Happy Veterans Day

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WBraun

climber
Nov 12, 2018 - 05:00pm PT
When you start slaughtering civilians while the in commander chief sits in his office it's not war anymore.

It's pure fuking pussy horsesh!t .......
Gary

Social climber
Desolation Basin, Calif.
Nov 12, 2018 - 05:24pm PT
When you start slaughtering civilians while the in commander chief sits in his office it's not war anymore.

It's pure fuking pussy horsesh!t .......

Exactly. Say what you want about those Greek and Roman kings and emperors, they were as likely to get the chop in war as the grunts.
John Duffield

Mountain climber
New York
Nov 13, 2018 - 07:14am PT

wow a great shot. I hope the modern army provides hearing protection.

I spent some time with a self propelled 175 mm unit and the concussion is incredible.

Gary

Social climber
Desolation Basin, Calif.
Nov 13, 2018 - 09:22am PT
The cruel war was over -- oh, the triumph was so sweet!
We watched the troops returning, through our tears;
There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,
And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers.
And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between;
The bells were pealing madly to the sky;
And everyone was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen,
And the glory of an age was passing by.

And then there came a shadow, swift and sudden, dark and drear;
The bells were silent, not an echo stirred.
The flags were drooping sullenly, the men forgot to cheer;
We waited, and we never spoke a word.
The sky grew darker, darker, till from out the gloomy rack
There came a voice that checked the heart with dread:
"Tear down, tear down your bunting now, and hang up sable black;
They are coming -- it's the Army of the Dead."

They were coming, they were coming, gaunt and ghastly, sad and slow;
They were coming, all the crimson wrecks of pride;
With faces seared, and cheeks red smeared, and haunting eyes of woe,
And clotted holes the khaki couldn't hide.
Oh, the clammy brow of anguish! the livid, foam-flecked lips!
The reeling ranks of ruin swept along!
The limb that trailed, the hand that failed, the bloody finger tips!
And oh, the dreary rhythm of their song!

"They left us on the veldt-side, but we felt we couldn't stop
On this, our England's crowning festal day;
We're the men of Magersfontein, we're the men of Spion Kop,
Colenso -- we're the men who had to pay.
We're the men who paid the blood-price. Shall the grave be all our gain?
You owe us. Long and heavy is the score.
Then cheer us for our glory now, and cheer us for our pain,
And cheer us as ye never cheered before."

The folks were white and stricken, and each tongue seemed weighted with lead;
Each heart was clutched in hollow hand of ice;
And every eye was staring at the horror of the dead,
The pity of the men who paid the price.
They were come, were come to mock us, in the first flush of our peace;
Through writhing lips their teeth were all agleam;
They were coming in their thousands -- oh, would they never cease!
I closed my eyes, and then -- it was a dream.

There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet gleaming street;
The town was mad; a man was like a boy.
A thousand flags were flaming where the sky and city meet;
A thousand bells were thundering the joy.
There was music, mirth and sunshine; but some eyes shone with regret;
And while we stun with cheers our homing braves,
O God, in Thy great mercy, let us nevermore forget
The graves they left behind, the bitter graves.

--Robert William Service
Reilly

Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
Nov 14, 2018 - 08:25am PT
Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.

 Willfred Owen, arguably the poet laureate of WWI.
He died one week before Armistice Day.
His mother was notified on Armistice Day
as church bells were ringing joyfully.


A series of infrared photos by Jonathan Beamish on BBC..
steveA

Trad climber
Wolfeboro, NH
Nov 14, 2018 - 01:13pm PT
Reilly,
Thanks for posting that. I've never heard of him or the story behind the poem. Quite ironic-to say the least.
Fat Dad

Trad climber
Los Angeles, CA
Nov 14, 2018 - 01:28pm PT
Thanks also Reilly. Though an English major as an undergrad, I'd almost forgotten about Wilfred Owen. Another sad loss was Siegfried Sassoon, yet another British poet/soldier who didn't survive the trenches. Both are well worth searching out and reading.
divad

Trad climber
wmass
Nov 14, 2018 - 01:30pm PT
I know the Trump Administration does care about the Veteran...

Unless it's raining...
mooch

Trad climber
Tribal Base Camp (Riverkern Annex)
Nov 15, 2018 - 08:13am PT
SLR, I think we chatted over on Summitpost several years ago regarding our service, inlcuding my ex-wife Deb. Both of us were avionics geeks, serving as jarheads. You mentioned you wished you had classed up for Phantoms. That was my first aircraft to work on. First squadron assigned was to VMFP-3 out of El Toro (1982). We doubled as both AT's and AQ's then, so we could maintain their recon cameras. Good memories of turning and taxiing that beast when I was turn qualled. "Flooding the cans" was especially fun at night. Watching plane captains shard their pants.....classic. Eventually changed to Hornets after the Phantom retired. I made it a 20 year gig. Been retired for 16 years now. Over in China Lake, working as a flight test engineer for radar development on the Super Hornets and Growlers.

A little vid I found on VMFP-3. Rhinos Forever!!
[Click to View YouTube Video]

I agree with you regarding the VA and DAV working hard to take care of our homeless vets. It's a shame that some of these folks don't take advantage of the services provided to them. The core of the issue there is the mental health aspect.

Ummm.....and Trump doesn't give two shits about our homeless vets. Show me one link....one shred of evidence he's put money aside and vamped up programs to assist them!

Gary

Social climber
Desolation Basin, Calif.
Nov 15, 2018 - 09:35am PT
There were many losses in the trenches. The writer Saki was one of them, killed by a sniper. His last words: "Put that bloody cigarette out!"
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Nov 15, 2018 - 01:47pm PT


Mike Honcho

Trad climber
Glenwood Springs, CO
Nov 15, 2018 - 02:54pm PT
Some great posts y'all. Fantastic pictures of Sierra Ledge Rat, holyballs man!


~Caylor!
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Nov 15, 2018 - 03:23pm PT
https://heavy.com/news/2018/1/sylvester-antolak/
I just began watching this Netflix series.
Splater

climber
Grey Matter
Nov 15, 2018 - 05:18pm PT
Here's a good video of the Saints, an A-4 squadron on the USS Oriskany in 1965-1967.
Click in the center of the screen for the video. http://www.ussoriskany.us/oHTD.htm

Many of the pilots had far worse luck than McCain and Stockdale.
From 1965 to 1967 38 pilots died and 60 planes were lost.
1 of every 3 pilots died or were captured.
None of the original 15 planes survived.
16 pilots died after July 1967.

McCain was shot down the day before my uncle Jim Dooley was.
However Jim was KIA.

LTJG James E. Dooley was a pilot assigned to Attack Squadron 163 onboard the USS ORISKANY. On October 22, 1967, Dooley was flying an A-4E aircraft in the second division of Attack Squadron 163. The aircraft was on a strike mission over North Vietnam. The target was the Haiphong railroad yard. It is believed that Dooley's aircraft hit anti-aircraft fire as he pulled off the target. Witnesses observed his aircraft straight and level and streaming fuel while heading eastward toward open water at approximately 6,000 feet. The aircraft then commenced a gradual descent heading toward the water and crashed. The aircraft impacted in the water in a nose and wing down attitude about one mile from land. A thorough search of the area was conducted by the strike group but there was no evidence of a survivor. There was no parachute seen, nor any radio transmissions from the target area to the site of impact. The surrounding land area was densely populated and if he had ejected he most certainly would have been captured immediately. James E. Dooley was placed in a status of Missing in Action. After six years, and following the end of the war, Dooley's status was changed to Presumed Killed in Action because there was no evidence that he was alive.
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