More Post-Election thoughts

I said earlier that I've not had a good history of voting for winners.   Probably, that's because I tend to overthink my votes.

And while I have this sneaky little feeling that someone should congratulate me because someone I voted for actually won an election ... I'm wondering if it's okay to take the clothes-pin off my nose, yet.

As Rudyard Kipling may have said (but probably didn't): "I seen my duty, and I done it!"
Trump may be many things, but he's not subject to subpoena for past indiscretions which compromised American security.  Which his opponent still has to face.

(I'm still loving the "If he gets elected, we're all going to jail!" quote.   I don't believe it was a Hillary quote; the sources are dubious.  But I like it because this is the candidate I voted AGAINST.  Much as everyone else who voted for Trump, I suppose.)

And many readers may share my feelings of wanting to take a lot of showers, because Hillary Clinton was probably the only candidate in America who might make Donald Trump seem to be a preferable viable alternative for the highest office in the land.

BY THE WAY ... much was made in the last week of the campaign that Trump is/was/has been an odious candidate because of his philandering ways.  Considering Ex-president William Jefferson Clinton's history of Roving Eye and Wandering Hands (etc.), it seems that The Other Party tended not to make it as much an issue as it might have been, except for the very latest days in the campaign.

So ... yes, Trump was, and is, an odious candidate.

But we find ourselves in post election bluesville with two final thoughts:

1. Yes, he is a jerk but he's OUR jerk
2. He's Not Hillary

One thing is certain: if you don't vote, you can't complain about the people you might have voted for, or the people you might have voted against.   It's too late to vote now, but the next time we might see more people coming to the polls who usually think that their vote doesn't matter.

In Defense of IDPA

Yesterday I had a lot to say about IDPA (International Defensive Pistol Association) competition, and while the intent was not to be insulting, the comments I made gave little or no credit to what is an increasingly popular form of firearms competition.

It's only fitting that I mention the parts of IDPA which I found ... interesting, and occasionally laudable.   (I'll try to resist the impulse to criticize the format and structure of the IDPA Rule Book, although it will not be easy to do.)

The first thing in the rule book is a clear statement of intent of the sport:

Founded in 1996, the International Defensive Pistol Association (IDPA) is the governing body for IDPA competition, a handgun-centric shooting sport based on simulated self-defense scenarios.
The IDPA competition format was designed to be enjoyable for all shooters of all skill levels, with a premium put on the social interaction and camaraderie of the members. Participation in IDPA matches requires the use of handguns, holsters and other equipment suitable for concealed carry self-defense.
With that in mind, and keeping the shooters' best interests in mind, IDPA's founders established equipment requirements that are based on commonly  available firearms and gear, allowing individuals the opportunity to compete with minimal investment.

By the way, the rest of this article is ... VERY LONG!
(coming up:  IPSC Abandonment):

The Beast of War

Rudyard Kipling knew what's what, and he proved it in his ode To 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.
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
      Go, go, go like a soldier,
         So-oldier of the Queen!

I'm waxing lyrical about Kipling again (it's a minor character flaw; please don't think to badly of me for it) and so it's time to watch ... THE BEAST again.

During the war in Afghanistan a Soviet tank crew commanded by a tyrannical officer find themselves lost and in a struggle against a band of Mujahadeen guerrillas in the mountains. A unique look at the Soviet 'Vietnam' experience sympathetically told for both sides.

If you've never been at  war, and you think you could hold up 'pretty well' under it ...
this is your opportunity to rethink your stalwart character; which means little or nothing when "the women come out to cut out what remains ..."
.

Because until some calls you "SNAKE" instead of "Hey, YOU!", it is perhaps advisable to listen to the words of The Great One (not the USPSA GRANDMASTER, but the one who was born in India);
 when you have best convinced yourself that you are not afraid, think again of the nightmares of other, best prepared warriors:

25 But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame 

26 Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,  

27 And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,  

28 The female of the species must be deadlier than the male. 

Post Script:  I know I've posted nearly the identical warnings before.
But the Beast is strong tonight ....

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.

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.

Eric Zoen, Chicago Trib, on child murders

Change of Subject | 
Eric Zoen, Chicago Trib, on child murders:

Almost as shocking as the accusation that two 12-year-old girls from near Milwaukee stabbed a friend nearly to death Saturday was the news that authorities are charging the girls as adults. Adults?
Anyone who has ever lived with 12-year-olds — and my wife and I have reared three — knows that they're impulsive, naive and malleable by nature. Delightful as they can be, you wouldn't trust them to vote, drive, carry guns, have sex or drink alcohol responsibly. You wouldn't leave them home alone for a weekend.
 Because they're children. "

Kipling:

  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.



Should girl-children be forgiven their crimes, no matter how abysmal, because "they're children?"

How about boy-children of the same age ... who are often given guns and sent out to murder, because their gang members know that they will be given minimal sentences, because "they're children"?

You and I are not part of their culture; can we legitimately condemn them for murder?

After all .. they're children.

Even though older children have imposed this onus upon them.

"Oh, Sorry About That"

US homeowner Byron David Smith heard taunting dying teens in audio of killings | News.com.au:

(April 23, 2014)

A HOMEOWNER can be heard calmly telling a teenage girl “oh, sorry about that” and calling her “bitch” as he shot her and another unarmed teen dead after they broke into his house.
Byron David Smith, 64, is on trial for the murder of 18-year-old Haile Kifer and her 17-year-old cousin Nicholas Brady on thanksgiving two years ago.
Smith had fitted his home in Little Falls, Minnesota, with recording devices after repeated break-ins. According to the Minnesota Star Tribune , the devices captured the chilling audio of the teens’ killings.
The paper said the crystal clear recordings were played to the court. On them glass is heard breaking then two shots then a groan from Brady followed by another gunshot and Smith saying, “You’re dead”.
Smith is then heard moving Brady’s body to a workshop, to keep him from staining the basement carpet, as he later told authorities. Some minutes later Kifer can be heard whispering, “Nick”. There are more gunshots and then the sound of Kifer falling. Smith says, “Oh, sorry about that.”
Kifer can be heard screaming, “Oh my god! Oh”. Smith then responds, “You’re dying,” and after more gunshots, “Bitch.”

The Castle Doctrine?

Or murder?

Massacre In The Mall ... Oregon!

Gunman opens fire in Portland mall; 3 dead | General Headlines | Comcast:

PORTLAND, Ore. — A masked gunman wearing camouflage opened fire Tuesday in a busy Portland mall, leaving the gunman and two others dead and forcing the mall's Santa Claus and hundreds of Christmas shoppers and employees to flee or hide among store displays.

Austin Patty, 20, who works at Macy's, said he saw a man in a white mask carrying a rifle and wearing a bulletproof vest. He heard the gunman say, "I am the shooter," as if announcing himself. A series of rapid-fire shots in short succession followed as Christmas music played. Patty said he ducked to the ground and then ran.

His Macy's co-worker, Pam Moore, told The Associated Press the gunman was short, with dark hair. Witnesses said he started firing his military-style weapon just outside Macy's in the food court of Clackamas Town Center.

Brance Wilson, the mall Santa, said he heard gunshots and dove for the floor. By the time he looked up, seconds later, everyone around him had cleared out. Merchandise was scattered in some stores as he made his way to the door.

"Santa will be back," Wilson said. "It's not going to keep Santa away from the mall."

Jacob Roberts (26) entered a food court and started blazing away with a stolen AR15.   Killed two people, wounded a young woman, then shot himself in the head.  (See also the OREGONLIVE profile, where his age was given as '22', not '26'..)

The Chicago Tribune has a video:

(temporarily deleted because it's really obnoxious December 23, 2012)

The Clackamas Town Center is just a little bit smug because they recently performed some training for exactly this scenario.   Their solution?  Run, and hide.  There was apparently no effort to explore the possibility of an aggressive defense.

The Media is working hard on the "WHY?" issue.  His 'mother' (actually his aunt ... his mother died of Hodgkins Disease when he was 2 years old) said he wanted to be a Marine, but he had broken his foot when he was seventeen an after that " ... he just changed ...".  Apparently, he was REALLY disappointed that he didn't qualify to be a member of the Marines, so he decided to be a sick fuck instead.

The latest bit of Media Blarney (because I'm too polite to say "BULLSHIT!" online) is that he may have been influenced by a video game;  the scenario is reminiscent of "Grand Theft Auto".  That is where the "player" dons a white hockey mask and attacks the customers of a mall food court with a rifle.

Please.

The answer to the question:  "WHY?" is ...   because he could.

We don't have to do any research.  It has been 20 years since I've been to the Clackamas Town Center Mall, but I will guarantee you that at all the entrances there is a notice to the effect that "This Is A Gun-Free Zone".

(sigh)

You can buy 'em the books, but that don't mean they're gonna learn nuttin'.   Remember ... this (Portland, Oregon)  is the geopolitical center of a state which (among others) voted overwhelmingly to re-elect Barack Obama to a second term.

[Okay, "WE" re-elected the man who in a single term built a national debt of fourteen TRILLION dollars.    {update: it's now $16.3 trillion dollars, an increase of  $5.7 trillion since 2008.}  My understanding (I got this from the Internet, so it must be true), is this is more money than actually exists in the world today.   If we can believe that this is not a 'problem', then it probably seems reasonable that re-electing this economic genius would be a reasonable thing to do.   He'll fix it ... we HOPE!   In the meantime, mister, can I bother you for a little spare CHANGE?   The point is ... gee, our national consciousness has changed from one of individual freedom and responsibility to dependence on our 'rulers' and confidence that 'someone else' will take care of us.   Read Alexis de Tocqueville]

No, no, I'm not saying that the state and people of Oregon "deserved" this.  Nobody deserves to be subjected to the predations of madmen.   (It's just that Oregon is a "Liberal" state, and Liberals tend to expect "The Nanny State" to take care of them; generally speaking, they have no concept of the need to provide for their own well-being.)

The fatal victims, Steve Forsythe and Cindy Ann Yuille, and the wounded 15-year-young woman Kristina ("... just trying to catch a train ... ") Shevchenko deserve more attention.  But they aren't going to get it because the world is more focused on "guns are bad" and "guns kill people" rather than acknowledging that "people deserve to exercise the right to defend themselves and protect others, without being seen as 'paranoid' if they choose to exercise their rights".

We won't list 'the madman' as a victim.  He chose his path.  The victims .. did not.

What I AM saying is that ... well, you already know what I'm going to say.

• "Gun Free Zones" are the moral equivalent of "Please Shoot Me .. You KNOW I'm Not Going To Fight Back!" Zones.
• If the madman had thought that the Christmas Shopping Mob at the Clackamas Town Center mall included a lot of people who were armed .. he would have gone somewhere else to act out his sick fantasy.
• Go look at The Hobo Brasser's blog for December 7; his comments are something that we should live by, and they are directly applicable to THIS situation.
• People who carry concealed weapons in public do so for the same reason as other responsible people wear their seat belts while driving or riding in a car.  They don't HOPE for a disaster; they merely wish to be prepared for the worst while hoping for the best.
• And the iconic best quote of all?  "When an emergency occurs and a defense is needed in a matter of seconds, the police are only minutes away.

Yeah, that last one is so obvious that it's almost trite.  Still, I noticed that among all of the quotes being published by the MSM, not ONE person said: "I had my gun with me, even though the signs said it was forbidden;  I'm glad I did, because I shot that sick fuck before he had a chance to hurt anyone else."

Apparently, none of the potential victims at the mall came forward to say that he (or she) was armed, although he/she may not have been in the vicinity of the shooter during the time unarmed people were being shot murdered,

On the other hand, comments from readers of various articles included:

"Whether it is an accident while cleaning a gun, a loaded gun left out where a child finds it, or a stolen gun from family or others, guns kill people." 

Well, somebody had to say it.  We all have a talent for being trite.

Trite?  I'll give you trite.

The massacre stopped when the madman shot himself in the head.  Our question is: why didn't he START with that action?  Even if he chose to go to the mall to do it, and even though it would have been 'traumatic' for people to watch him blow his own damned head off ... it would have been a LOT less traumatic for the people who were actually shot before he chose to take his own life.

Here's a video dated 12/12/12 (is the date significant?) .. before much information was available:


I've talked about this before .. actually several times.

But I'll say it again.

This kid was a sick f*ck and I'm glad his dead.
I only wish he had followed Kipling's advice to "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.

Real American Sick F*cks .. do that FIRST.

Please.

Steyn: Guns and God? Hell, yes

I have to admit to an Unnatural Tendency: I love Mark Steyn.

No no, it's not physical relationship (although in a parallel universe wherein I was a woman I might consider wanting to bear his children if only to proliferate his political genius unto the next generation.)

It's only that I consider Steyn to be one of the most prolific, entertaining, brilliant and accurate writer in the western world today. I rank him right up there with Peggy Noonan, with many of the headline writers from National Review Online (can you say, for example, Jonah Goldberg?) following behind.

On this website I've quoted, cited and invariably encouraged you to Read Steyn fairly often. In fact, an informal survey (in which I just now asked myself "who do you quote most"?), I find that Steyn shares the Honor Spot with Rudyard Kipling.

So it was with gratifying surprise that I received an email from Honorary Geek Scott F., directing my attention to a recent article by Mr. Steyn titled ... well you can see the article title.


In "Guns and God: Hell, Yes", Steyn Responds to Barack Obama's recent statement that (small town conservatives) are (bitter because they are frustrated about their economic situation) and have (cleaved to their guns and their God ... as if this were A Bad Thing.)

Here's the full text of the comment:

But the truth is, is that, our challenge is to get people persuaded that we can make progress when there's not evidence of that in their daily lives. You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them. And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. So it's not surprising then that they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.

... and in a grab from the MSM:

But that's not the news we're talking about here.

Let's go back to the Steyn article, in some depth.

... I note a global survey on optimism: 61 percent of Americans were optimistic about the future, 29 percent of the French, 15 percent of Germans. Take it from a foreigner: In my experience, Americans are the least "bitter" people in the developed world. Secular, gun-free big-government Europe doesn't seem to have done anything for people's happiness. Consider by way of example the words of Keith Reade. He's not an Obama speechwriter, he's a writer for the London Daily Mirror. And the day after the 2004 presidential election he expressed his frustration in an alarmingly Obamaesque way:

"Were I a Kerry voter, though, I'd feel deep anger, not only at them returning Bush to power, but for allowing the outside world to lump us all into the same category of moronic muppets. The self-righteous, gun-totin', military-lovin', sister-marryin', abortion-hatin', gay-loathin', foreigner-despisin', nonpassport ownin' rednecks, who believe God gave America the biggest d*** in the world so it could urinate on the rest of us and make their land 'free and strong.'"

Well, that's certainly why I supported Bush, but I'm not sure it entirely accounts for the other 62,039,073 incontinent rednecks.

... and ...

Obama and far too many Democrats have bought into this delusion, most thoroughly distilled in Thomas Frank's book "What's The Matter With Kansas?", whose argument is that heartland voters are too dumb (i.e., "moronic muppets") to vote for their own best interests.

... and ...

A while back, I was struck by the words of Oscar van den Boogaard, a Dutch gay humanist (which is pretty much the trifecta of Eurocool). Reflecting on the Continent's accelerating Islamification, he concluded that the jig was up for the Europe he loved, but what could he do? "I am not a warrior, but who is?" he shrugged. "I have never learned to fight for my freedom. I was only good at enjoying it."

Sorry, it doesn't work like that. If you don't understand that there are times when you'll have to fight for it, you won't enjoy it for long. That's what a lot of Reade's laundry list – "gun-totin'," "military-lovin'" – boils down to. As for "gay-loathin'," it's Oscar van den Boogaard's famously tolerant Amsterdam where gay-bashing is resurgent: The editor of the American gay paper the Washington Blade got beaten up in the streets on his last visit to the Netherlands.

God and guns. Maybe one day a viable society will find a magic cure-all that can do without both, but Big Government isn't it. And even complacent liberal Democrats ought to be able to look across the ocean and see that. But, then, Obama did give the speech in San Francisco, a city demographically declining at a rate that qualifies it for EU membership. When it comes to parochial simpletons, you don't need to go to Kansas.

The arrogance of the man, to quote the America-haters and turn their words back on them.

The genius of the man, to make obvious the obtuse character of the America-haters, and to hold the light of truth so that their shady character is revealed.

But if you really want to review the opinion of Main Stream America (as opposed to the Main Stream Media, as represented by the failing New York Times), you may consider the Comments section of this article to be an interesting resource. There you will find Americans cheerfully

Just as a 'for-example', some Americans live in 'economically disadvantaged' areas not because they are unable to leave, but because they blatantly like the place where they live. They're not shy in speaking out in favor of their choice, and often they manage to hide their 'embitterment' behind a brave facade of cheerful exuberance:

jlbaker wrote:

One of the most exasperating things to us 'hay seeds' is that we have not asked for help. The formula is simple. If you like your environment, stay. If you must make 100 grand a year, leave for the city. We may be slow, but we figured out that one without Mr. Obama's help. For the political elites to even offer to 'save' us runs so brazenly against simple economics that I want to laugh...but they are being serious. If something works, it survives. If it does not work, it dies (I give you Detroit. Hardly a country bumpkin town. How well has it been doing lately?) Small town America may shrink, but enough people prefer it that I don't worry about it disappearing (unlike say, Jane Smiley, who is crying big liberal tears as we small towns seal our own doom by supporting religion, Republicans, and the 2nd Amendment). Besides, shouldn't the liberals be thrilled that small town America, apparently the haven of such anti-social behavior as being pro gun rights, 'cuts its own throat'?

(Note that Jane Smiley is a Pulitzer Prize writer, but she is famous chiefly for writing a 'bitter' polemic in response to George W. Bush's win against John Kerry (who was a decorated hero of the Vietnam War and will soon release his military records for public review, as he has promised to do since 2006 -- real soon now, watch this space) immediately after the results of the 2004 presidential election ... which required a month to "move on" from the Democratic legal challenges because the Dems couldn't believe that their candidate was even more lame than the Conservative candidate ... were confirmed. Ha ha ha, I laugh at your political discomfort, Jane Smiley. Does this make me a "Moronic Muppet"? Please say yes, I am honored by your disrespect.)
...

It's obvious (or should be, I think) why I so admire this Canadian/New Hampshire writer who has such a clear insight of the basic anger evinced by the European Culture which rages in frustration about the 'cowboy community' of America, and at the same time admit to their own effete voluntary disempowerment: "I have never learned to fight for my freedom. I was only good at enjoying it."

Doesn't this single short sentence perfectly encapsulate the true Euro-Arrogance?

...

Today, at the USPSA match in Dundee, The Hobo Brasser interrupted the pre-match competitors' meeting with an announcement:

"Everyone who is bitter about their economic situation, and cleave to their guns and their God, please raise your hands."

I raised my hand. So did every one of the 51 competitors at the match.


Then we all laughed, and got down to the serious business of organizing ourselves for the serious business as Red State (actually, Oregon is a Blue State) Conservatives of punching holes in cardboard, and knocking down steel plates, in a day "... full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

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.

Hope and Healing

Forgive me, Father, for I have been listening to Larry King on the Radio.

Money Quote (from a Virginia Tech coed):

... I have found Hope and Healing ...

To recap: yesterday, some ass-wipe murdered 32 of her friends and neighbors, and today she is finding "hope and healing"? May I suggest that it may be just the teensy-est bit shallow for us to find "hope and healing" in a short 24-hours?

I know, I know, we're suppose to celebrate our strength and recuperative powers, and it's probably pretty shallow of ME to criticize our grief-process time frame. Still, if we were all that broken up about the death of THIRTY TWO of our fellow students, one might be forgiven for suggesting that going on the Larry King show to tell us all how we have already found HOPE AND HEALING is ... ah, never mind.

If we have to ask, we wouldn't understand.

I read Dennis Prager this afternoon, and while he wasn't there, at least he has a good understanding of the way the grief process works.

Sure, college students are definitively The Me Generation (I was, at that age), but one would like to think that they have enough sensitivity to view the slaughter of their fellow students in terms of someone else (for example, the dead kids?) for just a little while.

And what is it about mass murderers? They rampage through whatever venue they choose, kill a lot of innocents, and THEN they shoot their face off?

Why can't they take a short cut? Why don't they shoot their face off FIRST, and save us all this grief?

This Cho, this toilet paper to the rectum of humanity, had a lot of choices; but he was 'in pain' because of his, supposedly, suffering from romantic rejection and societal disillusionment.

What a piece of work you were, Cho. You sociopathic sick fuck.

Isn't that a nasty phrase? I've never used it before, never thought I would say that about another human being. But it perfectly describes the being, and perfectly expresses my feelings.

"You sociopathic sick fuck." I don't want to feel your pain. I just want you to be dead Dead DEAD for all eternity and may you rot in hell. I don't want to feel this angry toward another human being again.

Damn you to all eternity.

We have ALL felt his pain. But instead of getting over it, and instead of doing the decent thing and blowing his brains out at the first sign of dejection with his filed-off-serial-number (what's that all about?) Niner, he kills his One True Love and their 'mediator', takes two hours to gear up, and then trashes the lives, the hopes and the expectations of our most precious natural resource; our young people. The best and the brightest.

Kipling could have given him the nod, if the shit-for-brains idiot could have taken just a moment to get over himself:

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.

Am I'm angry?

Yes!

There is NO sympathy for a baby-turd who is so full of himself that he can consider no higher calling than to make a big splash, and chooses the life of his fellow man as his canvas.

I am absolutely against suicide, but when the alternative is this sort of National Horror, I'm thinking it's a Good Thing to internalize your pain for the few moments it takes to eat your own gun, you self-centered idiot.

Yeah, I'm talking to Cho the Ho, may you rot in hell you insufferable egomaniac.

I do so wish I could find "Hope and Healing" today, but that's probably too much to ask.

Maybe I've been too hard on the poor dear who was so eager to express to her new best friend, Larry King, that she found what I so desperately crave.

Once I killed people. In battle, and for what I thought was a good reason. As I walked the battlefield and counted the bodies, I felt a deep and abiding sense of sorrow at the total waste which is violent death.

I swore to myself I would never put myself in that dark place again.

No avail.

Once again I find myself there through no fault of my own, and the sense of waste is not lessened by the passing of years. If anything, it is increased by time and distance, and the helplessness.

What a total waste.

Jesus wept.

Rudyard Kipling - Tommy

Haven't had a Kipling Night for a LONG time.

Given the shameful quarters for wounded soldiers at American military hospitals, Nancy's trip to Damascus, the pork-barrel Appropriations Bill, the failure of Congress to send a bill version that the President can sign ... perhaps this is the most appropriate of Kipling's Barracks Room Ballads.

Tommy

Rudyard Kipling

---

I WENT into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’ beer,
The publican ’e up an’ sez, “We serve no red-coats here.”
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, go away”;
But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play,—
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ’adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-’alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, wait outside”;
But it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide,—
The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide,
O it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide.

Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, ’ow’s yer soul?”
But it’s “Thin red line of ’eroes” when the drums begin to roll,—
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it’s “Thin red line of ’eroes” when the drums begin to roll.

We aren’t no thin red ’eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, fall be’ind”,
But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir”, when there’s trouble in the wind,—
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir”, when there’s trouble in the wind.

You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all:
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace.
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Chuck him out, the brute!”
But it’s “Saviour of ’is country” when the guns begin to shoot;
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;
An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool—you bet that Tommy sees!

The American Congress today is no better than British Parliament 120 years ago.

And the American public no more supportive of its brave fighting men.

Shame on us.

Administrivia

Just to keep you updated on what's happening at Chez Geek:

SIDEBAR:
I've removed "Matt Burkett's Shooting Thoughts" from the sidebar. The last past was October, 2005. Apparently Matt hasn't had a thought since then, and while that's okay by me it doesn't make sense to link to Plymouth Rock when nobody has a reason to go there. Those who are interested can do an Internet Search, which may bring them to this article, from which they can go read whatever they find.

Future Posts: Cooper's Corner
I usually just rant here, as you may have noticed, or talk about The Church Of What's Happening Now.

But once in a while I Get An Idea, and follow it up.

The last time this happened, I posted three or four Kipling poems. I did that because I had been buying and reading Kipling books, and I was very impressed with what I found there.

Problem was, nobody else was buying. I got a dozen hits on the articles, and interest quickly dropped off.

However, a few weeks ago a couple of months ago way back when I mentioned that I was going to buy the 2-volume set of Jeff Cooper's Gargantuan Gunsite Gossip books, and I did, and I've been reading them.

In the process, I kept finding cogent comments, phrases and entries which I found particularly interesting. So about a quarter through Volume I, I began stuffing bookmarkers on those pages with the thought that I might quote them in future nothing-happening-here-but-don't-move-on moments.

The trouble is, by the time I got halfway through the first volume, I had so many bookmarks stuffed into the book it was greatly increased in volume. (Pun intended.)

Bigger problem: When I'm reading in bed, I stuff the book with kleenex. Well, that's what disposable, plentiful, and close at hand.

When I'm reading in The John, I stuff the book with toilet paper.

Thankfully, it's unused TP.

But the book is becoming cumbersome, so the next time I'm moved (sorry!) to include a blogmeat article, you'll be treated to a bunch of direct quotes from the book.

Hopefully, you'll be urged (sorry!) to buy the books for yourself, because what I'm going to include is just the tip of the iceberg. Or the top of the pile. (Sorry!)

While reading the books, I've been impressed that the periodic contributions presented a micro-view of the issues of the day. A glimpse of history, so to speak, because the first book starts with the Guns&Ammo articles of 1981.

The other impression is that Cooper's Corner (as the recurring column was called in the G&A editions) constitutes the first Blogger.

You may compare the series with Ruark's columns in Field and Stream, which went on and on for 20 years and resulted in such published volumes as "The Old Man And The Boy". You may compare them unfavorably. But they weren't the same thing.

You can talk about O'Connor (The American Rifleman), and Skeeter Skelton (I miss all of these excellent shooting-sports writers too much!), but they aren't the same thing as Cooper's Corner.

Cooper didn't write vignettes, as the others did. He wrote stream-of-consciousness. He wrote short, fragmented concepts. He didn't write short stories. Much of what he offered was highly opinionated, confrontational, opinionated and rarely Politically Correct. (He got booted from G&A, came back, refused to kneel, was ultimately booted For All Time. ) I often disagreed with Cooper, occasionally was outraged, found him barbaric and/or offensive ... and upon rereading for the third time, I still do all of the above.

But I found him eminently readable.

Go to the sidebar. You'll find the link to his current writings. I still read him every month, even though he's become less productive in his later years and we are lucky to find a new article every season.

How often today do you have the opportunity to read a man who still writes in the Editorial "WE" (even though he 'gave it up' in 1991)? And how often, within that vanishingly small community (Does Buckley use "WE" any more? I think not!) do you find it so difficult to determine when he is using the Editorial "WE" and when he is using the Imperial "WE". I think it is trending to the latter, and I don't consider it A Bad Thing.

After all, The Man DID start IPSC.

Bearing in mind that he increasingly distanced himself from the trend toward gamesmanship which he found so egregious in the '80s and the early '90s, and did in fact sever all connection to IPSC in the late '90s because the sport had lost, in his opinion, all connection to the concept of "Practical" competition, his is still and shall for evermore be ...

The Guru

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Even though I went to The Dark Side three years ago, I did so because I just couldn't see Iron Sights any more. I would have preferred to compete in Limited 10, which is the class in which I made B rating in 1999 (before I couldn't read without glasses any more.)

I would like to think that Cooper, in his eighties, would use a red-dot sight if he could just get past his outrage.

On the other hand, why should he?

After all, he's right.

This Meme Must Die - REALLY!

One in a row....: 7 wonders meme

See what happens when you don't check your stats frequently? One in a Row dinged me for the 7x7 thingie, and I didn't even realize it until I started poking around through my blogroll.

Sorry, but you've heard all the reasons why I can't / won't resist.

Seven things to do before I die:

1. Win a stage in an IPSC match
2. Win an IPSC match!
3. Learn how to detail-strip a 1911
4. Put the sucker back together!
5. Win the lottery, so I can hire somebody ELSE to load ammo!
6. Go to every 'major' IPSC match in the country for an entire compettive year
7. Get my Christmas presents mailed on time

Seven things I cannot do:

1. Keep a clean house when I am NOT depressed
2. Wrap presents
   
3. Go to the bathroom without 'reading material'
4. Be punctual
   
5. Eat my vegetables
6. Repair ANYTHING mechanical
7. Stay mad

Seven things that attract me to......(SWMBO):

1. Sexy
2. Stronger than she thinks she is
3. Thinks I'm funny
4. Perfect comedic timing
5. Certified Range Officer, and good at it
6. Willing to risk 'looking silly', but she never does
   
7. Responsible, assertive, brains, beauty, and she shoots. What's not to like?

Seven things I say most often:

1. I really shouldn't
2. Okay, but just one
   
3. You say that like it's A Bad Thing
4. What? (My best John Travolta impression)
5. "When you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk."
6. I'm not as dumb as I look
7. My pop always use to say . . .
   

Seven books (or series) that I love:

1. Stephan Hunter "Bob the Nailer" series
   
2. David Drake "Hammers Slammers" series
   
3. Robert B Parker "Spenser" series
   
4. Rudyard Kipling . . . everything!
5. David Weber "Honor Harrington" series
6. Lois McMaster Bujold "Vor" series
7. Robert Heinlein . . . everything!

Seven movies I watch over and over again:

1. Silverado
2. Last Man Standing
3. Face Off
4. La Femme Nikita
5. Red River
   
6. Ronin
7. The Mummy
   

Seven suckers I want to infect:

Nobody. Like I said, "This Meme Must Die!"

Besides, I'm ticked off. There aren't nearly enough opportunities to list all of the books and movies I read/watch over and over, and I've made some very difficult choices.

Meme Tag

Thanx to Tyler over at .45 Caliber Justice, I've been tagged.
Here's the 'survey', which is not quite like the ones out of Cosmopolitan that my ex use to make me fill out all the time:

1.) Total number of books I own:

Counting the boxes in the garage, the boxes in the upstairs hallway, surrounding my bed, in the bookcases, in my briefcase, in the 'reading room' (bathroom), in my car, in boxes on the living room floor, in every closet and every room at home, in my desk at the office --- who the hell knows? I figure, if you have any IDEA how many books you own, you aren't a serious Reader. Thank GOD for used book stores, which enable me to clean out a couple hundred books a couple of times a year and trade them in for ... more books!

2.) Last Book I Bought:

The Service of the Sword, by David Weber

3.)Last Book I Read:

The entire (13-volumes, so far) "PREY" series, by John Sandford

(I don't read books one at a time, folks, so get use to this 'cause you're gonna see a lot more 'series' and "collections" and "every thing ever written by" in the next category.)

4.)Five Books That Mean A Lot To Me:

1. The entire collected works of Rudyard Kipling and Robert Heinlein
2. Everything David Drake ever wrote.
   
3. Also, everything ever written by John Ringo, S.M. Stirling, Eric Flint, Jerry Pournelle, Larry Niven, William C. Dietz, Mike Resnick, Rick Shelley, Elizabeth Moon, John Dalmas, Lois McMaster Bujold, Leo Frankowski, Terry Pratchett ... never mind, too many to list.
   
4. Everything ever written by Stephen Hunter, Robert B. Parker, Michael Connely, James Patterson, Donald Hamilton, Edward S. Aarons, John D. MacDonald ...
   
5. The entire collected works of Alexandar Kent ("Richard Bolitho" - 27 volumes) and C. S. Forrester ("Horatio Hornblower" - 11 volumes plus "The African Queen")
   

And my list (of folks who are 'tagged' to respond to this meme) is as follows:

1. Wadcutter
2. Rivrdog
3. Gullyborg
4. Publicola
5. Cowboy Blob

Kipling: Macdonough's Song

I spent so much time dealing with unimportant technical stuff (such as software upgrades and blog errors) that I almost forgot Kipling Night!

Thankfully, I have on tap a timely poem, because I'm hoping to get to bed before midnight tonite. The data entry is easy, because I found this already transcribed on an Australian website called Whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au (click on the article title above to go directly to the original).

I found this poem in the forepage of a Tom Clancy novel: The Teeth of the Tiger. The book is about terrorism, the poem is about terrorism, and unfortunately our current era is all too much about terrorism. This poem was written sometime between 1899 and his death in 1936. Kipling is writing about 'coersive collectivism', but here he demonstrates Cassandra's gift, fortelling issues which we now face in our daily lives and fears.

Interestingly, this can be interpreted in more than one way. Who are the Holy People? Are they the Radical Islaamists, or are they the Evangelistic Christians in America? Your answer to this question fairly defines who YOU are.

Macdonough’s Song

Rudyard Kipling

---

WHETHER the State can loose and bind
In Heaven as well as on Earth:
If it be wiser to kill mankind
Before or after the birth—
These are matters of high concern
Where State-kept schoolmen are;
But Holy State (we have lived to learn)
Endeth in Holy War.

Whether The People be led by The Lord,
Or lured by the loudest throat:
If it be quicker to die by the sword
Or cheaper to die by vote—
These are things we have dealt with once,
(And they will not rise from their grave)
For Holy People, however it runs,
Endeth in wholly Slave.

Whatsoever, for any cause,
Seeketh to take or give,
Power above or beyond the Laws,
Suffer it not to live!
Holy State or Holy King—
Or Holy People’s Will—
Have no truck with the senseless thing.
Order the guns and kill!
Saying—after—me:—

Once there was The People—Terror gave it birth;
Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth.
Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, O ye slain!
Once there was The People—it shall never be again!

Danegeld, by Rudyard Kipling - A.D. 980-1016

It's Kipling Night!

This time, I'm not typing the whole poem because I've found someone else who has done the 'data entry' thingie for me.


Danegeld, by Rudyard Kipling - A.D. 980-1016

IT IS always a temptation to an armed and agile nation,
To call upon a neighbour and to say:
"We invaded you last night - we are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away."

And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
And the people who ask it explain
That you’ve only to pay ’em the Dane-geld
And then you’ll get rid of the Dane!

It is always a temptation to a rich and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say:
"Though we know we should defeat you, we have not the time to meet you.
We will therefore pay you cash to go away."

And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
But we’ve proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane.

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
For fear they should succumb and go astray,
So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,
You will find it better policy to say:

"We never pay any one Dane-geld,
No matter how trifling the cost,
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
And the nation that plays it is lost!"

It's easy to apply this lesson to RealPolitiks in today's world. Think of the Iraqi war, the War on Terrorism, and you will know that the question is not one which was ultimately resolved in the past millenium ... or the one before that. It's a problem which will haunt us forever: Whether it is better to pay the Danegeld, and learn to live with the Danes; or to fight the 'Danes' at every opportunity.

The 'Danes' are those vandals who predate innocents. One thousand years ago it was the Danes (the Vikings, coastal raiders, whomever). We in America dealt with the Barbary Pirates in the Mediterranean two centurys ago, because we then refused to pay them tribute ... DaneGeld.

But there's a much more recent example of the problem with paying DaneGeld. It is the slaying of innocents in Isreal. Can the Israelis ... can we ... afford to buy off terrorists by giving in to their demands for territory?

Here are two victims of terrorism. Let's give the victim a face, and put a name to the act.



Daniel Pipes supports the concept that there is no reasonable alternative to fighting the Danes. Or, as our modern world names it, Jihad.

"... if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane."

Kipling: a tribute to a master

I think I'll make one day a week "Kipling Day".

Rudyard Kipling is one of the most unappreciated writers of English-language literature in the world. All of us have heard the name (and if you haven't, you should broaden your horizons.) Most of us think little of him, except that we may have seen "The Jungle Book", which is a Disney movie, or read "KIM". Or "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi", or some other story of his which is generally considered a 'childrens story'.

The truth is, Kipling (1895 - 1936) didn't really write for children. Mostly, he wrote about the area of human conflict.

Kipling wrote about war.

Did you never see the movie "The Man Who Would Be King", starring Michael Caine and Sean Connery? It's a story about two British soldiers, around the turn of the century in 'Kafiristan' (Afghanistan? The Khyber Pass?) who are mistaken for gods ... with a disastrous and gruesome ending.

Ever hear of "Captains Courageous"? "Gunga Din"? "Wee Willie Winkle"?

Kipling wrote all of these, and more. Much, much more.

Last year, I was fortunate to find a 9-volume set of Kipling's writings in a used book store. I bought them for $35 dollars ... a steal at five times the price! For example, Volume I includes:

• Soldiers Three
• The Story of the Gadsbys.
• In Black And White

Well, perhaps you haven't heard of these stories. "Soldiers Three was the basis for at least 4 movies, from 1913 to 2003.

Perhaps more important, Kipling wrote poems. He wrote 'Barracks Rooms Ballads'. He wrote ... and wrote ... and wrote!

After I started reading Kipling in earnest, I discovered an almost fatal flaw in the 9-volume series I had bought. This set of Kipling was published in 1895. The literature was set, but Kipling kept on writing!

I bought a couple more Kipling anthologies from Amazon dot com, and discovered that after his son was killed in WWI, Kipling senior became very disenchanted with war and its conduct. Some of his best writing was done AFTER WWI.

But still: his poems ... his poems captured the very essence of the fighting man and what it is like to be the very bottom of the food chain in a battle.

And some of them, perhaps even most of the, are entirely applicable to the present.

Consider "The Young British Soldier", which ends:

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.

(Geirge Dzundza's character learned this in the movie "The Beast Of War".)

As a tickler to your memory, perhaps you will recall this ending to "Gunga Din":

     Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

I was going to end this piece with "Snarleyow", from "Barracks Rooms Ballads". I think you should read it, certainly, and think about what it really says. But for this moment, it may be better to make another choice to quote here in full. I can't find this reproduced anywhere else on the Internet.

Perhaps that is because it is so long.
Perhpas because it is really not Politically Correct in concept or in choice of words.

Or perhaps because it is so gruesome.

"The Grave of the 100 Head"
-Rudyard Kipling

There's a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
There's a grave on the Pabeng River,
A grave that the Bumans shun;
And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Who tells how the work was done.

A Snider squbbed in the jungle
Somebody laughed and fled,
and the men of the First Shikaris
Picked up their Subaltern dead,
With a big blue mark in his forehead,
And the back blown out of his head.

Subadar Prag Twarri,
Jemadar Hira Lal,
Took command of the party,
Twenty rifles in all.
Marched them down to the river
As the day was beginning to fall.

They buried the boy by the river
A blanket over his face --
They wept for their dead Lieutenant,
The men of an alien race --
They made a samadh in his honor,
A mark for his resting-place.

For they swore by the Holy Water,
They swore by the salt they ate,
That the soul of Liutenant Eshmitt Sahib
should go to his God in state,
With fifty file of Burmans
To open him Heaven's Gate.

The men of the First Shikaris
Marched til the break of day,
Till they came to the rebel village,
The village of Pabengmay--
A jingal covered the clearing,
Calthrops hampered the way.

Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Bidding them load with ball,
Halted a dozen rifles
Under the village wall;
sent out a flanking-party
With Jemadar Hira Lol.

The men of the First Shikaris
Shouted and smote and slew,
Turning the grinning jingal
On to the howling crew.
The jemadar's flanking-party
Butchered the folk who flew.

Long was the morn of slaughter,
Long was the list of slain,
Five score heads were taken,
Fiver score heads and twain;
and the men of the First Shikaris
Went back to their grave again,

Each man bearing a basket
Red as his palms that day,
Red as the blazing village --
The village of Pabengmay.
And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets
Reddened the grass by the way.

They made a pile of their trophies
High as a tall man's chin,
Head upon head distorted,
Set in a sightless grin,
Anger and pain and terror
Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin.

Subadar Prat Tewarri
Put the head of the Boh
On top of the mound of triumph,
The head of his son below --
With the sword and the peacock-banner
That the world might behold and know.

Thus the samadh was perfect,
Thus was the lesson plain
Of the wrath of the First Shikaris --
The price of a white man slain;
And the men of the First Shikaris
Went back into camp again.

Then a silence came to the river,
A hush fell over the shore,
and Bohs that were brave departed,
And Sniders squibbed no more;
For the Burmans said
That a white man's head
Must be paid for with heads five-score.

There's a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
There's a grave on the Pabeng River,
A grave that the Burmans shun;
And there's Subadr Prag Tewarri
Who tells how the work was done.

We Few

Here's a first: instead of talking about IPSC, RKBA, current events, cultural issues or any of The Usual Subjects, I want to talk about books.

(Most of the people, websites, etc. I talk about here are represented on the sidebar ... that bunch of links you see over on the right side of your screen.) ==========================>

If it can be said that I am 'into' IPSC, then it must be also said that I am WAY into books.

I keep several books in my desk at work, for reading on breaks or on weekends. I keep books in my briefcase. Beside my bed. In my car. Anywhere I go where I may have a few unfilled minutes, I can reach out and lay my hand on a book. Or two, or three ...

At any time, I have at least three books 'going'. And I don't have any problems with keeping the story-line or theme separate. Where books are concerned, I'm not only vociferous, I'm omnivorous. I choose 'themes', or 'authors', and I read a slew of books in this category until I burn out. I have (as far as I know), and re-read frequently, every book that Robert Heinlein ever wrote. I'm currently working my way through a 10-volume set of the works of Rudyard Kipling (printed 1923), and earlier this month I bought two more volumes of Kipling because I learned that he had written a lot of his best work after that publication date.

Science Fiction has been my first love, since I discovered an omnibus of the works of Lewis Padget's (the pen name Henry Kuttnerand his wife Connie "C.L. Moore") in the Pendleton, Oregon, Umatilla Ccounty library about 1960. I had previously read Phillip Wylie's "Generation of Vipers" and "Tomorrow" and "The Disappearance" and "Gladiator" (a progenitor tale of the 'Superman' myth), and found them fascinating although I didn't realize that what I was reading was social commentary often disguised as Science Fiction; but when I read Padget I was hooked forever.

(Incidently, Wylie also wrote the "Crunch and Des" stories, which was made into a brief television series starring Forrest Tucker, he of later "F-troop" fame. Wylie also wrote the scripts for a number of movies and television shows. Can you tell I'm a big fan of this misunderstood writer? He died in 1971, somewhat after I was drafted. I blame Lyndon Johnson for Wylie's untimely death.)

When I got to high school, I discovered the Russian Novelists:, Anton Chekov, Ivan Turgenov and the unreadable - in - any - language Dostoevsky (not to mention the equally uncomprehensible, but charming, German and/or Bohemian and/or Chech author Franz Kafka) ; my classmates were wading through Mark Twain, whose works I had read years before ... right after Doctor Doolittle. But that's another story (Aren't county libraries wonderful?)

My latest SF discover is John Ringo, who is . . . surprise! . . . still alive! He's ex-embassy kid, ex-military, and he writes "Military SF" with a gritty sorta-realism that makes me believe that he knows he meaning of the term "The Sharp End" (not to be confused with a David Drake novel of the same name.)

Ringo has written about a dozen books by now, mostly in a couple of series. The best of them is the "Marching ..." series (Marching Upland, Marching Upland, Marching to the Stars) and the final book is "We Few", the subject of this post.

You're probably waiting for the punch line by now. Expecting there to be a "point" to this.

Well, the point is that I enjoy this author so much that I ordered his latest book (We Few) in September of last year, expecting it to be published on schedule in November. It didn't happen. In fact, this book has been republished for an April, 2005, release date, but Amazon.com received a shipment and filled my order early enough that I finally received it today.

So I'm going to close my little "I Like To Read" post, finish cooking dinner, and curl up with my latest literary acqusition. It'll probably mean I'll read through the night, get to work late tomorrow morning, and not be worth a damn because I'll only have had a couple of hours sleep.

Or maybe I'll only read a couple of hours, turn the lights out, and get a good night's sleep.

It could happen.