Category: COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Good News for a change! Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad I am so grateful!! Leadership of the highest kind Manly Stuff Our Great Kids Real men Soldiering This great Nation & Its People War

Art Imitates Life The Life Of Peter Ortiz By Will Dabbs, MD

Post author By Grumpy
Post date January 3, 2026
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Peter Ortiz was a proper war hero long before he went to work in Hollywood. Public domain.

Robert Downey, Jr. is one of the most esteemed actors of his generation. His depiction of Tony Stark as Iron Man across 10 big-budget superhero movies became iconic. I once read a commentary by a British film critic who said that Downey’s English accent in the Sherlock Holmes films was the only example of an American playing a Brit that he felt was in any way believable. What makes that so remarkable is that Downey never took acting lessons. He just got in front of the camera and did his thing. He’s a natural.

There was a time when this was the rule rather than the exception. John Wayne’s natural swagger certainly could not be learned. Back in the Golden Age of Hollywood, actors were not necessarily mushy, fragile prima donnas. They often were drawn from the ranks of truly manly men out in the real world. Principle among them was one Peter Ortiz.

Filmography of a Hero

Peter Ortiz starred in 27 films and two television series. His filmography includes such classics as She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, Retreat, Hell!, The Outcast, Twelve O’Clock High, Wings of Eagles, and Rio Grande. Ortiz brought a gritty realism to the sundry roles he played on screens both large and small. That’s because he was arguably the baddest man ever to grace the silver screen.

Pierre Julien Ortiz was born in New York in 1913. His mother was of Swiss stock, while his dad was a Spaniard born in France. He was educated at the French University of Grenoble. Ortiz spoke 10 languages. In 193,2 at age 18, he joined the French Foreign Legion.

The Foreign Legion is comprised of some legendarily rough hombres. Peter Ortiz thrived in this space. He earned the Croix de Guerre twice while fighting the Riffian people in Morocco. In 1935, Ortiz turned down a commission as an officer in the Legion to travel to Hollywood and serve as a technical advisor for war films.

Peter Ortiz is shown here second from the left with his team of OSS operators in occupied France during World War 2. Marine Corps photo.

Proper War

We modern Americans often overlook this fact, but World War II burned on for a couple of years before we got involved. As soon as the shooting started, Ortiz left Hollywood and returned to the Legion as a sergeant. He soon earned a battlefield commission and was wounded while destroying a German fuel dump. He was captured soon thereafter but escaped through Portugal, eventually making it back to the United States.

War was a growth industry in the early 1940s, and American citizens with combat experience were invaluable assets. Ortiz enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps in June of 1942 and earned a commission as a Second Lieutenant 40 days later. He made captain by year’s end and was deployed to Tangier, Morocco, assigned to the Office of Strategic Services. The OSS was the predecessor to the CIA. Captain Peter Ortiz was now officially a spy.

Undercover Ops

Ortiz was wounded badly, recovered, and then parachuted into occupied Europe several times. He repatriated downed Allied flyers and helped organize French Underground units. In August 1944, he was captured by the Germans. He survived torture by the Gestapo and somehow avoided execution. In April 1945, Ortiz’s POW camp was liberated. Now a Lieutenant Colonel, he made his way back to Hollywood to pick up where he left off.

In 1954, Southeast Asia was heating up, so Lt. Ortiz volunteered to return to active duty. However, by then, he was more than 40 years old and sort of famous. The Marines turned him down but promoted him to full Colonel in retirement.

Decorations

We’ve glossed over this guy’s amazing career. He was awarded an Order of the British Empire (OBE) by the government of England. He earned both the Navy Cross and the Purple Heart, each twice. The Navy Cross is our second-highest award for valor, right after the Medal of Honor. Here’s an excerpt from his first Navy Cross citation:

“Operating in civilian clothes and aware that he would be subject to execution in the event of his capture, Major Ortiz parachuted from an airplane with two other officers of an Inter-Allied mission to reorganize existing Maquis groups in the region of Rhone.

By his tact, resourcefulness and leadership, he was largely instrumental in affecting the acceptance of the mission by local resistance leaders, and also in organizing parachute operations for the delivery of arms, ammunition and equipment for use by the Maquis in his region.

Although his identity had become known to the Gestapo with the resultant increase in personal hazard, he voluntarily conducted to the Spanish border four Royal Air Force officers who had been shot down in his region, and later returned to resume his duties. Repeatedly leading successful raids during the period of this assignment, Major Ortiz inflicted heavy casualties on enemy forces greatly superior in number, with small losses to his own forces.”

Ruminations

There were two Hollywood films that were based upon his personal adventures. 13 Rue Madeleine came out in 1947. Operation Secret hit theaters in 1952. Ortiz had one son, Pete Junior, who served as a Marine officer himself, retiring as a Lieutenant Colonel.

Of his dad, the younger Marine said, “My father was an awful actor, but he had great fun appearing in movies.” Colonel Peter Ortiz might not have been the greatest actor of all time, but he was an amazing warrior.

I see that this camp is well supplied for the Victory Party

Post author By Grumpy
Post date January 2, 2026
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COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fieldcraft Good News for a change! Interesting stuff Leadership of the highest kind Manly Stuff Real men War You have to be kidding, right!?!

I like this guy!

COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

COFFEE ON THE DUCK POND by Michael Sullivan

Post author By Grumpy
Post date December 31, 2025
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A warm thermos cap of coffee steams in my hand as I slowly pull down my neck gaiter on a 25-degree morning in paradise. The sunrise over the far trees is neon red, mirroring the ripples on the water in front of the ancient duck blind. A small flock of wood ducks whistles overhead three minutes before shooting light. That first sip is pure happiness.

Everyone has their spot. Could be a well-worn stool at the local pub, a section of trail on a mountain slope in Utah, or the rocking chair on your back porch. Mine is a 40-acre plot in northern Wisconsin that does little more than require you to be there to lighten your soul.

It’s a sliver of land that connects a large state protected marshland to a large chain of lakes. Water flows from the marsh through our tiny plot into these lakes and thanks to the commitment of some studious beavers, backs up and floods to form the perfect 15-acre duck pond.

Being a marshland in northern Wisconsin it’s only viable to be back there during the fall and winter. Ticks have infested the grounds and it’s not possible to get out during the spring and summer months without a fist full of those fuckers burrowing into your undercarriage.

Life stands still in the winter up north. The marsh freezes solid, and snow is measured in feet rather than inches. Often too deep to hike, snowshoes provide access to the far side, which is otherwise only accessible by canoe.

Hundreds of miles have been snowshoed back here and onto the public marsh it pushes up against. We’ve gotten lost and nearly had to spend a blistering cold night, but thankfully our stars have aligned, and there’s never been a major accident.

Things really light up in the fall. Large flocks of ducks and geese have called the surrounding marshlands home for more than the 3 generations it’s been in our family. Migrating birds swing through on their short stay when the weather pushes them south. A small herd of deer graze the surrounding forest, even the local albino stud has been known to make an appearance.

The ruffed grouse, king of the upland game birds, have given many a near heart attack—although they are much more easily hunted on the local logging roads. King of the marsh though is a 500lb black bear we call Hank. He wanders home after munching on cranberries all day at the bogs down the road. Not sure how old he is, but one day we’ll finally draw a bear tag and find out.

These hallowed grounds have led to some unbelievable hunts, some miserable ones, and a few with water filled waders. I’ve trained 3 dogs back here to carry on the tradition that 8 more had before them. They’ve left an unforgettable yet unseen mark on this place. A duck dog is home back in the pond. They always come ready for an adventure, even if that adventure is dunking the canoe and almost drowning you on a 20-degree day.

First hunts, memorial ceremonies, and innumerable other memories have graced this land. My wife even encouraged the idea of heading back there for her first duck hunt mere hours after I proposed. The hunting is great, but the wildlife only starts there. Trumpeter swans swing in from the big marsh on occasion and sing to us.

The aforementioned beavers have become an unlikely ally as they dam up the water, so it doesn’t dry up like it did in 2004. Owls feast on yard grizzlies, woodpeckers make their way with trees, and bald eagles circle above scanning for their next meal. One significantly large bald eagle even constructed a nest opposite the old duck blind, which it inhabited for 6 years.

Outside of worn-down grass on the drive in and trails to the duck blinds and tree stand, nothing has disturbed this land since 1967. It will stay that way as long as it’s in our family, as our house is located on another parcel across the street. Its entrance is guarded by overhanging branches thick with leaves that, unless you know where to look, won’t give up the narrow driveway.

Is it the top of a mountain overlooking a great Alaskan range? No, but who cares. That morning cup of coffee can’t be beat.

All About Guns COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You have to be kidding, right!?!

‘Oldest’ firearm found in Arizona used in 1500s

Post author By Grumpy
Post date December 30, 2025
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Allies COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Transitions Written By Will Dabbs, MD

Post author By Grumpy
Post date December 29, 2025
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Hospitals are frightening places. US Army photo.

My bosses here at FMG have told me I can indulge in a spot of fiction on occasion, so long as I don’t make a habit of it. This week, I’ll strain that tolerance ….

The sick man awoke gradually. It took a moment to attain clarity. The hospital room was as he had previously left it — bright, cluttered, foreign and terrifying. Something, however, was not quite as it should be.

Like headlights dissecting a foggy road, his mind gradually made sense of the scene. The sick man understood little if any of the machines or their diabolical purposes. At that moment, however, he realized what seemed so alien about the place. Nothing was moving … like, at all.

The displays were bright and clear but unchanging. The very air no longer seemed mobile. That was strange in the extreme. It was then he noticed the young man seated comfortably next to his bed. The man’s eyes were fixed upon him, neutral and implacable. The sick man had always read people easily, but this man was unreadable.

The sick man pulled himself up in the bed. He was surprised at how good he felt. Gone was the ache in his back and hips. He no longer sensed the presence of the sundry tubes violating his spent body. Perhaps this would be a good day.

The silence between the two men soon became uncomfortable.

“Who are you?”

The young man answered flatly, “You know who I am.”

The younger man looked to be in his late twenties. He was handsome and fit, dressed in an unadorned blue t-shirt. His pants were so bland as to be unnoticeable. His eyes had a penetrating quality, like something that could cleave meat from bone. He exuded a palpable calm.

The revelation came suddenly, like an electric shock.

“But I’m not ready,” the sick man said, fear now obvious in his voice.

“Nobody is ever ready,” The young man responded. There resulted yet another uncomfortable silence.

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Literally everybody says that.”

There was no sense of impatience or cynicism. These were simply facts.

“So, it’s really time?”

“Indeed, it is.”

“I still have things I need to do.”

“Like what? You need to pull together another payroll or get that last shipment ready? Have you paid your taxes and signed the forms? Is there something you need to say to someone? You’ve had all of those opportunities and more. That’s all gone now.”

Modern medicine is long on machines. Everybody hates them for a reason. US Army photo.

The sick man struggled to push his natural disquiet back someplace else and focused on the moment. He had always been a problem solver, a man ever cursed with a hyperdeveloped sense of responsibility. This was simply a strange new problem to be solved.

“So, what’s the real deal here? How does this work?” His voice was steadier than his nerves.

The younger man gave the tiniest sigh. It wasn’t exasperation in any real sense, more resignation brought upon by endless repetition.

“Allow me to streamline this for you,” he said. “Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It’s as predictable as the tides. We can talk here for as long as you wish. You’re on the clock, not me. You’ll find that time means something different now than it did for you previously. However, trust me, letting yourself get too deep into the weeds just makes this harder. Debating the finer points of philosophy will render you muddled. You’ll want your faculties intact for what is to come.”

That took a moment to process. “What is coming?” he asked.

“You already know that,” the younger man said.

“Will I go to heaven?”

“Should you? You tell me.”

The man’s mind raced. He searched for a Bible verse or something similarly profound, but nothing came. Before things got out of hand, the younger man continued, “You’ve answered your own question.”

The fear welled up again. Now teetering, the sick man said, “This is hard.”

Without emotion, the younger man said, “Try my job for a week.”

As predicted, the sick man skipped to acceptance straightaway. On a certain level, he appreciated that trying to negotiate would be fruitless.

“Will this hurt?”

“God is not cruel,” the younger man said. “Regardless of the mechanism or circumstances, it seldom takes long. From the outside looking in, sometimes it seems sudden. Others, it appears, are protracted. The actual event, however, is reliably quick.”

The sick man felt himself begin to rise inexplicably. The pressure of the sheets gave way as he, disconcertingly, began to pass through them. He sensed that he was above himself somehow. None of this felt real.

“I’m afraid,” he said. There was a childlike quality to his voice that had not been there previously.

“I know you are,” he heard the younger man say. The voice now felt distant. “Everyone is. That’s why I’m here. As I said, God is not cruel. Just, certainly, but never cruel.”

In moments, the young man was far away. With his absence, the sick man began to feel cold. The suffocating sense of isolation immediately exceeded his level of comfort. The fear boiled up yet again, stronger this time. He struggled to maintain control. Then the thing was done.