Tag Archives: US Navy

USNAVY Norfolk 2019 Holocaust Remembrance Day

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“You’re a ‘hotbox’, Father George!”

zero dark thirty hotbox torture

Enhanced interrogation can include the hotbox, which you can see pictured above on the right. The front side flips down and the person is crammed inside in a fetal position for a day or two. Really, really, really horrible. The hotbox itself doesn’t do anything, but certainly attracts the attention of the one inside of it, others having done that.

There are many definitions of hotbox, some related to growing cannabis, some to enhanced interrogation, some to solitary confinement, etc. However, in prison, a ‘hotbox’ is a prisoner who is constantly being surveilled, that is, more than others. For some reason or other or none, he’s got the attention of the powers that be, with the guards and administration always in his face. It’s not that he’s done anything wrong. It just is what it is. Entertainment. Perhaps a psychology module for continuing education.

Today I protested to Father Gordon that he might be more blacklisted than he already is if he’s associated with me, even though I’ve never met him, and only do some logistical things for him. He dismissed that, laughing, saying the worst of what he thought of me, which, he being good and kind, isn’t bad at all. He said: “You’re a ‘hotbox’, Father George!” After he explained what that meant, I protested: “I didn’t do anything!” He said, laughing again: “That’s what they all say!”

Ha ha ha.

If there’s supposed to be something annoying about being a ‘hotbox’ I haven’t noticed. I mean, if it’s not one thing then it’s another in life, right? If anything, it makes life interesting. Oh, that’s right. That’s some sort of Chinese curse, you know, to have an interesting life! I always thought it was fun. Make me the ‘hotbox’! Make me the ‘hotbox’! Me! Me!

I always did like extreme sports, doing things others avoid. It’s a No Fear! thing.

Be careful what you wish for.

How Kryptic can one be?

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Filed under Humor, Intelligence Community

Top Gun: The Rest of the Story

Live and learn, right? But maybe it’s taken all these years to learn a lesson about military funding. Trump’s got it right. Here’s why:

At the end of any war there is a push by politicians who have no military background to cut military funding down to just about nothing, as if no other war would ever take place.

What happens is that training goes to hell and no one knows how to do anything anymore. No more tactics. No more talent. An entirely vulnerable nation. But it’s like clockwork. Politicians play on the heresy of false optimism, that we’ve saved ourselves because we played out some fearfully effective strikes in the last war, yesterday. So, now it’s all good. We don’t need funding. Let’s spend money on pork projects for my constituents. Then, for just a few individuals, literally, the entire nation is put at risk.

After WW2, and then, “after” the Korean conflict (which Trump will hopefully now bring to an effective and formal close), back in the 1950s, pretty much the entire budget for pilot training was slashed to nothing, that is, just when the first jets were coming out.

My dad, commander of the famed Checkerboard fighter attack squadron out of the Marine Corps Air Station (Merritt Field) of Beaufort, SC, just up from Parris Island, came back from his ten years in the South and then North Pacific Corsair flying (VMFA-312) so as to teach the guys how to fly at Andrews just South of D.C. while he was put through JAG school at Georgetown University. After this, he went to Chicago to continue to teach a new generation of fighter pilots.

But that’s when the funding was cut. He knew how to fly by instinct and could handle the new jets, but his students couldn’t learn the instinct because there was no funding except for just a practice flight here, maybe again later, there. Nothing really. They had to think about flying the planes. Not good enough. They flew the planes literally straight into the ground.

My dad complained ferociously about the need for more funding for more flights. Denied. Again and again. More deaths of the best of the best.

And that was it for him. He wasn’t going to kill off an entire generation of pilots just because some self-congratulatory politicians thought they could please a few pork recipients.

So, dad took a cut in rank, left the Department of the Navy, moved to Minnesota to be a civil lawyer and politician himself, meanwhile joining the National Guard for something like another 20 years. But his heart was still with flying for the USMC. He would often bring me to airfields, and sometimes was able to commandeer a fighter to buzz over the rooftops of our local city where he was mayor. Why? Because his heart was still with the guys who were flying their planes straight into the ground because there was no funding for pilot training in the hippie days of the early-mid 1960s. Guys thought they could fly. They knew nothing. They were taken out with great ease by the enemy. We had now lost everything. Tactics. The whole lot. Gone.

Finally, with enough dead, people woke up. Top Gun school was created. Now, looking back, we all wish the Top Gun of Top Guns would have been heard. But at the time, all that could be heard was the ♬ kaching ♬ of greed. I, for one, am happy for the renewed military spending, and that, finally, finally, we are taking a look at the plight of our pilots.

Here’s dad, George Byers Jr, getting out of one of the planes he so loved to fly:

george-byers-jr-usmc-corsair

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