Sunday, December 14, 2014

Log of First Feinstein-Approved Interrogation

The Obama Administration has decided to put interrogations of top-ranking human-caused political catastrophes (or whatever insipid euphemism they're using now for TERRORISTS) under a new group answerable only to the White House.

Below is a transcript of an Interrogation Log using the new Rules For Guest Combatant Questioning obtained by The Dread Pundit Bluto from a confidential source.

TOP SECRET VELVET TONGUE

INTERROGATION LOG
DETAINEE 317


17 AUGUST 2014

0930:
The detainee arrives at the interrogation lounge. His sunglasses are removed and he is seated in an overstuffed La-Z-Boy recliner with massage option. SGT A and SGT R are the interrogators. A DoD linguist and MAJ L (BSCT) are present. MS Z (Amnesty International) is present as an observer. MR H (ESQUIRE) is present as detainee counsel.
0935:
Session begins. Detainee is given a mocha latté grandé and offered a selection of croissants and pastries. Detainee sips mocha latté grandé and complains that it is too hot. Detainee spits mouthful (appr. 2 oz.) into SGT R 's face, calls him "infidel goat-lover". MS Z (AI) demands that SGT R check temperature of beverage. SGT R determines that the mocha latté grandé is five (5) degrees fahrenheit above optimum serving temperature and apologizes to detainee. MS Z (AI) states for the record that detainee is being abused according to the Durbin Conventions. MR L (ESQUIRE) states that a complaint of the "Nazi-like" treatment will be filed.
0940:
SGT A tells detainee that information from other sources implicates detainee in plot to detonate nuclear device somewhere in Manhattan, asks detainee for details of plot. Detainee denies involvement, but states that he hopes that the bomb will have enough power to, "...wipe all of the filthy infidel pork-eaters off the face of Allah's Earth." SGT A remonstrates with detainee, stating that "many innocents" will perish in attack and asks for detainee's help in preventing "...this horrible terrorist outrage." Detainee selects a pastry.
0945:
MS Z (AI) and MR L (ESQUIRE) call halt to interrogation. MR L (ESQUIRE) strenuously objects to use of term "terrorist" by SGT A . MS Z (AI) criticizes SGT A for "...applying Western values..." to detainee and notes that potential civilian victims of alleged plot are engaged in work to "...further the schemes of the capitalist warmongers of Western hegemonic imperialism." SGT A apologizes for "thoughtless characterization". MS Z (AI) demands that SGT A direct his apology to detainee. SGT A complies.
0958:
Session ends. Detainee is returned to Guest Suite. Detainee notes that, the previous night, air conditioning in Guest Suite was set at 73 degrees fahrenheit and that Room Service served him filet mignon that was well done when he specifically requested medium rare. MR L (ESQUIRE) states for record that a complaint will be filed and he will "...see that this inhuman gulag is closed down".
Parody (duh), and still sweet after its original posting in 2005.

Sunday, December 07, 2014

7 December, 1941

December 7, 1941: the battleship USS Arizona burns in the grim aftermath of the Japanese attack on the American naval base at Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Territory of Hawaii. More than two thousand four hundred Americans died in the attack, seventy-three years ago today.

Monday, November 10, 2014

Happy Birthday Leathernecks!

Today is the 239th birthday of the United States Marine Corps, America's elite sea-soldiers. Congratulations, Jarheads! Here's to 239 more!

The iconic Mt. Suribachi flag-raising on Iwo Jima

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Unforgiven


Théoden: So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?
Aragorn: Ride out with me. Ride out and meet them.

Friday, July 04, 2014

Independence Day, 2014

Real fireworks, 1945. Yontan Field Okinawa. My Dad's MAG.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

For Fathers Day

Once, when I was small, my father taught me something useless. I had seen the old photographs and held the medals in my hand. Purple Heart and Bronze Star. I had been clamoring for stories of what he did in that war. What kind of guns did he shoot? Did he get to use his bayonet? How many Japs did he kill?

But he taught me something useless instead. He taught me how to figure out the firing order for an 18 cylinder aircraft engine. I had a pretty dim understanding of what cylinders did in an engine (I was only seven years old, after all), but I listened and I learned. Somehow I forgot about the war while we talked.

Sometimes he would tell me about his buddies from boot camp – the slim, smiling young men in the old photographs. I especially loved the story of the brawl they started one night in a bar, and how he escaped the Shore Patrol by slipping out through a bathroom window. And his friend who took him for a ride in a Corsair, a single seat fighter. They took out the radio gear to make room for my dad behind the pilot’s seat. The Corsair went into a dive so steep and fast that my father blacked out for a few seconds.

As I grew older my dad did share some of his darker memories with me. It was very different from what I had read in books and seen in movies. I began to catch a glimpse of the pride and terror of combat Marines, how they clung to each other as brothers, facing unimaginable horrors in a violent and pitiless crucible.

He described the queer, queasy feeling he got in the pit of his stomach, diving “ass over teakettle” into war as a tailgunner in a Dauntless Divebomber. And the queer, queasy feeling he got piloting a slow, ungainly Catalina PBY flying boat in a combat zone full of Japanese fighters. And the tight, heavy feeling in his stomach when he returned from a foot patrol near Yontan airfield on Okinawa, with only one other man of the ten who had left with him, and that man wounded and soon to die. He was seventeen when he enlisted. By the time he was nineteen he was a sergeant of Marines, and marked for life.

He was never strident. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t preach. He spoke of awful things in a flat voice and I knew the terrible price that had been paid by men like him in that struggle.

Many stories are told of the bond between father and son. Dramatic stories of courage, sacrifice, and impossible odds overcome by the power of a father’s love. But I think that bond shows its power most often in quiet, mundane ways. Like this:

1-8-15-4-11-18-7-14-3-10-17-6-13-2-9-16-5-12-1

That’s the firing order of a World War II vintage 18 cylinder aircraft engine - a bit of useless lore carried for decades as a token of love by the son, a symbol of that enduring bond, and a talisman for me to cling to and celebrate a life that ended years ago.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I remember.

(First posted June 19, 2005)

Friday, June 06, 2014

6 June, 1944 D-Day



The largest invasion in human history still came down to small groups of men - ultimately to the individuals - making heroic choices that collectively marked a turning point in history. The liberation of France and western Europe exacted a monstrous toll of blood.
"Soldiers, sailors, and airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force! You are about to embark upon the great crusade toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you." - Gen. Eisenhower's Order of the Day