a Viet Cong soldier, the helicopter crew restrained him when he was brought aboard. According to the documentary Little Dieter Needs to Fly Dengler said one of the flight crew who was holding him down pulled out a half eaten snake from underneath Dengler's clothing and was so surprised he nearly fell out of the helicopter. Dengler was stripped of his clothes to ensure he was not armed or in possession of a hand grenade. When questioned, Dengler told Air Force pararescue specialist Michael Leonard that he was a Navy Lieutenant JG who had escaped from a North Vietnamese prisoner of war camp two months earlier. Deatrick radioed the rescue helicopter crew to see if they could identify the person they had just hoisted up from the jungle. They reported that they had a man who claimed to be a downed Navy pilot who flew a Douglas A-1H Skyraider. It wasn't until after he reached the hospital at Da Nang that Dengler's identity was confirmed. A conflict between the Air Force and the Navy developed over who should control his debriefing and recovery. In an apparent attempt to prevent the Air Force from embarrassing them in some way, the Navy sent a team of SEALs into the hospital to steal Dengler. He was brought out of the hospital in a covered gurney and rushed to the air field, where he was placed aboard a Navy carrier delivery transport Grumman C-2A from VR-21 and flown to the Ranger where a welcoming party had been prepared. At night, however, he was tormented by awful terrors, and had to be tied to his bed. In the end, his friends put him to sleep in a cockpit, surrounded by pillows. "It was the only place I felt safe," he said. Dengler's deprivation from malnutrition and parasites caused the Navy doctors to order that he be airlifted to the United States. Later life and death Dengler recovered physically, but never put his ordeal behind him. As Werner Herzog described it in his documentary about Dengler, "Men are often haunted by things that happen to them in life, especially in war Their lives seem to be normal, but they are not." He remained in the navy for a year, was promoted to Lieutenant, and was trained to fly jets. When his military obligation was satisfied, he resigned from the Navy and applied for a position as an airline pilot with Trans World Airlines (TWA). He continued flying and survived four subsequent crashes as a civilian test pilot. In 1977, during a time when he was furloughed from TWA, Dengler returned to Laos and was greeted as a celebrity by the Pathet Lao. He was taken to the camp from which he had escaped and was surprised to discover that at one point he and Martin had been within a mile and a half of it. His fascination with airplanes and aviation continued for the remainder of his life. He continued flying almost up until his death. He took an early-retirement as a pilot for TWA sometime prior to 1985, but continued flying his meticulously restored Cessna 195, putting it on static display at numerous California air shows. In 2000, Dengler was inducted into the Gathering of Eagles program and told the story of his escape to groups of young military officers. Dengler was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, an incurable neurological disorder; on February 7, 2001, he rolled his wheelchair from his house down to the driveway of a fire station and shot himself. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. A Navy honor guard was present at the burial as well as a fly-over by Navy F-14 Tomcats.
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  • Thanks to the folks over at Ultimate Experience Outdoors for providing the Ultimate Experience Outdoors. These guys combined with the folks down at Coon Creek LLC. provided the perfect blend of hospitality and entertainment to make this the ultimate hunting experience. So thankful for the opportunity to fellowship with everyone this weekend.
    Thanks to the folks over at Ultimate Experience Outdoors for providing the Ultimate Experience Outdoors. These guys combined with the folks down at Coon Creek LLC. provided the perfect blend of hospitality and entertainment to make this the ultimate hunting experience. So thankful for the opportunity to fellowship with everyone this weekend.
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  • Awesome read; if it doesn't bring a tear to your eye, you're not human; I am so proud to have been in an organization that instilled the values described in LTC Lofaro's speech below:

    Dining-in speech at U.S. Military Academy
    by LTC Guy Lofaro:

    "Let me say before beginning that it has been my pleasure to attend several dinings-in here at West Point and hence I have some basis for comparison. You people have done a fine job and you ought to congratulate yourselves. In fact, why don't we take this time to have the persons who were responsible for this event stand so we can acknowledge them publicly.

    I guess I am honored with these invitations because there exists this rumor that I can tell a story. Cadets who I have had in class sometimes approach me beforehand and request that, during my speech, I tell some of the stories I've told them in class. For the longest time I have resisted this. I simply didn't think this the right forum for story-telling, so I tried instead, with varying degrees of success, to use this time to impart some higher lesson - some thought that would perhaps stay with one or two of you a little longer than the 10 or 15 minutes I will be standing here. I tried this again last week at another dining in and I bombed. Big time. Of course, the cadets didn't say that. They said all the polite things- "Thank you, sir, for those inspiring words" - "You've provided us much food for thought" - "We all certainly learned something from you tonight, sir." And I'm thinking - yeah - you learned something all right. You learned never to invite that SOB to be a dining in speaker again.

    So in the interim I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I would say to you to night. What can I say that will stay with you? And as I reflected on this I turned it on myself - what stays with me? What makes a mark on me? What do I remember, and why? How have I learned the higher lessons I so desperately want to impart to you? Well - I've learned those higher lessons through experience. And as I thought further, I realized that there's only one way to relate experience -that is to tell some stories. So I'm going to try something new here this evening. I'm going to give you your stories and attempt to relate what I've learned by living them. I'm going to let you crawl inside my eye-sockets and see some of the things I've seen these past 18 years.

    Imagine you are a brand new second lieutenant on a peacekeeping mission in the Sinai Peninsula. You are less than a year out of West Point, and only a few weeks out of the basic course. You are standing at a strict position of attention in front of your battalion commander, a man you will come to realize was one of the finest soldiers with whom you've ever served, and you are being questioned about a mistake - a big mistake - that you've made. You see, your platoon lost some live ammo. Oh sure, it was eventually found, but for a few hours you had the entire battalion scrambling. Your battalion commander is not yelling at you though, he's not demeaning you, he's simply taking this opportunity to ensure you learn from the experience. And you do- you learn that people make mistakes, that those mistakes do not usually result in the end of the world, and that such occasions are valuable opportunities to impart some higher lessons. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see your platoon sergeant emerge from behind a building. He's an old soldier - a fine soldier though - whose knees have seen a few too many airborne operations. He sees you and the colonel - and he takes off at a run. You see him approaching from behind the colonel and the next thing you see is the back of your platoon sergeant's head. He is now standing between you and your battalion commander - the two are eyeball to eyeball. Your platoon sergeant says, a touch of indignance in his voice "Leave my lieutenant alone, sir. He didn't lose the ammo, I did. I was the one who miscounted. You want someone's ass, you take mine."

    And you learn another lesson - you learn about loyalty.

    It's a few months later and you are one of two soldiers left on a hot PZ on some Caribbean island. There's been another foul up - not yours this time, but you're going to pay for it. It's you and your RTO, a nineteen-year-old surfer from Florida who can quote Shakespeare because his Mom was a high school literature teacher and who joined the army because his Dad was a WWII Ranger. The last UH-60 has taken off on an air assault and someone is supposed to come back and get you guys. But the fire is getting heavy, and you're not sure anything can get down there without getting shot up. You're taking fire from some heavily forested hills. At least two machineguns, maybe three, maybe more, and quite a few AKs, but you can't make out anything else. You and your RTO are in a hole, hunkered down as the bad guys are peppering your hole with small arms fire. Your RTO is trying to get some help - another bird to come get you, some artillery, some attack helicopters - anything. But there are other firefights happening elsewhere on this island involving much larger numbers.

    So as the cosmos unfold at; that particular moment, in that particular place, you and that RTO are well down the order of merit list. You feel a tug at your pants leg. Ketch, that's what you call him, Ketch tells you he got a "wait, out" when he asked for help. The radio is jammed with calls for fire and requests for support from other parts of the island. "What we gonna do, sir?' he asks. And all of a sudden, you're learning another lesson. You're learning about the weightiness of command, because it's not just you in that hole, it's this kid you've spent every day with for the last five months. This kid you've come to love like a kid brother. There is only one way out and that's through the bad guys. You see, you are on a peninsula that rises about 100 feet from the sea. The inland side is where the bad guys are. You figure you are safe in this hole, so long as they don't bring in any indirect fire stuff, but if they come down off those hills, onto the peninsula, then you're going to have to fight it out. And that's what you tell your RTO. We either get help or, if the bad guys come for us, we fight. He looks at you. You don't know how long. And he says only four words. Two sentences. "Roger, sir. Let's rock." Appropriate coming from a surfer. Then he slithers back down to the bottom of the hole. Staying on the radio, your lifeline, trying to get some help. You are peering over the edge of the hole, careful not to make too big a target. You're thinking about your wife and that little month-old baby you left a few days ago. It was two o'clock in the morning when you got the call. "Pack your gear and get in here." You kissed them both and told them to watch the news. Hell, you didn't know where here you were going or why, but you were told to go, and you went.

    Then all of a sudden it gets real loud, and things are flying all around and then there's a shadow that passes over you. You look up and find yourself staring at the bottom of a Blackhawk, about 15 feet over the deck, flying fast and low, and as it passes over your hole you see the door gunner dealing death and destruction on the bad guys in those hills. It sets down about 25 meters from your hole, as close as it can get. You look up and see the crew chief kneeling inside, waving frantically to you, the door gunner still dealing with it, trying to keep the bad guys' heads down, who have now switched their fire to the bird, a much bigger, and better, target. You look at Ketch and then you're off - and you run 25 meters faster than 25 meters have ever been run since humans began to walk upright. And you dive through the open doors onto the floor of the Blackhawk. There are no seats in the bird since this is combat and we don't use them in the real deal. And you are hugging your RTO, face-to-face, like a lover, and shouting at him "You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?" but he doesn't tell you he's OKAY since he's yelling the same thing at you -- "You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?" And then the pilot pulls pitch and executes a violent and steep ascent out of there and had you not been holding on to the d-rings in the floor and the crew chief not been holding your legs you might have fallen out. Then you're over the water, you're safe, and the bird levels out, and you roll over to your back and close your eyes - and you think you fall asleep. But then you feel a hand on your blouse, and you open your eyes and see the crew chief kneeling over you with a head set in his hand. He wants you to put it on so you do. And the first thing you hear is "I-Beamer, buddy boy. I Beamer." You were in I-4 while a cadet, and that was your rallying cry. And you look up to where the pilots sit and you see a head sticking out from behind one of the seats. He's looking at you and it's his voice you hear, but you can't make out who it is because his visor is down. Then he lifts it, and you see the face of a man who was 2 years ahead of you in your company. He tells you that he knew you were there and he wasn't going to leave an I-Beamer like that. And you learn about courage, and camaraderie. And friendship that never dies.

    It's a few years later and you've already had your company command. You're in grad school, studying at Michigan. You get a phone call one night, one of the sergeants from your company. He tells you Harvey Moore is dead, killed in a training accident when his Blackhawk flew into the ground. Harvey Moore. Two time winner of the Best Ranger Competition. Great soldier. Got drunk one night after his wife left him and took his son. You see, staff sergeants don't make as much money as lawyers, so she left with the lawyer. He got stinking drunk, though it didn't take much since he didn't drink at all before this, and got into his car. Then had an accident. Then got a DUI. He was an E-6 promotable when this happened, and the SOP was a general-officer article 15 and a reduction one grade, which would really be two for him because he was on the promotion list. But Harvey Moore is a good soldier, and it's time to go to bat for a guy who, if your company command was any sort of a success, played a significant part in making it so. And you go with your battalion commander to see the CG, and you stand at attention in front of the CG's desk for 20 minutes convincing him that Harvey Moore deserves a break. You win. Harvey Moore never drinks again. He makes E-7. And when you change command, he grabs your arm, with tears in his eyes, and thanks you for all you've done. Then the phone call. And you learn about grief.

    And then you're a major and you're back in the 82d - your home. And one day some SOB having a bad week decides it's time to take it out on the world and he shoots up a PT formation. Takes out 20 guys. You're one of them. 5.56 tracer round right to the gut. Range about 10 meters. And you're dead for a little while, but it's not your time yet - there are still too many lessons to learn. And you wake up after 5 surgeries and 45 days in a coma. And you look down at your body and you don't recognize it - it has become a receptacle for hospital tubing and electronic monitoring devices. You have a tracheotomy, so there's a huge tube going down your throat and you can't talk, but that thing is making sure you breathe. And there's a tube in your nose that goes down into your stomach - that's how you eat. And there are four IVs - one in each arm and two in the veins in the top of your feet. There is a tube through your right clavicle - that's where they inject the high-powered antibiotics that turns your hair white and makes you see things. But disease is the enemy now and it's gotta be done. And there are three tubes emerging from three separate holes in your stomach. They are there to drain the liquids from your stomach cavity. It drains into some bags hanging on the right;side of your bed. And they've shaved your chest and attached countless electrodes to monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, and anything else they can measure. They have these things stuck all over your head as well, and on your wrists and ankles. And your family gathers around, and they are like rocks, and they pull you through. But there's also a guy, dressed in BDUs, with a maroon beret in his and, who stands quietly in the corner. Never says anything. Just smiles. And looks at you. He's there every day. Not every hour of every day, but he comes every day.

    Sometimes he's there when you wake up. Sometimes he's there when you go to sleep. He comes during his lunch break. He stays an hour, or two, or three. And just stands in the corner. And smiles. No one told him to be there. But he made it his place of duty. His guard post. You see, it's your sergeant major, and his ranger buddy is down, and a ranger never leaves a fallen comrade. And you learn, through this man, the value of a creed.
    (Note from Guy): if you've never read the Ranger Creed, Google it. The men of the Ranger Regiment live this creed every day. It is probably more powerful than wedding vows, and once you've lived by it, it's part of your life forever)

    And every four hours two huge male nurses come in and gently roll you on your side. The bullet exited through your left buttock and made a hole the size of a softball. The bandages need to be changed. Take the soiled wads out and put clean ones in. And a second lieutenant comes in. She seems to be there all the time. She's the one changing the bandages. And it hurts like hell, but she, too, is smiling, and talking to you, and she's gentle. And you know you've seen her before, but you can't talk - you still have that tube in your throat. But she knows. And she tells you that you taught her Military Art History, that now it's her turn to take care of you, that she's in charge of you and the team of nurses assigned to you, and she won't let you down. And you learn about compassion.

    And then it's months later and you're still recovering. Most of the tubes are gone but it's time for another round of major surgeries. And you go into one of the last, this one about 9 hours long. And they put you back together. And you wake up in the ICU one more time. Only one IV this time. And when you open your eyes, there's a huge figure standing over your bed. BDUs. Green beret in his hand. Bigger than God. And he's smiling. "It's about damn time you woke up you lazy bastard" he says. And you know it's your friend and former commander and you've got to come back with something quick - something good. He's the deputy Delta Force commander, soon to be the commander. And you say "Don't you have someplace else to be? Don't you have something more important to do?" And without skipping a beat, without losing that smile he says "Right now, I am doing what I consider the most important thing in the world."

    And you learn about leadership.

    So there you have them. Some stories. I've tried to let you see the world as I've seen it a various points in time these 18 years. I hope you've learned something. I certainly have."

    For the record, I know these men personally, and I served during these times the writer is describing, I was there @ Hill AFB that dark night on 29 Oct '92 during the final hit of Operation Embryo Stage when RANGER Moore departed this rock, he was my buddy... I also recall very clearly that damn sniper doing his evil down @ Bragg... this world just never quits jackin with the good folks seems like. My point of all of this is while you are in the middle of it all, this Serving stuff, pay attention to those around you, that is what is Truly of most importance, gubmints will come and go, Honor, Courage, being Solid under extreme pressure and circumstance will be your test... make this world a little better of a place while you are among the living... and Never Forget the RANGER Harvey Moore's that you will meet along the way...

    HOOAH!
    RLTW! - NSDQ!
    Awesome read; if it doesn't bring a tear to your eye, you're not human; I am so proud to have been in an organization that instilled the values described in LTC Lofaro's speech below: Dining-in speech at U.S. Military Academy by LTC Guy Lofaro: "Let me say before beginning that it has been my pleasure to attend several dinings-in here at West Point and hence I have some basis for comparison. You people have done a fine job and you ought to congratulate yourselves. In fact, why don't we take this time to have the persons who were responsible for this event stand so we can acknowledge them publicly. I guess I am honored with these invitations because there exists this rumor that I can tell a story. Cadets who I have had in class sometimes approach me beforehand and request that, during my speech, I tell some of the stories I've told them in class. For the longest time I have resisted this. I simply didn't think this the right forum for story-telling, so I tried instead, with varying degrees of success, to use this time to impart some higher lesson - some thought that would perhaps stay with one or two of you a little longer than the 10 or 15 minutes I will be standing here. I tried this again last week at another dining in and I bombed. Big time. Of course, the cadets didn't say that. They said all the polite things- "Thank you, sir, for those inspiring words" - "You've provided us much food for thought" - "We all certainly learned something from you tonight, sir." And I'm thinking - yeah - you learned something all right. You learned never to invite that SOB to be a dining in speaker again. So in the interim I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I would say to you to night. What can I say that will stay with you? And as I reflected on this I turned it on myself - what stays with me? What makes a mark on me? What do I remember, and why? How have I learned the higher lessons I so desperately want to impart to you? Well - I've learned those higher lessons through experience. And as I thought further, I realized that there's only one way to relate experience -that is to tell some stories. So I'm going to try something new here this evening. I'm going to give you your stories and attempt to relate what I've learned by living them. I'm going to let you crawl inside my eye-sockets and see some of the things I've seen these past 18 years. Imagine you are a brand new second lieutenant on a peacekeeping mission in the Sinai Peninsula. You are less than a year out of West Point, and only a few weeks out of the basic course. You are standing at a strict position of attention in front of your battalion commander, a man you will come to realize was one of the finest soldiers with whom you've ever served, and you are being questioned about a mistake - a big mistake - that you've made. You see, your platoon lost some live ammo. Oh sure, it was eventually found, but for a few hours you had the entire battalion scrambling. Your battalion commander is not yelling at you though, he's not demeaning you, he's simply taking this opportunity to ensure you learn from the experience. And you do- you learn that people make mistakes, that those mistakes do not usually result in the end of the world, and that such occasions are valuable opportunities to impart some higher lessons. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see your platoon sergeant emerge from behind a building. He's an old soldier - a fine soldier though - whose knees have seen a few too many airborne operations. He sees you and the colonel - and he takes off at a run. You see him approaching from behind the colonel and the next thing you see is the back of your platoon sergeant's head. He is now standing between you and your battalion commander - the two are eyeball to eyeball. Your platoon sergeant says, a touch of indignance in his voice "Leave my lieutenant alone, sir. He didn't lose the ammo, I did. I was the one who miscounted. You want someone's ass, you take mine." And you learn another lesson - you learn about loyalty. It's a few months later and you are one of two soldiers left on a hot PZ on some Caribbean island. There's been another foul up - not yours this time, but you're going to pay for it. It's you and your RTO, a nineteen-year-old surfer from Florida who can quote Shakespeare because his Mom was a high school literature teacher and who joined the army because his Dad was a WWII Ranger. The last UH-60 has taken off on an air assault and someone is supposed to come back and get you guys. But the fire is getting heavy, and you're not sure anything can get down there without getting shot up. You're taking fire from some heavily forested hills. At least two machineguns, maybe three, maybe more, and quite a few AKs, but you can't make out anything else. You and your RTO are in a hole, hunkered down as the bad guys are peppering your hole with small arms fire. Your RTO is trying to get some help - another bird to come get you, some artillery, some attack helicopters - anything. But there are other firefights happening elsewhere on this island involving much larger numbers. So as the cosmos unfold at; that particular moment, in that particular place, you and that RTO are well down the order of merit list. You feel a tug at your pants leg. Ketch, that's what you call him, Ketch tells you he got a "wait, out" when he asked for help. The radio is jammed with calls for fire and requests for support from other parts of the island. "What we gonna do, sir?' he asks. And all of a sudden, you're learning another lesson. You're learning about the weightiness of command, because it's not just you in that hole, it's this kid you've spent every day with for the last five months. This kid you've come to love like a kid brother. There is only one way out and that's through the bad guys. You see, you are on a peninsula that rises about 100 feet from the sea. The inland side is where the bad guys are. You figure you are safe in this hole, so long as they don't bring in any indirect fire stuff, but if they come down off those hills, onto the peninsula, then you're going to have to fight it out. And that's what you tell your RTO. We either get help or, if the bad guys come for us, we fight. He looks at you. You don't know how long. And he says only four words. Two sentences. "Roger, sir. Let's rock." Appropriate coming from a surfer. Then he slithers back down to the bottom of the hole. Staying on the radio, your lifeline, trying to get some help. You are peering over the edge of the hole, careful not to make too big a target. You're thinking about your wife and that little month-old baby you left a few days ago. It was two o'clock in the morning when you got the call. "Pack your gear and get in here." You kissed them both and told them to watch the news. Hell, you didn't know where here you were going or why, but you were told to go, and you went. Then all of a sudden it gets real loud, and things are flying all around and then there's a shadow that passes over you. You look up and find yourself staring at the bottom of a Blackhawk, about 15 feet over the deck, flying fast and low, and as it passes over your hole you see the door gunner dealing death and destruction on the bad guys in those hills. It sets down about 25 meters from your hole, as close as it can get. You look up and see the crew chief kneeling inside, waving frantically to you, the door gunner still dealing with it, trying to keep the bad guys' heads down, who have now switched their fire to the bird, a much bigger, and better, target. You look at Ketch and then you're off - and you run 25 meters faster than 25 meters have ever been run since humans began to walk upright. And you dive through the open doors onto the floor of the Blackhawk. There are no seats in the bird since this is combat and we don't use them in the real deal. And you are hugging your RTO, face-to-face, like a lover, and shouting at him "You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?" but he doesn't tell you he's OKAY since he's yelling the same thing at you -- "You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?" And then the pilot pulls pitch and executes a violent and steep ascent out of there and had you not been holding on to the d-rings in the floor and the crew chief not been holding your legs you might have fallen out. Then you're over the water, you're safe, and the bird levels out, and you roll over to your back and close your eyes - and you think you fall asleep. But then you feel a hand on your blouse, and you open your eyes and see the crew chief kneeling over you with a head set in his hand. He wants you to put it on so you do. And the first thing you hear is "I-Beamer, buddy boy. I Beamer." You were in I-4 while a cadet, and that was your rallying cry. And you look up to where the pilots sit and you see a head sticking out from behind one of the seats. He's looking at you and it's his voice you hear, but you can't make out who it is because his visor is down. Then he lifts it, and you see the face of a man who was 2 years ahead of you in your company. He tells you that he knew you were there and he wasn't going to leave an I-Beamer like that. And you learn about courage, and camaraderie. And friendship that never dies. It's a few years later and you've already had your company command. You're in grad school, studying at Michigan. You get a phone call one night, one of the sergeants from your company. He tells you Harvey Moore is dead, killed in a training accident when his Blackhawk flew into the ground. Harvey Moore. Two time winner of the Best Ranger Competition. Great soldier. Got drunk one night after his wife left him and took his son. You see, staff sergeants don't make as much money as lawyers, so she left with the lawyer. He got stinking drunk, though it didn't take much since he didn't drink at all before this, and got into his car. Then had an accident. Then got a DUI. He was an E-6 promotable when this happened, and the SOP was a general-officer article 15 and a reduction one grade, which would really be two for him because he was on the promotion list. But Harvey Moore is a good soldier, and it's time to go to bat for a guy who, if your company command was any sort of a success, played a significant part in making it so. And you go with your battalion commander to see the CG, and you stand at attention in front of the CG's desk for 20 minutes convincing him that Harvey Moore deserves a break. You win. Harvey Moore never drinks again. He makes E-7. And when you change command, he grabs your arm, with tears in his eyes, and thanks you for all you've done. Then the phone call. And you learn about grief. And then you're a major and you're back in the 82d - your home. And one day some SOB having a bad week decides it's time to take it out on the world and he shoots up a PT formation. Takes out 20 guys. You're one of them. 5.56 tracer round right to the gut. Range about 10 meters. And you're dead for a little while, but it's not your time yet - there are still too many lessons to learn. And you wake up after 5 surgeries and 45 days in a coma. And you look down at your body and you don't recognize it - it has become a receptacle for hospital tubing and electronic monitoring devices. You have a tracheotomy, so there's a huge tube going down your throat and you can't talk, but that thing is making sure you breathe. And there's a tube in your nose that goes down into your stomach - that's how you eat. And there are four IVs - one in each arm and two in the veins in the top of your feet. There is a tube through your right clavicle - that's where they inject the high-powered antibiotics that turns your hair white and makes you see things. But disease is the enemy now and it's gotta be done. And there are three tubes emerging from three separate holes in your stomach. They are there to drain the liquids from your stomach cavity. It drains into some bags hanging on the right;side of your bed. And they've shaved your chest and attached countless electrodes to monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, and anything else they can measure. They have these things stuck all over your head as well, and on your wrists and ankles. And your family gathers around, and they are like rocks, and they pull you through. But there's also a guy, dressed in BDUs, with a maroon beret in his and, who stands quietly in the corner. Never says anything. Just smiles. And looks at you. He's there every day. Not every hour of every day, but he comes every day. Sometimes he's there when you wake up. Sometimes he's there when you go to sleep. He comes during his lunch break. He stays an hour, or two, or three. And just stands in the corner. And smiles. No one told him to be there. But he made it his place of duty. His guard post. You see, it's your sergeant major, and his ranger buddy is down, and a ranger never leaves a fallen comrade. And you learn, through this man, the value of a creed. (Note from Guy): if you've never read the Ranger Creed, Google it. The men of the Ranger Regiment live this creed every day. It is probably more powerful than wedding vows, and once you've lived by it, it's part of your life forever) And every four hours two huge male nurses come in and gently roll you on your side. The bullet exited through your left buttock and made a hole the size of a softball. The bandages need to be changed. Take the soiled wads out and put clean ones in. And a second lieutenant comes in. She seems to be there all the time. She's the one changing the bandages. And it hurts like hell, but she, too, is smiling, and talking to you, and she's gentle. And you know you've seen her before, but you can't talk - you still have that tube in your throat. But she knows. And she tells you that you taught her Military Art History, that now it's her turn to take care of you, that she's in charge of you and the team of nurses assigned to you, and she won't let you down. And you learn about compassion. And then it's months later and you're still recovering. Most of the tubes are gone but it's time for another round of major surgeries. And you go into one of the last, this one about 9 hours long. And they put you back together. And you wake up in the ICU one more time. Only one IV this time. And when you open your eyes, there's a huge figure standing over your bed. BDUs. Green beret in his hand. Bigger than God. And he's smiling. "It's about damn time you woke up you lazy bastard" he says. And you know it's your friend and former commander and you've got to come back with something quick - something good. He's the deputy Delta Force commander, soon to be the commander. And you say "Don't you have someplace else to be? Don't you have something more important to do?" And without skipping a beat, without losing that smile he says "Right now, I am doing what I consider the most important thing in the world." And you learn about leadership. So there you have them. Some stories. I've tried to let you see the world as I've seen it a various points in time these 18 years. I hope you've learned something. I certainly have." For the record, I know these men personally, and I served during these times the writer is describing, I was there @ Hill AFB that dark night on 29 Oct '92 during the final hit of Operation Embryo Stage when RANGER Moore departed this rock, he was my buddy... I also recall very clearly that damn sniper doing his evil down @ Bragg... this world just never quits jackin with the good folks seems like. My point of all of this is while you are in the middle of it all, this Serving stuff, pay attention to those around you, that is what is Truly of most importance, gubmints will come and go, Honor, Courage, being Solid under extreme pressure and circumstance will be your test... make this world a little better of a place while you are among the living... and Never Forget the RANGER Harvey Moore's that you will meet along the way... HOOAH! RLTW! - NSDQ!
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  • It was well recognized that Martha Raye endured less comfort and more danger than any other Vietnam entertainer.
    Don't let the sun go down without reading this about Martha Raye. The most unforgivable oversight of TV is that her shows were not taped. I was unaware of her credentials or where she is buried.
    Somehow I just can't see Brittany Spears, Paris Hilton, or Jessica Simpson doing what this woman (and the other USO women, including Ann Margaret & Joey Heatherton) did for our troops in past wars.
    Most of the old time entertainers were made of a lot sterner stuff than today's crop of activists bland whiners.
    The following is from an Army Aviator who takes a trip down memory lane:
    "It was just before Thanksgiving '67 and we were ferrying dead and wounded from a large GRF west of Pleiku. We had run out of body bags by noon, so the Hook (CH-47 CHINOOK) was pretty rough in the back.
    All of a sudden, we heard a 'take-charge' woman's voice in the rear. There was the singer and actress, Martha Raye, with a SF (Special Forces) beret and jungle fatigues, with subdued markings, helping the wounded into the Chinook, and carrying the dead aboard. 'Maggie' had been visiting her SF 'heroes' out 'west'.
    We took off, short of fuel, and headed to the USAF hospital pad at Pleiku.
    As we all started unloading our sad pax's, a 'Smart Mouth' USAF Captain said to Martha: "Ms Ray, with all these dead and wounded to process, there would not be time for your show!"
    To all of our surprise, she pulled on her right collar and said...
    "Captain, see this eagle? I am a full 'Bird' in the US Army Reserve, and on this is a 'Caduceus' which means I am a Nurse, with a surgical specialty... now, take me to your wounded!"
    He said, "Yes ma'am, follow me."
    Several times at the Army Field Hospital in Pleiku, she would 'cover' a surgical shift, giving a nurse a well-deserved break.
    Martha is the only woman buried in the SF (Special Forces) cemetery at Ft Bragg.
    Salute to Colonel Maggie! - A Great American!
    It was well recognized that Martha Raye endured less comfort and more danger than any other Vietnam entertainer. Don't let the sun go down without reading this about Martha Raye. The most unforgivable oversight of TV is that her shows were not taped. I was unaware of her credentials or where she is buried. Somehow I just can't see Brittany Spears, Paris Hilton, or Jessica Simpson doing what this woman (and the other USO women, including Ann Margaret & Joey Heatherton) did for our troops in past wars. Most of the old time entertainers were made of a lot sterner stuff than today's crop of activists bland whiners. The following is from an Army Aviator who takes a trip down memory lane: "It was just before Thanksgiving '67 and we were ferrying dead and wounded from a large GRF west of Pleiku. We had run out of body bags by noon, so the Hook (CH-47 CHINOOK) was pretty rough in the back. All of a sudden, we heard a 'take-charge' woman's voice in the rear. There was the singer and actress, Martha Raye, with a SF (Special Forces) beret and jungle fatigues, with subdued markings, helping the wounded into the Chinook, and carrying the dead aboard. 'Maggie' had been visiting her SF 'heroes' out 'west'. We took off, short of fuel, and headed to the USAF hospital pad at Pleiku. As we all started unloading our sad pax's, a 'Smart Mouth' USAF Captain said to Martha: "Ms Ray, with all these dead and wounded to process, there would not be time for your show!" To all of our surprise, she pulled on her right collar and said... "Captain, see this eagle? I am a full 'Bird' in the US Army Reserve, and on this is a 'Caduceus' which means I am a Nurse, with a surgical specialty... now, take me to your wounded!" He said, "Yes ma'am, follow me." Several times at the Army Field Hospital in Pleiku, she would 'cover' a surgical shift, giving a nurse a well-deserved break. Martha is the only woman buried in the SF (Special Forces) cemetery at Ft Bragg. Salute to Colonel Maggie! - A Great American!
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  • Born in 1921, Rice would volunteer for the Army in 1943 and head to Camp Toccoa, Georgia to become a paratrooper. Joining the 101st Airborne, and heading to England to train for Operation Overlord, eventually jumping into Normandy, securing roads and capturing Basse-Abbeville, France.

    He would jump again on September 17th, 1944 into the Netherlands as part of Operation Market Garden. And then once again into the history books as part of The Battle of the Bulge where he would be shot twice by a German sniper.

    Rice would recover from his wounds in a hospital in Belgium and would be honorably discharged in December 1945.

    Returning home he taught social science and history. Had five children. And wrote his personal account of the war "Trial by Combat".

    He would jump as part of the 75th anniversary of D-Day in 2019 at Normandy, and then again into the Netherlands as part of the commemoration of Operation Market Garden. He was 97 years old.

    On his 100th birthday on August 15th, 2021, he celebrated by skydiving.

    www.wetsu.co
    Born in 1921, Rice would volunteer for the Army in 1943 and head to Camp Toccoa, Georgia to become a paratrooper. Joining the 101st Airborne, and heading to England to train for Operation Overlord, eventually jumping into Normandy, securing roads and capturing Basse-Abbeville, France. He would jump again on September 17th, 1944 into the Netherlands as part of Operation Market Garden. And then once again into the history books as part of The Battle of the Bulge where he would be shot twice by a German sniper. Rice would recover from his wounds in a hospital in Belgium and would be honorably discharged in December 1945. Returning home he taught social science and history. Had five children. And wrote his personal account of the war "Trial by Combat". He would jump as part of the 75th anniversary of D-Day in 2019 at Normandy, and then again into the Netherlands as part of the commemoration of Operation Market Garden. He was 97 years old. On his 100th birthday on August 15th, 2021, he celebrated by skydiving. www.wetsu.co
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  • I’m shutting it down!

    No you’re not! We got a wounded eagle in the back. A Hot LZ is not a place to be, fly it outside the city. Transload onto -3.

    The wounded eagle was Kent Solheim. On one of the hundreds of missions I’ve been on, I remember this one quite well.
    It was 2007. I was a FMQ (fully mission qualified) crew chief sitting on the right seat.
    We flew from Balad to an SF outpost south of Baghdad. We had a mission brief with the ground force. I remember one of the SF guys say, it’s been a while since any US forces were walking the streets of Karbala. It’s was supposed to be a quick and easy snatch and grab of one of the targets they had on file.

    4 H-60’s, I was in dash 4 that night as a CASEVAC bird. All 4 of us were to rope in the center of the city and then hold 2km off of the target until the GFC cleared us to go get fuel.
    Upon conducting the insertion, the ground force was under immediate fire. I can see tracer rounds coming toward the aircraft, not effective so I decided not to engage but to focus my attention to the guys roping out my side. “Last man” I called out over ICS, I looked over my right shoulder and saw my BMQ had his thumb up, an indication that his side was empty and his rope was clear, we were clear to cut ropes. I called out “ropes clear, clear for flight”! (With that statement you should know which battalion of the regiment I was from). We caught up with the rest of the flight and held off target by 2km. At this point, flight lead is getting everyone’s fuel numbers, to see how much time we had to hold until we were at Bingo fuel. The call came over SATCOM, we need CASEVAC at Black LZ time now. Grid as follows! They sent the grid coordinates and we plugged them in. Flight lead sent both -3 and -4 to the LZ. We followed 3 in and landed 100 meters short of the intended LZ. We were in a brown out condition, I hear the Ground force say, you are 100 meters south of where you need to be I need you here right F’n now!
    At this point, I told my pilots, I got -3 insight come up and I’ll call you passed them. We all agreed. I told my BMQ, keep on eye on the wires out your door (we crossed over them when landing). Ok come forward 20, keep coming forward sir let’s go, 15, 10 ,5 we are clear of -3. He flew it till the GPS read 0. He said are we clear. No Joy on the right is what I replied with, we were browned out. He said I’m coming down. Bam! My spine compressed then I hit the ceiling and the back of the pilots seat. Bells and whistles going off (both the aircraft and I) had a black cockpit, rotors and engines sounded weird. While the pilots were working those issues I waved the ground force in to load the wounded eagle Kent Solheim. While loaded the FMQ pilots says, I’m shutting it down! I immediately responded with
    “No you’re not! We got a wounded eagle in the back. A Hot LZ is not a place to be, fly it outside the city. Transload onto -3.”
    He said we got all the chip detector lights on, we are shutting down! Then Flight lead came on and said Fly it out of there. We secured the passengers in the back, doc went straight to work on Kent.
    We flew out and headed straight to Baghdad Cash. Doc needed help in the back so he gave me some shears to start cutting uniforms and sleeves. We moved his IV to another place and applied another tourniquet. I stayed in the back holding the bag and occasionally taking his pulse on his ankle and his wrist while doc worked on other things. We assessed the integrity of the aircraft and troubleshoot systems on the way and concluded that it was safe enough to fly. We get into the Baghdad CASH area and I see tracer rounds come between us and -3. I didn’t think anything of it cause all I wanted to do was get this guy to the hospital. Luckily we didn’t get hit and landed on the pad at the hospital safely.
    When we got back to Balad, we needed to replace the TRGB and IGB and replace all the filters along the oil system. I never knew who he was until recently when I was scrolling through another social media platform that Socom Archive posted. It brought me back to that night instantly. I have never known the persons names during the 20ish CASEVACs I’ve done but this one and it only took 16 years to know who he was and what he’s done after that night. A true hero and a perfect example of bravery and resilience.

    This is to you Kent! We may never meet but just wanted you to know the perspective from your Air Uber!

    NSDQ!

    #combatstories
    I’m shutting it down! No you’re not! We got a wounded eagle in the back. A Hot LZ is not a place to be, fly it outside the city. Transload onto -3. The wounded eagle was Kent Solheim. On one of the hundreds of missions I’ve been on, I remember this one quite well. It was 2007. I was a FMQ (fully mission qualified) crew chief sitting on the right seat. We flew from Balad to an SF outpost south of Baghdad. We had a mission brief with the ground force. I remember one of the SF guys say, it’s been a while since any US forces were walking the streets of Karbala. It’s was supposed to be a quick and easy snatch and grab of one of the targets they had on file. 4 H-60’s, I was in dash 4 that night as a CASEVAC bird. All 4 of us were to rope in the center of the city and then hold 2km off of the target until the GFC cleared us to go get fuel. Upon conducting the insertion, the ground force was under immediate fire. I can see tracer rounds coming toward the aircraft, not effective so I decided not to engage but to focus my attention to the guys roping out my side. “Last man” I called out over ICS, I looked over my right shoulder and saw my BMQ had his thumb up, an indication that his side was empty and his rope was clear, we were clear to cut ropes. I called out “ropes clear, clear for flight”! (With that statement you should know which battalion of the regiment I was from). We caught up with the rest of the flight and held off target by 2km. At this point, flight lead is getting everyone’s fuel numbers, to see how much time we had to hold until we were at Bingo fuel. The call came over SATCOM, we need CASEVAC at Black LZ time now. Grid as follows! They sent the grid coordinates and we plugged them in. Flight lead sent both -3 and -4 to the LZ. We followed 3 in and landed 100 meters short of the intended LZ. We were in a brown out condition, I hear the Ground force say, you are 100 meters south of where you need to be I need you here right F’n now! At this point, I told my pilots, I got -3 insight come up and I’ll call you passed them. We all agreed. I told my BMQ, keep on eye on the wires out your door (we crossed over them when landing). Ok come forward 20, keep coming forward sir let’s go, 15, 10 ,5 we are clear of -3. He flew it till the GPS read 0. He said are we clear. No Joy on the right is what I replied with, we were browned out. He said I’m coming down. Bam! My spine compressed then I hit the ceiling and the back of the pilots seat. Bells and whistles going off (both the aircraft and I) had a black cockpit, rotors and engines sounded weird. While the pilots were working those issues I waved the ground force in to load the wounded eagle Kent Solheim. While loaded the FMQ pilots says, I’m shutting it down! I immediately responded with “No you’re not! We got a wounded eagle in the back. A Hot LZ is not a place to be, fly it outside the city. Transload onto -3.” He said we got all the chip detector lights on, we are shutting down! Then Flight lead came on and said Fly it out of there. We secured the passengers in the back, doc went straight to work on Kent. We flew out and headed straight to Baghdad Cash. Doc needed help in the back so he gave me some shears to start cutting uniforms and sleeves. We moved his IV to another place and applied another tourniquet. I stayed in the back holding the bag and occasionally taking his pulse on his ankle and his wrist while doc worked on other things. We assessed the integrity of the aircraft and troubleshoot systems on the way and concluded that it was safe enough to fly. We get into the Baghdad CASH area and I see tracer rounds come between us and -3. I didn’t think anything of it cause all I wanted to do was get this guy to the hospital. Luckily we didn’t get hit and landed on the pad at the hospital safely. When we got back to Balad, we needed to replace the TRGB and IGB and replace all the filters along the oil system. I never knew who he was until recently when I was scrolling through another social media platform that Socom Archive posted. It brought me back to that night instantly. I have never known the persons names during the 20ish CASEVACs I’ve done but this one and it only took 16 years to know who he was and what he’s done after that night. A true hero and a perfect example of bravery and resilience. This is to you Kent! We may never meet but just wanted you to know the perspective from your Air Uber! NSDQ! #combatstories
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