Tag Archives: Marines

Current Events, videos

The New USMC

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While I have pretty much remained silent about CMC Berger’s FD 2030, there has been and continues to be a plethora of verbiage about it. And as far as I have been able to ascertain none of it has been good. I reckon I considered it a long gone conclusion with the new CMC simply carrying on his predecessor’s image of the new Corps. In nine days the world is going to change, make no mistake about that; the proverbial shit will hit the fan globally, not just here in the US. Our mainstream nerds will have so much to talk about it isn’t even funny. I will start watching the news again, except it will be either CNN or that ridiculous MSNBC. I can’t wait to hear their spins.

But I digress. FD 2030 is a disaster; our Corps is not the same and there is some serious doubt that it never will again be America’s 911 Force. The divestitures were HUGE, so much so that anyone who thinks it can still respond to an urgent crisis somewhere in the world is living under a rock. Do you actually know what all was given up?

Here is an article written by Captain Dale Dye, USMC (Ret). In case you don’t know of him, once he retired he became a favorite consultant in Hollywood for any producer who wanted to show or talk about Marines. In fact, he convinced producer Oliver Stone to let him put the principal actors—including Charlie Sheen, Willem Dafoe, Johnny Depp, and Forest Whitaker—through an immersive 30-day military-style training regimen before the filming of Platoon. He limited how much food and water they received; when the actors slept, he fired cartridge blanks to keep them awake. Dale who had a small role in the movie as Captain Harris, also wrote the novelization based on Stone’s screenplay.

Here, in his usual uncensored style, is a good recount of everything that has happened since Berger’s stroke of his pen behind closed doors.

Marine Swords Beaten into Puny Plowshares

Not likely anyone in authority will be influenced by a long-retired Mustang bitching about the state of today’s Marine Corps, but I feel compelled to lob a few grenades at Force Design 2030. That’s the radical restructuring of the Corps ordered by former Commandant General David Berger in a sleazy backroom deal that demanded all the sycophants involved sign non-disclosure agreements. Since it was announced three years ago, the revamping of Marine missions, tactics, and techniques has created a defecation deluge from opponents who believe—as I do—that the whole thing has a lot in common with a jet engine. It sucks and blows.

Before I get into the weeds here, let me say a thing or two about the general mission and offensive ethos of the United States Marine Corps. Simply stated, the Corps is—or was—always designed to be the country’s 911 force, most ready to fight when the nation is least ready. It’s meant to be the crash crew in crisis response anyplace and anytime around the world. The key asset for global combatant commanders was a Marine Corps air-ground team (MAGTF) always forward deployed—usually aboard Navy amphibs—trained, equipped, and instantly ready to handle any mission in the full range of military operations.

For some reason known only to General Berger and his clones, that wasn’t good enough for a force facing China in the Western Pacific as the perceived priority threat. Rather than tweak weapons, training, and positioning to meet that challenge as Marines typically do, they decided to throw the baby out with the bathwater and ordered a tactical shift to defense with primary focus on small teams of missile-armed Marines who would jump from island to island in efforts to damage or deter a growing Chinese blue-water fleet in the event of a shooting war in the Western Pacific. The Navy—and certainly the Army—currently has a plethora of missiles capable of sinking ships. Here’s a hint. If you want to avoid redundancy arguments, don’t try to do something another service already does and probably does it better than you can.

Not much thought—if any—was given to moving these small vulnerable Marine detachments, much less resupplying and otherwise supporting them under the ever vigilant eyes of Chinese radars, satellites, and cyber capture networks. And apparently never mind if the sovereign nations that claim the territory Marines would need to launch their ship-killer missiles want no part of a super-power fight. What if—as entirely likely—those sovereign nations deny the Marines those operational bases? I’ll wait while someone thinks that through.

Under this misbegotten concept, the US Navy has a huge vote as the provider of small, fast amphibious ships needed to move Marines. And they voted no. Not only do we have insufficient gator freighters in our current fleet, but the Navy has no apparent plans to produce the smaller inter-island transports called for under FD 2030.

Screwing around with the Marine’s central mission—locate, close with, and destroy the enemy by fire and maneuver—threatens to turn the US Marine Corps into a single-mission niche outfit ready to die in place on remote islands and unready to handle crises anywhere else. It puts Marines in a defensive posture when our time-tested ethos has always been the offense, forward deployed and eager to fight any enemy. It’s that attitude that used to permeate Marine ranks and kept us supplied with avid young recruits. Seems to me given the puny recruiting numbers we’re seeing from all the other services, the Marine Corps can ill-afford to sacrifice this aspect of their gung-ho, first-to-fight reputation.

In order to twist itself around this maypole of new war fighting concepts, General Berger cooked the books in what he called “divest to invest” which basically amounts to robbing Peter to pay Paul as my Dad used to call false-economy measures. That little bookkeeping maneuver made some $16 billion available which the new model planners spent on long-range missile batteries, drones, and other high-tech goodies to equip what are now proudly called Marine Littoral Regiments. Fine if all future fights are in littoral areas of the world but history begs us not to bank on that.

Most stunning in an outfit that focuses on the combat power of basic infantry, FD 2030 orders a reduction of three full battalions from the point of the Marine Corps bayonet, or a loss of 14 percent of combat strength. If that wasn’t dumb enough in formations that face inevitable casualties in ground combat, the end-strength for a Marine infantry battalion has been reduced by 200 Marines across the board which translates to a loss of 4,200 frontline war fighters. Marine Corps Reserves won’t be there to fill in the gaps. The reserves lost two full infantry battalions under the FD 2030 axe.

None of this seemed to bother force designers all that much as they also eliminated all—that’s correct all—Marine Corps tanks. So much for lessons learned in Ukraine or the Middle East. Supporters say if the Marines need tanks in a future fight, the US Army will provide them. That’s unlikely to be any kind of high priority for an Army outfit that might well be engaged in its own fight. And even if they were willing to cough up a platoon or two of Abrams, it would likely be at the end of a lengthy and complicated pipeline. Marines need tanks at hand, not in some remote Army motor pool.

Which brings me kicking and screaming to the matter of fire support for what’s left of Marine Corps maneuver battalions in the next fight. God help the grunt commander who needs quick and accurate artillery fire support, a reliable staple of infantry combat in modern times. He might not get it as FD 2030 cut a full 16 battalions of cannon artillery for a firepower reduction of a whopping 76 percent. Savings were spent to stand up 14 rocket artillery battalions which is OK if you’re shooting over the horizon at Chinese ships, but not worth a damn to a grunt outfit pinned down and in need of rapid steel on target at close ranges in crappy weather. We will hopefully live to regret this emasculation of versatile, reliable tube artillery. If you have any doubts about the utility of cannons and howitzers on the modern battlefield, let me direct your attention to the Ukraine where artillery on both sides is proving to be a deciding factor.

Another dumb-ass divestiture under FD 2030 came in Marine Corps aviation. One of the most brilliant assets of forward-deployed Marine units is that they come to the fight carrying their own air support. Both fixed-wing and rotary-wing aviation was quickly available to a MAGTF commander who could call it up and then down on an enemy without having to ask the Air Force or compete with other battlefield priorities. Not so simple these days.

FD 2030 cut almost 30 percent of tactical and logistical aviation support. Offensive aviation cuts included at least two of seven light attack helicopter squadrons which will be sorely missed by grunts on the ground who always appreciate the quickly available support of helicopter gunships. Also eliminated were three of the current 17 Osprey tilt-rotor squadrons and three of eight heavy-lift helicopter units. With the Corps struggling to field a reliable sea-shore connector—the new Amphibious Combat Vehicle is still not approved for deployment—now seems like a hell of a time to be cutting aviation logistic and transportation support.

I could go on here about the elimination of engineer support units such as bridging and breeching units that are always a valuable and versatile piece of the battlefield toolbox, but my morale might not survive it. What’s keeping me afloat as an old but loyal believer in the spirit and inherent value of the Corps, is the controversy at very high and influential levels that surrounds the changes mandated by FD 2030. Wiser heads than mine are arguing for a return to sanity. It may take some long and bloody time to correct our course, but I believe we will do just that.

In the end active-duty Marines, veterans, fans, and friends of the Corps will demand it. As General Brute Krulak wisely said back in 1957, “America does not need a Marine Corps. It wants one.” And the one it wants is not the one that’s being shaped by Force Design 2030.

I was fortunate enough to meet Dale while I was at Marine Barracks, NAS, Lemoore CA. It was during an attempt to have Brian Dennehy as our guest for a birthday ball. Quite an impressive guy to represent our Corps to Hollywood.

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Fifty-nine Years Ago Today

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Teddy Wood (now deceased) and I boarded a train at around 0900 headed south. That day is permanently etched in my brain housing group, never to be forgotten. Here’s a sneak peak at my book as to what happened as the day moved on.

Chapter Two (Excerpt)

I had been entrusted with a large, sealed manila envelope. I was to deliver it to someone in charge when we arrived at our destination. He informed the group that I was in charge—my first responsibility as a future Marine.

I don’t remember much about the train ride except that we were assigned to a specific car where we were told to remain for the entire trip. I recall that some of the boys brought along a considerable amount of beer smuggled in their baggage. They shared with some of the others, but I was much too nervous to do any drinking. I remember one of the bigger boys boasting as to how he was going to breeze through this training—he wasn’t about to take any guff from the drill sergeants.

With each stop along the way, our car became more crowded with more boys on their way to this infamous place with an exotic-sounding name—Parris Island.

Most of us were asleep when the conductor shouted out that this was our stop—Beaufort, South Carolina. I stepped off the train with a cigarette in my mouth. The next thing I knew it flew off somewhere into space with what I thought were a few of my teeth. This cantankerous Marine fellow, wearing a hat I’d last seen on a bear with a shovel in his paw on National Forest Service posters, was screaming for us to do something. I had no idea then how symbolic that hat was nor that I myself would someday wear it.

Everyone was running in circles, bumping into each other, falling down. The greeting Marine was screaming, “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” which we were certainly doing, but had no idea where to. I heard someone crying out for his mother. Another boy was screaming for help—surprisingly, it was the one who bragged about not taking any guff from the drill sergeants.

It was unbelievable. Absolute chaos ensued. Finally, after several minutes of the Marine shouting at us, he pointed to a building. We all ran towards it, jamming the doorway, attempting to get through it and out of the way of the wrath we had encountered.

Inside the building were steel beds stacked two high and bright lights in the ceiling, shades hanging over them. We were told to get in a rack. What the hell is a rack? we wondered. I didn’t recognize anything that might be a rack, so it was sheer chaos again as we all tried to figure out what exactly it was this fellow was directing us to get into.

Finally, someone jumped onto one of the steel beds whereupon we all followed suit; some beds even had two boys squeezed together. The Marine yelled, “FREEZE!” There was total silence except for the springs of the steel beds squeaking slightly as we all lay very still. He turned out the lights, and slowly paced up and down the center of the room while telling us we were shit, slimy civilian shit. We were in for one hell of a time when morning came, he warned, so we’d best get some sleep since it would be the last time we’d sleep for the next four months.

Welcome to boot camp!

I don’t know how long I slept or if I even slept at all, but suddenly the lights came on and a loud banging sound awoke everyone as a Marine was screaming at us to get in front of our racks. The large metal trash can he’d thrown was still rolling around the floor as we scrambled from our supremely uncomfortable beds—now to be known as ‘racks’. We were then herded outside onto a greyhound-type bus. I had no idea what time it was except that it was pitch black and cold.

As I was boarding the bus, I remembered the manila envelope, which I had absent-mindedly left lying on my rack. I was to have surrendered it to the appropriate person upon arrival—my first responsibility as a Marine and I’d blown it. I really did not want to approach the Marine in charge, but I had no choice since I had to retrieve that envelope. I reluctantly approached him to tell him that I “needed to go back into the building to ….” I never finished the sentence. He was screaming and spitting saliva in my face. I had no idea what he was saying, but I sure wasn’t going to ask him to repeat it. He shoved me towards the building. I ran in, found the envelope, and scrammed back outside. By the time I returned to the bus, I was the last one to board thereby forcing me to sit up front next to the ill-tempered, Smokey Bear hatted Marine. I developed goose bumps as I took my seat, so close to this fearsome devil that I was expecting him to chew my head off just for kicks.

I distinctly remember the bus passing through a gate and seeing the Marine sentry smiling as we drove past. It was a long ride from the gate through swamps on both sides of the road. I could see nothing out the window—no lights—nothing that gave a hint of civilization.

We finally came to some buildings whereupon we were herded off the bus into a classroom filled with school chairs, the types that have a small desk attached to them. There were several other Marines waiting there for us.

After much shouting for us to find a seat and sit our slimy asses in it, they had us fill out a post card addressed to our parents. We were told to write them that we had arrived safe and would write again later. Then they hurried us into another part of the building where we went through a line with a metal tray held out in front of us while someone piled food onto it. We ate in total silence. When we finished—mind you, this was not as leisurely a breakfast as we had been accustomed to at home—we were herded back into the classroom.

The sun was just rising on our first morning as recruits—literally as well as symbolically.

 

PS. From this day on my life changed forever!

 

Originally posted 2017-03-06 12:36:53.

Current Events, Recent Posts

Seventy-Two Years Ago

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Iwo Jima: a volcanic island 660 miles south of Tokyo; 2 miles wide by 4 miles long. Today, seventy-two years ago U.S. Marines invaded Iwo Jima after months of naval and air bombardment. The Japanese defenders of the island were dug into bunkers deep within the volcanic rocks. Approximately 70,000 U.S. Marines and 18,000 Japanese soldiers took part in the battle. In thirty-six days of fighting on the island, nearly 7,000 U.S. Marines were killed. Another 20,000 were wounded. Marines captured 216 Japanese soldiers; the rest were killed in action. The island was finally declared secured on March 16, 1945. It was one of the bloodiest battles in Marine Corps history.

As I do every year, I received an email Commander Victor H. Krulak, USN, Chaplains Corps (Ret) who was our battalion chaplain in Second Battalion, Seventh Marines at San Mateo, MCB, Camp Pendleton, CA in the early 70’s. He said:

As is my wont again on this 72nd anniversary of the landing on Iwo Jima, I am sending the remarks of Rabbi Gittelsohn at the dedication of the 5th Division Cemetery at the end of the battle as a reminder of the great cost of this battle that is so much a part of the legacy of the Marine Corps.

S/F, Vic

Rabbi Roland B. Gittelsohn at the Dedication of the 5th Marine Division Cemetery on Iwo Jima.

This is perhaps the grimmest, and surely the holiest task we have faced since D-Day. Here, before us lie the bodies of comrades and friends. Men who until yesterday or last week laughed with us, joked with us, trained with us. Men who were on the same ships with us, and went over the sides with us as we prepared to hit the beaches of this island. Men who fought with us and feared with us. Somewhere in this plot of ground there may lie the man who could have discovered the cure for cancer. Under one of these Christian
crosses, or beneath a Jewish Star of David, there may rest now a man who was destined to be a great prophet — to find the way, perhaps, for all to live in plenty, with poverty and hardship for none. Now they lie here silently in this sacred soil, and we gather to
consecrate this earth in their memory.

It is not easy to do so. Some of us have buried our closest friends here. We saw these men killed before our very eyes. Any one of us might have died in their places. Indeed, some of us are alive and breathing at this very moment only because men who lie here
beneath us had the courage and strength to give their lives for ours. To speak in memory of such men as these is not easy. Of them too  an it be said with utter truth: “The world will little note nor long remember what we say here.” It can never forget what they did
here.”

No, our poor power of speech can add nothing to what these men and the other dead who are not here have already done. All that we even hope to do is follow their example. To show the same selfless courage in peace that they did in war. To swear that by the grace
of God and the stubborn strength and power of human will, their sons and ours shall never suffer these pains again. These men have done their job well. They have paid the ghastly price of freedom. If that freedom be once again lost, as it was after the last war, the unforgivable blame will be ours not theirs. So it is we the living who are here to be dedicated and consecrated.

Too much blood has gone into this soil for us to let it lie barren. Too much pain and heartache have fertilized the earth on which we stand. We here solemnly swear: This shall not be in vain! Out of this, and from the suffering and sorrow of those who mourn this, will come — we promise — the birth of a new freedom for the sons of men everywhere.

God Bless them all, each and every one of them. These events are all but forgotten to the youth of today’s America. Our new educational system rather teaches worldly events of no value or consequence to our own country. I pray that will change with the new leaders!

Originally posted 2017-02-19 12:55:26.

Current Events, videos

Sgt Penny, USMC

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Another great contribution from Greg

 

Saving Sgt. Penny                                                                By: Greg Maresca

Daniel Penny joined dignitaries at the Army-Navy football game last Saturday as an invited guest of Vice President-elect J.D. Vance. In contrast to our times, if it was up to the denizens of the left, Penny would be in a jail cell for the rest of his life.

It was in May 2023 that a 30-year-old homeless schizophrenic named Jordan Neely, high on synthetic marijuana, threatened subway riders in the bowels of Manhattan. Neely’s criminal credentials included 42 arrests from theft to assault. Neely’s repertoire during this subterranean ride included throwing garbage and issuing death threats.

Amid Neely’s increasing volume and threats was 24-year-old Marine Corps Sgt. Daniel Penny who did what so many simply won’t – he selflessly acted to protect those around him. From the Halls of Montezuma to the subways of New York. Penny’s courage prevailed over woke cowardice underscoring the refrain on how a Marine can be your best friend or your worst enemy.

There is nothing like the subway during those notorious “off hours” while riding the “local” because the entertainment is always free, but it can go dark very quickly as this incident proved.

Penny subdued Neely by placing him in a chokehold.

Neely later died while in medical custody.

That fateful subway car was filled with passengers, many of whom were black and Hispanic, who didn’t miss a beat in expressing their gratitude for Penny’s decisive action. Their gratitude was ignored by the New York media. For Penny’s efforts, he was arrested and charged with negligent homicide by Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg.

Another story ignored by the mainstream media and reported by black conservative writer Larry Elder noted that on the same day Penny pleaded not guilty, “Jordan Williams and his girlfriend, who are both black, were on a Brooklyn subway train when Williams, 20 years old, was approached by an aggressive 36-year-old ex-con homeless black man, Devictor Ouedraogo. In a confrontation captured on video, Ouedraogo punched Williams’ girlfriend in the face, and Williams then pulled a knife and fatality stabbed Ouedraogo. Unlike in the case of Penny, no activists publicly accused Williams of engaging in “racially motivated vigilantism.”

All charges were dropped against Williams, while Penny’s lengthy trial was just getting underway.

Leftists understand Neely not as a menacing threat to society, but as an unfortunate victim since he was black. Provided Neely was white, and Penny was black, this would be a nonissue. Moreover, if both were black, or if both were white – no charges – just another carefree day riding the BMT.

Neely posed a threat to passengers on the subway, many, if not most, of whom were black. The D.A. who charged Penny is black. The mayor of New York, who praised Penny’s heroism, is black and a retired NYPD captain. The jury that found Penny not guilty included four “people of color.”

Yet, Penny’s acquittal, according to the head of the New York Chapter of Black Lives Matter, means “white supremacy got another victory?!”

It was a case that should never have made it to court. Penny was rightfully acquitted, and leftists and racists everywhere went bonkers. Where was their outrage for all the people who felt terrorized by Neely?

Many remain anchored on the sideline refusing to intervene for fear of being charged and enduring our dysfunctional legal system.

Rather, they break out their phones and record it.

Penny should be celebrated for his character and courage. A free and prosperous society applauds those who act on behalf of others. It doesn’t ridicule, criminalize and sue them.

Naturally, Al Sharpton delivered a eulogy blaming racism for Neely’s death. A Neely family member responded, “Today, white supremacy got another victory. Today, the KKK, the Klansmen, the evil in America got another victory. Those among you who say that Daniel Penny is innocent have racism and bias in your heart.”

Enter Neely’s father who personifies the term “deadbeat dad” seeking a substantial payday on the grave of his son he abandoned decades ago recently filed a civil suit against Penny.

Most see through the hypocrisy, begging the question has the pendulum swung far enough for society to finally start admitting the truth about these incidents that are the real “threat to democracy.”

If this civil suit is not thrown out, racist lawfare only continues to spiral out of control to the detriment of all.

~ Maresca is a New York City native and Marine Corps veteran.

And BTW, to all my faithful followers, please have a very merry Christmas and an absolutely Happy Year. For me, January 20th cannot come soon enough. I have decided that starting on that day, I will start anew watching TV news, but I will be watching CNN and MSNBC as I can’t wait to see their spin on everything Trump does. It should be fun.

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Thanksgiving 1966

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iwoFifty years ago today, I and my Marines were not having a feast, in fact, we were starving having not eaten for several days. No food, but lots of water as it had rained for three days, which is why we had not eaten (resupply helos could not get to us — monsoon season). Despite all that, Marines always find a way to pass the time and even find a little humor in our despicable situation. This photo was taken atop Hill 71 in Antenna Valley on Operation Mississippi. On this day, as I have done for fifty years, when the family gathers around the table and my bride gives the blessing, I remain with head bowed and quietly give a special thank you to Lord for having the feast laid out before and that I am still alive fifty years after this photo was taken. Happy Thanksgiving to all my Facebook friends, and especially to my fellow brother Marines!
Semper Fi, Sgt B

Originally posted 2016-11-24 11:53:34.