SM Mike Vining, a serious Badass!
Mike Roger Vining[1] (born August 12, 1950) is a retired sergeant major in the United States Army, who was one of the first members of Delta Force. He joined the Army in 1968, and served until 1999.The man has been to the Vietnam War,
Operation Eagle Claw, Operation Urgent Fury
Operation Just Cause, Gulf War
Born into poverty in the woods of West Virginia, Charles E. “Chuck” Yeager was a World War II aircraft mechanic, fighter pilot, double ace, military commander, and a test pilot who broke the sound barrier. His journey from Army private to USAF Brigadier General is an inspiration to all.
Yeager began his Air Force career in September 1941 as a private in the U.S. Army Air Corps, serving as an aircraft mechanic. While he wanted to be a pilot, that career path was initially closed to him due to his age and lack of education, as the Air Corps required two years of college and a minimum age of 20.
After Pearl Harbor, however, the standards were revised due to the urgent need for pilots, and Yeager was accepted into the flight officer program. While Yeager had excellent eyesight and other attributes for flight training, his first few flights were memorable for another reason: Yeager vomiting in the cockpit.
With time, the queasiness went away, and Yeager excelled at flying. He graduated from pilot training at Luke A.F.B. in March 1943. He then transferred to the 363rd Fighter Squadron at Tonopah, NV, and was trained with the Bell P-39 Airacobra. Once while he was showboating, he clipped a farmer’s tree during a training mission and was grounded for a week.
In November 1943, the unit shipped out to RAF Leiston and began training with the P-51 Mustang.
On his eighth mission, Yeager, who had one aerial victory so far when he took out a Me-109 on the way to Berlin, was shot down over occupied France. He bailed out and hit the ground running for the tree line, evading the Nazis.
Initially, he trained the French Resistance (Maquis) in the use of explosives and timers, which he learned from his father, who worked in the gas fields. He escaped to Spain with the help of the resistance while helping another wounded aviator over the Pyrenees. He then spent time in Malta before returning to England.
After his downing, Yeager’s days of combat were over. Or were they? At that time, there was a regulation that prohibited downed pilots (evaders) from flying over enemy territory again. This was to prevent the resistance groups from being compromised if the pilot was captured and interrogated.
Yeager’s desire to fly again was so intense that he spoke with Supreme Allied Commander General Dwight D. Eisenhower to request a return to combat status. Actually, Yeager wrote in his memoir that “I raised so much hell that General Eisenhower finally let me go back to my squadron.”
When they met, “Eisenhower said, ‘I’ve got guys shooting themselves in the foot to go home. What is the matter with you?” Yeager replied, “General, I haven’t done my job. I don’t want to leave my buddies after only eight missions. It just isn’t right. I’ve got a lot of fightin’ left to do.”
Eisenhower told him that it was the War Department’s policy, but he would ask for permission to send Yeager back. While waiting, Yeager was limited to short-range missions, but managed to bag a Junkers Ju-88 bomber flying over the English Channel for his second kill.
In August 1944, Yeager returned to combat status and was issued a P-51C Mustang with a Malcom Hood canopy and, almost immediately, a P-51D, which he christened Glamorous Glen III, after his future wife, Glennis Dickhouse. On Oct 12, 1944, Yeager made squadron history when he became their first “Ace in a Day” with five kills of Luftwaffe Me-109’s.
On November 27, 1944, Yeager continued his hot streak, downing four Fw-190 fighters. He would also score one of the first victories of a Me 262 jet fighter and end the war with 13 kills. On January 15, 1945, he flew his last mission and returned to the U.S., having completed 61 missions in total.
Due to his status as an Evader, Yeager was given his choice of assignments and chose to be a functional test pilot of repaired aircraft at Wright Field.
With the war now over, Yeager graduated from the Flight Performance School and landed a dream job as a test pilot at Muroc Army Airfield (Edwards A.F.B.)
After a Bell Aircraft Test pilot demanded $150,000 to break the sound barrier with their new rocket-powered X-1, Col. Albert Boyd, the chief of the Flight Test Division, successfully lobbied to get the X-1 project under his command. Boyd had already assembled a team of the best test pilots around. Now, Yeager was selected to be the first to break the sound barrier.
Two days before the record-breaking flight attempt of the X-1, Yeager was out horseback riding with Glennis and broke two ribs. Yeager, certain the injury would get him scrubbed from the mission, found a civilian doctor in nearby Rosamond to patch him up.
Now comes the hard part. In order to close the hatch on the X-1, Yeager had to hold it down and slam down a lever to seal it. This was not going to happen with two broken ribs. He asked his pilot/flight engineer friend, Jack Ridley, to help him come up with a solution.
Ridley chopped off a section of broom handle, and the pair tested it on the ground. The next day, the broomstick hatch tool worked perfectly, and Yeager was on his way to the history books. Yeager broke the sound barrier with a speed of Mach 1.05 at an altitude of 45,000 feet.
Yeager was the first American pilot to fly a MIG-15 due to the defection of a North Korean Pilot. In 1953, Yeager was a part of the X-1A team in search of breaking the Mach 2 barrier. Yeager set a new speed record in December 1953 when he flew the X-1A to Mach 2.44, breaking a recent Navy record and spoiling their planned celebration of the event.
The new flight record, however, almost killed Yeager. Just before reaching Mach 2.44, the X-1A became uncontrollable when it experienced “inertia coupling,” a condition that caused the aircraft to pitch, roll and yaw simultaneously. The X-1A dropped from 51,000 feet to 29,000 feet in less than a minute before Yeager regained control of the plane.
In 1962, Yeager, now a full colonel, became the first commandant of the USAF Aerospace Research Pilot School. The school was the first stop for pilots wishing to become astronauts. While Yeager was arguably the best pilot at the time, his lack of a college degree kept him from serving as an astronaut.
In December 1963, Yeager began test flights of the M2F1 “Lifting body, also known as the “Bathtub”. You may recognize this aircraft from the opening crash scene of the “Six Million Dollar Man” television series. It was here that Yeager suffered his most serious injury.
Another program in the works at the time was the NF-104, which was a rocket-assisted Lockheed F-104 Starfighter. It was one of the first programs created to train pilots for astronaut duties.
Yeager took off and reached nearly 100,000 feet when the aircraft became unresponsive and entered a flat spin. The Starfighter lost approximately 95,000 feet of altitude with Yeager attempting to gain control all the way down. At one point, Yeager deployed the Starfighter’s drag chute in hopes of straightening the aircraft and restarting the engine.
With only a few seconds left, Yeager ejected from the Starfighter. During the ejection sequence, the ejection seat base struck him in the head, and the hot rocket motor broke his faceplate, which caused the oxygen supply to catch fire and severely burn his face. Yeager suffered through numerous operations for his facial burns. This was the end of his test flight career.
In 1966, Yeager assumed command of the 405th Fighter Wing at Clark Air Base, Philippines, which rotated throughout Southeast Asia and South Vietnam, flying 127 missions.
In the early 1970’s, Yeager was assigned as the air attaché to the Pakistani Air Force, assisting them with integrating the AIM-9 Sidewinder missile onto their fighter aircraft.
In March 1975, Yeager finally retired with 34 years of service. Not one to sit around, Yeager kept busy with a variety of projects. He made a cameo appearance as Fred the bartender in the movie “The Right Stuff,” which, in part, told his story of breaking the sound barrier. He drove a Corvette pace car at the Indianapolis 500. He flew an F-15D Eagle in celebration of the 50th anniversary of his record-breaking flight. He was a spokesman for AC Delco auto parts and a consultant to Northrop Grumman for the F-20 Tigershark.
Yeager passed away on Pearl Harbor Day, 2020, at the age of 97.
His military decorations and awards include the Distinguished Service Medal, Silver Star with oak leaf cluster, Legion of Merit with oak leaf cluster, Distinguished Flying Cross with two oak leaf clusters, Bronze Star Medal with “V” device, Air Medal with 10 oak leaf clusters, Air Force Commendation Medal, Purple Heart, Distinguished Unit Citation Emblem with oak leaf cluster, Air Force Outstanding Unit Award Ribbon, and the Congressional Medal of Freedom.
Yeager was a command pilot and had flown more than 12,000 hours in 361 different makes and models of military aircraft in service to his country.
Shot down in a hostile landing zone, blasted apart, and stabbed through the leg, Gary Wetzel still fought his way back to an M60 machine gun. What happened next earned him the Medal of Honor and made his Vietnam story almost impossible to believe.
Gary Wetzel was born in 1947 in South Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In 1965, he was an 18-year-old soldier working in ordnance. He enlisted for three more years to serve as a door gunner on UH1 Huey helicopters in Vietnam. Wetzel was assigned to the 173d Assault Helicopter Company near Ap Dong An.
A group of four Australian helos flew into Wetzel’s firebase and got badly shot up for their trouble. Most of the hostile ground fire they had taken originated a mere kilometer from the perimeter.
Realizing the imminent threat this represented, Wetzel’s commander put together a quick reaction mission to seek out the local VC force and eliminate it. On January 8, 1968, PFC Wetzel climbed aboard his Huey and charged his M60 machine gun. They took off as a flight of fourteen aircraft. Ten were American UH1s. The four Australian helicopters took part as well.
By 1968, Vietnam was a mature war zone. That meant weapons were absolutely everywhere. The M16 was and is a solid combat rifle. However, at 39 inches overall, it is a bit bulky for the confines of a tactical helicopter.
The XM177E2 was the stubby carbine version of the M16 that was just seeing widespread issue to Special Forces troops. It would yet be a while before there were enough carbines to filter down to aviation units. In the meantime, Wetzel and his mates scrounged whatever they could find.
The US gifted untold tons of WW2-surplus ordnance to the South Vietnamese. Among these weapons were huge numbers of vintage M3 Grease Guns as well as M2 carbines and Thompson SMGs. Many of these weapons ended up available for barter among American troops.
Among aircrews, folding stock Kalashnikovs were prized but hen’s-teeth rare. I have heard of captured cut-down RPD belt-fed machine guns being used as well, but they were about as common as Bigfoot or fiscally responsible Congressmen.
Flight crews not infrequently tucked an M79 40mm grenade launcher into their birds for a little serious thump. However, WW2-vintage .45ACP submachine guns were not uncommon. Wetzel packed a Tommy Gun himself.
The Thompson really was a niche tool. Those big, fat .45ACP rounds lost energy quickly at long ranges, and the thing was heavier than Aunt Edna’s prize Christmas fruit cake.
Additionally, the ergonomics were all wrong, so it took some attention to technique to run the gun accurately and well. However, for a generation raised on Saturday afternoon gangster movies, the Thompson carried some undeniable sex appeal.
Standard Operating Procedure had Huey gunships in the lead to sterilize the landing zone with machine gun fire and rockets.
However, in this case, the gunships inexplicably fell behind. Wetzel’s slick was one of the first aircraft into the LZ. As they were on final approach, VC streamed out of the jungle like ants and opened fire. Wetzel noticed the RPG-2 rocket just before it impacted his aircraft.
I used to fly Army helicopters myself. They are amazingly capable machines. However, they were never designed to withstand hits from anti-tank weapons. The RPG struck the Huey solidly in the left front. Wetzel’s pilots got the stricken bird to the ground more or less intact, but they were in a world of hurt.
One of the pilots had his legs shot to pieces. Wetzel and his crew chief wrestled the stricken officer out of the aircraft and took cover behind the disabled machine. At that moment, one of the VC threw a Combloc grenade that exploded among them.
The blast liberally peppered Wetzel with shrapnel and shattered his left arm, leaving it dangling uselessly at an unnatural angle.
So, imagine the scene. One moment, you’re making a low-level approach into a hostile LZ. Next, your aircraft is shot to pieces, and your pilot is bleeding to death. Then the VC blows your arm off. Most normal guys would have just rolled over and quit. However, Gary Wetzel was no normal guy.
The VC soldier who threw the first grenade was now readying a second. Firing his Thompson one-handed, Wetzel stitched the man up, causing him to drop his primed grenade. The little sputtering bomb exploded among the attacking VC and caused a brief lull in the incoming fire.
Wetzel and his crew chief took advantage of the respite to get tourniquets on the legs of the grievously wounded pilot. Then Wetzel noticed half a dozen VC struggling to remove his M60 from its pedestal mount on the side of the crashed helicopter. Once again, taking his Tommy Gun in his one remaining good hand, the badly wounded gunner took out all six with a long full-auto burst.
Despite their best efforts, the young pilot bled out and died. This was more than Gary Wetzel had signed up for this day. Now simply angry, he stuffed his useless left hand into his pistol belt so it wouldn’t flop around while he ran, stood up, and charged back over to the smoldering aircraft.
The VC had not been idle throughout all of this. They marshalled in the treeline and prepared for a massed attack.
The enemy well appreciated that the greatest strength of the American military was its essentially unlimited close air support. If they had any hope of defeating the American assault, they had to get in close, too close for helicopter gunships and fast mover jets to lay down effective supporting fires. What happened next would determine whether Wetzel and his buddies lived or died.
Under suffocating enemy fire, Gary Wetzel charged across the open rice paddy toward his pedestal-mounted machine gun. Communist bullets sleeted across the space by the hundreds. Then one of the charging VC stabbed him through the leg with a bayonet, knocking him to the ground.
I saw an interview with Gary Wetzel where he related what happened next in his own words. His left arm was essentially shot off, and he had just taken a bayonet to his leg.
His chest was thoroughly ventilated with shrapnel, as was his remaining good arm. He claimed he had no idea how he cleared the distance to the downed helicopter. He just said that the bayonet wound knocked him to the ground and that the next conscious memory he had was behind his gun.
The aircraft was dead, but Wetzel’s pig was just fine. He also had access to plenty of ammunition and was savvy enough to run his gun one-handed. Despite multiple horrific wounds, PFC Wetzel poured fire into the enemy emplacements. He eventually suppressed and then destroyed the VC gunners that had taken them under fire.
With the major threat eliminated, there was still plenty to do. The VC kept shooting into the LZ, and there were scads of American wounded. Despite having his arm blown to pieces and having taken a stab wound through the leg, PFC Wetzel dragged injured American troops across the slippery mud of the rice paddy so that the medic could work to stabilize them. He lost consciousness several times due to his own bleeding, but refused to stop until his fellow soldiers were behind cover.
PFC Wetzel was eventually medevac’d. He lost his left arm but saved an LZ full of GIs. Here is his Medal of Honor citation:
“Sp4c. Wetzel, 173d Assault Helicopter Company, distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sp4c. Wetzel was serving as door gunner aboard a helicopter which was part of an insertion force trapped in a landing zone by intense and deadly hostile fire. Sp4c. Wetzel was going to the aid of his aircraft commander when he was blown into a rice paddy and critically wounded by two enemy rockets that exploded just inches from his location. Although bleeding profusely due to the loss of his left arm and severe wounds in his right arm, chest, and left leg, Sp4c. Wetzel staggered back to his original position in his gun-well and took the enemy forces under fire. His machine gun was the only weapon placing effective fire on the enemy at that time. Through a resolve that overcame the shock and intolerable pain of his injuries, Sp4c. Wetzel remained at his position until he had eliminated the automatic-weapons emplacement that had been inflicting heavy casualties on the American troops and preventing them from moving against this strong enemy force. Refusing to attend his own extensive wounds, he attempted to return to the aid of his aircraft commander but passed out from loss of blood. Regaining consciousness, he persisted in his efforts to drag himself to the aid of his fellow crewman. After an agonizing effort, he came to the side of the crew chief who was attempting to drag the wounded aircraft commander to the safety of a nearby dike. Unswerving in his devotion to his fellow man, Sp4c. Wetzel assisted his crew chief even though he lost consciousness once again during this action. Sp4c. Wetzel displayed extraordinary heroism in his efforts to aid his fellow crewmen. His gallant actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of the U.S. Army and reflect great credit upon himself and the Armed Forces of his country.”
Source: Congressional Medal of Honor Society, Gary George Wetzel recipient record and official citation.
Gary Wetzel returned home to Milwaukee after he recovered to take a job as a heavy equipment operator. This guy is a freaking animal, the kind of amazing American hero who made America what it is today. This one-armed military machine would not quit when quitting was the only reasonable thing to do. In so doing, he showed us all what it truly means to be a man.
Will is still trying to figure out what he really wants to be when he grows up. However, shooting guns and claiming it was work seemed like a pretty sweet hustle. As a result, Will serendipitously transformed an avocation into a vocation.
Raised in the Mississippi Delta, Will flew UH1H, OH58A/C, CH47D and AH1S helicopters operationally as an Army Aviator. He is SCUBA-qualified and has parachuted out of perfectly good airplanes at 3 o’clock in the morning. Will has summited Mount McKinley, Alaska, six times…always at the controls of an Army helicopter, which is the only way sensible folk climb mountains.
Will has delivered sixty babies and occasionally wrung human blood out of his socks. He is married to his high school sweetheart and has three awesome adult children. Turn-ons include vintage German machineguns, flying his sexy-cool RV6A airplane, Count Chocula cereal and the movie “Aliens.”
www.word-monkey.com
Experience:
-Professional Writer-thousands of publishing credits for dozens of titles
-Mechanical Engineer/Practicing Physician
-Instrument-rated Commercial Pilot
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He led a reconnaissance team during a mission near Phú Lộc, Vietnam, in 1967. During the engagement, Capers sustained multiple wounds while directing his men and coordinating their evacuation under intense enemy fire. His actions were instrumental in saving the lives of every member of his team.
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Pity it took so long to get it to him! (Almost 60 years!!) But that’s the problem with the Blue Max. In that sometimes you get it ASAP & other times it’s almost too late. I say that it’s just pure BS and a few officers need a blow torch pointed at them. Grumpy
A couple of real STUDS in my book! Grumpy
Forced to dig his own grave in Iraq, Fabrizio Quattrocchi answered his killers with one final act of raw defiance. This is a hard look at death, faith, courage, and the Italian who refused to die quietly.
Today, we are going to talk about some pretty dark stuff. Death rightfully makes people uncomfortable. It is the innately unknowable nature of the thing that leaves folks so predictably discomfited. We all have theories. However, by definition, if somebody is talking about it, they’ve not yet actually given it a whirl themselves.
Any proper discussion of death touches upon issues of faith. As anyone who has read my work for more than a week will appreciate, I have strongly-held opinions on that subject. I am an unabashedly evangelical Christian. I wear Jesus on my sleeve. My faith informs everything about how I approach both my life and my inevitable demise.
My conclusions are drawn from some fairly extensive life experience. I have come face-to-face with my own mortality a couple of times and found peace waiting for me there. I have also attended a fair number of deaths professionally. Here are two representative examples.
Patient 1 was a gladiator. He rolled into the inner city ER where I worked, having been shot in the right chest some fifteen minutes earlier by a fellow thug armed with a .380ACP handgun. He was fit, muscular, and covered in gang tats. He was also coming absolutely unglued.
This desperate young man shouted, screamed, and flailed. It took five of us to restrain him long enough to get him situated on the bed in Trauma 1. And then the most amazing thing happened.
Over the next few minutes, his entire demeanor changed. He went from fighting us to begging us. “Please don’t let me die!” was a common refrain. And then he gradually acted like we weren’t even there.
As the blood steadily filled his chest, this horrified kid began praying with every fiber of his being. He shouted, “Please, Jesus, don’t let me die!” over and over and over. Then he arched his back, blood poured out of his mouth and nose, and he died. We did everything we could, but it all just happened too fast.
I met Patient 2 in the VA. He was a Korean War veteran. In his prime, this man had been a hellraiser. He abused drugs, alcohol, and women at every opportunity. Then he found Jesus.
This gentleman was a Messianic Jew, and his Christian conversion changed absolutely everything about him. He walked away from alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs in an afternoon. Then he successfully resurrected his family. When I met him, he was dying of a squamous cell carcinoma of his sinuses that had metastasized to his lungs. The horrible treatments for his ghastly disease had stolen his sense of sight, smell, and taste, and rendered him nearly deaf. Now his lung mets were drowning him slowly, one drop at a time. Despite the horrors of this man’s sordid state, he was inexplicably happy. This guy was about to meet Jesus face to face, and he was like a kid on Christmas Eve.
I did the best I could to make him comfortable, but the poor man was both blind and dying. There were only so many options at my disposal. For a medicine man, these cases bring their own unique challenges.
On our second day together, he spontaneously took my arm and pulled me close. I assumed he wanted to tell me something or other that he needed. He then inexplicably pulled his oxygen mask off and immediately began turning blue. With his dying breath, this unimaginably miserable guy actually prayed for me.
He prayed for my family and me and my ministry in the hospital. He prayed that I might find the same peace and joy in Christ that he had found. This amazing dude prayed until he literally could no longer speak. As you might imagine, this experience moved me. I replaced his oxygen mask, thanked him sincerely, and left for home with quite a lot to think about.
The following morning, with my arm around his wife’s shoulders, I watched this extraordinary man die. I had known him all of three days. He met his end with dignity, peace, and hope. Attending his death was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. Draw your own conclusions.
Fabrizio Quattrocchi was born on 9 MAY 1968 in Catania, Italy. He trained as a baker before eventually finding work as a security contractor in Iraq. In 2004, Iraq was an absolute hellhole. However, in chaos, there is profit. There was money to be made in this space. Quattrocchi was an old-school mercenary.
Operating in a war zone is the most dangerous of human pursuits. That’s why the money is so good. With so many heavily armed folks running about with deeply held political and theological agendas, people invariably get hurt. Quattrocchi, along with three fellow Italian soldiers-for-hire named Umberto Cupertino, Maurizio Agliana, and Salvatore Stefio were captured by a lunatic mob called the Green Brigade of the Prophet.
Quattrocchi and his buddies were working for DTS Security LLC. DTS was incorporated in Nevada and run by a former Italian Marine/French Foreign Legionnaire named Paolo Simeone and Italian lawyer Valeria Castellini. They tried to get their guys back, but DTS was a company, not a nation-state. It takes some serious resources to recruit, train, equip, and employ SEAL Team 6. For a time, at least, these four poor guys were on their own.
The Green Brigade of the Prophet felt they needed to make an example to ensure they were being taken seriously. As a result, they forced Fabrizio Quattrocchi to dig his own grave. These homicidal losers then placed a hood over his head and made him kneel in the soft earth next to his hole. Like all professional nut job psychopaths, they had also set up video recording equipment to preserve the moment in all its gory glory. It really is tough for me to visualize raw, unfettered hate on this scale.
Quattrocchi knew exactly what was about to happen. He had, after all, just dug the hole. He was in a place that would rightly terrify all sensible people everywhere. Quattrocchi was about to face his own mortality, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.
Tragically, lots of folks have been there before. Some beg for their lives, imploring their captors for mercy. Others spit venom from the precipice of the abyss. Quattrocchi, for his part, clawed at his hood so he could see the men who were about to take his life and shouted, “Vi faccio vedere come muore un Italiano!” This translates to, “I’ll show you how an Italian dies!” One of the terrorists then stepped forward and shot him through the back of the neck. At least it was quick. Quattrocchi was 35 years old at the time of his death.
American forces later raided the safehouse where they were being held and rescued the three remaining Italian security contractors along with a Pole named Jerzy Kos. Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi personally approved the mission in advance.
Italian President Carlo Azeglio Ciampi awarded Fabrizio Quattrocchi a posthumous Gold Medal for Civil Valour. This award demands a specific documented act of bravery to be eligible. Quattrocchi’s defiance towards the men who murdered him seemed more than adequate.
Curiously, not everyone in Italy felt this way. Almost all Italians rightfully reviled Saddam Hussein and Muslim fundamentalist terrorists in general. However, most Italians also disapproved of their country’s involvement in the Iraq War. Then, as now, much of the civilized world would sooner ignore such problems in hopes that they would just go away.
Quite a few Italians had lost their lives amidst the tumultuous fighting in the Middle East. Folks from across the Italian political spectrum griped that their particular people had not been afforded comparable accolades. Whatever. Fabrizio Quattrocchi was a freaking animal, no matter the metric.
There are some cruel jokes levied at our brothers in France and Italy.
What is the world’s shortest list? A compilation of contemporary Italian war heroes. Such stuff stems from a deplorable tendency by much of modern Europe to eschew the manly arts.
Nowadays, good old-fashioned patriotism is denigrated as nationalism, something to be avoided no matter the cost. Europe looks at the monsters in the gates (I’m talking to you, Vladimir Putin and the Iranian theocrats) and fails to take action because they have convinced themselves over decades that what they have is no longer worth defending.
The Union Jack is arguably the most compelling national standard on Planet Earth, yet many modern Britons hate it because they have been conditioned to view their own flag as a symbol of oppression. Such national self-flagellation will not take them to a good place in a world so liberally populated with hate-fueled psychos like the Green Brigade of the Prophet.
Fabrizio Quattrocchi was a proper man to the end. He faced his death and those who were killing him with poise, power, and defiance. The scumbags who murdered him are rightfully gone and forgotten. The world is objectively way better off without them. As we corn-fed Americans wax introspective regarding how to comport ourselves when faced with uncertainty and violence both at home and abroad, might I recommend we actually take hints from a certain brass-balled Italian baker? Fabrizio Quattrocchi showed us all how to die well.
A Japanese sword took LT George Cairns’ arm on a Burmese hilltop. He seized that same blade, kept fighting, and earned a place among Britain’s most savage Victoria Cross legends.
Mankind has been consumed with war since our very beginnings. Ever since Cain knocked his brother Abel’s brains out with a rock, we have been a species of scrappers. We venerate warriors and celebrate their wars. Along the way, we have somehow lost touch with just how ghastly real war actually is.
Everybody dies. That’s obviously a given. However, that war takes young people in their prime is what makes it so utterly repugnant. Were that not so, I’m sure we would be doing even more of it.
The development of weapons brought us such stuff as GPS, microwave ovens, and the Internet. Jet engines, digital cameras, synthetic materials, and EpiPens all had their origins in military technologies as well. However, at the end of the day, whether it is a HIMARS rocket, a ship-mounted laser, or a 16th-century Scottish Claymore broadsword, the ultimate objective is still simply to tear the very life out of our enemies. No matter how much seems to change, the unfortunate end goal nonetheless remains the same.
Modern battlefields are truly horrible things. JDAM smart bombs, shaped charges, thermobaric weapons, and depleted uranium projectiles all conspire to make a proper mess of human flesh. However, war in eras past was hardly all unicorns and butterflies. Hacking some poor schmuck limb from limb was also fairly untidy. It turns out that this propensity toward vivisection extends up into the last century as well.
George Albert Cairns was born in December 1913 in London. He attended the Sir Henry Compton School in Fulham from 1923 through 1930. He subsequently took a job in a bank in Kent, where he met his future wife, Ena. The two were married in 1940. The following year, George answered his nation’s call and went off to war.
Cairns was a dedicated natural leader. He earned a commission and was appointed to the Somerset Light Infantry (Prince Albert’s). He was subsequently attached to the South Staffordshire Regiment and deployed to Burma. The South Staffordshire was a Chindit battalion subordinate to the 77th Indian Infantry Brigade commanded by the legendary Brigadier Michael Calvert.
By March of 1944, Cairns was 30 years old. That seems pretty young to me. However, in soldier years, he was veritably ancient.
Soldiering is a young man’s game. I look back with fondness on my time in uniform. However, I do recall being tired and sore a lot. Deprivation, hunger, and misery are integral parts of the life of any proper combat soldier in the field. Cairns and his mates found that in abundance in the fetid jungles of Burma.
On 16 March 1944, Cairns and the South Staffords dug in near a place called the White City. The Japanese were rabid to stop the British advance. The Brits, for their part, were disinclined to comply. The end result was a most ferocious fight.
Near the South Staffords’ fighting positions was a pagoda on a prominent hilltop. As near as anyone could tell, neither force had bothered to take that place just yet. Both sides had actually dug formidable fighting positions within earshot of the other, apparently without either unit being the wiser. That all changed when an unsuspecting Japanese patrol wandered across the abandoned pagoda in search of something or other. At around 11 am, everything came unglued.
Brigadier Calvert led the attack himself. He later wrote, “On the top of Pagoda Hill, not much bigger than two tennis courts, an amazing scene developed. The small white Pagoda was in the centre of the hill. Between that and the slopes which came up was a mêlée of South Staffords and Japanese bayonetting, fighting with each other, with some Japanese just throwing grenades from the flanks…There, at the top of the hill, about fifty yards square, an extraordinary mêlée took place, everyone shooting, bayoneting, kicking at everyone else, rather like an officers’ guest night.”
Amidst all of that mayhem, LT Cairns strived mightily to hold the defensive line intact. While coordinating this vigorous defense, Cairns looked up just in time to spot a Japanese officer charging toward him at a dead run, waving a sword. There was no time to react properly. In the face of imminent death, Albert Cairns did what any normal person might do–he reflexively raised his left arm. The maniacal Japanese officer slashed with his weapon and all but took LT Cairns’ left arm off.
At this point, LT Cairns had a decision to make. If some screaming nutjob hacked my arm off with a big honking sword, I’m fairly certain I would just take my toys and go home. Not so, LT Cairns. Cairns shot and killed the Japanese officer who had taken his arm before snatching up the dead soldier’s blade and going to town on the rest of his maniacal buddies.
LT Norman Durant was a machine gun platoon leader assigned to the same unit. His vantage with his support weapons afforded him a fairly decent view of the battlefield. This is what he had to say about LT Cairns: “The first thing I saw on reaching the path was a horrible hand-to-hand struggle going on further up the hill. George Cairns and a Jap were struggling and choking on the ground, and as I picked up a Jap rifle and climbed up towards them, I saw George break free and, picking up a rifle bayonet, stab the Jap again and again like a madman. It was only when I got near that I saw he himself had already been bayoneted twice through the side and that his left arm was hanging on by a few strips of muscle. How he had found the strength to fight was a miracle, but the effort had been too much and he died the next morning.”
So, this brass-balled young British infantry officer had been ventilated twice with bayonets before having his left arm quite literally chopped off. Despite these extraordinary wounds, Cairns unleashed his inner monster on the attacking Japanese.
Using the dead Japanese officer’s sword, this one-armed lunatic launched himself into the remaining Japanese troops like a Dervish. When the dust settled, survivors counted 42 Japanese dead in and around the hilltop that housed the pagoda. Nobody knew who got whom. However, Cairns did most of his serious killing with the same sword that had been used to, moments before, lop off his own left arm.
Once the dust settled, LT Cairns understandably ran out of gas. His words were, “’Have we won sir? Was it all right? Did we do our stuff? Don’t worry about me.” The following day, this remarkable young man died.
Stripping a sword from an adversary and then using it to obliterate an attacking unit after having your own arm chopped off seemed like Victoria Cross material, no matter how you sliced it. The VC is Great Britain’s highest award for gallantry in action. It is the Limey equivalent of our Medal of Honor.
One of Cairns’ officers duly put in the work, and the award recommendation made its way up to General Orde Wingate, the commanding general of the Chindits. Wingate was a weird duck. A committed Christian Zionist, Wingate cut his teeth fighting the Arabs in British-occupied Palestine. He once attempted suicide by stabbing himself in the neck while under the depressing effects of atabrine for his malaria.
By the time he commanded the Chindits, Wingate was habitually munching on raw onions to help ward off disease and made a habit of greeting visitors in the nude. On 24 March 1944, Wingate climbed aboard an American B25 Mitchell bomber along with two British war correspondents. The pilot objected that the airplane was grossly overloaded, but Wingate insisted. The plane subsequently crashed into the jungle in India, killing all aboard. LT Cairns’ VC recommendation was on Wingate’s person at the time.
A 1949 article in The Times revived the process. By then, two of the three required witnesses had been killed in action. Eventually, thanks to the tireless efforts of his widow Ena Cairns, George’s Victoria Cross was approved. This is the citation:
“On 12 March 1944, columns from the South Staffordshire Regiment and 3/6 Gurkha Rifles established a road and rail block across the Japanese lines of communication at Henu Block.
The Japanese counter-attacked this position heavily in the early morning of 13 March 1944, and the South Staffordshire Regiment was ordered to attack a hill-top which formed the basis of the Japanese attack.
During this action, in which Lieutenant CAIRNS took a foremost part, he was attacked by a Japanese officer, who, with his sword, hacked off Lieutenant CAIRNS’s left arm. Lieutenant CAIRNS killed this Officer; picked up the sword and continued to lead his men in the attack, and, slashing left and right with the captured sword, killed and wounded several Japanese before he himself fell to the ground.
Lieutenant CAIRNS subsequently died from his wounds. His action so inspired all his comrades that, later, the Japanese were completely routed, a very rare occurrence at that time.”
We have explored a great many remarkable tales of daring and elan in this space in the past. I can’t recall ever writing about some lunatic guy who kept on fighting with the sword his attacker had only recently used to relieve him of his arm. LT George Cairns was indeed a hero of the highest order.
Will is still trying to figure out what he really wants to be when he grows up. However, shooting guns and claiming it was work seemed like a pretty sweet hustle. As a result, Will serendipitously transformed an avocation into a vocation.
Raised in the Mississippi Delta, Will flew UH1H, OH58A/C, CH47D and AH1S helicopters operationally as an Army Aviator. He is SCUBA-qualified and has parachuted out of perfectly good airplanes at 3 o’clock in the morning. Will has summited Mount McKinley, Alaska, six times…always at the controls of an Army helicopter, which is the only way sensible folk climb mountains.
Will has delivered sixty babies and occasionally wrung human blood out of his socks. He is married to his high school sweetheart and has three awesome adult children. Turn-ons include vintage German machineguns, flying his sexy-cool RV6A airplane, Count Chocula cereal and the movie “Aliens.”
www.word-monkey.com
Experience:
-Professional Writer-thousands of publishing credits for dozens of titles
-Mechanical Engineer/Practicing Physician
-Instrument-rated Commercial Pilot
-Sunday School Teacher
Let’s examine the life of Mickey Marcus, a proud Jewish U.S. hero who became a leader of Israel’s armed forces during the 1948 War of Independence. Marcus made such a huge impact during his brief tenure in Israel that streets in several cities, the Tel Aviv neighborhood of Neve David and Kibbutz Mishmar David were named for him.