On the 8th of November the angels were crying,
As they carried his brothers away.
With the fire raining down and the hell all around,
There were few men left standing that day.
- Big & Rich
.
I’ve never heard of Big & Rich, nor have I heard their song 8th of November, until today. I’m damned glad that I did.
As a card carrying member of the American Legion, I recieve their magazine monthly, and truth be told, I enjoy reading it. There are usually one or two outstanding articles written by veterans that make for thoughtful contemplation on my part; this month’s periodical was no different.
Retired Marine Lieutenant Colonel George Allen wrote an article about his return to America from Vietnam some 37 years ago.
When I deplaned in Los Angeles, following flights from Vietnam and Okinawa, all I saw were mini-skirts. Later that day, when I exited a plane in Philadelphia, all I saw was my lovely wife, Carolyn. And that night, wanting an evening alone together, we were refused service at a hotel restaurant in Radnor, PA, because I was wearing my Marine uniform with combat ribbons. Such was my homecoming in 1969.
None of this prepared me for what happened last Christmas Eve, in a pharmacy on the south side of Indianapolis. I’d gone to buy some last-minute stocking items for my wife and her mother. After I asked a clerk, who turned out to be the store manager, for help finding an item, she noticed the gold U.S. Marine Corps emblem on a chain around my neck. She asked if we could talk.
Turns out her son is an airman in the U.S. Air Force, probably heading for Iraq, and she’s very proud of him and the man he’s become. But 38 years ago she was a university student in Indiana and actively demonstrating against the Vietnam War, believing it wrong and believing most of what was said about those of us who fought it. Nothing happened in her life during the next three decades to change those views. Then her son enlisted in the U.S. Air Force. When she saw him graduate from basic training and heard him talk of military service as a patriotic duty to his country, she realized there are indeed many men and women, over the years, who have been - and continue to be - willing to risk their lives in service to their country. Her son, her own flesh and blood, was now one of them.
So now, 33 years following the official end of the Vietnam War, she wanted an opportunity not necessarily to thank a veteran but to ask forgiveness from one, for her misguided passion all those years ago. I was to be her veteran
As a Soldier, I respect the hell out of our Vietnam Veterans, though I can’t help but wonder how the rest of our society views these patriotic men and women. LTC Allen hits the nail on the head, and I’m glad that he took the time to share this story with us. Sgt Hook out.
It is that time of year when the world comes to a halt to watch the clash of the titans as they take to battle Saturday, December 2, 2006 at Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia, Pa. for the 107th time.
Recognizing that I’m not as eloquent as the Drill, I nonetheless find myself compelled to respond to recent disparaging remarks regarding our men and women serving in uniform made by a certain elective representative. While I respect the congressman’s view on re-instituting the draft, as a career member of the profession of arms I sternly disagree with that view, however, I can’t help but to take issue with the following comment…
If a young fella has an option of having a decent career or joining the army to fight in Iraq, you can bet your life that he would not be in Iraq.
Well, this not so young fella had a lot of options at a decent career early on in life, and chose to serve in the Army, several times over in fact (read reenlistment), and I do indeed bet my life that the vast majority of the men and women who choose to serve and fight in Iraq and elsewhere, do so for nothing more than a sense of duty (trust me, the pay sucks).
In my current duty position, I spend a lot of time telling Soldiers how proud I am of them, of their commitment to the defense of freedom, of their individual achievements, and of the sacrifices they and their families make. I also try to remind them that their spouses, their children, their parents, and that most Americans are equally as proud of them.
I bet my life on it.
I attend at least one reenlistment ceremony a week, and I can say without hesitation that regardless of the Soldier’s situation in life when he or she initially enlisted, I gottdamned guarantee that they’re very marketable in the civilian sector, yet they choose to reenlist, and they do so knowing they’ll go to Iraq.
I bet my life on it.
On a daily basis, I witness your Soldiers master some of the most challenging technical and tactical tasks you can imagine. The same kid who is capable of setting up a digital network in the middle of nowhere, providing worldwide communications in mere minutes, can also deftly handle a .50 caliber machine gun on the back of a HMMV ready to kill an enemy determined to kill you. And oh, by the way, his civilian equivalent makes damned near six figures but has no idea what a mod-deuce is.
I bet my life on it.
To a man and a woman, each and every Soldier will fight to win, to defend.
You can bet your life it.
What is of greatest concern to me, is that our elected representatives, the very folks who make decisions regarding your Soldiers’ pay and benefits, have such a negative opinion of who exactly is betting their lives on winning the Global War on Terror.
You may remember the 172nd Stryker Brigade Combat Team, homebased at Fort Wainwright, Alaska. Some four months ago, the Soldiers of the 172nd prepared to return home after serving a year in Iraq, many had one foot on the plane, literally, others had already made it home when the order came down to extend the brigade’s mission in Iraq. Now after 16-months, the 172nd is again preparing to return home.
The 3,800 soldiers of the 172nd spent the first 12 months of their deployment in Mosul. As they prepared to come home, they were notified that their deployment had been extended for four months, and they moved their operations to Baghdad.
As of Monday afternoon, 1,454 soldiers on five flights had returned to Alaska, Gohlke said. The first group of soldiers arrived on Saturday.
The welcome-home ceremony for the troops will be at the Carlson Center at Fort Wainwright. Officials expect there will be limited seating for the general public. Those who can’t attend the ceremony can attend a welcome-home party sponsored by the Greater Fairbanks Chamber of Commerce. The party is scheduled for noon to 8 p.m. Dec. 20 at the Carlson Center.
In addition to the welcome-home events, there will be a change of command and reflagging ceremony at 2 p.m. Dec. 14 at the Carlson Center. The 172nd’s brigade commander and all battalion commanders will relinquish command to their successors, and the 172nd SBCT will become the 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division. All the brigade’s battalions will receive new designations.
This would explain the uncharacterisic rise in temperatures recently experienced in Alaska. Welcome home Arctic Wolves, well done! Sgt Hook out.
With Thanksgiving behind us, the Christmas season has officially started. I’ve spent the past few days chasing burnt out lights before stringing them around the house, pulling boxes from the attic, humming carols, and sipping egg nog. To kick off the season properly, I thought to again share a poem with you that I post each year only with a twist this time. I should point out that the original poem, entitled Merry Christmas My Friend, written by Corporal James M. Schmidt USMC in 1987, has evolved some over the years. Black5 has the details. Nevertheless, WLIT has put the wonderful words to music and I’ve added some pictures, so in the spirit of the season and in keeping with the theme of this weblog- your Soldiers, Hook Productions proudly presents, The Soldier’s Silent Night…
I want to make it abundantly clear: if there’s anyone who believes that these youngsters want to fight, as the Pentagon and some generals have said, you can just forget about it. No young, bright individual wants to fight just because of a bonus and just because of educational benefits. And most all of them come from communities of very, very high unemployment. If a young fella has an option of having a decent career or joining the army to fight in Iraq, you can bet your life that he would not be in Iraq. (Emphasis mine)
I beg to differ with the sumbitch and will in a gottdamned New York minute bet my life that many, many of our young men and women would indeed be in Iraq for nothin’ more than to fight for freedom, for Mr. Rangel’s right to run his gottdamned mouth, and believe me, most of ‘em could damn well get good payin’ jobs just about anywhere outside of the Army. Kiss my ass Charlie.
I am sick and fuckin’ tired of hearin’ about how stupid and stuck our soldjurs are when I know gottdamned well that our future is in the best hands this nation has to offer. I can’t help but wonder when inthehell the idiots on Capitol Hill are goin’ to stop usin’ our soldjurs for political gains!
Well, I’m bettin’ my life Mr. Rangel, ante the fuck up Congressman!
She sat down to the Thanksgiving table, crowded with a cornucopia of delicious looking and wonderfully smelling foods.
He sat down to the Thanksgiving table, crowded with a cornucopia of delicious looking and wonderfully smelling foods.
She ate quietly, mostly listening to the conversations between her parents, sister, brother-in-law, grandmother, and the children, occasionally checking on the baby tucked safely in a bassinet next to her.
He too ate quietly, taking in the talk between his driver, the gunner, the RTO, and other members of the squad, occasionally checking to make sure his M16 was still set securely in the rack at the end of the table.
She wore a simple, but lovely dress and a blue cashmere sweater.
He wore his Army Combat Uniform along with the warm Army issue black fleece.
He longed to be sitting at a different Thanksgiving table halfway around the world.
She longed to be sitting across from her man, and not Uncle Earl.
He looked around the table and realized how thankful he was.
She looked around the table and realized how thankful she was; thankful that she was able to enjoy the holiday meal with her family; her son and her daughter.
He was thankful that the men and women sitting at his table, each covered with a layer of dust and sweat, made it possible for his family to spend Thanksgiving without fear.
After the meal, she got up from the table to check on the children.
After the meal, he got up from the table to check on his Soldiers.
She stepped into the middle of a fight between her son and his cousin, breaking it up, bringing calm to the dispute.
He stepped out of his humvee and into the middle of a firefight, returning fire with his M16 before falling into a sudden overwhelming calm.
She pulled into the driveway, thankful that both kids were sleeping in the backseat.
He was pulled into the UH60 MEDEVAC helicopter, thankful for his body armor before falling into a deep sleep.
She carried each of the children up to their beds, tucking them in and gently kissing their foreheads. “Daddy loves you,” she whispered.
He was carried into the CASH on a stretcher by four sweaty Soldiers, bleeding badly and trying to speak he felt the nurse’s hand on his forehead as she leaned over, placing her ear to his lips he whispered, “Tell my kids I love them.”
Drifting into a deep slumber he heard Guns N’ Roses rendition of Bob Dylan’s Knocking on Heaven’s Door.
Drifting off to sleep she heard in the distance a knock on the door.
He opened his eyes, feeling himself floating upward into the heavens.
She opened her eyes, feeling her heart sink as the knock on the door grew louder. Making her way downstairs she paused at the front door, pulling her robe tighter at the neck with her left hand, she reached for the doorknob with a trembling right hand.
He could see his wife, crying, unable to talk to her or touch her. He saw his son, playing, happy and innocent. He saw for the first time his newborn daughter and felt guilty having missed her birth.
She collapsed into the arms of her best friend who was on the other side of the door when she opened it, delivering the message that her husband had been wounded but was OK and on his way home.
He was thankful to be home with his family again.
She was thankful he was alive.
Holding one another, arm in arm and with tears in their eyes; they were both thankful to be Americans, living in the land of the free, home of the brave.
Each year, while sitting at the table and enjoying a deilcious Thanksgiving meal, I ask my swashbucklers what they are thankful for. It’s fun listening to their replies and remembering how they’ve answered over the years. This Thanksgiving, Castaway Conner, with a mouth full of mashed potatoes, announced that he was thankful for everything.
Andrew the Adventurous, the growing corsair that he is, asked for seconds before sharing that he was thankful for his computer.
Typhoon Tyler of Trieste, who has been embattled lately with his older brother, was thankful that Renegade Ryan wasn’t hitting him.
Not to be outdone, Renegade Ryan, with some prodding, admitted he was thankful that everyone was healthy. “Yeah right,” snapped Typhoon Tyler.
The lovely and talented and downright sexy Mrs. Hook jumped in and professed her thanks that dad was with us for Thanksgiving this year. “And not at war,” Castaway Conner added.
“What’re you thankful for dad?” Andrew the Adventurous asked.
I put down my fork, took a sip of wine, and said that I too was thankful for many things; for your computer Andrew, that Ryan wasn’t hitting Tyler, that you are all healthy, and that I’m here for Thanksgiving. “And not at war,” Castaway Conner added again.
I went on to say that I was thankful the most for all of our Soldiers who make it possible for us to sit at the table and enjoy such a wonderful meal without being afraid.
“Afraid? Afraid of what dad?” my clever Castaway Conner asked.
After a short pause I answered, “Without being afraid of the bad guys son.”
This site is a collection of my writings, thoughts, and ramblings and in no way reflects the official positions of the United States Army or the Department of Defense. OPSEC trumps everything.
♦ Veterans - Use your VA Benefits to Refinance your home loan with VA Loan Refinancing from VLC.
♦ Allured by a cheap car insurance and other cheap deals. Many tend to overspend on their credit card. This leads them to loans and eventually a debt. If you are planning to work at home, you will have to be careful about all this and more.
In view of a recent tendency to identify characters in fiction with real people, it seems proper to state that there are no real people in this volume: both the characters and their names are ficticious. The names or designations of any military units are ficticious. There are no living people nor existing military units presented in this book.
-Ernest Hemingway
Halfway down the road to hell,
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler's Green.
-Author Unknown
The Blog of War
"Grab it before the Pentagon orders it burned..." - Vanity Fair
"...nonpartisan patriotism is the common thread tying together these reflections, love letters and stories of combat. They make for riveting reading." - The Washington Post
Winner of the 2006 Gold Medal for Anthologies - Military Writer's Society of America
"This collection is an excellent introduction to an emerging form of war reporting." - Booklist
