You Never Know Who’ll You’ll Meet When You Look Into The Shadows On Memorial Day.

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Today’s post is fiction. But it’s so close to my heart that I’m a bit broken by it all. But first, Hand Salute. Ready, To. Thank you to all who gave their lives that I might sit here and write in freedom. I miss you all. Every day.

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The Juicy Lucy was good. Most of the time you get carbonized beef and lava for cheese, or a bunch of red goo and unmelted Velveeta wrapped in a cheap bun. Today it was done through and through and the cheese was gooey and warm. The pickle was slightly sharp and just right with the dry, peppery cole slaw. I finished the Coke while my wife worked on her chimichanga. The bar had pretty good food and the televisions didn’t annoy me as much as usual – until my tablet ran low on battery and I had to close out my copy of James Rubart’s latest, Spirit Bridge. That’s when I spotted the two dudes on the far side of the bar, playing pool in flight suits.

I’ve lived down the block from Tav on The Ave, or it’s other incarnations, for twenty years. Got a VA loan for the house just a few doors away, and not once had I seen anyone in there in a military uniform, especially not a green flight suit. Kind of strange, not really within regs during my day, but things have changed in the last few decades. I gazed at the television, Twins game in progress, and drifted out of focus a bit while I sipped my coffee and gawked around. Until I heard “Ya, Ibn Kelb!” from the pool table followed by the second flight suit’s response, “Sukin Sin.” I knew those voices – I’d gone to school with them thirty years before. But both had died in the crash of Ranger 12, January 25th, 1987. It couldn’t be Pat and Craig – but there they stood laughing and shooting pool.

My wife was engrossed in her book, never noticing me get up from the table. I walked over to the pool table and waited until Patrick had made his shot. “Hey, Joe. Good to see you again.” Not a word came to mind. Standing in front of me were two young men in their flight suits, looking like the last time I’d seen them. Craig laid down his cue and walked over to where I stood. He picked up a stool from the chalk rail area and gently guided me to a seat.

“It’s Memorial Day, Joe. We get to come back once a year and have a beer with old shipmates, kind of a heavenly liberty call. It’s a 72 hour pass. We hit the town on Friday and have to be back on duty Monday at 2100. This year we picked your bar.”

I just stared. Two old friends who’d died while I was on my own mission. I’d missed their funerals and never even got to say goodbye to Pat’s wife. I’ve never felt guilty, but I have felt that wound was never going to close. “Craig, why me? This is kind of an out of the way place, and while we were friends I didn’t think I was as close as some of the guys in the flight shop to you two. I’m honored, but – why tonight? Why here? Why …?”

Pat spoke up, “We’re the lead element. Just like back in the day we went ahead of the fleet to make certain the situation wasn’t hostile. This seems like a nice place and if it’s okay with you, we’d like to bring the rest of the boys on down.”

I found myself with a throat full of phleghm. “Sure. I’d be honored. Put it on my tab. How many are coming?”

Craig laughed. He had a nice smile – I’d forgotten that over the years. “Quite a few are at the brow. Let me answer your questions first before we give you a “souls on board” count for the record. We picked your bar and we picked tonight because you’re a prayer warrior for the guys that are still around. He hears you when you pray, and we know you remember us all the time. We wanted to be here for your ceremony on Monday. Pat tells me that you’re a fine speaker. Kind of figures, you always were racking up the gum miles. We won’t need your credit card. Nobody but you can see us, and we brought our own bartender. Name’s Michael. He’s the guy by the stage bar.”

I looked toward the stage and was aware of a magnificent radiance behind the bar. There was Saint Michael, flaming sword in its sheath. He was cleaning glasses and filling up a pitcher. He sketched a salute and went back to work.

Craig handed me a cola and the door of the bar opened up. First man through the door was a sailor in a WWI uniform. He had a row of hashmarks on his sleeve and a bosun’s insignia on his sleeve. Craig introduced me to him: “Otto, this is Joe. Joe, Otto was one of the first linguists to intercept and translate the enemy. His destroyer went down in 1918 when the German’s shelled his ship. We count him as a brother of the TAMORI. Otto, the bar’s open and Michael is running a tab for us.

Otto headed for the bar as another group of sailors came in the door. This bunch were dressed in jungle attire. Pat spoke this time, “These are the guys from CAST. A gaggle them got captured when the Phillipines fell. The Japanese weren’t very easy on them, all of them died in prison camps.”

Over the next hour group after group came through the door. One group of Marines stood out – Code Talkers. They got no mercy from the Japanese either and more than a couple had died in combat.

The largest group to come in the bar were the boys from “Turbulent Turtle.” Pat motioned them over to the pool table. “We weren’t the first to go down in the cold war, this bunch got shot down by a MIG over Latvia. They’re kind of the mentors to the rest of us during the Cold War. Nobody talked much about them until many years later.”

I sat with a stupid look on my face as hero after hero was introduced. Linguists, morse code operators, ELINT guys, and a few women. The bar was packed with people in the uniforms of many eras. Each and every one of them a brother or sister spook. There were a few there that surprised me and I asked about them when Craig had finished his game of pinball. “Oh. Yeah, well, we consider them casualties as well. Not all of the folks here got shot down or shot up. Some of them took their own lives. They were casualties as surely as if they’d stepped in front of a missile. We don’t differentiate upstairs. All of them are welcome in this liberty party.”

I got off of my stool and worked the room. I heard sea stories that I’d never even known about. I met some of the guys who were in Beirut in 83 when the barracks got blown down. I met up with old friends whom I knew had died by their own hand. I was awash in emotion with the rekindled friendships. After a time I went back to the pool table and sat down again.

Pat put his hand on my shoulder and said, “We have a surprise for you. Somebody that normally wouldn’t be here wanted to see you.”

I trembled a little and asked, “Is it my Dad?”

Pat shook his head. “No, your pops wasn’t a spook. This guy was one of us and he wanted to introduce himself. Look over toward the bar.”

There, next to Saint Michael, was another angel. He was wearing Marine Corps dress blues and a pair of headphones were slung around his neck. As he walked toward me I knew who it was – Callen Courtemanche, my cousin.

When Cal had crossed the bar he extended a hand. “I’m Cal. Nice to finally get a chance to talk to you.”

Pat looked at me with a smile on his face. “Normally you get a guardian angel when you’re born. You got one as well, Joe, but when you decided to enlist Cal asked to take his spot. Over all the years he’s been your watcher.”

Cal smiled at me. “I got the job the day you told my Dad that you were going to language school. He prayed for your safety that night and I got the job that next morning. I’ve been with you on every mission, every trip to sea, every moment since before you entered basic training.”

I remembered that night. My cousin Pete was floored when I told him I was going to be a linguist. His son, my cousin, Callen had died in Vietnam. He was the first Navy/Marine Corps linguist in our family. Until that night I never knew what Cal had been doing when he died. Pete’s prayer was answered and I’d made it through without a scratch.

A bell rang, and a Chief standing near the door announced the last launch was leaving, time to line up for departure. Cal waved goodbye as he faded from sight. One by one the Marines and Sailors set down their glasses and winked out from the bar. I said a tearful goodbye to Pat and Craig, emotion running away with me.

Pat pointed to the door and said, “Go out there, Joe, and represent us to the world. We’re only dead and gone when nobody remembers our names anymore. Let them know the sacrifice. Let them know the honor. Take your time until the next reunion, we can wait.”

With that, my two old friends faded from the bar. I got up from my stool and went back to the table where my wife was just closing her book. “Ready to go?”

Yes. I was ready to go. Ready to tell the world about the brave men and women who served our country and gave it all. And I’ll keep telling that tale until the launch comes for me as well.

Please attend a memorial service on Monday. Find a cemetery near you that honors our fallen and render a salute to those who make our liberty possible. If you’d like to join me, I’ll be with the Arch Diocese of Saint Paul and Minneapolis at Resurrection Cemetery at 10 am on Monday. Semper Fidelis, cousin Callen.

The Veterans Hospital Scandal Is Much More Than A Scandal: It’s Murder.

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Somebody has got to call this as it is, because Barack Obama isn’t going to bother with the facts. His press conference on Wednesday proved that to be the case.

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In the interest of fairness, let me quote a line from the Secretary of the Department of Veterans Affairs press release when he took office: We know that results count, that the department will be mea- sured by what we do, not what we promise…

I watched the presser with Obama and marveled at the man’s ability to not answer questions. His semi-righteous arrogance and outrage over the situation were offensive. The entire time, his message was essentially this: we’ve tried really hard, but the VA has been a mess for decades. This is a big deal to me but gosh, it’s so very hard. Let’s not leap to judgement, let’s get the facts before we accuse anyone.

I did listen. I’m not impressed. For a man who claims to have the interest of the military (as Commander-in-chief) and veterans at the top of his heap, and to have been concerned since his term in the Senate, he’s done a lousy job of following up. At least twice during his statement, and during the two questions he allowed (both picked in advance, thank-you-very-much) he stated that it was essentially the fault of those lower in the chain of command for not telling their superiors that they didn’t have the resources. I guess they were also supposed to tell their bosses that they were sacrificing veterans lives so that they could collect bonuses, forging paperwork, lying to the Inspector General, and not carrying out their jobs?

Mr. President, in the rest of the country we don’t work that way. If my boss asks me why I didn’t do something, I really can’t fob it off on the other guy. I have this thing we call accountability. My boss is accountable to his boss when I really screw something up – I’ve heard the conference call. I know, for a fact, that the “He should have told me he was a lying incompetent.” defense doesn’t work for industry.

You, Barack Hussein Obama, took the oath of office. You are the head of the administration. The executive branch runs under you. You have a responsibility to the people to do your job well. The “it’s been a mess for decades and we all know it” defense merely means that during the last 5 years you’ve done nothing to fix it. You’ve let it linger.

I also do not buy the statement that backlogs and waiting times have gotten better. The backlog is still substantial, and is only down in comparison to it’s peak in 2013. So, it was really bad but now it’s not as bad is the victory lap statement? How about: It’s an abomination and we have not done enough. It will be the number one priority of this administration as of this second. Almost 400,000 claims are still pending. That’s huge. This volume was to be anticipated with the wars winding down, and the services being shrunk. But I guess it’s not as bad as it was so we should be happy?

I am not satisfied with the President’s statement this morning. It was weak, whiny, and insubstantial. It placed blame, as per usual with this administration, on earlier presidential administrations. It did not strongly state that criminal prosecution would follow for wrong doers – no, just “punished.” Like suspended? Ignored? Ridiculed? Perhaps the same strong medicine he dished out in Benghazi and the IRS scandals? Remember, he was maderer than hades about those as well. When was the last time you heard about anyone except a whistle-blower taking a fall on those debacles?

Mr. President, take a bit of advice from an old sailor: Man up. Admit you haven’t done enough, admit that the people who work for you haven’t done enough. Don’t tell me that the head of the department responsible for the people that did the evil deeds has promised to investigate. Turn it over to an independent party. Get the FBI involved. I, and the other veterans, will not settle for your usual response of “we’re looking into our problems.” It’s not enough.

People have died. When people die as a result of other people seeking to gain financially, that’s called murder in every state I know. Manslaughter at best.

Man up, Mr. President. We’re watching. And we aren’t going away quietly.

Death Sentence – Training Room 6B

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Part of this blog is fiction writing. Today I’m chucking out a 700 word piece of flash fiction. Written in one sitting, 15 minutes, out for your perusal. Gives me a chance to stretch my legs. Serious content resumes Thursday. Thanks for dropping by today.

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********* *********** ************

The quiver in my finger got worse with every passing moment. One hour and sixteen minutes into the training and I’d already conjured a functioning WWI Luger out of thin air. It sat at the edge of my field of vision, close enough to touch if I chose, far enough away to be outside my view if I averted my gaze.

We were now configuring ports on the unit. The instructor, an affable sort, was one of those guys who read the manual to train. Is there another way? Yeah, with the group in the room you give them the document and have them skim it before you deliver a lecture on theory and topology. Instead, he was moving the mouse down the screen and reading all of the commands, internet addresses, and check boxes for a device that would take hours to configure.

That left me with an ugly choice. Did I conjure ammunition for the Luger and use it, or did I slip out the back of the room and make a break for the parking lot. I could always claim that I’d had a stroke and didn’t remember leaving, but if I wanted it to look realistic I should at least drag a foot, drool, or fake some kind of slurred speech before I stumbled down the hall. My coworkers were so deep in their training stupor that they’d never even notice my departure. If they did, it would only be a vague memory that conflicted between all of them when management questioned them.

A decision would have to be made soon: we were configuring controllers on the ring and attaching the special fibers that allowed us to establish a stacking ring. Hollow point or ball ammunition? Poison coated or razor openings along the sides to allow fragmentation? This was a tough call.

Then it came to me. Not the Luger. No; conjure a portal in the room and escape to another dimension where I could hang out with Sam Spade and stroll around San Francisco on a hot summer’s morning. The Luger wavered in and out of reality, finally winking away with only a small spot left on the desk where some lubricating oil had leaked out of the chamber. It was a bad choice anyway; Human Resources would have frowned on that path.
Time to create the portal. The best option would be to make it a bifurcated experience. One window, up in the corner of my awareness where the class could continue, kind of like a post-it note on the upper part of your computer monitor. The rest of the portal would be a virtual reality experience where I could smell the spices in China Town, ride the cable cars, and see what Sam was up to this morning. Who knows, I might even get a chance to walk the halls of that fabulous hotel where The Fat Man had his suite.

My attention was drawn to the “navigation tree” that popped up on the screen. Only 84 pages left in the document. It was getting bad, I needed to form that portal quickly or get that Luger to conjure up again. I was busting out of here one way or the other.
I sat with my eyes fixed on the monitor in front of me and started to conjure the waterfront in San Francisco that I knew best. It was a rainy morning, wind whipping and salt heavy in the air as the gusts off of the bay captured spray from the waves smashing into the pier. The coffee in my hand was cold, the salt water taffy in my pocket sticky and damp. Not the portal I wanted.
I closed my eyes and sought a sunny afternoon in China Town. The first tang of pepper and duck was striking my nostrils when I heard it as clearly as the ring of a bell on a cable car: “OK, that covers the provisioning portion of the lesson. Let’s take lunch. See you in an hour.”

No portal needed, my Explorer was waiting in the lot and I was already sprinting up the stairs. San Francisco could wait, McDonalds was calling. I was free for the next 58 minutes.

Praying Time – And, A Welcome To All The New Readers.

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I’d like to welcome all of the readers who have dropped by in response to my post about the VA scandal on Monday. I appreciate your coming back today in hopes of a repeat performance. Indeed, more will be written about the scandal, but today I’m asking for the increased readership to lift up some people in prayer. I’ll babble again on Wednesday or Thursday.

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For now, I’d appreciate it if you’d lift my friend John, his son Micah, and the rest of his family, in prayer. They were handed some pretty tough news yesterday and while I know thousands are already praying (John has lots of friends,) your help is much appreciated. Please throw in a few extra syllables for the doctors and nurses who are caring for Micah.

Next, spend a few minutes praying for the men and women in the VA hospitals, the ones who need to be in the VA hospitals, and the ones who run the hospitals. Let God reach into some of those hard hearts and perform a miracle. Let healing wash over our brothers and sisters.

That is all. Tirades will resume within the next 48 hours.

Glad to have you aboard.

The Scandal At The Department of Veterans Affairs Is A Disgrace.

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Next Monday is Memorial Day. A day to honor those that gave their lives in service to our nation. Today I’m going to address the issue of the VA scandal – where men and women are losing their lives due to political ineptitude and greed. As was exposed in the news recently, veterans are dying so that political appointees and civil servants (not very serving in my opinion) can earn bonuses by denying treatment to our brothers and sisters who have served in the military. People who pledged to lay down their lives for us by their oath of office.

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I’ll clear the decks with a few facts first: I am a disabled veteran. Crunched parts, bad hearing, all in all, pretty well off compared to many. My wife is a disabled veteran as well. I have received treatment at the VA over the years. Some of it excellent, some of it poor. Same goes for my wife.

Most of the caregivers at the VA are solidly in the corner of the veteran in every way. Dedicated doctors, nurses, therapists, and social workers who work very hard to accord proper respect and care to their patients. The majority of the staff at the hospitals are hard working stiffs who clean floors, do laundry, plow the parking lots, and serve the food to the best of their ability. God bless them, they make it all possible.

Those are not the people I’m going after today. I am calling out John Shinseki, all of the higher echelon administrators, and any of the cowards who knew these waiting lists existed and did nothing. I’m also calling out the leadership of this organization that had the gall to spend money on refurbishing offices and holding conferences when vets couldn’t get the care they needed upon returning from active duty overseas. I’ll throw in the national leadership, including the members of Congress (especially the Senate), who have taken us for granted all of my life, but most especially the last few years.

It’s all good when you promise to clear backlogs and provide treatment as a part of your campaign promises. It’s all evil when it’s just window dressing and platitudes designed only to garner votes. This isn’t a road project in some forsaken part of a rural state. This, dear reader, is the well being of a member of our armed forces who is being left to fend for themselves when we have a moral obligation to take care of them.

There is no other group in this country that has an actual entitlement to government services and pay outside of veterans. Let me repeat that for the stubborn: only veterans are entitled to their medical care and disability pay from the federal government. It’s simple: all of us signed up to serve, or were drafted, based on a few simple things, among them the promise that if we were injured (physically or mentally) we’d be taken care of by the government; that our educational benefits (spelled out very clearly when you join the military) are held holy and are a part of the contract; and that you will be buried with your brothers and sisters if you so wish at the end of your life.

The Obama administration, with the complicity of the Congress, has turned its back on the veteran. We have young men and women living at the edge of society who are unable to get the treatment and benefits that they have earned because they’re not a favored class outside of elections. We have a VA administrator and a president, both of whom are “Mad as hell” but who won’t fire people, investigate properly, sweep things clean, or resign. What exactly does “I take full responsibility” mean if you don’t do anything afterwards?

This is not some idle, speculative, conversation I’m having inside of my own fevered head. Try to get an appointment at the VA in a timely fashion – it probably won’t happen. Some clinics can do it, most can’t. I know one veteran who’s in great pain but the next open appointment they can get for treatment is thirty days out. I see the frustration with the bureaucracy when I go to the hospital. I’ve experienced it myself in such simple things as applying for a new identification card – I got it, but it was far from a clear or easy process, and the level of staff participation in quelling our unrest was minimal.

Most appalling, the VA has nowhere near enough psychiatric workers to deal with the problems that are unique to veterans. The waiting list is long to get this help. It’s long to get in the door to begin with, but to get a regular, therapeutically needed, appointment in the mental health services is almost impossible at some facilities. Translation: human misery, suicide, destroyed families in abundance.

I’ve learned a lot of things about the VA over the last twenty years. They need to learn a few things as well. I’ll list some of them for all who care to see what I mean. Once you’re done reading this list, please take the time to call your representatives (This handy little link takes you to a web page with all the information you desire) and express your outrage at how our veterans are being treated. It’s shameful.

Lesson One: It’s a bad thing to mess with people who are trained to use weapons and kill. Seriously, pick some other group to mistreat – this bunch can strike back if you anger them, and they know how to do it – you gave them the training. Wander in to the local Legion club tonight and bring up this issue. It might scare you.

Lesson Two: The difference between bureaucratic ineptitude and callous indifference is how bad you feel at the end of the transaction. Ineptitude, in an era when the unemployment level is so high, is not acceptable. Get out the broom, clean the joint out and get employees who care.

Lesson Three: Talking to veterans helps to understand veterans. They are not like any/all other groups. Special culture, special wants and needs, special treatment required. Farming them out to other hospitals on a permanent basis is a bad idea. See lesson Four.

Lesson Four: The federal government spends more money on wasted research and projects than we can even fathom. Every one of us has heard of millions spent on research into such things as why drunks solicit prostitutes in Las Vegas, or some such nonsense. Take that money and spend it to outsource the urgent needs of our wounded and ill vets.

There is a caveat to this: it cannot be a political boondoggle like the Obamacare navigators, website builders, and data expeditors. Every company that does this work must be veteran owned, a United States company. Period. This is not a negotiable item. I’m so disgusted with, and tired of, our political class turning any kind of disaster into money in their pockets that I might start screaming and not stop for a week. If they can’t find companies to do this in about 48 hours, give the American Legion, The Disabled American Veterans, The Veterans of Foreign Wars, or the Paralyzed Veterans of America a call – I’m sure they can recommend someone reputable. Whoever is chosen, they must immediately clear the backlog of claims paperwork (a reasonable time would be 60 days) and get veterans in for treatment. This does not mean that adjudication of the claims needs to be farmed out, just getting the darned paperwork done and some provisional treatment and payment rolling.

It does not matter, in my less than humble opinion, if the injury/illness/psychiatric issue is service connected at this point. If the person is a verifiable veteran, start the treatment. Once their claim is adjudicated then either continue the treatment or end the treatment. We have screwed around so long, and denied our vets treatment and monetary payment far past what’s reasonable. The same goes with disability payments. Put a hold on paying any new claims until they are adjudicated, but any claim already submitted should be paid right now. People are homeless and hungry as a result of this debacle. Yes, we will pay out some fraudulent claims. But that beats veterans killing themselves in poverty because their Uncle turned his back on them. I’d rather waste a few bucks on my vets than on the scammers that usually get the cash.

Once the paperwork is done, appoint a council of veterans to adjudicate the backlogs of cases in conjunction with the VA. Get their help and sort this mess out.

I’d also like to give a leadership lesson while I’m at it, so pay attention in Washington. First, Shinseki’s most notable accomplishment as an officer was making sure that the United States Army spent a bucket of money on berets. Making that the standard headgear was the equivalent of giving every kid a trophy at the end of the game, win-lose-or-draw. It annoyed the elite units. To this day I won’t wear a beret because I didn’t earn it. That includes red ones for Santa. Shinseki said that we were such a great military that all of our soldiers were elite (or, words to that effect, see the hilarious press release .) So, Eric needs to go. He’s had 5 years to fix the VA and hasn’t really done a whole lot that I can see.

Next leadership lesson is for the President. I realize that I was just a silly little E-5, CTI2, Non-commissioned officer, not a lofty big shot with a fancy college degree – wait, I’ve got a couple of those. I guess I do have more time in leadership positions than the administration. Telling me that you’re mad as hell through leaks from your aides means nothing. Blah, Blah, Blah. Get off the dime and do some of the heavy lifting or you’re as useless as the beanie giver Shinseki. So, with all due respect, Sir, here’s how you handle it (feel free to quote me and use this verbatim):

My fellow Americans, I am disgusted with the deception and degradation heaped upon our veterans. I have, as of noon today, terminated all political appointees involved in this scandal, beginning with Eric Shinseki and all of the heads of VA offices where these allegations have been lodged. They are all appointees; none has a right to a job. All civil servants involved in the scandal have been placed on paid leave until this is sorted out. All who are found to have broken the law, or violated the trust of our military and veterans, will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. To this end, I have engaged a selection of investigators from the financial fraud unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation to work under a special prosecutor. This prosecutor is a decorated veteran and attorney and will provide a public report daily on a new website set up solely for this purpose. He will answer to the commission I will describe in a moment.

Because I take this so seriously, I am issuing the following Executive Order, effective immediately:

All state dinners, travel, entertainment events, and celebrations will be suspended at the Cabinet level, including the White House and the Office of The Vice President, until the entire backlog of Veteran’s Administration claims is adjudicated. Once the backlog is cleared, normal events may resume. Until that time, all of the focus will be on doing the right thing for our warriors. There will be no exceptions.

I will personally bring to you, each Saturday, an update on the number of cases left unresolved and what we have done in the previous week to take care of the situation. I will be staying here, in the White House, until this is done. I am cancelling all family travel as well: Michelle and the girls will be working with homeless veterans in the Washington area as an expression of our desire to make this right. We cannot continue to live lives of luxury while a single wounded service member is not taken care of because of our ineptitude.

A commission of representatives selected by the American Legion, The VFW, and the Wounded Warrior Project will be brought in for meetings in the White House beginning the day after tomorrow until we can find solutions to this problem. We will meet every day until they are satisfied with the government’s progress. The sessions will be broadcast live on the web through the whitehouse.gov website and on C-span if they wish to pick up our feed.

I apologize, and I am ashamed, that this got so out of control. I will make it right to the people who pledged their lives to this country, so help me, God. If not, I will resign the presidency at the end of six months. It is only right that we pursue this vigorously. It is not as if we didn’t know these good people were coming home from war and would need this treatment. It is especially heinous that we have broken our promises to people of many generations, veterans who have rushed the gates of hell and defended our liberty, in order that a greedy few might receive a bonus.

There you go, Mr. President. The ball’s in your court. Do the right thing and do it now.