Wake

 

 

 Had a bit of a surprise this past week.  With respect to the accident, I was feeling pretty good.  Neck is still a bit sore, but a universe less pain than it had been.  Had an appointment on Thursday last and thought I'd be cleared to drive.  

Not so fast, juvat.  

Doctor: "Regarding AFlu (Atrial Fluctuation) when you passed out and were ambulated to the hospital, your heart rate was in the 120 Beats per minute range, a very dangerous rate. Surgery to Ablate the heart and install a Monitor.  That treatment worked and those symptoms are fine".

juvat: "So I can Drive?" Big Smile on my face!

Now for the REST of the Story! 

Doctor: "I'm sorry.  Because you had Syncope  (passing out) during the episode we now need to address the AFib  (Atrial Fibrillation in your heart)"

juvat: "Huh???? What's that entail? Hospital admission.""

Doctor: "No, the AFlu treatment required an "all in" Heart operation, to install a heart beat regulator.  This procedure is much less complicated.  We'll insert a catheter through the vein in your leg and use a bit of electricity to bring the rhythm back to normal.  You'll only be in the hospital for a couple of hours."

juvat: "Wonderful (sarcasm).  When will I be able to drive?"

Doctor: "3 more months. Syncope requires a full 6 months, without any incidents ,to release you to drive."

juvat: "Yay!"  Sarcasm is definitely in full scale drip mode.

So. Things are just splendid in juvat land.  Can't wait til Summer.

Anyhow,  on with the show!

 

Wake Island

So, There I was…* In receipt of orders to depart my hardship tour at CinCPAC headquarters, Camp Smith Hawaii, and proceed to what to what would be my final assignment in the Air Force.  Others referred to the next location as Fort Fumble, still others the Puzzle Palace.  I, with the true force of loathing, referred to it as the Northern Virginia Penitentiary for Wayward Fighter Pilots. Yes, some folks refer to it as the Pentagon, they are either non-Military types or if they are military, have sold their soul for their careers.  In other words, people I have no use nor any respect for.  But, now that I have gotten that off my chest, I will cease and desist with that digression vector and discuss where I PCS’d from.

But Juvat, you were assigned to Camp Smith, didn’t you PCS from there?  Technically, yes, but I actually left from Wake Island.  So, let’s get to that bit of oddity.

Back in the first term of Billy Jeff, before Monica, the United States actually attempted to enforce Immigration Laws.  (I know, I know.  How very Racist of us!).  As part of that enforcement, the US Coast Guard would board suspicious ships that were approaching the 12 mile limit.  Boarding them before reaching that limit was important, especially off the West Coast, because, even then, Liberal Judges would issue an injunction prohibiting their deportation until they had a chance to plead their case.  Those proceedings were always delayed and delayed….Thus ensuring that the Democrats had additional voters that Justice was served.

The problem is complicated by what the USCinCPAC Commander (he was the ranking 4 Star in all the Pacific services, and was Navy) at the time referred to his Area of Responsibility (AOR) as the “Tyranny of Distance”.  It’s a 6 hour plane ride from SFO to HNL, and depending on the winds, a 10 to 12 hour plane ride from HNL to Tokyo.  The USCG intercepts a ship carrying illegal aliens.  What does it do with them?  If they bring them ashore in the States, they’re home free.  Taking them all the way back to their home country ties up that Coast Guard asset for a long time.  An option is to find a Non-US territory that is willing to take them in until the illegal alien’s country of origin makes arrangements to recover them.  The US had some limited success in paying some friendly Pacific Island nations to do exactly that.  

China, of course, was the primary starting point of the illegals.  After a few ships were intercepted, (I am under no illusion that all, let alone most, were intercepted, so let’s settle for a “few”), China changed the game by insisting that the “refugees” were repatriated from “US held territory”.  They did this knowing full well the problem of bringing them into the US.

My job at CinCPAC HQ was to provide an augmentation team and train them in Joint Task Force planning and operations.  I drew my team from the Combat Commands on the island (PACAF, USARPac, CincPACFlt and MARFORPAC).  When activated, we’d deploy to one of the designated three star billet commands in the Pacific.  At the time, those were 7th Fleet, 3 MEF and I Corps.  We’d join with their Command Staff and become a JTF.  The concept worked pretty well, at least in exercises.

It’s around the 1st of July when I get called in to the CincPAC J-3s office, a Marine 2 star.  He tells me to ready the team and that sometime during the next week we’d be deploying.  No idea when or where, or to whom as yet.

I get the notification process started and prep the initial briefing.  Seems that a small Chinese fishing boat had been intercepted off the coast of California with 118 illegals aboard.  The State Department was negotiating with the Chinese for their return, but the Chinese were insisting that they be returned from US Held Territory.  Saipan and Tinian were not going to be acceptable.  Hawaii with its very Democrat infested liberal court system was definitely not an option.  We considered Midway, but discovered that also fell under the Hawaii’s District Court.  Finally, we found that Wake Island was an “unincorporated territory” of the United States. 

According to a Citation in Wikipedia (a source renowned throughout the world for its accuracy) an unincorporated territory is one "where fundamental rights apply as a matter of law, but other constitutional rights are not available".  Bingo.

The boat and escort are directed to Wake Island.  The JTF is to be created with the main manpower coming from one of the Army Battalions from the 25th ID.  They would include an infantry company, and some MPs.  A BG from the Division would be the CJTF.  My team would be the JTF staff.  PACAF would provide medical and dental support and personnel.  CincPacFlt would provide construction support.

The yellow line is 4500 miles long

It was going to take the boats about 2 weeks to transit and Wake’s facilities were not ready for a few hundred people to arrive.  It had been hosting a small team that supported launch activities from Kwajalein.  So there was some rudimentary facilities, a small clinic, dining hall and airport support.  The rest we’d have to bring or repair.

I’m sitting there looking at this operation knowing that I’m PCSing from this unit I’d trained. I also knew it was going into what was their first “real world” operation. I wanted to go, bad!  But I also knew that I had to be in DC by the end of August.

We have our initial meeting with the CJTF and he starts laying out the command structure.  I’m taking notes as fast as I can write.  He tells the Army Lt Col Battalion Commander he’s the Ground Forces Commander.  Lays out the Support Command structure and then starts on the JTF staff.  He looks at my replacement  (AF) who’s just been selected for O-6 and has been shadowing me for about a week and tells him he’s going to be the Chief of Staff.  Then looks at me and says “LtCol Juvat, you’re going to be my J-3.” (COO in civilian terms.)  I tell him about the PCS and he says “do you want to stay or go with us?”

“I want to go.”

“You’re in.”

Now, I’ve gotten most of the pre-PCS paper work done, but we’re now approaching that point where Physics is involved.  Physics being the actual moving of People and things.  To further complicate matters, my wife has already PCS’d to DC.  Fortunately, we had a live-in Nanny, who took care of my kids.  I deployed about 3 days later, while gone, she handled the movers, the clearing of quarters, the shipment of cars and the transportation of two unaccompanied minors. Talk about stepping up!  Kim, if you’re reading this, I still have a hard time believing you pulled it off.  And, even after all these years, thanks does not begin to express my gratitude.

The operation has two critical areas that are needed for success.  We have to restore facilities so they are fit for human habitation and we have to find enough Chinese linguists to communicate with the illegal aliens.  The first is constrained by time and the second by availability.

Wake had several buildings that had served as barracks in the 60s, so on arrival we selected the one in the best shape as the dorm for the illegals.  Best shape should really be least worse.  But the engineers got to work and by the time the boat arrived, the plumbing, lights and electricity all worked.  Bedding had been replaced.  It wasn’t the Hilton, but it beat the cargo hold of a fishing boat.  

We also had to come to terms with what we were going to do about the Enforcers.  They were a group of 10 men who were charged with bringing the illegals to the US.  The Coast Guard told us we would have to keep them separated from the rest of the group.  So we restored a separate facility and surrounded it with concertina.

To the best of my recollection, Top Left was the building housing the illegals, top right was for the enforcers and bottom was JTF operations.  

The boat and escort arrived.  We’re using the marina and a WWII landing craft to transport the illegals and their enforcers ashore.  The illegals are brought ashore first,  and given a quick in-processing, basically asked their name and given a quick medical check for anything serious. Then they were given a bus ride around to the other side of the island and checked in to the barracks.

This was high tide.  Low tide and the boat was 5 or 6 feet lower.
Source

We handled the enforcers a little differently, upon advice from the Coasties.  We’ve selected low tide for when this would happen as we didn’t want the enforcers to have a chance to scope out the arrival facilities.

The Coast Guard had kept them bound and on deck for essentially the entire trip.  Upon inspecting the fishing boat and hearing the stories of their actions, I’d have been tempted to troll for sharks with them.  I was not alone having similar temptations for them like that...by a long shot.

At low tide, the water level in the marina put the landing craft below the dock, so the occupants couldn’t see anything behind the edge.  We had a greeting party that took the names at the front.  That greeting party had been told at the first sign of resistance to move out of the way.  

Sure enough, we’d brought 3 or 4 of them up the ladder, hands bound in front, feet free when one of them starts to do the kung fu stuff.  The greeting party moved away, leaving the Bruce Lee wannabe face to face with a squad of infantry, bayonets ready in a cordon around the docking area.  Problem solved.

By now the illegals are in their dorm and have eaten.  The enforcers are in their area, have eaten and it’s getting dark.  Shortly after dark, I get a call saying we’ve got a fire in the enforcer’s area.  That was one of the scenarios we’d gamed out.  The security team had sheets of plywood and breached the concertina with them.  Again, with bayonets out, they herded the enforcers into one corner of the concertina away from the fire while another team put the mattress fire out.  

After the fire was out, we confiscated all the fire starters and cigarettes.  We also took away the remaining mattresses and put them back in their smoke damaged rooms.  It was quiet from then on out.

Things got pretty boring at that point.  The illegals were getting their three hots and were getting medical and dental care.  Their trip across the Pacific had been hellish.  Stuffed in a 500 square foot fish hold with a 55 gal drum for a toilet.  They’re only time on deck was when they were brought up to “entertain” the enforcers.  All of them were used that way.  Grandmothers, Grandfathers, Girls, Boys the entire group. 

Their medical condition reflected that abuse as did some of their dental problems. 

As I said, routine set in and the highlight of discussion was when was China going to accept them back.  It was about the 10th of August when the CJTF calls me in and says I should take the next 141 back.  

We had been redeploying the stuff and people we no longer needed and I now fell in that category.  I handed off the J-3 responsibilities to a Navy Commander who’d been in that shop.  She was very sharp and I wasn’t worried about the job not getting done.  As far as I can tell, she was the first female J-3.  Well done, Darah!

I flew in the 141 from Wake to Travis, hitched a ride from my Aunt to SFO and from there flew to Washington Reagan.  Met up with my wife and kids and the following Monday reported in at the Northern Virginia Penitentiary for wayward Fighter Pilots and began my sentence.

On August 12th, the Chinese relented and sent a DC-10 to pick up the illegals.  Transfer to the airliner went without a hitch.  And JTF Prompt Return was over.  

Later, when I transferred from the Air Staff to Current Ops on the Joint Staff, I worked next door to the Pacific section. The guy we had communicated with from Wake was still there.  I asked him what had happened to the Chinese when they had arrived in Beijing.  He said the illegals were sent home.  The enforcers were knelt down on the tarmac and shot in the back of the head.

Good.

A few months later, I received a memo saying that I was authorized to wear the Humanitarian Service Medal for participation in JTF Prompt Return.  I had a few rows of brightly colored cloth on my uniform when I retired.  That was the only one that gave me any satisfaction.

On a side note, if I ever decide to move to Rhode Island , I’m eligible for Veteran’s property tax relief.

* Standard Juvat Comment!

The Bloody Hill, Act I

The Battle of Bunker Hill
Howard Pyle (PD)

By the time Sergeant Andrews' company landed on Morton's Point, the afternoon was already well along. Andrews' shirt was drenched in sweat and it ran in rivulets down his face from under his bearskin cap. He had no idea where Captain Mims had got off to, once again it was Corporal Holloway and himself getting the men in line.

The grenadiers from the various regiments in the town had been grouped together, as they had been for the march to Concord. They were in the center of the force commanded by Sir Robert Pigot, off to the right Andrews saw that the light infantry, under the command of Sir William Howe, were preparing to advance down the northern side of the Charlestown peninsula.

The troops on the left flank of Pigot's line were taking fire from the town of Charlestown, a number of men were already down and Andrews wondered why they didn't clear Charlestown first before assaulting the hill before them.

"Damn it, Sir, we need to suppress those militia firing upon us from the town."

"Sir William has sent a dispatch to Admiral Graves, asking for him to shell the town. That should be happening at any moment ..."

As soon as the lieutenant dispatched from Sir William finished his explanation to Sir Robert, they both turned as they heard a loud bang from the direction of the harbor. HMS Somerset had a cloud of powder smoke floating up into her rigging from a single cannon shot.

"Oh, there! I believe they're firing carcass¹, Sir Robert."

Sir Robert looked where the lieutenant was pointing and as he did so, the projectile hit the roof of a building which was immediately engulfed in flame.

"Please give my regards to Sir William, Leftenant. As soon as the town is burning, we shall advance." Sir Robert Pigot was somewhat concerned that they were burning towns now, but the colonials had brought this upon themselves, hadn't they?

Seamus McTeague's hands were very sweaty, the day was hot and he was tired. They had been up all night preparing the earthwork which he now stood behind, waiting with his comrades as they watched the regulars landing on the shoreline below.

Though they'd been under cannon fire for a large part of the morning, it had been mostly ineffective. For the one man who'd been hit though, the British guns had been very effective. He hadn't seen that, only heard about it from a fellow from a neighboring town.

The cannons had stopped for a while. Only to start up again as one of the British ships standing just off the town of Charlestown had opened fire. Not with a full broadside but with only a few guns firing at the town. Once Charlestown was in flames, the cannon fire had stopped altogether. Now they waited.

At one point there had been a mild panic when one of the officers had realized that their left flank was completely open. The regulars could advance upon the narrow beach running along the northern side of the peninsula with no danger from the redoubt upon the hill. He had seen a group of men head that way, Connecticut men under an officer named Knowlton.

After those worthies had built up a crude wall, they were joined by two regiments of New Hampshiremen, which his sergeant had told him.

"Good lads, one of their commanders, Colonel John Stark, he's an old Indian fighter. I've heard good things about the other man as well, Colonel Reed. Both 'em saw action against the French and the Indians. They'll give the redcoats what for."

The Whites of Their Eyes
Ken Riley (PD)

"Here they come lads! Make every shot count!"

The men from New Hampshire saw the regulars getting ready to move forward, light infantry from the look of them. They were in a column, there wasn't room on the shingle for them to deploy into line. The New Hampshire men lined the crude wall, perhaps fifteen men across, not enough room for a long line, but as each rank fired, the next could come up and fire. As they were lined up rather deep behind the wall, the regulars would be shredded by musket fire.

Will Hensley, from Derry, New Hampshire, watched as the redcoats advanced, they weren't quite within effective musket range yet and they seemed not to notice the crude wall crossing the beach from the water to the embankment not far from the water's edge. Will was in the front line, ready to open fire.

He saw that the light infantry had quickened their pace, only to slow when one of their officers noticed the wall in front of them, that man had just raised his sword to shout a command when the New Hampshiremen received their own command ...

"FIRE!"

The light infantry were staggered, their front rank had fallen, nearly to a man, all dead or badly wounded. They fired a ragged volley, which went over the heads of the New Hampshiremen before taking another volley from the wall. This one sent them reeling back down the way they had come.

One of the men raised a cheer, only to be silenced by Colonel Stark.

"Save yer breath, lads. They'll be back, we've won the first round but this fight is just starting!"

The drums rolled, Captain Mims, who had just rejoined the company, reeking of alcohol, raised his sword and ordered, "Company will advance!"

As Sergeant Andrews stepped off, he glanced to his left, the men's alignment was flawless, it was if they were on the parade ground. Many of the lads were anxious for the chance to repay the colonials for Lexington and Concord and today was that day.

As the ground rose, Andrews realized that the nearly waist high hay would cause problems. Many of the men began to curse and stumble as the long grass caught the buttons of their gaiters. It also concealed the unevenness of the ground itself, Andrews nearly spraining his ankle as he stepped into a hole and nearly fell.

The drums thumped as the line slowed, dressed itself, then continued up the hill. The sweat was pouring down Andrews' face as they advanced, now not only his shirt but his waistcoat was drenched as well.

Ahead he could see the earthwork, the colonials were there, low to the ground, only their heads and their shoulders visible. Of course, their muskets could also be seen now as they got closer. Andrews drew in a deep breath, before he could shout to the men, a rippling fire exploded to their front.

Andrews heard the balls zipping and hissing through the air, he was splashed with blood and bone particles as the man beside him was hit in the head. He could hear the thumps of lead impacting flesh as he took another step, then stopped.

The men wavered, then fled back down the hill the way they had come, except for Captain Mims, the drunken fool was still advancing, sword held high, his back to his company as they abandoned him.

"Captain, come back, the men are fleeing!"

Mims stumbled, then turned around, the sword falling from his hand as the life fled from his body. His chest was bloody from the two musket balls which had driven into him. His body was dying but his brain refused to believe it.

"Sergeant, help me ..."

Mims stumbled again, this time falling to his knees. The colonials were firing again, this time individual shots as they fired at the fleeing soldiers. Andrews heard the whizz of a ball passing very near his head.

He knelt and caught his captain as the man fell face down into his arms.

"Sir?"

Andrews turned Mims face to the sun, no use, the captain was gone.

Andrews fled down the hill in shame, his company had fallen apart and he'd left his captain behind, dead on that bloody hill.

Seamus watched in amazement as the regulars broke and fled back down the hill. One of the men nearby started to raise a cheer but was silenced by his sergeant. Seamus couldn't believe his eyes. This was the most feared army in the world?

He reloaded his musket, feeling in his pouch, he realized that he didn't have much in the way of ammunition. He also felt some concern at his lack of a bayonet. He had nearly wet himself upon seeing the line of redcoats advancing in near perfect order, their firelocks shouldered, their bayonets fixed and gleaming in the hot sun.

But they had run, was the battle over now?

He heard the shouts from down the hill, down by the water more regulars were landing, those who had been repulsed were reforming. As the lines reformed and the drums began to thump again, Seamus felt incredibly thirsty.

"Sarge, is their any water?"

Sergeant Ishmael Thomas shook his head, "Somethin' else the officers seem to have forgot, lad. What little we had is gone. How are you fixed for powder and shot?"

"I don't know, Sarge, another fifteen shots perhaps, then I'll be needing more."

"Well, if it comes to that, take it from the dead."

Seamus looked around, there were no dead on their side. Looking to his front he saw numerous redcoated bodies sprawled some twenty yards down the slope. Some of them still moving, many of them unmoving, their glassy eyes staring, unseeing, into the deep blue of the Boston sky.

"From the regulars?" he asked incredulously.

"As the battle ripens laddie, we'll lose some of our boys, get it from them. If worse comes to worse, we'll go forward and get it from those lads down the slope. But if they come on like they just did once more, I doubt they'll have the stomach to keep at it. See 'em off one more time, and we might win this just like we won back in April."

Seamus looked towards the water again, out of the smoke from the burning town and the smoke from their last volley, the redcoats appeared once more. The lines were shorter but the redcoats were coming on as if they hadn't been hurt at all.

"Get ready, boys! Here they come again!"

¹ Carcass shot was a form of incendiary. Very flammable, they would break open upon impact, dousing the surroundings with the burning material from the shell itself. Typically composed of a mixture of saltpeter, sulfur, rosin, sulfide of antimony, tallow and turpentine.

FWIW: On this date in 2012, I posted for the first time here on the Chant. It's been fourteen interesting years. I pray I can continue for at least another fourteen. God willing ...

Between Concord and Breed's Hill ...

Source

Sergeant Andrews sat up, gasping. A bad dream lingered, musket smoke in the trees, blood on the road, his friends dying all around him, a young beautiful woman her, arms soaked in blood to the elbows, offering him bread ...

"Jaysus!"

Corporal Holloway stirred beside him. Andrews looked over at his friend, saying a silent prayer of thanks that Tom had made it through. Holloway, his thick hair tousled and filthy with dirt and powder smoke, opened his eyes.

"Dreaming again, Sarge?"

"Aye."

Andrews stood up, stretching, he wasn't as young as he used to be, getting close to 50 as near as he could reckon.

He'd made it through Braddock's campaign in '55, had been nearby when General Braddock's corpse had been buried in secret, no one wanting the savages of the forest to dig him up and desecrate the body. He'd been a young man standing on the Plains of Abraham in '59, he'd seen the corpse of General Wolfe carried from the field. In all, he'd seen too much.

The horror of the march back from Concord was nothing like that on the Monongahela, but somehow worse. There it had been natives and Frenchmen killing them, now it was their fellow Englishmen. For Andrews considered them so, he'd been in America for a long time now, they dressed like Englishmen, for the most part, and they talked like Englishmen. It was akin to being attacked by a member of the family.

"Sarge?"

Rolling his head from side to side, getting the kinks out of his neck and back, he looked at Holloway, "You're awfully chatty this morning."

"Did yesterday really happen, Allen?"

"Yeah, Tommy, it did, it happened. I wonder what's next?"

Seamus McTeague sat at the kitchen table, his grandmother had prepared a meal for him. He had spent the night of the 19th in the fields close to Boston, he had seen the mighty British Army stagger back to the protection of the guns of the Royal Navy, his company had pursued no further.

Early on the morning of the 20th he and his mates had been roused and sent back towards Lexington. The locals were recovering their dead for burial in their churchyards, the fallen redcoats were buried in pits beside the road, one to four men in each hole.

It was as if the British column, in its flight from Concord had shed men like a dog sheds fur in the spring. A dead man here, two there, a lot of wounded as well. The locals treated the wounded soldiers no differently than they treated their own wounded. Though the militiamen tended to get treated first.

His grandfather wasn't speaking to him, he'd told the old man about witnessing his father's death, Angus had stormed off, he needed to see that for himself. Upon his return he had looked once at his grandson, then turned away, his face pale.

"I didn't kill him, Gran, why's he so angry at me?"

"It's not you he's mad at, Seamus. But your Da' was the last of your Gran'da's sons, your uncles died when they were but wee lads, and you're an only child. With your Da' gone, and this war starting, your Gran'da thinks it's the end of his line. He's not angry so much as sad. And not a bit terrified as well."

Seamus nodded, then said, "I'm to report back to my company tomorrow, Friday I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah, my day's are all jumbled up now, happens when you don't sleep."

"Aye, now finish up your food, go wash your face and hands then it's off to bed wi' ye."

"Aye, Gran. I will."

More than a month had passed, it was now late May. Reinforcements had arrived to bring British strength in and around Boston up to around 6,000 men. But the militia had massed outside Boston, rumor had it that there were near 20,000 militiamen out there. The town was effectively under siege, but more due to inaction on the British side than anything else.

Three new generals had arrived with the reinforcements, Clinton, Howe, and Burgoyne. They were itching to break out of Boston and teach the colonials a lesson. As General Burgoyne had allegedly said, "We need room to stretch out, we need to push these rabble away from the city."

Andrews shook his head as his new captain related that to him, "Sir, those lads out there may not dress as nice as us, may not fight in neat lines like us, but they do know how to fight. We'd have a chance if they stayed out in the open, but behind a wall, or a tree, they're tough to kill."

Captain Roderick Mims laughed, "Ah Sergeant, I fear you've been too long here in the colonies. Once we get organized and get everyone healthy after that dreadful sea voyage, then we shall scatter the colonials to the four winds."

Andrews sighed, then nodded, "Whatever you say, Sir. I'm just a simple sergeant."

Mims smirked, "Quite."

Back at the bivouac he'd related his conversation with their new commander to Holloway.

"Howe? William Howe? Brother of Admiral Howe?" Holloway had asked.

"The very same, brother to George Howe as well."

"Don't know the man."

"Died in the last war, killed near Ticonderoga. The best of the three brothers I always heard, now we'll never know."

The British Army in Boston awakened on the morning of the 17th of June to discover that the colonists surrounding the town had been busy. They had raised an earthwork on Breed's Hill across the Charles River next to Charlestown.

Though General Clinton had noticed the works being prepared in the night, he couldn't convince either General Gage or General Howe to prepare an immediate attack for when the sun rose.

One British ship, the Lively had opened fire on the works around 4:00 AM, but an angry Admiral Graves, commanding the naval forces around Boston, had told them to cease fire. He hadn't ordered such a thing, desist immediately he had signaled.

General Gage, after assessing the situation, countermanded Admiral Graves and had every gun he could bring to bear, some 128 cannon, open fire on the colonial earthwork. Orders went out to muster the troops, they would go in shortly.

As they marched to the waterfront, Corporal Holloway expressed the opinion that the last time they'd taken a boat out of Boston, the colonials had torn them to red ribbons. Now they were dug in on a hill above them.

"I don't like this, Sarge."

"Neither do I, Tommy, but we took the King's shilling and it's time to pay the piper, so to speak."

"At least we're bombarding the bastards first." Holloway remarked.

Andrews didn't have the heart to point out that much of the gunfire was having no effect on the works, the range was either too long, or the elevation of the hill wouldn't let the guns elevate high enough to hit the works up there.

But like his friend, Sergeant Allen Andrews of His Britannic Majesty's grenadiers also had a bad feeling about this. A scant two months from the battles around Concord and Lexington and they were about to have another go at the colonials.

He remembered telling his captain how tough the colonials were with cover to their front. He shuddered at the thought of it.

Time to say a little prayer he thought, as the sailors began pulling on their oars to take them over to Charlestown neck. He noticed as well that the heat was building.

It's going to be a hot day, Sergeant Andrews thought, in more ways than one.

Tiny Purple Fishes ...¹

Odysseus and Polyphemus
Arnold Böcklin (PD)

Ah yes, the morning ritual ...

Wait, what? What about the Revolution?

Gimme a minute, okay? I have another tale to tell, we'll get back to the Revolution soon.

Now where was I?

Yes, the morning ritual. As a retiree I pretty much stay up as late as I want and get up as late as I want. No longer does my day begin with the alarm going off and me groaning about "Fudge," or something close to that. Nope, now I get up when I stop sleeping and no longer feel the need for more.

So on St. Patrick's Day I awakened at my usual time (actual time is classified but it's later than 0600) and after performing the standard OGR² I go to the smart phone. Why? Well, to check the blog, make sure the daily post actually posted, and then post a link to the post to Facebook, in two places. One on my home page, one at the page of Neptunus Lex. It's what I do.

Anyhoo, I check the blog, latest post is live, I grab its link and head to Facebook ...

You need to log in again ... (or words to that effect)

Now I'm having a kind of "open the pod bay doors HAL" moment ...

For the page I get when I log in looks like mine, but it ain't mine. Profile picture is me (an older profile pic mind you) and apparently my cousin had fallen on hard times and I was selling his stuff to raise money. Or something, it's kind of a classic scam.

I shake my head, I get dressed, I figured that this was something I could deal with AFTER I had my coffee. As I head downstairs, The Missus Herself asks, "What happened to your cousin?" (The Missus Herself and I are, duh, friends on Facebook.) Now I'm having another moment, a Talking Heads moment ...

And you may tell yourself 

"This is not my beautiful house!"

And you may tell yourself

"This is not my beautiful wife!" 

Coffee in hand, I return to the Facebook question. Sometimes my phone will do weird shit, like log me out of things, I figure maybe it's that, so I head for the desktop.

Same thing. So I contact the Facebook folks³, first person has me try a couple of things (you know the standard, "did you try turning it off, then turning it back on again?"), none of which works. So I get handed off to an actual tech person who works for Meta.

That person, after some digging, determines that sometime in the wee hours, between midnight and oh-dark-thirty, someone had indeed managed to hijack my Facebook page. Not clone, not create a similar page, but actually take over my page. The Meta person gave me a "standby while I fix this" and after a moment or three, came back with "try it now."

I did, and my account was back. I was me again. I changed my password as recommended (and no Matt, it wasn't "navy") and said thank you very much. I logged off of Facebook and decided to return in an hour or so to see if it still worked ...

Nope. The scammer was back. I say scammer because the individual claimed to be selling his cousin's stuff because of some sob story. Sure, if that was real, you'd have your own Facebook page. Asshole. (This BTW, is a rather classic scam. You offer shit for sale, people send you money, you take the money and run. No, the people who sent money get squat. There was never a cousin, there was never stuff for sale.)

Now I figured I'd have to go through all the pain of chat with Meta again, and I did, for a while, until I noticed an email from the first Meta person who had helped me ...

So is the problem resolved? Can you log in? Are you you?

And the answers there were: No, no, and (Facebook-wise) no.

The person actually cared and asked me to give them some time to resolve the issue. After the two of us had gone through a number of things, it seems the hacker was very clever and had done some things he shouldn't have been able to (hopefully Meta fixes that hole) and I was kinda screwed, sort of.

The Meta person said she'd be in touch (by the screen name I assumed the tech was a lady) and please be patient.

Oh, did I mention one of the troubleshooting things I did was accessing Facebook using my cellphone? I didn't? Well, that was another part of the adventure. (Kinda like running into Polyphemus⁴ on that island ...).

My phone had decided at some point while trying to recover my account that the Facebook app on said phone needed updating. Sigh, I consented.

Google Play said, "Yo dude, you're unsecured, you need to have a PIN or a fingerprint." So I said, "Sure, whatever, I'll do the fingerprint thing." And I did.

The Facebook App was happy and we continued down the troubleshooting path. Then, while waiting for the tech to send another message, I was using an app on my phone which decided to freeze up, become unresponsive, you know, the software shit the bed ...

What to do, what to do? First step, get more coffee and wait.

After fifteen minutes, the app is still frozen. So next step, one I've used many times, is to restart my phone. (On most software-driven systems if you restart the system it clears out whatever made the software hang and you can continue. Until the next time.)

Phone restarts and it says ...

Because you restarted, you need to enter your PIN.

Say what? What PIN? I've never had a PIN on this phone, what the hell?

Phone is now locked, I mean locked-locked. I try my standard PINs (yes, I have standard PINs, and no Matt, one of them is not "6289" which is "navy" from a phone's key pad) to no avail, phone stays locked and the intervals between "try again" keep getting longer.

So I head off to the cell phone store for my service. Nope, they can't reset it or unlock it or do anything other than sell me a new phone. Dude suggests the Geek Squad at Best Buy.

Sigh, back in the car, drive up to Massachusetts (closest reliable Best Buy, there's a story I might tell someday ...) and arrive at Best Buy.

"Hi Sir, can I help you?" sayeth the greeter at the door

"Why yes, yes you may, I'm here to see the Geek Squad."

 

"Do you have an appointment?"

 

After telling the guy no, I'm thinking "What are they, like doctors now?" The guy says, oh, they're available go right on in."

I explain the situation, am told all about factory reset, lose all your data, blah, blah, blah, I tell them "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"

After I explain myself, them not getting the Naval reference, I say ...

Well, on behalf of my phone I said that.

Fiddle, fiddle, some explanation, then "Hhmm, I can't do a factory reset on the phone, keeps asking for the PIN. Do you know your PIN?"

This time I'm the one with the blank stare, "Uh, that's why I'm here, I don't have a pin."

So it's back home, where I explain to the Meta tech that as my phone has decided not to cooperate, we'll have to wait for the morrow, when I can go forth and buy a new phone.

She said that that was cool, to email her when when I was ready.

So the day comes, a Wednesday and I head off to purchase said phone. I explain the situation to the guy, who much like me calls a spade a spade, says, "Yeah, you're f**ked, I doubt even the factory could actually reset this guy. You've locked out the universe this time."

Grimacing I chose a new phone (a very nice one for which the list price was north of $600) and prepared myself to mortgage my home ...

"That comes to $141." (and change)

 

"Huh, seems low."

The guy assures me that that indeed is the price, as it is well less than expected, I thank him and walk out of the store. As we get in the car I look to The Missus Herself and say, "Why so cheap?"

"Maybe they're having a special. Who cares? You have your phone, let's go eat."

So we did.

Thursday morning I get up and check my email. The tech lady is back and asks if I was able to log in to Facebook yet. I said no, and she made some suggestions which resulted in "no joy," She says, "give me a minute or two, I want to try something."

Well, she got back to me in minutes and after some arcane maneuvering on the web and some creation of stuff that was new, she did her magic and said, "Try it now."

I did and lo and behold I had my Facebook account back. I changed the password, again (and no Matt, it still wasn't "navy") then proceeded to dispatch damage control parties to clean up the mess the hacker had left.

Six new "friends" who were quickly unfriended, restoring profile pictures and the like, and "Whoa! What the hell?"

I had missing friends, cherished friends one of whom was my daughter LUSH, another was my bestest buddy Liz, and the aforementioned Matt. Damn, oh damn. Then I remembered, LUSH had accosted the scammer "You ain't my Dad, yer a right bastard you are." So he unfriended and blocked her.

Same for Liz, same for Matt.

Searching for this and that I eventually unblocked and re-friended the aforementioned folks and now, as of this date, things are back to normal.

Other than having to update all of my contacts on my phone and the loss of over 600 photos from said phone because you-know-who⁵ said "I don't trust this cloud shit" at some point five years or so ago. And yes, the photos from over five years (or so) ago all showed up on the new phone once I got it all configured. (This time I'm going to trust the Cloud, offsite storage is something I always practiced professionally, gonna do it personally now.)

So yes boys and girls, it's been one hell of a week. My own little odyssey, of sorts. And yes, Ulysses and Odysseus were one and the same. (It's that whole who told the story thing, Roman or Greek. I think the Greeks did everything first, then the Romans copied them. Or something.)

Anyhoo, I'm back baby!

Tales of Brave Ulysses

Words: Martin Sharp. Music: Eric Clapton Performed by: Cream

You thought the leaden winter

Would bring you down forever

But you rode upon a steamer

To the violence of the sun

And the colours of the sea

Blind your eyes with trembling mermaids

And you touch the distant beaches

With tales of brave Ulysses

How his naked ears were tortured

By the sirens sweetly singing

For the sparkling waves are calling you

To kiss their white laced lips

And you see a girl's brown body

Dancing through the turquoise

And her footprints make you follow

Where the sky loves the sea

And when your fingers find her

She drowns you in her body

Carving deep blue ripples

In the tissues of your mind

Tiny purple fishes

Run laughing through your fingers

And you want to take her with you

To the hard land of the winter

Her name is Aphrodite

And she rides a crimson shell

And you know you cannot leave her

For you touched the distant sands

With tales of brave Ulysses

How his naked ears were tortured

By the sirens sweetly singing

Tiny purple fishes

Run laughing through your fingers

And you want to take her with you

To the hard land of the winter

Source

Okay, the song is only tangentially relevant to the post, but hey, I love that song. Besides which, it gives me a change to use "Tiny Purple Fishes" as a post title.

Yeah, like I needed an excuse ...

Sarge Note: I wanted to relate my experience with the whole hijacked Facebook account thing and I felt some lighter fare was needed after Tuna's rather grim and heavy post yesterday. Before jumping back into my murder-death-kill tale of the American Revolution. And I am effing exhausted after the week's "festivities." I lost a lot of sleep due to my "righteous" anger of someone coopting my Facebook account. It's where I keep up with my far flung legion of friends and family. Since retiring it's become my community of folks. Scoff if you will, but damn it, losing that hurt far more than I thought possible. Anyhoo, for now, all is well, at least in my little corner of the universe.

¹ From Tales of Brave Ulysses by Cream. Video and lyrics above.

² Old Guy Rituals. If you know, you know. (IYKYK for the kids in the audience.)

³ Via a chat button I'd never noticed before!

⁴ Another reference to the Odyssey the whole recovering the Facebook account was an odyssey of sorts, just didn't take as long.

⁵ Yeah, that would be me, Your Humble Scribe.