Over the last decade I’ve done almost 30 audio books. Some are simply wonderful, a couple are good but bland, but all were interesting and engaged me as a narrator for some reason or another.
Now I can present the “heart” audio books that tell the tale of my tribe. My people, Cryptologic Technicians, descend from THE ON-THE-ROOF GANG who are brilliantly depicted in this pair of historical novels written by Matt Zullo, a fellow linguist.
Matt and I were at language school at the same time, but I didn’t know him as a friend. We were in different languages and only overlapped for a short period of time. Years later we teamed up to do this audio book, and I’ve got to say it’s my best yet. Largely because I loved telling the story of my people, my spook ancestors.
Both volume one and volume two are now available on Audible.
If you click the pictures below, they will take you to Volume I and Volume II respectively. You will find 20 hours of fascinating history and the true story of how radio intelligence won the battles of WWII before they happened on the field of conquest. I am very proud of these, and encourage you to listen and review them!
There is an entire field of study devoted to studying what is left behind by humans in their trash dumps: Archeology. In my universe it might be reflected by the more modern term of garbology.
Either way, it works out like this: cheap washing machines, microwaves, worn tires, and general trash litter the roads throughout our nation. You get used to seeing some of them and write off the vermin that pitch stuff out of the back of their truck as hopeless members of the swine community.
For the past two years, I have been walking the roads around my house in Florida on a regular basis. You get to to the point where you are familiar with all the spots the farm workers (I live near several industrial-sized farms) throw their crap out of the windows as they zoom home, or back from dinner. Wrappers and beer cans all over one road in particular.
This past week I noticed a trend in the trash: no longer was Nodelo the favored can on the top layer of trash.
Now, I have to say, that Nodelo is on sale around this area all the time, and was without a doubt the cheapest cerveza you can buy in most liquor stores. Speaking from my experience as a beer drinker, when its 95 degrees, sunny, and the end of a long day, even a mediocre beer (or five) is a darned fine thing. You ain’t sippin’ cognac to cool off as you blast down the dirt road next to the swamp on the way home from the farm.
However, as a practiced garbologist, it became abundantly clear to me that something major had changed in the past two months. Nodelo is virtually absent (as are other brands) on the road itself, and exists only on the shoulders of the road where all older trash migrates.
Nope, the new champion beer of choice for thirsty farm workers is Spud Light. Yes, almost all of the cans flattened by vehicles on my route are now Spud Light.
Is this because the population from Guatemala, El Salvador, Mexico, and Venezuela is the rock upon which the LGBTQIA+%& movement is based?
Again, no. You see, the retailers around here are giving the crap away because they can’t sell it. You won’t find a cheaper beer in this area than Spud Light. Over the most recent holiday weekend, you could buy a big box of it for $15 and mail in a proof of purchase to get a voucher for $15. Your beer is free if you just wait a while for the coupon to arrive.
Free beer, as any sailor can tell you, is the best beer. Dullan Mulveigny does not impact the sale of crappy beer to thirsty people with no money. They don’t care. But the retailers certainly do, and they can’t unload it fast enough to make shelf space for the next brand to push into it’s place.
Interestingly, Nodelo is now the top of the heap for sales, having taken Spud Light to the cleaners. I delight in the pushback on Transheiser Bush pushing their viewpoint out there and getting clobbered. They didn’t appreciate their market, and when they decided to change it, they skipped out into the middle of the minefield and then did belly flops to see what would happen. It wasn’t pretty.
I’ll keep you posted if this changes, but for the moment it’s nothing but blue cans on my walking route.
[Note: I purposely chose my images and didnt spell things correctly to avoid any major corporations having a problem with me.]
For those of you not aware, there is a magnificent movie entitled SOUND OF FREEDOM currently showing in theaters. It is the story of the child trafficking that happens every day. Children sold into sexual slavery and a life more terrible than most of us can even fathom. Go see it.
Some of you may be unaware that I wrote a novel about human trafficking entitled NICHOLAS OF HAITI. It is the book I am most proud of, and I love the story. I had forgotten how powerful the book is until a new friend said he’d read it and it reminded him of the furor surrounding SOUND OF FREEDOM.
I haven’t written a lot this year, last year was consumed with writing our devotional for First Responders, and before that something about moving and doing audio books seemed an issue.
But I am working on my first novel again. Yes, that one that no author ever seems to publish because it sucked so badly that all the dust in the room fell into the black hole on the hard drive next to it. Seriously, I’m doing a rewrite/edit and hope to get it done sometime this year.
That might be a good trick, I have 3 novels ahead of it on the recording schedule, but I’m going to give it a shot.
In the meantime, go see SOUND OF FREEDOM and buy a copy of NICHOLAS OF HAITI. The kids would love it.
I am revisiting this post because it sings to me. Also, I realized I went all of June with no posts. Bad blogger, naughty, naughty. Busy is not an excuse. I will work on it. In the meantime, enjoy your freedom and remember that there are thousands of fellow Americans standing on the ramparts, under the sea, and overseas defending your rights this very moment. We must pay that bill each day to keep free.
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We celebrate our independence from Great Britain on July 4th. Big deal, right? I mean, the Brits are pretty cool. They have better bands, better medical for the poor, etc. So what.
To put this in historical perspective, Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Franklin, and the others all stood up and said, “Get out. Go back to England and take your tyranny with you.” Each knew they might be dead at the end of a rope for saying this, and that all their property would be forfeit to the King. They would leave their families nothing and die as traitors.
But these men, all of whom shared a vision, banded together and threw out the most powerful nation on Earth. How? Well, a lot of them had guns. The kind of guns that the opponents of the Second Amendment won’t acknowledge: privately owned guns. You see, a “well organized militia” at that time just meant that you couldn’t claim the protection of the Constitution if you were a lone jerk with a rifle shooting tax collectors for fun. Nope. But when you, and your fellow subjects, decided to become citizens and not subjects, that’s what the guns were for. Not hunting. Not even home protection. But your right to keep an oppressive government off of your back.
Recently, a very liberal friend of mine said, “I wanted to ask your opinion on this because you’re pretty anti-government.” I laughed. Then I thought about it some more. I am pretty anti-government. I like not having some jerk in city hall, or the state capital, or Washington, decide how many eggs I can eat for breakfast. Laugh if you will, but the Nanny State is already deciding how many ounces of soda you can buy in one serving. More than being anti-government, I’m anti-stupid. It’s just that the Venn Diagram of Stupid and Government overlaps almost perfectly.
Government should be far smaller than what it is now. The founders figured it would be good for collecting tariffs and organizing our defense. Not much else. Too many things are overly regulated by, and subsidized by government. The feds are the worst: they think that if it happens inside of the borders, they ought to have a piece of the action. Shall we explain federalism?
But for the Fourth, let’s go back to where it all started: individual freedom granted by God. Last time I looked, Nancy Pelosi and Chucky Schumer had about as much right to tell me where my moral compass is out of skew as Charles Manson and Ted Bundy. The second pair are better, both are already burning in hell. We, the American people need to vote these fossilized remnants of another age out of office. Term limits on every office. Once again, citizen legislators to represent the people, not their retirement check. Right now, the ensemble in most legislative bodies, as well as city councils, does not have the average citizen in mind when they rule.
I love this country. I have served this country. I will defend it if called upon again. I advocate no violence against any politician, but I do advocate a damned good thrashing at the ballot box in every election for every incumbent.
I leave you with a song that never fails to move me. I can still tell you where I was the very first time I heard it: University Avenue in Saint Paul, Minnesota outside a car dealership where I was helping my mom shop for a car. Enjoy it today, along with the freedoms so many have given their all to provide.
Evans peeled himself off the deck and looked around. Everything looked normal, except that it was way too quiet. Standing next to the shaft as it rotated should be very loud. This was very quiet.
A moment later, his Chief walked over and stared at the gigantic pipe that allowed seawater to come in and cool the reactor. “I was sure that thing had sprung a leak. It started out making a hissing noise and then it seemed to let loose. Hundreds of gallons a second. We took a hit on the reactor and then it went dark just as I figured out where the leak was. Leak, hell, more like a gaping hole. The welds just let loose. But here we are and it looks like it just came out of the yards. What the heck is going on?”
Evans shook his head in dismay and realized that his stiff neck wasn’t so stiff anymore. “Hey, Chief, is your knee still sore where you got whacked Monday?”
The Chief picked his foot up and flexed his knee a couple of times. “Nope, feels great. Hey, looks like we’ve got an up-angle on the boat. Wonder what’s up?”
The 1MC speaker in the compartment was clearly heard for the first time in memory: no engine noise to drown it out. “Attention all hands. We’re still trying to figure out what happened a few minutes ago. We’re at 450 feet depth and headed to the roof. The XO and I are still trying to put that in order with our excursion to test depth just as the lights went out. We’ll keep you updated.”
Ten minutes later, they hit the magic mark for periscope depth. The scope went up and the Captain gave the all clear, no shadows no objects in sight. Up to the surface they went, and the bridge was manned, allowing fresh air into the boat for the first time in days. While all this was going on, damage control parties scoured the boat, but could find nothing out of order.
Once on the surface, the lookouts started pointing out smoke and the wakes of other ships in the area. It was as if they’d appeared out of thin air.
Twenty minutes later, with a full repel boarders team on the sail armed to the teeth, the first of the mystery vessels hove to just abeam of the boat. A pasty faced man with a megaphone stood in the conning tower of a Gato class boat – which hadn’t been around for decades at this point. What navy still sailed these ancient boats?
That question was answered a moment later when the man with the megaphone identified himself as the skipper of the U.S.S. Grunion. “Ahoy, United States Submarine to my starboard. This is the Grunion. Can you hear me?”
The skipper of the nuclear boat shook his head. He must be hallucinating, because he remembered the fate of the Grunion from his time at the Naval Academy. While he thought of his response, another boat pulled up on his other side. And her hull number showed her to be the U.S.S. Thresher. Another boat that was lost before he was born. What the heck was happening here?
“I hear you, Grunion. What’s going on here? You were reported lost in the early days of WWII?”
“It’s Memorial Day back home, Captain. Each year we all meet up and have a steel beach party, or head to that island off your nose for a big barbecue. This year it’s the beach for us. All of us on Eternal Patrol have but each other in this afterlife. And while we still patrol for the United States Navy, we are due some beer and brisket once a year. Today’s the day.”
The boat’s captain just stared at the dozens of boats now gathered around him, most hooting their horns in welcome. “Is there a port on the island?”
The Grunion’s captain laughed, “No need. The laws of physics are suspended on this day each year. Just drive up on the beach at a couple of knots. Tide comes in about 8 hours from now and we just float off and go back on patrol. You’re our newest boat, you guys just joined this elite fleet a week ago. They’re still looking for you off the Canary Islands. But don’t worry, they’ll find you Thursday and let your families know.”
The Captain keyed the bridge microphone and directed the helm to make for the island at 3 knots. He turned to the X.O. (Executive Officer) and said, “I knew we were screwed when we passed through test depth. But this looks to be interesting. You sure the boat is absolutely perfect physically?”
The X.O. nodded. “Yessir, and it appears we have stores on board for a very long patrol.
The Captain smiled. “Like on Eternal Patrol?”
“Yessir, exactly like that. But I can’t wait to hear the stories those smoke boat guys have to tell. I’ll get the cooks to make that vanilla pudding you like so much and pull all the scoopie ice cream out of the reefers for the beach. And, Sir, I’m glad it’s this crew for the rest of eternity. Best bunch of sailors ever.”
“Thanks, X.O. Looks like we might even get every NUB on board qualified before we go on to the next stop. First boat in a long time to manage that trick.” And one-by-one, all of the boats in the flotilla pointed toward the island just off their bows and headed to meet the other men who had been on patrol for decades.
