To the Channel

Outside West-Cappel, France
(Source)

"Lance corporal!"

Billy Wallace turned from the remnants of his squad as he heard the voice call out. Billy was looking for an officer, the voice sounded cultured, upper class. But all he saw was a bantam rooster of a man wearing the insignia of a sergeant major. He heard the voice call out again, it was the sergeant major. Billy stood up.

"Sar'nt Major?"

The man had a pipe clenched between his teeth and wore a neat beard, quite out of regulations Billy realized. But when he felt his own stubble, he realized that none of them were exactly ready for the parade ground.

"This your squad, laddie?" the sergeant major gestured at the six men sitting in the ditch nearby.

"Aye Sar'nt Major, those are my lads, what's left of 'em anyway."

"Where's your sergeant?"

"About five miles up that road, dead in a French farmer's front yard. Bleeding Jerries were on us before we knew what to do, Sar'nt Greaves' last words to me were, 'Get 'em back to the Channel Billy, we're f**ked.' So here we are, map says we're about eight miles from Dunkirk, that sound right Sar'nt Major?"

"Quite. I need your lads for a special mission."

"Sar'nt Major?"

"There's a small packet of Huns down this road," he gestured behind him, "which is holding us up from getting the Hell out of here. Bloody Jerry kites¹ have been all over us. I haven't seen any of their tanks lately, doesn't mean they're not around, but we need to clear this farmhouse of Huns. You lads up for it?"

Billy looked skeptical, he thought he recognized the Sergeant Major, he seemed to recall the man's name was Cornwell and he was with the brigade staff. Same regiment, same battalion as Billy though, and that always counted for something.

Turning to the men, Billy asked, "Lads? Feel like getting back into the war?"

Oddly enough it was Private McLaren, not the best soldier on the planet, who stood up and said, "If I have to clean this bloody rifle everyday," he said as he held out his Lee-Enfield, "I ought to at least shoot it a few times."

The others all stood as well, Private Malcolm Bain looked at Billy and stated, "Robby's right, we need to get stuck in, I'm tired of running from the bastards."

French farm - road to Dunkirk
(Source)

"Jesus!" Billy exclaimed in a hushed tone.

On the short drive leading to the farmhouse from the main road was a wrecked Tilly command car. Billy could see one body lying next to the passenger side of the car. Two more bodies were sprawled in the drive. In the warm spring climate, they were starting to bloat.

"They pulled in to that drive, thinking to perhaps find some food and water on the farm. What they found was a German machine gun and a support squad of no more than five men. But they are well-placed. The chap who set them up in there knew his business.' Sergeant Major Cornwell explained as he surveyed the approaches to the farm.

Billy was also looking over the situation. So perhaps seven or eight Jerries, hunkered down in those buildings, perhaps waiting for nightfall. He wondered how they had gotten separated from their unit.

"Reconnaissance group ya think, Sar'nt Major?" Billy ventured a guess.

"On foot?" Cornwell replied with some doubt.

"I'll wager a penny to a pound that they have a vehicle stashed in those outbuildings on the left." Billy gestured at the long, low building near the left side of the drive.

"Could be. Think we might be able to winkle them out, Lance Corporal?"

Billy looked at the Sergeant Major in surprise, where had this man spent his career? A headquarters billet? Without dwelling on it he decided to take charge.

"So, Sar'nt Major, you do know how to use that thing, right?" Billy said gesturing at the American Thompson the Sergeant Major was carrying.

Cornwell huffed and said, "Of course ..."

"Right then, you take two of the lads and head back down this main road. Get into the fields and start working your way up to the farm. Those trees should screen your advance. I'll give you thirty minutes, then myself and the other lads will start plinking the farmhouse."

"Plinking?"

"Shooting out the windows and the like, keep the Huns' attention on us. When you see your chance, rush the building. Don't hesitate, kill everyone inside."

"What if the opportunity doesn't present itself?" Cornwell asked.

"Then we head into the fields behind us and take the long way to Dunkirk. I have the feeling that there's nothing behind us but Jerries. I think we might be the last of the BEF out here."

Schütze Leonhard Ludecke was looking out of the window on the upper level of the farmhouse. He swore he saw something moving out there. Before he could report it a volley of .303 rounds hit the side of the farmhouse. One hit Ludecke's forehead, dead center.

On the ground floor, Unterfeldwebel Kurt Scherzer saw the muzzle flashes from near the main road. Looked like the Tommies were on to his little band of reconnaissance troopers. He nodded at Armin Hanfstaengl, the MG 34 gunner, who began to lay down fire on the enemy position.

The Tommies were staying under cover, shifting positions while keeping up a steady fire on the farmhouse. Real professionals from the look of things. Something was bothering Scherzer, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. For the moment he had his men concentrate on the enemy.

"Johannes, take Martin and get to the farm shed, get the truck started. We'll head out the back way. I don't want to stay here any longer, these fellows are probably stragglers, if we clear out, they will probably continue their retreat."

Johannes Kröger yelled back, "Jawohl!" As he rose, gesturing at Martin Schumacher to follow, he had exposed himself to enemy fire. With a grunt he collapsed to the floor, blood rapidly spreading out underneath him.

Cornwell saw his chance, he and two of Wallace's men, he didn't know their names, had worked their way around to the rear of the farmhouse. The man who had been watching the fields they came through had been distracted by the fire coming in from the road and consequently wasn't paying attention. He had moved into the front room to assist his sergeant.

One of the British privates kicked in the back door, surprising another young German who turned to see what the commotion was. He went down quickly as the second British private with Cornwell ran his bayonet into the German's chest.

After Cornwell's Thompson shot down the man whose job it had been to watch the flank, the men manning the machine gun in the front room had no choice but to surrender. It was that or die.

Billy could hear the rumble of artillery in the distance, he was wondering where all the Germans were. Other than the four disconsolate prisoners they had taken at the farmhouse. He had to wonder what that felt like, your army is winning the war and you manage to get captured by the very enemy you were beating.

Hard to take, he guessed, hard indeed.

"Sar'nt Major, it's awfully quiet out here, where are all the bloody Jerries d'ya think?" McLaren asked.

"Have you noticed all the canals and little rivers around here, soldier?"

When McLaren nodded, Cornwell ventured a guess, "I think their army has been pulled up short, they have us in a sack and they know it." Cornwell heard the sound of aircraft engines high above, pointing that way he said, "I think the Jerries mean to finish us with their air forces. Might well do so if we can't figure out a way to get away off to Blighty."

Billy thought about it then said, "Where's the bloody RAF², Sar'nt Major?"

Gesturing vaguely towards the sky he said, "They're up there, you just can't see 'em. My problem right now is wondering how the Navy is going to get us away. Jerry is pounding the port facilities I'd guess. I think we're in for a rough time lads. A rough time."

Four miles to the west, the men could see a thick pall of smoke over the city of Dunkirk, prompting Private Bain to ask, "We're going into that mess, Corp?"

"No way around it laddie, that's the way home."

The men grew quiet as they wondered what the future held.

¹ Slang term for an aircraft.

² Royal Air Force

Arras

(Source)

Gefreiter Max Bender was eating a bit of bread he and his friend Otto Schmerling, had "liberated" from a nearby farmhouse. It appeared to him as if the inhabitants of the farm, indeed the entire area, had hurriedly left their homes just recently. It didn't occur to him that the people of this region had seen the Germans come through some twenty-six years ago, with devastating results.¹

For now, he and his squad were enjoying a brief respite from his division's headlong advance. It was also a very pleasant day in spring, the smell of growing things and the twitter of the birds flitting from tree to tree made the brief rest even more enjoyable.

Bender looked up to see Unterfeldwebel Adolph Behr walking back from his meeting with the platoon commander, Leutnant Johannes Kielholz. "What news Herr Unterfeldwebel?"

"After we refuel, we're off again. Apparently unser Rommel² is in somewhat of a hurry!"

Bender and the men with him chuckled at that, their commanding officer seemed to do everything at the double quick step.

Bender stopped laughing when he heard the sound of a heavy motor. Being a member of an armored division, he knew it was a tank engine, but not German.

Lieutenant Cedric Porter had his head just out of the hatch of his Matilda II tank. As the tank went around a bend in the road he was surprised to see a number of infantry lounging about, German infantry. They all seemed to stare for a moment before they realized what they were seeing. An enemy tank.

"Shall I engage them, Sir?" His gunner, Corporal Walter Simmons inquired, rather politely Porter thought.

"Yes Simmons, shoot those chaps."

Bender had expected the tank's main gun to fire as he dove into the ditch beside the road. He didn't know that this particular model of tank seldom carried high explosive rounds. The bursting charges for the British 2-pounder gun were just too small to make it useful. The machine gun in the turret was, on the other hand, very effective.

Unterfeldwebel Behr was down, clutching his abdomen and screaming in pain. At least two rounds from the tank's machine gun had hit him, one in the belly, the other grazing his left hip.

Realizing that he was now in charge of the squad, he looked for Himmel, his machine gunner, and his assistant Klepper. He was gratified that both men had set up their gun and were now firing on the enemy tank. The only effect that had was to make the tank commander disappear inside his turret.

Bender knew that his own tanks were not that far away. But if they didn't show up soon, he and his men would have to displace, and soon.

"Bloody Hell!" Porter had felt the sting of metal against his cheek as the enemy machine gun had walked its rounds up the hull, then onto the turret. A fragment had scoured his cheek and he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

"Sir!"

Porter took the rag his loader, Private Thomas Woodstock, offered him and pressed it to the wound. "Thanks Tommy! Driver, halt!" He had seen what could only be a German vehicle coming down the road, he suspected it was one of their lighter tanks. He wasn't worried, he just wanted to be stationary to give his gunner a better shot.

Bender ducked when the main gun on the British tank fired, his first thought was that they were shooting at his men. When he heard a loud clang to his rear, rather like a church bell he thought, he turned. A platoon of German panzers were advancing to engage the Tommies. The loud clang had come from the lead tank which had taken a glancing blow to the turret.

Bender watched as that panzer's turret moved slightly to engage the Tommy. Moments later its cannon fired and produced a shower of sparks from the front of the English tank. Which began to move forward again.

Bender yelled at his men to fall back to their right rear, he saw no point in staying here to watch the elephants dance.

"Ready!" Woodstock shouted out when the gun was reloaded.

"Fire at will, Walter!" At the same time he raised his signal flag out of the hatch and made the signal for his platoon to deploy in echelon right formation. Essentially a line with each tank stepped back slightly, in effect refusing their right flank.

Turning back to the front, Porter saw the lead German tank, he guessed it was a Mark II, armed with just a 20 mm auto-cannon, stop and grunted with satisfaction as smoke began to billow from the commander's hatch. "You've killed that one, Walter, walk your fire down to the next Hun, there's a good lad."

As night began to darken the eastern sky, Gefreiter Max Bender and his squad had fallen back at least a kilometer from where they had stopped to eat. After ten days of advancing it was disconcerting to be on the losing side of a battle.

Oberfeldwebel Herbert Schmelling chastised Bender when he heard him say, "Well, that's it then, hey lads? Guess we should start digging in."

"Battle's not over yet boy, did you see any infantry with those Tommy panzers? No, they were by themselves, unsupported. I'll wager they fall back as soon as night falls." Schmelling was now in command of the platoon, Leutnant Kielholz was dead. "But they'll be back in the morning, they bloodied our nose today, but we'll get ours tomorrow!"

Schmelling was right, the British came back the next day and were advancing seemingly at will until they ran into a wall of 88 mm antitank fire. The British were also assailed by the Luftwaffe, waves of Ju-87 Stukas bombing and strafing the advancing columns.

"Any word from the French Sir?" Lieutenant Porter was conferring with his company commander at the edge of the town of Arras.

"They're coming up short as well, Leftenant. Jerry is starting to maneuver another armored division onto our flank, we've no choice but to fall back." Captain Jeffrey Stewart shook his head as he folded his map up and put it away.

"See you at the rally point Cedric, don't get lost!"

Though the combined French-British counterattack didn't work as well as the Allied command had wished, it did give the Germans pause. They halted their advance momentarily as Berlin had an attack of nerves.

Eventually Guderian³ had the troops moving again, despite the wishes of his superiors. Valuable time was bought, allowing French and British units to fall back to the coast and avoid encirclement by the advancing Germans. But as a number of men on the Allied side observed, you don't win battles by retreating.

¹ In northern France and throughout Belgium, there are numerous monuments with the inscriptions: Fusillé par les Allemands 1914-1918 and Fusillé par les Allemands 1940-1944. (Shot by the Germans, with dates indicating WWI and WWII.)

² "Our" Rommel, referring to the commander of the 7th Panzer Division, of which these men are a part.

³ General Heinz Guderian, German tank expert, commanded an armored corps in the attack on France in 1940.

Guest Post - Ukraine: The View from Poland

Kyiv
(Source)

The following take on the Russo-Ukrainian War of 2022 comes from our friend in Poland, Paweł Kasperek.

Hello everyone and welcome to weekly "Ewok Report" from as-close-to-Ukraine as you can get before being shot at.

Here, I have done that. Hat tip to Jawa Report website ... 

So, here we are, 3 days counting to full month and were discovering ourselves in something akin to the Groundhog Day - Russians still haven't taken Kharkiv, Kyiv , Cherkassy or even Mariupol, and they got captured airfield at Kherson bombed/artillery-ed into oblivion.

Ukrainians have only forces enough for local counterattacks, but they exact heavy toll on the Russians - in my estimates, up to 30k total in KIA, WIA and MIA (captured and desertions).

That is, about 30% of the initial invading forces.

Including like 5 generals killed ...

... and even one senior naval officer.

Lets compare the results with benchmark for East Europe conquest, German attack on Poland in 1939:

By that D+28 Germans were mopping up last vestiges of the resistance and negotiating surrender of Warsaw.

And they got similar number of own casualties, but with order of magnitude, at least, more own forces involved. Invasion of Poland, check casualties section

So, Russian conquest of Ukraine spectacularly has bogged down. Quite literally because Rasputitsa/General Mud  - is in full effect by late March. Compare timetable of certain other battle for Kharkiv, 1943 (Manstein himself could not fight mud ...)

While there are many more paved roads than in 1941, what Russians advances are making , is contained to them. And Ukrainian light infantry maneuvres around them thru countryside, using whatever forests, villages and towns in the way for cover.

Our good net-neighbour Sal has a coverage of one such local battle.

With that kind of losses, it appears Putin has gone full Stansfield.

Recruiting Syrian fighters from Assad, emptying far-flung garrisons from all over the empire's 11 time zones, and even recreating the 1905 Baltic Fleet voyage in reverse.

Brits hide your fishing boats!

Polish, Slovenian and Czech Prime Ministers visited Kyiv under fire, showing that while not ready to send troops they are ready to put some personal risks to at least bolster morale of the defenders.

When speaking of the aid, instead of spectacular and flashy but limited usefulness fighter jets, small and medium  drones seem to be the way. IDK if Turkey is following with more TB2 deliveries, but US is sending own small drones.

Russians have been, tellingly, sending only missiles to try and intercept any help coming thru Lviv area. Seems their planes just don't feel safe enough over this part of Ukraine.

Which leads me to another part of the puzzle. It seems Belarus while being forced to be host nation for invaders, is in no mood to take any active part despite whatever its dictator could wish. The troops just wont go... And Russians seem to not have enough troops (yet) to make a thrust south from Belarus along Polish border to cut off the supply stream of NATO weapons ...

I think the center of gravity for Ukrainians holds firmly so far. Russian COG being the propaganda-brainwashed citizenry at home, I am expecting it would take more dead bodies, in the realm of few dozens thousands to force some kind of revolt against Putin.

Contrary to many pundits I don't look much forward to the palace coup alone, since the people close to Putin are basically his clones in thought at least. But if popular revolt looms someone might take the risk..

Though, even such theoretically positive outcome is fraught with risks:  revolution, coup or even civil war in nuclear superpower? Yikes ... But still preferable to active war with NATO. And given that Russians switching tactics to just shelling general enemy direction - with civilians included, eventually that would happen. When some sort of civilian casualties threshold is crossed  be it 200 thousands or half million, or million - wrath of the public opinion will force politicians hand all across the West.

See you (hopefully) next week...

 

Sarge: Behave yourselves, you know who I mean.

Caveat: I have grave reservations about getting involved in this war. It ain't our fight. My sympathies lie with those who are dying. On both sides.

Le Dixième Anniversaire

(Source)

Yup, first post was ten years ago today.

Almost threw in the towel a cuppla times, decided to hang in there. Glad I did.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks for commenting.

I'd write more, but the Muse and I got hammered last night, ya know, to celebrate ...

Here's hoping I've got another ten years worth of scribblings to entertain you.

Hey, it keeps me off the streets ...

A Whine about wine (again)

Had a bit of bad news a couple of days ago.  The son of our winemaker friends passed away unexpectedly.  The memorial service is this afternoon (Sunday) and we'll be attending.  As a memory of happier times, you get a rerun of a post from 2014 describing our trip with our friends to France.  See you next week.

So, there I was....* Retired from the Air Force almost 10 years, working in a school district now providing IT support after teaching a bit.  (Update) Retired from the Air Force almost 24 years, retired from the local school district for 3 years now after 21 years providing IT support and teaching a bit. Owned and profitably sold two wine related retail businesses which introduced me to some fine friends, two of whom own one of the finest wineries in Texas.  In fact their 2006 Syrah was rated as one of 12 Excellent wines in the United States. We enjoy wine, so having friends in the industry has its perks.

A few years ago, we decided to vacation together.  For various reasons, November has worked for our busy schedules.  Their harvest is over and the hectic activities in the crush have slowed down.  School has started and we've gone through a couple of grading cycles so except for the occasional paper jam, most of the teacher technological panic attacks have slowed way down. So, November it is.

Destination--France.  Unlike Sarge, I've never been assigned to Europe and but thanks to a few TDYs, have been able to visit a bit.  Enough to want to go back. Paris, the City of Lights will be our base camp with day trips to various areas of interest around the country.

Vacation has arrived and we have arrived at CDG, transitioned to the train, then to the subway and have arrived at our hotel near the Ecole Militaire.  Check in was mercifully quick and we head to the elevator to go to our rooms.  The elevator was quaint.  You had a choice.  Either you, or your bags, could use the elevator, not both.  I go up.  Mrs. Juvat loads bags from below, then joins me.  "You Americans! This is not a bug, but a feature!"

Knowing that jet lag is minimized by staying awake until bed time in the new time zone, we go walking about.  

Given that this was the view from our hotel room, we decide on where we are going.

We spend the next couple of days exploring Paris with all the usual suspects.

We see some pretty ladies.

Go to Church.

Drink some wine.

For some reason, this resonates with my twisted sense of humor.

Spend a lot of time consulting maps.

Even ask for directions.  This fellow was helpful.

We did not get lost. I've never been "lost", that position where you don't know where you are, nor how to get where your going, or even how to figure out where you are.  Nope never!

A low level fly by of a ROKAF runway was simply a matter of practicing airfield attack tactics.  Their calls on Guard questioning my identity simply confirm the effectiveness of my tactics.

Gratuitous Airplane Shot
Source RCGroups.com

I digress.  We have successfully navigated in a very large city.  It is time to expand our horizons.  We decide to visit Reims.  As I said earlier, having wine makers as friends has it's perks.  We are going to get a private tour of Veuve Clicqout

Not usually a fan of Champagne, but this was excellent.

I wonder if they'd miss just one.

Successfully returned to our hotel, we plan the next day trip,  I'd always heard about the beaches in France, so we decide to visit one.

This beach is named for a town in Nebraska. Big Red One visited here. Quite a few decided to stay.

Returned from that trip, sobered, but emboldened of our navigational abilities, we decide we want to sample wine from the Loire Valley. We take a train to the town of Tours because that's what we want to do.( I know, "try the veal, I'll be here all week.")

Rent a car and drive to Chinon,  a French Castle astride the Vienne River near Anjou.

With drawbridges on either end, the castle has instant moat protection from an attack.  It was interesting, the gardens are beautiful, but it's time to find wine!  The castle gift shop has a map purporting to have all the local wineries on it.  I purchase it and we hop in the car and are off. The ladies are in the back seat and as good back seaters they have assumed the navigational responsibilities.  We get back on the road and they tell me to start looking for a major highway which we will cross.  We find it and do.  A defined starting point.  They tell me to drive for about 10km when we will come to a village.  We do.  "Take a right, 10 km to next village".  "Take a left".  "We should be coming into village named  xxx".  I can't find anything that says what village we're in at all.  Continue on in this manner for a while and finally come into a village on a river.  It's about lunch time, and we spy an Auberge.

We decide we'll stop and get lunch and ask directions while we're there.

We walk in the front door and are greeted, in French, by the Maitre D', the waiter, the proprietor, cook and busboy.

He speaks no English.  There are several, male patrons in the Auberge, one of whom comes up to us and says "I speak English!". Great,  I ask him if the restaurant is open and could we get lunch.  He says "I speak English! Your wife is sexy!"  Well, I think so, but....Those phrases seems to be his version of my fluency in 22 languages (the ability to order a beer and find a restroom, neither of which I particularly need at this time).

I pantomime an eating gesture and the Maitre D', the waiter, the proprietor, cook and busboy takes us to a table.  A couple of minutes later, he brings out a terrine of something and cuts off a slice, placing it on my plate.  Points at it and pantomimes eating.  Now, I've eaten balut and lived to tell about it, I'm not intimidated.  I cut a piece of what is probably the innards of some long dead animal and commence to chow down.  The bar erupts in cheers and clapping.  Having passed whatever test was presented to us, we are now old friends,  Wine is poured, food is served and lunch goes on for quite a while.  At some time, I approach my new friend, (the all in one Maitre D'...) with my map and explain our situation.  With the wine consumed at lunch, my friend's English and my French are improving rapidly, or maybe it was the pointing at the map and scrunching my shoulders while lifting my hands.  In any case, We've communicated and he starts unfolding the map from where I had opened it to our supposed location. And unfolds, and unfolds, and unfolds.  Evidently, we are about 30 miles from where we thought we were.

I point to where we think we are, and he shakes his head and points at the location on the map.  I look at him quizzically and he responds "Le Carte es Merde!" (Google translate does a reasonable job on the statement.) 

I point to one of the bottles of wine we'd consumed and then pointed at the map with my patented "Where the hell are we?" gesture, and he points out where the winery is and the route necessary to arrive there.  We pay our bill, thank him profusely and get back in the car. Crank it up and promptly turn the wrong way.

I don't get very far when I realize my error and turn around.  Drive past the Auberge and the clientele is outside, bent over in laughter!

My friend the English speaker on the right

We manage to find the winery and taste some very fine Vouvray.

I am certain that should we find our way back to that Auberge, they will still be talking about the Americans that came to visit.

*As Buck was wont to say, "Everybody knows this Juvat, get on with it!" Therefore, I will.

Winter Seems Over

25 February 2022

It has been a long, cold winter. Well, cold by Little Rhody standards, positively spring-like for those of you living in what the Air Force liked to call the Northern Tier states (those along the border with the Great White Up, what some of you know as Canada).

No doubt the official record keepers (who only seem to record the temperatures at airports) might deny it, but I saw a minus sign in front of the single digit recording the outside air temperature (I do believe it was -3° F¹), which is the coldest I've experienced here in my wee town by the bay since moving here back at the turn of the century. (Damn, I can actually use that phrase ... It was 1999, for those of you keeping track.)

Though we haven't had a huge amount of snow, we've had a number of snow storms. My gauge for such things is to see how much snow is piled up in the parking lot at work. If the piles remain over a period of months it means two things: 1) it's been cold enough to keep it from all melting, and 2) the pile gets replenished periodically.

Honestly, I've lost count of how many times it has snowed here this year (a couple of the storms did dump close to a foot of the white stuff on us, that's a foot per storm). Generally it doesn't stay long, except in those heaps thrown up by the plows in a big parking lot. Always seems to warm up enough to rain and wash most of the snow away, before the temperature drops back down into the twenties, where it has seemed to stay all winter.

09 March 2022

On Friday it got over 70°, so I'm guessing those big piles will be gone by Monday. Ah well, while I like winter perhaps more than your average old guy, it's good to see signs of spring.

12 March 2022

Hard to believe that photo was taken a week ago. We had some pretty frisky wind to go with that one. Snow was falling damned near horizontally. By morning a lot of the snow had been blown to parts unknown so it was hard to tell just how much we got. Enough to whiten the ground, but as you can see in the photo above, the parking lot is wet, not white. So were the roads, cold enough to snow, not cold enough to make the roads nasty.

A good thing, trust me.

I took the photo above one fine morning as I was heading aloft to get ready for work. I'd just served Anya her breakfast when I saw movement out the front windows. Six deer coming from parts unknown, heading off to the small patch of woods east of my position.

They looked tired, almost like a patrol coming in from a long and harrowing night. Two of them actually came up onto the lawn in front of that tall topiary and commenced to fighting. Surprised me it did, I've seen them do that on film but never live and in person, and me with a seat ring-side!

On their hand legs, hooves lashing out, nobody landed a "punch" and the Bambi donnybrook quickly subsided. When I told The Nuke of that, she said, "Crazy! I can't believe they were airing their dirty laundry in public."

Yeah, they couldn't wait until they got home?

After staggering out of Blue upon arrival at Chez Sarge after a rather long work week Friday instant, I happened to notice green stuff poking up from the mulch. Yup, daffodils.

So I snapped a photo to send to The Missus Herself, who is still in California for another couple of days, as I know she likes to see her flowers coming back to life in the spring.

Friday was beautiful, Saturday foggy and rainy but with very mild temperatures. As I write, it is the last full day of winter by the calendar and the position of the sun. (I consider March to be a spring month, regardless of the actual weather.)

As you read this, 'tis the first day of Spring.

Anya and I shall celebrate.

Sun feels good, doesn't it Dad?

Then a week and a half after The Missus Herself comes home, I'm off to California myself, to do some more work aboard this lady -

USS Michael Monsoor (DDG 1001) departing Pearl Harbor at sunrise
U.S. Navy Photo

If all goes well, it might well be my last visit to the old girl, what with me planning to retire at the end of the year. But who knows?

Enjoy your Sunday.

¹ You weren't seriously expecting to see a "C" there were you? What am I, European?

War is Hard, Part IV (Finis)

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Viktor Mikhailovich Vasnetsov
(Source)

And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.

And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.

And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.

And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

 

Revelation 6:1-8 (KJV)

So will war be the end of us as a species?

As the population of the world increases, as competition for resources increases, somewhere, someone, is going to pull the trigger which could set off Armageddon. I don't know if that's a maybe or a certainty. But it lies well within the realm of possibility.

The Scriptures foretell of the end of this existence ...

Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away.

But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.

But as the days of Noah were, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.

 

Matthew 24:35-37 (KJV)

What follows is beyond our ken.

It has been said that "violence never solved anything," of course that's nonsense. Violence certainly ended the threat from Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. Perhaps it's wise to understand that aggressive warfare is not an answer. That's why it's been outlawed. Regardless of what we think of the situation in Ukraine, they were attacked.

Were the Russians provoked? They seem to think so, well, at least Putin and his cronies think so. But one could make the argument that Japan was provoked into attacking Pearl Harbor on the 7th of December 1941. You would be correct, we were trying to get Japan to back off in China, where they were indeed waging a war of conquest. So yes, we provoked them, but that did not justify their attack on the United States.

Wars of conquest have caused more grief and horror than anything else in our history, it should be opposed, vigorously, perhaps even through the force of arms. But when?

That is indeed the question.

I weep for the fallen ...

Those in the past, and those to come.

No Man’s Land

written by Eric Bogle

 performed by the Dropkick Murphys

 

Oh how do you do, young Willie McBride

Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?

And rest for a while in the warm summer sun

I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done

And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen

When you joined the great fallen in 1916

Well I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean

Or Willie McBride, was is it slow and obscene?

Did they beat the drums slowly?

Did they play the fife lowly?

Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?

Did the band play the Last Post and chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind

In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?

And though you died back in 1916

To that loyal heart you're forever nineteen

Or are you a stranger without even a name?

Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane

In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained

And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame

Did they beat the drums slowly?

Did they play the fife lowly?

Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?

Did the band play the Last Post and chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

The sun shining down on these green fields of France

The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance

The trenches have vanished long under the plow

No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now

But here in this graveyard that's still no man's land

The countless white crosses in mute witness stand

To man's blind indifference to his fellow man

And a whole generation were butchered and damned

Did they beat the drums slowly?

Did they play the fife lowly?

Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?

Did the band play the Last Post and chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And I can't help but wonder oh Willie McBride

Do all those who lie here know why they died

Did you really believe them when they told you the cause

Did you really believe that this war would end wars

Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame

The killing and dying it was all done in vain

Oh Willie McBride it all happened again

And again, and again, and again, and again

Did they beat the drums slowly?

Did they play the fife lowly?

Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?

Did the band play the Last Post and chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

(Source) 

Pray for Peace, Prepare for War.