More than ever before, today’s moral climate compels us to engage the culture as Christ’s ambassadors, making the appeal on His behalf for people to come to Him and be reconciled to God.

We know the answer to all the darkness of this world is the Light of the world. And the answer to all of society’s ills is the same now as it has always been: a sinful, wicked heart made brand new by the finished work of Christ on the Cross.

Jesus Christ is the Light of the world, and He makes all things new, including our wicked hearts.

The “bumper sticker” saying is true: Jesus is the answer. So let’s stay on our knees and in His Word, and keep appealing to all people to come to Him and be reconciled to God.

From the daily devotional Winning Walk

via: SEAL Of Honor
·
A dog tag found in the wreckage of a helicopter shot down during Operation Red Wings, where 8 Army Night Stalkers and 11 Navy SEALs died on June 28, 2005

I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade

https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=10150974016904769&set=a.360794549768

Night Stalker Foundation
· 14 June, 2024

Since 1916, when President Woodrow Wilson issued a presidential proclamation establishing a national Flag Day on June 14, Americans have commemorated the adoption of the Stars and Stripes in many ways–displaying the flag in the front of their homes, parades, and other patriotic observances.

Prior to 1916, many localities and a few states had been celebrating the day for years.

Congressional legislation designating that date as the national Flag Day was signed into law by President Harry Truman in 1949; the legislation also called upon the President to issue a flag day proclamation every year.

B.
Historical context
Pashtuns are historically the dominant ethnic community in Afghanistan, and they have actively fought to keep their predominance throughout Afghan history. In the years before 1978 Pashtuns made up about 40 per cent of the Afghan population. After the Soviet invasion in 1979, some 85 per cent of the more than 3 million Afghan refugees in Pakistan were Pashtuns. They have always played a central role in Afghan politics, and their dominant position has been a major catalyst in triggering conflict. For example, conflict arose between partners in the Mujahidin coalition which fought the Soviet troops and opposed the regime of President Mohammad Najibullah. Following Soviet withdrawal and that regime’s collapse, President Burhanuddin Rabbani represented the Tajik minority, whereas opposition troops led by Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, and those of the Taliban, were mainly Pashtun.

The Taliban rule was based on a strict and controversial interpretation of Shari’a law and it was responsible, during its dominance, for grave human rights violations based on gender, and also for ethnic discrimination. This period brought severe poverty to Afghanistan, accompanied by food insecurity for most Afghans, and large-scale displacement and emigration, though some Pashtun communities were treated favourably and protected against the worst of the conditions. However, though Pashtuns were in power, the majority of the community nonetheless continued to suffer discrimination. This was particularly true for Pashtun families who had been moved to the north more than 100 years earlier by Amir Abdur Rahman Khan, as part of a state consolidation effort. They were left to the mercy of the Tajiks and Uzbeks who are the predominant ethnic groups in the area. There have been reports of ethnic massacres at Mazar-e-Sharif in 1997 and 1998 and continuing reports of violence targeted against the Pashtuns (whether or not formely Taliban supporters) as vengeance for the Taliban regime’s excesses.

With the collapse of the Taliban regime and the signing of the Bonn Agreement in 2001, Pashtun dominance over the other ethnic groups in Afghanistan came to an end. Of the estimated one million internally displaced at that time, most of those remaining in displacement were Pashtuns, who had been uprooted by ethnic violence in the north and the west of the country.

Current issues

Since the fall of the Taliban, there has a fundamental shift in the traditional power balance. Although the first post-Taliban president, Hamid Karzai, belongs to a prominent Pashtun family from Qandahar, the central government was largely dominated by the Uzbeks and Tajiks of the Northern Alliance. This less privileged position in administration and power has created obvious dissatisfaction among Pashtuns. Following the final results of the most recent 2010 parliamentary elections, Pashtun parliamentary candidates from Herat and several other provinces staged protests, claiming that they were systematically excluded from the election process through fraud and intimidation. Nevertheless, Pashtuns remain the largest ethnic group and therefore in an increasingly democratic system are likely to regain their influence. Indeed, Karzai’s successor, President Ashraf Ghani is also a Pashtun, although when he took office in 2014, he signalled his intention to break through ethnic barriers by dropping his tribal last name from official documents.

Mothers Day Service
------------------------------------
Momma

You were there when I was a little boy playing Soldier Momma... and you were there when I came home with scraped knees and bloody noses.

You were there when I was covered in mud and wouldn't eat my vegetables Momma... and you were there when I came to you scared in the middle of the night from the storm. "It's just the wind baby..." you would say as you wrapped your arms around me.

When I was too tough for your kisses and too proud for hugs...too cool to be seen with you and too manly to be loved...you were there. "You'll always be my baby..." you would say softly.

When I had a broken heart you held me close and when I went to prom you made sure I looked my best. You fussed over me for hours and I tried to break free. "Sit still and let me help you..." you said so sweetly.

When I enlisted you wept. When I called home and told you that your boy was now a man, you just smiled on the other end of the line and said: "You'll always be my little boy..."

When I went to war you stayed quiet and it confused me. I wondered often if you cared; it wasn't until I came home I noticed all the new gray hair. "Welcome home son..." you said through teary sobs.

I put you through such hell. I called you names and I drank. You made me grow up instead of coddling me. You wouldn't let me come home until I understood that I wasn't defeated, I still had strength and I could still act. You let me fall only to show me that I could get up and keep going...the way you raised me to be. You wouldn't let me give up. You wouldn't let me quit. And when I was finally ready, you were there, waiting with open arms. "I knew you could do it..." you said softly.

Oh Momma, how can I ever Thank You? How much do I owe you? How can I ever tell you how much your Strong Love has meant to me? "You just did..."

Happy Mothers Day Momma.

The Lesson of the Day is from 1 Kings, Ch. 3, v. 16-28:

Your Majesty, this Woman and I live in the same house. Not long ago my baby was born at home, and three days later her baby was born. Nobody else was there with us.

One night while we were all asleep, she rolled over on her baby, and he died. Then while I was still asleep, she got up and took my son out of my bed. She put him in her bed, then she put her dead baby next to me.

In the morning when I got up to feed my son, I saw that he was dead. But when I looked at him in the light, I knew he wasn’t my son.

“No!” the other woman shouted. “He was your son. My baby is alive!”

“The dead baby is yours,” the first woman yelled. “Mine is alive!”

They argued back and forth in front of Solomon, until finally he said, “Both of you say this live baby is yours. Someone bring me a sword.”

A sword was brought, and Solomon ordered “Cut the baby in half! That way each of you can have part of him.”

“Please don’t kill my son,” the baby’s mother screamed. “Your Majesty, I Love him very much, but give him to her. Just don’t kill him.”

The other woman shouted, “Go ahead and cut him in half. Then neither of us will have the baby.”

Solomon said, “Don’t kill the baby.” Then he pointed to the first woman, “She is his real mother.
Give the baby to her.”

Everyone in Israel was amazed when they heard how Solomon had made his decision. They realized that GOD had given him wisdom to judge fairly.

Here ends the Lesson.

Happy Mothers Day to all of our mothers who stood silently by and watched as their baby boys went into harms way again and again. And here's to all the mothers who lit the candles that are forever burning for sons and daughters who never returned. May they be reunited some day in the fields of Valhalla on the plains of Heaven.

Let us pray:
May The Lord bless you and keep you;
May The Lord make His Face shine on you and be ever graceful unto you;
In The Name of The Father, The Son, And The Holy Spirit,
Amen.
- Preacher

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.

Traces of Texas
·
The Texas Quote of the Day, written by Herman Lehmann, is one of the most interesting I've read in years. Y'all may remember that, in 1870 when he was ten years old, Herman was captured by Apaches just outside of Fredericksburg. He was with the Indians for nine years, six with the Apaches, one on his own, and two with the Comanches (long story there).

Over time he lost his old life and language and became a full Indian, such that he participated in raids against Anglo settlements, battles with soldiers and Texas rangers etc. He spent a great deal of time with Quanah Parker. He was later discovered by American soldiers and returned to his mother and siblings, though he resisted this. It took a long time for him to adjust back to life among white folks, but he eventually did. In 1927, when he was nearly 70, he wrote "Nine Years Among the Indians 1870-1879." The Texas Quote of the Day comes from that:

“I am an old man now. I will soon reach the total of three score and ten years allotted to man, if death does not claim me —- seventy years of wonderful experience. I have seen many changes since I came into the world. The ox-cart gave way to the horse-drawn vehicle, and the automobile has surpassed that mode of travel. Speeding railway trains, flying machines, radios, and many other wonders have come to pass. We are living in a fast age. I am glad God has spared my life and permitted me to live to see these wonderful changes. I gave reverence to Him in the only way I knew how when I was an Indian; I worship Him now after the manner of an enlightened white man.

When I look upon these changes I marvel and wonder how it can be so. Of many of these things I am yet in ignorance; I cannot understand how the human voice can be wafted over the radio thousands of miles without the aid of wires, but it is done, for I have heard it. It is as much a mystery to me as the first telegraph line I ever saw. A party of Indians were coming down into the settlements on a raid when, at a point in the vicinity of Fort Concho [San Angelo], we came upon a newly constructed telegraph line. We stopped and considered it, and wondered what it meant. Each Indian had his own notion about what it was intended for, but we were all wrong.
The chief said he believed it was to be a fence to be made so high that the Indians could not get through, and so we proceeded to cut it down. Coming on down into the settlement we stole some horses and went back away with the drove, and we found the line had been rebuilt and the wire was in place again.

And the puffing locomotive and railway train was also an object of wonder when I came back to civilization and beheld them. The first train I ever saw was while I was with the Indians, and of course we did not know what it was, and in consequence got a scare that almost drove us frantic. We had come far down into the settlements on a raid, it may have been near Austin, and one night while we were waiting in a secluded spot in a little ravine, for the moon to come up, a train suddenly came around a curve from behind a mountain and was right on us before we had time to mount our horses. That hideous monster, belching smoke and hissing steam, and with glaring lights bore down upon us at terrific speed, and we ran, scrambling over rocks and through the brush, to get away from it. It followed us for a little ways, but we thought it lost our trail, as it went rushing on away from us. We were somewhat scattered when things became quiet, and I was uneasy for fear the awful thing had caught three of our comrades. But when we gave our agreed assembly signal the Indians came forth from their hiding places and we held a consultation. We decided to leave that region at once and not attempt to steal horses there, for that monster might return and catch us. It was generally agreed among us that it was the Evil Spirit that was abroad, and was seeking to devour all mankind, the white folks included. When we went back to camp and told what we had seen the Indians were greatly alarmed, and the medicine men warned us to stay out of that region.”

----- Herman Lehmann, "Nine Years Among the Indians: 1870-1879," published in 1927. Shown here: Herman Lehmann around the time he wrote this book.

REMEMBER THIS LADY!!!

Look at this lady - Let us never forget!
The world hasn't just become wicked - it's always been wicked.
The prize doesn't always go to the most deserving.

Irena Sendler
Died 12 May 2008 (aged 98)
Warsaw, Poland

During WWII, Irena, got permission to work in the Warsaw ghetto, as a plumbing/sewer specialist.
She had an 'ulterior motive'.

She KNEW what the Nazi's plans were for the Jews (being German).

Irena smuggled infants out in the bottom of the tool box she carried and she carried in the back of her truck a burlap sack, (for larger kids).

She also had a dog in the back that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto.

The soldiers of course wanted nothing to do with the dog and the barking covered the kids/infants noises.

During her time of doing this, she managed to smuggle out and save 2500 kids/infants.

She was caught, and the Nazi's broke both her legs, arms and beat her severely.

Irena kept a record of the names of all the kids she smuggled out and kept them in a glass jar, buried under a tree in her back yard.

After the war, she tried to locate any parents that may have survived it and reunited the family.
Most had been gassed. Those kids she helped got placed into foster family homes or adopted.
Last year Irena was up for the Nobel Peace Prize. She was not selected.

In MEMORIAM - 79 YEARS LATER:
I'm doing my small part by forwarding this message. I hope you'll consider doing the same...

It is now more than 70 years after the Second World War in Europe ended. This e-mail is being sent as a memorial chain, in memory of the six million Jews, 20 million Russians, 10 million Christians and 1,900 Catholic priests who were murdered, massacred, raped, burned, starved and humiliated!

Now, more than ever, with Iran, and others, claiming the HOLOCAUST to be 'a myth'. It's imperative to make sure the world never forgets, because there are others who would like to do it again.

Sharing "what I do" . I have built a coaching system PATHway. The coaching concept is simple Plan, Assess, Track, Honor. It means a lot to me though and I always look forward to helping others - especially VETS. Message me or reply here with "LEARN" and I'll connect with you.

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

There is a man, the one who weeps for the Grunts.

He is shrouded in dust and mud and hate and blood. He carries a thousand souls in his pocket and a hundred lives in his heart. He checks the trucks and makes them ready; he smokes the cigarettes, grips his hands until his knuckles are loose, and grinds his teeth to keep his hands steady and his knees from shaking. He keeps silent most of the time…the shadow of the Infantry…close at hand yet always apart.

He walks into danger and never backs down. He never asks why and he never second-guesses his mission. Yet he dreads the call…the scream of a familiar voice that rises above the din of battle because he knows it’s that scream that will make his job necessary.

So he dreads it…and he welcomes it...his purpose and his curse.

He listens as it starts; Hoping it doesn’t happen and praying he is fast enough when it does…

and then the silence…
and now the rage…
and above it all…

“MEEEEDDDDIIIIIICCCCC”

“DOC!”

Dynamite goes off in his veins and everything becomes a blur. He is at the side of a man he calls Brother and he’s doing everything he can to keep him alive…

”Stay alive…look at me…you’re going to be alright…it’s nothing…”

But his brain is screaming as hands delve into the open wounds…

”Grab this...”
“Pinch that”…
”Call for nine-line NOW!”
Jesus…let’s get him moved!”
…everything’s is a blur
…no emotion yet
…just the job…keep low...wait for Dust Off...

*crack*... *snap*... "not today..."
..."stay with me...angels inbound"...

Hours later, after the rush wears off, you can find him at the CSH holding hands with the man while they work on him.

“Doc, it’s time to go”
...no answer
...don’t expect one... Doc don't leave his boys.

Who is this man? What makes him so?

He is God’s Savage Angel and he reaps the battlefield and robs the enemy of their victory!

This, this man, the MEDIC, the Corpsman is St. Michael’s own chosen - the only understanding soul a Grunt really has.

If the Infantry is Death,
Then the Medic is a thief
- stealing life from the blood-thirsty devil and giving it back to his beloved Grunts.

The Savage Angel and Death’s own Specter…

Together on the battlefield...

Brothers...

Never to be parted.
- Preacher, Admin from Gruntworks

"Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars - to change the world."
- Harriet Tubman

"Charity wrapped in Dignity" - a good message:

She asked him, "How much are you selling the eggs for?"
The old seller replied to her, "Rs.5/- for one egg, Madam."

She said to him, "I will take 6 eggs for Rs.25/- or I will leave."

The old seller replied, "Come take them at the price you want. May GOD Bless us, and maybe this is a good beginning because I have not yet sold to anyone."

She took it and walked away feeling she has won. She got into her fancy car and went to pick up her friend, and invited her to a restaurant.

She and her friend sat down and ordered what they liked. They ate a little and left a lot of what they ordered. Then she went to pay the bill. The bill was Rs.1,200/-. She gave him Rs. 1,300/- and said to the owner of the restaurant: "Keep the change."

This story may seem normal to the owner of the restaurant. But it is very painful for the egg seller.

Flash:
Why do we always show that we have power when we buy from the needy and the poor? And we are generous with those who do not need our generosity?

Every time a poor child comes to me to sell something simple, I remember a tweet from the son of a rich man who said, "After every prayer, my father used to buy simple goods for very expensive prices, even though he did not need them. Sometimes he used to pay more for them.
I used to get concerned by this act and I told him about it. Then my father told me: 'It is a charity wrapped with dignity, my son.'"

Compare these two stories of social hypocrisy.
The first one is disappointing and the second one is inspiring.

_May GOD Enlighten Our Vision_.

”Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.“
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭3‬:‭5‬-‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Trust is a word most of us don’t throw around lightly. In combat, we trust in our own training, the training of our crew, the customer, the intel, the equipment, etc. Remember your first time in combat, then flash forward to your last. As our level of experience grows, we are able to function through chaos with a mindset and demeanor that is unteachable, it is only earned from the experience we gain through hardships, victories, defeats, “close calls”, good decisions, bad decisions, etc. I can think back through my Christian journey the same way. From where I started, to where I am today, all of the hardships, victories, defeats, etc., prepared me for today. Today I have a choice. I can go through life, with a “hair on fire” attitude; overreacting, overthinking, and trying to do things my way. Or I can walk with confidence and trust that He has a plan for me, and through the hardships, he has strengthened and emboldened me, preparing me for victory in His name. I pray I do it better today than yesterday. In Jesus’s name, Amen.

The power of the Bible changes which in turn changes which will ultimately change what comes out of your mouth, which can change everyone.

For so long I’ve been back and forth with my faith meter full or empty like a tide into a lagoon.

I’ve been filled with the Holy Spirit and I’ve also been so angry that I thought I would lose my faith.

But I always kept praying regardless of what I thought. In hopes that I would hear his voice again and have a full on conversation with him driving to work

The last few years after retirement have been a rollercoaster with my faith, health, marriage and not knowing who I am, an identity crisis. I know who I was but who am I now. Nothing was the same anymore. I was permanently stationed at home now instead of being TDY at home my entire military career.

But…….. after seeing and listening to Dylan on the podcast with Big Al, I realized that it’s ok for people like me and where I came from to be open about faith. I wish we had leaders like Dylan back then. Don’t get me wrong, I had GREAT leadership. The Overbey’s, the Wilson’s, the Elliot’s, the Bozowskis, the Roses and the list goes on and on. But Dylan awed me. I met him once at BNCOC many years ago but it was a one sided conversation, I basically was saying stuff that wasn’t true through some of my sources and he came and told me in the nicest way to shut the F up. That resonated with me for a long time. He was a professional! I wish I had him as a leader at any point of my career.

I’ll support @freedom and faith. They are doing things that should’ve been done a long time ago.

Unfortunately Due to forecasted weather , we have had to postpone the Roberts Ridge Memorial Ride until a later date. As always rider safety is First & Foremost. We will share the updated details when finalized.

Helping echo the Legacy of our Brothers into eternity.

Fall In highlights resources that remember, honor and recall the best of us all.

Today, we remember Jermey Wolfe. Quality Always, Wings of Destiny, and “Bring It On” (one of Jeremy’s favorite movies).

https://thefallen.militarytimes.com/army-2nd-lt-jeremy-l-wolfe/256919

"In the beginning of a change the Patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned.
When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot. The soul and substance of what customarily ranks as patriotism is moral cowardice — and always has been.

In any civic crisis of a great and dangerous sort the common herd is not privately anxious about the rights and wrongs of the matter, it is only anxious to be on the winning side. In the North, before the War, the man who opposed slavery was despised and ostracized, and insulted. By the "Patriots." Then, by and by, the "Patriots" went over to his side, and thenceforth his attitude became Patriotism.

There are two kinds of Patriotism — Monarchical Patriotism and Republican Patriotism. In the one case the government and the kind may rightfully furnish you their notions of Patriotism; in the other, neither the government nor the entire nation is privileged to dictate to any individual what the form of his Patriotism shall be. The Gospel of the Monarchical Patriotism is: "The King can do no wrong." We have adopted it with all its servility, with an unimportant change in the wording: "Our Country, right or wrong!"

We have thrown away the most valuable asset we have — the individual right to oppose both flag and country when he (just he by himself) believes them to be in the wrong. We have thrown it away; and with it all that was really respectable about the grotesque and laughable word, Patriotism."

This passage is an excerpt from a section titled "Maxims in the Rough" from "Mark Twain's Notebook," a collection first published in 1935 by Harper & Brothers.

Mark Twain (1835-1910), the author of "Huckleberry Finn" and "Tom Sawyer," remains one of the most celebrated American writers and humorists.

https://radio.garden/visit/carlsbad-ca/9N42Ctaq

Fall In Ops & Intel leaning forward to bring you TODAYS information across the airways.

All GREEN DOTS are live radio transmissions.

CLICK and Listen, Learn and Improve your situational awareness.

Dear Art “Burt” Reynolds,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. Allow me to extend the Fall In communities sincerest gratitude for your remarkable service and unwavering dedication to our Tribe. Your contributions are instrumental in the growth and success of our platform but have also significantly impacted our community in the most positive ways imaginable.

Your commitment to excellence and expertise coupled with your unshakable faith in America, is a driving force behind our achievements. Your innovative ideas and proactive approach have propelled us toward new heights, enabling us to offer unparalleled services to our users. Your ability to inspire and lead the team has fostered a collaborative and productive environment, which is truly commendable.

Furthermore, your dedication has ensured the highest standards of security and reliability instilling confidence and trust among our users. It is evident that your efforts play a crucial role in establishing Fall In as a secure and dependable platform. For this, we are immensely grateful.

On a personal note, I want to express my appreciation for the support and guidance you provided me, and the Team. Your mentorship has been invaluable, and I am honored by the opportunity to work alongside someone of your caliber.

Please accept my heartfelt thanks for your service to Fall In and the community we serve. Your legacy of excellence and commitment will continue to inspire us all.

NSDQ-Serving! & LLTB!

Warmest regards,

The Fall In Skipper

I am definitely enjoying this platform. I hope to connect with more of you soon. In the meantime I made a page called Veteran S1. I was in the Army, Infantry - and mostly worked with Iraqi & Afghan military improving their training programs... and pursued HR as a career direction. I'm always looking to help.

- AFSOC Combat Controller TSgt.John Chapman's family receives his Medal of Honor posthumously today -

This is the FIRST Medal of Honor for a Special Tactics Airman -- & the 1st Airman since the Vietnam War.

SUMMARY OF ACTION: BATTLE AT TAKUR GHAR

Sergeant Chapman enlisted in the Air Force on Sept. 27, 1985, as an information systems operator, but felt called to be part of Air Force special operations. In 1989, he cross-trained to become an Air Force combat controller.

According to friends and family, Sergeant Chapman had a tendency to make the difficult look effortless, and consistently sought new challenges. Dating back to his high school days, he made the varsity soccer squad as a freshman. Also an avid muscle-car enthusiast, he rebuilt and maintained an old Pontiac GTO.

Combat control would prove to be another instance of “making it look easy.”

Combat control training is more than two years long and amongst the most rigorous in the U.S. military. Only about one in ten Airmen who start the program graduate.

From months of rigorous physical fitness training to multiple joint schools – including military SCUBA, Army static-line and freefall, air traffic control, and combat control schools – Sergeant Chapman is remembered as someone who could do anything put in front of him.

“One remembers two types of students – the sharp ones and the really dull ones – and Chapman was in the sharp category,” said Ron Childress, a former Combat Control School instructor. Combat Control School is one of the most difficult points of a combat controller’s training program, from completing arduous tasks without sleeping for days, to running miles with weighted rucksacks and a gas mask.

“During one of his first days at Combat Control School, I noticed a slight smirk on his face like [the training] was too simple for him…and it was,” said Childress.

Following Combat Control School, Sergeant Chapman served with the 1721st Combat Control Squadron at Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina, where he met his wife, Valerie, in 1992. They had two daughters, who were the center of Sergeant Chapman’s world even when he was away from home – which was common in the combat control career field.

“He would come home from a long trip and immediately have on his father hat – feeding, bathing, reading and getting his girls ready for bed,” said Chief Master Sgt. Michael West, who served with Sergeant Chapman through Combat Control School, a three-year tour in Okinawa, Japan, and at Pope Air Force Base. “They were his life and he was proud of them…to the Air Force he was a great hero…what I saw was a great father.”

The Battle of Takur Ghar

In conjunction with Operation Anaconda in March 2002, small reconnaissance teams were tasked to establish observation posts in strategic locations in Afghanistan, and when able, direct U.S. air power to destroy enemy targets. The mountain of Takur Ghar was an ideal spot for such an observation post, with excellent visibility to key locations. For Sergeant Chapman and his joint special operations teammates, the mission on the night of March 3 was to establish a reconnaissance position on Takur Ghar and report al Qaeda movement in the Sahi-Kowt area.

“This was very high profile, no-fail job, and we picked John,” said retired Air Force Col. Ken Rodriguez, Sergeant Chapman’s commander at the time. “In a very high-caliber career field, with the highest quality of men – even then – John stood out as our guy.”

During the initial insertion onto Afghanistan’s Takur Ghar mountaintop on March 4, the MH-47 “Chinook” helicopter carrying Sergeant Chapman and the joint special operations reconnaissance team was ambushed. A rocket propelled grenade struck the helicopter and bullets ripped through the fuselage. The blast ripped through the left side of the Chinook, throwing Navy Petty Officer 1st Class Neil Roberts off the ramp of the helicopter onto the enemy-infested mountaintop below.

The severely damaged aircraft was unable to return for Petty Officer Roberts, and performed a controlled crash landing a few miles from the mountaintop. Thus began the chain of events that led to unparalleled acts of valor by numerous joint special operations forces, the deaths of seven U.S. servicemen and now, 16 years later, posthumous award of the Medal of Honor to Sergeant Chapman.

Alone, against the elements and separated from his team with enemy personnel closing in, Petty Officer Roberts was in desperate need of support. The remaining joint special operations team members, fully aware of his precarious situation, immediately began planning a daring rescue attempt that included returning to the top of Takur Ghar where they had just taken heavy enemy fire.

As the team returned to Petty Officer Roberts’ last-known position, now on a second MH-47, the entrenched enemy forces immediately engaged the approaching helicopter with heavy fire. Miraculously, the helicopter, although heavily damaged, was able to successfully offload the remaining special operations team members and return to base. Sergeant Chapman, upon exiting the helicopter, immediately charged uphill through the snow toward enemy positions while under heavy fire from three directions.

Once on the ground, the team assessed the situation and moved quickly to the high ground. The most prominent cover and concealment on the hilltop were a large rock and tree. As they approached the tree, Sergeant Chapman received fire from two enemy personnel in a fortified position. He returned fire, charged the enemy position and took out the enemy combatants within.

Almost immediately, the team began taking machine gun fire from another fortified enemy position only 12 meters away. Sergeant Chapman deliberately moved into the open to engage the new enemy position. As he heroically engaged the enemy, he was struck by a burst of gunfire and became critically injured.

Sergeant Chapman regained his faculties and continued to fight relentlessly despite his severe wounds. He sustained a violent engagement with multiple enemy fighters, for over an hour through the arrival of the quick reaction force, before paying the ultimate sacrifice. In performance of these remarkably heroic actions, Sergeant Chapman is credited with saving the lives of his teammates.

The upgrade to MOH

“John was always selfless – it didn’t just emerge on Takur Ghar – he had always been selfless and highly competent, and thank God for all those qualities,” said Col. Rodriguez. “He could have hunkered down in the bunker and waited for the (Quick Reaction Force) and (Combat Search and Rescue) team to come in, but he assessed the situation and selflessly gave his life for them.”

Sergeant Chapman was originally awarded the Air Force Cross for his actions; however, following a review of Air Force Cross and Silver Star recipients directed by then-Secretary of Defense Ash Carter, the Secretary of the Air Force recommended Sergeant Chapman’s Air Force Cross be upgraded to the Medal of Honor.

In accordance with Air Force policy whereby Medal of Honor recipients are automatically promoted one grade on the first day of the month following the award, Sergeant Chapman will be posthumously promoted to the rank of master sergeant on Sept. 1, 2018.

Although Sergeant Chapman will be awarded the Medal of Honor, family and friends have expressed his humility and how he would react today, if he were here.

“If John were to find out he received the Medal of Honor, he would be very humbled and honored,” said Chief Master Sergeant West. “He was just doing his job, and that’s what he would say at this moment.”

His widow, Valerie Nessel, has always known her husband was capable of such greatness, but asserts that John wouldn’t be anxious to be in the spotlight.

“[John] would want to recognize the other men that lost their lives,” said Valerie. “Even though he did something he was awarded the Medal of Honor for, he would not want the other guys to be forgotten – that they were part of the team together.”

“I think he would say that his Medal of Honor was not just for him, but for all of the guys who were lost,” she added.

In total, seven service members lost their lives during the Battle of Takur Ghar:

Petty Officer 1st Class Neil Roberts – U.S. Navy SEAL
Technical Sergeant John Chapman – U.S. Air Force combat control
Senior Airman Jason Cunningham – U.S. Air Force pararescue
Corporal Matthew Commons – U.S. Army Ranger
Sergeant Bradley Crose – U.S. Army Ranger
Specialist Marc Anderson – U.S. Army Ranger
Sergeant Philip Svitak – U.S. Army 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment

“John would have, so I’ll say it for him. Every American who set foot on that mountaintop acted with great courage and selflessness, and deserve all of our praise and admiration for the sacrifices they made,” said Col. Rodriguez.

Too soon?

Today's cell phone network outage should be raising some questions. Do you have a way to communicate with your local support network? Do you have ways to power those methods of communication? Do you have designated frequencies for everyone to meet on? DO YOU EVEN HAVE A COMMS PLAN OR LOCAL SUPPORT NETWORK?!

If we do not learn and adapt from our life experiences we are failing to grasp the most important lessons! NSDQ!

hashtag#America hashtag#Comms hashtag#preparedness

Small Town America = Perfect Bugout Location? Part 3

Location Location Location...

A simple rule from the battlefield for those not used to conflict,
Space = Time = Responding vs Reacting to a situation

Responding to a situation allows time to evaluate a situation, critical thought and strategy to be applied, a plan to be implemented.

Reacting means dealing with the hand you are dealt relying almost solely on training and instinct which has a significantly higher probability of a less than ideal outcome.

There is a 15-mile buffer of corn, soybeans, and wheat surrounding my small town of 16k people. While you can be more isolated by sitting in the woods somewhere there are many things you give up by doing so. If you are isolated in the woods, who will give you information about what is going on around you? Your "secret" location may not be secret and definitely won't remain a secret once you start living there. We're not even going to get into maintaining 24-hour security of a remote location in this post, if you're managing security who is working? If you're sick whos' maintaining security?

Small Town America is the perfect balance between isolation and community support. There will always be a bad actor or two...but they are well known and easy to keep track of within a community, not so much while isolated in the woods. In your environment do you have space/time? Do you still think isolation in the woods is your best option?

#America #veteran #commonsense

Small Town America = Perfect Bugout Location? Part 2

Bugout vehicle or SUPPLY DUMP for the unprepared?

I love a good kitted out vehicle BUT is it a good answer in an emergency...probably not! Planning to drive around a vehicle with supplies hanging off of it through or around people without those resources doesn't pass the common sense test. It falls into the same category as Marie Antoinette's infamous "let them eat cake" comment before she lost a vital appendage.

Humans are basic despite all of our beliefs of having a more evolved mind. Those in need/fear will fill that need through almost any means necessary. Remember everyone fighting over toilet paper? Now replace that with food, gas, housing and you can see where this goes. Everyone that has ever seen combat knows this simple truth...people survive and not always in a pretty or socially acceptable way.

Back to the kitted out vehicle with gas, food, housing hanging from every square inch... I would venture to say they're not going to remain attached very long! I'm not saying don't prepare a vehicle to give you mobility...just saying don't advertise everything you're taking with you!

#America #veteran #commonsense

via: The Giant Killer
·
Pictured are the eight U.S. Marines of the suicide mission "Doom Patrol" to recover the body of a dead Marine, Charlie Company, 7th Marine in Quảng Nam Province, 1968.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SALUTE!

Most people won't take the time to read this all the way to the end. I hope that you will.

17 INCHES" - you will not regret reading this

An excellent article to read from beginning to end.

Twenty years ago, in Nashville, Tennessee, during the first week of January, 1996, more than 4,000 baseball coaches descended upon the Opryland Hotel for the 52nd annual ABCA's convention.

While I waited in line to register with the hotel staff, I heard other more veteran coaches rumbling about the lineup of speakers scheduled to present during the weekend. One name kept resurfacing, always with the same sentiment — “John Scolinos is here? Oh, man, worth every penny of my airfare.”

Who is John Scolinos, I wondered. No matter; I was just happy to be there.

In 1996, Coach Scolinos was 78 years old and five years retired from a college coaching career that began in 1948. He shuffled to the stage to an impressive standing ovation, wearing dark polyester pants, a light blue shirt, and a string around his neck from which home plate hung — a full-sized, stark-white home plate.

Seriously, I wondered, who is this guy?

After speaking for twenty-five minutes, not once mentioning the prop hanging around his neck, Coach Scolinos appeared to notice the snickering among some of the coaches. Even those who knew Coach Scolinos had to wonder exactly where he was going with this, or if he had simply forgotten about home plate since he’d gotten on stage.

Then, finally …

“You’re probably all wondering why I’m wearing home plate around my neck,” he said, his voice growing irascible. I laughed along with the others, acknowledging the possibility. “I may be old, but I’m not crazy. The reason I stand before you today is to share with you baseball people what I’ve learned in my life, what I’ve learned about home plate in my 78 years.”

Several hands went up when Scolinos asked how many Little League coaches were in the room.

“Do you know how wide home plate is in Little League?” After a pause, someone offered, “Seventeen inches?”, more of a question than an answer.

“That’s right,” he said. “How about in Babe Ruth’s day? Any Babe Ruth coaches in the house?”

Another long pause.

“Seventeen inches?” a guess from another reluctant coach.

“That’s right,” said Scolinos.

“Now, how many high school coaches do we have in the room?”
Hundreds of hands shot up, as the pattern began to appear.

“How wide is home plate in high school baseball?”

“Seventeen inches,” they said, sounding more confident.

“You’re right!” Scolinos barked. “And you college coaches, how wide is home plate in college?”

“Seventeen inches!” we said, in unison.

“Any Minor League coaches here? How wide is home plate in pro ball?”............“Seventeen inches!”
“RIGHT! And in the Major Leagues, how wide home plate is in the Major Leagues?

“Seventeen inches!”

“SEV-EN-TEEN INCHES!” he confirmed, his voice bellowing off the walls. “And what do they do with a Big League pitcher who can’t throw the ball over seventeen inches?”

Pause. “They send him to Pocatello!” he hollered, drawing raucous laughter. “What they don’t do is this: they don’t say, ‘Ah, that’s okay, Jimmy. If you can’t hit a seventeen-inch target? We’ll make it eighteen inches or nineteen inches. We’ll make it twenty inches so you have a better chance of hitting it. If you can’t hit that, let us know so we can make it wider still, say twenty-five inches.'”

Pause.

“Coaches… what do we do when your best player shows up late to practice? or when our team rules forbid facial hair and a guy shows up unshaven? What if he gets caught drinking? Do we hold him accountable? Or do we change the rules to fit him? Do we widen home plate? "

The chuckles gradually faded as four thousand coaches grew quiet, the fog lifting as the old coach’s message began to unfold.

He turned the plate toward himself and, using a Sharpie, began to draw something. When he turned it toward the crowd, point up, a house was revealed, complete with a freshly drawn door and two windows.

“This is the problem in our homes today. With our marriages, with the way we parent our kids. With our discipline.

We don’t teach accountability to our kids, and there is no consequence for failing to meet standards. We just widen the plate!”

Pause.

Then, to the point at the top of the house he added a small American flag.
“This is the problem in our schools today. The quality of our education is going downhill fast and teachers have been stripped of the tools they need to be successful, and to educate and discipline our young people.
We are allowing others to widen home plate! Where is that getting us?”

Silence.

He replaced the flag with a Cross. “And this is the problem in the Church, where powerful people in positions of authority have taken advantage of young children, only to have such an atrocity swept under the rug for years. Our church leaders are widening home plate for themselves! And we allow it.”

“And the same is true with our government. Our so-called representatives make rules for us that don’t apply to themselves. They take bribes from lobbyists and foreign countries. They no longer serve us. And we allow them to widen home plate! We see our country falling into a dark abyss while we just watch.”

I was amazed. At a baseball convention where I expected to learn something about curve balls and bunting and how to run better practices, I had learned something far more valuable.

From an old man with home plate strung around his neck, I had learned something about life, about myself, about my own weaknesses and about my responsibilities as a leader. I had to hold myself and others accountable to that which I knew to be right, lest our families, our faith, and our society continue down an undesirable path.

“If I am lucky,” Coach Scolinos concluded, “you will remember one thing from this old coach today. It is this: "If we fail to hold ourselves to a higher standard, a standard of what we know to be right; if we fail to hold our spouses and our children to the same standards, if we are unwilling or unable to provide a consequence when they do not meet the standard; and if our schools & churches & our government fail to hold themselves accountable to those they serve, there is but one thing to look forward to…”

With that, he held home plate in front of his chest, turned it around, and revealed its dark black backside, "We have dark days ahead!.”

Note: Coach Scolinos died in 2009 at the age of 91, but not before touching the lives of hundreds of players and coaches, including mine. Meeting him at my first ABCA convention kept me returning year after year, looking for similar wisdom and inspiration from other coaches. He is the best clinic speaker the ABCA has ever known because he was so much more than a baseball coach.

His message was clear: “Coaches, keep your players—no matter how good they are—your own children, your churches, your government, and most of all, keep yourself at seventeen inches."
And this my friends is what our country has become and what is wrong with it today, and now go out there and fix it!

"Don't widen the plate."

Worth a read...

Strong words from Soldiers such as Willy McTear come in Loud and Clear to Leaders, if they have the stones to face such realities and they provide us, as a Nation, with some Hard Truths that must be heard/faced.

How our Vietnam Veterans were treated upon their return from the green hell of that conflict is something every American who is worthy of such a title should be ashamed of. That must Never happen again... it is Ok, and Right even to hate War (I know that first hand), but when we hate Our Warriors, well, that Must Never Happen Again...

May God Bless our Vietnam Veterans, May He bring them a calm to their heads and hearts from such memories, and grant them Peace for the rest of their days - we must Never Forget how we treated them upon their return to our Homeland, ever...

SALUTE!

via: The Giant Killer
·
Powerful words from a Vietnam vet!

Photo of Willie McTear, McTear served in Charlie Company of the Army 9th Division's 4th Battalion, 47th Infantry Regiment, 1967.

McTear gives his opinion of the draft, the brotherhood of war, and what it was like to be spit on & cursed at upon his return from Nam.

"I’m just one of the approximate 9,000 men who were drafted and made up the Ninth Infantry Division. This is my opinion based on my personal experience.

We, the draftees, were designated well in advance for the Ninth Division to occupy the Mekong Delta.

We fought in the most difficult terrain in all of South Vietnam: jungles, mud and swamps. The only volunteers were the officers. The rest of the entire division, with exception of some non-commissioned officers, were draftees. I was in one of the first integrated companies of all draftees.

We had the best officer, Jack Benedict. Rest In Peace.

Each patrol was a suicide mission. We would have liked the choice to choose the branch of service and a Military Occupational Speciality. But that was not an option for draftees, only a carrot that was dangled to get us to enlist.

We viewed this as punishment for not volunteering. We all gave some and some gave all. R.I.P.

After several firefights we realized how the draft board and America really felt about us. Sergeant Bill Reynolds said it best. “America is not with us.”

Enough said.

Without a word said, we understood that we had a special bond and from this point on we will fight for each other because we had been abandoned.

More abandonment was revealed and manifested upon our arrival home, not as heroes but as villains. We were spat on and cursed at. Our government didn’t have the decency to give us a heads up upon our arrival.
That hurt really deep.

The wounds inflicted are invisible and manifested in many ways. Many of us grapple with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and a sense of not belonging and not being good enough to be accepted as Soldiers.

So thank you draft board for souls lost and lives destroyed beyond repair.

I try not to remember the suffering you inflicted upon us, but remember our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility and the courage to endure past and current hardships.

I think I can speak for the Ninth Division, 4th Battalion, 47th Infantry and especially Charlie Company.

God did through Andrew Wiest what we could not do for ourselves when he wrote the book, The Boys of ’67: Charlie Company’s War in Vietnam.

Writer and arm-chair general Abigail Pfeiffer said it best: “Wiest addresses the ugliness and humanity of war but also the loving bonds that are created between Men who experienced war together and the indelible marks it leaves on their minds.”

And a big thank you to National Geographic for “Brothers in War,” for bringing The Boys of ’67 to life with that documentary, the story of Charlie Company.

To the draft board, we forgive you, but we hope and pray the draft board will be eliminated."
- Willie McTear

The Giant Killer book & page honors these incredible war heroes making sure their stories of valor and sacrifice are never forgotten. The book which features the incredible life of the smallest soldier, Green Beret Captain Richard Flaherty (101st Airborne & 3rd SF Group 46th Co.) and several of the other heroes featured on this page is available on Amazon & Walmart. God Bless our Vets!

I just wanted to give a quick shout out to @EMayers with The Jesus Pattern Page on FIV. We are always looking to sharpen our skills and broaden our knowledge, especially when it comes from the unique experiences and knowledge only found in our community. Eli will be leading and mentoring me through a 21 Day Challenge offered through The Jesus Pattern website www.thejesuspattern.com to facilitate the never ceasing journey of spiritual growth. Fall In Veteran has been instrumental in connecting our causes and collaboration in future endeavors. “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” Proverbs 27:17 NIV

LESSONS IN LEADERSHIP: From a Janitor
By Colonel James E. Moschgat, Commander of the 12th Operations Group, 12th Flying Training Wing, Randolph Air Force Base, Texas

William “Bill” Crawford certainly was an unimpressive figure, one you could easily overlook during a hectic day at the U.S. Air Force Academy. Mr. Crawford, as most of us referred to him back in the late 1970s, was our squadron janitor.

While we cadets busied ourselves preparing for academic exams, athletic events, Saturday morning parades and room inspections, or never-ending leadership classes, Bill quietly moved about the squadron mopping and buffing floors, emptying trash cans, cleaning toilets, or just tidying up the mess 100 college-age kids can leave in a dormitory. Sadly, and for many years, few of us gave him much notice, rendering little more than a passing nod or throwing a curt, “G’morning!” in his direction as we hurried off to our daily duties.

Why? Perhaps it was because of the way he did his job-he always kept the squadron area spotlessly clean, even the toilets and showers gleamed. Frankly, he did his job so well, none of us had to notice or get involved.

After all, cleaning toilets was his job, not ours. Maybe it was is physical appearance that made him disappear into the background. Bill didn’t move very quickly and, in fact, you could say he even shuffled a bit, as if he suffered from some sort of injury. His gray hair and wrinkled face made him appear ancient to a group of young cadets. And his crooked smile, well, it looked a little funny. Face it, Bill was an old man working in a young person’s world. What did he have to offer us on a personal level?

Finally, maybe it was Mr. Crawford’s personality that rendered him almost invisible to the young people around him. Bill was shy, almost painfully so. He seldom spoke to a cadet unless they addressed him first, and that didn’t happen very often. Our janitor always buried himself in his work, moving about with stooped shoulders, a quiet gait, and an averted gaze. If he noticed the hustle and bustle of cadet life around him, it was hard to tell. So, for whatever reason, Bill blended into the woodwork and became just another fixture around the squadron. The Academy, one of our nation’s premier leadership laboratories, kept us busy from dawn till dusk. And Mr. Crawford...well, he was just a janitor.

That changed one fall Saturday afternoon in 1976. I was reading a book about World War II and the tough Allied ground campaign in Italy, when I stumbled across an incredible story. On September 13, 1943, a Private William Crawford from Colorado, assigned to the 36th Infantry Division, had been involved in some bloody fighting on Hill 424 near Altavilla, Italy. The words on the page leapt out at me: “in the face of intense and overwhelming hostile fire... with no regard for personal safety... on his own initiative, Private Crawford single-handedly attacked fortified enemy positions.” It continued, “for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at risk of life above and beyond the call of duty, the President of the United States...”

“Holy cow,” I said to my roommate, “you’re not going to believe this, but I think our janitor is a Medal of Honor winner.” We all knew Mr. Crawford was a WWII Army vet, but that didn’t keep my friend from looking at me as if I was some sort of alien being. Nonetheless, we couldn’t wait to ask Bill about the story on Monday. We met Mr. Crawford bright and early Monday and showed him the page in question from the book, anticipation and doubt in our faces. He starred at it for a few silent moments and then quietly uttered something like, “Yep, that’s me.”

Mouths agape, my roommate and I looked at one another, then at the book, and quickly back at our janitor.

Almost at once we both stuttered, “Why didn’t you ever tell us about it?” He slowly replied after some thought,

“That was one day in my life and it happened a long time ago.”

I guess we were all at a loss for words after that. We had to hurry off to class and Bill, well, he had chores to attend to. However, after that brief exchange, things were never again the same around our squadron. Word spread like wildfire among the cadets that we had a hero in our midst-Mr. Crawford, our janitor, had won the Medal! Cadets who had once passed by Bill with hardly a glance, now greeted him with a smile and a respectful, “Good morning, Mr. Crawford.”

Those who had before left a mess for the “janitor” to clean up started taking it upon themselves to put things in order. Most cadets routinely stopped to talk to Bill throughout the day and we even began inviting him to our formal squadron functions. He’d show up dressed in a conservative dark suit and quietly talk to those who approached him, the only sign of his heroics being a simple blue, star-spangled lapel pin.

Almost overnight, Bill went from being a simple fixture in our squadron to one of our teammates. Mr. Crawford changed too, but you had to look closely to notice the difference. After that fall day in 1976, he seemed to move with more purpose, his shoulders didn’t seem to be as stooped, he met our greetings with a direct gaze and a stronger “good morning” in return, and he flashed his crooked smile more often. The squadron gleamed as always, but everyone now seemed to notice it more. Bill even got to know most of us by our first names, something that didn’t happen often at the Academy. While no one ever formally acknowledged the change, I think we became Bill’s cadets and his squadron.

As often happens in life, events sweep us away from those in our past. The last time I saw Bill was on graduation day in June 1977. As I walked out of the squadron for the last time, he shook my hand and simply said, “Good luck, young man.” With that, I embarked on a career that has been truly lucky and blessed. Mr. Crawford continued to work at the Academy and eventually retired in his native Colorado where he resides today, one of four Medal of Honor winners living in a small town.

A wise person once said, “It’s not life that’s important, but those you meet along the way that make the difference.” Bill was one who made a difference for me. While I haven’t seen Mr. Crawford in over twenty years, he’d probably be surprised to know I think of him often. Bill Crawford, our janitor, taught me many valuable, unforgettable leadership lessons. Here are ten I’d like to share with you.

1. Be Cautious of Labels. Labels you place on people may define your relationship to them and bound their potential. Sadly, and for a long time, we labeled Bill as just a janitor, but he was so much more. Therefore, be cautious of a leader who callously says, “Hey, he’s just an Airman.” Likewise, don’t tolerate the O-1, who says, “I can’t do that, I’m just a lieutenant.”

2. Everyone Deserves Respect. Because we hung the “janitor” label on Mr. Crawford, we often wrongly treated him with less respect than others around us. He deserved much more, and not just because he was a Medal of Honor winner. Bill deserved respect because he was a janitor, walked among us, and was a part of our team.

3. Courtesy Makes a Difference. Be courteous to all around you, regardless of rank or position. Military customs, as well as common courtesies, help bond a team. When our daily words to Mr. Crawford turned from perfunctory “hellos” to heartfelt greetings, his demeanor and personality outwardly changed. It made a difference for all of us.

4. Take Time to Know Your People. Life in the military is hectic, but that’s no excuse for not knowing the people you work for and with. For years a hero walked among us at the Academy and we never knew it. Who are the heroes that walk in your midst?

5. Anyone Can Be a Hero. Mr. Crawford certainly didn’t fit anyone’s standard definition of a hero. Moreover, he was just a private on the day he won his Medal. Don’t sell your people short, for any one of them may be the hero who rises to the occasion when duty calls. On the other hand, it’s easy to turn to your proven performers when the chips are down, but don’t ignore the rest of the team. Today’s rookie could and should be tomorrow’s superstar.

6. Leaders Should Be Humble. Most modern day heroes and some leaders are anything but humble, especially if you calibrate your “hero meter” on today’s athletic fields. End zone celebrations and self-aggrandizement are what we’ve come to expect from sports greats. Not Mr. Crawford-he was too busy working to celebrate his past heroics. Leaders would be well-served to do the same.

7. Life Won’t Always Hand You What You Think You Deserve. We in the military work hard and, dang it, we deserve recognition, right? However, sometimes you just have to persevere, even when accolades don’t come your way. Perhaps you weren’t nominated for junior officer or airman of the quarter as you thought you should - don’t let that stop you.

8. Don’t pursue glory; pursue excellence. Private Bill Crawford didn’t pursue glory; he did his duty and then swept floors for a living. No job is beneath a Leader. If Bill Crawford, a Medal of Honor winner, could clean latrines and smile, is there a job beneath your dignity? Think about it.

9. Pursue Excellence. No matter what task life hands you, do it well. Dr. Martin Luther King said, “If life makes you a street sweeper, be the best street sweeper you can be.” Mr. Crawford modeled that philosophy and helped make our dormitory area a home.

10. Life is a Leadership Laboratory. All too often we look to some school or PME class to teach us about leadership when, in fact, life is a leadership laboratory. Those you meet everyday will teach you enduring lessons if you just take time to stop, look and listen. I spent four years at the Air Force Academy, took dozens of classes, read hundreds of books, and met thousands of great people. I gleaned leadership skills from all of them, but one of the people I remember most is Mr. Bill Crawford and the lessons he unknowingly taught. Don’t miss your opportunity to learn.

Bill Crawford was a janitor. However, he was also a teacher, friend, role model and one great American hero. Thanks, Mr. Crawford, for some valuable leadership lessons.

Dale Pyeatt, Executive Director of the National Guard Association of Texas, comments: And now, for the “rest of the story”: Pvt William John Crawford was a platoon scout for 3rd Platoon of Company L 1 42nd Regiment 36th Division (Texas National Guard) and won the Medal Of Honor for his actions on Hill 424, just 4 days after the invasion at Salerno.

On Hill 424, Pvt Crawford took out 3 enemy machine guns before darkness fell, halting the platoon’s advance.
Pvt Crawford could not be found and was assumed dead. The request for his MOH was quickly approved.

Major General Terry Allen presented the posthumous MOH to Bill Crawford’s father, George, on 11 May 1944 in Camp (now Fort) Carson, near Pueblo. Nearly two months after that, it was learned that Pvt Crawford was alive in a POW camp in Germany. During his captivity, a German guard clubbed him with his rifle. Bill overpowered him, took the rifle away, and beat the guard unconscious. A German doctor’s testimony saved him from severe punishment, perhaps death. To stay ahead of the advancing Russian army, the prisoners were marched 500 miles in 52 days in the middle of the German winter, subsisting on one potato a day. An allied tank column liberated the camp in the spring of 1945, and Pvt Crawford took his first hot shower in 18 months on VE Day. Pvt Crawford stayed in the army before retiring as a MSG and becoming a janitor. In 1984, President Ronald Reagan officially presented the MOH to Bill Crawford.

William Crawford passed away in 2000. He is the only U.S. Army veteran and sole Medal of Honor winner to be buried in the cemetery of the U.S. Air Force Academy.

Pilgrim’s Progress
By MATT GALLAGHER

Home Fires features the writing of men and women who have returned from wartime service in the United States military.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

War destroys without regard to what’s fair or just. This isn’t a new or terribly profound revelation, but witnessing it, and sometimes participating in it, makes it seem like both. In a professional military, the entire point of training is to minimize the nature of chance in combat. But all the training in the world will never eliminate happenstance in war, or even render it negligible.

I returned from Iraq with all of my limbs, most of my mental faculties and a book deal. I wake up every morning in an apartment in New York City. I’m working toward a graduate degree. I have a beautiful fiancée who reminds me to slow down when I’m drinking. And every day I feel more and more detached and removed from the Iraq dustlands I promised myself I’d shed like snakeskin if I ever got back home.

Like I said, one of the lucky ones.

I didn’t really appreciate the concept of becoming ‘unstuck’ in time until I returned from war.

Meanwhile, the black bracelet on my wrist carries the names of four individuals who weren’t so lucky. One got shot through the armpit with a ricocheting bullet and bled out on an outpost roof. Two drove over the wrong piece of street at the wrong time and likely didn’t even know it was a roadside bomb that ended it all. The last one made it through 15 months of war only to get drunk one night back in the States and shoot himself in the face during an emotional breakdown.

In Kurt Vonnegut’s classic novel “Slaughterhouse-Five,” the protagonist Billy Pilgrim becomes “unstuck in time.” Much of the novel focuses on Pilgrim’s experience of the fire bombing of Dresden in World War II, something Vonnegut himself survived as an American prisoner of war. Like many American literature students, I was required to read “Slaughterhouse-Five” in high school, and if memory serves, I even enjoyed that assignment at 16. But I didn’t really appreciate the concept of becoming unstuck in time until I returned from war. Just like anyone who poured blood, sweat and tears into missions in faraway foreign lands, I left part of myself over there, and it remains there, while the rest of me goes about my business 6000 miles away — a paradox of time and space Vonnegut captured all too brilliantly.

I’ve walked by manholes in New York City streets and smelled the sludge river I walked along in north Baghdad in 2008. I’ve stopped dead in my tracks to watch a street hawker in Midtown, a large black man with a rolling laugh and a British accent, who looked just like my old scout platoon’s interpreter. And I’ve had every single slamming dumpster lid — every single damn one — rip off my fatalistic cloak and reveal me to be, still, a panicked young man desperate not to die because of an unseen I.E.D.

Despite these metaphysical dalliances with time travel the names on my black bracelet are, in fact, stuck in time. Or, more accurately, stuck in memory, where they’ll fade out and disappear like distant stars before becoming shadows of the men we served with and knew.

So it goes.

So it went for my friend Rob. During the invasion of Iraq in 2003 his unit drove through a neighborhood near Baghdad airport in doorless Humvees. A civilian vehicle pulled out in front of them, temporarily blocking their path. A group of teenage boys stood aimlessly on the street, and one exchanged nods with Rob, who sat in the front passenger seat. Rob glanced away quickly, to see if the civilian vehicle had moved yet, and then, suddenly, a grenade bounced off of the inside of the windshield and into the vehicle. Rob followed the small plume of smoke and rattling noises, grabbing the grenade from behind the radio to his left. He picked it up, intending to throw it back out of the vehicle, but it slipped out of his hand and dropped, landing between his feet. He reached back down for it, fingers just meeting casing when it exploded. He lost a hand and suffered severe nerve damage in his right leg as a result.

Back from Iraq, I carried my self-righteousness around in the form of a portable soapbox.

Recounting the story over drinks one night Rob said he wished he and the other soldiers in his Humvee hadn’t taken their eyes off of the Iraqi teens. Then he added that “luck was for sure on our side that day,” because had he not dropped the grenade but tossed it away as planned, it would’ve exploded at head level, likely killing him and possibly the Humvee’s driver, as well. He laughed deeply, and clinked his prosthetic hook against my pint glass.

Everything’s relative, I guess. Especially luck.

If chance is war’s dirty little not-so-secret, self-righteousness is the veterans’. Upon returning to American society, it’s all too easy to fall into pitfalls about what civilians get or don’t get. Nine years of war fought by an all-volunteer force that constitutes less than 1 percent of the total population has augmented this disconnect between soldier and citizen; in many ways, a separate warrior caste has evolved into being. The impact on our republic of fighting protracted, landlocked wars with an all-volunteer force can be debated. The impact of it on those actually fighting can’t be.

After returning from Iraq and separating from active duty, I carried my self-righteousness around in the form a portable soapbox for many months. Occasionally this proved necessary — sometimes the pejorative “they” really didn’t get it. There was the drunk Wall Street-type who told me, without a trace of irony but with plenty of faux-jingoist twang, “it must be awesome to kill hajjis.” And there was the too-cool-ultra-progressive who couldn’t help but smirk condescendingly while pointing out that “we” signed on the dotted line, after all, so “we” should’ve been ready for anything and everything before we departed for Iraq. Then, as passive-aggressively as possible, he analogized modern American soldiers to mercenaries.

Though I’m certainly no tough guy, the primal urge to put both of these guys’ faces through the nearest window was very real and very pointed. I didn’t do that though, for better or worse. Instead, I told the former that some of my best friends were Muslim and that such a black-and-white understanding of the war is what got us into so much trouble over there in the first place. For the latter, I nodded and smiled, telling him that for someone who hadn’t left the borough of Brooklyn in over a decade, he certainly possessed one hell of a world view.

Neither talked to me again. So it goes.

Most of the time though, my soapbox and self-righteousness and sardonic wrath were unnecessary. Not because people didn’t get it, but because I finally realized it wasn’t their fault they didn’t get it. They’re not supposed to get it — this isn’t Sparta, nor is it even post-World War II America. Sometimes — many times, actually — they wanted to get it. Slowly and surely, I found the all too obvious solution of simply answering people’s questions as considerately as I could, careful not to ascribe my experiences as universal to all of Iraq or all of Afghanistan. I’d rather ramble, I reasoned, and provide nuance and opinion than serve as the representational hollow caricature born only to sacrifice for fast food and online shopping and general postmodern excess.

Just one man’s solution to a litany of complexities, I guess.

I got unstuck in time again last month, right when winter graced the Eastern seaboard with its presence. I was getting out of the Union Square subway station, headphones in, mind tuned out, stomach craving a cheeseburger. I don’t qualify as a full-fledged New Yorker yet, but I’ve lived here long enough not to be disturbed by the sight of a cold and decrepit-looking homeless person. So, coming up the subway steps, I strolled by a young man with a scraggly yellow beard wrapped in an urban camo jacket without anything more than a passing glance. He held a cardboard sign marked in black marker with the words “IRAQ VET, HOMELESS, PLEASE HELP.” I didn’t help, nor did I give the man a second thought until two blocks later, when I cynically scolded him in my head for using the veteran title to his advantage.

Coming to terms with this permanent state of combat readiness has made me realize just how much I miss war (or parts of it).

“But what if he really is an Iraq vet?” I asked myself. I’d read the statistics — according to the Department of Veterans Affairs, more than 100,000 veterans are homeless on a given night in America; the figure is twice that over the course of the month. Not all of the unlucky ones are dead, after all. So the old platoon leader in me kicked in, and I turned back around, to see if I could verify any of this. Certainly a legitimate vet would remember names, units, places … something. And then? And then I’d help. Or I’d bring him to the people or organizations who could help. Maybe, if he seemed legit and came across as relatively stable, I could talk my fiancée into letting him sleep on the couch for a night or two. Just to get him back on his feet, of course.

He was no longer there. Or anywhere nearby. Maybe someone else had helped him. But probably not. I initially breathed out a sigh of relief, and then a sigh of shame. I thought about how these wars may be coming to some sort of end, but veterans’ issues for my generation are really just beginning. I only deployed for 15 months, and had all kinds of support systems in place upon my return. What about the men and women who have done nothing but deploy, redeploy, rinse and repeat since 9/11? What about those soldiers who return to broken homes, mountains of debt, no professional goals beyond not going to war again? What about them?

I smacked my lips and tasted guilt. Then I walked to a restaurant and ate a cheeseburger.

Like the veterans who came before and the ones who will come after, I walk the streets of New York City forever the soldier I no longer am. Oh, I’m no longer lean, hungry, or clean-cut — I’ve put on a little weight, grown my hair out and sport a patchy beard that can best be described as pirate-fashionable. But I still scan crowds for suicide vests, seek out corner vantage points like a bloodhound and value competency in a human being above all else. Jumping back into civilian life headlong, like I originally attempted, proved both disastrous and shortsighted. And coming to terms with this permanent state of combat readiness has made me realize just how much I miss war (or parts of it), and how lucky — and twisted — I am to be able to even write those words. I miss the camaraderie. I miss the raw excitement. I miss the Iraqi locals, from the kids who walked our daytime patrols with us to the frightened mothers who just wanted us to go away. I miss the soldiers, the N.C.O.’s, and even some of the officers. I miss that daily sense of purpose, survive or die, that simply can’t be replicated in everyday existence. I miss standing for something more than myself, even if I never figured out just what the hell that something was supposed to be.

I don’t miss all of it, of course. I got out of the Army for some very good reasons. Love. Sanity. Bureaucracy. A Holy Trinity for our time. But there is a messy ambiguity at the core of this that must be conveyed, if not necessarily understood.

I’m one of the lucky ones. Unstuck in time. Stuck with chance. Stuck at war. Considering the alternatives, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

“We're devastated by the loss of Chris and Gage. Their families are in our thoughts and prayers, today and always. The entire Naval Special Warfare community has our full support as they care for the Chambers and Ingram families, which is our sacred obligation for our teammates.” – Gen. Bryan Fenton and Command Sgt Maj. Shane Shorter

Press release from Naval Special Warfare Command - Navy SEAL & SWCC Teams: https://lnkd.in/g3DHPdxZ

“We're devastated by the loss of Chris and Gage. Their families are in our thoughts and prayers, today and always. The entire Naval Special Warfare community has our full support as they care for the Chambers and Ingram families, which is our sacred obligation for our teammates.” – Gen. Bryan Fenton and Command Sgt Maj. Shane Shorter

Press release from Naval Special Warfare Command - Navy SEAL & SWCC Teams: https://lnkd.in/g3DHPdxZ

In the SR-71 the temperature change from -55° (35,000 feet.) to over 500 degrees at Mach 3 caused the aircraft to expand up to 13 inches. You can see a corrugation in this picture. How do you run cables and piping from the front to the back? Through the fuel tanks. The fuel system was our heat sink. We always wanted the tankers to have cool fuel, 60° or lower for two reasons 1. we can get more cold fuel into the tanks. 2. For our heat sink.
~ Col. Richard E. Sheffield

“If you always put limits on everything you do, physical or anything else, it will spread into your work and into your life. There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.”
- Bruce Lee

https://youtu.be/Se1y2R5QRKU?si=ofBhA5mx__IUmSQI

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A Friendly Messenger and your Struggling Navigator,

Clint Underwood

"Being a Soldier is a Privilege and Honor few will ever know. I have been Trained by, Led by, and Inspired by Soldiers my entire adult life. There is No End to being a Soldier. I will take off the uniform, but I will always be a Soldier."
- General Richard A. Cody

Note: this quote was taken from "Army Wife", written by Vicki Cody - a Most Excellent book in my opinion.
SALUTE!
NSDQ!

They couldn’t go to the pool:
- so the people met and swam in the ocean and lakes, and built saunas together.

They couldn’t go to restaurants:
- so the people had dinner parties and potlucks.

They couldn’t go to clubs:
- so the people had epic dance parties.

They couldn’t go to the gym:
- so the people ran up mountains, lifted rocks, chopped firewood, trained in each others’ garages.

They couldn’t go to grocery stores:
- so the people gathered wild herbs, farmed and grew closer to nature.

They couldn’t go to sports events:
- so the people created their own.

They were told they couldn’t travel:
- so the people found ways to spread their Freedom.

They lost their jobs:
- so the people created and found new ones that were more aligned with their values.

They lost friends and family:
- so the people found newer, greater true connections - and built community.

Everything that’s happening is totally insane, and inhumane.
But they never felt oppressed - In fact, the people felt closer to Freedom than ever.

What we build now is the future.
I wouldn’t miss this era for anything.

The Sovereign awaken.
-author unknown

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.

Good morning Fall In!!!

Please check out @Ultimate Experience Outdoors here and other social media platforms.

We strive to connect deserving Veterans to the great outdoors and are ALWAYS looking for resources, opportunities, and team members. If you'd like to get involved, host, sponsor, participate, or even hang out with us in camp please reach out. It's amazing to see what laughter, reconnecting, and fellowship can do.

#UXOnation #experiencethis #teamwork #sweethomealabama #stillserving

Good friend of mine who recommended Ibogaine and 5MEO/DMT as a reset treatment for years of accumulated Combat Trauma.


I’m thankful for my Veteran friend reaching out, recommending care to me. In so many ways it made all the difference in a world seemingly without choices anymore.

#endveteransuicide #mentalhealthawareness #ibogaine #youdeservelove

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/r-rated-science-podcast/id1644552336?i=1000581515269

Today is Walt B's Funeral/Memorial Service, info as follows:
All family and friends are welcome to attend his service on January 6th, 2024, at 1:00p, at Forest Lawns Memory Garden in Savannah, GA. Please keep his family in your thoughts and prayers.

Obituary info:
Walter C Battisti, 70, of Savannah, GA, passed away on December 15th, 2023 after a battle with a brief illness.

Walter was born on October 23rd, 1953 to Saturno and Angela Battisti in San Juan, PR. He joined the US Army in 1973 where he worked as a CH-47 Mechanic. Walter had an extensive and successful military career. He was incredibly proud of being in the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, which made a significant impact on his life. He carried this achievement with pride until his final days. Walter retired from the military in 1997.

His love for aviation inspired him to become a contractor for the 224th Military Intelligence Battalion. Adopting the name Waldo, he went on many deployments and met many friends during his time spent there. In his personal life, Walter was a man of few words. Although he was a quiet man, you could always see when he was deep in thought. Whenever something needed to be said, he always made his loved ones laugh with his quick wit.

Behind that sometimes old grumpy man persona, he had the biggest heart. Walter was a big animal lover as he leaves behind his three dogs Sophie, Lulu, and Abby. Walter also seemed to be a turtle magnet as he would rescue any turtle he found. He was a very doting grandfather who loved his grandson, Anthony, and would get excited with the smallest things he would do.

Walter will be deeply missed by his family, friends, and pets. He is predeceased by his parents and his son, Kenneth. He is survived by his wife, Nilsa Battisti, his two daughters, Angela Battisti, Barbara Battisti Bell, son in law Richard Bell, and his grandson, Anthony Bell.

Rest Easy, Brother Thank You for all provided, yours was A Life Well-Spent in the Service of Others.
We shall freshly Remember and Honor You today - Prayers Outbound for your Family!
Never Forget! - Never Quit!
NSDQ!

I might not always be the brightest bulb on the tree, but I do know that we need to stick real close to one another, aint nobody gonna save us but us... So snap-link yourself to the Vet to your left and right, and Remain! No One Gets Left Behind!
NSDQ!

WARRIOR ETHOS:
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a Fallen Comrade.
NSDQ!

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In medieval times, the caltrop was a simple yet effective weapon used to impede the advance of enemy cavalry or infantry. It was typically made of metal and had four sharp points arranged so that one point always faced upward when thrown on the ground. This made it difficult for horses or soldiers to advance without risking injury to their feet. Caltrops were commonly used in battles and as a defensive measure to protect fortifications or camps.

The good old Rhodesian Pookie fitted with a Spider Shotgun Anti-Ambush Mount. Basic but it did the trick.

Rhodesia was well ahead of the times in developing mine resistant vehicles. 30 years later Western Armies were catching up based on their experience in Iraq and Afghanistan, using Rhodesian and South African mine resistance ideas.

The Pookie MRAP vehicle was created to deal with the constant mining of roadways during the Rhodesian Bush War. It was also used by the South African Police.

CATCHING WILD PIGS:

There was a chemistry professor at a large college that had some exchange students in the class.

One day while the class was in the lab, the professor noticed one young man; an exchange student, who kept rubbing his back and stretching as if his back hurt.

The professor asked the young man what was the matter. The student told him he had a bullet lodged in his back.
He had been shot while fighting communists in his native country who were trying to overthrow his country's government and install a new communist regime.

In the midst of his story, he looked at the professor and asked a strange question.

He asked: "Do you know how to catch wild pigs?"

The professor thought it was a joke and asked for the punch line.

The young man said that it was no joke. "You catch wild pigs by finding a suitable place in the woods and putting corn on the ground. The pigs find it and begin to come every day to eat the free corn.

"When they are used to coming every day, you put a fence down one side of the place where they are used to coming. When they get used to the fence, they begin to eat the corn again and you put up another side of the fence. "They get used to that and start to eat again. You continue until you have all four sides of the fence up with a gate on the last side. "The pigs, which are used to the free corn, start to come through the gate to eat that free corn again. You then slam the gate on them and catch the whole herd. Suddenly the wild pigs have lost their freedom. They run around and around inside the fence, but they are caught. Soon they go back to eating the free corn. They are so used to it that they have forgotten how to forage in the woods for themselves, so they accept their captivity."

The young man then told the professor that is exactly what he sees happening in America.

The government keeps pushing us toward Communism/Socialism and keeps spreading the free corn out in the form of programs such as supplemental income, tax credit for unearned income, tax exemptions, tobacco subsidies, dairy subsidies, payments not to plant crops (CRP), welfare, free medicine, free drugs, free health insurance, etc.; while we continually lose our freedoms, just a little at a time.
One should always remember two truths:

There is no such thing as a free lunch, and you can never hire someone to provide a service for you cheaper than you can do it yourself.

But, God help us all when the gate slams shut!

The Federalist Papers
December 31, 2011

If the natural tendencies of mankind are so bad that it is not safe to permit people to be free, how is it that the tendencies of these organizers are always good? Do not the legislators and their appointed agents also belong to the human race? Or do they believe that they themselves are made of a finer clay than the rest of mankind?
- Claude Frédéric Bastiat: The Law, 1850

Judy, a purebred pointer, was the mascot of several ships in the Pacific and was captured by the Japanese in 1942 and taken to a prison camp. There she met Aircraftsman Frank Williams, who shared his small portion of rice with her.

Judy raised morale in the POW camp and also barked when poisonous snakes, crocodiles, or even tigers approached the prisoners. When the prisoners were shipped back to Singapore, she was smuggled out in a rice sack, never whimpering or betraying her presence to the guards.

The next day, that ship was torpedoed. Williams pushed Judy out of a porthole in an attempt to save her life, even though there was a 15-foot drop to the sea. He made his own escape from the ship but was then recaptured and sent to a new POW camp.

He didn't know if Judy had survived, but soon he began hearing stories about a dog helping drowning men reach pieces of debris after the shipwreck. And when Williams arrived at the new camp, he said: "I couldn’t believe my eyes! As I walked through the gate, a scraggly dog hit me square between the shoulders and knocked me over. I’d never been so glad to see the old girl!"

They spent a year together at that camp in Sumatra. "Judy saved my life in so many ways," said Williams. "But the greatest of all was giving me a reason to live. All I had to do was look into those weary, bloodshot eyes and ask myself: 'What would happen to her if I died?' I had to keep going."

Once hostilities ceased, Judy was then smuggled aboard a troopship heading back to Liverpool. In England, she was awarded the Dickin Medal (the "Victoria Cross" for animals) in May 1946. Her citation reads: "For magnificent courage and endurance in Japanese prison camps, which helped to maintain morale among her fellow prisoners, and also for saving many lives through her intelligence and watchfulness".

At the same time, Frank Williams was awarded the PDSA's White Cross of St. Giles for his devotion to Judy. Frank and Judy spent a year after the war visiting the relatives of English POWs who had not survived, and Frank said that Judy "always provided a comforting presence to the families."

When Judy finally died at the age of 13, Frank spent two months building a granite and marble memorial in her memory, which included a plaque describing her life story.

"Be always at War with your vices,
at Peace with your neighbors, and
let each New Year find you a Better man."
- Benjamin Franklin

This poem was written in 1936 but only discovered in 2013 by Tolkien scholars Wayne Hammond and Christina Scull.

“NOEL” BY J. R. R. TOLKIEN

Grim was the world and grey last night:
The moon and stars were fled,
The hall was dark without song or light,
The fires were fallen dead.
The wind in the trees was like to the sea,
And over the mountains’ teeth
It whistled bitter-cold and free,
As a sword leapt from its sheath.

The lord of snows upreared his head;
His mantle long and pale
Upon the bitter blast was spread
And hung o’er hill and dale.
The world was blind,
the boughs were bent,
All ways and paths were wild:
Then the veil of cloud apart was rent,

And here was born a Child.
The ancient dome of heaven sheer
Was pricked with distant light;
A star came shining white and clear
Alone above the night.
In the dale of dark in that hour of birth
One voice on a sudden sang:
Then all the bells in Heaven and Earth

Together at midnight rang.
Mary sang in this world below:
They heard her song arise
O’er mist and over mountain snow
To the walls of Paradise,
And the tongue of many bells was stirred
in Heaven’s towers to ring
When the voice of mortal maid was heard,

That was mother of Heaven’s King.
Glad is the world and fair this night
With stars about its head,
And the hall is filled with laughter and light,
And fires are burning red.
The bells of Paradise now ring
With bells of Christendom,
And Gloria, Gloria we will sing
That God on earth is come.

You can always tell when a man has lost his soul to flying. The poor bastard is hopelessly committed to stopping whatever he is doing long enough to look up and make sure the aircraft purring overhead continues on course and does not suddenly fall out of the sky. It is also his bound duty to watch every aircraft within view take off and land.
Ernest K Gann
Sierrahotel.net

I would rather be ashes than dust!

I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.

I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.

The function of man is to Live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.

Up to a certain point, it is necessary for a man to live his life in the world in which he finds himself, and to make the best of it. But beyond that point, he must create a world of his own. And the greatest thing about life is that it is always giving us the opportunity to create something new. It is never too late to start over, to make a fresh beginning, to blaze a new trail.

Life is short, and we have but a brief time in which to explore, to learn, to experience, and to create. Let us make the most of that time, and let us burn brightly, like meteors across the night sky, leaving behind us a trail of light and inspiration for those who come after us.
~ Jack London

(Book: I Would Rather Be a Meteor https://amzn.to/45j7GSW )

Many ask, “Do you Miss it?” Reply, “I am ALWAYS on Mission.”
The Tribe is organizing, and preparing to EXECUTE.

Joint Task Force - Patriot,

Fall IN! And, DO WORK!

NSDQ! & LLTB

I always love making crosses, especially for fellow veterans!

Good morning fellow Fall In Vets,

Today set the expectations to the work force, set goals and provide feedback. The workplace should always have the mindset of continuous improvement. Identify waste and eliminate or mitigate it. LSSGB.

Know who you are, your role and your responsibility. Join your tribe and help start the Fall In Legacy!

The importance of the veteran community and its impact on American society is a multifaceted topic, worthy of deep exploration. Veterans, having served their country in various capacities, hold a unique position in the societal fabric, contributing in numerous ways that often go beyond their military service.

### Historical Context

The veteran community has been an integral part of American society since the country's inception. From the Revolutionary War to recent conflicts, veterans have shaped the course of American history. Their experiences in service and the skills acquired therein have often been transferred to civilian life, enriching various sectors.

### Economic Contributions

Veterans are known for their discipline, leadership skills, and technical expertise. Many transition into the workforce, bringing these qualities to the private sector, government roles, and entrepreneurship. Their presence in the workforce helps to diversify and strengthen it, driving innovation and economic growth.

### Social Impact

Beyond economic contributions, veterans often engage in community service and advocacy. Many work with organizations that focus on issues like homelessness, mental health, and veterans' rights. Their firsthand experiences lend a unique perspective to these issues, facilitating more effective solutions and raising awareness in the wider community.

### Educational Influence

Veterans in educational roles, whether as teachers, administrators, or students, bring a wealth of real-world experience. This perspective can enrich academic environments, fostering a deeper understanding of global affairs, civic responsibility, and leadership among students.

### Psychological and Health Perspectives

The veteran community also plays a critical role in advancing the understanding of mental health and physical challenges associated with service. Their experiences have led to increased awareness and advancements in treating conditions like PTSD and combat-related injuries, benefiting broader society.

### Bridging Civil-Military Divides

Veterans act as a bridge between the military and civilian populations, helping to foster mutual understanding. In a society where a small percentage of the population serves in the armed forces, veterans provide a crucial link, sharing their experiences and viewpoints, thus enriching the national dialogue.

### Cultural Contributions

The stories and experiences of veterans have deeply influenced American culture, from literature and film to art and music. These narratives not only preserve historical truths but also offer insights into the human condition, resonating with broader audiences.

### Policy Influence

Veterans often play pivotal roles in shaping policies related to national defense, foreign affairs, and veterans' benefits. Their insights, born out of real-world experience, ensure that policies are grounded in the realities of those who serve.

### Conclusion

The veteran community is a vital part of American society, not just in terms of past sacrifices, but in ongoing contributions across multiple facets of life. Their experiences, skills, and perspectives enrich the nation, fostering a more resilient, informed, and cohesive society. The purpose and impact of this community are dynamic, evolving with each generation, but its significance remains a constant, integral part of the American narrative.

So many interesting Units, so many interesting people. Freedom is always the mission.

Good Saturday Everyone, just wanted to share this today :

Life is a journey filled with ups and downs, but it's how we navigate through the challenges that truly defines us. Today, I want to remind you that you possess an incredible strength within you – a strength that can move mountains and conquer any obstacle that comes your way.

Remember, success is not measured by the absence of failure, but by the courage to rise every time we fall. So, don't be afraid to take risks, to dream big, and to chase after your passions. Believe in yourself and your abilities, for you are capable of achieving greatness.

In the words of the legendary Maya Angelou, "You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it."

So, let go of self-doubt and embrace the limitless possibilities that lie ahead. Surround yourself with positive energy, inspiring individuals, and never forget to be your own biggest cheerleader. Remember, you are capable of achieving anything you set your mind to!

Today, I challenge you to take that first step towards your dreams. Whether it's starting a new project, pursuing a new hobby, or simply taking care of your well-being, know that every small step counts. And as you embark on this journey, always remember that you have a community of supporters cheering you on.

Let's make this day count, my friends! Together, let's inspire, uplift, and empower one another to reach for the stars. "

#Inspiration #Motivation #BelieveInYourself #DreamBig #RiseAbove #YouAreCapable #NeverGiveUp #Community #Support #MakeItCount

Veteran’s Day is special for many reasons. For Fall In, this one marks the beginning of our offensive.
We will build our community, care for those in need and contribute to community in ways that reflect our values to free the oppressed, impoverished and broken- no matter who they are.
Thanks Team Fall In for bringing us to this point. Proud of the journey we have charted ahead.

-The Skipper