The Armored Wave

The Battle of Waterloo: The British Squares Receiving the Charge of the French Cuirassiers
Henri Félix Emmanuel Philippoteaux¹
(Source)

Chef d'escadron Augustin Couturier saw that the regiment was being signaled to halt. He wondered just what was going on, it seemed odd to move them forward, then halt. They were very close to being in range of the enemy guns.

Maréchal des logis-chef Jean-Charles Côté joined his commander as the horses pulled up, champing at the bit, restlessly stamping their hooves in the churned up farmland.

"What's the hold up, Sir?" Côté asked.

Couturier stood in his stirrups to try and see over the squadron to their front, then sat back down, "Damned if I know, we can't just sit here and wait for les anglais to start firing at us. We were safer to the rear of the slope."

Côté shook his head, "More nonsense from the newcomers, I suppose."

Couturier turned to look at his senior NCO, "How widespread is that sentiment?"

"The men are very aware that the army just threw officers at the units as they showed up. We're lucky in this squadron, but the other squadrons aren't as cohesive. Frankly Sir, outside of the squadron, the men don't really trust the officers. Strangers to them for the most part.²"

"I'm sure our commander is just making sure of our destination. Ney wasted a lot of men back at Quatre Bras, we don't want that happening again." Couturier then gestured Côté to draw closer.

"Keep the men in hand, Côté, no wild charges. This ground is treacherous, we won't be able to advance at much more than a trot, I'm afraid."

Côté nodded, then as he heard the trumpets sounding further to the front, he turned his mount to retake his place in the formation. "Sounds like our part in la fête is about to begin, be careful today, Sir."

"I will, you old rascal, keep your eyes on the new lads, yes?"

"Of course, Sir. Of course."

Général de Brigade Jean-Baptiste-Auguste-Marie Jamin de Bermuy galloped up to his division commander, Général de Division Guyot. He commanded the Grenadiers à Cheval of the Old Guard, he had been accosted by an imperial aide-de-camp and chastised for advancing without orders. Guyot was in the middle of an argument with Maréchal Ney, of all people.

He had noted that the Régiment de l'Impératrice Dragons³ still stood in formation, some 3oo paces to the rear. Their commander, Général de Brigade Letort, had been badly wounded on the 15th driving the Prussians back from Fleurus. Rumor had it that he had died of that wound yesterday. Now his regiment was commanded by a mere Major, no doubt refusing to move without a direct order from le Tondu himself.

Turning to Jamin, Guyot shouted, "The Maréchal insists that this attack was ordered by the Emperor, have you had any word?"

Ney looked furious, but Jamin was nonplussed. He sat his horse and glowered at both men from under his tall bearskin cap. "Monsieur, everyone within 50 paces can hear you shouting at each other. Yes, I have had word, from le Tondu himself. We are not to advance with Kellerman. That Hoffmeyer fellow has obviously received the same orders."

Ney looked puzzled, "Who?"

Guyot explained to the marshal that Major Hoffmeyer was the acting commander of the Dragoons of the Guard as Letort had been badly wounded.

At that point, Guyot realized that the only unit which had advanced to keep up with him and his staff was the Gendarmerie d'Elite⁴ under Capitaine Dyonnet, a mere hundred troopers. He looked back at Maréchal Ney.

"I am sorry Monsieur le Maréchal, but Général de Brigade Jamin is absolutely right. I will send a messenger to the Emperor immediately."

"Time is wasting! Who will support Kellerman?!" Ney's temper was rising quickly.

Guyot looked for a moment at the man, "I suggest infantry support would be more appropriate, but for now you can take my horse artillery. Until I hear from the Emperor, we stay here."

Ney shook his head, in fury he yanked the head of his horse around and galloped off towards Kellerman's squadrons, which were just reaching the bottom of the slope leading from the ridge the French Army was drawn up on.

"Jamin, rejoin your unit. Dyonnet!" he shouted out at the commander of the Gendarmes, "Lead your unit back and align yourselves behind Jamin's Grenadiers."

Major William Norman Ramsay, commanding H Troop, Royal Horse Artillery, stood by his guns in amazement. They had been firing on the French around Hougoumont, rather effectively he judged, now he saw a sight which he would remember all of his days, a mass of French cavalry, many of them armored, advancing in his direction.

"Tommy, will ye run back and let those infantry lads know that there is French cavalry headed our way. Three to four thousand it would appear."

Corporal Tommy Adair looked towards the French lines, it seemed as if the earth itself was moving this way. He gulped and stammered out, "Aye, Sir!" Then ran to the rear.

"Right lads, load round shot, and mark those horsemen to the front. After we give them the solid shot, load solid, then cannister. We'll welcome those armored lads and send 'em back the way they came!" 

Ramsay then busied himself helping the gun captains sight their pieces. He would fire one volley at the enemy as they went down the slope, then another when they came into view again. He had a bad feeling about this.

Their orders were, in the event of a cavalry attack, to take a wheel from each gun and vehicle and run back to the infantry squares. Looking to the rear, the distance to the nearest unit looked too far to comprehend. But he knew that it was fear which made him think that. It was probably no more than fifty yards.

The guns barked out, he could see little through the powder smoke, but he knew his men, even now he fancied he could hear the screams of French troopers and horses as the Anglo-Allied artillery began to land in their midst.

As Kellerman's men regrouped in the shallow dip between the two ridges he saw an officer of the Carabiniers break ranks and begin to gallop up the slope. No one followed.

"What the hell is that? Who is that idiot?"

One of his aides shook his head, "The Carabiniers are not to be trusted, mon Général. Their morale is awful, it is why the Emperor held them back on the 16th. We should have left the bastards in Paris."

Kellerman turned on his aide, "Gallop back to Blanchard⁵, tell him to keep his men in order. If any more of his men desert, I shall hold him personally responsible!"

"Sir!"

Ramsay watched in astonishment as a brilliantly uniformed officer came galloping up the ridge, all the while yelling, "Vive le Roi!⁶"

"What the hell is this fool playing at? Hold your fire lads!"

The man galloped up and in heavily accented English pointed back to the French lines and gasped out, "That scoundrel Bonaparte is coming with his cavalry!"

Then the man galloped off to the west.

"Damned fool's lucky no one has shot him down yet." Ramsay grumbled. Then he added, to no one in particular, "One doesn't need to be bloody Frederick the Great to see that Boney is sending in his cavalry."

Then he noticed a trembling of the earth, they could feel the pounding of thousands of hooves as the French came up the slope to their front. For a brief moment, Ramsay wished he was anywhere else but on this slight ridge in Belgium.

"Steady lads, stand to your guns. After you fire, quick as you can, run back to the infantry as if the devil himself is chasing you!"

"Dear God, he will be, Sir." one of his sergeants said as the French crested the rise to their front.

(Source)

¹ Please note, though the painting is magnificent, the terrain in the background is completely wrong.

² This was a major problem in putting together the Armée du Nord. There was a shortage of officers such that, as more of them rallied to Napoléon, the army couldn't be fussy about assigning them to their old units. Had there been more time, then perhaps they could have sorted that out. As it was, the army the Emperor led into Belgium was somewhat brittle, for all of its experience and power.

³ The Regiment of the Empress Dragoons.

⁴ The Elite Gendarmes were more of an elite military police force than a battle unit, even the other members of the Guard called them "The Immortals" as they were seldom committed to action. But when they were, they demonstrated why they had the word "Elite" in their name. They fought well and died hard when called upon.

⁵ Général de Brigade Amable Guy Blanchard commanded the 1st Brigade of the 12th Cavalry Division at Waterloo. It contained both of the Carabinier regiments in the French Army. They did have problems at Waterloo.

⁶ Long live the king. A royalist officer did indeed desert at Waterloo. I have no idea if it was Ramsay's battery to whom he deserted. Call it "artistic license."

Setting the Scene for the Next Episode

From the top of the Butte du Lion looking southeast
(Source)

From the top of the Butte du Lion looking south
(Source)

While the view from atop the Butte du Lion is truly impressive, its construction destroyed a large portion of the battlefield. Upon seeing it, the Duke of Wellington allegedly commented,

"They have altered my field of battle!"

The Butte du Lion
(Source)

And so they did, the map below shows roughly the centerline of where they dug up the earth to build the mound.

The red line marks the lane atop Wellington's ridge, the soil to construct the mound came from this area.
(Source Edited)

The road in the photo preceding the map shows that road today. It looks nothing like it did in 1815. Then the road was sunken along its length (much like Bloody Lane at Antietam), likely to a depth varying from two to six feet along its length. It was a difficult, and somewhat unexpected obstacle to French infantry and cavalry on the 18th of June

Though it was nowhere near as precipitous as described by Victor Hugo and depicted in the following painting ...

El barranco de Waterloo¹
Ulpiano Checa
(Source)

The full map of the field in 1815.
(Click to embiggen)
(Source)

Those views from the top of the mound are important for the next part in my Waterloo series. The series of multiple great French cavalry charges on the afternoon of the 18th of June, which involved upwards of 9,000 men on horseback (accounts vary).

Many authors have tried to count the charges which happened, some say as many as seven to nine, some as few as three or four. A number of French accounts speak of the cavalry "occupying" the British positions atop the plateau and having "captured" upwards of sixty British cannon. They almost make it sound as if they won the battle, only to lose because of a lack of infantry to hold the ground.

In reality, they overran the British gun positions, driving the gunners back to the infantry squares for protection. But different people in different places, all viewing the exact same event, will have almost as many descriptions, most varying quite a bit from each other, as there are witnesses.

A man on a horse, struggling up a slope in the mud, being shot at, engulfed in powder smoke will have a somewhat different perspective of things than an infantrymen kneeling in the ranks, holding his musket and bayonet out to dissuade that cavalryman from skewering him and his mates! All the while covered by the same powder smoke while being pounded by French artillery in the intervals between charges.

Also note the lay of the land in those views from the Butte du Lion, while technically speaking the two armies occupied "ridges" facing each other, it wasn't nearly as precipitous as you might think. However, it was fairly steep and with all the mud in the fields, it was a fairly tiring thing to trudge from one side to the other.

The dips and folds in the ground aren't really that perceptible from some points on the field. As you can see below, looking from La Haye Sainte to the south, towards La Belle Alliance (Napoleon's field HQ) you can see that there appears to be quite a dip there!

While the photo perspective makes it look a bit steeper than it really is, not by much. Compare it to the photo from the top of the Butte du Lion looking towards the southeast. La Haye Sainte is to to the viewer's left, La Belle Alliance to the right.

Looking south from next to La Haye Sainte
(Source)

Over those fields, thousands of horsemen attempted to drive off Wellington's infantry, with virtually no support. All based on the perception that the Anglo-Allied army was withdrawing. Bear in mind, both sides of the field were shrouded in thick clouds of powder smoke, no general had a really good view of what was going on.

One might forgive Maréchal Ney for thinking and acting as he did, were it not for the thousands who were crippled or killed by his error. But that is a tale for another day. Soon, I promise.

It's been a very long and somewhat trying week as I prepare to head out to Sandy Eggo to work on USS Michael Monsoor (DDG 1001) yet again. Might be my swan song, might not be. Though I tire of the "great game" (what I call work ...) it keeps my mind active and young.

Though the toll it takes on my body can be trying at times, at least it keeps me off the streets and out of The Missus Herself's hair!

More soon, I promise ...

¹ The ravine at Waterloo. For some reason this sunken road has come down to us as a "ravine." Perhaps because of Victor Hugo's fanciful description of it. By the time Monsieur Hugo visited the field, that road was long gone. The Butte du Lion was raised in 1826, Monsieur Hugo first visited the field in 1852, then lived there for two months in 1861. His account of Waterloo from Les Misérables can be read here. A great writer but not really an historian, I think that many Waterloo myths can be traced to his writings.

Life is short, do it now - Rob

(Source)

So yeah, took an hour or so off from work on Wednesday to say farewell to my next door neighbor, Jake. Picked up The Missus Herself and we went down to the funeral home. I felt that the graveside ceremony should be reserved for family, so we didn't plan on going to that. We didn't.

First thing The Missus Herself noticed was the simple, closed, pine box. Some ancient memories were pinging deep in my mind but nothing popped up to answer her perplexed look, Korean customs being much different than ours.

On the drive back to work, it struck me, the simple pine box, the closed casket, traditional Jewish funeral custom. Jake having parents who survived the Holocaust, it all fit together.

I rather like the closed casket custom, out of respect for the deceased, better to remember them when they were alive than seeing them dead. I refused to go to my paternal grandmother's wake as I didn't want to see her lying lifeless in a coffin. She was a vital part of my young life and we were very close.

This was not a childish thing, I was 18 and in college when she passed away, nevertheless my parents were both pretty angry about it. Still I did not yield, and I did not go. The funeral itself was closed casket, I often wonder if my attitude had anything to do with that. Had it been open casket, I would not have gone and I made sure everyone knew that.

At any rate, I never saw her dead, in my memory she is still alive and always will be. I never saw my paternal grandfather lying lifeless in a coffin either, I was on Okinawa when he died. Though my sergeant and my commander facilitated me going home on emergency leave (not a normal thing for a grandparent's death, it's up to the commander), I didn't make it back in time for the funeral. So in my memories I remember him when he was alive.

My maternal grandparents, I remember them lying there, lifeless and cold. I still regret that, but they died when I was older and somewhat wiser. So I went along with convention. But I will never, ever forget that, and still regret it.

My Dad, same thing, but I had to be there to say a final goodbye to the man who had a lot to do with who I am today. But I can remember him dead, it gets harder and harder to remember how he was alive. The last two weeks he spent in the hospital, in a morphine-induced coma, doesn't help.

So yes, I like that Jewish custom and think it wise and fitting.

On a not-quite-separate note, my favorite band, the Foo Fighters, have a new album out which deals a lot with grief and loss. The front man for the Foo Fighters, Dave Grohl, having lost his Mom and his best friend over the last year or so, the album was greatly influenced by those two deaths.

Oddly enough, I suppose to some but not to me, I still grieve for my little cat, Anya. The album has actually helped me in that grieving process. One of the songs on the album, "The Teacher," written by Dave Grohl, Rami Jaffee, Nate Mendel, Chris Shiflett and Pat Smear, about Dave's Mom, who was a teacher really hit me the other day.

With Rob's comment from yesterday, which provides the title of this post, this line from the song really struck home -

Try and make good with the air that's left

Countin' every minute, livin' breath by breath

By breath, by breath, by breath, by breath, by breath

It's all you can do really ...

And you should do it now, before it's too late.

Peace, my friends.

Life Comes at You Fast ...

(Source)

Ran out of time and energy to provide another episode of my latest based-in-history fictional tale. Work has been busy as of late, which is good as it makes the day go by quicker. Though at 70 I'm not real sure I want those days to go by quickly.

The guy next door, who was my age, and was a very good neighbor for the entire time we have lived here, died in the early hours of Friday. He'd been in the hospital for a couple of weeks, fighting hard, but in the end he was called home.

His parents survived the Holocaust, which made him, as far as I could see, a man of gentle strength. At any rate he was a good man and he will be missed.

His family watched our cats when we traveled, they have all been good neighbors to us. My heart goes out to them. By the time some of you have read this, or perhaps while you're reading, I'll be stopping by to pay my respects at his wake.

Time slips past almost faster than we can perceive. It seems like only yesterday that I took my uniform off for the last time, yet that was nearly a quarter-century ago (24 years to be precise). I have had many good times and experiences in those years, but I often wonder, "When did I grow so old?"

I'm feeling my age at the moment, but shall catch my second wind shortly.

Life batters you and assails you at times, all you can do is stand tall and not let your will fail.

But damn it, it's hard sometimes.

Ave atque vale, Jake. I'll see you on the other side.

Battle Within A Battle - Hougoumont

Hougoumont
Ernest Crofts
(Source)

Corporal Michael Wareham turned to Private Mick Wilcox and yelled out, "How's your ammunition?!"

Wilcox shook his head, "I've plenty of cartridges, but my damned Bess is nearly fully fouled, I can barely ram a charge home!"

Wareham shook his head in return, "Mine as well, perhaps we can ... Ah damn my eyes, here come the bloody French again!"

Though the open space between the gardener's house and the wood was clogged with dead Frenchmen, the men of Reille's corps continued to press their attacks. It was if the fate of France depended on this one chateau.

Wareham looked around, there were a number of muskets on the ground, left by the wounded who had been dragged to, or had dragged themselves, to the main house. Wareham grabbed one.

Extracting the ramrod, then sliding it down the barrel, he sensed that this weapon hadn't been fired much before its owner had no more use for it. Quickly he loaded it, noting as he did so that Wilcox had found another weapon as well.

Wareham aimed out the window at a man waving a sword around, he yelled out, "Damned fool officers are making themselves bloody obvious today."

Pulling the trigger and then being enveloped in powder smoke, Wareham couldn't tell if he'd actually hit the man or not. Then Wilcox yelled out, "Ye potted the bugger, Corp!"

As he reloaded, he grinned at Wilcox, who suddenly grimaced and began to slump towards the floor.

"Mick, are ye hit?"

"Aye Corp, the Frenchies have done for me." Wilcox then collapsed to the floor, his eyes closed.

Lieutenant Antoine Boulle was clutching his abdomen, he was in agony. He had seen the flash from the upper story as he directed his grenadiers to assault the gate before them. His men has surged forward, bellowing incoherently, when he felt a hard thump in his lower belly.

He fell onto his butt, startled that he seemed to have no strength in his legs. He was left sitting upright, he didn't realize that he was resting against a man killed in an earlier assault. But that thought was far from his mind. The pain of his wound frightened him, he had seen more than one man die, painfully and slowly, from a stomach wound.

The pain seemed to come in waves, he struggled to stay awake. He knew that if he lost consciousness he was doomed.

He looked up at the gate his men were assaulting, they seemed to nearly have it opened when it slammed shut once more. Then more English appeared atop the wall to the right which jutted out from the building at a right angle and take his men under fire. Their assault on the gate collapsed in blood and gore.

As his men fell back to the wood, he saw his sergeant, Hugo Duret, who paused and grabbed another man. Together the two dragged their lieutenant back to the cover of the wood.

"We will get you back to the surgeons, Lieutenant, your wound probably hurts like the very devil himself was poking you, but it's not bleeding all that badly."

Though Boulle did pass out from the pain as his men dragged him to the rear, he didn't die. He awakened to find a surgeon binding his wound.

"You're a lucky man, young Lieutenant, I extracted the ball, it wasn't in very deep. The muscle will heal, but it will be very painful for a few weeks."

Then the surgeon rushed off, his apron was saturated with blood and his arms were red to the elbows. Boulle now had a new dread, many wounded survived their wounds only to perish in the hospital.

Private Wilcox was dragged to the main house where a surgeon gave him a brief glance, then shook his head and moved on.

Wareham was tempted to force the man to treat his mate, but he knew better. Wilcox was still unconscious when Wareham gripped him by the shoulder.

"Get well ye malingering bastard, I'll be back to fetch you once the battle's won." As he dashed back to the gardener's house, he was blinking furiously, his eyes were tearing up.

"Damn me, I'll not cry like a woman." He muttered to himself, then he saw smoke billowing down from the top of the main house. The French artillery had succeeded in setting the house alight!

"Gordon!" The Duke had to raise his voice over the noise of the cannon firing nearby.

"Your Grace?"

"Take this down and sent it to MacDonnell in the chateau!

 

I see that the fire has communicated from the hay stack to the roof of the château. You must however still keep your men in those parts to which the fire does not reach. Take care that no men are lost by the falling in of the roof or floors. After they will have fallen in occupy the ruined walls inside of the garden, particularly if it should be possible for the enemy to pass through the embers to the inside of the house. (Source)

"Right away, Your Grace!" Gordon finished the note and then handed it to one of the orderly officers.

Wellington was concerned that if Hougoumont fell, it would give Bonaparte leverage to unhinge his right flank. He debated sending another detachment to MacDonnell, then decided against it. His center had been badly damaged by Bonaparte's initial attack, he needed to keep as many men in reserve as he could.

Another aide galloped up, the Duke turned impatiently and barked, "What is it, Fremantle? Must you gallop about like a subaltern?"

Lieutenant Colonel John Fremantle, used to the Duke's shortness at times, simply stated, "Apologies, Your Grace, but the men are getting rather cut up by the artillery. Might I suggest they fall back beyond the crest for now?"

"No apology necessary, Fremantle. Yes, yes, give the order, have the lads fall back. Have them lie down, their officers will remain mounted to survey the field. Off you go then!"

Within minutes, the men turned about and marched back perhaps a hundred paces. Once in position, the officers and sergeants had the men lie down. Due to the nature of the ground, not many shot were bounding up the hill, most buried themselves in the mud or passed harmlessly overhead.

"Damn it, I should have seen that sooner." the Duke muttered to himself.

"Your Grace?"

"Nothing Gordon, nothing at all. Let's head back to the crossroads. I fear the French might try La Haye Sainte once more."

Across the valley one of Maréchal Ney's aides noticed something odd happening across the valley.

"Monsieur le Maréchal, look across the valley, the English infantry is pulling back!"

Taking his glass from another aide, Ney looked, and indeed, he could see the English infantry march back to the ridge, then seemingly disappear.

"We have them, follow me!"

Galloping to the nearest formation of heavy cavalry, Ney ordered them to advance. Their general immediately remonstrated with the marshal.

"Attack? Their infantry has not been hurt, they are in good order."

"Look for yourself, Kellerman! Their infantry has withdrawn!"

Général de Division François Étienne de Kellermann, commanding the IIIrd Cavalry Corps¹ took out his glass. He caught a glimpse of one regiment moving back over the crest. Then it seemed like they began to go prone.

"The infantry are still there, they appear to be lying down." Kellerman argued.

Maréchal Michel Ney took a deep breath, his aides feared that their marshal was about to lose his famous temper, but he managed to control himself. "I gave you an order Monsieur, should you refuse to carry it out ..."

Kellerman had had enough of this man, jerking the reins of his mount he turned to his trumpeter. "Sound the advance, column of squadrons, regiments in echelon, the dragoons shall lead."

Without another word, Kellerman trotted off to put himself at the head of his cavalry. He would advance cautiously and not charge in like some mindless barbarian.

As the IIIrd Cavalry Corps advanced, the heavy cavalry of the Imperial Guard under Général de Division Claude-Étienne Guyot began to move. Guyot's intention was to move up to fill the gap left by Kellerman's advancing corps

But they didn't stop.

The Emperor felt refreshed by his brief nap, walking forward to his map table he noticed the advance by a large portion of his cavalry.

"What madness is this? This move is a false one, the English are still resisting fiercely. But I suppose it must be supported."

"De la Bédoyère!"

"Sire?"

"My compliments to le Comte Milhaud, have him prepare his corps to support Kellerman as needed. Also, notify le Comte de Lobau that I may have need of his corps to support the cavalry."

"Sire?" One of the other aides intruded.

Turning to the man, the Emperor was about to dress him down when he decided to listen, the man had been with him for a number of years, he wasn't wont to interrupt without reason.

"What is it, Flahaut? Quickly now!"

"Sire, a patrol has returned, they have a prisoner, a Prussian officer. The man claims that Bülow's corps is approaching and is nearly within striking distance."

A quick glance at his map told him what he needed to know. "De la Bédoyère, alert Lobau that he is to prepare to deploy his corps to the right. It seems we might have company soon. I want him ready to interdict any interference on our right."

As aides galloped off to spread the word, Napoléon had a moment of doubt, if the Prussians were close, than where the Hell was Grouchy?

"Soult! Have we heard anything from Grouchy, anything at all?"

"Nothing Sire, nothing since early this morning."

"Send patrols to the east, find Grouchy, he must march to us immediately! Go! Quickly!"

Maréchal Soult did as he was commanded, knowing full well that Grouchy couldn't possibly reach them before nightfall. He feared the worst.

¹ Consisting of a brigade of dragoons, two brigades of cuirassiers, and a brigade of carabiniers (another type of armored cavalry, similarly equipped as the cuirassiers though with brass sheeting on their steel cuirasses). One brigade of cuirassiers had been roughly handled at Quatre Bras, but the other three were nearly at full strength.

Vacaciones en crucero

 One of the biggest moments in a fighter pilot's career (after graduating pilot training and getting qualified in his first fighter) is receiving his "tactical call sign".  Now, mere mortals would refer to this as a "nickname".  But any mere mortal can have a nickname.  Only "We Few, we proud Few, We Band of Brothers * " (brothers being an asexual descriptor now) can have a tactical call sign.  The naming committee, also sometimes referred to as a fighter squadron, will meet at a very secret location at a specified time for discussion of suitable call signs.  This secret location is generally referred to in code as "The Bar at the O'Club".  And a call sign is lifelong.  Unless said individual performs some action of aerial intrepidity or stupidity (generally the latter) that a new call sign is called for.

I received a new call sign this past Tuesday.  I had made the trip to College Station with my prototype arch to talk through the process with MBD.    In truth, the arches were just an excuse to make the trip and visit with MBD, The Rev and MG.  MG is rapidly approaching 2, is walking/running and starting to talk.  In short, she's a blast to play with.  Got a good sense of humor also, no idea where that came from. 

In any case, I got there while she was taking her afternoon nap.  MBD brought her downstairs when she woke up.  She saw me and came running.  As she was approaching, I heard her saying "Papa, Papa".  Now, The Rev is "Dada", so evidently my new Tactical Call Sign is

Papa!

You mere mortals may still refer to me as juvat, however.  The above call sign is reserved for angels. Papa was my paternal Grand Father's nickname.  Hope to live up to his example.

So, juvat, how is the arch project going?

The prototype fit perfectly.  Which is probably, almost certainly, the first time that's happened in my life.  But...  It's a good thing I went.  My vision of what the plan was and MBD's version were significantly different.  I thought existing molding would remain and the arches would be mounted behind it.  Her version, the only one that matters, had all surfaces to be on the same plane.  

So, spent a bit of time measuring and pondering.  

The new plan will take a bit more lumber and a bit more Spackle, but is doable, provided my note taking was accurate.

But the nice thing about phones with cameras, is it's easier to remember widths/lengths.  And remembering with my non-digital cranial memory device is difficult these days.

 

However, as with most changes, completion date has slipped until after we return.  If all goes as planned (Yeah, right!  I know.) we should have sailed at 1400 yesterday afternoon and are somewhere in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico as you read this.  I may even be having a medicinal Mojito right about now.  

MG of course , will be having something to sip on also.  

Comment responses may be delayed, but I have planned for them.  We'll see how that plan pans out.

¡Hasta luego, mis amigos y muchas margaritas! 

* And just because the source of that phrase raises my spirits.

This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

William Shakespeare "King Henry V"
 

Got a lot of wingmen on this blog that fit that description. God Bless y'all!

Planes, Trains, Automobiles, Museums, and Statues

The retouching helped with the smoke, but still hazy

Tuna here.  My wife and I visited that most wretched hide of scum and villainy last week, but we were fortunate enough to not run into any of that. It was a business trip that had been scheduled for a couple months, and my wife had never been to DC, so I planned to take her along.  Always being fairly cost conscious, I found her a flight that was semi-reasonable.  Now when I say semi, it seems that all airfares are quite high right now, especially to DC. There is still a lot of revenge travel going on, schools had begun to let out for the summer, and you have your regular government travel to and from the area, all which seem to increase demand and keep those prices high.  Nevertheless, I found her a flight that was workable and not too painfully expensive.

However, about 2 weeks before my scheduled departure I received notice from the Navy office at the Pentagon that the space was limited and we were restricted to one member per command. Completely ignoring the reality of the situation and being somewhat self-centered, I tried to stress how important it was for me to go, but I was directed to allow one of my lieutenants to take the trip.

So, if you caught my foreshadowing, the ticket I purchased for my wife was non-refundable. Yes, we could get a travel credit, but that's a P.I.T.A.. My travel was officially canceled so I decided to salvage the trip and find my own flight there. Increased demand and two week advance purchase of a ticket to DC?  That one is going to sting.  Nevertheless, I found a seat on the same flight as my wife.  She was going to travel a day later than I, and so we were both together for the red-eye through Phoenix, landing in DC about 7:45 in the morning. Unfortunately sleep was elusive for each of us and so we were exhausted by the time we got to our hotel.  We were able to check in very early, which mitigated some of our fatigue.  After a shower and a very brief nap, we made our way to the mall.  No, we're not doing any shopping, I'm talking about the National Mall and its plethora of monuments.  

Had to post this-  John Paul Jones- a founding father of the Navy.  

The photo of Farragut didn't turn out well.

Is that a Dolphin, or just a fish at the base of his statue?  Posted due to my final paragraph subject.

WWII Memorial

Reflecting pool.  I think the Park Service laid off the pool cleaners.

Viet Nam Memorial

His statue was quite dirty which didn't sit well with me

Heavily zoomed in, you can see the difference in materials used in the Washington Monument.

Construction was halted for many years.

My Viet Nam era USAF Nurse mother would appreciate this.  She volunteered to go over but got pregnant with my older sister.

Korea War Memorial.  Apparently at night it's amazing with LED lighting

MLK Statue

Jefferson Memorial.  Unfortunately it was closed, and too far to walk at this point in the day.

Part of a very expansive FDR memorial, much focused on the New Deal

We walked our feet off that day and coupled with the lack of sleep in the previous 36 hours, we were exhausted. I usually average about 11,000 steps on my Fitbit each day, and I broke 31,000.  We finished the mall ending up at the Roosevelt memorial and could go no further. Fortunately cabs in DC are easy to find and metered reasonably, often cheaper than Uber.  

The next day, still with sore feet, we made our way out to Chantilly Virginia.  The Metro now goes all the way out to Dulles, and it's a slow bus from there to what would be the highlight of the trip (at least for me), the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum Udvar-Hazy Center.  

If you ever use that method to get there, don't take it all the way into the Dulles airport, which will require you to walk from the Metro underground into the airport, upstairs, back out of the airport, and across the parking lot to the bus station.  Get off one step early at Innovation Center and go downstairs make to the bus stop.  That same bus stopped at Innovation Center anyway which saved us 15 minutes or more on the back side when I figured it out.

No S-3 Vikings there so I snapped my good friend's ride.

I should have gone upstairs to take a better photo

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=n4mqwJ569_M&feature=share

This one looks like it's been around the world a few times

One of the jets my Dad loaded weapons on

Unfortunately it was pretty much an all-day trip as there was track maintenance between Roslyn and McLean, so we had to get off and get on a bus, not realizing that until the silver line headed back east with us still on it, twice.  They were making the announcement but it being horribly enunciated over a lousy sound system didn't help.  By the time we got back into DC, other Smithsonian museums were getting ready to close.  Fortunately the portrait gallery is open until 7:00 p.m. and we saw the whole thing before getting booted out with the last of the visitors.

Henry Ford

Her gown was seemingly translucent

I am avoiding politics for the most part in this post, but as I was looking at the presidential portraits there, I noticed an interesting dichotomy.  The one of Obama was very modern had him sitting in a chair surrounded by Green ivy. Very bright and cheerful.  On the opposite side of that exact same wall in the center of the room, was one of Trump.  Very dark and foreboding in my opinion.  I don't know if these are official presidential portraits or just for that gallery, but this one is very dark as you can see.  Maybe I'm reading into it too much, but it's sort of shows how much he is disliked in DC.  

When I searched online for the portrait, a different one came up. You can look for it using his name at the link here.  Maybe that was a photograph that they used until the dark one was completed.

The Hope Diamond- better colors in person

"Hey Dumdum, you got gumgum?"*

I think this is an early Toronto Raptor

A very bad kitty

I think I'm gonna need a bigger camera

The Elephant in the room

Saw some old paperwork here (Declaration of Independence, Constitution, Bill of Rights)

No photos allowed!

The next day after a good night's sleep we saw a bunch of dead things at the natural History museum. My son loved the movie "Night At The Museum, which was actually filmed in the New York Smithsonian, but the sequel was in DC.   We followed that up with a visit to the Navy Memorial a block or so away, then to visit my former squadron mate who lives in Georgetown.  Next door to Kissinger's old house.  It was a nice visit as his home is well decorated by his wife, they are excellent hosts, and Georgetown is a very vibrant neighborhood.  As we got out of the train station in Dupont circle, we had to swim upstream through the pride parade celebrants, which was interesting to say the least.

We finished off the weekend with a somber visit to the Arlington National Cemetery.  Another long day with a bunch of steps on my Fitbit, renewed soreness in our feet, and a quick drop off at the airport. Unfortunately Dallas was closed due to lightning so we diverted to Oklahoma City for 3 hours on deck.  By the time we took off again we had missed our connection, finding out later that it was actually canceled.   And with the revenge travel that's going on, there were no seats on American until Wednesday, so they were gracious enough to reroute us on united.  The flight was the next day (really later that morning) at 6:00 a.m. through Newark.   We got home approximately 25 hours after arriving at the airport in DC.

I am definitely not a fan of overnight airport grunge, both from the red eye on the way there and the long trip home.  I will plan better next time, avoiding the North route in the winter, and the southern route in the summer.

All in all, a very good trip and I'm very glad to have finally seen Udvar-Hazy.  Plenty more to see I expect, and will plan another trip eventually.

By the way, you may have heard me talk about my current job, and my frustration with not being able to see my efforts bear fruit.   Working in the Navy's budget is a very challenging field, and finding money for MCM was always difficult.  Fortunately another opportunity arose and I jumped on it.  It's back in the ASW world, at the Undersea Warfighting Development Center in Pt. Loma.  I'll be working with a bunch of great Americans I once worked with years ago, and at a higher pay rate.  I expect I will still be doing mine warfare but on the mining side of things vice the countermeasures side, as the bubbleheads now own the mission.

*Night at the Museum quote