fact or fiction
Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about the military and the physical, logistical, emotional and moral obstacles involved.
Mike Smith Is Dead—Pt. 18
Rosa slept fitfully on a davenport for two days before her host met her at breakfast and said, “There’s a government truck coming up from Bogota to get the mail out of the airplane. They’ll have to build a trail to the aircraft, but I doubt they’ll come up to the ranch. We buried the pilot the other night up in the family graveyard. I have his ID and billfold so we will contact the airport next time we go to the city and they can find his family if any.” He paused. “Oh, I asked for medical when I told them about the airplane, but I might as well been asking for a Christmas tree delivered by Santa from the North Pole. So, I don’t know what will come. I tried that number you gave me in Costa Rica again, but there was no answer. Someday maybe we will get a cellular tower up in this part of the country.”
By Dub Wright7 years ago in Serve
Mike Smith Is Dead—Pt. 16
By nine that evening they were sitting in the Rum Point restaurant on Grand Cayman. Entering the island republic was not much of a chore, especially when Kip announced it was for banking business. A taxi took Rosa to the Funky Monkey clothing store where she purchased four days of clothes for Kip and herself plus a suitcase and toiletries. Kip spent the early evening at The Royal Bank of Canada where he deposited all but ten thousand dollars of US currency in the bank, and secured a bank note of his deposit. The remaining ten thousand dollars in Calones he handed to Sonny with a request for a drop at St. Croix.
By Dub Wright7 years ago in Serve
Mike Smith Is Dead—Pt. 1
Foreward US intervention in El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala may seem like a hazy memory now, but these countries used to feature prominently in world headlines. The civil war in El Salvador, for example, began in 1980 and only ended in 1992.
By Dub Wright7 years ago in Serve
The Shadow Rider
Out of the pages of history, galloping across the western plains of the Old West rides a lone crusader bringing law and order to an otherwise lawless land. With stealth and cunning many an outlaw met his fate. Horace Mann was broad of shoulder, and narrow at the hip, and everywhere he went the long arm of the law was not far away. With steely blue eyes wearing his white Stetson he struck terror in those who broke the law. The Stetson, the hat that was to become synonymous with western lore became the embodiment of truth and justice, which set him apart from the outlaws of the time. Atop his Appaloosa, sitting tall in the saddle with his Winchester at the ready, everyone knew in an instant that justice would soon be served. As fast as he was with a six shooter, the deadly aim of his Winchester many an outlaw found himself entombed on Boot Hill. His fame and his legend spread through-out the West. Soon news of his exploits reached places like New York where newspapers dubbed him The Shadow Rider. The man and his Winchester found its way into dime novels where many a young boy fantasized riding the plains of the wild west.
By Dr. Williams7 years ago in Serve
My Life in the Military
The date was February 7, 1965. I just had my 20th birthday, and the day after I was called into war. There I was, in a foxhole with a pistol on my side, and a M16 both with only 100 rounds. All of the sudden I could hear a mortar coming down right towards me. I got out of the foxhole just in time for the mortar to hit. I ran into cover, trying not to take a bullet from the enemy. I was in cover behind an old tractor. I ran for at least 20 yards. At that time, I didn't see someone with a hatchet coming for me, but at the last minute I pulled out my pistol, and shot him right in the middle of his Adam's apple, and I could hear him choking on his own blood for 30 seconds before he died. That was my first ever kill in the military, and I didn't really feel that good having to kill, and watch as he started bleeding out right in front of me, but I knew I had to kill or be killed. At the end of my first day at war, I was still a little shocked that I had to kill someone, but I knew he wanted to kill me, so I just started drinking till the memory of what I did wen't away. That was the end of my first day at war.
By Mcdaveo Brand7 years ago in Serve
