Sunday, May 29, 2022

Find the Cost of Freedom

 "Find the cost of freedom, buried in the ground. . ."  CSNY1970

VNMem

A hell of a lot of fire was raining down on the guys up on the ridge; the only cover they had was the rise of the hill itself. Sgt. Rob said to Sgt. Ernie we gotta get out of here; stood up, and immediately got shot in the head, fell over backwards on a log, the radio on his back. Sgt. Ernie, now in charge after Lt. Henry, Sgt. Carl and now Sgt. Rob had all gone down, reached under the log, grabbed the radio handset and called in more artillery and mortars. He told the guys down below he would direct their fire in as close as possible. The artillery guys never could establish the platoon’s position exactly, but Lt. Riddle could adjust fire based on Sgt. Ernie’s sensing.

       And that is what they did, shot mortar rounds all around the stranded guys, without killing them, but instead killing the NVA soldiers who were assaulting them from three sides.

       After a while,  a lull came in the fighting. Under Sgt. Ernie’s direction, the men who still were breathing were able to rearrange themselves and hunker down to hold their ground for however long it would take them to get safely delivered out of there.

      Later, in the 26th hour of their combat ordeal, all twenty-nine men of Bravo Company 2nd Platoon were rescued; they were all brought out; twenty of them still alive. The first rescuers who walked into their perimeter could not see Sgt. Ernie or any of his men. All the artillery had blown dirt and dust on them; they looked like part of the ground.

excerpt from King of Soul, chapter 6.

Friday, May 27, 2022

Talk to a Veteran

My most interesting conversation in a long time happened today when I spent an hour with Staff Sargent Doug Hempe, USAF.

VeteranUS

My exit from Ingles grocery presented the prospect of sporting an American flag at a very small cost. Actually, those little stars ’n stripes are some of the most expensive items you’ll ever buy, if you consider what it cost to defend them. 

In Doug Hempe’s case, the cost was only four shattered vertebrae in his back. The spinal components were damaged when a very heavy object fell on him while  rearranging equipment in an Air Force inventory.

In spite of the debilitation and subsequent disability, Doug was able to fulfill his potential from behind a desk and an array of international assignments.

I was amazed at his life-story, as you would be too, if you were to  hear his generous explanations in response to my many questions.

Avionics—that’s what he called the work that he did. It was his life’s work, as it turned out.

No small challenge there. . . when you are working with allies all over the planet, supplying them with military aircraft and enhanced defensive capability. 

I had never thought of this before, but the complexity of national defense is mind-boggling when you consider that we have allies all over the world to whom we supply, say, fighter aircraft. Doug’s specialty was avionics systems for F-14s, F-18s, and a few other combat aircrafts.

What’s tricky is how our Stateside companies and forces are duty-bound to supply and strengthen allies around the world, using yankee engineering to perfect their abilities to defend the free world. 

For instance, some electronic components that enable a fighter pilot to keep his craft airborne while evading and destroying enemy bellicosity— are necessarily customized according to what country they'e being shipped to. Our domestic aircraft manufacturers are required to customize electronic control components, according the likelihood (or not) that they will ultimately be captured or otherwise acquired by enemy states. 

You might say . . . a fighter jet that we send to, say, a steadfast ally like Poland ,. . . is not the same, electronically, as one we might send to, say, Turkey. And the one that is approved for shipment to Poland is not the same as those we procure Stateside to defend US shores.

It’s a complicated arrangement, defending the free world against aggressive actors whose bellicosity is so very hard to evaluate. 

I mean, like, who knew? We  thought we had a pretty thing going on with the Russians after Gorbachev and Yeltsin, and then the next thing you know here’s the ex-KGB buy blowing the hell out of his own neighboring nation. What are we supposed to do with that?

It is very complicated disaster, to say the list. The madman Putin is destroying Ukraine so that (as Doug surmised) the Ukrainians would not "come back" to rebuild their country.

But we are believing that the Ukrainians are better than that. They will never give up, according to President Zelenskyy, who is, in my estimation, you might say the Churchill of our age.

I don’t know, but it is good to know that highly competent people like Sargent Hempe are out there on the front lines of our peace and safety, even if they do have a few damaged parts under the uniform, and then find themselves doing fundraising duties at the grocery store.

When you see one of those guys with the uniform and the little flags, stop and drop in a buck or two. And don't hesitate to ask a few questions. There's a lot to learn in this perilous, complicated world. We could all stand to learn a thing or two from these guys. 

Smoke 

Wednesday, May 25, 2022

Magnolia Dignity

Now tha's what I'm talkin' about, y'all:

Magnolia Dignity

Not MAGA iniquity.

Hark!  

I think I saw a flash in the pan!

I think I can; I think we can

Yes, I can see a flash in Atlan-

-ta!

Georgia!

Yep! Georgia’s on my mind

Cuz now in Georgia we do find

A glint of hope!

Maybe now our USA can cope.

Cuz trump’s senator Perdue got thrashed

By Governor Kemp in a Republican flash

And yeah, I say unto thee

There’s triumph in honesty.

Cuz Raffenberger’s quest for truth

has borne some precious Georgian fruit.

Yay! I say unto thee

There’s honor in integrity!

Cuz Brad, on trump’s sneaky phone call declined

When donald begged him for some votes to “find”!

I think I see a flash in the pan!

I think I can; I think we can

Yes, I can see a flash in Atlan-

-ta!

Georgia!

Yeah! Georgia’s on my mind

Yeah! now in Georgia we do find

A glint of hope!

There’s hope again for America

shining up from Atlanta.

Selah.

Yee-ha!

Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

o’er our land of honesty, the home of the brave!

Cuz the devil went down to Georgia

lookin’ for some votes to steal.

But he got way-laid by an honest politician,

a Republican with a truthful rendition.

The South shall not lie again.

Yep, I have seen a flash in the pan

It’s shining up from At-lan

ta!

Georgia.

Magnolia2

This bodes well for magnolia dignity

not maga-iniquity.

Glass half-Full 

Monday, May 23, 2022

No swastikas Here

 Here's an excerpt from my 2007 novel, Glass half-Full. This scene happens in suburban DC. 

Marcus opened a can of turpentine. He tipped it slightly so that its upper contents would spill onto a rag that lay on the parking lot next to his car. With the rag partially soaked, he began rubbing on the driver’s-side door. Someone had painted a black swastika on it while he was working late. His cell phone rang.

 He opened it, looked at the mini-screen, saw “Grille,” which stood for Jesse James Gang Grille. In the last few days, however, whenever he would see “Grille” displayed as the caller ID, it registered in his mind as “Girl,” meaning Bridget, because she would often call from there.

“Hi.”

“Marcus, have you heard about the explosion?”

“No, where?”

“At the Belmont Hotel, about 20 minutes ago.”

The Belmont was just two blocks from the restaurant.

            “That’s where the FEF convention is. Aleph told me he would be going there tonight. Has anybody been down there to see what’s happening?”

            “Kaneesha left here right after we heard it, but she hasn’t returned. I don’t think anybody’s getting in there for awhile. The police have got the whole block barricaded.”

            “I want to find out if anything has happened to Aleph. Don’t you think he would have left there by now?

            “The TV News says the police aren’t letting anyone in or out except rescue workers.”

            “I’m headed over there in a few minutes, as soon as I get the car-door cleaned up. Someone painted a swastika on it."

 

Although the incident depicted here is an indicator of a plot in which some terrible events are taking place, the intent of my story is, in a literary context,  to post a warning that we should never let it happen here. 

But these days, I'm starting to wonder.   GHFcover

Glass half-Full

Tuesday, May 17, 2022

Cry Cry Cry

 Cry, cry cry for the Beloved Country. 

Cry the Divided Country

Cry; cry, cry, cry; Cry 96 tears; cry 96 million tears.

Cry while George’s guitar gently weeps.

Cry while my guitar gently weeps.

I hear millions of voices, crying for someone to listen.

Cry me a River. Cry for the children. Cry for the refugees. Cry for the victims.

Cry for the abused, the unjustly accused, the unfairly used.

Cry for the Injustice. 

Cry, cry, cry for George Floyd’s family. Cry for Freddie Gray.

Cry, cry for Brionna’s people. Cry for Arbery.  

Cry for Sandy Hook and Littleton.

Cry for Mariupol, for Kiev and for Kharkhiv.

Cry for Ukraine.

Cry for Russia.

Cry for Buffalo. 

Cry for Sarejevo, for Toronto and for Orlando.

Cry for baby Roe and baby Coe. Cry for Texas. Cry for Georgia.

Cry for our Supreme Court. Cry for Congress. Cry for our President.

Cry for January 6.

Cry for Charlottesville.

Cry for Dallas. Cry for Jackie, for Carolyn and JohnJohn.

Cry for Martin and Medgar and Malcolm.

Cry for the H-bomb, the A-bomb, the fire bomb.

Cry for Hiroshima; cry for Nagasaki. 

Cry for Jerusalem. 

Cry for Gaza and for Ramallah.

Cry for Calvary and for Calgary

Cry not for me, but for yourselves and for your children.

Jesus wept, so why not you and me?

Yet, yet, and yet . . .

In the midst of these 96 million tears I hear, in the distance, the plaintive voice of a maiden:

Sierra Rose sees; she feels, she notices, weeps, realizing we’re born into a crying world. 

Yet she sings. Sierra Rose sings:  Cry

"I hear millions of voices 

Crying for someone to listen . . ."

And if that's not enough crying for one day, cry for Custer and for Sitting Bull.

King of Soul