The Gun Line MkIII

Saving Private Ryan, and HBO’s Band Of Brothers did an absolutely outstanding job of depicting the combat operations of the European Theater in all of its horrific fury, paying close attention to providing an authenticity that was refreshing and revealing.  These two productions opened a door into history, and prompted the modern American generation to research the entire scope of the drive to destroy the Axis in Europe.

To a lesser extent, but by no means less compelling, The Tuskeegee Airmen and Windtalkers provided a glimpse of the valor of individual units at war, showcasing the courage and contributions to victory of Americans who, despite the prejudices of the time, did their jobs, and did them very well.  In the parlance found at the end of just about every award given in the United States Armed Forces, they “brought great credit upon themselves, their unit, and their respective Services”.  In short, they gave all of us something to be proud of, irrespective of race, creed, or color, but as Americans.  IN this, these heretofore untold stories brought us together against the outrage of racial prejudice, and in admiration of technical and tactical skill, of which these individuals earned every right to be proud of their accomplishments.

And then there was the dearth of “wannabes”, which came in the form of Pearl Harbor, and The Thin Red Line, the first providing a spectacular (if inaccurate) portrayal of the attack on Pearl Harbor (a vexing pet peeve of those of us whose families were directly impacted by that attack – my Grandfather watched as his ship, the Oklahoma, capsized in front of him) as an expensive backdrop to the romance of two Army Aviators and an Army Nurse, and the second a “cerebral” contemplation of the horrors of war (which left me thanking Providence that the characters were not being portrayed as Marines.)

Now, HBO embarks on a production that will, I hope, meet or exceed the standards it reached with Band Of Brothers, and this time, tell the story of The Old Breed, the 1st Marine Division, and the ferocious combat found during the island hopping campaign of the Pacific Theater.  Hopefully this production will enlighten the modern generation about the many battles whose names have all but been forgotten: Guadalcanal, the Solomons, Tarawa, Pelileau, Okinawa, and other actions that should be as close in the Nation’s memory as D-Day, Operation Market Garden, and the Battle of the Bulge.

Having had the privilege of serving in the 1st Marine Division, I hope that this production will faithfully tell the story of the men in whose shadow I served, and in whose memory I did the very best I could to uphold the standards that they forged.

The 1st Marine Division, “The Old Breed”

Neptunus Lex brings us yet another poignant production that celebrates the WW2 P-51 Mustang fighter plane, the men who flew them, and the portal that one of these aircraft provided across generational lines: The desire for the younger to truly understand the experienced of the elder.  The short film “Gray Eagles”, by Chris Wood, is a must see, and a visit to the Gray Eagles Foundation website is a must go…

The lessons are deep…

When I lived in Corona, California, I had the privilege of living within the flight patterns of the Chino Planes of Fame museum, home of a multitude of refurbished warbirds from almost every era.  It was rare not to be able to look up every day to see some sort of WW2 fighter snarling through the skies, high above my head.

Snarling…  A WW2 fighter isn’t like your “polite” civilian prop-driven airplanes.  Each breed of plane, be it a P-51 Mustang, F4U Corsair, or FW190 has a distinctive ripping snarling sound created by its power plant, and it is easy to hear an implied threat in that sound.  These were aircraft designed for a single, deadly purpose:  To knock other similar types of aircraft from the sky.  To this day, an aircraft designed to enter into combat has a version of that threatening sound, as they are not built to succor the ears of the general public with the sweet siren song of the joys of flight; they are made to answer the demands of the human being in the cockpit, whose very life depends on the abilities of his or her steed to find victory not only over the perils of simple flight (which will kill one with obscene ease alone), but also over the determinations of a like-minded individual on the “other” side.  Any presumed beauty of the aircraft is secondary.  By happy coincidence, there are those aircraft that can join functionality with beauty, though it be a “shotgun” wedding.

One cannot, however, see only the aircraft, for without a pilot at the controls, the aircraft is simply a construct of silent metal, plastic, rubber, carbon fiber, and thousands of hours of engineering and construction work.  It is the pilot who straps this beast upon his or her back and takes to the sky, hopefully under the auspices of some noble purpose (the cause of freedom, for example) to bring the fight to the face of an evil enemy.  It is the pilot, trained in the mathematics of flight dynamics, schooled in tactics learned through the blood of too many others who came before, garnished with the responsibilities of leadership in The Service.  The best pilots combine all of these, as well as a healthy dose of Luck, and become that iconic warrior:  The Fighter Pilot.

The Fighter Pilot, however, is but a part of the whole, and each conjunction of humanity and technology creates another element within that whole.  Helicopter Pilot and Gunship, Artilleryman and Howitzer, Rifleman and Rifle, Bomber Pilot and Bomber…  Each conjunction creates a joining of man and machine, and these conjunctions enjoy relationships with other conjunctions, the teamwork of the Rifleman on the ground, and the Strike Fighter Pilot in his or her Close Air Support role for example…

Each of these conjunctions surround themselves with myths and legends, and create boundaries within which they enjoy their own, singular notoriety.  Riflemen shall not consort with Tankers.  Cobra Driver shall not sup with B-52 Driver.  C-130 crews shall not rub elbows with F-4 Wild Weasels.  Army shall not drink with Air Force.  Marines shall not hoist pints with any but their own (except when their cousins in the Other Naval Service come calling…)

Every now and again, however, a Rifleman lifts his eyes from the rifle he is cleaning, and watches as the Other Guy, in that Other Machine, carves a path across the clouds with wing man in tow, headed off to commit some violence upon the heads of some distant enemy.  The Rifleman, if he be a cerebral thinker, might wonder wistfully at the community of that Other Guy, and for a while wonders what it would be like to shed ruck, rifle, and the mud-soaked life of the Infantry, and garb himself in Nomex and Speed-jeans to experience what it is like to be That Guy.

There are those veterans of each community who have valiantly put pen to paper in an attempt to describe their own experiences to the world.  Some, like Lex, have done the world a great service in authoring magnificent essays pertaining to their own contributions to being The Other Guy, and have given the world a taste of their exploits, but even such fetes of literary gold cannot immerse the reader in the experience of getting kicked in the butt during a cat shot, or elicit the combination of terror and excitement of sliding a UH-1 into a hot Landing Zone to rescue a wounded grunt while under fire.

The members of the community of Man and Machine do not share enough commonality to understand the nuances of their respective niches, but they do share enough to appreciate each of the others Worst Day Ever.  We can share the catharsis enough to provide a comfort to one another, whether it was watching a buddy go down in flames, auto-rotate into a greasy fireball, or share the last moments of life with a squaddie in the middle of The Firefight.  Memories that we would like to forget, but that must be explored and digested to prevent too much scar tissue from warping all that is the rest of us.

It’s the Other Stories, the Good Times, the view through the gunsight when Death is not the final act, but something that provokes a snicker or wry grin. They are the most enjoyable : A pair of amorous teenagers in a quiet wooded sanctuary- unaware of the squad of TOW gunners watching them from a mile away through the thermal night sight, or the periscope recording from an Attack submarine as it watches a yacht in the middle of the ocean where the Master- Him- and Mate- Her- are on deck, “horizontal and superimposed”…

Across generations, or across technology, it is the stories of these separate – but-conjoined communities that the world must know and respect, and I am gratified to hear each and every one of them, and tell a few of my own.

Every once in a while I see what is listed as “the best of Craig’s List”…  I found this one, and it really seemed too good not to pass along…  And it may save your life…

Edited for language…

(Kudos to the author, whoever he is…)

A few pointers from your friendly neighborhood locomotive engineer

Let’s start with some DON’Ts.

1) A train is really, really big. Can we all accept that? Not even your Ram/F350/Hummer/douche-mobile is a match for a locomotive. You say you have a Cummins diesel? Caterpillar? Detroit? Oooooooh. Well I have an EMD 567 on a bad day, and even its pathetic eighteen-hundred horsepower will pound you and your gleaming pickup into the fourth dimension, so please, stay behind the white line!

2) I hate blocking crossings. Seriously, I feel like a complete ass when I stop a train in the middle of the road and leave two dozen motorists to ponder their lattes and ask what the hell I’m doing. The truth is, sometimes it has to be done, so don’t honk at me, flip me off, or scream at me from the window of your Dodge Caravan as you’re shooting a U. Instead, be patient and try to believe that there’s a point to what I’m doing. It’s called switching, and my conductor is depending on me to work slowly and not run his ass over. If you don’t believe me, Wiki that stuff.

3) Don’t climb on the equipment. I hate to sound like your mother, but you’re saving me a lot of paperwork and horrifying flashbacks by staying off the equipment. To you it might look like an abandoned train or a free ride, but when that bastard starts to move with you on it, there’s a damn good chance you won’t be able to hold on. As long as you’re on Wikipedia, punch in “slack action” and see what comes up. Also, the romance of riding freight trains is total crap. They’re really dark, really cold, really windy, and hobos are fucking SCARY.

4) Don’t put stuff on the tracks. It’s dangerous to me and my conductor, and it’s ten times more dangerous for you and everyone else on the ground. If you’re wondering “can a train go over a rock?” the answer is YES. There’s only one problem. You probably haven’t wondered where the million shards of rock are going to go at four times the speed of sound, have you?

5) Stop whining about the horn. Countless accidents have been avoided because drivers missed the flashing lights but heard the horn. You’d have to blast Miley Cyrus and Lil’ Bow Wow pretty frakking loud to drown out a five-chime, and often that’s the only thing that saves people. Still, that’s no reason to keep your stereo at eighty decibels as you’re rolling through a crossing at sixty without looking both ways.

6) By and large, railroad cops are major douche bags, so when you’re trespassing on railroad property, keep your head about you. These guys didn’t make it into the real police force, and they will ream you inside and out to make up for it. Also, walking on bridges and in tunnels is extremely dangerous. Ask yourself: If a train comes, where will I go? Trains are much wider than the rails they run on, so don’t be fooled.

Now for some of the DO’S.

1) If you see a large object (like a garbage can or an F350) that’s about to get love-tapped by a hotshot freight train, get in the clear. If it’s about to fly at a railroad crossing, run to the side of the street that the train is coming from. That way you’ll be behind the point of impact and you won’t have to worry about catching that beautiful pickup and its over-confident driver square on your frakking shoulders. If you run away from the train you’re just putting yourself in the line of fire, and the death toll could very possibly be two.

2) If the gates stay down and the lights stay flashing, stay where you are. I guaran-damn-tee there’s another train coming, and speeding onto the tracks the moment the first train clears is a lot like celebrating a touchdown too early. WHAM.

3) When you’re waiting for a train to pass, it’s a good idea to stay back thirty or forty feet. Trains are operated by professionals, but often they’re loaded by total clowns. I’ve heard some real nasty stories about payloads falling off flatcars and crushing people in their vehicles, or doors sliding off boxcars and ripping through everything in their path. It’s rare, but stuff happens!

4) Always report problems or suspicious activity. If you see a photographer with a radio scanner and a big-ass notebook, ignore him. We know that guy. But if there’s a dude in street clothes working a crowbar through a signal box, hit us up and tell us what the deal is. Railroad crossings usually have signs with emergency numbers, or you can call the non-emergency number for your local fuzz. If an accident has already occurred or a life is at risk, call 911 instead. Pretty sure they have our number.

5) Last but not least, when you’re inconvenienced by a train, remember that we’re pulling for you! Trains are a great way to conserve fuel, reduce greenhouse gas emissions, and keep American jobs alive and green. Rail technology is the best solution to our energy crisis, and as the rail network grows in the years to come, it’s important for everyone to stay safe. Look, listen, LIVE.

Let’s see…

All the best for 2010 to you, and I’ll expect you here for the AAR in December!

Your humble scribe at Joint Base Balad, Iraq, January 2009...

Your humble scribe at Firebase Rockford, United States of America, January 2010...

I had the opportunity to watch James Cameron’s “Avatar” last evening…

Despite the “PG” rating, I think that it contains combat scenes and language that might not be appropriate for the younger set.

Technically, the CGI was incredible, and the depiction of the planet “Pandora” is a visual tour d’ force; an amazing collection of bio-luminescence and jaw-dropping effects.  Were it real, this would be a wondrous place to explore, and hostile atmosphere notwithstanding, I could build me a nice little retirement home there…  The visuals of the indigenous population were handled with the tact of National Geographic, and well represented.

Without giving away the plot, it is a story of profit-driven humans trying to drive the indigenous population off of their sacred grounds to allow for the mining of a highly valuable mineral, using the military assets (specifically the Marines) to provide the heavy-handed eviction notice.  Bottom line, screwing the locals to make a buck…

And therein lies the message…

Those of us who adhere to a mono-theistic deity that is human-centric, and those of us who follow the martial vocation might be prompted to dismiss this as “another tree-hugging piece of work from Hollywood”.

And it would be wrong, in my view…

As far as I am concerned, relations between the Judeo-Christian God and His Son, Jesus Christ, are, first and foremost, a one-on-one relationship.  The whole idea behind Christ’s teachings is that we should lead by example, not force others to believe as we do.  Let our deeds do the convincing, in other words:  If we encounter another populace whose lifestyle is based on a different faith methodology, I believe that we should live and let live, unless that population is overly hostile with no discernible reason.  We should not fall into the trap of believing that our way (not HIS Way, OUR Way) is any more “righteous” that anyone else’s, and we should not be so arrogant as to think that we know all of God’s plans; He may have not granted us the Need To Know about His plans for our neighbors, in light of the fact that we are still trying to get our own house squared away.

So (after the appropriate suspension of disbelief), there is a population of ten foot tall blue folks who are so in tune with their natural surrounding that they have created a simplistic society that ties them to the land.  Sounds like a few cultures that once enjoyed an unfettered existence in our own backyard, doesn’t it?

Continuing the aforementioned suspension of disbelief, the reason for Humans even being on that planet was primarily wrong.  The presence of researchers attempting to learn about a totally different bio-system, culture, etc., might be justified, but to destroy a whole different culture for profit is plain wrong.

Which brings us to the Marines:  Had any of those Marines remembered the oath that they can be presumed to have taken upon their enlistment, the one that affirms that they will “Support and defend the Constitution of the United States…” not a man Jack among them would have fired a single shot.  Where was the threat?  From a population that didn’t even have the ability to escape their own atmosphere on a world that took six years to travel to from Earth?  I don’t think so.

Unfortunately, we have seen this scenario played out in our own reality.  Not in Iraq, or even Afghanistan, where there is, indeed, a threat to the United States from a hostile adversary that refuses to negotiate in good faith, and has proved their intentions through acts of violence upon our own soil.

So, taking all of this in, I think that there are two messages, both of which apply to my own life:

1)  If you’re going to pull the trigger, make sure that you’re pulling it for the right reason.

2)  Sometimes it isn’t doing what you are ordered to do…  It’s a question of doing what is right.

I approve of the movie’s message, and I hope that it makes people think.

Personally, I’m thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad thing to be tall, blue, and wearing a loincloth.

On Wednesday 16 December 2009, many milblogs — including This Ain’t Hell, From My Position, Blackfive, Miss Ladybug, BostonMaggie, Grim’s Hall, and those participating in the Wednesday Hero program — are going silent for the day. Some are choosing to go silent for a longer period of time.

The reason for this is two-fold. First, milblogs are facing an increasingly hostile environment from within the military. While senior leadership has embraced blogging and social media, many field grade officers and senior NCOs do not embrace the concept. From general apathy in not wanting to deal with the issue to outright hostility to it, many commands are not only failing to support such activities, but are aggressively acting against active duty milbloggers, milspouses, and others. The number of such incidents appears to be growing, with milbloggers receiving reprimands, verbal and written, not only for their activities but those of spouses and supporters.
The catalyst has been the treatment of milblogger C.J. Grisham of A Soldier’s Perspective. C.J. has earned accolades and respect, from the White House on down for his honest, and sometimes blunt, discussion of issues — particularly PTSD. In the last few months, C.J. has seen an issue with a local school taken to his command who failed to back him, and has even seen his effort to deal with PTSD, and lead his men in same by example, used against him as a part of this. Ultimately, C.J. has had to sell his blog to help raise funds for his defense in this matter.

An excellent story on the situation with C.J. can be found at Military Times: “Off Duty, the Rise and Fall of a Military Blogger “ While there have been new developments, the core problem remains, and C.J. is having to raise funds to cover legal expenses to protect both his good name and his career.

One need only look at the number of blogs by active duty military in combat zones and compare it to just a few years ago to see the chilling effect that is taking place.

Milblogs have been a vital link in getting accurate news and information about the military, and military operations, to the public. They have provided vital context and analysis on issues critical to operations and to the informed electorate critical to the Republic.

On Wednesday 16 December, readers will have the chance to imagine a world without milblogs, and to do something about it. Those participating are urging their readers to contact their elected representatives in Congress, and to let their opinions be known to them and to other leaders in Washington.

Some milblogs will remain silent for several days; some just for the day. All have agreed to keep the post about the silence and C.J. at the top of their blogs until Friday 18 December.

The issues go beyond C.J., and deserve careful consideration and discussion. We hope that you will cover this event, and explore the issues that lie at the heart of the matter. Contact the milbloggers in your area or that you know, and hear the story that lies within.

A Partial List of Participating Blogs:
Bouhammer – http://www.bouhammer.com/
This Ain’t Hell http://thisainthell.us/blog/
Boston Maggie http://bostonmaggie.blogspot.com/
Blackfive http://www.blackfive.net/main/
Miss Ladybug http://miss-ladybug.blogspot.com/
Drunken Wisdom http://beerbrains.com/
Grim’s Hall http://grimbeorn.blogspot.com/
Frommyposition http://frommyposition.com/
CDR Salamander – http://cdrsalamander.blogspot.com/
You Served – http://www.vamortgagecenter.com/blog/
HomeFront Six – http://homefrontsix.blogspot.com/
Laughing Wolf – http://laughingwolf.net/

The Gun Line – http://www.thegunline.com

You can donate to CJ’s Legal Fund by logging into PayPal, go to the send money page, and put in his email: dj_chcknhawk AT yahoo DOT com; or, you can send donations directly to:

Grisham Legal Fund
c/o Redstone Federal Credit Union
220 Wynn Drive
Huntsville, AL 35893

Please write “Grisham Legal Fund” in the memo line if you use this option. Milblogs have been a vital link in getting accurate news and information about the military, and military operations, to you. Today, many milblogs are gone and others are under attack from within and without. Today, you have the chance to imagine a world without milblogs, and to do something about it. Make your voice heard by writing your congressional representatives and others, and by making donations as you see fit.

The battle for freedom of speech and the marketplace of ideas is fought on many fronts and in many ways. Without your help, the battle may well be lost.

From SGT B:

Milblogs have been a voice for the issues most folks don’t see int eh mainstream media.  Some Milblogs call out political issues, others call out Veteran’s issues, some provide catalysts for the experiences Veterans have faced, either to allow them to “get it off of their chests” or inform the public of what a Veteran’s life is like.  I have been the beneficiary of a great deal of graciousness from both fellow Veterans and supporters of the military who simply care about my well-being, whether because they consider me a friend, or because I served, and they feel the need to simply care.

I’m no Black Five, or Laughing Wolf, or Boston Maggie, or Castle Argghhh!, I do not enjoy a wide audience, nor is this blog a forum visited by higher level military leaders, but I am a Milblogger, and I feel that the right of a soldier, sailor, Airman, Marine, Guardsman, or Coast Guardsman to express his or her personal feelings, as long as they follow OPSEC guidelines, and proper military etiquette (“With all due respect, I’m about to give you a wire-brushing, sir…”), their voices and stories must be given a public forum:  They have not given up their right to express themselves…

I condemn the small-minded individuals, both military and non-military, who fail to utilize the proper chain of command protocols.  Civilians should not “report” a MilBlogger because they simply disagree with his/her point of view, and those in the military chain of command have the responsibility to filter out those occasions when the system is being used improperly.

The Gun Line joins the rest of the MilBlogs who have “gone silent” in support of MilBloggers whose voice is being suppressed by such underhandedness.

A Different Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood; his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me and my wife and my child.

What are you doing? I asked without fear,
Come in this moment, it’s freezing out there!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts.
To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said Its really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.

It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at ‘ Pearl on a day in December,
Then he sighed, That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘ Nam ‘,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.

I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.

I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother
Who stand at the front against any and all
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.

So go back inside, he said, harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.

But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
Give you money, I asked, or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you, as you mattered to us.

It is a test message we received every morning over the Blue Force Tracker system…

Gotta love our vaunted Starfleet!

Anyone want to take a shot at it?

Yeah, I’m evil…  No, it, in itself, isn’t classified, but there are folks who have seen it everyday…  Did you cheer our Space Forces?