https://researchrevolutiontrends.blogspot.com/2026/01/marine-communication-systems-market.html

Marine Air Compressor – Powerful Performance for Marine Use

Al Mashal Marine supplies premium marine air compressor solutions, including Atlas Copco compressors trusted for durability and high efficiency. These air compressors support marine operations, ship maintenance, and industrial air requirements with stable pressure output and long-lasting build quality. Ideal for heavy-duty marine applications, they ensure reliable performance even in harsh environments.

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Can Rexroth pumps be used in mobile machinery?
Absolutely. Rexroth hydraulic pumps are widely used in mobile machinery such as excavators, loaders, cranes, and agricultural equipment. Their robust design, high efficiency, and responsive control make them ideal for machines that operate under continuous load and varying conditions. Features like variable displacement and load-sensing technology ensure precise hydraulic performance while reducing fuel consumption and wear. Simply put, Rexroth pumps provide reliable power and long-term durability, making them a trusted choice for mobile applications.
Rexroth pumps are used in countless industries. Some of the most common applications include:
•Construction machines– Loaders, cranes, excavators, pumps, and drilling machines rely totally on piston pumps for lifting and heavy movement.
• Industrial Machinery – Injection molding, metal forming, and presses often depend on Rexroth pumps for better hydraulic force and performance.
• Marine and Offshore Systems - this category includes ship steering systems, winches and offshore oil drilling rigs where reliability is critical.
• Energy and Renewable Power – this power is used in and is seen in wind turbines, hydroelectric systems, and oil and gas systems.
• Agricultural Machinery – hydraulic pumps are used in tractors, harvesters, and other agricultural equipment because of their reliability.
Their adaptability makes them a preferred choice in both mobile hydraulics machines that move and stationary hydraulics (industrial setups). For any kind of maintenance, repair or OEM parts replacement, visit Reliable Rexroth hydraulic pump service
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Where to get Best Service for KPM hydraulic pump repair?

Kawasaki offers a wide range of hydraulic pumps and motors used across various industries such as mobile equipment, industrial machinery, marine as these are known for operating in tough conditions with precision and long life. KPM pumps are compact and its light weight design provides flexibility in installation and make low noise. We offer repair, maintenance, and spare part replacement for all models of KPM pumps. Our inventory is well stocked with OEM parts of all popular models and variants to support business on the spot for handling day-to-day operations.

If you are looking for Kawasaki hydraulic pump repair solutions in Delhi NCR, we are here to support you with best service, expertise, and competitive price.

Our service range include servicing for various types of Kawasaki Parts- Axial piston pumps, screw pump, and gear pumps. We are committed to best service and support after service to keep your machinery up always. For reliable and stable performance of your machinery, take AMC plans for pump repair service.

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What Are the Key Features of Rexroth Hydraulic Pumps?

Hydraulic systems drive many of the most essential machines in the world today, from construction equipment and factory presses to marine systems and energy plants. The hydraulic pump, which receives mechanical input and converts it to pressurised fluid flow, is a key component in these systems.


Among the leading names in hydraulic technology, Bosch Rexroth has built a reputation for manufacturing pumps that combine reliability, efficiency, and precision.


This blog describes key features, major benefits of Rexroth hydraulic pumps and where they are commonly used.
Well-known for their engineering quality, innovative design and good performance.

Some of their features, which they include are discussed below:

1. High Pressure Performance – Many piston pumps can safely run at over 300 bar, well-suited for heavy service.

2. Efficient Design – Extended internal geometry reduced both leakage and energy loss, thus improving operational costs.

3. Options for Variable Displacement - More sophisticated control systems can optimize pumps to only provide the necessary flow to increase energy efficiency.

4. Durability - Made from quality materials and constructed to precise specifications, ensuring use in extreme conditions for an extended period of time.

5. Modularity - There are flexible options in designs that allow the pumps to be fitted to design issues in order to meet specifications for the system.

6. Advanced Controls - Mechanical or electronic controls to be compatible with basic designs or high-tech designs for these types of pumps.


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https://researchrevolutiontrends.blogspot.com/2025/09/marine-communication-systems-market.html

How to plan a Mumbai tour?

Already soaked in the royal palaces of Jaipur, the timeless beauty of the Taj Mahal in Agra, and the vibrant streets of Delhi? Complete your experience of India Trip with a few unforgettable days in Mumbai, a city that never sleeps and always surprises! Enjoy the best of Mumbai in 3 Days with our customised holiday plan. Here is how -

Day 1 - On the first day after landing in Mumbai, visit the historic Gateway of India, drive past the breezy Marine Drive, see the lively Chowpatty Beach, stroll through the green Hanging Gardens, witness the fascinating open-air laundry at Dhobi Ghat, and stop by the Prince of Wales Museum.

Day 2 - Visit the Elephanta Caves- a UNESCO World Heritage site. From the Gateway of India, you will enjoy a ferry ride to Elephanta Island, which is named after a colossal elephant statue found on the island, popularly known as "Gharapuri." There are seven excavations in the Elephanta group of caves, which date back to between the 6th and 7th centuries AD.
Day 3 - Enjoy some last-minute shopping or a relaxing coffee and head back to the Airport.

Our Vacation Package to Mumbai is the perfect add-on for international travellers who want to feel India’s modern heartbeat. Book today at the best Prices and explore Mumbai with the best Itinerary.

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Tableau capri
Vous rêvez de transformer votre intérieur en un espace apaisant, élégant et inspiré de la Méditerranée ? Le Tableau Capri, peint à la main à l’acrylique, est bien plus qu’une simple décoration murale. C’est une œuvre d’art raffinée, imprégnée de l’atmosphère envoûtante de l'île de Capri, célèbre pour ses eaux turquoise, ses maisons blanches et ses paysages à couper le souffle. Le Tableau Capri est une peinture originale réalisée à la main à l’acrylique, représentant la quintessence de l’esthétique méditerranéenne. Il se distingue par un dégradé subtil de bleus et de blancs, évoquant les nuances marines de la mer Tyrrhénienne et la pureté lumineuse des villages côtiers italiens. https://www.home-original.eu/fr/producto/tableau-capri/

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Evaluating the Industrial Battery Market Landscape: Key Insights, Competitive Strategies, and Emerging Opportunities in 2031
United States of America—The Insight Partners is delighted to introduce its latest market report, "Industrial Battery Market: An In-depth Analysis." The report offers a complete overview of the industrial battery market, including the existing scenario and growth projections in the forecast period.

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Overview of the Industrial Battery Market
The industrial battery market has witnessed considerable developments, such as growth and variations in demand. This report offers an analysis of the driving forces behind these changes, which include technological changes, regulatory changes, and consumer preference shifts.

Key Findings and Insights
Market Size and Growth
Historical Data: The industrial battery market was valued at US$ 12,501.9 Mn in 2019 and is expected to grow at a CAGR of 7.3% from 2020 to 2027 to reach US$ 21,893.5 Mn by 2027.
This growth trend provides useful information about the market dynamics and can be used to make future estimates.
Key Factors: Forces shaping the industrial battery market are expanding demand for renewable energy storage, technology development in batteries, and the growth of electric vehicles.

Market Segmentation
By Type
• Lead-acid Batteries
• Lithium-based Batteries
• Nickel-based Batteries
By Application
• Telecom & Data Communication
• Industrial Equipment
• Uninterruptible Power Supply/Backup
• Mining
• Marine

Identifying Emerging Trends
Technological Advancements: Emerging trends like solid-state batteries and improved battery management systems are revolutionizing the industrial battery market.
Shifting Consumer Preferences: Increasing demand for efficient and sustainable energy solutions is impacting the kind of batteries that consumers and industries tend to favor.
Regulatory Developments: New policies to cut carbon emissions are affecting the use and manufacturing of industrial batteries, which are demanding greener options.

Growth Prospects
The industrial battery market offers various growth prospects, such as

Increased growth in electric vehicle markets, which boosts demand for high-performance batteries.
The increased level of renewable energy projects that need efficient energy storage technologies.
Improved technology that enhances battery recycling procedures, promoting sustainability and cost savings.
Conclusion
The Industrial Battery Market: Global Industry Trends, Share, Size, Growth, Opportunity, and Forecast 2025-2031 report is valuable guidance for businesses seeking to establish themselves in the industrial battery business. Based on detailed analysis of competitive forces, market forces, and likely growth directions, investors can make rational, fact-based business decisions to ensure market success and maximize business opportunities.

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The Insight Partners is among the leading market research and consulting firms globally. We pride ourselves on delivering exclusive reports along with sophisticated strategic and tactical insights into various industries. Our reports are generated through a combination of primary and secondary research, aimed at providing our clients with knowledge-based insights to make informed business decisions. A holistic perspective in every study forms an integral part of our research methodology, making our reports unique and reliable.

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“Homecoming Marine (The War Hero)” by Norman Rockwell (1945)

Homecoming soldiers were a popular subject for illustrators in 1945. But for this end-of-war cover, Rockwell took an unusual approach to capturing a Veteran’s welcome home.

A traditional cover would have shown a G.I. standing tall and proud among civilian admirers, and Rockwell had produced a cover like that after the last war. It showed a tough, confident doughboy surrounded by adoring younger boys. But at the end of this world war, he gives us a slim, young Marine sitting on a box. As if to emphasize his youth, he is seated beside a little boy who is mimicking his pose.

The newspaper on the wall gives us his back story: The mechanic who’d enlisted for the war has now returned a hero, probably from the Asian theater, judging by the flag he is holding. But, instead of recounting tales of glory, he is looking up with a thoughtful, almost troubled expression at the boy who has just asked him a question.

Rockwell was a master at conveying the subtleties of human expression, and it’s clear his intention wasn’t merely to show a hometown boy back in familiar surroundings, but also to capture the newly returned Veteran’s feeling of isolation — knowing he can never adequately convey to the folks at home the things he experienced in the war.

By Major Mark A. Smith Sr. (ret)
Note: Some decades ago, a friend in the Pentagon asked me to jot down a few Soldierly thoughts. Through the years I added a couple, but deleted none of the originals. They may not be modern or politically corrected, but they did make the rounds. I stand by them today.
- Mark
1. Never accept an officer as competent based on his source of commission.
2. Your right to influence the battlefield is diminished in ratio to the distance you are from the actual arena of action.
3. The battlefield selects its own Generals. No school or board can replace it.
4. Never call fire on your own troops, unless you stand among them.
5. Leaders are indeed born and no military school can provide what God did not.
6. Equipment procurement will always be compromised by not only being made by the lowest bidder, but by attempting to make it multi-functional.
7. Attempting to lighten the soldier’s load by diminishing the weight of any given weapon, will always result in shorter range and less firepower.
8. Excellent staff officers rarely make good battlefield commanders.
9. Outstanding commanders will surround themselves with excellent staff officers.
10. Never make command a reward for good staff work.
11. Discipline began its decline with the demise of the swagger stick and centralized promotion boards.
12. Outstanding NCO’s may make good officers. But, rarely will a riffed officer make a good NCO.
13. Atheists will never be trusted by their troops on the battlefield.
14. Women can do many things men do, except for a few days every month.
15. Going through the change, has nothing to do with the female senior officer’s uniform.
16. Sexual harassment is a two-lane road.
17. Soldiers tell the truth about good and bad commanders. Their opinion is the ultimate evaluation of an officer.
18. No commander was ever hated for being too hard. But, many are detested for trying to cultivate that image, without substance.
19. The maximum effective range of any weapon is that range at which the individual soldier can hit his target and not an inch further.
20. Pretty females rarely feel harassed by male counterparts.
21. Plain-looking female soldiers are usually the best performers and fit in.
22. Endurance should be judged on the bayonet assault course and not on a marathon run.
23. How far soldiers can run in shorts is unimportant, compared to how far they can speed march with full equipment.
24. Pregnant females are overweight soldiers. Thus, the US Army Weight Control program is not based on equal enforcement of the rules.
25. Tears on the cheeks of any soldier, regardless of gender, are only acceptable on the death of a relative or comrade and when “Old Glory” passes by.
26. Pregnancy is self-inflicted, thus abortions should be paid for by the soldier, as a non line of duty procedure.
27. Soldiers are not ‘sent into combat,” they are led.
28. Your worth as an officer should never be judged on how well you ran with a football in college.
29. West Point is a place of learning, as is any college. Both produce two types of officer; Good and Bad.
30. The computer will never be able to judge the content of a soldier’s spirit, as his Sergeant can.
31. Esprit De Corps cannot be attained at the Battalion picnic or Sports Day. It must be instilled by good leadership and belief in one’s fellow soldiers.
32. No new weapon or tactic will ever instill the same fear in the enemy that one Infantryman with a bayonet can.
33. He who drinks at lunch is a drunken soldier in the afternoon.
34. No soldier is so smart that his physical deficiencies can be overlooked in the Infantry.
35. Painting rocks and serving drinks to officers, have never been soldierly functions. And golf is not a required skill for officers.
36. Consolidation of all administrative personnel at battalion level has eroded accountability and proper reporting.
37. Anyone who thinks that future battlefields will not contain Infantrymen knows nothing about war.
38. Indecision kills more soldiers than any wrong decision. One can command his way out of a wrong decision.
39. The only mission of the Infantry Soldier is to kill the enemy. “Humanitarian Missions" are someone else’s job.
40. Only the Infantry and Armor can gain ground. Only the Infantry can hold it alone.
41. Special Forces are not Rangers or Light Infantry and should never be employed as such.
42. Rangers are light infantry and are not Special Forces.
43. Victory is not a limited objective. There is no other reason to engage an enemy, except victory.
44. Never shower or apply after-shave and cologne, forty eight hours prior to a night attack.
45. Sweat is the true lubricant of the Infantry fighting machine.
46. No American Soldier can be managed to victory. He must be led.
47. The only color in the U.S. Army is green.
48. Use of chemical weapons and biological weapons are a crime against humanity.
49. Not training your soldiers to protect themselves from them is a crime against your own troops.
50. Any tactic written in a book is known to your enemies.
51. If short hair is truly a matter of hygiene and discipline, then all soldiers must have it.
52. No member of a soldier’s family is more important than the mission.
53. No soldier can accomplish his mission if the Army neglects his family.
54. Any soldier who sleeps with another soldier’s wife or lover cannot be trusted on the battlefield and should be shunned.
55. Officers are more likely to wear unauthorized awards than any NCO or Private.
56. Any officer who claims he is accepting an individual award for the entire unit should allow his soldiers to wear it.
57. There can be no quota for awards.
58. Any award for Valor is of more value to the Army than any school diploma or certification.
59. Heroism cannot be taught. But, cowardice is a communicable disease.
60. The machine gun is too important a weapon to be used as a tool for punishing poor soldiers.
61. Precision weapons will jam, if the Commander demands communal cleaning.
62. No officer should be given a command, because, he needs one for his career.
63. No officer should be denied a command, because, he already had one.
64. The state of the Army can be evaluated by how its soldiers look in uniform, at any airport in the world.
65. No reporter can be trusted with operational plans. A reporter who reveals operational plans is a traitor to his country.
66. A combat veteran of any war should be respected by soldiers.
67. American soldiers do not lose wars. Leaders lose wars.
68. What a soldier saw with his own eyes, cannot be ignored or changed by higher headquarters.
69. If Special Forces are not assigned strategic missions, they are being misused.
70. The “Hummer” is a vehicle and is the only thing of that name allowed in the Infantry.
71. If you wish to learn about guerrilla warfare, study Francis Marion and not Westmoreland or Giap.
72. The one night you don’t dig in, will bring mortars on your position.
73. Taking the easy way will always get you killed.
74. Blank ammunition has no place in Infantry training.
75. The more you restrict Infantrymen possessing live ammunition, the more accidents you will have.
76. The Air Force and Navy are supporting arms.
77. Intelligence Officer is usually a contradiction in terms.
78. Inclement weather is the true Infantryman’s ally.
79. There is no special duty so important, that it takes the Infantry Soldier away from his squad.
80. Commanders who use the “Off Limits” authority to deny sex to combat soldiers will have a high V.D. rate.
81. A Commander’s morals are his own and cannot be imposed on his soldiers.
82. Chaplains must present themselves when the soldier has time, not because they have a schedule.
83. An officer must be judged on his ability and not on how many coffees his wife has attended.
84. Senior officers who allow discussions about a brother officer, not present, are not honorable men.
85. A Commander who bad-mouths his predecessor will never be truly respected.
86. Equal opportunity is guaranteed by the law and does not require a separate staff.
87. If a Sergeant Major suggests a unit watch, he is the supplier.
88. The quality of food went down, with the initiation of the consolidated mess.
89. No NCO or Warrant Officer outranks a Second Lieutenant.
90. Any officer who does not listen to NCO’s and Warrant Officers is a fool.
91. If you wish your subordinates to call you by your first name, go sell shoes. There is no place for you in the Army.
92. Any Army man who sneers at a Marine for being sharp and well turned out is no soldier.
93. Any Infantryman who must call higher headquarters before engaging the enemy has a fool for a commander.
94. Soldiers respect leaders worth emulating. They cannot be “ordered” to respect anyone.
95. No man who refused to serve his country in war should be elected or appointed over men and women being sent to fight.

"War is a racket. It always has been."
- U.S. Marine Major General
- Smedley Darlington Butler:
https://archive.org/stream/WarIsARacket/WarIsARacket_djvu.txt

Military Times Early Bird Brief 25 March 24:
Marine wargames offer a look at the future — and fuel dissent

The Giant Killer
·
God Bless this Hero!

Private Cleto Rodriguez brazenly attacked an enemy fortress to save his platoon during the Battle of Manila, heroics for which he received the nation’s highest military honor the Medal of Honor:

On February 9, 1945, 21-year-old US Army Private Cleto L. Rodriguez rushed across smoking rubble and into withering Japanese gunfire on the island of Luzon in the Philippines.

For nearly a week, he and his fellow soldiers from Company B, 2nd Battalion, 148th Infantry Regiment of the 37th Infantry Division battled to liberate the capital city from a determined enemy.

The American advance had pushed the Japanese back to the Paco District’s once-elegant railway station, situated on the broad Plaza Dilao.

Three companies of die-hard Japanese marines were busily fortifying the building.

Nearly invisible entrenched fighting positions dotted the area.

Sandbag-lined pillboxes and bunkers protected well-armed and equipped defenders.

Rodriguez’s platoon launched a frontal assault against the station across the wide expanse, but enemy fire pinned them down 100 yards from the building.

Rodriguez developed a plan to save his platoon with Private First Class John N. Reese, Jr., a fellow 21-year-old automatic rifleman and full-blooded Cherokee from Pryor, Oklahoma.

Living up to the words on their regimental patch, “WE’LL DO IT,” the two grabbed as many grenades and magazines for their Browning Automatic Rifles as they could carry and ran through enemy fire toward the train station.

Even in urban combat where dangers multiply, Rodriguez was not panicked.

“I have never known fear,” he later claimed.

At a young age he had become acquainted with hardship.

Born in San Marcos, Texas in 1923, he lost his parents at only nine years old.

Selling newspapers to support his family, he often slept in the San Antonio Express’s building so he could wake up early enough to deliver the papers before school.

Rodriguez dropped out before graduating and joined a gang, leading to an aggressiveness that served him well after volunteering for the Army in March 1943 and joining the “Buckeye Division.”

Up against 300 enemy troops, the two Americans fired and maneuvered as a disciplined team.

Clearing hostile positions as they went, the pair of BAR men patiently pushed to within 20 yards of the station’s main entrance.

Without regard for his safety, Private Rodriguez destroyed a 20mm gun and machine gun from close range.

After two-and-a-half hours, the two were out of grenades and had nearly burned through all their ammunition.

With the help of Reese’s suppressive fire, Rodriguez made it back safely to friendly lines.

The Oklahoman, however, fell to a sniper’s bullet while reloading.

Both soldiers displayed exceptional bravery, resulting in 82 enemy troops killed.

With the platoon from Company B no longer caught in a deadly position, the American advance continued.

Rodriguez once again took the initiative only two days later, single-handedly killing six enemy soldiers and destroying a 20mm gun.

President Harry S. Truman presented newly promoted Technical Sergeant Rodriguez with the Congressional Medal of Honor, the first Mexican American in the Pacific theater of operations to receive the nation’s highest military award.

One of the most decorated soldiers in the PTO, Rodriguez also received the Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and numerous other awards.

For his bravery on February 9, Private Reese received the Medal of Honor posthumously.

After the war, Technical Sergeant Rodriguez returned to San Antonio to a hero’s welcome.

He left the Army in December 1945 and worked for the Veterans Administration, where he began a lifelong commitment to help fellow Hispanic Americans receive continuing education and skills training.

In 1952, Rodriguez rejoined the service, initially with the US Air Force before transferring to the Army, retiring in 1970 as a master sergeant.

On December 7, 1990, Rodriguez died at 67 years old.

He is buried at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery in San Antonio, the final resting place of eleven other Medal of Honor recipients, six of whom are fellow WWII veterans.

MEDAL OF HONOR CITATION:
“The President of the United States of America, in the name of Congress, takes pleasure in presenting the Medal of Honor to Technical Sergeant Cleto L. Rodriguez, United States Army, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action above and beyond the call of duty on 9 February 1945, while serving with Company B, 148th Infantry Regiment, 37th Infantry Division.

Technical Sergeant Rodriguez was an automatic rifleman when his unit attacked the strongly defended Paco Railroad Station during the battle for Manila, Philippine Islands.

While making a frontal assault across an open field, his platoon was halted 100 yards from the station by intense enemy fire.

On his own initiative, he left the platoon, accompanied by a comrade, and continued forward to a house 60 yards from the objective.

Although under constant enemy observation, the two men remained in this position for an hour, firing at targets of opportunity, killing more than 35 hostile soldiers and wounding many more.

Moving closer to the station and discovering a group of Japanese replacements attempting to reach pillboxes, they opened heavy fire, killed more than 40 and stopped all subsequent attempts to man the emplacements.

Enemy fire became more intense as they advanced to within 20 yards of the station.

Then, covered by his companion, Private Rodriguez boldly moved up to the building and threw five grenades through a doorway killing 7 Japanese, destroying a 20-mm gun and wrecking a heavy machinegun.

With their ammunition running low, the two men started to return to the American lines, alternately providing covering fire for each other's withdrawal.

During this movement, Private Rodriguez' companion was killed.

In 2 1/2 hours of fierce fighting the intrepid team killed more than 82 Japanese, completely disorganized their defense, and paved the way for the subsequent overwhelming defeat of the enemy at this strongpoint.

Two days later, Private Rodriguez again enabled his comrades to advance when he single-handedly killed six Japanese and destroyed a well-placed 20-mm gun by his outstanding skill with his weapons, gallant determination to destroy the enemy, and heroic courage in the face of tremendous odds, Private Rodriguez, on two occasions, materially aided the advance of our troops in Manila.”

Photo of President Harry S. Truman presents Cleto Rodriguez with the Medal of Honor on the White House Lawn on October 12, 1945. Signal Corps photograph.

The Giant Killer book & page honors these war heroes the book details the incredible life of the smallest soldier, Green Beret Captain Richard Flaherty along with the harrowing stories from the men of the 101st Airborne in Vietnam.

The Giant Killer FB page honors these incredible war heroes making sure their stories of valor and sacrifice are never forgotten.

God Bless our Vets!

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.

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WWII uncovered©️ description and photos sourced by: USMC Archive, National World War II Museum, Baylor University and Ancestry Database

The Enduring Solitude Of Combat Vets:

Retired Army Special Forces Sgt. Maj. Alan Farrell is one of the more interesting people in this country nowadays, a decorated veteran of the Vietnam War who teaches French at VMI, reviews films and writes poetry. Just your typical sergeant major/brigadier general with a Ph.D. in French and a fistful of other degrees.

This is a speech that he gave to Vets at the Harvard Business School last Veterans' Day. I know it is long but well worth the read:
--------
"Ladies and Gentlemens:

Kurt Vonnegut -- Corporal Vonnegut -- famously told an assembly like this one that his wife had begged him to "bring light into their tunnels" that night. "Can't do that," said Vonnegut, since, according to him, the audience would at once sense his duplicity, his mendacity, his insincerity... and have yet another reason for despair. I'll not likely have much light to bring into any tunnels this night, either.

The remarks I'm about to make to you I've made before... in essence at least. I dare to make them again because other Veterans seem to approve. I speak mostly to Veterans. I don't have much to say to them, the others, civilians, real people. These remarks, I offer you for the reaction I got from one of them, though, a prison shrink. I speak in prisons a lot. Because some of our buddies wind up in there. Because their service was a Golden Moment in a life gone sour. Because... because no one else will.

In the event, I've just got done saying what I'm about to say to you, when the prison psychologist sidles up to me to announce quietly: "You've got it." The "it," of course, is Post Stress Traumatic Traumatic Post Stress Disorder Stress... Post. Can never seem to get the malady nor the abbreviation straight. He's worried about me... that I'm wandering around loose... that I'm talking to his cons. So worried, but so sincere, that I let him make me an appointment at the V.A. for "diagnosis." Sincerity is a rare pearl.

So I sulk in the stuffy anteroom of the V.A. shrink's office for the requisite two hours (maybe you have), finally get admitted. He's a nice guy. Asks me about my war, scans my 201 File, and, after what I take to be clinical scrutiny, announces without preamble: "You've got it." He can snag me, he says, 30 percent disability. Reimbursement, he says, from Uncle Sam, now till the end of my days. Oh, and by the way, he says, there's a cure. I'm not so sure that I want a cure for 30 percent every month. This inspires him to explain. He takes out a piece of paper and a Magic Marker™. Now: Anybody who takes out a frickin' Magic Marker™ to explain something to you thinks you're a bonehead and by that very gesture says so to God and everybody.

Anyhow. He draws two big circles on a sheet of paper, then twelve small circles. Apples and grapes, you might say. In fact, he does say. The "grapes," he asserts, stand for the range of emotional response open to a healthy civilian, a normal person: titillation, for instance, then amusement, then pleasure, then joy, then delight and so on across the spectrum through mild distress on through angst -- whatever that is -- to black depression. The apples? That's what you got, traumatized veteran: Ecstasy and Despair. But we can fix that for you. We can make you normal.

So here's my question: Why on earth would anybody want to be normal?

And here's what triggered that curious episode:

The words of the prophet Jeremiah:

My bowels. My bowels. I am pained at my very heart; my heart maketh a noise in me... [T]hou hast heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war. Destruction upon destruction is cried; for the whole land is spoilt and my curtains... How long shall I see the standard and hear the sound of the trumpet?

I dunno about Jeremiah's bowels... or his curtains, but I've seen the standard and heard the sound of the trumpet. Again. Civilians mooing about that "Thin Red Line of 'eroes" between them and the Darkness. Again. ‘Course it's not red any more. Used to be olive drab. Then treetop camouflage. Then woodland. Then chocolate chip. Now pixelated, random computer-generated. Multi-cam next, is it? Progress. The kids are in the soup. Again. Me? I can't see the front sights of me piece any more. And if I can still lug my rucksack five miles, I need these days to be defibrillated when I get there. Nope. I got something like six Honorable Discharges from Pharaoh's Army. Your Mom's gonna be wearing Kevlar before I do. Nope. This one's on the kids, I'm afraid, the next generation.

I can't help them. Not those who make the sacrifice in the desert nor those in the cesspool cities of a land that if two troopers from the One Oh One or two Lance Corporals could find on a map a few years ago, I'll be surprised. Nobody can help... except by trying to build a society Back Here that deserves such a sacrifice.

We gonna win the war? I dunno. They tell me I lost mine. I know I didn't start it. Soldiers don't start wars. Civilians do. And civilians say when they're over. I'm just satisfied right now that these kids, for better or worse, did their duty as God gave them the light to see it. But I want them back. And I worry not about the fight, but about the after: after the war, after the victory, after... God forbid... the defeat, if it come to that. It's after that things get tricky. After that a Soldier needs the real grit and wit. And after that a Soldier needs to believe. Anybody can believe before. During? A Soldier has company in the fight, in Kandahar or Kabul, Basra or Baghdad. It's enough to believe in the others during. But after... and I can tell you this having come home from a war: After ...a Soldier is alone. A batch of them, maybe... but still alone.

Years ago, maybe... when I was still in the Army, my A Team got the mission to support an Air Force escape and evasion exercise. Throw a bunch of downed pilots into the wilderness, let local guerrillas (us) feed them into a clandestine escape net and spirit them out by train just like in The Great Escape to... Baltimore, of all places. So we set up an elaborate underground network: farmhouses, caves, barns, pickup trucks, loads of hay where a guy can hide, fifty-five gallon drums to smuggle the evadees through checkpoints in. We've even cozened the Norfolk and Western Railroad out of a boxcar.

Sooooo... come midnight, with our escapees safely stowed in that car, we wait for a special train to make a detour, back onto the siding, hook it up, and freight the pilots off to Maree-land. Pretty realistic, seems to us.

Now, for safety's sake the Railroad requires a Line Administrator on site to supervise any special stop. Sure enough, just before midnight two suit-and-ties show up toting a red lantern. Civilians. We sniff at them disdainfully. One of them wigwags to the train. With a clank she couples the boxcar and chugs out into the night. The other guy -- frumpy Babbit from the front office -- shuffles off down the track and out onto a trestle bridge over the gorge. He stands there with his hands behind his back, peering up at the cloud-strewn summertime sky, a thousand bucks worth of Burberry overcoat riffling in the night breeze. I edge over respectfully behind him. Wait. He notices me after a while, looks back. "You know," he says, "Was on a night like this 40 years ago that I jumped into Normandy."

Who'da thought?

Who'da thought? Then I thought... back to right after my return from Vietnam. I'm working nights at a convenience store just down the road from this very spot. Lousy job. Whores, bums, burnouts, lowlifes. That's your clientele after midnight in a convenience store. One particular guy I remember drifts in every morning about 0400. Night work. Janitor, maybe. Not much to distinguish him from the rest of the early morning crowd of shadows shuffling around the place. Fingers and teeth yellowed from cigarette smoke. A weathered, leathered face that just dissolves into the colorless crowd of nobodies.

Never says a word. Buys his margarine and macaroni and Miller's. Plunks down his cash. Hooks a grubby hand around his bag and threads his way out of the place and down the street. Lost in another world. Like the rest of the derelicts. One night, he's fumbling for his keys, drops them on the floor, sets his wallet on the counter -- brown leather, I still remember -- and the wallet flops open. Pinned to the inside of it, worn shiny and smooth, with its gold star gleaming out of the center: combat jump badge from that great World War II... Normandy maybe, just like the suit-and-tie.

Who'da thought?

Two guys scarred Out There. Not sure just where or how even. You can lose your life without dying. But the guy who made it to the top and the guy shambling along the bottom are what James Joyce calls in another context "secret messengers." Citizens among the rest, who look like the rest, talk like the rest, act like the rest... but who know prodigious secrets, wherever they wash up and whatever use they make of them. Who know somber despair but inexplicable laughter, the ache of duty but distrust of inaction. Who know risk and exaltation... and that awful drop though empty air we call failure... and solitude! They know solitude.

Because solitude is what waits for the one who shall have borne the battle. Out There in it together... back here alone.

Alone to make way in a scrappy, greedy, civilian world "filching lucre and gulping warm beer," as Conrad had it. Alone to learn the skills a self-absorbed, hustling, modern society values. Alone to unlearn the deadly skills of the former -- and bloody -- business. Alone to find a companion -- maybe -- and alone -- maybe -- even with that companion over a lifetime... for who can make someone else who hasn't seen it understand horror, blackness, filth Incommunicado. Voiceless. Alone.

My Railroad president wandered off by himself to face his memories; my Store 24 regular was clearly a man alone with his.

For my two guys, it was the after the battle that they endured, and far longer than the moment of terror in the battle. Did my Railroad exec learn in the dark of war to elbow other men aside, to view all other men as the enemy, to "fight" his way up the corporate ladder just as he fought his way out of the bocages of Normandy? Did he find he could never get close to a wife or children again and turn his energy, perhaps his anger toward some other and solitary goal Did the Store/24 guy never get out of his parachute harness and shiver in an endless night patrolled by demons he couldn't get shut of? Did he haul out that tattered wallet and shove his jump badge under the nose of those he'd done wrong to, disappointed, embarrassed? Did he find fewer and fewer citizens Back Here who even knew what it was? Did he keep it because he knew what it was? From what I've seen -- from a distance, of course -- of success, I'd say it's not necessarily sweeter than failure -- which I have seen close up.

Well, that's what I said that woke up the prison shrink.
And I say again to you that silence is the reward we reserve for you and your buddies, for my Cadets. Silence is the sound of Honor, which speaks no word and lays no tread. And Nothing is the glory of the one who's done Right. And Alone is the society of those who do it the Hard Way, alone even when they have comrades like themselves in the fight. I've gotta hope as a teacher that my Cadets, as a citizen that you and your buddies will have the inner resources, the stuff of inner life, the values in short, to abide the brute loneliness of after, to find the courage to continue the march, to do Right, to live with what they've done, you've done in our name, to endure that dark hour of frustration, humiliation, failure maybe... or victory, for one or the other is surely waiting Back Here. Unless you opt for those grapes...

My two guys started at the same place and wound up at the far ends of the spectrum. As we measure their distance from that starting point, they seem to return to it: the one guy in the darkness drawn back to a Golden Moment in his life from a lofty vantage point; t'other guy lugging through God knows what gauntlet of shame and frustration that symbol of his Golden Moment. Today we celebrate your Golden Moment. While a whole generation went ganging after its own indulgence, vanity, appetite, you clung to a foolish commitment, to foolish old traditions; as Soldiers, Sailors, Pilots, Marines you honored pointless ritual, suffered the endless, sluggish monotony of duty, raised that flag not just once, or again, or -- as has become fashionable now -- in time of peril, but every single morning. You stuck it out. You may have had -- as we like to say -- the camaraderie of brothers or sisters to buck each other up or the dubious support (as we like to say... and say more than do, by the way) of the folks back home, us... but in the end you persevered alone. Just as alone you made that long walk from Out There with a duffle bag fulla pixelated, random computer-generated dirty laundry -- along with your bruised dreams, your ecstasy and your despair -- Back Here at tour's end.

And you will be alone, for all the good intentions and solicitude of them, the other, the civilians. Alone. But...together. Your generation, whom us dumbo civilians couldn't keep out of war, will bear the burden of a soldier's return... alone. And a fresh duty: to complete the lives of your buddies who didn't make it back, to confect for them a living monument to their memory.

Your comfort, such as it is, will come from the knowledge that others of that tiny fraction of the population that fought for us are alone but grappling with the same dilemmas -- often small and immediate, often undignified or humiliating, now and then immense and overwhelming -- by your persistence courting the risk, by your obstinacy clinging to that Hard Way. Some of you will be stronger than others, but even the strong ones will have their darker moments. Where we can join each other if not relieve each other, we secret messengers, is right here in places like this and on occasions like this -- one lousy day of the year, your day, my day, our day, -- in the company of each other and of the flag we served. Not much cheer in that kerugma. But there's the by-God glory.

"I know..." says the prophet Isaiah:

... I know that thou art obstinate, and thy neck is an iron sinew, and thy brow brass...I have shewed thee new things, even hidden things. Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have [refined] thee...in the furnace of affliction...

Well, all right, then. Why on earth would anybody want to be normal? Thanks for Listening and Lord love the lot of youse."

via: The Giant Killer
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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!

1968 Tet Offensive
U.S. Marines in the thick of the fighting in Hue.

via: Ghosts of the Battlefield
February 17, 2023
·
Old Salt
An "old salt" is an old sailor or mariner who tells oral history and sea stories. Sometimes deemed a sage within their domain, and while sometimes a raconteur, much of the history and traditions of mariners are passed from generation to generation as told and retold by old salts. Their factual oral histories and fictional sea stories often intermingle and thus may overall be truthful, half-true, or fiction. Each narrative told by an old salt tends to have the aim of enhancing the reputation of the old salt, the old salt's companions, or the old salt's forbearers, although they may also tell instructive tales of tragedy.

via: PBS Wisconsin

LZ Lambeau: Jim Northrup
"I realized then that surviving the peace was up to me." In memory of Jim Northrup, the Ojibwe author and Vietnam U.S. Marine Corps veteran who passed away this week, here is his powerful presentation and recitation from the May 2010 LZ Lambeau: Welcoming Home Wisconsin's Vietnam Veterans event.
https://www.facebook.com/pbswi/videos/10153806607531538

via: Historia Obscurum

You might not know it to look at him, but the "little old man" in the center of this photo was one of the toughest Jarheads ever.

In 1942 when he was only 14, Jacklyn "Jack" Lucas enlisted in the Marine Corps after convincing the recruiter he was 17.

Posted to a depot unit at Pearl Harbor, Jack was bored and wanted action, so in January of 1945, he rolled up a combat uniform under his arm, sneaked out of camp, and stowed away aboard a Naval Transport that was taking 1st Battalion, 26th Marines, 5th Marine Division to Iwo Jima.

Not knowing what to do with him, the Marine battalion commander busted Jack one rank, then assigned him as rifleman to C Company. A few days later, Jack turned 17.*

The day after landing on Iwo Jima, Jack dove on top of one Japanese grenade then pulled another beneath him. The blast ripped through his body, but saved his comrades.

It took 21 surgeries to save him, and for the rest of his life carried in his body more than 200 large pieces of shrapnel.

On October 5th, 1945, Jack Lucas received the Medal of Honor from President Harry Truman in a ceremony on the White House lawn. He is the youngest Marine ever to receive the nation's highest honor.

He then returned to high school.... as a freshman.

After college, Jack entered the Army as a Captain in the 82nd Airborne, and survived a training jump in which neither his main chute nor his reserve chute opened.

Two years before he died in 2008, Jack was honored by the Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Michael W. Hagee, who presented him with a Medal of Honor ceremonial flag at the Marine Barracks in Washington, D.C.

It was during that ceremony that this photo was taken.

Semper Fidelis.

* Although the claim often is made that he actually was only 15, every official document (including his obituary) I've been able to locate puts his d.o.b. as 2/14/1928, which would have made him 17 in 1945. If someone has a primary-source document with a different d.o.b., please send it to me.

Hope the crew is ok. They didn’t mention anything of a mishap, just that is was missing. But we know what can happen when you fly into weather.

https://apnews.com/article/marine-helicopter-san-diego-a1498c3de5cc4d3bd6f59a97f10a4c74

The Enduring Solitude Of Combat Vets:

Retired Army Special Forces Sgt. Maj. Alan Farrell is one of the more interesting people in this country nowadays, a decorated veteran of the Vietnam War who teaches French at VMI, reviews films and writes poetry. Just your typical sergeant major/brigadier general with a Ph.D. in French and a fistful of other degrees.
This is a speech that he gave to Vets at the Harvard Business School last Veterans' Day. I know it is long but well worth the read:
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"Ladies and Gentlemens:
Kurt Vonnegut -- Corporal Vonnegut -- famously told an assembly like this one that his wife had begged him to "bring light into their tunnels" that night. "Can't do that," said Vonnegut, since, according to him, the audience would at once sense his duplicity, his mendacity, his insincerity... and have yet another reason for despair. I'll not likely have much light to bring into any tunnels this night, either.

The remarks I'm about to make to you I've made before... in essence at least. I dare to make them again because other Veterans seem to approve. I speak mostly to Veterans. I don't have much to say to them, the others, civilians, real people. These remarks, I offer you for the reaction I got from one of them, though, a prison shrink. I speak in prisons a lot. Because some of our buddies wind up in there. Because their service was a Golden Moment in a life gone sour. Because... because no one else will.

In the event, I've just got done saying what I'm about to say to you, when the prison psychologist sidles up to me to announce quietly: "You've got it." The "it," of course, is Post Stress Traumatic Traumatic Post Stress Disorder Stress... Post. Can never seem to get the malady nor the abbreviation straight. He's worried about me... that I'm wandering around loose... that I'm talking to his cons. So worried, but so sincere, that I let him make me an appointment at the V.A. for "diagnosis." Sincerity is a rare pearl.

So I sulk in the stuffy anteroom of the V.A. shrink's office for the requisite two hours (maybe you have), finally get admitted. He's a nice guy. Asks me about my war, scans my 201 File, and, after what I take to be clinical scrutiny, announces without preamble: "You've got it." He can snag me, he says, 30 percent disability. Reimbursement, he says, from Uncle Sam, now till the end of my days. Oh, and by the way, he says, there's a cure. I'm not so sure that I want a cure for 30 percent every month. This inspires him to explain. He takes out a piece of paper and a Magic Marker™. Now: Anybody who takes out a frickin' Magic Marker™ to explain something to you thinks you're a bonehead and by that very gesture says so to God and everybody.

Anyhow. He draws two big circles on a sheet of paper, then twelve small circles. Apples and grapes, you might say. In fact, he does say. The "grapes," he asserts, stand for the range of emotional response open to a healthy civilian, a normal person: titillation, for instance, then amusement, then pleasure, then joy, then delight and so on across the spectrum through mild distress on through angst -- whatever that is -- to black depression. The apples? That's what you got, traumatized veteran: Ecstasy and Despair. But we can fix that for you. We can make you normal.

So here's my question: Why on earth would anybody want to be normal?

And here's what triggered that curious episode:
The words of the prophet Jeremiah:

"My bowels. My bowels. I am pained at my very heart; my heart maketh a noise in me... [T]hou hast heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war. Destruction upon destruction is cried; for the whole land is spoilt and my curtains... How long shall I see the standard and hear the sound of the trumpet?"

I dunno about Jeremiah's bowels... or his curtains, but I've seen the standard and heard the sound of the trumpet.

Again. Civilians mooing about that "Thin Red Line of 'eroes" between them and the Darkness.

Again. ‘Course it's not red any more. Used to be olive drab. Then treetop camouflage. Then woodland. Then chocolate chip. Now pixelated, random computer-generated. Multi-cam next, is it? Progress. The kids are in the soup.

Again. Me? I can't see the front sights of me piece any more. And if I can still lug my rucksack five miles, I need these days to be defibrillated when I get there. Nope. I got something like six Honorable Discharges from Pharaoh's Army. Your Mom's gonna be wearing Kevlar before I do. Nope. This one's on the kids, I'm afraid, the next generation.

I can't help them. Not those who make the sacrifice in the desert nor those in the cesspool cities of a land that if two troopers from the One Oh One or two Lance Corporals could find on a map a few years ago, I'll be surprised. Nobody can help... except by trying to build a society Back Here that deserves such a sacrifice.

We gonna win the war? I dunno. They tell me I lost mine. I know I didn't start it. Soldiers don't start wars. Civilians do. And civilians say when they're over. I'm just satisfied right now that these kids, for better or worse, did their duty as God gave them the light to see it. But I want them back. And I worry not about the fight, but about the after: after the war, after the victory, after... God forbid... the defeat, if it come to that. It's after that things get tricky. After that a Soldier needs the real grit and wit. And after that a Soldier needs to believe.

Anybody can believe before. During? A Soldier has company in the fight, in Kandahar or Kabul, Basra or Baghdad. It's enough to believe in the others during. But after... and I can tell you this having come home from a war: After ...a Soldier is alone. A batch of them, maybe... but still alone.

Years ago, maybe... when I was still in the Army, my A Team got the mission to support an Air Force escape and evasion exercise. Throw a bunch of downed pilots into the wilderness, let local guerrillas (us) feed them into a clandestine escape net and spirit them out by train just like in The Great Escape to... Baltimore, of all places. So we set up an elaborate underground network: farmhouses, caves, barns, pickup trucks, loads of hay where a guy can hide, fifty-five gallon drums to smuggle the evadees through checkpoints in. We've even cozened the Norfolk and Western Railroad out of a boxcar.

Sooooo... come midnight, with our escapees safely stowed in that car, we wait for a special train to make a detour, back onto the siding, hook it up, and freight the pilots off to Maree-land. Pretty realistic, seems to us.

Now, for safety's sake the Railroad requires a Line Administrator on site to supervise any special stop. Sure enough, just before midnight two suit-and-ties show up toting a red lantern. Civilians. We sniff at them disdainfully. One of them wigwags to the train. With a clank she couples the boxcar and chugs out into the night. The other guy -- frumpy Babbit from the front office -- shuffles off down the track and out onto a trestle bridge over the gorge. He stands there with his hands behind his back, peering up at the cloud-strewn summertime sky, a thousand bucks worth of Burberry overcoat riffling in the night breeze. I edge over respectfully behind him. Wait. He notices me after a while, looks back. "You know," he says, "Was on a night like this 40 years ago that I jumped into Normandy."

Who'da thought?

Who'da thought? Then I thought... back to right after my return from Vietnam. I'm working nights at a convenience store just down the road from this very spot. Lousy job. Whores, bums, burnouts, lowlifes. That's your clientele after midnight in a convenience store. One particular guy I remember drifts in every morning about 0400. Night work. Janitor, maybe. Not much to distinguish him from the rest of the early morning crowd of shadows shuffling around the place. Fingers and teeth yellowed from cigarette smoke. A weathered, leathered face that just dissolves into the colorless crowd of nobodies.

Never says a word. Buys his margarine and macaroni and Miller's. Plunks down his cash. Hooks a grubby hand around his bag and threads his way out of the place and down the street. Lost in another world. Like the rest of the derelicts. One night, he's fumbling for his keys, drops them on the floor, sets his wallet on the counter -- brown leather, I still remember -- and the wallet flops open. Pinned to the inside of it, worn shiny and smooth, with its gold star gleaming out of the center: combat jump badge from that great World War II... Normandy maybe, just like the suit-and-tie.

Who'da thought?

Two guys scarred Out There. Not sure just where or how even. You can lose your life without dying. But the guy who made it to the top and the guy shambling along the bottom are what James Joyce calls in another context "secret messengers." Citizens among the rest, who look like the rest, talk like the rest, act like the rest... but who know prodigious secrets, wherever they wash up and whatever use they make of them. Who know somber despair but inexplicable laughter, the ache of duty but distrust of inaction. Who know risk and exaltation... and that awful drop though empty air we call failure... and solitude!

They know solitude.
Because solitude is what waits for the one who shall have borne the battle. Out There in it together... back here alone.

Alone to make way in a scrappy, greedy, civilian world "filching lucre and gulping warm beer," as Conrad had it. Alone to learn the skills a self-absorbed, hustling, modern society values. Alone to unlearn the deadly skills of the former -- and bloody -- business. Alone to find a companion -- maybe -- and alone -- maybe -- even with that companion over a lifetime... for who can make someone else who hasn't seen it understand horror, blackness, filth Incommunicado. Voiceless. Alone.

My Railroad president wandered off by himself to face his memories; my Store 24 regular was clearly a man alone with his.

For my two guys, it was the after the battle that they endured, and far longer than the moment of terror in the battle. Did my Railroad exec learn in the dark of war to elbow other men aside, to view all other men as the enemy, to "fight" his way up the corporate ladder just as he fought his way out of the bocages of Normandy?

Did he find he could never get close to a wife or children again and turn his energy, perhaps his anger toward some other and solitary goal Did the Store/24 guy never get out of his parachute harness and shiver in an endless night patrolled by demons he couldn't get shut of? Did he haul out that tattered wallet and shove his jump badge under the nose of those he'd done wrong to, disappointed, embarrassed? Did he find fewer and fewer citizens Back Here who even knew what it was? Did he keep it because he knew what it was? From what I've seen -- from a distance, of course -- of success, I'd say it's not necessarily sweeter than failure -- which I have seen close up.

Well, that's what I said that woke up the prison shrink.

And I say again to you that silence is the reward we reserve for you and your buddies, for my Cadets. Silence is the sound of Honor, which speaks no word and lays no tread. And Nothing is the glory of the one who's done Right. And Alone is the society of those who do it the Hard Way, alone even when they have comrades like themselves in the fight. I've gotta hope as a teacher that my Cadets, as a citizen that you and your buddies will have the inner resources, the stuff of inner life, the values in short, to abide the brute loneliness of after, to find the courage to continue the march, to do Right, to live with what they've done, you've done in our name, to endure that dark hour of frustration, humiliation, failure maybe... or victory, for one or the other is surely waiting Back Here. Unless you opt for those grapes...

My two guys started at the same place and wound up at the far ends of the spectrum. As we measure their distance from that starting point, they seem to return to it: the one guy in the darkness drawn back to a Golden Moment in his life from a lofty vantage point; t'other guy lugging through God knows what gauntlet of shame and frustration that symbol of his Golden Moment. Today we celebrate your Golden Moment. While a whole generation went ganging after its own indulgence, vanity, appetite, you clung to a foolish commitment, to foolish old traditions; as Soldiers, Sailors, Pilots, Marines you honored pointless ritual, suffered the endless, sluggish monotony of duty, raised that flag not just once, or again, or -- as has become fashionable now -- in time of peril, but every single morning. You stuck it out. You may have had -- as we like to say -- the camaraderie of brothers or sisters to buck each other up or the dubious support (as we like to say... and say more than do, by the way) of the folks back home, us... but in the end you persevered alone. Just as alone you made that long walk from Out There with a duffle bag fulla pixelated, random computer-generated dirty laundry -- along with your bruised dreams, your ecstasy and your despair -- Back Here at tour's end.

And you will be alone, for all the good intentions and solicitude of them, the other, the civilians. Alone. But...together. Your generation, whom us dumbo civilians couldn't keep out of war, will bear the burden of a soldier's return... alone. And a fresh duty: to complete the lives of your buddies who didn't make it back, to confect for them a living monument to their memory.

Your comfort, such as it is, will come from the knowledge that others of that tiny fraction of the population that fought for us are alone but grappling with the same dilemmas -- often small and immediate, often undignified or humiliating, now and then immense and overwhelming -- by your persistence courting the risk, by your obstinacy clinging to that Hard Way. Some of you will be stronger than others, but even the strong ones will have their darker moments. Where we can join each other if not relieve each other, we secret messengers, is right here in places like this and on occasions like this -- one lousy day of the year, your day, my day, our day, -- in the company of each other and of the flag we served. Not much cheer in that kerugma.

But there's the by-God glory.

"I know..." says the prophet Isaiah:
... I know that thou art obstinate, and thy neck is an iron sinew, and thy brow brass...I have shewed thee new things, even hidden things. Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have [refined] thee...in the furnace of affliction...

Well, all right, then.

Why on earth would anybody want to be normal?

Thanks for Listening and Lord love the lot of youse."

The Morse Code system was created in the 1830s by Samuel Morse with the assistance of Alfred Lewis Vail and later improved by American scientist Joseph Henry. As telecommunications evolved, this code became a pivotal means of long-distance communication during multiple conflicts.

On this “National Learn Your Name in Morse Code Day,” introduce, or perhaps reintroduce, yourself to this valuable and historical method of communication. The Museum’s website has a student guide to Morse Code here:
nmmc_morse_code_booklet_final_1.pdf (usmcmuseum.com)

As the legacy of the Morse Code lives on, be sure to visit the National Museum of the Marine Corps and tour our galleries to see how.

: Lewis B. Puller’s Pocket Signal Book from 1914.
(Marine Corps History Division)

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.

Lông Trắng, aka "White Feather Sniper"

After the Vietnam War
After returning to active duty, Hathcock helped establish the Marine Corps Scout Sniper School, at the Marine base in Quantico, Virginia. Due to his extreme injuries suffered in Vietnam, he was in nearly constant pain, but he continued to dedicate himself to teaching snipers.

In 1975, Hathcock's health began to deteriorate, and he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. He stayed in the Corps, but his health continued to decline, and was forced to retire just 55 days short of the 20 years that would have made him eligible for full retirement pay. Being medically retired, he received 100% disability. He would have received only 50% of his final pay grade had he retired after 20 years. He fell into a state of depression when he was forced out of the Marines, because he felt as if the service had kicked him out. During this depression, his wife Jo nearly left him, but decided to stay. Hathcock eventually picked up the hobby of shark fishing, which helped him overcome his depression.

Hathcock provided sniper instruction to police departments and select military units, such as SEAL Team Six.

Civilian life
Hathcock once said that he survived in his work because of an ability to "get in the bubble", to put himself into a state of "utter, complete, absolute concentration", first with his equipment, then his environment, in which every breeze and every leaf meant something, and finally on his quarry. After the war, a friend showed Hathcock a passage written by Ernest Hemingway: "Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and like it, never really care for anything else thereafter." He copied Hemingway's words on a piece of paper. "He got that right", Hathcock said. "It was the hunt, not the killing." Hathcock said in a book written about his career as a sniper: "I like shooting, and I love hunting. But I never did enjoy killing anybody. It's my job. If I don't get those bastards, then they're gonna kill a lot of these kids dressed up like Marines. That's the way I look at it."

Hathcock's son, Carlos Hathcock III, later enlisted in the Marine Corps; he retired from the Marine Corps as a Gunnery Sergeant after following in his father's footsteps as a shooter, and became a member of the Board of Governors of the Marine Corps Distinguished Shooters Association.

Carlos Hathcock died on February 23, 1999, in Virginia Beach, Virginia, from multiple sclerosis.

Hathcock was awarded a Silver Star in 1996 not for his sniping, but for his act in 1969 of saving the lives of seven fellow Marines after the amphibious tractor (AMTRAC) on which they were riding struck a landmine. Hathcock was knocked unconscious, but awoke in time to race back through the flames to rescue his injured comrades.

Lông Trắng, aka "White Feather Sniper"

Legacy
Hathcock remains a legend in the U.S. Marine Corps. The Gunnery Sergeant Carlos Hathcock Award is presented annually to the Marine who does the most to promote marksmanship training. A sniper range named for Hathcock is at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina.

In 1967 Hathcock set the record for the longest sniper kill. He used a M2 .50 Cal Browning machine gun mounting a telescopic sight at a range of 2,500 yd (2,286 m), taking down a single Vietcong guerilla. This record was broken in 2002, by Canadian snipers (Rob Furlong and Arron Perry) from the 3rd Bn. PPCLI during the War in Afghanistan.

Hathcock was one of several individuals to utilize the M2 Browning machine gun in the sniping role. This success led to the adoption of the .50 BMG cartridge as a viable sniper round. Sniper rifles have since been designed around and chambered in this caliber since the 1970s. The Canadian Forces snipers from the PPCLI also used the .50 BMG round in their record-breaking shots.

Springfield Armory designed a highly accurized version of their M1A Supermatch rifle with a McMillan Stock and match grade barrel and dubbed it the "M-25 White Feather". The rifle had a likeness of Hathcock's signature and his "white feather logo" marked on the receiver.

Turner Saddlery similarly honored Hathcock by producing a line of leather rifle slings based on his design. The slings are embossed with Hathcock's signature.

On March 9, 2007 the rifle and pistol complex at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar was officially renamed the Carlos Hathcock Range Complex.

via Stars & Stripes Museum:

We invite you to visit our museum and explore the extraordinary experiences of Frank Praytor during the Korean Conflict.

Frank Praytor, a U.S. Marine, gained fame for a photograph taken during the Korean War where he was captured nursing a kitten. This heartwarming moment not only showcased humanity amidst the brutality of war but also saved him from a potential court-martial.

While serving as a combat correspondent with the 1st Marine Division in Korea in 1952, Praytor took two orphaned newborn kittens under his care. A widely distributed photograph of him gently feeding one of the kittens named "Mis Hap" touched the hearts of millions and appeared in 1,700 newspapers worldwide.

The image of a compassionate Marine caring for a tiny animal resonated deeply with the public, resulting in an outpouring of letters and even marriage proposals. Praytor's fame grew, but he soon faced potential court-martial for violating regulations by publishing photos without military clearance.

However, thanks to his newfound celebrity status and the commandant's decision to let him off the hook, Praytor was spared from charges. He attributed his fortunate outcome to the kitten that had become his companion in Korea.

After narrowly escaping court-martial, Praytor returned to Korea as a writer for Stars and Stripes. He covered significant events like the truce-signing at Panmunjom and had a reunion with "Mis Hap," who had become the Division's mascot. His reporting continued in Tokyo for two years.

Come to our museum and delve into Frank Praytor's captivating story. Witness his remarkable photos taken during Korea and learn how a small kitten played a significant role in shaping his fate.

#FrankPraytor #KoreanConflict #WarPhotography #History #MuseumExhibit

R.I.P. Daniel Baker 21, Justin Allen 23, Brett Linley 29, Matthew Weikert 29, Justus Bartett 27, Dave Santos 21, Jesse Reed 26, Matthew Johnson 21, Zachary Fisher 24, Brandon King 23, Christopher Goeke 23, and Sheldon Tate 27.... All are Marines who gave their lives for you this week in the Osprey crash. There's no media for them... not even a mention of their names. We’re too busy talking about trying to get “Baby It’s Cold Outside” off of the radio. Thank you all for your ultimate sacrifice.

Please honor them by copying and pasting this post.

What's classier than a Marine in dress blues?
A Marine in dress blues escorting a special needs child to the Cinderella Ball. Semper Fi!