First female infantry recruit is a Louisiana police officer

First female infantry recruit is a Louisiana police officer | Fox News:

“I have served the front lines in my hometown,” Barnett said in a statement, “and now I am going to serve the front lines for my country.”

She doesn't look especially prepossessing in this picture, does she?
Neither did I, when I was sworn in.  Nor did the other 99 males in my class.

Training makes the difference.

There's a lot of controversy about women serving in the military, but I was unaware until today that there were NO women currently serving in the Infantry.

Why is this so controversial?

Because:

• Female infantry may get wounded and their fellow soldiers may be more protective of her than focused on accomplishing the objective;
• Problems with possible hanky-panky within the unit
• Some BS about "Bad Hair Days" (Menstrual Cycle Emotionalism)
• Private shower stalls?
• Can't keep up in Physical Training Exercises
• Can't carry their wounded buddies out of the Action because 'upper body strength'
• Squeamish

Have I missed anything?

It's all a bunch of baloney.  Women can make fine Infantry soldiers.

Rudyard Kipling had a poem about "The Female of the Species":

   WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, 
    He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside. 
    But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail. 
    For the female of the species is more deadly than the male

He often mentioned female vindictiveness, especially in "The Young British Soldier":

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,And the women come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

Kipling had a much more rational view of the Human Condition than most of us.  That might be because he spend much of his formative years in a war zone, and he watched .. not so much 'British Troops' but "natives" (often Afghan and Indians) in desperate plights where putative 'civilians' were caught up in war-time situations and were called upon to defend their homes and their families.

Considering that those civilians were not formally trained, and only haphazardly (if that) armed, they seemed to be able to function quite effectively when defending their homes and their families.

Granted, the prospect that U.S. Troops might include women in a direct-contact role doesn't include the defense of home, hearth and family, there's no reason why properly motivated women couldn't perform quite well in a direct contact situation.

What do they have to do? Shoot people?

Piece o' cake.

The Attack on Self-Defense

Front Page Magazine offers a counter to the argument that  if you use a gun to protect yourself, you expose yourself to even worst tragedy; or as stated in the story: "... a gun is “not a particularly good defense strategy.”


(H/T to Clayton Cramer)

The Attack on Self-Defense:
(Front Page Magazine; May 22, 2015)

 Some years back, a public service TV ad depicted patients being told by a doctor that they had a tobacco-related illness: lung cancer, heart disease, emphysema, etc. It asked, “If you’re not planning to quit smoking, then what are you planning?” So let me ask: If you’re not planning to use a firearm to defend your home against invasion, what are you planning to do? Modern liberalism has long mocked even the possibility of citizen self-defense:

A woman who  experienced a 'home invasion', and who abandoned two of her sleeping children to save the two she COULD rescue, is convinced that standing her ground to protect her entire family would be a scenario fraught with risk.   Why?  Because if you point a gun at the bad guys, it may only serve to escalate an already bad situation.   They may take your gun away from you.

What if you have a gun, and they don't?  Then the bad guys are in a bad situation, not them.

And if they already have guns?  What choice have you except for making their "Boys' Night Out" more dangerous for them?

Home invasions DO happen.

How has our civilization degraded to the point that Rudyard Kiplings "The Female Of The Species" is no longer applicable in America?

WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,     He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.     But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.     For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Gentlmen-Rankers

Rudyard Kipling's poetry is often difficult for the Modern Man.

But when it is examined by a Military Man, it exhibits haunting memories of a time when "things" were dire, and you never expected to live to see your 23'rd birthday.

Kipling, in "Gentleman Rankers", speaks of the low-caste (low esteem, little experience) Officer in the British army.

In modern parlance:  A Lieutenant in Viet Nam, or Iraq, or  ... we come full circle ... Afghanistan.

So, if you choose to take the time to read this "poem" (although I would call it "An Ode To The Dead"), remember that this is not quite so much as a poem, as a Psalm.  you will recognize the verses from the song "Gentleman Rankers".  If you have ever seen the movie "Dawn Patrol" (with Errol Flynn) from WWI, you would recognize the song they sing around the piano at the Officer's club.

It is called The Whiffenpoof Song.
Lyrics: here
A Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong  version here (jazzed up)

Poetry Lovers' Page - Rudyard Kipling: Gentlmen-Rankers:


I do realize that this is a "Less Than Entirely Interesting" subject, but for military veterans it's important that the antecedents be remembered.  I'm I'm feeling nostalgic tonight.

Kipling: Snarleyow

This feels like a Kipling night. We haven't had one of those for months.


The subject of "Snarleyow" is horse artillery, and the men who manned the guns.




Background:
Rudyard Kipling was born in 1865 (at the end of the American Civil War) and died in 1939 (two years before the beginning of the Second World War). He was born in India, which at the time was a subject state of the British Empire.

He wrote about military matters, primarily, and about the countries in which he traveled over most of his life. He wrote, for example, about "The Man Who Would Be King" (India), the Boer War (Africa), and other British Military Adventures which occupied his early adulthood.

Because he traveled and lived with British troops, his stories and poems faithfully reflected the plight of the common British soldier. His insight and genius were such that he is the most widely quoted and most popular author if military poetry in the world (he won the 1907 Nobel Prize for Literature ... the first author in English in the history of the Prize)



In the United States Army, the motto of Infantry is "Queen of Battle";
the Artillery motto humorously said to be "Artillery Lends Dignity To What Would Otherwise Be A Sordid Affair".

But during the years of the Horse Artillery, dignity was often sacrificed to expediency: changing position to a better firing point ... and getting the hell out of the way of the invading hordes.


In these endeavors, the priority was to 'save the guns'. Moving to avoid being over-run was important: the artillery batteries were valuable because they were a force multiplier of an army, but they did not have a security element to protect him. If the artillery and the rest of the army (cavalry and, at the time, to a lesser extend the infantry) were separated, the guns would lose the support of the armed element and vice versa.


Successfully moving artillery to a better firing point would save an army if done expeditiously, and if the effort failed ... even if the artillery were only 'late' ... it could result in the loss of an army. Any thing, person or event which impeded the safe repositioning of the guns was (literally) trampled over.

The guns were a priority which could never be ignored.

"Anything it takes. Anything at all."


This priority is faithfully described and defined here.

Rudyard Kipling
Barracks Room Ballards
Snarleyow

THIS 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps
Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war;
An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now,
But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o' Snarleyow.
Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears;
But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore,
To learn a little schoolin' to a native army corps,
They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow,
When a tricky, trundlin' roundshot give the knock to Snarleyow.

They cut 'im loose an' left 'im—'e was almost tore in two—
But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do;
'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals:
“Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow—'is head's between 'is 'eels!”

The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round,
An' there ain't no “Stop, conductor!” when a batt'ry's changin' ground;
Sez 'e: “I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels,
But I couldn't pull up, not for you—your 'ead between your 'eels!”

'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell
A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell;
An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the limber wheels,
There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between 'is 'eels.

Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain,
“For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain.”
They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged that it was best,
So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is back an' chest.

The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt,
But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to “Action Front!”
An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head
'Twas juicier for the niggers when the case begun to spread.

The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen:
You 'avn't got no families when servin' of the Queen—
You 'avn't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or sons—
If you want to win your battles take an' work your bloomin' guns!
Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears;
But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

Kipling: The Young British Soldier

We haven't had a Kipling Night for 'ever so long'.

Here's Kipling's interpretation of the Afghanistan Experience:

The Young British Soldier:

The ’arf-made recruity goes out to the East
’E acts like a babe an’ ’e drinks like a beast,
An’ ’e wonders because ’e is frequent deceased
Ere ’e’s fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!

Now all you recruities what’s drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an’ ’ark to my lay,
An’ I’ll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what’s fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o’ the grog-sellers’ huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay’nets that rots out your guts—
Ay, drink that ’ud eat the live steel from your butts—
An’ it’s bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes—as it will past a doubt—
Keep out of the wet and don’t go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An’ it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o’ your foes is the sun over’ead:
You must wear your ’elmet for all that is said:
If ’e finds you uncovered ’e’ll knock you down dead,
An’ you’ll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you’re cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don’t grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it’s beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old—
A troop-sergeant’s widow’s the nicest I’m told,
For beauty won’t help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain’t enough for a soldier.
’Nough, ’nough, ’nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch ’em—you’ll swing, on my oath!—
Make ’im take ’er and keep ’er: that’s Hell for them both,
An’ you’re shut o’ the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an’ you’re wishful to duck,
Don’t look nor take ’eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you’re livin’, and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When ’arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don’t call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She’s human as you are—you treat her as sich,
An’ she’ll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin’ their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o’ the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an’ don’t mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer’s dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it’s ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An’ go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!

__________________

Sergeants won't tell their men about these things today. Kipling will, whether you like it or not.