I’m pleased that there are still some officers in the military that take their oath of officer seriously.
Category Military
Stunner: Pentagon in Secret Revolt Against Obama
I was worried the military was totally corrupted — this report gives hope for the future. as long as they all don’t get canned
Army Forces Command Overrides White House – Will Charge Bowe Bergdahl With Desertion…
Now this is a surprise — some general is going to loss his job over this. But that’s OK he has some balls which is good to see for a change from our military Generals!
US Navy’s newest ship breaks down 20 days after commissioning, towed to emergency repair
I wonder if there were any Muslims in the crew?
Russian nuclear sub successfully test-fires strategic Sineva missile (VIDEO)
Russia and China will soon surpass us in weapons technology thanks to Obama!
Speaker Ryan blasts Trump over Muslim ban, can we hear Grover in his words?
Reblogged on WordPress.com
Source: Speaker Ryan blasts Trump over Muslim ban, can we hear Grover in his words?
Grover Norquist is one of the main reason the Muslims have infiltrated our government. He receives a large amount of political money from Muslim organizations and in return for their money he promotes their causes. He needs to be removed from office and I’m surprised that the Americans in his district have not done so.
History of the legendary Colt .45 M1911
Captagon Makes ISIS Fighters Superhuman or Are They Just a Warrior Cult?
According to various sources, ISIS is using the drug Captagon to create superhuman warriors. Perhaps this is true. However, it is by no means the first encounter with a warrior culture and it would be a mistake to assume it is simply drugs.
The modern legend of warrior cults came from the island of Mindanao, where the U.S. Army had to invent the .45 automatic to stop the fanatical Moros from cutting down American soldiers in the Philippine Islands. The legend is not entirely wrong. It is very true that fighting the Moros was indeed the primary motivator for the “invention” of the .45 automatic. It is true that from 1911 until 1985, the Colt Model 1911 .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol was the official sidearm of the U.S. military and became the most famous pistol in military history.
In the late 19th century, the U.S. adopted the Colt Model 1894 .38 caliber double-action (DA) revolver as the standard sidearm for officers. The six-shot Colt .38 DA represented advanced technology, replacing the famous Colt .45 “Peacemaker” which was a single-action that had to be cocked by hand each shot. The Colt .38 was used during the Spanish-American War, which was actually only two days of actual ground combat. The Philippine-American War (called at the time the “Philippine Insurrection”) was nearly as long as World War II itself from February 1899 to July 4, 1902, because it was really a guerrilla war that they saw as a national liberation battle.
The Filipino Army of Liberation had to make their own bullets and had perhaps one rifle for every three soldiers. Over 4,000 Americans were killed out of 126,468 troops, so the death rate was actually higher than the Vietnam War. The Filipino troops used the bolo, which was a fearsome, short, 16 to 18-inch razor sharp weapon used to in harvesting crops and hacking through trails in the jungle. American troops with a single shot weapon did not stand a chance, and often against a charge of several hundred bolo armed men.
As the war came to an end in the north, suddenly the south island of Mindanao erupted with the first battle taking place between the Americans and the Muslim Moros on May 2, 1902; the Battle of Bayan. Yes, they were Muslim and the fieriest warriors of all. The Americans killed about half of the 600 Moros warriors. About 10% of the American troops were severely wounded in a matter of minutes. American troops ran out of ammo and fixed their bayonets. A wave of Moro warriors were hiding in nearby trenches and charged, swinging their terrifying bolo short swords and some with the double-handled kampilan, while others had the double-edged wavy kris that was considered to be the most deadly of all. One survivor of that battle, Capt. C.C. Smith, recounted that “in hand-to-hand combat our soldiers are no match for the Moro. If our first shot misses the target, we rarely have time to get off another.” In the end, all the officers were killed and about half of the American troops were cut down. Only a torrential rainfall saved the rest.
The battle against the Moro lasted more than a decade from 1903-1913. The most famous of the Moros warriors was Panglima Hassan who was a Tausug war leader. He refused to surrender and by himself he rushed the American line with only his sword. They opened fired but he cut up one American soldier and two officers before being brought down. His body was inspected and thirty-two bullets hit him before a last bullet from a sergeant’s revolver shot him square between the eyes.
The newspapers asserted that the Moros were “hopped up” on drugs. They wore bamboo armor and old Spanish helmets for protection during these charges. This was just propaganda. The Moros were a warrior culture much like the Spartans of ancient Greece or the Celts who would charge at the Romans in a sure death charge. There was never any possibility of surrender in any of these cultures for it was considered dishonorable and highly shameful in both society and their religious values. So there was no possibility of returning after the war. All of these cultures embraced death as honorable where they would gain instant entry to heaven if they died in battle. The Celts believed they would simply be reincarnated. This type of mental state did not require chemicals.
The first A1semi-automatic pistols were finally shipped to Moro land thirty years later in 1944-1945. No doubt, the experience with the Moro Muslim warriors inspired the semi-automatic .45 to become a standard issue when they faced another hard to stop warrior type society – the Japanese.
Obama’s Generals Decided to lower the standards so that ‘A Woman Will Graduate’
Generals Decided Long Before Ranger School That ‘A Woman Will Graduate’ and they made sure that happened!
A general reportedly told a stunned audience of military officials back in January that “a woman will graduate Ranger School,” before the school even convened, meaning that Army leadership were dead set on moving at least one female through the course.
“At least one will get through,” the general added at a meeting of subordinates preparing for the start of Ranger School, which began on April 20.
That preordained mandate apparently had a ripple effect throughout Fort Benning, Susan Katz Keating at PEOPLE reports.
“Even though this was supposed to be just an assessment, everyone knew. The results were planned in advance,” sources told PEOPLE.
This is precisely what Rep. Steve Russell, himself a Ranger graduate, suspected. Earlier this month, Russell sent in a letter to Army Secretary John McHugh, asking the service head to pass along documents of female performance at Ranger School. Russell wants test scores, evaluations and injury records. (RELATED: Congressman: Did Women Get Special Treatment At Ranger School?)
A female West Point graduate and Obama appointee filed a FOIA request on Russell’s records in response. (RELATED: Obama Official Tries To Intimidate Lawmaker Seeking Female Ranger Records)
Sources listed a variety of exceptions women received, despite men still being held to the rigorous standards outlined in the Standing Operating Procedures handbook for Ranger School.
First, female candidates received two weeks training from the National Guard’s Ranger Training and Assessment Course (RTAC) in January in preparation for the course, which started April 20. Males weren’t allowed to repeat RTAC, but women were — again and again.
Following the pre-training, females were assigned to a platoon at Fort Benning for months to receive full-time training with a Ranger, Sergeant First Class Robert Hoffnagle. They were even taken out to the field regularly to see the land navigation course. This is a difficult segment which is timed. When male candidates in Ranger School came across the land navigation segment, it was the first time they had ever seen it.
“He taught [them] everything, including how to do patrols,” a source told PEOPLE. While the Army denied that women were even part of the special platoon, a woman who belonged to the platoon confirmed with PEOPLE that “Hoffnagle got us ready for Ranger School.”
And finally, a two-star general showed up to cheer the women on throughout the most difficult parts of the course.
Even Capt. Kristen Griest, one of the two females who graduated the course, was surprised she made it through successfully.
“I thought we were going to be dropped after we failed Darby [part of Benning] the second time,” Griest said at a press conference before graduation. “We were offered a Day One Recycle.”
The remaining women were called in May 7 to see a general. At that point, an Army source told Keating, no women were left in the course. The general “told them they could not quit – too much time and money had been devoted to bringing them here.” The day after, May 8, eight women were permitted to restart the first phase. These women failed the first phase again and were given an offer to begin the entire course from the start.
Miller, the general who met with the women and oversees Ranger School, arrived on the scene. Once he arrived, the women passed the first phase.
“No matter what the general intended to convey, the instructors had no choice but to take this to mean, ‘Play along,’” a source told PEOPLE.
The women stumbled and struggled repeatedly. Miller returned to the course, and two women ended up graduating.
Recycling has been another complaint by observers carefully watching the moves of Army officials. Officials have admitted that the number of recycles afforded to women is rare, but not unprecedented. Throughout the entire process, Army leadership has strenuously denied that any standards were modified, or that there was any pressure to do so.
Ranger instructors, however, tell a different story.
“We were under huge pressure to comply,” one Ranger instructor told PEOPLE. “It was very much politicized.”
As a result of the one-time gender-integrated assessment, the Army opened up Ranger School to women on Sept. 2. (RELATED: Ranger School Is Opening Its Doors To All Female Soldiers)
THE UNKNOWNS
This is the trailer for a coming film The Unknowns a documentary film by U.S. Army Veterans Neal Schrodetzki and Ethan Morse.
Only for those that have been a military commander!
Subject: Burial At Sea
This is quite lengthy, but once you start reading it you will finish it. This says it like it really was and is to this day. Though I was not the one who made the notifications, I was one of those who escorted the remains home to their families and this story brought it all back.
This only for those who can and will appreciate it. This account is one of a kind. A powerful one that touches your heart. Tough duty then, as it is now. Unfortunately, not likely to be viewed by younger folks who really should see it. Burial at Sea.
by Lt. Col. George Goodson, USMC (Ret)
by Lt. Col. George Goodson, USMC (Ret)
In my 76th year, the events of my life appear to me, from time to time, as a series of vignettes. Some were significant; most were trivial. War is the seminal event in the life of everyone that has endured it. Though I fought in Korea and the Dominican Republic and was wounded there, Vietnam was my war.
Now 42 years have passed and, thankfully, I rarely think of those days in Cambodia, Laos, and the panhandle of North Vietnam where small teams of Americans and Montagnards fought much larger elements of the North Vietnamese Army.
Instead I see vignettes: some exotic, some mundane:
*The smell of Nuc Mam.
*The heat, dust, and humidity.
*The blue exhaust of cycles clogging the streets.
*Elephants moving silently through the tall grass.
*Hard eyes behind the servile smiles of the villagers.
*Standing on a mountain in Laos and hearing a tiger roar.
*A young girl squeezing my hand as my medic delivered her baby.
*The flowing Ao Dais of the young women biking down Tran Hung Dao.
*My two years as Casualty Notification Officer in North Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland.
*The smell of Nuc Mam.
*The heat, dust, and humidity.
*The blue exhaust of cycles clogging the streets.
*Elephants moving silently through the tall grass.
*Hard eyes behind the servile smiles of the villagers.
*Standing on a mountain in Laos and hearing a tiger roar.
*A young girl squeezing my hand as my medic delivered her baby.
*The flowing Ao Dais of the young women biking down Tran Hung Dao.
*My two years as Casualty Notification Officer in North Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland.
It was late 1967. I had just returned after 18 months in Vietnam. Casualties were increasing. I moved my family from Indianapolis to Norfolk, rented a house, enrolled my children in their fifth or sixth new school, and bought a second car. A week later, I put on my uniform and drove 10 miles to Little Creek, Virginia. I hesitated before entering my new office. Appearance is important to career Marines. I was no longer, if ever, a poster Marine. I had returned from my third tour in Vietnam only 30 days before. At 5’9″, I now weighed 128 pounds – 37 pounds below my normal weight. My uniforms fit ludicrously, my skin was yellow from malaria medication, and I think I had a twitch or two.
I straightened my shoulders, walked into the office, looked at the nameplate on a Staff Sergeant’s desk and said, “Sergeant Jolly, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Goodson. Here are my orders and my Qualification Jacket.”
Sergeant Jolly stood, looked carefully at me, took my orders, stuck out his hand; we shook and he asked, “How long were you there, Colonel?” I replied, “18 months this time.”
Jolly breathed, “you must be a slow learner, Colonel.” I smiled. Jolly said, “Colonel, I’ll show you to your office and bring in the Sergeant Major. I said, “No, let’s just go straight to his office.” Jolly nodded, hesitated, and lowered his
voice, “Colonel, the Sergeant Major. He’s been in this job two years. He’s packed pretty tight. I’m worried about him.” I nodded.
voice, “Colonel, the Sergeant Major. He’s been in this job two years. He’s packed pretty tight. I’m worried about him.” I nodded.
Jolly escorted me into the Sergeant Major’s office. “Sergeant Major, this is Colonel Goodson, the new Commanding Office. The Sergeant Major stood, extended his hand and said, “Good to see you again, Colonel.” I responded, “Hello Walt, how are you?” Jolly looked at me, raised an eyebrow, walked out, and closed the door. I sat down with the Sergeant Major. We had the obligatory cup of coffee and talked about mutual acquaintances. Walt’s stress was palpable.
Finally, I said, “Walt, what’s the hell’s wrong?” He turned his chair, looked out the window and said, “George, you’re going to wish you were back in Nam before you leave here. I’ve been in the Marine Corps since 1939. I was in the Pacific 36 months, Korea for 14 months, and Vietnam for 12 months. Now I come here to bury these kids. I’m putting my letter in. I can’t take it anymore.” I said, “OK Walt. If that’s what you want, I’ll endorse your request for retirement and do what I can to push it through Headquarters Marine Corps.”
Sergeant Major Walt Xxxxx retired 12 weeks later. He had been a good Marine for 28 years, but he had seen too much death and too much suffering. He was used up.
Over the next 16 months, I made 28 death notifications, conducted 28 military funerals, and made 30 notifications to the families of Marines that were severely wounded or missing in action. Most of the details of those casualty notifications have now, thankfully, faded from memory. Four, however, remain.
*MY FIRST NOTIFICATION*
My third or fourth day in Norfolk, I was notified of the death of a 19 year old Marine. This notification came by telephone from Headquarters Marine Corps. The information detailed:
*Name, rank, and serial number.
*Name, address, and phone number of next of kin.
*Date of and limited details about the Marine’s death.
*Approximate date the body would arrive at the Norfolk Naval Air Station.
*A strong recommendation on whether the casket should be opened or closed.
*Name, rank, and serial number.
*Name, address, and phone number of next of kin.
*Date of and limited details about the Marine’s death.
*Approximate date the body would arrive at the Norfolk Naval Air Station.
*A strong recommendation on whether the casket should be opened or closed.
The boy’s family lived over the border in North Carolina, about 60 miles away. I drove there in a Marine Corps staff car. Crossing the state line into North Carolina, I stopped at a small country store/service station/Post Office. I went in to ask directions. Three people were in the store. A man and woman approached the small Post Office window. The man held a package. The Store owner walked up and addressed them by name, “Hello John. Good morning Mrs. Cooper.”
I was stunned. My casualty’s next-of-kin’s name was John Cooper! I hesitated, then stepped forward and said, “I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. and Mrs. John Cooper of (address)?”
The father looked at me-I was in uniform – and then, shaking, bent at the waist, he vomited. His wife looked horrified at him and then at me. Understanding came into her eyes and she collapsed in slow motion. I think I caught her before she hit the floor. The owner took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer and handed it to Mr. Cooper who drank. I answered their questions for a few minutes. Then I drove them home in my staff car. The store owner locked the store and followed in their truck. We stayed an hour or so until the family began arriving. I returned the store owner to his business. He thanked me and said, “Mister, I wouldn’t have your job for a million dollars.” I shook his hand and said; “Neither would I.” I vaguely remember the drive back to Norfolk. Violating about five Marine Corps regulations, I drove the staff car straight to my house. I sat with my family while they ate dinner, went into the den, closed the door, and sat there all night, alone. My Marines steered clear of me for days. I had made my first death notification.
*THE FUNERALS*
Weeks passed with more notifications and more funerals. I borrowed Marines from the local Marine Corps Reserve and taught them to conduct a military funeral: how to carry a casket, how to fire the volleys and how to fold the flag. When I presented the flag to the mother, wife, or father, I always said, “All Marines share in your grief.” I had been
instructed to say, “On behalf of a grateful nation….” I didn’t think the nation was grateful, so I didn’t say that.
instructed to say, “On behalf of a grateful nation….” I didn’t think the nation was grateful, so I didn’t say that.
Sometimes, my emotions got the best of me and I couldn’t speak. When that happened, I just handed them the flag and touched a shoulder. They would look at me and nod. Once a mother said to me, “I’m so sorry you have this terrible job.” My eyes filled with tears and I leaned over and kissed her.
*ANOTHER NOTIFICATION*
Six weeks after my first notification, I had another. This was a young PFC. I drove to his mother’s house. As always, I was in uniform and driving a Marine Corps staff car. I parked in front of the house, took a deep breath, and walked towards the house. Suddenly the door flew open, a middle-aged woman rushed out. She looked at me and ran across the yard, screaming “NO! NO! NO! NO!” I hesitated. Neighbors came out. I ran to her, grabbed her, and whispered stupid things to reassure her. She collapsed. I picked her up and carried her into the house. Eight or nine neighbors followed. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the father came in followed by ambulance personnel. I have no recollection of
leaving. The funeral took place about two weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his head sadly.
leaving. The funeral took place about two weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his head sadly.
*ANOTHER NOTIFICATION*
One morning, as I walked in the office, the phone was ringing. Sergeant Jolly held the phone up and said, “You’ve
got another one, Colonel.” I nodded, walked into my office, picked up the phone, took notes, thanked the officer
making the call, I have no idea why, and hung up. Jolly, who had listened, came in with a special Telephone Directory
that translates telephone numbers into the person’s address and place of employment.
The father of this casualty was a Longshoreman. He lived a mile from my office. I called the Longshoreman’s Union Office and asked for the Business Manager. He answered the phone, I told him who I was, and asked for the father’s schedule. The Business Manager asked, “Is it his son?” I said nothing. After a moment, he said, in a low voice, “Tom is at home today.” I said, “Don’t call him. I’ll take care of that.” The Business Manager said, “Aye, Aye Sir,” and then explained, “Tom and I were Marines in WWII.”
got another one, Colonel.” I nodded, walked into my office, picked up the phone, took notes, thanked the officer
making the call, I have no idea why, and hung up. Jolly, who had listened, came in with a special Telephone Directory
that translates telephone numbers into the person’s address and place of employment.
The father of this casualty was a Longshoreman. He lived a mile from my office. I called the Longshoreman’s Union Office and asked for the Business Manager. He answered the phone, I told him who I was, and asked for the father’s schedule. The Business Manager asked, “Is it his son?” I said nothing. After a moment, he said, in a low voice, “Tom is at home today.” I said, “Don’t call him. I’ll take care of that.” The Business Manager said, “Aye, Aye Sir,” and then explained, “Tom and I were Marines in WWII.”
I got in my staff car and drove to the house. I was in uniform. I knocked and a woman in her early forties answered the door. I saw instantly that she was clueless. I asked, “Is Mr. Smith home?” She smiled pleasantly and responded, “Yes, but he’s eating breakfast now. Can you come back later?” I said, “I’m sorry. It’s important. I need to see him now.” She nodded, stepped back into the beach house and said, “Tom, it’s for you.”
A moment later, a ruddy man in his late forties, appeared at the door. He looked at me, turned absolutely pale, steadied himself, and said, “Jesus Christ man, he’s only been there three weeks!”
Months passed. More notifications and more funerals. Then one day while I was running, Sergeant Jolly stepped outside the building and gave a loud whistle, two fingers in his mouth…… I never could do that….. and held an imaginary phone to his ear.
Another call from Headquarters Marine Corps. I took notes, said, “Got it.” and hung up. I had stopped saying “Thank You” long ago.
Jolly, “Where?” Me, “Eastern Shore of Maryland. The father is a retired Chief Petty Officer. His brother will accompany the body back from Vietnam….” Jolly shook his head slowly, straightened, and then said, “This time of day, it’ll take three hours to get there and back. I’ll call the Naval Air Station and borrow a helicopter. And I’ll have Captain Tolliver get one of his men to meet you and drive you to the Chief’s home.”
He did, and 40 minutes later, I was knocking on the father’s door. He opened the door, looked at me, then looked at the Marine standing at parade rest beside the car, and asked, “Which one of my boys was it, Colonel?” I stayed a couple of hours, gave him all the information, my office and home phone number and told him to call me, anytime. He called me that evening about 2300 (11:00PM). “I’ve gone through my boy’s papers and found his will. He asked to be buried at sea. Can you make that happen?” I said, “Yes I can, Chief. I can and I will.”
My wife who had been listening said, “Can you do that?” I told her, “I have no idea. But I’m going to break my ass trying.” I called Lieutenant General Alpha Bowser, Commanding General, Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, at home about 2330, explained the situation, and asked, “General, can you get me a quick appointment with the Admiral at Atlantic Fleet Headquarters?” General Bowser said,” George, you be there tomorrow at 0900. He will see you.”
I was and the Admiral did. He said coldly, “How can the Navy help the Marine Corps, Colonel?” I told him the story. He turned to his Chief of Staff and said, “Which is the sharpest destroyer in port?” The Chief of Staff responded with a
name. The Admiral called the ship, “Captain, you’re going to do a burial at sea. You’ll report to a Marine Lieutenant Colonel Goodson until this mission is completed… “
He hung up, looked at me, and said, “The next time you need a ship, Colonel, call me. You don’t have to sic Al Bowser on my ass.” I responded, “Aye Aye, Sir” and got the hell out of his office. I went to the ship and met with the Captain, Executive Officer, and the Senior Chief. Sergeant Jolly and I trained the ship’s crew for four days. Then Jolly raised a question none of us had thought of. He said, “These government caskets are air tight. How do we keep it from
floating?”
All the high priced help, including me, sat there looking dumb. Then the Senior Chief stood and said, “Come on Jolly. I know a bar where the retired guys from World War II hang out.” They returned a couple of hours later, slightly the worst for wear, and said, “It’s simple; we cut four 12″ holes in the outer shell of the casket on each side and insert 300 lbs. of lead in the foot end of the casket. We can handle that, no sweat.”
The day arrived. The ship and the sailors looked razor sharp. General Bowser, the Admiral, a US Senator, and a Navy Band were on board. The sealed casket was brought aboard and taken below for modification. The ship got underway to the 12-fathom depth. The sun was hot. The ocean flat. The casket was brought aft and placed on a catafalque. The Chaplin spoke. The volleys were fired. The flag was removed, folded, and I gave it to the father. The band played “Eternal Father Strong to Save.” The casket was raised slightly at the head and it slid into the sea.
The heavy casket plunged straight down about six feet. The incoming water collided with the air pockets in the outer shell. The casket stopped abruptly, rose straight out of the water about three feet, stopped, and slowly slipped back into the sea. The air bubbles rising from the sinking casket sparkled in the sunlight as the casket disappeared from sight forever….
The next morning I called a personal friend, Lieutenant General Oscar Peatross, at Headquarters Marine Corps and
said, “General, get me out of here. I can’t take this anymore.” I was transferred two weeks later. I was a good Marine but, after 17 years, I had seen too much death and too much suffering. I was used up.
said, “General, get me out of here. I can’t take this anymore.” I was transferred two weeks later. I was a good Marine but, after 17 years, I had seen too much death and too much suffering. I was used up.
Vacating the house, my family and I drove to the office in a two-car convoy. I said my goodbyes. Sergeant Jolly walked out with me. He waved at my family, looked at me with tears in his eyes, came to attention, saluted, and said, “Well Done, Colonel. Well Done.” I felt as if I had received the Medal of Honor!
A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a blank check made payable to ‘The United States of America for an amount of up to and including their life.’ That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no
longer understand it.’
Centinel2012 