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A new network is forming. One that protects the American Legacy of service and sacrifice.

Join and bring your tribe to a secure and safe platform.

www.fall-in-veteran.com

Exciting News for Transitioning Service Members!

Are you ready to take the next step in your career? Altitude Career Skills Institute (ACSI) is proud to offer the DoD Skillbridge program, providing transitioning service members with the training and certifications needed to thrive in the civilian workforce.

Through our comprehensive programs in Project Management Professional (PMP), Lean Six Sigma (LSS), Cybersecurity, Human Resources, and other industry-recognized certifications, we equip you with the skills and knowledge to excel in high-demand industries. At ACSI, we are committed to your success and dedicated to helping you achieve your career goals.

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“Gilding the Eagle” by Norman Rockwell (1928)
The work originally appeared on the May 26, 1928 cover of The Saturday Evening Post.

Described by Norman Rockwell as "one of my best of this period," the painting features one of his favorite models of the 1920s, James K. Van Brunt. An ideal model and source of inspiration, Van Brunt posed for Rockwell in a wide variety of narratives and as numerous characters, including a cowboy (Dreams of Long Ago, 1927, Private Collection), and two old ladies gossiping (The Gossips , 1929, Private Collection).

In Man Painting the Flagpole , Brunt sits near the top of a lofty flagpole, holding himself upright with one arm as he diligently gilds the stately eagle that adorns its pinnacle. A faint, city skyline appears in the distance beneath him. With an extra paintbrush in his pocket and a bucket of gold paint at his side, he methodically completes his work while puffing on a pipe that protrudes from underneath his bushy mustache. The composition emphasizes the patriotic symbolism of the American eagle, while simultaneously portraying a sympathetic view of people at work--a theme Rockwell revisited throughout his career.

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

3 STEPS to JOIN the VHPA network on Fall In Veteran.

CLICK HERE for videos: https://fallinnow.com/

Great resource for those looking to JOIN the VHPA Tribe on Fall In, and contribute to a network of early Users. VHPA can Build our own digital legacy.

Any additional questions can be sent to the Fall In Team FALL_IN_STAFF_DUTY or techsupport@fall-in-veteran.com.

We just got the information for this “Mission Request “ at 0300 we are putting this out to get a feeler for who all can join us and see if we can make it happen. We realize it’s a midweek ,workday , not much notice , but are hoping we can get those who can make it to join .

The main time of importance is the Fuel Plaza at 0900 in Pleasant View. If we have enough people that can join we will pick a meet spot to depart from Clarksville to arrive as a group. More to follow on that .

Weds Jun 26 2024——Target times—-

Meeting with Alaska Airlines Honor Cart Escort

Horizon Fuel Plaza
2601 Hwy 49 W Pleasant View Tn 0900

Conduct Safety Brief /
Depart from Fuel Plaza 0930

Arrive for Ceremony 0954
Nashville National Cemetery in Madison Tn

After Ceremony we will await call from Alaska Airlines to depart for Airport for
Mission Completion

You deserve 5 Mins to find your center and purpose. Prayerful and focused moments of gratitude. It’s not rocket science. The life we have is enough, you are ready for what God places in front of you.

DO WORK, eat your veggies and be kind.

NSDQ!-Serving

https://youtu.be/j734gLbQFbU?si=I75shW77p59xf6zS

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The Special Fall In Veteran Tee - Design by ArtReynolds and Fall In.

Support an Unrestricted America. JOIN your Tribe at Fall In.

Contact FALL_IN_STAFF_DUTY with question about our business solutions intended to connect our Veteran Network.

NSDQ!-Serving and LLTB!

Thanks Art for all your support.

#unitedwestand #jointtaskforcepatriot

Work Hard, Eat Your Vegetables and Be Kind.

-Grandma Francis Underwood

You can’t buy better advice to this day. Listen to your Grandma!

Do Good Work, eat your veggies and be kind!

Hello all!!!, I have already sent out a few DMs looking for some assistance, but figured I would throw this out there with a very large stroke of the brush. I am finally leveraging my fairly large network to see if any of you may have any contacts who can help with Funding Grants or donations. I am involved with an organization called The Purple Heart Project. The mission is to introduce physically and mentally Combat Wounded Veterans still suffering from the negative effects of combat to the peace and joy that can be found through the therapy of traditional hand tool woodworking. I went through the program last year and since, their director has asked me to come on board to help with funding, as it is 100% supported by donation. If any of you could please pass along any info/contacts you may have in the fundraising arena as well as pass along what we do, it would mean a great deal. Thank you and keep doing all the great things each of you do!! https://www.thepurpleheartproject.org/

Istalif, a small village located north of Kabul, is renowned for its rich tradition of pottery-making that dates back over 400 years. The village is nestled in the scenic foothills of the Hindu Kush mountains, and its unique red clay is known for its high quality and distinctive colour.

Local potters in Istalif create a range of functional and decorative items, including plates, bowls, vases, teapots, and other household items. Each piece is individually crafted by hand, using traditional techniques passed down through generations of artisans.

Visitors to Istalif can witness the pottery-making process up close, from the initial shaping of the clay to the final firing in the kiln. Many local workshops welcome visitors and offer demonstrations and workshops to teach the art of pottery-making.

In addition to its cultural and artistic significance, the pottery industry in Istalif plays an important role in the local economy, providing employment opportunities for many families in the village. A visit to Istalif's pottery industry is a must-see for anyone interested in the rich history and traditions of Afghanistan.



https://youtu.be/lI7c35ZZ6nk?si=V19Mq6T1zSIzXWym

Uzbek and Turkmen
Though their exact number is uncertain and as with other communities are contested, previous estimates have suggested that Uzbeks (9 per cent) and Turkmen (3 per cent) make up a total of around 12 per cent of the population, Both Uzbeks and Turkmen live in the northern part of Afghanistan. In origin, Turkmen, also called Turcoman, Turkman or Turkomen, come from the Turkic-speaking tribes that emerged from Oghuz Khan, back in the seventh and eight centuries. Turkmen are Sunni Muslim of Hanafi tradition and are closely related to the people of modern Türkiye to the west, and identical to the majority Muslim population of their Central Asian kin state across the border to the north. Originally a purely tribal society, they have, in the more recent years adopted a semi-nomadic lifestyle.

Uzbeks are also a Turkic-speaking ethnic group. They are believed to have emerged in Central Asia in the third century BCE, and some claim to be possible descendants of Genghis Khan. They indicate Turkic ancestry and are, in the vast majority, Sunni Muslims of the Hanafi tradition, which reflects a primarily cultural rather than religious identity. Their language is Uzbek and although it is their own Turkish dialect, it is closely related to the one spoken by the Uyghur Muslim minority of Xinjiang, China.

Uzbeks and Turkmen have tribal identities that still largely define the structures within their respective societies, and this is reflected both in their social as well as political life. Both groups have had an influence on Afghan culture mainly through sport and music.

Economic status

Turkmen and Uzbeks occupy the greatest share of Afghanistan’s arable land in the north, and are mostly farmers by occupation, growing grain and vegetables. In addition, they produce crafts and animal by-products that bring considerable supplementary income to their communities. Cotton production has also added significantly to the wealth of these two groups. However, a very important part of their economy and fame is based on the making of carpets, which is mainly considered women’s work. Because of their relative prosperity, Uzbeks and Turkmen have not been dependent on the central government and have not made a concerted effort to garner political influence in the past. However, the economy of northern Afghanistan was badly damaged by the Taliban conquest of 1998. The consequences of this were not only subjugation and repression, but importantly also resulted in the closure of the border with Uzbekistan by the Uzbek government resulting in significant loss of trade, and thereby reduction in the socio-economic independence of the groups.

Historical context

The Turkmen of Afghanistan originate from amongst the Turkic tribes of Central Asia who arrived in Afghanistan as refugees in the 1920s and 1930s along with many thousands of Uzbeks, to escape repression by the Soviet Union because of their participation in the unsuccessful Basmachi Revolt. Generally, the population in the region is not a product of recent immigration but of the way borders were drawn between the Republics during the early Soviet period.

In order to quell Pashtun dominance, the Soviets, during their occupation of Afghanistan adopted a divide and rule policy, especially in the northern areas where Uzbeks had a significant presence. This was relatively effective in stemming the influence of Pashtuns, who were the main resistance against them in Kabul. In keeping with their policy, Uzbeks and to a lesser extent Turkmen were given a degree of autonomy and trained to fight against the Mujahidin in case of attack. For the first time in the history of Afghanistan, except during periods of anarchy and rebellion, Uzbeks along with Tajiks and Hazaras exercised full administrative and political autonomy.

Nuristanis
Nuristanis arrived in Afghanistan fleeing the eastward spread of Islam. They speak a unique Indo-European-language. Nuristanis were conquered by Amir Abdur Rahman Khan in 1895-96 and were obliged to abandon their ancient religious beliefs in favour of Islam. They reside mainly in the east of the country – between the Pashtun tribes of Kunar, Kalash in Pakistan’s Chitral, and Tajiks of Badakhshan in the north. Nuristan (‘land of light’) is located on the southern slopes of the Hindu Kush mountain range and is spread over four valleys, with each valley having its own distinct language/dialect: Kati, Waigali, Ashkun and Parsun.

Nuristan has very little arable land, the vast majority of the territory being covered by forest. The main base of the economy is animal husbandry – mostly goat-herding. While maize and barley are grown in small quantities, the Nuristani people survive mainly on subsistence agriculture, wheat, fruit and goats. Very few Nuristanis have had access to education. Yet, among those who have travelled to Kabul and been able to gain access to schools, some have gained prominence as well-known figures in the army and the government in Kabul.

Historical context

The Nuristanis’ scattered settlement is another result of Amir Abdul Rahman’s late-nineteenth-century expansionism. During his rule, what was then called Kafiristan (‘kafir’ meaning non-believer as Nuristanis did not convert to Islam until the twentieth century) was renamed as Nuristan (‘land of light’) after the forced Islamization of the community. Nuristanis are still sometimes referred to as ‘Kafir’. Some Nuristanis claim to be descendants of Alexander the Great and his forces.

Nuristani men and women follow a strict division of labour with the men working in livestock herding, while the women work on grain production or irrigated terraces.

The province was the scene of some of the heaviest guerrilla fighting during the 1979-89 Soviet invasion and occupation of Afghanistan. Nuristan is still used as a route by Taliban into Khyber Pakhtunkhwa of Pakistan.

Nuristan’s distinctive cultural heritage was under considerable threat during the period when the Taliban controlled Kabul. A collection of life-size wooden sculptures dating back to the 18th and 19th centuries was smashed by the Taliban in 2001 in their effort to destroy artistic expressions of the human form, as well as evidence that parts of Afghanistan had in fact followed other faiths than Islam until relatively recently. The collection had been brought back by the forces of Amir Abdul Rahman and housed at the National Museum. The statues depict ancestors as well as animistic and polytheistic divinities. Although some remain lost, others were hidden away by museum staff. Fourteen sculptures could be carefully restored and incorporated in an inaugural display at the newly reopened museum in 2004.

Current issues

The Constitution recognizes Nuristanis as one of the national minorities entitled to Afghan citizenship. However, Nuristan remains isolated and poverty-stricken, and due to the lack of regional institutions, there is a widespread lawlessness. As a geographically remote region, it has been difficult to establish a central government presence, and after it was virtually abandoned by NATO in 2009, many areas of Nuristan have come under the control of the Taliban. A Nuristani provincial governor commented that Nuristan province has been largely neglected by NATO and the central government as a symptom of long-term neglect and discrimination of the Nuristanis as an ethnic minority, who have not been able to represent themselves adequately in Kabul. In 2017, fighting between Taliban and ISIS erupted in the province, following a concerted effort by ISIS to recruit followers there.

Neglect from the central government as well as continuing violence and insecurity has produced extremely poor health, maternal health and education indicators. In March 2017, measles outbreaks reportedly killed 70 children in Nuristan province and schools were closed due to fear of an imminent Taliban siege in May. Community members reported a serious lack of qualified teachers and education facilities.

Hazard

The size of the Hazara population, as with other communities in Afghanistan, is highly uncertain as the country’s authorities have never conducted a national census of the population. However, it is broadly recognized that none of the country’s ethnic groups form a majority, and the exact percentages of each group as part of the national population are estimates and often highly politicized.

The size of the Hazara community has also declined significantly as a result of forced migration, land grabbing and persecution. They were once the largest Afghan ethnic group, constituting nearly two-thirds of the total population of the country before the 19th century. Some estimates suggest that more than half of the Hazaras were massacred, forced to flee or taken into slavery during the 1891-93 Hazara War when the Afghan King Amir Abdur Rahman Khan (1880-1901) led a genocidal campaign of violence against Hazaras. Many of the Hazaras who fled the persecution by Amir Abdur Rahman Khan settled in the Indian subcontinent or Iran, laying the foundation of the Hazara communities that now live in the Pakistani city of Quetta and various districts in Iran’s eastern provinces. These communities have increased in size as more Hazaras who fled from Afghanistan over the past four decades have settled within them, especially in Quetta.

The origins of the Hazara community are much debated. Although a common myth suggests that Hazaras originated from a contingent of the army of Genghis Khan in the 13th century, there is no historical evidence to support these claims. Other more plausible theories suggest that Hazaras are more likely to have descended from communities that inhabited the region well before the advent of Genghis Khan.

Hazaras speak a dialect of Dari (Farsi dialect) called Hazaragi and the majority of them follow the Shi’a (Twelver Imami) school of Islam. As a result, Shi’a Hazaras constitute a religious minority in a country where the majority practice Sunni Islam. Significant numbers of Hazaras are also followers of the Ismaili Shi’a school of Islam or are Sunni Muslims. Within Afghanistan, Hazaras are known for their distinctive music and literary traditions with a rich oral history, poetry and music. Hazaragi poetry and music are mainly folkloric, having been passed down orally through the generations.

In Afghanistan, the majority of Shi’a Hazaras live in Hazarajat (or ‘land of the Hazara’), which is situated in the rugged central mountainous core of Afghanistan with an area of approximately 50,000 square kilometres. The region includes the provinces of Bamyan and Daikundi and several adjacent districts in the provinces of Ghazni, Uruzgan, Wardak, Parwan, Baghlan, Samangan and Sar-e Pul. There are significant Sunni Hazara communities in the provinces of Badghis, Ghur, Kunduz, Baghlan, Panjshir and other areas in the northeast of Afghanistan. Ismaili Hazaras live in the provinces of Parwan, Baghlan and Bamyan. In addition, Shi’a as well as Sunni Hazaras are based in substantial numbers in several urban centres of Afghanistan, including Kabul, Mazar-e Sharif and Herat.

Traditionally, the majority of the Hazara community were involved in subsistence farming or working as peasants and artisans. In Afghanistan’s cities, Hazaras traditionally engaged in unskilled labour as they faced discrimination in education and public sector employment. This has contributed to their further stigmatization, reflected in the low rate of intermarriage between Hazaras and members of other groups. Systematic discrimination, as well as recurrent periods of targeted violence and enforced displacement, have led the Hazara community to lose much of their population and standing in the social hierarchy of modern Afghanistan.

Baluch

Though their exact numbers are uncertain and as with other communities are contested, previous estimates have suggested that Baluchis make up around 2 per cent of the population. They are part of the larger Baluchi community, the majority of whom live across the border in Pakistan, and the rest live in Iran. The Baluchis of Afghanistan live in the pastoral lands of the south-west and south in Hilmand and Faryab Provinces and practise Sunni Islam. Their language is Baluchi, although some speak Brahui (who are known as Brahuis or Brahui Baluchis).

The Baluchis’ main economic activity is agriculture and animal husbandry. They are traditionally nomads and have preserved their ancient tribal structure with patriarchal, male-dominated kinship. Traditional and acquired skills have made them relatively self-sufficient, with the ability to build their own homes and develop the tools necessary for daily life. Rugs are woven for trade and household. Their farming activities follow a strict division of labour between women and men. Women work in groups threshing and separating the harvest while men are responsible for ploughing and planting. In keeping with Baluchi nomadic tradition, lands are not privately owned but belong to the whole tribe.

Historical context

Divided between three countries – Pakistan, Iran and Afghanistan – the Baluchis are one of Asia’s classical cross-border minorities. They have a strong awareness of their ethnic identity which has resulted in several rebellions against their respective central governments in a bid to maintain their autonomy. While there has been a strong Baluchi pull for self-determination with the view to the formation of an independent Baluchistan, these demands have gradually faded through sustained political repression at the hands of Pakistan, Iran and Afghanistan. Unlike the Kurds’ struggle for independence the Baluchi struggle has rarely attracted attention in the outside world.

In the 1970s the strongest organised Baluch group in search of independence were the Baluch People’s Liberation Front (BPLF). Most PLF guerrillas were based in training camps in southern Afghanistan and were reportedly given sanctuary by Daoud’s regime.

Current issues

Baluchis are one of the named ‘national’ ethnic minorities in the Afghan Constitution. Accordingly, they have all the rights bestowed to Afghan citizens. Nevertheless, Baluch leaders have expressed concern that their rights to their language have not been protected by the government, and that their children do not receive mother-tongue language education.

We get work done well, on time and under cost (compared to everyone else). We are Veteran friendly and understand that Clarksville deserve the best craftsmanship.

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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.

via: POW * MIA
·
REMEMBERING A HERO: Col. James "Nick" Rowe, was one of only thirty-four American POWs to escape captivity during the Vietnam War.

During most of his five years in captivity Rowe was held in a cage. He managed to escape on December 31, 1968, after overpowering his guard, he was picked up by a UH-1 helicopter.

More: http://www.pownetwork.org/bios/r/r077.htm

The U.S. Special Operations Command was formed April 16, 1987 as a unified combatant command for special operations, with responsibility to organize, train and equip U.S. Special Operations Forces from the Army, Navy and Air Force.

On this date USSOCOM became operational, establishing a new, multi-service organization to facilitate various services cohesively working together.

One of my Dad’s favorite songs. If it’s not one of yours. Slow down, breath and listen. Don’t allow future possibility and worry steal the joy that surrounds you NOW. Do Work, Eat your Veggies and Hug the neck of your family.

Thanks Pop for so many great memories and a legacy worthy of imitation.

Your son,

-Beba
https://youtu.be/TTA2buWlNyM?si=k4eT4nMUawjHZzIL

via: C. S. Lewis
·
"Long ago, before we were married, H. was haunted all one morning as she went about her work with the obscure sense of God (so to speak) 'at her elbow,' demanding her attention. And of course, not being a perfected saint, she had the feeling that it would be a question, as it usually is, of some unrepented sin or tedious duty. At last she gave in—I know how one puts it off—and faced Him. But the message was, 'I want to GIVE you something' and instantly she entered into joy."
~ A Grief Observed
https://www.britannica.com/biography/C-S-Lewis

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.

via: The Giant Killer
·
U.S. Army Ranger Captain Kris Kristofferson:

Country music legend and Army vet Kris Kristofferson has a list of accomplishments so long, it might be faster to list off things he hasn't done.

He was an Army brat and brother to a naval aviator, so it was only natural that Kristofferson would find himself in the military. But his life both before and after the military has been more than interesting -- it's downright legendary.

In his younger years, Kristofferson was an accomplished athlete, skilled at rugby and American football. He also was a Golden Gloves amateur boxer. Pretty much anything that required giving or taking a beating, he was up to it.

For anyone who might be thinking he was a dumb young jock-turned country star, think again. Kristofferson studied literature at California's Pomona College, where he became a Rhodes Scholar. He carried on his literature studies at Oxford's Merton College, where he continued boxing. Upon graduating from college, he joined the U.S. Army.

Joining the Army in 1960, Kristofferson earned his Ranger tab before becoming a helicopter pilot, which was critical in getting his country music career off the ground (more on that later). He would reach the rank of captain during his service. In the meantime, he was making music and formed his own band while stationed in Germany.

Kristofferson was offered the prestigious position of teaching literature at West Point in 1965, but turned it down and left the Army. It was a move that caused his family, full of veterans, to disown him. His first wife divorced him four years later, which is some prime country music songwriting fodder.

It was finally time for Kristofferson to focus on music. He moved to Nashville, where he worked as a janitor and flew helicopters for oil rigs. He also worked in construction and fought forest fires in Alaska, anything he could do to keep focused on the music. It also was good experience from which to draw country music inspiration.

As he turned 30 years old, he was still moonlighting as a janitor in Nashville recording studios, strategically dropping demo tapes onto desks and hoping they would get into the hands of some of the biggest names in country music. ... also at Johnny Cash's house.

By now, we know Kristofferson learned to fly helicopters in the Army and ran into financial trouble while trying to make it in country music. In a big gamble, he stole a helicopter, flew to Cash's house and landed on the Man in Black's front lawn.

In retrospect, Kristofferson admits he's lucky Cash didn't try to shoot him down with a shotgun. Instead, the icon listened to his demo for "Sunday Morning Coming Down." Cash liked it so much, he recorded it, and Kristofferson took the first step toward becoming a country music legend.
Now "lifted from obscurity" (as Kristofferson puts it), he wrote some of his biggest hits, including "Vietnam Blues," "Help Me Make It Through the Night" and "Me and Bobby McGee." Later, he would form The Highwaymen, a country music supergroup comprised of himself, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash.

There are few country music stars that Kristofferson hasn't worked with or influenced during his career, even to this day. His music fame led him to the silver screen, where he appeared in 119 roles, including the "Blade" trilogy, the third remake of "A Star Is Born" and the History Channel miniseries "Texas Rising."

Kristofferson was inducted into the songwriter's Hall of Fame in 1985 and has earned more than 48 different BMI Country and Pop awards. In 2004, he was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame and received the Veteran of the Year Award at the American Veteran Awards in 2011, with fellow country legend and vet Willie Nelson presenting the honor.

#usarmy #Militarylife #kriskristofferson #countrymusic #Army #Military

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

I was a Soldier or I Am A Veteran
- By Colonel Daniel K. Cedusky, USA, Retired

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are plain words, those four. Simple words.

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

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

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

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

NSDQ!

via: Night Stalker Foundation
· 21 March, 2024

Rosie the Riveter Day is a special occasion that commemorates the remarkable contributions and sacrifices made by American women during World War Two.

Throughout this pivotal period in history, women from all walks of life courageously stepped into roles traditionally held by men. They took on crucial jobs in factories, electronics, welding facilities, and various other industries to support the American war effort. In doing so, they played a vital role in bolstering the nation's strength and resilience during a time of great need.

It's estimated that around five million civilian women joined the workforce during this era, embracing tasks previously deemed suitable only for men. Additionally, approximately 350,000 women served in uniform, further demonstrating their dedication and commitment to the war effort.

Rosie the Riveter Day serves as a powerful reminder of the indomitable spirit and invaluable contributions of American women during World War Two. It honors their unwavering resolve, hard work, and determination in the face of adversity, inspiring future generations to continue striving for equality and justice.

via: Beloved Children of the Holocaust
·
Ida and Louise might best be described as “frumpy” - English spinsters, dressed in homemade clothes. They were nervous types, a little flustered, a little foolish, the kind of women that were easily dismissed… or so it appeared. In reality, however, Ida and Louise were something quite different. You see these two clever women had developed their own secret scheme for aiding Jewish refugees.

It happened this way: Both sisters loved opera, and before the war they had developed a network of friends in the European opera community. Not surprisingly the community wanted to help their Jewish friends in danger from the Nazis. Louise was a secretary in London, but Ida was a writer of popular serial romances whose vocation provided a little extra traveling money. And so Friday evenings would find the sisters, without so much as a ring on their fingers, traveling to Germany or Austria, and Sundays would find them gaudily decked out in earrings, necklaces, brooches and pins as they returned. Of course, they traveled back by a different route so that no one would recognize them as the plain ladies of two nights past.

Why the jewelry, you ask? Well, family jewels were often the only hope of escaping Jews trying to satisfy financial requirements for immigration to England. So Ida and Louise wore expensive jewels right out of Germany in plain sight of Nazi guards who assumed that these dowdy women must be wearing cheap, dime-store fakes! The sisters then arranged transport to get people out of danger and safely housed in England where their jewels and a new life awaited. All by themselves, these frumpy spinsters, a rescue committee of two, saved the lives of 29 people!

Well done ladies!

Ida and Louise Cook were recognized as Righteous Among the Nations in 1964.

Important lesson here. If the dog could swing a hammer, how many owners would still be buying their dog’s food?

DO WORK!

THIS is why you don't have an aircraft maintainer work on your stovetop...

www.Sierrahotel.net

I was a Soldier or I Am A Veteran
- By Colonel Daniel K. Cedusky, USA, Retired

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NSDQ!

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.

The Giant Killer
·
God Bless this Hero!

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

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

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

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

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

Nearly invisible entrenched fighting positions dotted the area.

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

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

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

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

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

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

At a young age he had become acquainted with hardship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

During this movement, Private Rodriguez' companion was killed.

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

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

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

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

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

God Bless our Vets!

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

Ready, Set, go get you network on Fall In. And, build a United Community we can TRUST.

-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.

via: S.Burke Artwork

I was recently inspired by a friends photo to create a painting of the Night Stalker Memorial. Her picture captured it beautifully, here is my painting version.

The Night Stalker Prayer came to mind as I was painting this. Especially the second half:

“Watch over our families when we can not.

May Your presence give them comfort, and Your love lend them the courage to face each day, confident in the knowledge that You will never leave them nor forsake them.

Protect them with Your unfailing mercy and grace.

Grant that wherever we serve, we may be loyal to our proud heritage.

Make us to choose the harder right over the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half truth when the whole can be won.

May we ever embody the principles upon which the Night Stalkers are founded and serve proudly with the memory of those who have gone before.

Give us the courage to fight to win and the faith to die rather than quit.

Because, Night Stalkers Don’t Quit!”

I will do a limited number of prints if anyone is interested.

https://checkout.square.site/buy/XZLF53Q4DL57YJJED4DB4D5L

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?

Last week I talked about Local Support Networks when dealing with disasters either natural or manmade. While there are those that plan to "go to the woods," often this is not the ideal approach and I'm going to use this series of posts to talk about how that concept is only the preferred option as a last resort.

First lets take a look at why going mobile to a remote location in times of emergency is not ideal. If the disaster is natural or manmade there will be hinderances to travel! While you may have the perfect "prepped" vehicle the majority of the nation does not and they will be on the roads with you. If anyone has seen an "organized" evacuation BEFORE a hurricane you can understand that no 35" tired 4x4 is going to get you through TRAFFIC!

You know the condition of the resources you are leaving FROM but you do not know the condition of the resources where you are going TO! One we are talking about physical supplies but two also PEOPLE you may need to lean on! No matter how prepared you are and the size of your knowledge library you CANNOT BE AN EXPERT IN EVERYTHING!

I don't know about you but if I have a appendicitis I'm not going to have my family operating on me on the kitchen table, I want a doctor that has done it before! The people around me are great people and I know them all by name (small town America)! I know doctors, farmers, mechanics, builders, vets....all in my Local Support Network.

If bad things happen DON'T PANIC, and you don't have to ditch everything to go to a bugout location, far from it! Have a plan to support yourself in your current location, and people to lean on for specialty skills. If you don't have a PRACTICAL skill that can contribute, now would be a great time to LEARN one!

More posts on this topic to follow!

#America #Veteran #commonsense

The Enduring Solitude Of Combat Vets:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And here's what triggered that curious episode:

The words of the prophet Jeremiah:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who'da thought?

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

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

Who'da thought?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

https://www.factandmyth.com/reviews/how-does-ground-news-work

via: Historia Obscurum
·
In February of 1945, Earl Shaffer's best friend was killed on Iwo Jima.

Earl Shaffer (pictured) and Walter Winemiller had been hiking buddies back home in Pennsylvania before the war, and together had dreamed of doing the impossible...

The more than 2,100-mile-long Appalachian Trail had been finished not long before the outbreak of the Second World War, and no one believed it was possible to hike its entire length.

Shaffer and Winemiller decided that they wanted to be the first, but the war interrupted their plans.

Earl entered the U.S. Army in 1941, and worked on radar systems throughout the Pacific Theater. He survived, but his friend did not, dying on Iwo Jima in 1945.

After his discharge, Earl felt aimless and restless, and in 1948 decided to make good on his and Walter's dream.

Starting in Georgia, Earl began walking north along the trail. He took very few supplies with him, and even hiked without socks sometimes.

Earl wrote that he took to the trail to "walk the war out of my system", and as the miles wore on, he began to find the peace that had eluded him since the war's end.

As he closed in on the northern terminus of the trail in Maine, he paused and wrote in his journal, "In very good spirits. Thinking of Walter."

It took Earl Shaffer 124 days to complete the entire Appalachian Trail, but, still believing it to be impossible, few people believed he'd actually done it.

It was only after a fierce grilling from officials of the Appalachian Trail Conference that his accomplishment was recognized officially, and Earl became famous as the first person ever to walk the complete length of the Appalachian Trail.

In 1965, Earl hit the trail again, this time hiking north to south from Maine to Georgia in 99 days.

Then in 1998, fifty years after his initial thru-hike, Earl completed the full trail again at the age of 79.

Earl Shaffer died of cancer in 2002, but his personal odyssey continues to inspire countless Veterans who, like him, turn in greater and greater numbers each year to America's wild trails, forests, and mountains to find peace and purpose, and to walk off their own wars.

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new Nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that Nation or any Nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war.

We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that Nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow, this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this Nation, under God, shall have a new birth of Freedom — and that government of the People, by the People, for the People, shall not perish from the earth."
~ Abraham Lincoln, The Gettysburg Address (19 November, 1863)

via: Rebel History
February 19, 2022

80 years ago today in 1942, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066. This executive order led to the mass internment of Japanese-American citizens in ten camps spread out across the American countryside west of the Mississippi River, most infamously the Manzanar and Tule Lake camps in California.

This executive order was passed in the wake of the Pearl Harbor attack of December 1941 and allowed for the removal of any and all Japanese-American citizens from their homes and their property confiscated. The text of the order itself did not actually single out Japanese-American citizens specifically, but instead delegated the authority to do so to the Secretary of War. Who did indeed single out the entire West Coast as a military zone and subsequently had 110,000 Japanese-American citizens forcibly removed from their homes and businesses and shipped to these ten camps: Manzanar, Tule Lake, Minidonka, Heart Mountain, Topaz, Gila River, Poston, Granada, Jerome and Rohwer.

This internment proved later to be a massive violation of the rights of a group of American citizens based on war hysteria. Aside from the removal of these citizens from their homes, civil rights violations within the camps were rampant. In addition to stories of occasional abuse from military personnel, there were also major riots at times. The most famous of these was the Manzanar Riot of December 1942, when the leader of the Kitchen Workers’ Union was arrested for exposing the creation of artificial shortages of meat and sugar by camp administrators, who had been stealing these food rations and selling them on the black market. Several thousand internees marched in protest of his arrest, and were attacked as a result by military police with tear gas. Two marchers were also fatally shot in the confrontation.

In December of 1944, Major General Henry C. Pratt issued Public Proclamation No. 21, which stated that all internees were free to return to their former lives, which in most cases either no longer existed or would never be the same as of January of 1945. Only ten U.S citizens were arrested as Japanese informants throughout all of World War Two, and not a single one was Japanese. Eventually, an investigation by the Carter administration concluded that the internment of these citizens was unwarranted, and Ronald Reagan signed the Civil Rights Act of 1988, which paid twenty thousand US dollars to each surviving internee and issued a public apology from the federal government.

[Online References]
(https://www.history.com/.../roosevelt-signs-executive...)
(https://www.ourdocuments.gov/doc.php?flash=false&doc=74 )
(http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5154 )
Authored by DK

From: William Walter
Received my proof copies today. In all, seven years of hard work, hundreds of interviews, lots of teamwork, research and analysis to tell the true story of Spectre combat operations 1968-1975. Was it worth the effort? HELL YES! Finally, the comprehensive story of Spectre SEA operations has been published! The book will be available for purchase in major book stores and online on March 8th. BTW: yes, that is a shot of Whiskey you see on the left; time to celebrate a win for the Spectre community!

Happy Monday, and no I don't expect you to be working today! Just needed to get this out.

This is one of the most impactful open source videos (Mike "Garand Thumb" Jones) that gives the current situation of drone warfare in Ukraine and how quickly the world of strategy and tactics is evolving, faster than any other period in history.

Key points:
-Current uses of drones (future ACFT will only enhance/scale these missions)
-Noise signature of different drones = different threats and responses
-Counter drone tactics
-Non-western tactics for mass infantry and escalation
-The old is new again with trench warfare but with new technology
-What is cutting edge now will be accepted doctrine in 2-5 years, faster if conflict breaks out
-Mines on the battlefield/cluster munitions
-Use of smoke to break contact
-Frag!

Our thinking will have to be innovative and adaptive to win in any near peer engagement, this is not the warfare of Global War On Terror! If we stay rooted in the thinking of today's problems and not on the missions/challenges we will face in the future we will loose...and yes that is a possibility...

https://youtu.be/Tge7YMi4gJs?si=i6iy9HJGSUFhgpOV

#America #Veteran #Patriot #Ukraine #Tactics

Gents, Fall In Skipper here, Clint Underwood. Please, feel free to reach out for some time. https://calendly.com/skipper-at-fall-in-zhc/working-sync-mtg

The Enduring Solitude Of Combat Vets:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who'da thought?

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

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

Who'da thought?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there's the by-God glory.

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

Well, all right, then.

Why on earth would anybody want to be normal?

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

Really looking forward to working with this team!

This is an organization I have the pleasure of both being able to work with as well as being a prior recipient of their phenomenal generosity. We are needing help in funding 49 Combat Veterans each year. Please share this within your networks and ask that anyone who can spare some change to please do so. Anything helps but the biggest thing you can do is get the word out there and let social media do what it does best....continue to spread the word. Thanks y'all!!!
https://www.thepurpleheartproject.org/

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.

It's #REDFriday Fall In!

After your many years of service making the world a better place, what are you doing to better your local communities? Get out and get involved, have a voice and make a difference; at home this time.

As Ultimate Experience Outdoors Inc. gears up for the 7th Annual SFC Luke Hortenstien Memorial Turkey Hunt in south Alabama, we'd like to extend the opportunity to share camp with anyone willing to come see us. You can contact this page or MADDOX_UXO and we'd love to show ya what we're about. Word on the street isThe_Fall_In_1SG will be on site 4-7 April 2024, shaking hands and sharing his first hand experience with UXO!

#experiencethis #teamwork #fallin #sweethomealabama #stillserving

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.

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/shadmeshad_one-of-the-many-things-i-look-forward-to-activity-7155303119487168512-ci2S?utm_source=share&utm_medium=member_ios

Great work Shad! He probably see a lot of people just camping out. Then again, he’s finding the truly lost Brothers and Sisters, and helping them.

LA, not a good place to be a Vet, but we are everywhere.

“Check UP and Check IN” with a Buddy this week. I plan to Check UP/IN with Brian Supko.

Hopefully, for some good coffee and conversation.

The_Fall_In_Skipper I gotta work it a bit more to get a 1 minute even and a 30 second short version, working a visual as well

GP is offering Fall In Veterans 10% off, if you go to their page and subscribe. *Click the Hot Button (TOP-RIGHT) “Subscribe and Save 10%”

LOVE this product. Focus and concentration through the roof. No need for pre-work out caffeine, or the jitters that come with. Thanks, JT.

https://www.fall-in-veteran.com/pages/GSJT

“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

I have older kiddos in their 20’s and missed them growing up because I was a work first type of guy. TDY, Deploy, School, TDY, deploy rotation after rotation for 20 years. I hardly know my oldest two. But my young ones, I make it my priority to be there. School plays and functions, just showing up and seeing them look for you in the crowded lunch room and when they see me it just melts my heart and I hold back tears. I often apologize to my oldest ones for not being there and they just say, “dad, we understand.” So moments like these pics, I didn’t care if we caught anything, it was just passing down knowledge that was passed down to me.

If someone comes into Fall In Veteran, I want them to know two things.

#1 - ALL Veterans, First Responders, and Gold Star Family Members you are WELCOME HERE! Industry partners and Patriots are WELCOME HERE. Dissenters are WELCOME HERE. Free speech is WELCOME HERE. As well as someone responding to your free speech. Don’t be shocked. Be a Warrior. State your case, and stand your ground. Your feelings are not a deciding factor. Disciple, Values, Virtues, Merit, Logic, Reason and HARD WORK are what win the day.

The Fall In Staff is HERE to provide you with the tools you need to take care of your Tribe.

#2 - You are WELCOME as long as you are engaged in the good fight. -GET IN THE ARENA. Write, speak, video, organize, care and contribute to the safeguarding of your Legacy with the gifts you have been given. Shame on those sitting idly by when you have been called into the ring.

Living the Warrior Ethos is a contact sport. Lower your shoulder, drive the darkness back and pull your Brothers and Sisters into the ring, shoulder to shoulder.

Some are hurting and need you to CHECK UP on them. If YOU are hurting CHECK IN with your Tribe. Don’t sit on the bench. Get up, and GET SOME. Do Work!

NSDQ! & LLTB!

So long as they continued to work and breed, their other activities were without importance. Left to themselves, like cattle turned loose upon the plains of Argentina, they had reverted to a style of life that appeared to be natural to them, a sort of ancestral pattern. Heavy physical work, the care of home and children, petty quarrels with neighbors, films, football, beer and above all, gambling filled up the horizon of their minds. To keep them in control was not difficult.
~ George Orwell, 1984

(Art: Photograph by Francisco Ontañón)

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

Been a long time coming and even longer since I've been seen him smile and enjoy himself this much. Way to go 1SG!

#experiencethis #uxonation #teamwork #sweethomealabama #catchindeers #cooncreeklodge

Dropped my love off to work, came home to more loves cuddling on the couch, and now to do what I love for therapy….you catching the theme?

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!

Headed to the VA for annual check-up (DO THEM!)

I also listen to the Doctors and mix that with a healthy dose of Grandma’s wisdom. 9 of 10 times, my Battle Buddy already told me what the Doctors are going to tell me.

Honestly, I’ve found through the years, that Grandma was smarter than them all.

Francis Underwood (my Grandma): An apron wearing kitchen diplomat, community builder, church piano virtuoso (at least my 8 year self thought so), baker of amazing psychological buttermilk biscuits & Brunswick Stew, and devout mother and grandma to her final gracious breath.

Taught me how to listen, stand-up and lead with my character; instead of my mouth.

Three things she told me from an assisted living home, and I’d be a better man today if I’d done more of it.

“Eat your veggies, work hard, and be nice.”
-Grandma Francis
https://www.va.gov/find-locations/

British & Commonwealth Forces
- December 30, 2023:

EVERY MAN WAS READY TO FIGHT - “THE JERRY’S WOULDN'T HAVE STOOD A CHANCE”…

Jack Potter Home Guard 'Para-shooter' In the regulation uniform and doubly armed with hoe and service rifle is fifty five year old, Jack Potter, father of seven children. He was first to enlist, 24th May 1940.

Rifles stand stacked ready while farmhands in the uniform and forage caps of para-shooters carry on their work at an Essex farm.

Every man in the village, except those too old to hold a rifle, has enrolled in the new Defence Corps to protect home and country against German parachutists.

Each morning as members of the corps set off to work they carry their rifles.

Yesterday about a dozen were busy in a sugar-beet field. At each end rifles were stacked. One man carried his slung across his shoulder.

Most of the men have lived in the area all their lives. They know every yard of the woods and fields for miles around. Rabbit-shooting has taught them how to use a rifle.

Now, to finish training, they are being drilled and instructed by a local farmer, Mr Edward Garnham, who served through the last war.

The oldest member of the corps is fifty-five-year-old Jack Potter, who has worked thirty years on the same farm. 'The Hun will get a pretty hot time if they try any tricks around here,' he told the ' Daily Mirror.' ' We're ready for 'em.'

Jack's son, twenty eight year old Stanley Potter, echoed his words 'Yes, we'll show 'em,' he said.

Leon Livingstone and Derek Barrel, both young men waiting to be called up, are ready to do their bit in the meantime. ' We don't want our homes attacked by Huns,' Leon said, 'so we're making sure it doesn't happen before we go away to fight.

**Joint Task Force-Patriot (JTF-P) Announcement from Fall In - Veteran (FIV) Skipper Follows**
Joint Task Force - Patriot (JTF-P) 2024 SITREP
This powerful alliance brings together strategic partners and influencers, all committed to supporting Fall In’s mission.
We are dedicated to providing Veterans and First Responders with the Community, Tools, and Leadership they need to uphold and celebrate the FREEDOM we valiantly fight for.

JTF-P Collective Commitment:
As a united front, we will support the brave leaders who fight for American safety and security. We stand firm to ensure American rights, bestowed by our creator, are upheld and honored. With a clear voice and unwavering determination, JTF-P will lead the charge.

Long Term Goal: Focused and Timely Intelligence: Building Information Resources
We aim to cut through the tangled, unfocused bureaucracy, and provide our Patriots with the unencumbered and unadulterated information supporting current and relevant issues affecting Veteran priorities. No more confusion, no more divided loyalties - just pure, focused action.

Be patient, we will arrive.

Our Goals for 2024:
1. Establish Our Community: Bring your Tribe! It's time to migrate from scattered platforms like FacePage and Insta-Goober to a secure, focused community. Let's unite!, and build your Tribe.
2. Build Veteran Support Networks: We believe in caring for our own. Let's create a robust base for community services, supporting Veteran health, service, and benefits. Together, we can make a difference, ie, Camp Brown Bear, and many others.
3. Innovate with Industry Partners: Collaboration is key. We're working with industry partners to innovate our business, social, and digital services, all focused to enhance the quality of life for our Veterans and their families.

4. Establish resources to support JTF-P leadership.

How You Can Contribute:
1. Spread the Word: Share our mission with your network. Let the world know about the Joint Task Force - Patriot and its goals.
2. Join Our Community: Whether you’re a Veteran, a first responder, or a supporter, your presence strengthens us.
3. Donate or Volunteer: Your contributions, whether time or resources, are invaluable in building a supportive environment for our heroes.
4. Collaborate and Innovate: We welcome partnerships with businesses and individuals who can offer their expertise, services, or innovation to aid our cause.

Fighting for Freedom is a "Family Business"
It's time the United States realizes that generations of the same families send their strongest and smartest sons and daughters to guarantee our borders and constitution remain intact, safe and secure. We are honored to serve, and continue as Patriots because we understand what is actually at risk.

NSDQ! & LLTB!

JOINTTASKFORCEPATRIOT_#FALLINCOMMUNITY_#VETERANSUPPORT_#RISETOGETHER

Grateful for your overwatch of the Fall In Tribes.

GREAT WORK, DOC!

-Skipper

Lông Trắng, aka "White Feather Sniper"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, we want to shine a spotlight on the incredible Bill Mauldin, a legendary cartoonist and journalist known for his work during World War II.

Mauldin's characters, Willie and Joe, first appeared in the 45th Division News in 1940 and later extended to the Mediterranean edition of the Stars and Stripes in November 1943. Mauldin's honest and raw depictions of soldiers resonated deeply with both the troops and civilians.

During his time in the military, Mauldin fearlessly called it as he saw it, sometimes leading to confrontations with military brass. One of the most famous encounters was with General George Patton. In 1944, while technically AWOL in Paris, Mauldin met with Patton, who criticized his portrayal of soldiers as scruffy and lacking respect.
Despite their differences, Mauldin left the meeting feeling that he had neither convinced Patton nor been convinced himself.

Mauldin's dedication to capturing the realities of war extended beyond his cartooning. He spent time with K Company, his fellow infantrymen, and even earned a Purple Heart at Cassino when he was injured by a German mortar fragment. His experiences on the front lines allowed him to bring an authentic perspective to his work.

We invite you to visit our museum and explore the extraordinary cartoons, photographs, and writings of Bill Mauldin. Discover the impact he made and the stories he shared through his art. Don't miss this opportunity to delve into the world of one of the most iconic figures of World War II.
#BillMauldin #WWII #Cartoonist #StarsAndStripes #History #MuseumExhibit

One of my New Years resolutions:
- "work harder, move more quicklier..."

https://walkthetalkfoundation.org/news/a-call-to-boycott-the-military/

Gents,

Hyperbole like this confuses people, service members and provides NO real solutions. Veterans, DO NOT let them divide us. Yes, change must come. We are smartest- TOGETHER.

Amazing military leaders should be supported whether in uniform or civil servants. Policy of the Armed Services can be influenced by our consensus. Great capability is forged within our consensus. Our Warriors are most powerful under our consensus.

Fall In Veteran will build Veterans a megaphone loud enough for true leaders (active or retired), American values and the Warrior Ethos to resonate LOUD and CLEAR.

“In the absence of leadership, LEAD.” Turning your back is the coward’s way out of adversity.

Bring your Tribe, we have work to do.

-Skipper

NSDQ! & LLTB!

Happy birthday Johannes Kepler.

Johannes Kepler was born #OnThisDay December 27, 1571, in Weil der Stadt, Wurttemberg, in what is now Germany. His father, a mercenary soldier, left the family when Kepler was five. Historians believe his father died soon afterwards. His mother was the daughter of an innkeeper and Johannes was put to work at the inn at a young age. Despite his poverty, he was able to attend Latin School at Maulbronn and at the age of twelve, enrolled in a Protestant Seminary in Adelberg. He earned a scholarship to the Lutheran University of Tübingen in 1589. By the time he received an M.A. in theology there in 1591 he had read of the Copernican model of the universe that stated the Sun, not the Earth, was the center of the Universe. Intrigued by this view, he decided to change his major studies to mathematics and astronomy. In 1594, he left the University to become a mathematics tutor in Graz, Austria where he continued his interest in astronomy. In 1596, he wrote the first influential defense of the Copernican system, the Mysterium Cosmographicum (The Sacred Mystery of the Cosmos).

In 1600, Kepler was forced out of his teaching post at Graz due to his Lutheran faith, and moved to Prague to work for the renowned Danish astronomer, Tycho Brahe. In 1601 Tycho died, and Kepler inherited his post as Imperial Mathematician to the Hapsburg Emperor. Using the precise data that Tycho had collected, Kepler discovered that the orbit of Mars was an ellipse, the first step towards his formulation of the laws of planetary motion. In 1606, he published De Stella Nova (Concerning the New Star) on a supernova (new star) that had appeared two years before. In 1609, Kepler published his book Astronomia Nova (New Astronomy) , which contained his first two laws of planetary motion. Due to his detailed calculations and data, some credit Kepler with the creation of what is now known as the scientific method.

In 1610, Kepler learned of Galileo’s use of the newly invented telescope in astronomy, which inspired him to build his own telescope. Later that year Kepler published a confirmation of Galileo’s observations of Jupiter’s moons, the Narratio de Observatis Quatuor Jovis Satellitibus (Narration about Four Satellites of Jupiter observed) , which lent further support to the Copernican model. In 1611, Kepler published Dioptrice, the first scientific discussion of the telescope.

Kepler lost his post in 1612 as Imperial Mathematician when Lutherans were expelled from Prague. He moved to Linz, Austria but had to return often to Wurttemberg where he successfully defended his mother against charges of witchcraft. In 1619, he published Harmonices Mundi (Harmony of the Worlds) , which contained his third law of planetary motion. In spite of more personal tragedies and the religious strife of the Thirty Years War, (1618-1648) Kepler continued his research, publishing the seven-volume Epitome Astronomiae Copernicanae (Epitome of Copernican Astronomy) in 1621. This important work played a major role in the eventual acceptance of Copernicus’ theories.

In 1627, Kepler completed the Rudolphine Tables, begun by Tycho Brae the previous century. These included calculations using logarithms, which Kepler developed, and provided perpetual tables for calculating planetary positions for any past or future date, forming the most concrete proof yet for the Copernican model of the Universe. Kepler also used the tables to predict a pair of transits by Mercury and Venus of the Sun, although he did not live long enough to witness the events.

Johannes Kepler died in Regensburg, Germany on November 15, 1630. His grave there was destroyed in 1632 by the Swedish army during the Thirty Years War. In poor health most of his life, and caught up in the religious turmoil of the Reformation, Kepler’s accomplishments as an astronomer, physicist, and mathematician seem even more remarkable. His greatest feat in astronomy was his explanation of planetary motion, which has earned him the title “founder of celestial mechanics” as he was the first person to identify “natural laws” in the modern sense. He was the first to prove that the ocean’s tides are due to the Moon’s gravity and pioneered the use of stellar parallax caused by the Earth’s orbit to measure the distance to the stars. Kepler was also the first to suggest that the Sun rotates about its axis, and coined the word “satellite.”

Kepler’s book Astronomia Pars Optica (the Optical Part of Astronomy) has earned him the title “founder of modern optics,” while his work Stereometria Doliorum Vianiaorum (The Stereometry of Wine Barrels) forms the basis of integral calculus. A devout Lutheran, he derived the birth year of Christ that is now universally accepted, and was the first to derive logarithms purely based on mathematics. Johannes Kepler’s most influential accomplishments in astronomy were his three Laws of Planetary Motion, which were used by Isaac Newton to develop his theory of universal gravitation:

-Kepler’s First Law: The planets move in elliptical orbits with the sun at a focus.
-Kepler’s Second Law: In their orbits around the sun, the planets sweep out equal areas in equal times.
-Kepler’s Third Law: The squares of the times to complete one orbit are proportional to the cubes of the average distances from the sun.

Source:new Mexico museum of space history

A young female worker photographed by Bernard Hoffman in Connecticut, circa 1943

For a singer born in Mount Olive, Alabama, it all started with a song he wrote for himself!

King Hiram "Hank" Williams was born, September 1923 in rural Alabama, very rural. Never one much for attending school or "book learning", a young Mr. Williams was on the road to being a country music entertainer in his early teens. With his Mother's help and blessing, a very young Hank Williams played beer joints, "skull orchards", and various types of other night clubs of, shall we say, “dubious repute”.

Hank Williams also started writing songs when he was in his teenage years. As a teenager, Mr. Williams won a talent contest in the late 1930's performing a song he in fact wrote, one called the "WPA Blues". A young Hank Williams was also a regular guest and performer on local country radio stations as well.

At one point during World War II, Mr. Williams, growing tired of the struggle of trying and trying to become a successful country music singer and musician, briefly worked at a shipyard. His mother could tell, and realized the young Hank was unhappy, discontented and unbeknownst to the young Hank, his mother booked him a couple of months of shows causing Hank to tell his mother she had made him “the happiest boy in the whole wide world”.

After getting married to a beautiful young lady named Audrey, Hank Williams' wife, the Ms. Audrey pushed him to audition for Acuff-Rose publications of Nashville, Tennessee in 1946.

Fred Rose and his son Wesley were playing ping pong one day at lunch when Ms. Audrey and Hank Williams showed up. After sitting, listening and hearing a few of Hank's songs, they quickly signed him to a songwriting contract. Then, quickly placed his songs with the then-popular Molly O'Day on the Columbia Records label.

When a small record label in New York City, the Sterling Records label, wanted to make some country music records, Acuff-Rose Publishing placed Hank Williams and the Oklahoma Wranglers (better known today as the Willis Bros.) with this small record label. Hank made 4 records for them and while they were not officially hits, they paved the way for a better, more lucrative contract with the new MGM Records label.

Hank's 1st record, "Move It On Over" was an immediate hit. The record climbed to #4 on the Billboard music charts in the fall of 1947. 3 more hits followed before Hank Williams hit #1 in early 1949 with the mega hit “Lovesick Blues". “Lovesick Blues” was #1 for 10 weeks and stayed on the country music charts a remarkable 42 weeks! It’s a really good chance that we think all of you know the Hank Williams story from there!!!!

Hank Williams placed 42 singles on the Billboard Music charts between 1947 and 1999. 33 of those songs came during his lifetime with the last 9 posthumously. They included a produced, “electronic" duet in 1999 with his son, Hank Williams Jr. “There's a Tear In My Beer", a song written for Big Bill Lister. Mr. Lister found the original demo in his attic, forwarded it to Bocephus and the rest is history as they say! #Legendary #hank

The iconic, the bigger than life, the legendary Hank Williams scored 37 top 10 records with 11 of those hitting #1. Hank Williams passed away in the back of his Cadillac in the early morning hours of January 1st, 1953 on the way to a live engagement. His death, at the highest peak of his popularity, left many to wonder what his career could have been had he lived.

Most fans of real, traditional, classic country music pause and reflect on the life and career of Hank Williams, Sr. at the end of each year.

January 1st marks 71 years since his death but let not your heart be troubled, without a doubt, Hank Williams continues to be a major influence on so many in the country music industry and the country music community!

And it all started with a song he wrote about being in the dog house!

Old Stone Dude Wisdom:

"A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague.”

- Marcus Tullius Cicero, 106 BC-43 BC, Ancient Roman Lawyer, Writer, Scholar, Orator & Statesman.

An old military tradition is that friends who have not seen or heard from each other for long periods of time never question their friendship.

These friendships resume at the same time they left off regardless of distance and time between them. We call these friends "Family".

If you are fortunate enough to have such friends like this in your Life make sure and reach out to them, check on them, and wish them well during our Holiday Season.

To all the people who I know and have had the pleasure to serve with and work alongside Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and your families. Thank You for being part of my Family.

burt

NSDQ!

The Christ Cure is comprehensive handbook of healing for victims of trauma and their families, guiding the reader through a unique path of true restoration, inspired by the life and works of the Apostle Paul (a survivor of multiple traumas), by modern day mentors, the humbling personal experiences of the author, and reinforced by solid scientific research.

https://drtimmurphy.com/books#:~:text=The%20Christ%20Cure-,amazonbarnes,-%26%20NobleBooks%2DA%2DMillion

If our posterity retain any spark of patriotism, they can never tamely submit to such burdens.

This country will be made the field of bloody contention till it gains that independence for which nature formed it.

It is therefore injustice and cruelty to our offspring, and would stamp us with the character of baseness and cowardice, to leave the salvation of this country to be worked out by them with accumulated difficulty and danger.
– Samuel Adams, speech to Congress, Statehouse of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, August 1, 1776

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

Last weekend’s event at Camp Brown Bear brought us more than just unforgettable memories – it sparked a wonderful initiative!

In a special collaboration with Fall In, we are thrilled to announce that J. Mattingly Distillery will launch a Limited Edition Custom Bourbon Bottle to honor the legacy of the Seal/Night Stalkers brotherhood.

This exclusive bottle isn’t just a collector’s item; it’s a beacon of hope and support. Every purchase will directly contribute to the construction of a new workshop at Camp Brown Bear. This workshop is dedicated to serving our brave veterans, aiding in their journey of healing and resilience.

Stay tuned for more details on how you can get your hands on this one-of-a-kind bottle!

NSDQ! & LLTB!

#CampBrownBear #FallIn #HonoringHeroes #BourbonForACause #VeteranSupport

Today marks a significant moment for FALL IN as a community. Let's remember the power of unity and collaboration. NEW features are launching everyday, and Big Al’s Ready Room will be released within the month. Let's harness this potential, work together, and make a lasting impact. This solution will provide a major leap for military and Veteran businesses establishing streamlined support processes, and 21st Century Lean Logistics.

#UnityInStrength #TogetherWeSolve #MilitaryCommunity

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.

I’m shutting it down!

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

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

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

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

NSDQ!

#combatstories

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.

Tribe,

If you know of Veteran businesses that need support. Post them Up!

Let’s put them on blast and support our Brothers and Sisters within a Veteran-based, Veteran-referred community.

Refer them to me and we’ll work to establish their footprint in our community.

Send them to me @
https://calendly.com/skipper-at-fall-in-zhc

PJ’s Veteran’s Day Sermon:

TO THE WARTIME VETERAN:

There is a saying that says, “The war is never over in the mind of the warrior”.

I sincerely believe that! When I returned from the war, I went “nuts” for 9 years. Life was difficult, as I experienced nightmares and daymares. I could not quiet my mind as visions of the unthinkable raced through my mind. Today, they call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD}.
I tried everything the world offered for help;
visits to the Psychiatrist, meds, alcohol, sex, and anything I thought would help. Sometimes I would pretend that it helped. In reality, nothing helped, nothing. I felt so alone, even in the midst of a crowd.
Now, if you are a Wartime Veteran, EMT, Police Officer, etc., that has “experienced the unthinkable”, reading this, please hear this truth and cognitively receive it, THERE IS HELP! Help is not in what the world offers, but rather in what God offers you.He offers you what you are really looking for, Healing and Peace.

The Lord says:

“For I will restore health unto thee, And I will HEAL thee of thy wounds, saith the LORD”. Jeremiah 30:17

“You will keep him in perfect PEACE; Whose mind is stayed on You, Because he trusts in You”. Isaiah 26:3

Jesus says:

“Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls”
Matthew 11: 28-2

How do you “Come unto Jesus”? Here is what worked for me. I simply prayed, “Jesus, if you are real, HELP”. And with that simple prayer, the help I was seeking began!

Thank you for your service. You’re not home yet, but with Jesus, one day you will be Home!

From one wartime veteran to another:

PJ