The SandGram

The Marine KC-130 was flying over the chilly North Atlantic at twenty-five thousand feet taking my crew to Keflavik, Iceland. There was a layer of clouds about ten thousand feet below us hiding the cold water and howling winds. This was a milk run from Mildenhall, England, to drop supplies to the Marines there in Kef. It was my first trip in the plane as a T3P (third copilot) and the aircraft commander (AC) was in the back taking a nap while I sat in his seat on the left side of the cockpit. My buddy from flight school, Bruce Lee, sat next to me while a crusty old Gunny sat in the flight engineers chair in the middle.

Gunny was having a conversation with the Navigator, a young Sergeant, about the virtues of Hustler magazine versus Playboy. Gunny “The Don” Garcia, because he carried himself like the father figure in the “The Godfather,” was on the verge of retirement after 20 years on active duty in the Marines. He also was a proud contributor to Hustler and had been published numerous times. This, of course, would come out when he handed you a well-worn copy to peruse and you started to read the goofy letters sent in.

His letter started with the typical, “I couldn’t believe this would ever happen to me,” as he went on to describe a wild night in the Philippines with ten hard-bodied prostitutes. If you asked him if this was true, he’d say, “Of course, Lieutenant, I never have to make up stuff like that, chicks dig me.” I’m sure that it was probably the reason for his first of many divorces too!!

Bruce Lee Jr. was Korean, but everyone called him “Wang” because of some funky middle name that was too long to pronounce, and he looked like the Chinese exchange student in the movie, “Sixteen candles.” Wang was reading a book on the Civil War which he studied constantly. I had the Gunny’s Hustler and the chatter over the headset was a combination of one conversation with every other person’s input on the subject.

The AC came up and tapped me on the shoulder, and motioned for me to move out of his seat. His name was Captain Burns, but we called him “Pyro” after he ran around the Charleston O’Club, drunk as hell, butt-naked with a rolled-up newspaper stuck in the crack of his rear, on fire, and a green tee shirt over his head with two eye’s cut out. He made quite the impression on the Air Farce gang there that night…

“Pyro” leaned over to me yelling over the roar of the Allison Turbo props out on the wing, “How are we doing?” I yelled back, “Great Sir, only three hundred miles to go and plenty of gas with this tailwind!” He nodded and proceeded to strap into the seat. I moved back to the rear of the cockpit to inspect what food I had left in my airfarce box lunch. A half-eaten piece of fried chicken and some carrot sticks. HHMMMMM.
It was two bites later, over the chatter on the radio, that I heard the cry for help. “Marine Tanker, Marine Tanker, Spade 16 on guard, how copy?????” I looked around at the others, how could they miss that call? It came again; only “Wang” put his book down and his left hand up in the “stop” motion. All conversation ceased in the cockpit.

“Pyro” looked over at “Wang” and asked, “What’s the matter?” Wang, with a puzzled look on his face replied, “Sir, I think I heard a mayday, someone calling for us, not sure!” We all leaned forward on our seats pressing the headsets closer to our ears. “Marine Tanker, Spade 16 on guard, how copy?” Wang jumped on the toggle to radio them back, “Spade 16, you have Otis 10 go ahead.”

Pyro looked at Wang with a hand gesture as if saying, “Relax, I’ve got this one.” “Spade 16, come up my freq 344.0.” A few seconds later, the other voice replied in a muffled voice, “Spade 16, Roger that.” It didn’t take long before the Darth Vader voice, muffled and deep, came back on line. “Hey Guys, (heavy breathing in the O2 mask) are we glad to run into you guys!! Our INS (navigation system) died and we’re low on gas. Can you guys give us some gas and point us back to Iceland???”

Pyro responded with a fast “Standby.” He turned to his right and said to the Gunny, “Don, Don, work it out with the Nav and figure out how much go juice we can part with to this guy. Also, Nav, I want to be over head Iceland with five thousand pounds of gas.” He then looked at Wang, “I want you to get ready for the tanking, and you’ll run it for me O.K.?” Wang nodded his head and pulled out the proper checklist for Air to Air tanking with a Jet.

I was excited to think that on my very first hop in the KC-130, I would be privy to a real life no-shit emergency. Wang radioed to the jet, “Spade 16, say squawk, altitude, and type Jet.” The other pilot replied in a deep voice, “We’re squawking 2525 and currently at angels 350, F-14 Tomcat.” “Roger that,” replied Wang. The Nav and Gunny were huddled together for a few minutes and then broke up. “Sir, we have the gas to give the guy, but we have a problem. The right hose is inop and the left basket is also written up as being bad. We didn’t expect to tank anyone, so that’s why we took this plane.”

Pyro thought about this for a minute, and then made the command decision. “Gunny, go ahead and prep the left hose, it’s the only chance this guy has.” Turning to Wang in the right seat, “I want you to guide him to the left Stabilized position with the heading that the Nav gives you.” The Nav handed Wang a note that said, “Sir, tell him to steer a 310 course, that should line him up.” Wang passed on the instructions to our guest while Pyro briefed the guys in the back on what to do. The left hose came out; caught in the air stream as the twenty-seven inch diameter basket extended the hose out some eighty feet. The KC 130 pulled to the left as the parasitic drag from the hose slowed the plane down a bit.

A call from the back of the plane, “Sir, I see the F-14, he’s in a high Port-Stabilized position.” Pyro nodded his head at Wang, and then looked out the left cockpit window. Wang toggled the radio switch, “Spade 16, you are cleared down to the Stabilized position, report nose cold and weapons safe.” The jet was instructed to turn off his radar and ensure his missiles weren’t armed. He reported “ready” and was cleared into the basket. It seemed fine for a second, then the Mech in the back yelled out, “Sir!!! He has a bad seal and the gas is coming out of basket!” Just then the heavy breathing came back over our headsets “I got a bad plug, going back in again.”

The Gunny jumped up over the left side of the AC’s chair looking out the window and exclaimed, “Captain, I don’t like this one bit, I think he should back out and let me reset the hose.” Pyro was just about to answer him when all hell broke loose!! The kid in the back cried out, “Sir, the seal broke again and gas is shooting all over the front of the Jet!!” This is a serious thing, 300 gallons of JP-5 pumping a minute onto your jet is not good. Wang shouted on the radio, “Spade 16, breakaway, BREAKAWAY!!!” But it was too late. The Jet fuel went straight down his jet intakes and into the engine causing a massive fireball out of the back of the jet and covering the entire thing in flames. The Gunny had shut the fuel off before the fireball reached the end of the hose. The F-14, exploded right after we heard the words “Fire, Eject!!!!!”

Both “Don Don” and “Pyro” tore their glasses off as they looked out the left side of the plane. Wang was straining in his seat harness straps, trying desperately to see the falling Jet, but unable from the right seat.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story

Dear Gang,
This is a repeat and a post that a couple of folks have asked me to publish again from my “AnyMarines.com” days. So feel free to copy this and give it to you nieces/nephew’s sons and daughter’s if you think it will help. This is for the kids out there who have written me asking how to become a pilot. I teach goal setting back home and also Sub in our school district so this is the class that I teach the kids when the teacher doesn’t leave me a lesson plan for the day. I’m for hire if you have any programs you want put on too!!
Ok, step one to being a pilot or anything else in life, if you are in 7th grade right now, take heed!! If you are in H.S. you are a late bloomer, get moving bubba!! The first step in life goal setting is what job would you like to do? Is there a job you have seen on T.V. or your family member does that interest you? Take my Uncle Bruce, he flew the F-14 and after going flying in his personal Cherokee 140, I was bitten by the flying bug and knew that is all I wanted to do in life, to be a pilot. When I had my first commercial flight at age 6 (on American Airlines) they let me sit in the cockpit and after that trip, I would tell everyone that I was going to be a pilot. As I grew older I started researching into what it took to be a pilot. I set my goals to be an airline pilot after interviewing five airline pilots at National Airport (how did you become a pilot? What was your major in College? What aircraft did you fly to get here, how much money do you make, days off? Travel benefits? Where are you based? Is it good for family life? etc.) There are two kinds of goals in life that you need to set, there are long term (being an airline pilot, way down the road) and short term (getting an A on that next test on Friday).
Take a piece of paper out and write 1-3, put your ultimate job in the number one slot, then have a back up job in two and your dream job in number 3. My #1 job was to be an airline pilot, #2 was to be a school teacher and #3 was to be an actor. Now I realized that going to Purdue University for their flight school was out of my folk’s budget. So I then looked at the different services to have them pay for my flight training. The Marines are the only branch with a guaranteed flight contract. I took the test, passed and had a slot for flight school at age 19. I studied History and figured I could finish up to become an education major later if I needed to become a teacher because I love to teach. My dream shot was be an actor out in L.A. and one day star in a movie.
Now you have to be realistic about what kind of job you want. If you are a boy and say “I’m going to be a pro NFL football tight end” well if you aren’t already on your area’s all pro league teams, then you probably won’t be good enough for High School and College to make it to the pros. So make it a realistic job with skills that you can acquire or train for. You have to remember two things in life, you either make a lot of money or you have quality of life. If you make $200 thousand dollars a year on Wall Street, you might be working 80 hours a week to do that and won’t have time for a family or fun. If you like the outdoors and decide to become a Park Ranger, you won’t be able to afford the Porsche 911, but will be very happy. So you need to pick something that will make you happy and give you enough money to support your family in a life style that makes you happy. There is a fine balance there that must be met. You don’t want a job that you wake up every morning thinking of excuses why you don’t want to go to work.
Now on that piece of paper draw 7 boxes, the 1st box put JrHigh, then as follows, H.S., College, Masters, 1st job entry level, 2nd job medium, dream job final box. Go to the dream job and write in $150K, that is your dream job’s pay, the next one as you go left, medium job write $80K and next write $30k. O.K., now look left to right on that paper, you are in Junior High right now, but it’s not long before you are a freshmen in High School then to get into a college that may specialize in something. To get that ultimate job you have to do well in High School to get into a top college. To get into the University for your masters, you need the grades from college, to get your first entry job, you need to outperform your peers to start out and then eventually you will get to your ultimate job. Everything in the scheme of life is like building blocks. To reach your ultimate goal/job, seems far away and not something you need to worry about now. But guess what? When you are a senior applying to a college somewhere and you have absolutely nothing on your application but a bunch of “Fluff and Stuff”, don’t be surprised when you don’t get in.
So the one’s who are paying attention, start NOW. Think of this as prepping yourself early. I worked in Admissions in College. This is what they are looking for. Grades of course, next SAT scores, Extracurricular activities i.e. school clubs, plays, SGA, Boy-Girl Scouts, Civil Air Patrol, then Sports (builds better students who can balance school with Sports) part time jobs, Church work, community service projects. You get the picture. If you start in 9th grade with one club a semester, sports, that sort of stuff, full time jobs in the summertime, by the time you are a senior, your accomplishments page will be 3 pages long!! All this, without freaking out at the last minute. Colleges are looking for a well rounded student who has life experiences, responsibilities, and a hard work ethic. All the pencil neck geeks will end up at MIT anyway, but you will get into the college of your choice. Also, don’t waste your folk’s money mailing out a bunch of applications at 75-100 dollars a pop to make yourself feel good that you got into more colleges then your buddy. We call that the Spray and Pray method, put a lot of bullets down range and hope it hits the bad guy instead of taking your time and placing one well aimed bullet where it needs to go.
Always revamp your goals and update what needs to happen to make them come true. Remember too, the power of positive thinking and creative visualization. If you say over and over that you will win say that wrestling match, as you see yourself doing it in your minds eye, it will happen. Place big reminders on the back of your door “I will get an A on my Social Studies Test” and study. You will!! I will part with my favorite quote,
Some men see things as they are and say why – I dream things that never were and
say why not. By George Bernard Shaw.
Get going!!! Email me at thesandgram@yahoo.com if I can help you out in the future.
Semper Fi,
Taco

It was the end of an extremely long day, flying around massive thunderstorms and a low pressure system built up between Chicago and New York City. Of course the ole motto, “Time to spare, fly by air” comes to mind as thousands of passengers were delayed to Newark, Kennedy and LaGuardia airports. By the time I made it to my hotel room, it was over 12 hours in the seat of my Super 80. My mind collapsed as I slipped into a mild coma with the blare of taxi’s below and the sound of rain and thunder outside my window.
The ringing of the phone woke me with a start, “Oh crap, I’m late for my sign in” I reach for the phone next to my bed, after two clumsy attempts and a dial tone to my ear, I realize it’s my cell phone that I forgot to turn off. I see two things as I reach for that, one it’s 0130 in the morning and two it’s from my wife. Mind you, she is tough and resourceful so for her to call me it must be a major emergency.
“Hey Honey, what’s up?” In a frantic, very angry voice, she tells me, “The little rat bastards came by and knocked our mailbox down.” My mind is full of cobwebs. “What are you talking about?? Mailbox??” She takes a deep breath and tells me how the sound of a loud Honda with those extended exhaust pipes woke her up with the addition of loud thumps as they smashed each mailbox down our side of the street. “Oh, that’s O.K. honey, it came with the house and I didn’t like it much anyway. I’ll buy another and replace it Sunday when I get home.”
“No,” she says, “they liked ours so much that they tied a chain around the post and pulled that out of the ground as well!” I’m trying to picture this and just see a hole in my front yard. “Don’t worry.” I say, “I’ll deal with it when I get back. Go pull the pellet gun out of the gun cabinet if they come back for some reason shoot at them.” Then I ask, “Did you call the police?” She tells me about the report she filed and I hang up with an “I love you and will talk to you in the morning.” Of course, my mind is thinking of how to deal with my neighborhood insurgents. I am finally able to go back to sleep, but the wheels turn and turn as I toss throughout the night.
Sunday, after relaxing a bit, I drive down to Home Depot for phase ‘One’ of my operation and buy a new 4×4 post, a big black mail box and one hundred pounds of Quickcrete. With my Sawzall, I cut a hole in the bottom of the mailbox, ram the post through to the top, seal the inside with speed tape and then pour seventy pounds of Quickcrete into my new “Yard Art.” After setting the post in the nice hole they left behind and adding the house numbers, it was just a matter of waiting. Of course, to be legal, I would be remiss if I didn’t add the following warning to the side of it, “Warning, hitting this mailbox yard art with any object, may cause death or serious injury”
Then I bought a wireless camera system and place it in the tree over looking the mailbox and on the roof of the garage to capture the insurgents in the act. (More so, to laugh at later over a beer with my Marine buddies) It took another six months for the “Rat Bastards” as my wife called them to come back. Of course, it’s a night that I’m on the road. They decide to throw a big pumpkin at the mailbox which exploded into a million pieces in our front yard. The twenty pound pumpkin didn’t do anything to the mailbox. I think it hurt their pride, so they made the unwise decision to come back at full speed, Johnny hanging out of the passenger window with a baseball bat. He pulls his best Barry Bonds (minus the juice, just beer) and swings for his homerun as the car passes the mailbox. Of course, connecting his baseball bat with a SOLID stationary object that one would expect to explode didn’t happen. It bounced right off hitting his car and dropping in the street followed by yells of pain and “Shit…Mother ffffffffff”as the car raced down the street to the emergency room I’m sure. Hell, how do you explain to your dad about the big dent in the car a broken back window and your two broken arms??? I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that one. Anyway, we haven’t had a problem since. I’d like to think that the word is out about the crazy Marine and his mailbox. But, kids being kids and me being the biggest kid in the world, I can’t wait to use my new secret weapon this October for Halloween. I bought this little block of aluminum that has a trigger connected to a trip wire that when released hits the primer of a 12 gauge pepper spray shotgun shell. I’m going to attach this to my tree overlooking a nice fat pumpkin with it aimed down about two feet in front of the pumpkin. When the “Rat Bastards” try to steal the pumpkin, it will pull the almost invisible trip wire and boy will they get a treat!! One thing about Texas, you are allowed to shoot anyone who is in your yard “At Night” armed or not. Crazy law left over from the days of cattle rustlers. My local Police Officer says I’m within my rights to fire a Warning shot at them and not to worry if it’s just pepper spray or blanks. I just hope that I’m not deployed back to Iraq this fall, so I can see Operation PumpkinHead come to fruition. Anyway, that’s how we deal with “Insurgents” down here in Texas…
Semper Fi,
Taco

Hey Guys, I was thinking about canceling my cable subscription to Dish this week. I have been so inundated with all the coverage about the two soldiers who were brutally murdered by “Al Killya” in Iraq. You know, the same guys who our Supreme Quirks said are covered by the Geneva Convention. It makes me wonder if any quarter would be given to our fine collection of politicians if they were captured over in Iraq while wasting taxpayer’s dollars on their fact-finding missions.
You know what really makes me mad, though? The fact that the networks didn’t give the abuses at Abu Grub prison enough media attention. Can you believe it? They “abused” these guys so bad that Muslims around the world were ready to invade America over it. Bet they don’t have to do a DNA test on these guys when they go home. Well, you are right, that never happened, they covered the wounded pride of the captured insurgents for weeks on end. It’s been over two weeks since our troops were murdered, and I haven’t seen ANY MUSLIM groups protesting in the streets over the treatment of our soldiers. Of course they would riot if you printed a cartoon of Mohammad in the papers, but stay quiet about this. Why? Because they all deep down think we deserve it.
Now, the question is why isn’t our press raising hell about this lack of condemnation by the Arab world? Because they think we deserve it as well. If anyone out there thinks our captured troops deserved the treatment they received then I will throw this out to you, send me your name and address and I will figure out a way to pay for your all-expense-paid trip to Iraq. You can give us an update on your condition, and I promise that I will make sure my Cox Cable for my high speed internet is paid up so I can see your pleas for help on the internet just before they bend you over and make you squeal like a pig. Do I sound bitter??? Yes, you can say that.
Is this the view of you folks out there in Cyberland? Well then, I’m going to throw a challenge out to each and every one of you. Write to your local paper and let them know how you feel about this double standard in the press when it comes to the treatment of their prisoners and ours. If you are published, send me a copy of your printed editorial and I will post it here then send you a cool Marine Corps Sticker, and if you get published in one of the following National papers, then I will send you a Marine Corps Coin for your effort. I have been published in USA Today myself and it is equivalent to winning the lotto, considering the number of letters they receive a day.
For USA Today, write a letter to editor@usatoday.com Include your address and daytime phone number for verification.
For L.A. Times Oped@latimes.com http://www.latimes.com/services/site/la-comment-oped,0,5293584.htmlstory
For Washington Post letters@washpost.com
For NY Times letters@nytimes.com
For the Boston Globe letters@globe.com

Remember to keep them short, sweet and to the point. Include your name address and phone number so they can call to verify YOU actually wrote the letter. Ask questions like why our politicians are not raising hell about this, and why we don’t see it questioned in the media? The Russian President at least threw out his promise that his goon squad will track down the murderers of his four embassy personnel and take them out. We need to do the same. Please feel free to pass this on to whoever you please. I encourage it!! I would love to see Americans rioting in the streets over this, but I know that will never happen. Maybe one of you will be published and will make others think about the double standard. I’ll get back to my usual satire next week after I cool down over our press, some of our fellow countrymen and our politicians.
Semper Fi,
Taco

An Open letter to Congressmen John Murtha

Dear Sir,
I know you have been taking a lot of heat lately about your stance on the Marine Corps and the war on Iraq. Know a secret? I just compare you to Lord Darth Vader from “Star Wars.” He, too, was once part of a band of elite fighters, the Jedi Knights, who protected the universe from the dark powers of the “The Force.”
Much like Vader, you succumbed to the dark side of the Force, which blinds you as to the damage you truly cause. It’s no fault of your own; the swell of power that radiates from Washington D.C., can cause any normal person to morph into a dark, sinister person.
Now, I’d like to help you on the war in Iraq. I understand you want our troops out ASAP and short of just dropping tactical nukes on the whole region, we have to figure out a reasonable approach to withdraw our guys and gals. After much thought, here is the answer… “SEX.” Three letters will free an entire region from the grip of these religious leaders and awaken these people to some of the simple pleasures that God has given us and get their minds off jihad.
See, here is the problem and mind you, these observations come from a book titled, The Arab Mind, and some of my own experiences of flying around the world. The culture in the Mideast says, “Women are for babies, men are for fun.” This means young girls are forbidden from having sex until they are married, or face being stoned to death by their religious leaders (this is a religion of peace mind you). Thus, young boys entering puberty are forced to engage in sex with men, and while technically I’m told this isn’t really legal, they just overlook it. According to Wikipedia, when you type in Homosexuality and Islam, Justin Richardson, a professor of psychiatry at Columbia University, says such thinking is backward – it is precisely the extreme restrictions on sexual relations with women that lead to greater prevalence of the behavior. “In some Muslim societies where the prohibition against premarital heterosexual intercourse is extremely high—higher than that against sex between men—you will find men having sex with other males not because they find them most attractive of all but because they find them most attractive of the limited options available to them.”Heck, why do you think our greatest American “King of Pop” took off to live in the Middle East as soon as his trial was over???
No, if you were a young man, raised in that peaceful culture, and were being buggered by your next door neighbor or the boys at school, but all the time wishing you could date a girl, wouldn’t you strap a bomb on your chest and kill yourself too? Think about it—they blow themselves up so that they can have 72 virgins. They wouldn’t know what to do with a girl, but the idea of getting 72 of them is so strong, they are willing to kill themselves. Have you ever wondered why American Muslims aren’t walking into the local Supermarket with C-4 strapped to their chest? I’m sure some radical Imans here in the states have asked a young kid to do his duty so he can go to heaven with 72 hot chicks. The kid is probably nodding his head “yes,” but thinking, “This guy is whacked out of his gourd, I have 100 Virgins in my school right now and sex is no big thing for me, so why the hell would I have to kill myself?”
Back to my cheap solution to the entire problem in the Middle East brought on by centuries of Medieval thought. Just park a satellite directly over the Middle East and beam down free Porno to the masses. We have it on our Dish network, just make it free and send everything down from the skies so that all males, whether a boy, teenager, or man in these countries can view the sinful pleasures of sex with a woman. We export everything else that they despise, but love deep down, so why not Porn??? If a young guy realized there really are such creatures baring everything, maybe they would choose to stay home vice going out to kill themselves. Can you imagine the total disarray that would ensue? Boys skipping noon worship and IED digging duties to watch “Debbie Does Dallas???”
Anyway, just set up a commission to study this idea, and it would cost less then all the money spent investigating Karl Rove or money wasted by those fine taxpayers from New Orleans. Just a thought for you to chew on and think about because I know that deep down in your soul, there still resides the core values that you once held when you were a Marine, and like what happened to Darth Vader, you, too, will also wake up to those feeling again. Good luck Sir and may the Force be with you.
Semper Fi,
Taco

I don’t normally comment on current events, but there is hardly a day that goes by without someone trying to trash my Marine Corps… The latest incident occurred yesterday when I found the out the Marines were going to “investigate” a video that is making the rounds on the internet of a young Corporal singing a song called “Hadji girl” that was written by this young lad while stationed in Iraq. The Islamic American terrorist culture clan is all up in arms about the song because they claim it glorifies the killing of innocent Iraqi civilian’s.
I found the purported video on You-tube.com and watched the whole thing over and over again. It’s actually a fantastic song and has a snazzy beat to it. The story line is this, he is on patrol and during a firefight looks up to see the most beautiful Iraqi girl who can’t speak English but says “Kurka, Kurka, Mohammad Jihad” which is a line out of a puppet movie “Team America” that the middle eastern terrorist say because the creators didn’t know any Arabic, so they made that up. She takes him to her house and as soon as the door is opened he hits the deck, taking cover because both the Father and brother, who are insurgents, open fire on this young Marine. They kill their own daughter/sister and the Marine grabs the little sister standing there to use as a human shield (this is the sick funny part, knowing that a Marine would never do that and the terrorist do) and they kill the sister. The Marine in the song opens up with his M-16 and kills the two insurgents. The song basically depicts killings but they are done by the girls own family members, it is not the Marine killing innocent civilians.
This video was not posted by the Marine, but someone else who thought it was a good song. The liberals out there can slam me all they want but you know what? If I was the investigating officer on this case, I would tell the kid to knock it off and be sensitive to the feelings of the terrorist around the world (all the while giving him a slight wink) and then after I slapped his hands, I would ask for a copy for myself!!! Listen up all you folks who think this kid should be shot for his song, there are gang bangers out there making millions of dollars for their rap songs depicting the killing of police officers and people in authority… if you don’t sound off every day about that (oh I forgot, they are covered under free speech) then lay off this Marine!! To the Marines, please remember that songs about our enemies have been written during every war. Hell I remember marching in OCS in 1986 to the following tune
“I want to go to Viet-Nam,
I want to kill some Viet-Cong,
I got my gun in my hand, now I’m a happy man
Sound off, one two, knock it on down and turn it around, four, three, two one…”
I bet the North Vietnamese wouldn’t like it much, or the slanderous nicknames of our enemies in WWII, both in Europe and Asia. This is something that will happen during wars and you have to expect that these feelings are coming out in our Marines and Army troopers now after almost three years of battle. Three years!!! Just think about it, almost a year shy of the time we spent in WWII where we lost millions of lives.
Well, Young Corporal, if you read this out there in internet land, know that I support you and must say that if you made Hadji Girl into a record, I would buy ten copies!!! Don’t let the political police of the land get you down or the liberals who would hate you because you are a Marine just the same.
Semper Fi,
Taco

We’re all broke up here at the Bell household now that Zarqawi is dead. I had the girls singing “Ding Dong, the Terrorist is dead, he’s gone where the goblins go, below, below yo ho!!!”
I just wish we could have some medium channel to Zarqawi, to let the rest of his buddies know that you don’t get 72 virgins when you die… Actually, Zarqawi is probably pretty shocked right now as he and his six butt buddies stand in front of heavens gates to find them guarded by U.S. Marines. Can you imagine the sound of the public address system, “Attention in heaven, all Marines report to the South wall ASAP” I mean every former Marine and his brother, line the walls armed with their favorite weapon from days gone by. Looking down at the seven figures, they take aim and fire, each bullet tearing painfully into their bodies. The men all fall down in searing pain, crying for their Momma’s and then the holes disappear but the excruciating torment remains. This is the cue for our boys to fire again. See this is heaven for our Marines and hell for Zarqawi. At least this is my idea of Heaven and Hell for him…
I think those guys in Task Force 145 have done a great job and given time, (it’s only a matter of time) they will also get Bin Laden. His time is limited on this planet and I’ll take the day off from work when they place a well aimed sniper round into him. One down and a couple thousand more to knock off and this will be a much better world.

Sitting around the squad bay on various footlockers and little camp stools, preparing for the pre-final inspection before graduation, Barns, the prior enlisted guy noticed “FlyCatcher” Clements, across the way working on his rifle. “Hey FlyCatcher, what are you doing?” Clements looks up with that silly partly opened mouth, “Just putting the final touches on my weapon.” From my bunk across on the other side, I could see something was terribly wrong with his rifle; it was no longer black, but silver. In his left hand was a pad of steel wool. This idiot had removed all the bluing from the barrel of his M-16A1.
Barn’s got up off of his foot locker and looked at the “really clean” barrel on FlyCatcher’s rifle. “What?? What?? What’s the matter with it?” He inquired from Barn’s. “Oh nothing FlyCatcher, you’re going to do great at the inspection” This seemed to please him as he went back to work on his rifle. Barns returned to our side with a big smile on his face as he was shaking his head in disbelief, “This inspection is going to be fun boys, that’s for sure!!” Normally, you help out your buddy, but in this case, “FlyCatcher” was in another squad and lets just say that we had some good home rivalry going on between us.
Twenty minutes later, word was passed to get ready for SSgt. JJ and the Platoon Commander (a Captain who looked like Harrison Ford, but a boyish Hans Solo). They arrived inside the Quonset hut putting one half of the squad bay at attention and the other half at parade rest. As they smartly turned to face each candidate, Captain Solo would ask a question like, “What is your seventh general order?” “What is the max effective range of the M-16A1?” “How many counts in that movement you just completed?” He looks over the uniforms, sticking his finger into gear that is placed on tightly folded green wool blankets that cover the beds. As they get closer to our end of the squad bay, Captain Solo steps in front of Candidate “FlyCatcher” who executes a flawless “Present Arms” to the good Captain showing that his rifle was empty and ready for the inspection. Captain Solo exclaims, “Holy Crap!! What the hell happened to your rifle Candidate??” As he exams the now shiny silver barrel. “FlyCatcher”, very proud of his work says “Sir, this candidate used steel wool to get his rifle really clean for the inspection.” The Captain turned to SSgt JJ, pointed to the end of the rifle, handed it back, put his hand over his mouth for some reason, stood there for a minute looking at “FlyCatcher” then smartly turned right and moved on.
The two drill instructors (to the Captains left) were ready to kill “FlyCatcher.” SSgt. JJ leans over to whisper something into his assistant’s ear. We called Sergeant Worth the Tasmanian Devil, because he was just like the cartoon character that would spin up into a feeding frenzy. The Devil just waited until Captain Solo moved on to the next poor soul and then removed “FlyCatcher” from the squad bay. Over the soft questions asked by Hans Solo, you could hear the Tasmanian Devil outside, running “FlyCatcher” through a series of bends and thrust, jumping jacks etc as he screamed about having him arrested for destroying Government property, etc. We all learned from that example that you don’t use steel wool to clean your weapon…
The best part was being told to empty the garbage after the inspection and walking by the instructors Quonset hut while the sound of laughter carried over the radio playing . “Sir, can you believe Dat Dummy took all Da bluing off Dat Dang rifle?” SSgt JJ said as the Captain piped in “I was almost starting to laugh, I had to sit there for a minute to compose myself. Well, I guess you can give him an A for trying!
SSgt. JJ didn’t agree with that and promised to stick to “DAT” boy like white on rice…
Remember what my Dad always said… Be outstanding, but don’t stand out!
S/F
Taco

Memorial Day weekend is here, just another day off to go shopping, grill steaks in the backyard, and chase the kids around the pool. How fast folks forget the meaning of these holidays and why we have them. It’s actually the first time in many years that I will be off from work and able to participate in a biplane tribute to the fallen American and Canadian Soldiers who died in training while stationed at Hicks Army Airfield in North Fort Worth, Texas. As you can imagine, flying the old Curtis Jenny, a classic biplane trainer, was a very dangerous prospect for these eighteen-year-old kids in 1916. Back then and even in WWII, more young men died in training accidents than were killed in combat. You faced a terribly high percentage of dying then, and yet these guys still trained for war in these flimsy motor powered “Kites.” As my dear pilot-friend Reb always says of the era, “That was back when flying was dangerous and Sex was safe, what a world we live in now.”

A group of local pilots here in my area will take to the skies in their antique biplanes to fly over the Veterans Cemetery in downtown Fort Worth to pay homage to those who have gone west before us. On the ground, the roar of old radial engines will fill the air as we pass overhead, our silk scarves trailing out of our cockpits; my eyes shaded by tinted flying goggles over a tan-colored flight helmet. Flying formation with six other planes is a very tedious task, constantly moving the throttle back and forth to control your airspeed as you maintain a position just off your partner’s right wing. Every bump in the air is felt, forcing you to make numerous corrections every second.

I often imagine that time travel is possible during periods like this; truly, you’re in a 1929 biplane, with the wind creating the same whistle as it passes through the flying wires out on the wing. They resonate along the lines of A plus, leaving a slight ringing in your ears after you have landed.

This is what I will do on Monday, flying my 1929 Fleet biplane and saluting all the veterans below who have paid the ultimate sacrifice for their country. I urge all American to reflect on what our military has done for this OUTSTANDING country; for without their sacrifices, we might be speaking German or Russian as a national language, or in this day and age, our enemy would like us to be Muslim or dead.

So, I will have my daughter set an extra place at our dinner table with an overturned wine glass for those who are serving now and those who will never come home.

Semper Fi,
Taco

The Super 80 sitting at the gate in Dallas Fort Worth was completely filled; all 136 seats plus two jump-seaters on the plane. In ten minutes the Silver bird would push from the gate on this hot May afternoon, bound cross-country to Seattle Washington. I turn to the Captain, a civilian-trained pilot in his mid 50’s, “Hey Boss, you want to see this plane go nuts???” He says “sure,” so I pick up the mike to make a P.A., but before I do, he says “just make certain I’m not called into the Chief Pilots office to explain my First Officer.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, as a Marine Corps Reservist who has just returned from Iraq, I just want to see a show of hands, Tell me, how many active-duty Military do we have onboard right now?” I am looking back and see two hands go up. “O.K., now let me see the hands all the folks who have served in the Military or have retired.” About twenty folks raise their hands. “Now the biggie, how many parents to we have onboard whose child is serving or has served? Especially all of you Mothers out there, put your hands up.” I can see at least thirty people put their hands up now. “Ok, I’d like all of you to raise your hands again that I have called out,” They do. “Folks, I’d like you to give these OUTSTANDING Americans a big round of applause for the sacrifice they have given our country!!!”
The entire plane erupts in clapping and whistles. I turn to the Captain and say “I sure wish the media could see this. Ok, the plane is yours again, Boss, and thanks.” The clapping continued for another thirty seconds causing the gate agent to run on board wondering if a riot had broken out. This is America, and like it or not, the military has touched many lives of the folks here. I am proud to say that I am part of that big Green Machine.
Semper Fi,
Taco