While I was down for the count in post-op recovery, Brandon gave a speech, apparently literally from hell, pronouncing half the American population, the MAGA Republicans, as being a “clear and present danger” to the republic. That’s technical phraseology. It seems to me that this establishes open season on Americans.
Military and law enforcement agencies, all members of which have sworn an oath to uphold the Constitution of the United States against enemies foreign and domestic, even over against an anti-American sitting President, are staring at that and scoffing, waiting for the next election… or… as political sycophants, consider themselves obedient to the marching orders given and are considering how to accomplish the task ahead.
Being the proud son of one of the most highly decorated USMC fighter attack pilots, I am particularly offended by the usage of Marines as props for this anti-American speech.
I realize that in making brave to speak of my ♬ feelings ♬ about this, the entitled-to-safe-space leaders of the FBI and DoJ will be frantic to have me thrown into solitary confinement, thinking that this confirms their power. Whatever. This life isn’t forever.
This isn’t about Donald Trump. This is about the the smackdown of the free exercise of religion, of the freedom of speech, of the freedom to assemble, the God-given inalienable rights necessary for the shining light of the visible Church founded by the Son of the Living God. Making America Great Again is, for me, about the rights of the visible Church not only to celebrate the Sacraments but to preach truth in the public square.
Sure, the entitled-to-safe-space leaders of the FBI and DoJ hate such freedoms of Americans, and the hubris of their “power” rises to begin “cleansing” society of believers. But, as I say, whatever. That’s all supremely boring no matter what happens. They think to be “it”, but Jesus Christ, Divine Son of the Immaculate Conception” is the One, the only One. Only Jesus, the Way, the Truth, the Life, is the One with true power, the power of God, God who is love. They hate that true power is love.
In any other time, anyone giving a speech like Brandon just did would be arrested. Remember the war crimes tribunal of post-genocide Rwanda, that Radio Station which pushed the same rhetoric? They were convicted.
But – Hey! – because Brandon is all about pushing for as much abortion as possible, always and everywhere – Hey! – let’s give him Holy Communion at Holy Mass! /off sarcasm (except the idiocy just keeps going…)
Asking those in-the-know about the threat from China, Iran, Russia, North Korea… what you’ll hear is that we have weapons to neutralize those guys – we had better stay ahead, but they’re not an absolute threat – and that the much more impossible threat is coming from the Cartels continuing to establish themselves in America. After having defunded the police, and what with mayors of towns continuing to cripple their departments, the last resort is the National Guard.
Biden’s plan is to decimate the National Guard by trying to force abortion-compromised and entirely unneeded and harmful fake “vaccines” on those who don’t want them, don’t need them, and have objections to them.
The answer by lots of our guys and gals is not to comply with such erosion of our God-given Natural Law, rights with consequent duties that are also manifested in the U.S. Constitution. But such as Biden couldn’t care less about any of this.
[[This was first published in the National Catholic Register under it’s previous ownership, and is presented under the title THE HAND OF MARY by one of the writers of the NCRegister, Tom Hoopes. It is USMC Michael Lambert, who has been visiting my parish in WNC these past weeks, who sent in this story. I’d like to give it a bit more visibility. The picture above is of the church he describes below.]]
Michael Lambert already had a devotion to the Blessed Mother before that day in Vietnam. “I had studied as a seminarian for the Marist Fathers,” the native of Georgia says. “I had been dedicated to Our Blessed Lady as an infant by my mother.” But he would have an even greater devotion later, when he came to understand what had happened to him there.
It was February 1968, at the height of the Vietnam War. The Tet holiday, New Year’s festivities celebrated by families throughout Vietnam, had begun on Jan. 31. To honor it, combatants had called a truce — until North Vietnamese defense minister Gen. Nuygen Giap, defense minister for North Vietnam, launched a countrywide “general uprising.”
Communist forces attacked major cities and military bases throughout South Vietnam at the very moment many South Vietnamese troops were on leave with their wives and children. 2d Lieutenant Michael Lambert was serving as a platoon leader with Company H, Second Battalion, Fifth Marines. When the Tet attacks began, the Battalion was ordered into Hue’ (pronounced “whey”) on February 2. The mission was to attack the North Vietnamese Army Forces that had taken the city during the early morning hours of January 31. Hue was a city that was both strategically and psychologically key to the communist’s plans to take control of South Vietnam. It was home to over 110,000 souls and Vietnam’s most honored city. Hue’ had been the capital of Vietnam. It was the location of the former emperor of Vietnam’s ancient fortress, known as the Citadel.
The Catholic faith had been brought to Vietnam over a century prior to the French by Jesuit Missionaries. Vietnamese Catholics had suffered persecution by Vietnamese emperors for generations prior to the arrival of the French.
The journey by truck convoy to Hue from the combat base at Phubai was strange and silent, Lambert remembers. “Usually, on a trip into a South Vietnamese city, children begging for food would swarm the trucks,” he said. “The marines would toss ‘c ration’ meals and candy bars to the kids.” The young marines would laugh at the resulting melee.
“This time,” he said, “the only ones on the side of the road were the bodies of dead South Vietnamese and American soldiers.” As the convoy headed into the French section of Hue called the new city, “the scene began to resemble a Wild West movie,” he said. “We began receiving heavy machine gun fire from the steeple of a Catholic church west of the highway.” “Big green tracers flew high over the truck beds … no one was hit.”
Once they got to the MACV (military assistance command Vietnam) compound in Hue, they learned what had happened. The North Vietnamese had slipped into the city by night, occupying it and massacring thousands. The Marines would have to take it back.
And they would have to do it block by bock, house by house, on the Communists’ terms. “Urban warfare was a totally new experience for us,” said Lambert. “The vicious house-to-house and room-to-room tactics demanded a unique aggressive spirit.”
The fighting was intense. It took the Marines six days to clear six blocks. “After six days, we had developed a routine that consisted of violent assault supported by heavy automatic weapons fire,” he recalled. “Once the enemy return fire was suppressed, a fire team of five marines would rush into a building and run from room to room tossing in fragmentation grenades and spraying each room with automatic fire from their M-16 rifles. After many days without sleep and little food, these assaults became mechanical. Many of us were like walking dead.”
The horror of the war, the stench of unburied bodies, the total confusion of combat, the physical exhaustion of the soldiers and the deadening of the soldiers’ sensitivity to killing are hard for most people to understand, Lambert said. But these elements also make Mary’s intervention in the carnage, violence, and filth of that particular battle all the more extraordinary, he added.
Lambert’s reinforced platoon, which had started out with 65 marines, had dwindled to 20 effectives in six days of continuous fighting. That’s when H Company Commander Captain Ron Christmas gave Lambert the order to clear a Catholic church near the Phu Cam canal. The church was suspected of being the location of the machine gun nest that had fired at the convoy a week earlier. “I issued a brief order to my three squad-leaders to clear the churchyard and check the church itself,” said Lambert. “I gave special attention to the bell tower.” Lambert ran into the church with his assaulting fire team. He noticed a basement staircase descending from a low door in the back of the church. He decided to check that out himself.
“I removed an M-26 grenade from the left front pocket of my flack jacket and tucked my M-16 rifle under my right armpit,” he said. “As I descended the staircase, I readied the grenade. I placed my left index finger into the safety ring and began to ease the pin out of the arming mechanism of the hand grenade.”
Lambert easily could have thrown the grenade into the room at the bottom of the stairway, but he didn’t. Instead, “I felt a gentle hand touch me and lay over the grenade,” he said. “In one of those inexplicable moments in time, I instantly knew I was to re-safe the deadly grenade.” He did, returning it to his flack jacket.
Stepping off the stairway landing, he entered the crypt of the Church. “There in the darkness, I saw a sea of lit vigil lights with Vietnamese huddled over them praying the rosary,” he said. “The parishioners of the church had taken refuge in the basement.” He led them out into the light of day and sent them to the refugee center.
After four more days of fighting, Lambert was wounded, treated and sent back into combat. The battle for Huế lasted 26 days for the Marines. In the rush of events, he forgot all about the incident in the Church basement. Until 25 years later. He began having nightmares about the fighting in Huế during Tet 1968. Then a father of six, he heard about a priest in Slidell, Louisiana, who had the reputation, like Padre Pio, of reading souls in confession.
“On impulse,” he said, “I made an appointment with that priest.” They traveled from Atlanta and each family member made a general confession. Lambert was the last. The priest knew nothing of his past or identity, and at the end of the general confession he asked Lambert if there was anything bothering him; if he had anything else to discuss.
“I mentioned that I was experiencing troubling dreams about my experiences in Vietnam,” said Lambert. “You mean about the church in Huế?” asked the priest. “Yes, Father,” said Lambert. Answered the priest: “That was the Blessed Mother’s hand that stopped you from throwing the hand grenade.” The church was named Our Lady of Perpetual Help. The priest, Fr. Joe Benson, was pastor of Margaret Mary Alacoque parish.
Post Script: The area of the city that Lambert fought in was the “New City” on the south bank of the Perfume River. The Phu Cam district had been settled by Vietnamese Catholics that had fled North Vietnam following the 1954 Partition after the Viet Minh – French war. The Catholic refugees that resettled in Huế built their church in Phu Cam. The church was dedicated to Our Lady of Perpetual Help.
Following the Tet 1968 battle lasting 26 days, mass graves were found. Most of the 5,000 victims had been buried alive by the communist soldiers. They had been convicted by the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong and summarily executed. Their crime was being “reactionary”. Many were catholic former refugees from the north who had seen the tragedy of the communist state. This under-reported event is referred to as the Huế Massacre by Vietnamese ex-pats. The current government either denies that it ever happened, or blames it on the evil U.S. Marine Corps. So much for revisionist history!
[[My comment: Notice the power of the Rosary, and the power of Confession.]]
WWII Corsair footage coming up in my YouTube “suggested” feed went unwatched until a priest friend texted the same video to me. “Be nostalgic! Do it now!” That made me nostalgic, of course. I like to brag about dad and his medals from the USMC and Dept of the Navy, the Army, various nations. This is my way of supporting the military. But something has been lacking in this support. I should be more fulsome in reporting about my dad. In this way, I can brag about him even more.
To lead into that account on dad’s military alcoholism, let’s try to understand how he got there. Context is everything, as is the solution. So back to his medals, particularly a few of the citations, which recount a hell of a lot of violence:
Just weeks later, days and days after Japan was not surrendering, calling the bluff of Little Boy and Fat Man, dad would be working with Minoru Wada to take out the communications and command post of Japan in the Philippines, instantly forcing Japan to surrender, just as Douglas MacArthur had predicted.
That’s the stick of bombs that did the trick in the background, the stick of bombs that dad would point out to me with such enthusiasm throughout my childhood. I knew it was him flying that bomber with that stick of bombs. Minoru Wada, POW but an American citizen (long story) was the navigator in the foreground. We had pictures of Minoru Wada up throughout the house, also together with my dad. They’re hanging up in the rectory in front of me right now.
I’ve bragged a lot about dad in the past, putting up pictures of his multiple Distinguished Navy Service Medals, his multiple Distinguished Flying Crosses, his Purple Heart, his fistful of Air Medals, and truckloads of other medals, but that doesn’t quite capture what he was going through personally.
Here are two more citations for his three DFCs. Lots and lots of death. That makes an impact.
I was once able to peruse dad’s log books not only detailing logistics of hundreds and hundreds of sorties, but also including his super idealistic and super patriotic dreams for future political service back Stateside. I was very taken also to read vivid, poetic descriptions of the faces of Korean rice-farmers during low-level approaches he was flying so as to take out communist munitions trains and the bridges they were using.
That’s dad at the fold of the wing of a fighter attack corsair of the Checkerboard Squadron 312 that he commanded after graduating from VLMB 611 to move on from Guam and the Philippines to Japan, China, Korea and mapping out the future air campaign for Vietnam.
In those log books he also briefly detailed some of his drinking sessions, with whom and where, with names having a significance for these wars that I cannot now decipher. These are not now in my possession.
Meanwhile, here’s part of a conversation I had with a Vet of 28 years yesterday after daily Mass:
Me: Guys often learn to drink during their time in the military.
Him: Yes. They do.
Me: Amounts of liquor are often proportional to how many of your own guys were killed and then, in response, how many enemy combatants you’ve done in, and then, also in proportion to the comradery you have in plotting out further solutions, drinks in hand.
Anyway, as you can see from the citations above, describing just a few sorties amongst hundreds and hundreds, there was likely more adrenaline flowing than any liquor later on, the liquor diluting the adrenaline only slightly. You’re out of bed and in the plane flying a nanosecond after you hear this, gallons of adrenaline flowing again:
Dad became a military alcoholic. And he continued to be that in my youngest years.
But here’s why this is actually the source of my greatest bragging about him.
There was one particular Ash Wednesday that he gave up his smoking and drinking cold turkey, taking up sugarless hard candies and going to daily Mass. And he stuck to it. Did he struggle? Yes. Did he seek help in spiritual direction from priests? Yes. He wasn’t just overcoming drinking, he was facing, again, all the violence that he was entirely personally involved in, more violence than many towns will collectively see in a lifetime.
Meanwhile, he would bring me to daily Mass as a little kid, when I was a teenager, when I was a seminarian back home for the Summer.
My dad, the military alcoholic, totally my hero. Because, in being pointed to Jesus, he pointed me to Jesus.
So, what’s it been like being the son of a military alcoholic? I love being the son of my father.
I’ve never hidden that my dad was a military alcoholic. I’ve never denied this, suppressed this. No. It’s the other way around. I’ve striven to follow his good example. How accepting people were of that is another story for another post. But for now, thanks, dad. The world thanks you. Rest in peace.
Here’s Part 2 of this series, with Part 2 about how yours truly has striven to follow my dad’s good example:
Great! That’s the USMC Navy pilots I know. Exactly. Well done. They say it’s all fiction. Yep. I get that. But it reflects reality. Especially the bit about no one left behind, ever, against orders, at least that’s the USMC way. There is honesty. There is integrity. Dad didn’t talk much about his experiences, but what he did share about missions such as this – with rescues, the whole thing – had me enter into an understanding of the dynamics of the best of the best in the military. Doing away with protocol to do the right thing with no compromise is what I learned, in which your higher-ups in life have to catch up with you. Smacked down, smacked down, smacked down, and then… even they get it, or you can live with yourself and before God and neighbor. It’s all good.
This movie isn’t the Dem point of view of the military. This is the patriotic actuality of the best of the best in the military. I only wish we had leadership in the country right now that would allow excellence in the military to take care of situations. Instead, the Dem answer to everything is betrayal and running away, not just America last, but humanity last. I fully expect the Dems to do away with the TOPGUN program, perceiving TOPGUN as an insult to the Dem way of doing things. Well, it’s that for sure, but that’s not TOPGUN’s fault.
The movie doesn’t say who the nuclear adversary is, but it seems obvious to me that it’s Iran ever so very close to starting a nuclear conflagration. While this movie is about the TOPGUN pilots of these USA, Israel has done what happens in the film a number of times over against Iran, maybe not with the exact logistics depicted, but this has been going on for many decades with many strikes with many miracles. And there is topography for nuclear facilities just as seen in the film.
While watching the film it occurred to me many times that there’s quite the exact analogy with priests and bishops, with the bishops thinking that their priests are liabilities and the priests are smacked down again and again and again but then, it’s all good (well, at least at the last judgment if one has stood steadfastly in solidarity with the Lord in His trials).
Even military aviators aren’t going to nitpick at this much since whatever was popularized, so to speak, for audiences to be able to understand, is negligible when faced with the incredible feats of aviation actually carried out on screen. The pilots who did this… wow… great… congratulations… In any other administration you would all be getting some kind of presidential commendations for lifting moral in these difficult times.
So, did I like TOPGUN Maverick. That would be a Yes. And, I’d see it again in the future.
The dates say it all. The land of the free because of the brave. This boy was just 16 years old.
Reagan said it best, this time on Veterans Day, Armistice Day, about the boys who, in death, handed this country on to us, who live (around 3’15” for just a minute) but the whole speech is a gem:
Patriotism is a virtue of the natural law and is blessed by God.
Dad was a veteran. He died many decades ago. I’m sure you knew a veteran sometime in your life. Perhaps you have a favorite memory.
My favorite memory of dad was back in 1962, when I was just 2 1/2 years old. I’d walk up in the Communion line next to him with the rest of the family behind us. This was at the great Saint Mary’s Cathedral with its gorgeous altar rail with the linens flipped over the top. I was always impressed by the linens getting flipped over the top, just as I was with kneeling there beside my dad, reaching up as high as I could to put my hands under the linens like he was doing. I was pretty small. I was filled with such wonder and awe and reverence as the priest and altar boy with paten would make it over to us. They would start on the Epistle side. We were always on the Gospel side. Everything worked together to instill reverence.
It was good be on my knees with dad before the Lord Jesus. Very good. Here we have a warrior on his knees, in reverence, before The Warrior, Jesus, in the epic battle of good over evil, God over Satan. And dad is with Jesus. I love that.
Memorare: Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me. Amen.
I was able to offer Holy Mass today for my dad, George Byers Jr. USMC
We are most in union with the members of the Body of Christ living on this side or already on the other side when we are in union with the Head of the Body of Christ Himself. Adoration early in the morning is good for the soul, good for the souls in purgatory, good for souls on this earth, good for the all too worldly souls to assist in their home-coming.
Before the United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor program (SFTI) came to be in the 1960s, aka, the Navy’s TOPGUN program, what you see in the TOPGUN films, it was my dad who taught the best of the best of the best at Andrews adjacent to D.C. while he was also going through JAG school, degreeing out at Georgetown and being accredited to SCOTUS.
Did I say the best of the best of the best? Besides skill, what that also means is pushing the limits. One of his students did that over D.C. coming into formation with a too-quick barrel roll, clipping off the end of dad’s wing, so that he had to fly with that wing dipped waaaay down. He told me about the emergency vehicles there to clean up the crash. But, no. He landed on that same broken wing, then on that broken wing and and its wheel, until it dropped hard. No worries.
Dad’s one of the most highly decorated pilots (Guam, Philippines, Japan, China, Korea, Vietnam…), with the story behind some of those medals being worthy of multiple major films. Sure, I think of his saving ambushed troops, alone, his plane ripped with shrapnel, and of his exploits with Minoru Wada, ending Japanese aggression.
But, for me, what especially stands out is his F-You moment to the powers that be after funding was cut for his training of the best of the best of the best. With the new jets coming in, these guys flying faster, maneuvering faster than they ever had, necessitating flying not by thinking but by instinct, but with no program-money for practice flights, they were ramming themselves into the ground. Imagine the heartbreak. Dad made constant appeals to Congress for more money for his program. His line to them was: “If you think up there, you’re dead. You can’t think. It has to be instinct.” Nothing. Since he was the teacher of the best of the best of the best, if he had an F-You statement to Congress, it would mean something, striking a cord. Dad did have some language skills. His F-You was to take a cut in rank and pay and then join the National Guard for another twenty years while taking over a law practice and starting up a family (including yours truly). It would be a few years until they missed such instruction. That’s when the TOPGUN program was born in the Navy. Of course it was the Navy. That was the apology of Congress for cutting the funding from the Navy in the first place.
Meanwhile, as a courtesy to my dad – or as a result of his momentary thefts – there were a number of times he got in a gullwing Corsair once again from an airport an hour away by car, then flew to my hometown, and then “took off the roof” of the house with waaaay tooo low passes. I think that if I were to have been up on the roof I could’ve touched the plane. So loud! :-) I remember running outside to see him fly over and dip his wing in salute to me with me cheering him on.
I’d like to go see TOPGUN Maverick. Busy with priest stuff, I haven’t seen it, yet. Have you?
The integrity of the vote is especially up in the air with the Disinformation Governance Board being “put on pause” while they say that they are as active as ever behind the scenes, never having done anything publicly, they say, but making really weird statements and Mary Poppins sing-songs.
Whatever the case may be with the DGB, it does seem that most of those for whom I voted won their bids, and there’s not much disappointment for those for whom I didn’t vote. All local offices had Republicans running against each other, exclusively. Not a Demoncrat was to be seen anywhere at any time. I tried to ensure I wasn’t voting for Rinos for the more political offices.
BTW, the 20 stars flag recalled with the sticker above is that of 13 April 1818. However, North Carolina, where I am, was included in the stripes of the flag of 1775 and the stars and stripes of the flags from 1777 until today.
I’m sure I’ll be getting condemnations from whatever powers that be for siding with one political party [Republicans] over another [Demoncrats], not even attempting to mention pros and cons for both. But, to repeat for those throwing a spittle flecked nutty in the corridors of the power of their own opinions, there’s not even one Demoncrat (I keep misspelling that, or am I?) who is running for any local office.
But maybe the DGB will bring some fake ballot mules out of nowhere and it will be a clean sweep for the Dems. That would be about right. They “have a lot of experience in disinformation.”
This picture above was taken a few hours after the Consecration of Russia and Ukraine to the Immaculate Heart of Mary this past Friday, 25 March 2022, while getting ready for Adoration and Confessions and Rosary. The flowers are gone now. It’s Lent.
Meanwhile, what was happening in Ukraine at that time:
That building was literally defaced by, surely, a thermobaric bomb. Those are not forbidden, but when used on population centers, on campuses of buildings such as hospitals and apartment complexes, then those ordering their use can be tried for war crimes.
The fellow in the picture above was home when the bomb went off. These bombs vaporize human beings. Do you notice something in that picture? Let’s take a closer look:
These bombs have been around for very many decades, but are always more developed. One of the chief developers showed up, of course, in our little mission church a few years ago. All these guys show up here because we’re the most out of the way place ever. There’s a proper use in war, but there’s also a criminal use in war. Either way, war is such a hell in this world.
Meanwhile, the deliverer of those bombs showed up yesterday at our little airport here in Andrews, NC, something like this MC-130J Commando II:
It’s a smaller world than we think. One thing that makes the world very small indeed is prayer. For instance we can say a prayer for the fellow pictured in his destroyed apartment/office up top, and for all those suffering, both living and dead, and have an immediacy of impact, much more than any thermobaric bomb, and this time for the good: Hail Mary…
Men, 18-60 for sure. Women can sign up, but maybe they’ll be drafted too.
When I was a kid I got my draft card at 16 years old. I went that very day. He took my info but said to wait for a call, but everything was changing, that there’s about zero chance I could go, that everyone was immediately being sent back home. The war was over. But we might have one heating up right now.
Conscription can be immediate, even today. If you’re a no-show, not bothering because you think you could prove that medically you can’t go, you will be hunted down and you will go to prison, and then you’ll go anyway.
Censorship is legal. It’s easier if everything is taken down. That might be a good idea anyway.
Depending on artificially created supply crises, watch for there to be rations, not only for those serving, but those at home, just like during WW2.
I’m 62. But this time around I could probably still enlist as an officer, as chaplains do.
If you’re reading this outside the USA, what are the laws where you are?
In Switzerland I think there’s a two year tour everyone does.
In Israel I think that now the guys do four required years, while the gals do two.
Let us know what happens in your country in the comments…
Are your worldly affairs in order? Banking, debts? Do you have a will?
What about if you own a house and you live alone?
Go to Confession. Get a Rosary if you don’t have one, and use it. Be ready to go to heaven.
As long time readers are perhaps painfully aware, I’ve been baby-sat on flights for most all of my life because of a “perpetual” and “interdepartmental” program set up by DoS and DSCC and their minions. I was told in no uncertain terms by the U.S. Consultate in Rome some 25 years ago that there’s nothing I can do about this. It is what it is.
With the recent death of Richard Marcinko, Founder and Commander of SEAL Team 6 (now DEVGRU), an incident comes to mind of this kind of baby sitting from some forty years ago, the early 1980s.
When entering 747 TWA flight 840, JFK-FCO (New York – Rome), from the front of the aircraft, then making my way toward the back of the plane, I was looking for anything out of the ordinary where my seat would be. There was. A stewardess blocked everyone’s way just at that row of seats, checking this or that ticket of just some of the men, but letting all and sundry pass by, until I got there and she asked for my ticket. She made triple-sure of my identity, and asked for my passport, not returning it immediately. I had the still empty window seat (no window in that row next to the emergency exits), and the other seat across from the galley was empty.
“Sir, follow me,” she commanded in no uncertain terms. “Yes, ma’am,” said I. She pointed to a center-center seat in the central island of seats in that section of the 747, and said that I was to sit next to the co-pilot, who, bored to death and annoyed to be just there in the plane instead of up in the cockpit, having to babysit me, was there filling out logs. This went on for ten minutes. The plane was filling up but no one was seated in that island of seats except for us. While we waited, the stewardess was standing at what was supposed be my row of seats. Finally, someone was squeezing into the seat next to mine, a big guy, so much so that I thought he might fill up both seats. It looked like he bench-pressed city buses for a couple of hours before breakfast every day. Instantly, the stewardess walked toward me and commanded, “Sir, follow me.” “Yes, ma’am,” said I. The co-pilot instantly took off to the cockpit. “You can be seated now,” she said, leaving. “Thank you, ma’am,” said I. Somehow I was able to fit into my seat.
He wore a day-to-day military uniform he was clearly not used to wearing. He was of very sharp intellect and at the same time obviously some sort of rogue warrior. Now I find out that that’s what he’s been called: “The Rogue Warrior”. Google that. As I asked him my usual pesky if well-spaced questions, a practice I’ve had my entire life, he mentioned that he was heading to the middle east, Commander, as he was, of what he called in those early years, a SEAL Team, ST6. Perhaps I had been bragging on my dad as Commander of the USMC Corsair Fighter Attack Checkerboarders that loosened him up a bit enough to tell me that bit about himself. He having told me that, I felt badly that he had to be tasked with babysitting me. And that’s still true. He would have been on a military transport, but when there’s someone in need of babysitting going the same way, anyone is assigned to go on conventional craft to get the job done.
At the time, I was a seminarian and, if somewhat a military brat on the Department of the Navy side of things, still had not much of an idea of what SEAL Team 6 was all about. All he said was that he was getting some things reorganized and something about the Middle East.
When I saw the news of the death on Christmas 2021 of Richard Marcinko, 82 years old, and seeing his picture, I knew that that was the guy. Who else looks just like him and was commander of that SEAL Team back in the day? Nobody at all is the answer.
I spent nine hours sitting with him, elbow to elbow. But I hadn’t much of an idea who I was really sitting next to. I wish I knew then what I know now. We were in a row of seats adjacent to the emergency exits near the wing.
FoxNews put up a great short obituary of The Rogue Warrior, well worth the read, as it’s well worth getting introduced to this guy:
These guys live and die to protect our God-given unalienable Constitutional rights such as the free exercise of religion. They should not have those rights removed for themselves. Joining the military doesn’t mean you have no unalienable God-given rights just for laying down your life to protect those rights for your fellow citizens. Let’s be clear: this right is not provided by the government, which in that case could take it right back. Rather, it’s provided by God and can’t be removed by anyone. Some jerk like Joey Biden can forbid someone physically by imprisoning them, shooting them, whatever, but they still retain that right in front of God who will come to judge also Joey Biden.
Meanwhile, taking a step back to see the bigger picture, we see a secular judge being more concerned about God-given rights to the free exercise of religion than religious leaders, with religious leaders, almost to a man, not only denying religious exemptions, but militating against them, demanding that governments around the world not permit religious exemptions. That’s religious leaders doing that. Again, God will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Even bishops will God judge.
FoxNews story: HERE. Well worth the read. One Marine wrote 30 pages on why he is sincere with his religious beliefs in seeking a religious exemption. That was denied out of hand against the non-establishment clause. The Dem appointed Brass throughout the military are horrific anti-American betrayers of all that is the Constitution of these USA. For shame. They remove the best and the brightest so as to purposely weaken the military, to purposely put these USA at risk. The “vax” only weakens people, causing them to get the virus and spread the virus. That’s the point. The more people dead, the better for the “green new deal.” This is why the “greenies” have pushed abortion for decades.
Here’s the deal: It’s the top Brass, as it were, of the religious hierarchy who lead by example, giving permission, as it were, to slit the throats of all would like to enjoy their first amendment rights of the free exercise of religion: “Get the ‘vax’ or else you priests can’t provide sacraments even to those actively dying!” Sorry, that analogy limps. Most priests, not the best nor the brightest, are wimps and stupid, and so get the “vax,” and don’t have their throats slit. Too bad, that.
I’m no Donatist heretic, but a future Pope ought to absolutely permanently remove these Judas-betrayers who are interested in nothing but the raw power of death. Feel the power! Is that what they’ll say to themselves at the judgment, before Jesus, who was in the womb of His Immaculate Mother for nine months, Jesus, who said that what you do to the least of these you do to me?
The “vaccines” came about through the direct murder of healthy, fully developed babies, ripping out their living organs, so as to research, develop and test “vaccines” all in a continuum until today. Time is not a moral criterium. Directly doing evil to achieve “good” damns one to hell: this is not a double effect side-effect. This is not rocket science. Jesus isn’t going to accept some lame excuse: “But the USCCB told me that it’s, like, all good to murder children for the benefit of my feeling the power, like, and stuff.”
My thanks go to the USMC 200, who will go down in history as the best of the best, the brightest of the brightest, who had the honest and integrity to stand up for the Constitution, to stand up for the inalienable rights of the citizens of these USA, to stand up for the free exercise of religion. Thank you.
And I bet you our Justice Department will find a way to put these guys in prison for making Joe Biden look bad. Maybe the DOJ will take these great Americans, the rescuers and the rescued, and put them on a plane and send them back to be tortured to death in Afghanistan. That’s how bad it is.
And yet, this is how good it is, these guys, knowing the adversity of Joe Biden and his cronies, do what is right and good anyway, rescuing those purposely left behind. Going against treason is not treason, but the greatness of the virtue of Patriotism.
Courage doesn’t mean no fear, but rather it means dealing with fear. This guy is inspiring.
And… and… I finally figured out how to embed Rumble videos. Just in time. YouTube is visiting posts of this blog even with no videos at all. It’s all Google, right?
Normally, I would be sitting down to a Thanksgiving meal with my old neighbors to the hermitage as I write this on Thanksgiving afternoon. They’ve moved hundreds of miles away (no matter). We had early Mass across the Trail of Tears mountain and then I was a full hour into my trip when – bang bang bang – and my standard shift of Sassy the Subaru lost the top two gears, 5-6. I was able to get back home. I’ll look into that tomorrow. Quiet day again. Great! I’m gonna listen to this guy again… Thank God for him.