The Trap

(Source)

Little Wolf had seen twenty men, one of them the English officer Will Jefferson, approaching along the opposite side of the ridge. What he hadn't seen was a second party of twelve men, all Mohicans, led by Standing Wolf. That group had been near the top of the ridge, looking for the Abenaki scouts¹. With no success.

"There is a low spot further along the ridge, Blue Eyes. The French will go that way after skirting the village of the strange people." Standing Wolf had said to Jefferson that morning before dawn.

"Strange people?" Jefferson had asked.

"They believe in strange things, they claim to be Abenaki, but none of the other members of that confederation will have any dealings with them. They fight at night, it is said that they eat human flesh. Strange people."

Jefferson looked unsettled by that news, he also told himself that they should also avoid that place. Cannibals!

Just before dawn Standing Wolf set out with his flanking party, his thought was to get above the notch and set up an ambush there for when the French came through. He assumed that they would do so because in all his dealings with the Europeans they tended to do things the easiest way possible. Why climb over the ridge when they could simply use the notch? It was a perfect spot for an ambush.

He was right.

Sergent Malheur had given Little Wolf eight of his best men, his most experienced men, to cover the right flank of their position. He had studied the terrain in the final light of yesterday. Where the ridge dipped down to the notch it would be easy to send a party slightly above that notch. If he was setting an ambush for someone moving north, he would do that.

Jacques Gaudry was with Little Wolf, so the right flank numbered ten men all told. Caporal² Paul Soult had objected to taking the younger of the Gaudry brothers, the Indian he didn't mind as the man knew the terrain. "Mon Sergent, he is but a boy, I know nothing of him but that he is young. A strong lad, yes, seldom complained on the march south, but still, he is a child."

Malheur nodded thoughtfully then said, "Do you know he travelled the Great River with only his brother last summer? They traveled through these very lands, just the two of them. These Gaudry boys know the forest almost as well as the Abenaki. Let him guide you into position, he knows nothing of war, that is true, but he will listen to you. You should listen to him when it comes to the ways of this land."

"Very well, I still don't like it but..."

"Would it make you feel better to face the Mohican with one less man, or two? He and the Abenaki are close, like brothers. I would not send Gaudry but the Abenaki's French, while very good, may not be good enough for our purposes. At least Jacques knows the words of drill and command."

"Oui Sergent, that much is true."

Dull Knife was watching his war chief, Standing Wolf seemed nervous, something was bothering him. Dull Knife saw nothing to be concerned about, they had defeated les français and their Abenaki dogs many times in the past. This was almost too easy, chasing down frightened children in the forest was harder.

Standing Wolf was nervous, his senses were trying to tell him something on this forested hillside. The day was dawning and the weather was pleasant. How hard could it be to set up an ambush like this? Why was he so on edge?

As the flanking party began to descend down to the lower part of the slope, the forest began to thin out somewhat. Standing Wolf could see the trail that led through the gap between this ridge and the next. As he gave the signal for his warriors to spread out to cover the trail, he caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. He started to turn in that direction.

Private Alphonse Côté was the best shot in the Third Company, perhaps the best shot in the regiment. Caporal Soult had left it to him to judge when it was best to open fire. The patrol was relying on him to start the fight. He wanted to make sure his first shot counted.

He had first noticed the big warrior when he had gestured to the others, clearly the man was some sort of leader. Côté determined that that man would be the first to fall. When he had started to turn in the direction of the French right flank, Côté pulled the trigger of his firelock. As always, he said a little prayer to ask for the flint to strike cleanly and for the spark to travel to the main charge. If that happened, he knew the bullet would fly as true as a smoothbore could send it.

The flash of the priming charge was followed almost immediately by the kick of the heavy musket as the main charge detonated, propelling the lead ball on its way. Côté grunted with satisfaction as he began the process of reloading his weapon. Seeing the smoke billow forth from the small grove in which they were hidden made him realize that the ambush was a success. His fellow soldiers had fired within a second of his shot.

Dull Knife looked on in astonishment as his war chief was knocked to the ground, a spray of bright red blood indicating that Standing Wolf had been badly wounded if not killed outright. His astonishment didn't last long as he too was hit. His last thought was that he would be sad not to see his woman again.

When Lieutenant Will Jefferson heard the rattle of musketry on the hillside above him, his first thought was that Standing Wolf had somehow started the fight too early. There was no way the French would be moving this early. The thought that they had been there all night never crossed his mind. He had severely underestimated his opponent.

Soult was reloading again, for at least the fourth time by his reckoning, the slight breeze had died and the powder smoke was starting to thicken around their position. As he brought his firelock up, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mon Caporal, the enemy are all down. We should sweep down the hill, we can take the men in the notch from behind." Jacques Gaudry knew for a certainty that the Mohicans they had been firing on were all down, Little Wolf was already collecting scalps in the sparse tress where the flanking party had been slaughtered.

Soult hesitated, then bellowed, "À baïonnettes! En avant!³"

Lieutenant Will Jefferson was down on one knee, he was clutching his right side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the ball which had torn his uniform coat open and ripped his flesh. The pain was nearly overwhelming.

He looked towards the French line, he knew they were opposed by French soldiers alone, he had heard no war cries, he had seen no arrows fly. The volleys which had emanated from the woods before him had been methodical and deadly. Most of his warriors were down, those who had survived the initial volleys had taken to their heels. He couldn't blame them, had he been able, he would have fled as well. His honor be damned.

When he heard the screams from behind him, he knew the French had closed the trap.

Sergent Malheur commanded the men to cease fire. The smoke was getting too thick to see and he detected no return fire, musket balls or arrows.

"On your feet lads, fix your bayonets."

Fixing his own bayonet, Malheur looked to both sides, the men were ready. As he commanded the men to advance, Alain Gaudry joined him.

"The enemy are destroyed mon Sergent, one man remains, an English officer from the look of it. Caporal Soult's party hit the Mohicans from behind."

Malheur cocked an eyebrow, so there was a European among the Mohican, who, from what he could see, were mostly dead on the ground, one perhaps two were still moving, though weakly, soon to die. "Bring him to me!" Malheur commanded.

"He is badly wounded mon Sergent, he may die."

"Very well, take me to him."

Carefully, Jefferson peeled the tattered cloth away from his wound. The pain was immense. Gingerly he felt the  wound, it wasn't a graze, the ball was still inside him. He was on both knees now, his consciousness seemed to be fading. Surely he couldn't be hurt that bad?

He heard voices, footsteps on the forest floor, he looked up to see three French soldiers walking towards him. Frenchmen, thank God they weren't Abenaki. Then he passed out.

Alain knelt by the Englishman, he checked for a pulse, the man was still alive. "He yet lives mon Sergent."

Malheur nodded, thinking, "What am I to do with a wounded Englishman?" To Gaudry he said, "How bad is his wound?"

Gaudry looked at his sergeant and said, "Bad, I would hesitate to move him."

Malheur nodded again. "Where is Little Wolf?"

Jefferson opened his eyes, he had his back to a tree. His eyes went wide when he saw the Abenaki kneeling in front of him. He was surprised when the native spoke French to one of the soldiers standing nearby.

"You speak French?" Jefferson asked in amazement.

Little Wolf turned to the Englishman with a wolfish grin, "Why not, you do?"

Jefferson nearly fainted when the Abenaki drew a long knife and said, in French, "Hold him."

¹ The Mohicans thought there were more than one, in truth, Little Wolf was the only Abenaki with the French party.

² Corporal

³ With the bayonet! Forward!

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

A Plan Is Hatched...

(Source)

At first Sergent Louis Malheur had been somewhat irritated with Private Alain Gaudry. The boy was young and possessed of far more self-confidence than any man of that age should possess. Truth be told, he knew very little of the Gaudry brothers and their Abenaki companion.

By the second day of their trek north, Malheur was starting to have a grudging respect for the elder of the Gaudry brothers. They certainly knew their way around the wilderness. Though he had a rough idea of which direction to go to return to New France, he soon learned that just blundering north would have been a terrible idea. He remembered the afternoon of the first full day of the march.

"North is that way Private, why are you turning to the west?" He had inquired of the elder Gaudry.

"Little Wolf knows this area. Just ahead is a small creek which feeds into a rather large swamp. If we go straight north, we'll spend days in that swamp. By traveling a league to the west, we can avoid the swamp altogether. It saves us much time and is less dangerous." Alain had answered the Sergent.

"Less dangerous how?" Malheur had asked.

"There is a native village on the edge of the swamp, they are Abenaki but they hate les français. They have no love for les anglais as well, if we go near there, they might attack."

"Surely we have enough firepower to defeat them!" Malheur protested.

"They have traps in the swamp to snare the unwary, unlike many of the tribes, they will fight at night. Their numbers are small but they are vicious fighters. We might kill many, but we shall lose many."

Malheur thought for a moment, then nodded. "Carry on Private Gaudry, I defer to your knowledge of this area."

"It is Little Wolf's knowledge, not mine."

"Please tell your friend that I value his skill in these woods." Malheur said, smiling at the man in question as he walked over to join them.

"You are welcome Sergent, I speak your language fairly well, Jacques and Alain have taught me." Little Wolf spoke in French, oddly accented but very understandable.

Malheur blushed and said, "Forgive me for not telling you directly, but your skills are helping us a great deal."

Little Wolf nodded as if to indicate that he knew this already. After a short conversation in Abenaki, Little Wolf slipped back into the forest.

"Where is he going now?" Malheur asked Alain.

"There is a party of Mohican over the next ridge, he is keeping an eye on them. He suggests that we camp here tonight."

Malheur nodded and said, "Then let us do so. Pickets?"

"I think that wise, mon Sergent."

Guards Lieutenant Will Jefferson was staring at the ground in front of him. After a few long moments he realized that he just couldn't see what Standing Wolf was seeing. "I cannot see any difference my friend, the ground looks undisturbed to me."

Standing Wolf nodded, the Englishman still thought like a European, still saw things with a European's eye, not the eye of a Mohican warrior. "Do you trust me Blue Eyes?"

"With my life."

"Someone passed this way today, probably after the morning was well on. There isn't much wind today otherwise I wouldn't have noticed. Do you see here, where the soil is slightly compressed compared to the surrounding soil?"

Jefferson knelt down and looked closely, sure enough, now he saw it, someone had been this way, it was a partial print from a human foot wearing native footwear. It almost looked natural, but there was a line, a slight indent which was unnatural.

"A scout?"

"I think so, we are being watched."

"Alain."

Alain looked up to see his brother Jacques approaching. "What is it brother?"

"Little Wolf says they are coming. Twenty men, one of them a European, probably anglais."

Sergent Malheur had overheard the conversation, brief as it was. "The Mohicans?"

"Yes, mon Sergent. Little Wolf left a subtle clue for their trackers to find. It seems his ruse worked."

"Are you saying that he has led them here?" Malheur asked with some alarm.

"No, Sergent, the Mohicans are going to this place." Jacques sketched a rough map in the dirt. "The ridge ends here, it will take them another day to reach that spot. There is a narrow gap between there and the river, they will have to pass that way. We propose to attack them there. If you have at least fifteen men who are reliable and can shoot, we should be able to end the Mohican threat and continue on to Montréal."

Malheur looked at the rough map, "What is this here?" he said, pointing a a set of wavy lines Jacques had sketched in.

"That is the swamp we just went around. Do you see the possibilities?" Alain asked.

Malheur studied the map Jacques had drawn, he thought it might work. "Do you think Little Wolf can draw them here?" he asked, pointing at the notch in the ridge.

Alain smiled, "He already has mon Sergent. The Mohican will camp tonight to prepare themselves for battle. After all, we are merely French neophytes lost in the woods, yes?"

Malheur suddenly smiled at the thought of the men who had killed his officers and so many of his men being drawn into a trap.

"Let us head there now, the men have rested enough!"

By nightfall, Malheur and the Gaudry brothers had positioned the men. If Little Wolf did his part, the Mohicans stood no chance. They would hit the ambush position shortly after sunrise.

Little Wolf played his role superbly, the Mohicans were already boasting of their coming victory. The Abenaki warrior listened to those boasts from his position nearby. These enemies were overconfident. Soon, they would be food for the creatures of the forest.

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

Stormy Weather♫

 Well...It's Saturday here at Rancho Juvat as I write this, so if the world ends tomorrow, I won't be able to use that news for my regularly scheduled Monday update.  Mrs J and MBD have conferred in Top Secret Session and have put together an OPLAN that rivals Operation Overlord in scope.  

Well...Maybe not quite that large!  But it does involve the moving of people and supplies.  Turns out that SIL can finish up the final courses of his Doctor of Divinity degree remotely and since their lease on a old but small house in Houston is up this week, the decision has been made to move back to College Station.  He has made some inroads with a couple of churches there and hopefully will be offered a job.  On the MBD front, she and SIL had met some friends of his family while on vacation.  One of them is a venture capitalist.  She and he got to talking about work and such and, long story short, he offered her a job.

So, I'm pretty sure, the big guy is still providing guidance and opportunity for them.  

But, that still means we have to travel to Houston and help them move.  As discussed earlier on the advice of the Chant's medical adviser (you know who you are!), my role will be to direct the loading of the moving van.  Knowing the juvat track record of moving day weather, I decided to check Houston's forecast.

Source:Weather.com

Hot, Humid, with a virtual certainty of rain.  I know, Beans, it only says 50-60%.  They're just being polite and trying to keep my hopes up.  It has always rained on every juvat move.  I think I'm at 50+ on that record.

Speaking of rain, we had an interesting bit of entertainment earlier this week.  Tuesday night one of the usual Texas overnight Thunderstorms made an appearance.  They're so common, I rarely even wake up to them anymore.  That was the case that night.

The following morning, I woke up about the usual time (sunrise if you must know) and got up to start the coffee ritual.  This time of year (hotter than Hades), it's iced coffee.  When cooler weather returns (Please Lord, soon), it's hot coffee.  Anyhow, I get up and mosey to the kitchen, as I pass through the living room, I happen to notice that the front door is wide open.  Now, since we don't live in downtown Big City, I wasn't overly concerned although we generally do close the doors and lock them at night.  I was a bit concerned about our animals however.  When I had arisen, I noticed the three dogs were all in their usual spots sound asleep (as was Mrs J at this point).  But, I hadn't noticed any of the three cats.

For those new to the show, the cats are indoor cats, a tabby (Schmedley) and two korats (Mooschka and Moushka, don't ask).  

Schmedley

Usual hiding place, behind the exercise bike, not sure which korat this is.  They're virtually identical, Moushka has a small kink in his tail as an ID aid.

 

 

I do a quick search of their usual hiding spaces and see nothing.  Look out the back door and on the back porch, Mooshka is laying under the couch.  I open the door and he runs in.  One down.  Open the garage and start looking around the property to see anything.  I notice Schmedley calmly striding up the road towards the house like Marshall Dillon in Dodge City.  A bit soaked, but still exuding that confident cat "ruler of the world" attitude.  Struts into the house, mowling her demand for breakfast.

Can't find Moushka anywhere. 

Mrs J and I go to feed the horses, the barn and corral are less than a hundred yards away from the house so it's not a full scale excursion, and we hear a mournful meow from within the sunflowers growing in the corral.  It's Moushka, and he's spooked.  Won't come out of the jungle.  Until we bring his food dish outside.  Apparently he was interested in dining al fresco.  

All is now right with the world, until I notice that I'd had several missed calls around midnight.  The first was from a number I didn't recognize. The second from DIL.  Both phones had been on chargers in my office at the other end of the house and we hadn't heard them ringing..

Apparently, the folks staying in our guest house had had a slight problem overnight.  A young couple with two kids, a boy about 5 and a girl about 2.  We have roll down screens on the front porch to keep the sun from being too unbearable.  We also ask that they be rolled up before retiring for the evening, the reason will soon be obvious.

In any case, they had left them down and when the storm hit, the screens were banging and rattling and making enough of a racket to wake the parents up.  They got up and looked out the window to see what was going on and saw the screens.  So, they went outside to roll them both up, closing the door behind them.

After a bit of effort, they got the screens furled and went to go back inside, only to find the door was locked.  No, Beans, they hadn't brought the keys with them. They then tried banging on the window where the son was sleeping, to no avail.  He is dead to the world.  This was when they tried calling us as the owners.  Who are sound asleep. So, they go next door and wake up DIL.  Who doesn't have a key either.  

Fortunately after a bit of time and effort,  they managed to get a coat hanger into the door jam and pop the latch open.  Once we learned all this, we went down to check on things, a little apprehensively as, after all, we are the owners.  Knocked on the door, the wife answered. We asked if everything was ok and she said that they'd had a very exciting evening, learned a few lessons and were looking forward to returning again soon.

Since then, we've had a spare key made and stored outside, the location of which the guest can be informed should a similar situation arise.  We've also moved the phone charging station into the master bathroom.  Just in case.

Just because I get a kick out of Oskar taking himself for a walk.
Yes, Beans, the hay guy is scheduled for this week, rain permitting.

And then I went to PowerLine for the Week in Pictures.

Peace out, y'all!

After Action Report

A Lot!

Not Back At It Yet, Soon...

(Source)

No, I haven't forgotten the book I worked on from June of 2020 to May of 2021. I'm still in the editing process. Though the readers caught a lot of typos, grammatical errors, and the like, I'm still finding the odd "What the Hell was I thinking when I typed that?" errors.

I am also determined to bring the stories of the men of the 15th Scottish Division, same for Kowalski of 1st Polish Armored Division. You may be wondering why I stopped their threads virtually in the middle of the book. Best answer is, "I don't really know."

I was getting very wrapped up in the fighting in the Hürtgenwald, then later in the Ardennes. While I could have gone back and gotten the lads from Scotland and Poland through to the end of the war, I just didn't take the time to do so.

So yes, their stories will be continued and wrapped up in the final version of the book.

As to "What happened after war?" I'm still mulling that over, I miss Cpt. Hernandez and Charlie Gammell and the rest of the lads. I need to carry them further, maybe into the Korean War. Nate Paddock, being a West Pointer, will probably stay in the Army. If the politicians don't draw down too far and ruin his opportunities.

We shall see.

I talked with the Muse today, she's in some dive bar in the Caribbean last I heard, about putting another episode of the Wilderness War out there for today (today being Sunday, as you read it, Saturday as I write it). She had this to say...

"Are you bloody mad? I'm on a three day bender and can't even stand up, let alone tell stories. Well, coherent stories at any rate. Don't take this the wrong way boss, but 'Piss off!'"

Oh dear, what if juvat, Tuna, and Beans hear that sort of talk? Might give 'em ideas it might.

Be back Tuesday come Hell or high water. We need to get Malheur, the Gaudrys, Little Wolf and the rest of les français moving north, out of danger.

Beware, there's Mohicans in those woods!

Oh look, things going BOOM!

A Couple of Beautiful Weather Days...

As you might recall, Monday was a bit foggy. (As can be seen in the photo above.)

Then Tuesday brought stormy weather, which lowered the temperature and cleared the air. So on Wednesday we went to the local park, which I showed you yesterday. Well, bits of it anyway.

As Thursday dawned gorgeous again, we headed back down to the seashore at Brenton Point, Newport, RI. A brisk breeze off the Atlantic made it a bit nippy, but everyone was in the mood for Del's Frozen Lemonade¹ anyway. So we indulged.

The weather and the view were breathtaking.

I'm not sure I get the fascination with breakwaters, but it is definitely a thing.

As it was a Thursday, and a bit cool, it kept the crowds away, which I have no problem with.

Not on the breakwater, but still a bit of an iffy proposition for the clumsy.

Watched a few sailboats coming and going from the Bay, which is always relaxing.

Now this beast (above and below) we watched from when she was but a speck on the horizon, still hull down. I had to zoom in on it with the cellphone camera to try and capture some details. The naval types (we had two aboard, an aviator and a Nuke SWO) thought it was some sort of freighter, and left it at that.

But there was something odd about that deck house. Bugged me it did.

So I posted the preceding shots on the Book of Faces. One of my friends and long time Rhode Island fisherman identified it as that vessel below, sans petrol barge. (These sort of tugs nestle into a slot at the back of the barge and push them, rather than tow them. Interesting. To me at any rate.)

(Source)

After our sojourn at the seashore, we headed inland for some sustenance. Johnny's Restaurant is a place I recommend. Great chow!

When we headed back to the barn, we had the opportunity to cross the Mount Hope Bridge, and what to our wondering eyes did appear, but that tug/barge combination, headed for Fall River, MA.

Not the speediest of vessels I gather.

Ah, life on the shore. It's my kind of life.

¹ Which is a very Rhode Island thing. If you ever visit Little Rhody, you must try it. Perhaps not in the winter, but...

Editor's Note: You may notice that I haven't presented another episode in my Wilderness War series. Probably won't post another until Tuesday at the earliest. I gave the Muse a few days off, she deserved them. The Nuke and her tribe headed back to Maryland yesterday. Sigh... The house is too quiet!

Fun While It Lasted...

Laddie Boy keeps wondering, "When will Grandpa put that camera down?"

Not his first rodeo, or time on a swing set, to say he still views it with a bit of trepidation is something of an understatement. But Dad's a fighter pilot, so I'm sure he'll grow into it.

Bear seems intent on something in the distance, she's like that, always en garde.

The Wee Lass has found a number of interesting sea shells. Kodi wasn't all that impressed with the way they felt underfoot.

It simply was a beautiful day, if a bit on the cool side.

Photo op!

Bear and Kodi are both watching The Wee Lass investigating some seashore phenomenon. 

Wednesday (above) was quite a change from Monday (below). Big storms moved through on Tuesday, lots of rain, lots of Donner und Blitzen, no, not the reindeer. The storms lowered the temperature, cleared the air, and drove quite a bit of seaweed ashore.

Sigh, all good things must come to an end.

It was a lovely visit.

You Can't Tell Us...

Why yes, I am beating myself up over a mistake.

In the immortal words of a friend of mine...

You can't tell us you bought four new books and then not say what they are!

Well, apparently I can.

Oops!

Yesterday's post is where I committed that sin, which after I posted a link to it, my buddy up nawth of Glos'tah called me out. As can be seen in the screen shot below.

So here I am to rectify that error, with a bonus look at the entire "stack of the unread..."

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!

First off, the four books on the bottom are the ones I neglected to mention in yesterday's post. The one on the top is the one I did mention. (Thanks for that tip Virgil!)

I read The Pillars of the Earth some twenty years ago. My Dad had a copy, which he loaned me when we went up to Maine for a weekend. I was job hunting, he just wanted to visit his place in Maine, which I did as well.

No, I didn't read the book over the weekend, but it was tough to put down. Dad's been gone eleven years now, whatever happened to his copy of that book, I don't know. But when I saw it in Barnes & Noble, it brought forth some very pleasant memories of time spent with my Dad. So, I had to have it. (It's also a rather great book!)

King Philip's War (the war, not the book which was published in 1999) I knew of from my days in school long ago here in New England. I had forgotten about that war until I moved to Little Rhody, I live not two and a half miles from where the eponymous figure of that war met his death. The road I travel to work everyday is named for him. Too bad we couldn't have treated him better back then! The book also goes hand in hand with my current novel. Though King Philip's War predates the novel by some sixty-five years, it inspired me to write of that time period when the frontier wasn't far from where I live.

The Fall of Berlin 1945 was a "must have" as I've read three of Antony Beevor's books on WWII so far, and am in the process of reading a fourth even as I write. The man is simply brilliant as both a writer and an historian.

What I've read:

• Stalingrad
• Ardennes 1944, The Battle of the Bulge
• The Battle of Arnhem

And what I'm reading now:

• D-Day, The Battle for Normandy

Well-written and he pulls no punches with generals who do stupid things. Surprising that a Brit would be so harsh on "Monty," but he is. He's also not a big fan of Omar Bradley, which I get, I'm not a huge fan of the man either. (I'm more a Patton man.)

If you haven't read any of his work, you should.

War Lord - What can I say, I think I've read damned near everything Mr. Cornwell has written (I'm still missing a few volumes of the Sharpe series, but I'll get to them eventually.) This one is, I believe, the final book in the Saxon Chronicles. Mr. Cornwell is a brilliant storyteller and I've been impatiently waiting to see what happens to Uhtred of Bebbanburg. It's going to be an interesting summer.

Now the books below are also on the unread stack. The bottom three were from a friend, as I've read four books on the Pacific War since the turn of the year, those will be read when I've recovered from that.

Speaking of which, I read Six Frigates about ten years ago. I had it on my Nook, which died some time ago. I've been hot to get a dead-tree copy for some time. Now I have it!

Mr. Toll's three volume series on the Pacific War were three of the four books I've read on the Pacific since January. The novel A Quiet Cadence was recommended on the Book of Faces by a friend of mine out Colorado way.

As she also recommended this:

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...which is the fourth book I've read on the Pacific since January. Very good, covers a lot of the fighting on the ground, which the others didn't. Dorothy didn't steer me wrong on this one, so when she recommended the other, I jumped.

In the middle of looking up when I bought the book above (and getting a picture of it) I realized that there is yet another book on the unread stack, this one:

(Source)

Which I really picked up for multiple reasons:

• One of the pilots involved was a local boy (Fall River, MA)
• The story is heart-rending and is truly a tale of American greatness, who we should be and who we often are. (A pox on the media!)
• I've read two of his other books, and Mr. Makos is a wonderful storyteller.

What were the other two books I've read of his? Glad you asked...

(Source)

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While researching all this, I found a couple of other books I simply must have...

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Do I like Jeff Shaara's work? You betcha! (His Dad wrote the best Civil War novel I've ever read, The Killer Angels. His son has carried on that legacy brilliantly, if you ask me...)

So call it "Sarge's recommended reading list" if you will. The aforementioned books are what I like to call, "a good start."

See you in the library!