TOGB

George created this blog in July to share his thoughts on currents events, as well as memories, with us. More of his writing will be posted here in the new future.

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Obituary

George Maxim Lindsay, 88, died in his San Francisco home on September 3rd. He was a highly decorated retired Army officer with a keen interest in contemporary politics and foreign affairs. His views appeared often in S. F. Chronicle’s Letters to the Editors and in “Two Cents”.

He served in combat in the Pacific theater in WWII, and in Army Intelligence in the Korean conflict, receiving the Purple Heart, two Bronze Stars, and numerous other combat medals. He retired from the Army, after 26 years of service, with the rank of Lt. Colonel.

His last assignment in the Army was as Professor of Military Science at the University of Scranton. In addition to traditional courses like strategy and tactics, he strove to develop leaders and to teach future officers how to survive in the culture and hierarchy of the army. Then, as many of his graduating students were sent to Vietnam, the focus turned to surviving the war. Like many Americans, Lt. Col. Lindsay’s ideas evolved during the course of that war. Initially, he shared the official analysis, but in time, as he heard the experiences of his former students who were now officers in that war, he became an outspoken critic. When he retired from the Army he was free to express his views publicly; he became “Mister” George M. Lindsay, and no longer used his military title -- except when affixing his signature to one of his many strong letters opposing that war, and each of the wars that followed. Many of his letters, on this and other issues of current affairs, appeared in the Chronicle.

He was born in Westborough, MA on May 29, 1919 to George Maxim Lindsay, Jr. and Alice Ward Lindsay. His father, a volunteer fireman, was killed in the line of duty when George was only eight. His mother found work as a housekeeper in a psychiatric hospital to support George and his four younger siblings - brothers John, Harry, and Jim, and sister Margaret.

He married Bettye Macker Baker, also of Westborough, in 1942, on the eve of his departure for war. They had two daughters, Kris and Vicki, and enjoyed 37 years of marriage until Bettye’s death from cancer in 1979.

After the war, George Lindsay’s life horizon suddenly expanded. The GI Bill enabled him to attend Boston University, where he excelled as a student, and completed a Bachelor’s degree in only two years. Grateful for the blossoming opportunities his Army service had brought him, when he was called up for the Korean conflict he reenlisted and became a career Army officer.

When he retired from the Army in 1965 he settled in San Francisco and became the director of the Culinary Arts Program at the Job Corps Center in Pleasanton, CA. and later joined Cooper Construction Company.

In 1983 he met and married Danielle Salmon, a native of France. Throughout their 24 years of marriage the couple enjoyed being called “the lovebirds”, and even in their eighties had fun scandalizing the prudish with expressions of affection for each other – eliciting exclamations of “At your age?”

Though he was multiply decorated for valor in war, he took more pride in courageous acts off the battlefield, especially those occasions when he had stood up to the powerful on behalf of someone he felt was being wronged, especially when that wrong was due to prejudice. He stood up to bullies. He defended the rights of Japanese civilians in occupied Japan, of black soldiers in the newly-integrated army, and of disenfranchised young men in Job Corps. When vulnerable people asked George Lindsay for help he considered it an honor, and was willing to risk job and career by challenging high authorities, especially when he considered them to be pompous or incompetent.

George Lindsay was greatly admired for his intellect and his encyclopedic knowledge. He was a voracious reader and surrounded himself with reference books. He seemed to know almost everything, but children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren knew that whenever a discussion hinged on an unknown fact they would be pointed in the right direction and told to “look it up.” He also seemed to know how to do most everything practical -- building, plumbing, wiring, cooking, etc. – and he was a lifelong teacher; well into his 80s, he conducted a daily cooking class for his visiting grandson. He was a lifelong student, as well, especially of history and foreign affairs. Just two months before his death, at age 88, he launched a blog to share his ideas about current world affairs, as well as some of his memoirs.

He was affectionately called The Old Grey Bear, or TOGB, for short. The genesis of the name was an incident that was emblematic of his sense of duty and his strength of personality. Acting in community theater was a hobby for many years. He once played the role of a tough Russian fur trader in an epic about the history of Alaska. There was a fight scene. Rather than use conventional stage choreography he insisted his opponent throw him with real force, for the sake of realism. Unfortunately, someone had left a prop on the stage; when he fell hard on it his back was broken in three places. “The show must go on.” He finished the performance with a broken back, including, remarkably, an acrobatic fencing scene. The gritty character he was portraying called himself ‘The Big Black Bear’, and his fellow actors began calling him by that name instead of George. When his hair was no longer black he himself changed the moniker to The Old Grey Bear. He was known affectionately by that name for the rest of his life.

He is survived by his wife, Danielle, two daughters, a son-in-law, a grandson and his wife, two great-grand children, a brother, and numerous nieces, nephews and in-laws.

A Memorial Mass will be celebrated by Fr. Charles R. Gagan, S.J., on September 15, 6 PM, Saint Ignatius Church, San Francisco.

Memorial gifts may be made to The St. Anthony Foundation.

Mundo, my Good Soldier - A Recollection

May 18, 1945 was V - E Day in Europe, but it was just another day on the battlefield for us.

General Yamashita, the “Butcher of Nanking” was still at large in the hills of Northern Luzon. Although we knew the war was coming to and end, the enemy didn’t have much more room to retreat to. We also knew we faced more months of brutal combat.

My first encounter with him was less than formal. On my way to breakfast I cameupon a garbage can. Over the edge was a little, bare brown backside with two skinny bare legs. The upper body was deep in the bowels of the odiferous mess. As a hard-nosedrifle company commander this offended my sense of “good order and discipline”, I grabbed his sand-bag tunic (his only item of clothing) and pulled him out of the garbage can.

During the long months of the war from the jungles of New Guinea, The Dutch East Indies, and finally, the Philippines, we had little contact with civilians. In New Guinea we used stone-age tribesmen as cargo bearers, but elsewhere we caught only fleeting glimpses of natives scrambling away from the onslaught of modern war. He, all forty pounds of him, lit lightly on his feet and, with a sharp salute, said.”Good Morning Cafitan.” I was looking at the most sparkling, black shiny eyes and the whitest, widest smile I had ever seen.

“What in blazes are you doing in that garbage can? Don’t you know this camp is off limits to civilians?”

“Cafitan, I am hungry. I look for food. “’Mericans throw away very good food.“

“Why are you here? Where are your parents? Don’t you have any family?”

“Sir, my parents are dead. Japs killed them. I have some relatives in Dagupan, But they have no home and, and also very hungry.”

I was annoyed by this intrusion of the realities of the horror and damage war can wreak on non-combatant civilians. However my heart was not brimming with human kindness. I just wanted to get rid of this little brown nuisance.

“What is your name?”

“Sir, My name is “Mundo”

At the time, I was young and unsophisticated, but I knew that, in Spanish “Mundo” meant “World.” I thought it a bit strange but didn’t dwell on it. I took him to the supply tent, asked the Supply Sergeant for a bar of soap and told him to find the smallest fatigue jacket available. I took Mundo to the water trailer.

“Take off your shirt.”

With a big smile, he ducked out of the filthy sandbag and stood there, naked as a worm. I handed him the soap and said, “Clean up.” He looked confused, so I grabbed a big bucket, ran some water into it, pointed to him, then the drum. Splash! Like any normal kid, he jumped up and down in the bucket, spraying water everywhere. I gave him the soap and motioned for him to wash himself. He wasn’t too sure of the concept but soon the suds were flying. I poured a bucket of clear water over his head and marched him, naked as a jaybird back to the supply tent.

The Supply Sergeant found a fatigue jacket that came down to his knees. The combat boots were size five, about two sizes too big. This done, I told the Supply Sergeant to take Mundo to the Mess Tent, to give him breakfast and to have the Mess Sergeant give him a sack lunch he could take with him. I thought my brief association with Mundo was finished. How little I knew.

Private Purifoy, the slow-witted soldier who doubled as an officers’ orderly when he wasn’t carrying ammunition in combat, was serving breakfast. He brought pancakes, bacon, and canned fruit juice, and when he returned with the coffee, right behind him was Mundo with a tray of syrup, sugar and evaporated milk, with those sparkling eyes and wide, radiant smile. I was not amused.

My job was to fight a war. We had the Red Cross and Civil Affairs units to take care of refugees and other non-combatant casualties of war. I had neither the inclinationion nor the facilities to house and feed a war orphan. With Mundo, I was direct and to the point.

“You cannot stay here. This is an army camp. Civilians are not allowed. You want to help, but I have a soldier to do that. You cannot stay here. So, you understand?”

Another big smile. “Cafitan, I clean your tent, wash your clothes. I do many things, I clean your guns, I like to be here. Merican soldiers laugh and tell jokes. I be no trouble. O.K.?”

“O.K.? No, it is not O.K. I don’t care how much you can do or how much you like Americans. You cannot stay here! Understand?”

Mundo just stood there, head down. With a mournful look, he said, “I know, Cafitan no like Mundo.” Jeez! What have I got myself into, I told Purifoy to take Mundo to the Mess Tent and to keep him there until I returned. I headed to Regimental Headquarters to ask the Regimental Adjutant what I should do.

“Do? Who do you think you are, Father Flanagan of Boys Town? Kick the little gook out on his butt and tell him, “Don’t come back!”

That it may have been the logical course did not mean it was the best. The little bugger had already gotten under my skin. I visited the Regimental Chaplain and that tower of quivering jelly nattered on about an orphanage or turning him over to the local priest. Hell! The local priest, a Belgian missionary, wasn’t any better off than Mundo. I returned to the Mess Tent. No Mundo. I asked Purifoy where he was. He just spread his hands. “He was here, I turned my back and he was gone.” I thought, ‘Some problems just solve themselves. Mundo has probably just moved to another company’. I went to my tent to get some equipment. In front of all six bunks were our extra combat boots, shined to a mirror finish. Our clothes had been re-hung so they were in an orderly manner, the tent floor had been swept and washed and a bouquet of field flowers was on the field table.

I knew he had to be nearby. I went looking in the company area and found him, with a group of soldiers demonstrating “hacky-sack” or “foot-bag.” The soldiers were in a circle and Mundo, barefooted, was demonstrating his skill. One of the soldiers said, “Hell. I can do that!” Mundo handed him the woven ball and the kid kicked it clear over everyone’s head. When they saw me they all came to attention, but I grabbed Mundo as he whizzed by.

“That’s enough for you young man. Get your boots and come with me.” At the Orderly tent, I told the First Sergeant, “Find Herman. Hermanihildo Pagulayan was a company cook, and the only Filipino in the Regiment. He was also a native of PangasinanProvince, Mundo’s home territory. When he arrived I told him, “Herman, find out where Mundo’s relatives live. Fill the jeep with food and blankets; don’t let him out of your sight until he is with his family. Understand?”

“Sir, I will watch over him very carefully and deliver him to his family.”

“How do you know where he lives?”

Herman replied, “Oh everyone knows about Mundo. He has been scrounging in every garbage can in the regiment. He has an uncle and aunt in Dagupan. It isn’t hard to find people in the barrios.” Herman had Mundo by the hand and was walking away when Mundo stopped, planted both feet, looked up at me and said. “Cafitan, you no like Mundo?”

After years of bloody fighting, sending and leading men into combat, desensitized by all the carnage and blood, this simple reproach hit me right in the gut. “Mundo, I like you very much. I think you are a very remarkable boy. But we are fighting a war. There is no place in a rifle company for an eight year old boy. You must return to your relatives.”

“I am not eight. I am half-past eight, almost nine. I help you very much. Not get in way.”

Again, I said, “I am sorry Mundo you cannot stay here” I walked away feeling lower than a snake’s belly. The day went on. I went about my normal routine and the memory of Mundo gradually faded into the background. By 2300 I was bushed. When “Taps” sounded I left my desk and went to my tent. As I walked up the path, out of the gloom came the image of my little brown nemesis. “Mundo! What are you doing here? Didn’t Private Purifoy take you to Dagupan?”

“Oh yes, Cafitan, I have nice ride in jeep. My aunt and uncle thank you very mush for food and blankets. I jump in back of truck to come back here.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“No food in Dagupan. The food in the jeep taken by whole village. Everybody sad. Here much food, ‘Merican soldiers laugh, tell jokes, be nice to Mundo. I stay here.”

2330 is no time to discuss the care and feeding of war orphans. I gave him a blanket and told him to sleep on the floor. When I got up, Mundo was gone. The blanket was folded at the foot of my cot. I washed, shaved and went to breakfast. Of course, there was Mundo, standing beside the Mess Tent. “Good morning, Cafitan!”

My reply was less than genial. The other officers thought it was a kick. But they didn’t have to deal with it. I drove to Division Headquarters to visit with (LTC) Fr. Patrick Daley, the Division Chaplain. In general, I had little respect for military chaplains but Fr. Daley was the real thing, a tough priest from Chicago, used to dealing with hunger and poverty. I hoped he could help me. After I explained my predicament, he said, “Son, you may be making more out of this than is necessary. How long do you think you have until the invasion?”

“Two, three weeks, tops.”

“Then relax. You can find some relief agency and dump him off and feel guilty about it, but it looks to me as if he has found a home with Capt. Lindsay. It might be a good thingfor you to get that ramrod out of your butt and enjoy the little tyke. This youngster has spent over half of his life under brutal occupation. His parents have been murdered, and he has just endured a devastating invasion. You are the only person in a long time to recognize that he is a human being and not some flotsam or jetsam. A little act of human kindness will not hurt you. When you return to combat, the problem will solve itself.”

More or less relieved, I returned to my company. Many times soldiers are smarter than their officers. I had been gone but a short time, but while I was away, two sergeants took Mundo to the barrio. They brought some Class “X” clothing, unusable items and hired a “madre” to make him a uniform. When I returned, Mundo was in full uniform, overseas cap and all. Someone had even found him a new pair of shoes. When I got out of the Jeep, Mundo, squared away in his new uniform saluted and said, “My Cafitan, how you like Mundo now?”

I liked Mundo just fine. After Father Daley’s talk, I decided to enjoy this little “Pinoy” ball of fire. In a military camp he would not be allowed to just hang around, so Mundo became Pvt. Purifoy’s assistant. Even at his young age, he had more on the ball than Purifoy would ever have. The officers’ tent and the area off the officers’ mess were squared away and Mundo was looking for more work. After he had been in camp for a couple of days, Mundo said to me after lunch, “Cafitan, Sir. Do ‘Merican soldiers like to eat in small, hot tent?”

“No, Mundo, they don’t. But in this season the rains are coming so often, they have to eat under some kind of cover.”

“Mundo fix!” and off he ran. He returned a half-hour later with a dark-skinned, bandy-legged little man. Mundo Said, “Cafitan! This Emilio, he good builder.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but Emilio bowed (4 years of Japanese occupation will do that) and motioned to the mess tent. He made motions with his hands to indicate some kind of house. Of course he spoke no English. Mundo broke in, “Cafitan, Emilio build bamboo mess hall!”

“That’s fine, Mundo, but tell Emilio that we have no money and no materials to build a mess hall.”

After a quick exchange, Mundo said, “Emilio and his men no want pay. Maybe little food. Mericans very good to Filipinos, no starve, no torture, no rape women. Very happy to make bamboo house for Merican soldier to eat in.” I was really touched by this expression of gratitude for just doing our duty.

Mundo said, “Cafitan, Emilio ask Cafitan to make plan to build house, I explained I had taken a few drafting lessons in school but I had no material or instruments to make a proper plan. Emilio and Mundo put their heads together and then broke out laughing. “No! No! Cafitan, no plan on paper - just show Emilio on ground where Mess Hall will go.” I sent Mundo to the Supply Tent. He returned with an armload of tent stakes and a sledge hammer. At the Mess area, I drove a stake about two feet from each corner of the Mess tent. That was the “Plan”. To Mundo, “When can he start? From Emilio, “Tomorrow morning, sir, early.”

The following morning while at breakfast, I heard men shouting. From a nearby wooded area came a large group of men carrying bamboo poles and palm branches. And in the lead was Mundo. They went right to the Mess tent. The company was eating breakfast in the tent. I stood in amazement as they proceeded to erect a building right over the occupied tent. By the time “First Call For Drill” sounded (0800) they had the entire frame of a twenty by forty foot building lashed together. This was a sight to behold, forty-five or fifty Filipino men, scrambling around like acrobats, palm fronds flying, with Emilio giving instructions very quietly. By noon the building was complete, and by supper time they had scrounged enough tables and chairs from the bombed-out buildings to complete the job. As they were preparing to leave, the Mess Sergeant invited them to supper. Hermanajildo had prepared Bacalhau - a traditional Filipino meal made from codfish, potatoes, onions and herbs. Some of the workmen actually had tears in their eyes as they ate the food. One said I have not eaten this dish since before the war. We made a lot of friends that day.

All good things must come to an end. After about ten days of enjoying our new facilities. I received a message from Regiment that we would have to back to Camp 4 to reinforce the battalion that relieved us. The battalion commander said he could not hold out against the opposition. We had to say good-bye to Mundo. We filled the jeep with food and supplies and sent him off. This was the hard part. Mundo, who - despite the tragedies he had endured - had always been so buoyant, so upbeat and such a delightful presence, was now just a sad, mournful little boy. “Please, Cafitan.” he said, “I help you much. I carry your rifle, dig your foxhole, get your food, anything you want, Please, please Cafitan, Mundo go with you.” I was tempted but we were going back into battle. Mundo did not cry, but when I told him to get into the jeep, he put both arms around my legs and hugged me - hard. I had a lump in my throat. Then he stepped back, saluted and climbed into the jeep.

We went into the mountains that afternoon. We picked up extra rations and ammunition and moved up the trail. Along the side of the trail were the bloated, blackened bodies of the enemy we had killed two weeks ago, just before we were relieved. What kind of outfit were we assisting that wouldn’t even bury enemy dead? The following morning, we attacked and took the enemy position and relieved the “surrounded” battalion. I called Col. Cavenee, told him we had completed our mission, and asked when we could leave. He said, “We are pulling that battalion out for reorganization. They have some real leadership problems. You will have to hold the position for a few days.” My company, which already had more days in combat than any other, was not too thrilled at the news, but they were well disciplined. We reorganized near the top of the hill and dug in. The platoon that had taken the hill had done such a good job that we were subjected to only sporadic long-range machine-gun fire during the day.

Late that afternoon the Mess Truck arrived. They hand-carried the marmite cansin. It was inconvenient and relatively dangerous, but I believed in serving troops a hotmeal whenever possible. The kitchen crew was always subject to the jibes of being “rear-echelon” commandos. As the mess truck went down the hill, I spotted some movement behind a small hummock. Thinking that an enemy soldier had infiltrated our position, I raised my tommy gun. Mundo jumped up, and with a big grin said. “Cafitan! I am back!”

Dumbfounded, I said, “How in blazes did you get up here?”

“I hitch-hike, get ride on Red Ball express, then I get under Mess truck when it stopped at bottom of hill. I hide in space where spare tire goes. Nobody see Mundo.”

This little bugger really ticked me off. We are now in combat. We are under fire. And I have to deal with this. I couldn’t spare anyone to take him the thirty miles down to base camp. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

“I want to be with Cafitan, I be good soldier.”

Everything was quiet for about two hours, and then all hell broke loose. Mortar and grenade rounds were exploding all over the perimeter. The “crack” as 9-millimeter machine-gun bullets whizzed by was unnerving, I said, “Mundo, you O.K.?”

Shaky voice. “I be good soldier, Cafitan”. Just then, a mortar round exploded on the strip of ground between our foxholes, It was super-contact fused so the shell fragments sprayed all over but missed our foxholes. Before the flying dirt and shrill fragments had stopped falling, I was hit in the chest by the flying body of my little “GoodSoldier” He grabbed me around the neck, his skinny little body shaking like a leaf.

“Cafitan, Mundo afraid!”

In spite of the combat situation, I had to chuckle. Afraid he might be, but stupid he was not. “Mundo, you are supposed to be afraid when you are in danger, and we are both in great danger now. I am also afraid.”

“Mundo ashamed. I want to be brave, but I act like scared chicken, I am sorry I act like coward, I am very ashamed,” I could feel his little heart beating like a trip-hammer as he clutched me. I thought, ‘how did I ever allow this magnificent kid to get into this situation?’ I pushed him away gently.

“Mundo, when there is danger, you should be afraid... Now, lie down next to me and KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN!”

The Japanese were very brave, but they were not often stupid. They would not attack through their own artillery fire (as we sometimes did). We were relatively safe as long as the heavy weapons continued to fire. When it stopped we got repeated waves of “Banzai” attacks. Mortar fire detonated a small number of our anti-personnel mines so the first wave of attacks usually suffered heavy casualties. The subsequent attacks took heavy casualties. Even then, some of the fanatics would break through. The subsequent attacks, and they lasted all night, would bring these fanatics in force, usually in hand-to-hand combat. Our first method of defense was to pull the pin on a hand grenade, let the hammer go, hold it for two seconds and throw it. The grenades had four second fuses so they couldn’t throw them back.

The intensity of the battle captured my total concentration. It wasn’t until there was a short lull, when I was talking on a field phone to one of my platoon leaders that I realized that, throughout the fight, Mundo had been loosening the pins on the grenades and reloading the magazines for my tommy gun. In the dim light of the moon, I looked atMundo and he said, “Mundo good soldier now, O.K?”

Dawn came; we buried the enemy dead, evacuated our own dead and wounded reorganized and redistributed ammunition. As we repaired our own communication lines, Mundo made himself useful as a general messenger. It was amazing how quickly a situation that at first had seemed impossible quickly became routine. For the next four nights, with decreasing intensity, we experienced the same “Banzai” attacks. On the morning of the fifth day, I sent one platoon, covered by the other two and the weapons platoon into the enemy position and wiped them out in about thirty minutes. We marched into Camp Jay, the old Army post near Bagio, the summer capital. The old barracks had been bombed into rubble. Mundo pointed out that the dependents quarters had barely been touched. We chain-sawed twenty 14’x14’ squares of hardwood flooring for our tents. We found an old silver mine with a huge pile of crushed quartz. We paved the company street with that.

The war was not over, but the end was near. Yamashita had been captured and we were now “mopping up” small pockets of resistance. Our presence in the Philippines was coming to an end. Our battalion was moved down to the beach to prepare for the invasion of Japan. Mundo’s situation bothered me. I had come to love the little imp. He had proven himself to be a real man in very perilous situations. Whenever I brought up the subject of going back to his remaining family, he would say, “They don’t want me. They have their own children. They have no food for themselves. I stay with Cafitan.”

I wrote to my wife about the possibility of adopting Mundo. He and I had been through things together that few fathers ever have to share with their sons. She seemed relatively receptive but she had a cautionary note. She suggested that I contact my old friend, Father Daley, if for no other reason than to find out the legal aspects of adoption. I went to Baguio and found that Fr. Daley had found some space in the cathedral, which had not been bombed. I explained my plan. Fr. Daley was quiet for a moment, then he said, “What do you plan to do after the war?”

“Get out of the Army and go to college.”

“Where?”

“Boston University.”

With a wry smile, he said, “You could at least have selected a good Jesuit school like Boston College. Will you be living in Boston?”

“Probably, if we can find something we can afford on the G.I. Bill.”

“Son, do you know if there is a Filipino community in the Boston area? Is there any place where he can share his Filipino heritage?”

This thought had never crossed my mind. He continued, “Do you remember how cruel children can be? Do you remember when you were young how kids who wore glasses or were a little overweight were taunted and abused? Can you imagine how third and fourth-grade kids will attack a little brown skinned “foreigner” who talks funny and knows absolutely nothing about the white man’s culture in a big city environment? With the exception of a few transient merchant seamen, how many people speak Tagalog in the greater Boston Area? Do you speak Tagalog?”

I tried to explain how resilient Mundo was, how he had survived the horrors of war, had even taken part in combat operations, how his enthusiasm helped him to rise to every dangerous situation.

Father Daley said, “Mundo will not be living in a combat situation. If he goes with you, he will be in a foreign land, in a foreign culture. He will be subject to bigotry and terrible discrimination that even adults have difficulty handling. You can be called a “Gook” so many times before losing it. You should think over very seriously.”

On my way back to camp, that is exactly what I did, thought about my wife who was suffering from a tropical disease she had picked up, probably in Georgia. And I had a bad case of Malaria and was becoming progressively weaker. All the objections raised by Father Daley seemed more relevant. I could take some solace in the fact that I had not discussed the subject of adoption with anyone else, so it would not be so difficult to adjust to my own thinking. None the less, the final decision was heart rending. I really did love the little guy.

When I returned to camp, there was a message for me to report to RegimentalHeadquarters. When I arrived I was told, with some other officers, to go to Manila to be briefed on the upcoming invasion. When we arrived at Santo Tomas College in Manila, we were directed to the briefing room. On the wall were several maps of Japan, including one large map of southern Honshu. The briefing officer, a Major, informed us that we would be participating in the initial assault on the home islands. When he finished a Colonel stood up and asked, “Do you have any casualty estimates?” The young desk officer said, as if he was counting socks, “Generally we believe the Japanese casualties will exceed ninety percent, based on their previous conduct. If we are successful, our casualties should be relatively light, except for the first two waves, which will probably approach seventy per cent.” This was my “good news.” My company was in the first two waves.

When I returned to camp, amphibious training was ongoing. As lucky as I had been up until now, the idea of making a beach landing on a shore against a fanatic enemy defending their homeland, and the prospect of our battle losses, did nothing for my morale. Training continued. The only bright spot in my life was Mundo.

After a couple of weeks of this we had a short break. I visited a buddy’s AA Battalion just to get away. At the bar, the radio announcer said an ‘Atomic’ bomb had been dropped over Hiroshima, Japan. As I drove back to camp the jubilation emanated from service units along the road, men firing their rifles in the air and whooping it up.When I arrived at my camp, things were very quiet. It dawned on me that combat soldiers, those who had fought the war, sometimes hand to hand, weren’t likely to be firing their weapon in the air, just to make noise. When I entered my Orderly Tent, the Executive Officer and the First Sergeant were there. And Mundo. We all agreed that itwas a good day, and hit the sack.

The next day amphibious training continued per schedule, but there was a buoyancy in the air that was contagious. Two days later, on August 9th, a second Atom bomb was dropped over Nagasaki. It is hard to describe the feeling of deliverance, like being pardoned from a death sentence. It was a deep, quiet sense of relief. No more killing, no more letters of condolence to mothers and widows, no more closing one’s heart to other people’s misery to protect one’s own sanity.

When the surrender took place on the 18th I was detailed to be part of the Advance Party to Japan to prepare for the occupation. I was rather pleased to be selected, the only officer from the regiment, but I realized my relationship with Mundo, the remarkable Pinoy who had so affected my life and whom I had come to love like a son, was about to come an end. I cautioned the First Sergeant to take care of him until the Regiment left, then to find a home for him. Ten days later the Advance Party embarked in an LST for the voyage to Japan.

There was no fanfare, just a few technicians assisting in the embarkation. Mundo stood in front of me, his eyes very solemn. He said, ‘Cafitan, you no come back to Philippines, that is so?” I couldn’t answer. I just nodded my assent, dumbly. “No sweat. Cafitan, Mundo be good soldier anyway.” I reached down to hug him and he jumped up into my arms, with his little legs wrapped around me. Into my chest he murmured, “I miss you very much Cafitan.” I choked up, murmured I will miss you very much too, Mundo.” And set him on his feet.

After I went aboard, I climbed up to the main deck, and went forward to the prow.As the LST edged itself off the beach, there stood my “Good Soldier” Mundo, at attention, tears running down his face, saluting. That was the last time I ever saw him.When the troops arrived in Japan, two weeks later, the First Sergeant informed me that I probably should not worry about Mundo. Two days after I left, Father Daley visited and picked up Mundo. He was only nine years old but war had made him a man. Father Daley had appointed him as an assistant to conduct liaison with displaced persons and orphans, particularly when U.S. relief agencies were involved. I missed the wonderful personality, but at least I did not have to worry about his well-being.

My tour of duty over, I left Japan, got discharged, and went to Boston University.I often thought about Mundo whenever I reflected on my days in the Philippines, but in the press of daily life my memory slowly faded and did not return except on those days when we celebrated the end of the war and such. When Korea erupted, I had just graduated and was called back to active duty. This time to stay.
In 1963, eighteen years since I had left the Philippines, Joe Sullivan, ne of my friends from the Strategic Air Command visited my office. He had heard me talk about Mundo a time or to and he handed me a Filipino English language newspaper and said, “You might get a kick out of this.” On the front page was a photo of a young man with bright, shining eyes and a big smile. The caption read, “Enrico “Mundo” Benguez elected youngest Congressman of the Republic of the Philippines.” It was Mundo, my “good soldier.”

9/11 & Fear

We, the people of the United States, have long forgotten President Roosevelt’s admonition that “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”. Since 9/11/01 we, as a nation, have been quivering in our boots in response to the crude psychological warfare of the Bush administration. A war on terror? It's a war on the American people, and our constitution. For the past six years we have failed to challenge the twisting of facts and the outright lies about the state of the nation and its security. Every turn of events that could possibly threaten the interests of the administration evokes another dire warning to be afraid. The most deplorable aspect of this deception is that they get away with it.

The media asks no questions, Congress asks no questions, and the American people, like sheep, ask no questions. My immigrant grandfather’s proudest boast was that, as a naturalized American citizen, he didn’t have to take anything the government said at face value -- he could challenge it without being thrown in jail. What happened to that spirit?

We are not excused by the fact that the mainstream media is owned by the multinational corporations, or that PBS has been emasculated. We still have the Internet and, for all its faults, real news and information can be gleaned from there. But the American public sits in front of the tube and ingests the hate-filled claptrap manufactured by Bush/Cheney and distributed by The Washington Times, Fox News, and thousands of right wing talk shows that fill the airways, day and night, with dire warnings of the impending danger to the country. Fear, and the threat of fear, drips from every detail in the stories.

The administration is so deep in deception now that it couldn't tell the truth if it wanted to. All of the lies about 9/11 are unraveling like an old sweater. Seven of the nineteen 9/11 "hijackers" have been reported to still be alive. The destruction of building seven was clearly the result of a planned, prepared demolition. Video tapes of the building’s fall clearly show the “squibs” exploding as the building fell. Never before - or since - has a steel reinforced building collapsed because of a collision with a commercial airplane. Or from fire. Jet fuel is refined kerosene and could not possibly generate enough heat to melt commercial steel. The diffuse fires ignited by jet fuel brought the building to no more than 450 degrees F. Reinforced structural steel melts at around 1500 degrees F. Fire did not bring the buildings down.

My purpose is not to argue about whether there was a conspiracy - unless one thinks that a single individual could have hijacked, flown, and crashed four planes simultaneously, one has already accepted that there was a 9/11 conspiracy. My purpose is to point out that all the inconsistent lies of 9/11 have been accepted by the vast majority of the American people as a true account. We go about our business untroubled by the duplicitous role played by the government in the cover-up. We quiver in our bones about some new unknown doom about to descend on us from afar - and are blind to the threat from within.

A tyrannical government is riding roughshod over the constitution and the fearful people cower and await the next pronouncement of doom. This is no longer the country I fought for.

Another Republican Hypocrite

The party of “Family Values” and “Morality” seems to have a continuous flow of anti-gay legislators, who rail against same sex marriage, against any bill that proposes equal rights for gays, condemn the so-called “gay life-style” and then when they come out from under their rocks we discover that they are closet homosexuals or pederasts.

The majority of my friends in San Francisco are gay. I would not trade these good people, as friends, for any other group I know or have known. But none of my friends are hypocrites. They accept their sexual orientation and live with it with dignity.These two-faced scums, on the other hand, hide their homosexuality behind a façade of anti-gay and holier-than-thou attitudes, trying to hide something of which they are ashamed and hope no one will find out. Whatever negative values these two-faced creeps find in gays, the depravity of their own hypocrisy should drive what conscience they still have to utter desperation.

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Soldiers Speak Out

The Defense Department used the services of two scholars from the Brookings Institution, experts on Middle East affairs, to visit Iraq for eight days and render a report. This was a guided tour. The two scholars were never out of contact with their military hosts. Not surprisingly, the report that was rendered painted a fairly optimistic view of the U.S. situation in Iraq.

In contrast, The New York Times Sunday Edition published an op-ed article by seven non-commissioned officers from the 82d Airborne Division as they were completing a one year combat tour in Iraq. Also, not surprisingly, the soldiers’ report varied substantially from that of the Brookings Institution. It is unusual for professional soldiers to go outside the chain of command to make their views known. The discipline ingrained in these men makes such an action almost unheard of.

The Brookings Report is just one more attempt at psychological warfare that the Administration does so unsubtly - but which works so well. They have fully conditioned the American people, with the eager aid of the corporate media, to accept the continuous stream of lies emanating from the Pentagon and the White House.

What does the future hold for the courageous sergeants who have told the truth? The Army has ways of putting a plug in an individual’s career, sometimes by an act as simple as an adverse notation in his service record. These young men performed a courageous act. They should not be punished for it. As an old soldier, I would take the word of a Sergeant every time against some “scholar.” The very discipline by which they live demands accountability of leaders.

And where are the officers in this affair? If seven sergeants considered it their duty to make this report, weren’t the same situations obvious to the Lieutenants, Captains, Majors and Lieutenant Colonels, all individuals subject to the relatively the same combat conditions as the Sergeants?

This is a situation that bears watching. What will happen to the Sergeants? What will the Division spokesmen have to say? What will the Defense Department’s response be? And what lies will the White House have to deliver to defuse this situation?

It is the duty of every citizen and every member of congress to keep an eye on this situation.

The soldiers' op-ed piece is the only bit of truth about this war that has come from a government source. Here is an excerpt :

At the same time the most important front in the counterinsurgency, improving basic social and economic conditions, is the one on which we have failed most miserably. Two million Iraqis are in refugee camps in bordering countries, close to two million more are internally displaced and now fill many urban slums. Cities lack regular electricity, telephone services and sanitation. “Lucky Iraqis live in gated communities barricaded with concrete blast walls that provide them with a sense of communal claustrophobia rather than any sense of security we would consider normal.

In a lawless environment where men with guns rule the streets, engaging in the banalities of life has become a death-defying act. Four years into our occupation, we have failed on every promise, while we have substituted Baath tyranny with a tyranny of Islamist, militia and criminal violence. When the primary preoccupation of average Iraqis is when and how they are likely to be killed, we can hardly feel smug as we hand out care packages. As an Iraqi man told us a few days ago with deep resignation, “We need security, not free food.”

In the end, we need to recognize that our presence may have released Iraqis from the grip of a tyrant, but it has also robbed them of their self-respect. They will soon realize that the best way to regain dignity is to call us what we are - an army of occupation - and force our withdrawal.

Ambushes and Suicides

What is happening? According to the Pentagon, the current United States Army is the best trained, best equipped., best educated and most intelligent, the country has ever seen. They are also the best paid. A couple of nagging questions keep popping up. Every other day we read, “U.S. Army unit ambushed.” How can this be? Our troops are equipped with night vision equipment, sound and motion sensors, and any number of hi-tech security devices, yet our troops are continually caught off guard by our rag-tag enemy?

Now we read that the suicide rate has spiked to the highest level in more than a quarter of a century. How can this be true? These troops are all “volunteers”, “Professional soldiers” who receive $20,000 and $150,000 to reenlist. . Even though comparisons are always odious, the soldiers of WWII, ninety-eight percent of whom were draftees, disliked the Army, and was promised nothing more than the “thanks from your friends and neighbors", and a “ruptured duck” pin to show that he had served, yet there was no epidemic of suicides.

Could it be that the troubles the Army now faces are a result of its “All Volunteer” status? Since its inception, the Regular Army has adopted an “us vs. them” attitude, “us” being the organized, efficient truly patriotic force and “them” being the sloppy, undisciplined louts who do drugs and have no feeling of patriotic duty – i.e. civilians. This attitude of exclusiveness tends to breed a kind of incestuous feeling that sets the soldier apart from the civilian he is fighting for. The “Band of Brothers” can become an exclusive club from which civilians are excluded because “they don’t understand.” And for the most part, they don’t.

But both ambushes and suicides come back to the problem of leadership or lack of it. If we study the history of elite military units, almost invariably their uniqueness, their elitism, leads to over-confidence and assumptions that “we can do anything” without daily attention to details. But leadership is a never-ending duty that requires constant vigilance. If the officers were executing their leadership responsibilities this best trained and best equipped Army would not be decimated by ambushes and suicides.

People Against the War

An Open Letter to Bill Wattenburg

Dr. Wattenburg:

Your claim that people who are against the war in Iraq want the United States to lose could not be more wrong or misinformed. It may be true of a few wingnuts, but we have always had wingnuts. In the Revolution, they were called "Loyalists" in WW II they were called "America Firsters", their spokesman being Col. Charles Lindberg. But they did not represent the majority of the American people anymore than today’s loudmouths do – whether from the left or the right.

As a scientist you know all too well how dangerous blanket generalized statements can be. I am not against the soldiers; I am against the leadership of this war. As a career soldier, I hold the American Soldier to be the finest example of all the attributes we hold dear. They are brave. They are dedicated. "Duty” and “Country" are not mere words that fall from the tongue; they are standards that soldiers live by. In the scores of battles in which I participated, I have always been amazed at the number of soldiers who risked - sometimes gave - their lives to protect their buddies. I owe my own life to a couple of these heroes.

You are right on one point. The fact that we were lied into this war is history. We can't do anything about that. But we can do one thing - we can provide decent military leadership to the valiant troops who are fighting this war. When the prime consideration for selecting a General is political and religious affiliation, we are whipped. When we dismiss an Airborne, Ranger qualified General like Shinseki, and replace him with a striped-pants diplomat like J. Paul Bremer whose only qualification for his staff was that they be "Christians" and loyal Republicans, it’s not surprising that the outcome is one of the greatest military blunders in United States military history -- disbanding the National Army and Police, sending them home with their weapons, thus turning possible allies into an angry, armed and unemployed mob.

In the selection of senior commanders in Iraq, the PNAC and the Christian Embassy are calling the shots. If this continues, countless more valiant soldiers will die and the United States will continue its circular firing squad in Baghdad.

You keep touting the wonderful reconstruction work our troops are doing. Most of this work has been done by no-bid, over-paid contractors. Nearly all the work that has been done is of poor quality and will have deteriorated by the time the Iraqis take over.

After more than four years of our occupation, oil production has not reached the level of the Saddam era, and 70% is going to the multi-national consortiums.

In all wars, we demonize the enemy. Witness the lurid posters of World Wars I and II; enemy soldiers were depicted as savage beasts. But this is the first war where we have demonized a whole population, old men, women and children. I have investigated or sat on scores of courts martial. In thirty years I never sat on a court martial that involved the wanton slaying of unarmed women and children. When that happens it is no accident; it is a gross lack of leadership.

My heart goes out to the soldiers, particularly the non-commissioned officers, who are forced to fight under such weak leadership. They deserve better. They want to win - and so do I.

George M. Lindsay
Lt. Col., U.S. Army, Ret.

-----------------------------------------end-----------------------------------------------


I have not received a reply from Dr. Watttenburg and if I do I am certain it will be filled with invective of how stupid and unpatriotic I am, and how much I hate George Bush. If the Commander in Chief had a little bit more combat time under his belt, I might have a higher opinion of his ability to conduct a war - any war. GML

Sanity Test

Every year the President of the United States undergoes a physical examination, presumably to assure the citizens of the country that their elected chief executive is up to the physical strains of the office. (Actually, driving an inner city bus places more physical strain on a person than working in the oval office, no matter how the spin doctors glamorize the job.)

The real test we need is a mental exam, not a “Mensa” or Stanford-Benet type test, but one that tests how sane how he (or she) may be - or in the case of the current President, how loony. And we should establish the lowest acceptable limit as qualification for the office.

The ego factor alone sets a presidential campaigner on the edge - at best - of normal psychology. It it hard to imagine anyone with IQ greater than that of a retarded squid, who has not had a frontal lobotomy, who would be willing to go through more than two years of the insanity we call “campaigning” - to be able to repeat, over and over again, the trite, worn out political hogwash that passes for campaign speeches with a straight face, without laughing out loud at himself.

We all know that money, lots and lots of money, has been the driving force in our presidential campaigns. We no longer speak of millions, now we refer to tens of millions to even stay in the race. We nod approvingly when a candidate announces he will accept no corporate money, but close our eyes to the “people’s” contribution from PACs. But we can’t put all the blame on the candidates, loony or not. The old saying, “People get the government they deserve” has never been truer than right now. We blandly swallow everything we’re fed on TV, radio or E-mail without checking it out.

A sanity test for every candidate or official in the country is probably beyond the realm of possibility - and with the way our elections have been going, no one would believe the results anyway.

Support the Troops

“We Support the troops” has been the mindless mantra since George Bush sent the first soldiers into Afghanistan more than four and half years ago. What a crock! This slogan is pasted on every other bumper strip in the country, displayed in windows all over town. And what does it mean? Not a damn thing! The United States is not at war! The United States Army is at war and for more than four years it has been led by the most incompetent, politically influenced leaders in our entire military history.

This is the most expensive war in history and what does the federal government do to support the troops? They cut taxes. The Bush administration puts out no-bid contracts to their close buddies and when the contractors fail to do the job, what does the government do? They pay them anyway, give them bonuses and offer them more contracts.

After four years of war none of the brilliant defense officials have figured an alternative to driving humvee reconnaissance vehicles down the “death” highways to be blown up by IEDs. The IEDs, the most primitive weapon since the invention of gunpowder have completely stymied our ordnance experts and they prove the classic definition of insanity, “Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Our army men today are a breed apart from the traditional soldier. They don’t stand guard. They don’t do KP. They don’t clean their own quarters or wash their own clothes. The government hires civilans at $1,500 a week and up to perform these chores. And to induce these soldiers to reenlist they offer obscene bonuses ranging from $10,000 to $150,000. We don’t have soldiers, we have mercenaries. Despite all the money enticements, recruiting is running more than 16% behind the established goal. The army has lowered its standard for admission. An individual no longer has to be a high school graduate and he can even have a criminal record and be enlisted. One in ten American soldiers on active duty has a criminal record (hard time).

If we really wanted to support our troops. We would forget the flags and bumper stickiers and mount a concerted effort to force Congress to do its duty. Instead of giving in to the tyrant in the White House, the people should be storming the offices of the Senate and the House, demanding that they do their duty under the Constitution. We should be pounding on their doors, demonstrating in the streets, and inundating them with E-mails.

The Penatagon sends ill-trained and ill-equipped soldiers to Iraq and we accept that like dumb oxen. They put ridiculous “stop-loss” orders on soldiers who have completed their tours because the Defense Department can’t find and train enough replacements. We poke scorn at Cindy Sheehan, and call her crazy, when she asked the simple question, “For what noble cause was my son killed?” Instead we should be asking the same question. Loud and clear, over and over.
During the recent Democratic Presidential debate, someone asked the question, "Are these young soldiers dying in vain?" One or two of the pompous candidates opined, “No soldier who dies for his country, dies in vain." What a bunch of poppycock! Shades of the “Charge of the Light Brigade!” When soldiers die because their leaders can’t find their butts without a lesson plan those lives are indeed wasted, those men do die in vain.

Unless you are an immediate family member of a National Guard or Reserve soldier serving in Iraq or Afghanistan, you have not the faintest clue of the disruption, heartache and financial difficulties these families face daily. Loss of jobs, homes, family disruptions, even divorce. And trauma to the children that will last their entire lives.

This is how we "support the troops".

Oath of Office

“I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I take this obligation freely, without and mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter, so help me God.”

Every U. S. Senator take the above oath upon entering office. This his sole and solemn duty to the people of he United Stats. There is nothing else included. He has no requirement to follow the dictates of a political party and he has no duty, especially to express fealty to the President. His only sworn loyalty is to the law of the land, the Constitution of the United States.

When a senator, or any other elected official, supports a president who defies and thwarts the Constitution, that person has violated his oath of office. If his oath demands that he “support and defends the constitution, and he supports a chief executive who defies the constitution he has broken his oath. There is no higher crime than breaking a solemn oath.

The Neanderthal Republican senators, who persist in supporting the greatest scofflaw the history of the presidency, are no better than he and a distinct disservice to the country.When I was in the Army, each officer received an annual efficiency rating. When that time came for my officers, each was required to renew his oath of office (Identical to the one above) so he would realize where his duty and responsibilities lay.)

Perhaps some of our mossback senators should also be reminded to what they have sworn their allegiance, and the solemn oath they live under.

James Kelly, Rifleman - A Recollection

Jim Kelly was a rifleman. To be more precise, he was a sniper. As his Platoon Sergeant said, "Ol' Jim could hit a gnat in the ass at a thousand yards. Jim had been drafted out of the Cumberland Mountains of Eastern Kentucky. He said "he lived in a little holler, 'bout ten mahls fum Polk's Knob. Jim probably never would have succeeded as a peace-time soldier. Because he came from that Scotch-Irish heritage that has been derided as "Hill-Billy", where they had maintained many of the seventeenth century mores, Jim was grudgingly respectful of authority. But not overly awed by it. James Kelly knew his own worth as a man.

Because the only marketability of his culture was his ability to fire a rifle with unerring accuracy, Kelly was a natural from the very start to be initially, a first scout, and later the Company sniper. While the rest of the Company were enthused with their semi-automatic, eight-round Garand, or as it became known, "M-1" rifles, Jim Kelly took particular care of his "Star Gauge"*, caliber 30, bolt action Springfield, Model 1903 rifle. He treated it as diligently as if it was his first born child. With or without the telescope sight, Kelly was probably the best shot in the Division, if not the Army. As an enlisted man, I had been a fairly good rifle marksman. I was good enough to have been selected to go to the National Matches at Camp Perry, Ohio. Twice. Kelly made me look like Mr. Magoo.

Kelly was no more than an average soldier. He came from a culture where straight talk and a man's word are common currency. Where fools were not tolerated. When, as so often happens in large, expanding organizations (The U.S. Army increased in strength from 250,000 in 1938 to more than 10,000,000 by 1944.) it is not unusual for untrained or inept individuals to be placed in positions of authority. When Kelly would receive a particularly inane or stupid order, he would stop dead in his tracks, look directly at the non-com who uttered the instructions, and say, "Sarge, y'all cain't be serious, y'all joshin me, ain't ya?” Then he would sadly shake his head and mournfully go about doing as he was bidden. Not too many men can stand the glare of ridicule, implied or overt. Jim Kelly, intentionally or not, managed to avoid many stupid chores because of his attitude.

Except for his uncanny ability with a sniper rifle, Jim Kelly was not an outstanding soldier. He never went AWOL, was never drunk, disorderly or engaged in fights. He contracted no social disease or otherwise brought any discredit or dishonor to his unit. Even when it was possible, Kelly never applied for or went on pass. One of the Sergeants asked him, "How come?”

Kelly said, "Me and Betty Sue's engaged. Ahm savin' all ma money so we-all kin buy a piece of bottom-land, git married, start a farm and have some chillen what'll have more than Betty Sue and me growin' up had. When th' war is over, Polk's Nob'll be a diffrunt place."

One day, high in the hills of Northern Luzon, my Company was informed that General Krueger, Commanding General of the Sixth Army, was going to pay us a visit. There was little we could do to primp or prepare for his visit. My troops were in the mountains, all one-hundred and fifty men, spread out in key locations that stretched for more than a mile along the mountain crests. And we were a sorry looking lot to be seen by any visitor, especially a good officer like General Krueger. We had been in the field for more than two months, nearly all of it on the front line in contact with the enemy. We had not had a hot meal or a bath in all that time. Early in the afternoon, General Krueger arrived with three or four staff members and my battalion commander. After reporting to the General, Kreuger said to me, "Captain, I want to talk to a rifleman. I can talk to Officers anytime; I want to talk to someone who is actually fighting this war, to find out how the troops are handling things."

I should have known better. If the General had said "soldier" or "Infantryman" it would not have occurred to me. But the word "Rifleman" triggered but one name. I said, "General, all of our riflemen are up on the hills and I can't afford to pull any of them off the line in daylight for an interview.” Krueger replied, "Well, Captain, if the rifleman can't come to the General, I guess the General will have to come to the rifleman. Lead on!" The staff officers, in their starched and neatly pressed uniforms, looked uncomfortable, downright uneasy. My Battalion Commander looked at me venomously. None of these fine gentlemen had spent much time within earshot of the sound of guns. As we climbed the relatively steep slope of the mountainside, I noticed that the General and I were the only ones not sweating. I, because I was dehydrated, the General because he was probably in great shape. I didn't know if the sweat appearing on the other's uniforms was from uncommon exertion or from fright, and didn't give a damn.

As we neared the top of the hill, I said to the General, "Sir, from here on it's bellies and elbows". He motioned to the others to stay where they were (he got no argument from them), and we crawled the remaining few yards to the foxhole of PFC James Kelly. As usual, Kelly was massaging his beloved "Star Gauge" Springfield and looked only mildly inquisitive when I said to the General, "Sir, this is PFC Kelly."

General Krueger squinted into the hot sun at this disheveled soldier with his scraggly beard, his filthy uniform and his spotless rifle. He said, "Soldier, what's your job?"

Kelly replied, "Sir, ahm a rahflman, a sniper. When them Japs pops up theyer haids, ah Kill 'em. Then, looking the General straight in the eye, he said, "Genrul - What's yours?"

We could hear gasps from the group down the hill, but the General, with a small smile, said, "Kelly I command the Sixth Army."

Kelly looked the General over and said, "Genrul, I s'pect that'a a pritty import'nt job. Do y'all think y'could hep us get some hot food 'n some clean clothes? We's so dirty now, 'n so short of water, ah just scrapes the dirt off." More startled gasps from the hillside. Krueger turned to me and said, Captain, when was the last time your company has had a change of clothes and a hot meal?"

"Six weeks, Sir. I have ignored the order to shave every day. Water is so short up here, if we shaved every day, the men would all be dehydrated and wouldn't be worth much as soldiers. Besides complaining, I haven't been able to do much about clean clothes and good food."
Krueger turned back to Kelly. He said, "Thank you Private Kelly, you seem to be one of the few men in this Theater of Operations who has his priorities straight." To me, he said, "Let's get out of here Captain, before we draw more fire while we are ‘inspiring the troops’." As he left, I thought, "There is one senior officer who has his priorities straight.”

We scrambled down to the Company Command Post, a hole in the side of a hill, and General Krueger said, "Thank you Captain, for a very informative visit", and he strode off with his entourage. At 1700, the Battalion Commander personally delivered our first hot meal in six weeks. At 2000, dusk, we were relieved by a full Battalion, about 1500 men, and went back to the beach for a bath, clean clothes and a few days of relaxation. Our esteemed Battalion Commander tried to take credit for the sudden improvement in the quality of our lives, but every GI in the Company knew that PFC, James Kelly was the true hero.

The war dragged on. The same routine was repeated over and over -- long periods of mind-numbing boredom, brutally punctuated by short periods of horrifying terror. And Jim Kelly continued to be the finest rifleman in the Army. One night, during a particularly vicious Banzai attack, Kelly was bayoneted in the leg before he could dispose of this "Celestial Son of Heaven" and send him to his ancestors. Kelly told no one about his wound. He dusted some sulfa powder on it and wrapped the wound with the compress packet from his First Aid pouch. It was several days until his Platoon Sergeant noticed the rip in his trouser leg and the surrounding dried blood. When he questioned him about it, Kelly said "I didn't want to tell ennybody 'cause the sumbitch never should've got that close!" He was actually worried that his reputation as a rifleman might be impugned!

Eventually the war ended. We immediately sailed for Japan as part of the Occupation. Nothing had changed for Kelly. Every month, he sent most of his pay to a joint account back in Kentucky that he and Betty Sue had maintained since he was drafted. With the exuberance of young men finally relieved of the strain of combat, our troops were cavorting around town, having the time of their lives. "Wine, Women and Song" were the watchwords of the day, with particular emphasis on "Wine and Women." But not PFC James Kelly. He would not consort with the "enemy" or spend his money in any idle pursuits that would take away from his nest-egg.

We had been in Japan about one month when a distraught looking Kelly entered the Orderly Room. In a mournful voice, he said. "Top, I need a pass." We could have dated time with that request. Since Kelly joined the Company, we had had three different First Sergeants, and none of them had ever had a request from Jim Kelly for a pass, not even for a few hours. So the First Sergeant said, "What's up, Jim? Do you finally want to celebrate the end of the war? Kelly dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of lined note paper. With a resigned shrug of his shoulders, he handed the paper to the First Sergeant. The salutation alone was warning enough, "Dere Mister Kelley. I am writing this here note to tell you all thet our ingagemint is off. I bin luckee enuf to find a fine defense worker who wants to marry me, now. I rilly don't want to wait no longer and the money you give me during the war will help us a lot to get a start with married life. Thank you and good by, your ex-friend, Betty Sue."
The First Sergeant said, "I suppose you're going to go out and get drunk?"

Kelly repleid, "Your f---ing A, Sarge. Ahm about to get as drunk as a f---iing skonk!" Kelly got his pass and we thought no more about it. He was neither the first nor the last soldier to get a "Dear John" letter. Around midnight, we heard a commotion at the front gate. That of itself was not unusual with soldiers returning after a night on the town. It was usually the youngsters we had received as replacements before we came to Japan. They had never been in combat.
We paid little attention because the guards on the gate were all from the Company and, as there were no high crimes involved, we would not have to be writing reports to any higher authority.

As the First Sergeant said, "Who won the goddam war anyway? A short time later we heard a rumbling noise as if some one was rolling something down the cobble-stoned street. There was a short pause, sounds of someone grunting and groaning and suddenly, the door to the Company Orderly Room flew open. There stood James Kelly, "dronk as a skonk', and laying at his feet was a keg of beer.

The First Sergeant tried to ease him out of the Orderly Room and back to his bunk. Kelly would have none of that nonsense. He slurred that he wanted his 'friends, the Company Commander and the First Sergeant, to have a beer with him. The First Sergeant told him that was not a very good idea. Kelly insisted. The First Sergeant said it wouldn't work. The beer was all roiled up from being rolled a couple of hundred feet down a cobblestone street, it wasn't cold and besides, we didn't have a bung starter. Before anyone could react, Kelly lurched across the room and lifted the fire-axe from its rack. He drove the point of the fire-axe into the bung. His aim was as good with a fire-axe as it was with a rifle. He hit the bung dead center. Beer spewed everywhere, all over Kelly, the First Sergeant, the Orderly Room and, try as I might, all over me. Kelly just stood there with a drunken, sloppy grin on his face and said, "Enny-buddy got a canteen cup?

We had been through a lot together, Kelly and the members of the Company who had been together since Camp Forrest days. The war was over. We were all going home. This was no time to stand on protocol. Somebody produced the canteen cups and, with a few more of the old-timers who popped in when they heard the commotion, we all had a beer with: Private First Class James Kelly, Rifleman.

*"Star Gauge" refers to the policy of checking the gauge of every thousandth rifle as it left the assembly line. After corrections were made to insure the accuracy of the rifling, the next rifle milled was marked with a 'Star", and much prized by marksmen.

George M. Lindsay
Formerly, Commanding Officer
Co. "L" 136th Infantry
PFC James Kelly's unit in WW II

Talk Show Hosts

Sadly, most Americans get their information of current events and political happenings from radio and television talk show hosts - entertainers, not journalists by any stretch of the imagination. The stations from which they broadcast are owned by multi-national corporations, which is a factor in the content of their broadcasts, but it’s not the only one.

The overwhelming majority of talk show hosts are conservatives - from slightly right wing to “frothing at the mouth” fanatics. There is practically no progressive representation on the airwaves. The hosts tend to broad brush everything - all Democrats are unpatriotic wimps who hate George Bush and the United States in that order, anyone who wants to bring our troops home from Iraq is bordering on treason. They bash anyone who's thinking is the least bit progressive, and ignore the sorry history of the past six years of the Bush administration. We will find no talk show host mentioning the disgusting trail of lies and fabrications from Bush, Cheney, Rice, et al. They never discuss the manufactured case for going to war with Iraq presented by Colin Powell before the U.N., or discuss the fact that the administration has shut down any scientific inquiry of 9/11.

None of these administration mouthpieces discuss the fact that we had Osama Bin Laden in our grasp at Bora Bora and turned him over to his own supporters to guard. They never comment on our association with Karzai of Afghanistan and Mushsarraf of Pakistan who are giving aid and comfort to the Taliban while posing as our allies, or that the Taliban were once our allies. They whine that the mainstream media (but they ARE the mainstream media!) never gives credit to the good work our troops are doing in rebuilding the infrastructure, electric grids, schools and hospitals. They never mention that, as fast as we rebuild, the militants loot or destroy the sites. No mention is made of the devil’s contract with the multinational oil companies who get seventy percent of the oil produced - and Iraq gets only thirty percent of it’s own oil. Nor the fact that oil production is still below the level it maintained when Sadaam was in power.

Unless we tune in to BBC, it is impossible to get straight, unbiased news from television or radio. The news rendered by the smug, self promoting CNN is at times as biased as some of the right wing talk show nuts. The recent tête-à-tête between CNN’s Dr. Sanjay Gupta and Michael Moore is a case in point. Gupta made the statement that Moore had “fudged” some facts. After an hour of obfuscating argument, Gupta could not cite one fact that Moore had fudged. But the claim was successfully emitted through the airwaves, to the pleasure of the pharmaceutical sponsors.

That old faker, Paul Harvey, with his patent medicine news is almost as bad. He never misses a chance to praise the wisdom and courage of the President and deride the Democrats as “weaklings” if they don’t want more and more young men killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. The daily crimes of the Bush administration are never mentioned.

H. L. Mencken said, "No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public." The popularity of Michael Savage's xenophobic, homophobic hate speech, Sean Hannity's schoolyard bullying, or Rush Limbaugh's incendiary yarns, half-truths, and personal attacks, supports Menken's view.

These fakers spout their lies and distortions. But worse than that, far worse is fact that millions of Americans listen to and believe the detritus. And consumers of these programs never hear a contrary view, and are too inert, too lazy, to check the accuracy of this spurious “news” then, God help us, this is the “information” they carry into the voting booth. And we wonder why we have such a sorry group of elected officials.

The “All Volunteer” Army

Since 1974, for thirty-three years we have had the highly touted, “All Volunteer Army”. Perhaps it is time to take a look at it history and performance. During the First Gulf War the Army performed superbly. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, all members with combat experience, planned for an efficient assault and conclusion of the war. In the field, the Army was led by competent Generals who fought an efficient war with a minimum of American combat and enemy civilian casualties. The “All Volunteer Army” looked like the force of the future.

Then came the Iraq war. This war was planned in entirety by PNAC, individual zealot ideologues without one day of combat service to their credit. These individuals had conceived a new “Shock and Awe” warfare that coupled state-of-the-art technology, weapons that would be lighter and more flexible. There was one flaw. Their plans had no exit strategy, no “Plan B”. After the initial successful lightning strike our forces were stymied. In their rush to reach Bagdad and depose Saddam Hussein, the bypassed every Iraqi ammunition and weapons depot and left them open for marauders to loot.

In their great wisdom, the PNAC leasers appointed Paul Bremer, a career diplomat with no military experience to be in charge. One of his first moves was to disband both the national army and the national police force thus creating about a million unemployed, armed, angry men. Looters stripped irreplaceable objects of antiquity from the museums, most of them never to be recovered, or destroyed beyond hope of restoration. What had been a relatively tight-knit country under the iron hand of Hussein, more modern than most of its Arab neighbors, quickly devolved into a series of tribal forces with centuries old scores to settle. No central government, armed brigands roaming the countryside and no definable military targets for our “professional army” to engage. To further muddle the situation, the people in charge at Bremer’s headquarters had been selected solely on their allegiance to PNAC and the Republican Party. No foreign Affairs or diplomatic experience was deemed important.

As the situation became more muddled, with no clear-cut objectives, terrorists flooded into Iraq to exploit the situation. There were no terrorist organizations in Iraq when the war began, but there are plenty now. The “All Volunteer” army was now faced with a new challenge. Despite the recommendations of combat-wise generals, the Army had decided to go “light”, and they soon found themselves both outnumbered and out-fought. Enter a new element, the not so “All Volunteer” National Guard.

No matter what anyone claims, National Guardsmen are not professional soldiers nor are they really “All Volunteer”. Their function is primarily home defense. That would be somewhat difficult to accomplish when most of their personnel and equipment are in Iraq or Afghanistan. Witness the debacle after Hurricane Katrina when the Louisiana National Guard could not perform its sworn duty because of the absence of men and equipment. As the strain on the Army continues, with some soldiers performing as many as four of more tours in Iraq, the Army is being strained to the breaking point.

The Defense Department has just announced a new policy. Air Force and Naval personnel are now being assigned to ground combat missions in Iraq. They have been trained for this duty. They are getting “refresher” courses of one or two weeks, but that doesn’t even qualify them for their new MOS’s (Military Occupational Specialty).

What began as a well trained all volunteer army has now devolved into a messy combination of individuals performing tasks for which they have not been trained in a combat situation with no defined objective.

The “All Professional Army” is no more. What we have now is a “coalition of the unwilling and untrained”. What was once a sensible and workable idea for the defense of a nation has been destroyed by a group of dilettante zealots to fit their preconceived ideas. The next time, it might be a good idea to let trained soldiers organize the army.

Our Founding Fathers were adamantly against a standing army. Granted, much has changed during the past 230 years. Our two oceans no longer provide protection in an age of weapons that can strike across the globe in a matter of minutes, but that doesn't mean that the United States needs 700 to 1000 permanent military posts around the globe. Despite the PNAC, we are not the world’s policeman. The foreign policy of the Bush administration, since its inception, has managed to alienate every other country on the globe except Great Britain, and with the departure of Tony Blair, they may be next. We have not always been admired, but in the past, the United States was almost universally respected, even during the cold war with the Soviet Union. Now we are viewed, universally, with contempt.

Unconventional Warfare

The United States Army is superbly equipped, trained, and organized to fight a conventional land war, anywhere. But based on its experience since 2003 in Iraq and Afghanistan, it is neither, equipped, trained, nor organized to engage in the type of unconventional warfare it has been faced with in the present conflict.

This is not a new problem. Caesar was surprised when Hannibal took the elephants over the Alps. This is the essence of unconventional warfare: keep the enemy off balance at all times. Conventional forces, particularly line commanders, have always had difficulty adapting to unorthodox concepts. From Roger’s Rangers to Carlson’s Raiders commanders were very reluctant to allow the “sneaky pete” activities required by covert operations.

In the recent debacle in Lebanon, when Israelis tried to take on Hezbollah with armor and airpower they got a bloody nose for their trouble. This was all the more disturbing because the Israeli army has some of the best and most experienced unconventional warfare units extant.

U.S. Rangers and Special Forces units are regularly used as Infantry line outfits. They are wasted in being so employed. In the first place, they have none of the support units normally assigned to Infantry, especially Artillery and heavy weapons. And the Army is wasting valuable talent by employing these specialized warriors as riflemen. At the beginning of the war, some hope was generated when it was announced that all Special Forces would be under a single umbrella organization. Whatever happened to that idea, no one knows.

To effectively organize and use unconventional forces, the Army should search for a leader like “Wild Bill Donovan”. The officers from the Command and General Staff Colleges and the War College are so steeped in the “correct solutions” they are incapable of using any ingenuity. It will take an innovator (some might say wildcat) willing to break moss-backed tradition to effectively counter the terrorists in unconventional warfare.

Iraq Does Not Exist

As a nation, Iraq doesn’t exist. No one identifies himself as an Iraqi. They are Sunnis, Shiites, Kurds or whatever tribal name they identify with. At its height of power, Great Britain sliced up the Middle East from the ancient countries to suit their power needs with little regard to the ethnic populations involved. Strong rulers kept Iraq together through fear, assassinations and mass imprisonment. A minority ethnic group, the Sunnis, kept the Shiites and Kurds in check by force. When the Bush administration decided, as part of the Plan For a New American Century, to bring “Democracy’ to Iraq, they did so while completely ignoring the long political and ethnic history of the area. Or, if they did considered the cultural situation, they did nothing to deal with it. When one Bush Cabinet member mentioned a potential problem between Shiites and Sunnis, Bush is reported to have replied, “I thought they were all Muslims.”

Under Sadaam Hussein, although the vast majority of Iraq citizens were Muslims, Iraq was not an Islamic state. Hussein wanted no part of the power of the medieval Imams and Ayatollahs. Most citizens were Muslims and generally observed Muslim customs and traditions. In rural Iraq more of the old customs and traditions, often tribal rather than Islamic, were still observed, but in the urban areas many of the old customs were ignored - liquor was available, women were educated, and were freer with regard to dress and conduct.

Despite the large number of Iraqi-American citizens in the United States, it is obvious that the movers and shakers who planned this war did not deem it important enough to confer with them on how to win the cooperation of the Iraqi people after the fall of Hussein. In their hubris, they apparently assumed that the natives would all be so grateful that they would immediately adopt American customs. Cheney maintained that the Iraqis would “greet us with flowers”, as liberators, and Wolfowitz opined that other countries would be eager to join us after Hussein fell.

In their folly, the neo-cons enlisted the aid of Iraqi "Refugees" most of whom had been living outside of Iraq since Sadaam came to power, and all of whom had a personal axe to grind. The Chalabi experience is a case in point.

The neo-cons who planned (or didn’t plan) and are (mis)managing the Iraqi war are all ideologues. The plan for the war was originally hatched at the Naval Post Graduate School in Monterey. Of all the U.S. institutions, none is more conservative than this school. (Consider, for example, that the black scarf worn by American sailors is in mourning for Admiral Nelson, the BRITISH naval hero.)

Ideologues consider themselves a superior lot. Proud to be "thinkers", they have no respect whatever for the mere “doers”, and consider senior military officers with years of experience “the hewers of wood and the carriers of water.” Witness, for example, the case of General Eric Shinseki. There has probably never been a more qualified Army Chief of Staff. A graduate of the Military Academy, he held command positions at every level from platoon leader to Chief of Staff of the Army. Two tours in Vietnam, two Purple Heart medals, three Bronze Stars – he is a soldier thoroughly acquainted with ground combat. When asked his opinion prior to our invasion of Iraq, he replied, “We will need a minimum of 300,000 troops.” General Shinseki was summarily asked to retire.

The great tragedy of this war is that ideologues - thesebrainy people with grandiloquent ideas and no practical experience -have been allowed to conduct the war effort. Now that the war has reduced itself to chaos, most of the ideologues have disappeared. Rumsfeld and Wolfowitz, the foremost neo-con hawks, are gone. There never was a “Plan B”, so the men and women of the U.S. Army are now left to flounder in this chaotic mess from which there is no feasible exit.

The sorriest part of this sad tale is we have not learned a thing. After four years of war, Humvee reconnaissance vehicles, tricked out as combat vehicles, still travel the “IED” highway to be blown to bits every day while state-of-art Stryker vehicles are stored in Kuwait.

Here’s the situation in a snapshot : A National Guard Sergeant is now suing the Army to protest an assignment for a fifth tour in Iraq. This war has now lasted longer than WW II. Then we conquered Europe and Asia - and this Army can’t get out of Bagdad.

“Let the Generals Decide”

The current mantra of the Bush administration is, “Politicians should not be allowed to micro-manage the war. The Generals should decide.” What a revealing declaration.

Since the very start of the conflict, no, even before, the neo-con idealogues in the administration have directed this war. Not a single person of this group has served a day in combat. By the administration’s reasoning, politicians, several of whom have had distinguished military careers, should have no say, but bureaucrats who have been elected to no office can make policy and control the conduct of the war.

Bush says, “Let the Generals decide.” Yet when General Shinsecki, the highly competent Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, mildly suggested we would need a minimum of 300,000 troops to invade Iraq, he was summarily fired. When General Zinni, a Marine commander, complained about Bremer’s interference in the attack on Fallujah, he was history. The generals who disagree with the bureaucrats get fired. The generals who become the lapdogs of the administration become the leaders of the war. It defies imagination how General Peter Pace was allowed to serve his full term as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The one General who was patently unfit to conduct the war was left in control for two full years.

The new hero is General David Petreaus. He no doubt is a good officer and a fine leader but he is no better than the rest of the politically damaged officers who have forgotten that the oath they took upon entering the military service was to the Constitution of the United States, and not any political leader. While General Petraeus is leading his men in a circular firing squad, Al-Quaida becomes stronger and bolder and even the Green Zone is no longer safe. He sends cheerful reports of progress while at the same time the parliament of Iraq leaves for a two month vacation and the Prime Minister announces that the coalition forces can leave at any time.

General Petraeus faces an impossible situation. He is paying a dear price for the fact that we never had enough boots on the ground, and the “surge” will have a very limited effect. As the fatigue sets in on our forces in Iraq, General Petraeus may be the one left holding the bag for the breakdown of the U.S. Army. In the present situation, we should not expect the much-awaited September report of the General to contain any suggestions except for more of the same. And the name of this otherwise fine officer will live in infamy, while the politicians live in fantasy.

Fixing Iraq

Understanding how to fix the mess in Iraq is simple. Actually doing it - considering the logistics and political factors - is very difficult, and will never be accomplished under the present administration.

First step: Clean out the Pentagon. Get rid of every neo-con PNAC incumbent. These are all ideologues, individuals who can blow up the world on paper but could not fire a cap pistol.

Next, fire all the politically connected Generals. This is not the Third Reich. Officers swear their loyalty to the Constitution, not to the temporary occupant of the White House. Those officers who have risen in rank due to their personal loyalty to President Bush and the Neo-cons are not fit to command a sandbox - and they have proven it.

Consider the recently retired flag officers such as Shinsecki, Casey and Zinni. Recall the best and brightest generals colonels who have not been tainted by the subversive politics of the current command structure.

Identify the best E-8 and E-9 NCOs . These individuals are the heart of the Army. Spell out the mission and the objective - they will get the message to the troops.

Set reasonable short-term objectives and missions. “Bringing democracy to the people of Iraq” is an absolutely meaningless phrase unless some actual progress can be gained by defeating the terrorists.

Move all conventional troops out of Iraq. They are like elephants trying to fight a fly. Station them in neighboring areas on standby.

Put a senior unconventional warfare officer in charge. Use Special Forces, Ranger, Seals and Marine Raider units as they are meant to be used. Organize them in their normal small group, mobile configuration. Take the fight to the terrorists on our terms, not theirs. Use night raids and ambushes, every unconventional method at our disposal and harass the terrorists continuously.

Go light. Stay mobile. Everyone goes on MREs, three days ration as a combat load. Big rucksacks slow down troops and weaken them in the desert heat. They are sitting duck targets.

Appoint a panel of retired military experts from all branches to thoroughly research the infiltration of non-military religious fundamentalists into the faculties of each military academy. Young cadets are already poisoned by these bible-banging bigots. The academies are now graduating junior officer whose loyalty is to their stone-age religion rather than to the Constitution of the United States. This is of the greatest priority. If the trend is not stopped, and reversed, we will have an armed force no better than some Sunni militia. The future health, well-being, efficiency and loyalty of our Academy graduates, and the military service as a whole, depends on it.

This is what must be done, but it will never happen in this administration. To fix Iraq: regime change begins at home.

The National Guard - Failure of the Governors

The Administration and the media tell us that the National Guard is broken. Two-thirds of its brigades are not fit for combat and its equipment is broken or left behind in Iraq. The National Guard is each state’s first line of defense for homeland security. Is the National Guard better deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan where they are subject to attacks from all sides than at home performing their proper homeland security duties? The aftermath of hurricane Katrina demonstrates that deploying the National Guard in Iraq has spread America's citizen-soldiers too thin and endangered the nation by leaving us unprepared to react to disaster or emergency at home.

The members of the National Guard are not professional soldiers. They are community oriented citizen soldiers, whose relationships to their community, their workplace, and their families are damaged by repeated tours of duty. Many professional Guardsmen have suffered severe financial and career losses due to repeated tours in Iraq. Some have lost their homes, their jobs, and their families due to the stress of excessive or prolonged tours of active duty.

The vaunted “All Professional Army” cannot muster sufficient manpower to function independently. We do not have sufficient ground force to fight effectively in Iraq. But the neo-con leaders, with no understanding of combat needs, believed that “going light” would give us the speed and mobility to literally “blitzkrieg” the opposition. They were wrong.

In five years of combat we are still traveling “Death Highway” with utility vehicles tricked out in slap-dash armor and wonder why our road casualties are so high. Apparently these generals never learned the classic definition of insanity, “Doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results.”

The trail of broken bodies, broken minds and broken homes - and a total lack of support once they are discharged - is a sorry "thank you" from the United States government to its National Guard members, who should never have been sent to Iraq at all. It is the responsibility of the Governors of each state to demand better treatment - or better, insist on bringing them home.

Principles of War

Since prehistoric times, when wars were fought with sharpened sticks , until the present day when the tools of war have become so destructive that they threaten the very existence of the human race, success in wars has been achieved by observing a set of rules, codified as The Principles of War.

In the Fifth Century B. C. Sun Tzu, a Chinese General and philosopher set down these principles in his book “The Art of War”.

General Carl von Clausewitz, a Prussian officer, modified the Principles before he left for Russia to help fight against Napoleon, as did Baron von Steuben, when he became responsible for training the Continental Army at Valley forge. But the basic principles have endured. Until now.

The individuals responsible for the war in Iraq have managed to ignore, skew, or violate all nine Principles of War.

These Principles are simple statements that any soldier should understand:

1. OBJECTIVE: Define a decisive and attainable goal for each military
operation. The vague in insincere goal “to bring democracy to the people of Iraq” does not meet that requirement.

2. OFFENSIVE: Seize, retain and exploit the initiative. Despite the recommendations of all the experienced Generals, the Army and Marines have been denied enough troop strength to do this.

3. MASS: Apply sufficient force to achieve the objective. Here, too, our current strategy of limiting boots on the ground prevents our forces from completing the objective.

4. ECONOMY OF FORCE: Focus the right amount of force on the key objective without wasting force on secondary objectives. We have never been able to identify any key objectives. We are fighting this war reactively.

5. MANEUVER: Place the enemy in a position of disadvantage through flexible application of combat power. After more than three years of combat our forces are still road-bound in reconnaissance Humvees that were never intended for combat. Our soldiers are heavily laden pack mules. They couldn’t maneuver if they had to.

6. UNITY OF COMMAND: For every objective, there must be a unified effort, and one person responsible for the command decision. Never before have the U.S. combat forces been so micro-managed by so many incompetent “decision makers".

7. SECURITY: Never allow the enemy to acquire an unexpected advantage. From American mass media to Al-Jeezera, our operations are an open book. We telegraph everything we attempt to do in a politicized war.

8.: SURPRISE: Strike the enemy at a time, place, or manner for which he is unprepared. The enemy forces can teach us a lesson here. They continually hit us where we are unprepared. Our own operations are too clumsy to surprise anyone.

9. SIMPLICITY: Prepare clear, uncomplicated plans and clear, concise orders. Has anyone ever listened to the Commander-in Chief, the Secretary of Defense, or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff when they discuss operations? Hah!

War in Iraq

“War at best is barbaric. Its glory is all moonshine.
It is only those who have never fired a shot nor heard the
shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry for blood,
more vengeance, more desolation, War is Hell.”
General William Tecumseh Sherman

The purpose of this blog is to attempt to share my thoughts on the fog of government spin that emanates from Washington in the current administration, particularly as it pertains to warfare.

I am a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel, qualified Airborne, Ranger and Special Forces. In addition I am a qualified Nuclear Weapons Employment officer with extensive experience as an Inspector General at Corps and Army Level. My opinions are derived from many years of observation of the conduct of soldiers in uniform, on and off the field of battle.

We are now engaged in a non-directional war in which all the Principles of War have been defied, ignored or twisted. The policies for the U.S. Army have been developed, without exception, by neo-con ideologues with no combat experience. No General Officer, even those relieved for failure to accomplish their mission, have been disciplined. (With the exception of the hapless N.G. Brigadier who had administrative control at Abu Ghraib).

The classic definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again and expect a different result. But how else do we describe five years of running inefficiently armored Humvees down miles of open highways planted with IEDs? The American soldier deserves better than that.

It is claimed that the current U. S. Army is the most proficient, best trained, and best equipped military force of all time. And they are all professionals. If we accept this statement, and on the face of it there is no reason why we should not, then it must follow logically, based on the results of the past five years, that it is also led by the most inept, inefficient, criminally negligent leaders in the history of American warfare. As an old soldier, I have always held that the individual American soldier is, by and large, a model for human behavior. The sacrifice of liberty, freedom of speech, obedience to authority, and determination to accomplish the mission have always set the American soldier apart, Regular or draftee. The gallantry and heroism of ordinary young soldiers in the heat of battle boggles the mind. The self-sacrifice of one person for the good of the unit is legendary. As Admiral Nimitz said of Iwo Jima, “Uncommon valor was a common virtue”. The same is true, on a smaller scale, in nearly every combat engagement by U.S. troops, to a point that we come to expect it and take it for granted. This is neither the time nor place to relate individual instances, but they are myriad.

Every war is different. But in some sense, every war is the same. Opposing forces, bent on forcing their will on the enemy, attack and kill or wound each other. Sometimes the mission is geographic or political, “take the high ground”, in others, punitive - break the will of the enemy by killing as many as possible, and usually it is a combination of both. In former wars, men suffering body wounds were left to die on the battlefield. Amputees were sometimes saved if the evacuation time was short enough. Today, air-evac has revolutionized battlefield wounded recovery. The ratio of dead to recoverable wounded has changed exponentially. But many of these seriously wounded men, even if they are evacuate and survive, are severely disabled. Few are fit to return to combat duty.

Despite all the theoretical plans from neo-con thinkers, “boots on the ground” is still the most vital concept of all. We can destroy enemy strongholds with air, naval and artillery assaults. But troops, in sufficient numbers are required to complete the mission.

coming next: Principles of War