Tag Archives: Marines

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Leftism in Today’s USMC

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Received this in an email from a highly respected retired Marine Colonel friend of mine. They are his words, not mine, but I wholeheartedly agree with his assessment.

“I wonder how much longer this Marine will be tolerated by the present “leadership.” When they see he is an attorney maybe they will be careful as to how to shut him up. What’s going on is very difficult to believe.”

From an opinion piece in Newsweek, Saturday 20 March 2021

In the Marine Corps, we don’t have quotas, but we do have goals. And Marines accomplish goals,” my officer-in-charge told me and a few other brand-new second lieutenants, each of us assigned to temporary recruiting duty while awaiting orders to Quantico. The captain then told us we had to sign up a certain number of college-enrolled racial minorities and females. No need to be too strict on physical fitness or academics, he said. Just bring them in.

That was in 2009. Discrimination of this sort has been an ingrained yet lamentable part of the military’s recruitment, retention and promotion practices for many years. But my fellow officers and I couldn’t have imagined that, 12 years later, our disagreement with these policies would get us labeled “racist,” “sexist,” “bigoted” or “extremists” worthy of “eradication” and “elimination” from the USMC. Yet the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps said as much in his February 22 “core values” memo.

I’m now a major in the Marine Corps Reserve and a member of a formerly all-male infantry battalion.* This past weekend we had our monthly drill period. A few days before drill, the command told us that all scheduled training on Sunday morning was canceled and replaced with a “stand-down to address extremism in the ranks.”

It was left-wing political programming, as direct as it sounds.

We were instructed that there is a Taliban-like threat in the United States called “domestic terrorism.” These terrorists are characterized in part by “anti-government,” “anti-authority” or “abortion-related” extremism and various “supremacist” ideas. None of these terms are defined. The Marine Corps entrusts the government’s HR department to figure that out.

Reporting requirements are key. Do you suspect someone supports an “extremist ideology?” Alert the chain of command. Have you heard a Marine express “contempt toward officials?” Notify the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Don’t handle anything on your own. Just rat them out. After all, “service is a privilege” and it’d be a shame to lose that privilege for failing to do your part to stamp out “extremists.” One PowerPoint slide posed this imperative in stark terms: “Do you want to be a Marine or do you want to be part of an organization that sows disunity and hate. You cannot have divided loyalties.”

Where did all this come from? Soft liberalism has taken root in the military over several decades. These alarming trends are already well documented in James Hasson’s book Stand Down: How Social Justice Warriors Are Sabotaging America’s Military. But in the wake of President Joe Biden’s election—and more precipitously since the January 6 “insurrection”—bureaucratic progressivism has hardened into iron-fisted wokeism.

January 6 provided the pretext that the government, media and Democratic Party needed to drum up paranoia about white-nationalist domestic terrorism. A month later, Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin issued a memo to all Pentagon leadership laying the groundwork for my unit’s Sunday morning indoctrination.

In his memo, Austin announced that the Department of Defense “will not tolerate…actions associated with extremist or dissident ideologies” and ordered all 1.4 million personnel to receive “extremism” training. And he promised it was just the beginning: the “stand-down is just the first initiative of what I believe must be a concerted effort to…eliminate the corrosive effects that extremist ideology and conduct have on the workforce.”

Acting Secretary of the Navy Thomas Harker followed with his own memo. He announced the objective for the entire Navy Department: nothing short of “eradicating extremism.” How? By rooting out “actions that betray our oaths” like promoting “ideology” or “doctrine” that challenges the “gender identity and sexual orientation” agenda or advancing efforts that allegedly “deprive individuals of their civil rights.”

In other words, advocating for the Biblical view of sex and marriage in law and policy is, according to today’s armed forces, tantamount to oath betrayal.

Then came the Marine Corps’ turn to mouth the right things about “extremism.” In late February, the highest-ranking enlisted Marine issued a memo to all hands condemning our institutional failure to “completely eliminate,” “eradicate,” and “conquer” all “racists, bigots, homophobes, and bullies.” Those people “are not welcome” in the military. “It is impossible,” the memo says, “to be both a good Marine and be any one of those things at the same time.” Again, specifics of “those things” are undefined. The author of the memo and the four-star Commandant leave that to the military’s Diversity and Inclusion Task Force.

Finally, on March 5, the Marine Corps released an official directive: no later than April 2, all “commanders and supervisors at all levels will conduct and document a leadership stand-down in order to address issues of extremism in the ranks.” The commandant included a video with the directive, saying, “We must continuously strive to eliminate any division in our ranks.”

We all know what that means: any dissension on any issue that Biden-appointed top brass says is racist, sexist or homophobic will not be tolerated.

There is no doubt as to where all this is headed. The Pentagon’s swift and coordinated “smiting” of Tucker Carlson, who had the gall to “diss” the idea of sending pregnant women to war—an obviously absurd idea to all but the most politically correct officers grasping for a promotion—makes it very clear.

How did we get here? The truth is that today’s military is running on the fumes of our vastly superior forefathers and the ever-shrinking proportion of each branch that still does truly heroic work and accomplishes truly extraordinary feats. The rest is a bloated military-industrial complex given over to Fortune 500-style corporate progressivism.

And if it’s bad in the Marine Corps, imagine how much worse it is in the other services.

America’s enemies are laughing at us. Frankly, we deserve it. But it doesn’t need to be this way. To get back on top, our military must reject “extremism” training, reverse all the progressive policies enacted over the past several years, return to a true meritocracy and focus exclusively on the only thing that matters: winning wars.

We need a military fit for real warriors—not the social justice kind.

Aaron Reitz is a Major in the USMC Reserve, an Afghanistan War veteran and the Texas Deputy Attorney General for Legal Strategy.

* I prepared this article off-duty and in my personal capacity. The views I express here are solely mine and do not reflect those of the Department of Defense, Department of the Navy or the Office of the Attorney General of Texas.

For the life of me I cannot understand how a dedicated hard charging Marine, Enlisted or Officer could stay in a Marine Corps such as this?

I agree with my friend’s comments in that I also wonder how the leftist leaders in our once great Corps will handle this Major. Bravo Zulu for him speaking out. Get em’ Major.

Originally posted 2021-03-20 16:25:07.

Current Events, Recent Posts

6 March – A Day Never to be Forgotten

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

Several hours passed as we sat quietly in our chairs. Some dozed off, but I was much too apprehensive to sleep. Suddenly the outside door burst open with a loud bang and in walked three Marines wearing those same strange hats. They were screaming at us to sit up straight with our hands folded on the desk. I thought to myself, Why does everyone here shout?

One of them spoke in a loud and forceful voice. “My name is Staff Sergeant Bresnahan and I am your senior drill instructor. The two Marines standing to my left are your junior drill instructors, Sergeant Collins and Sergeant Handschumaker. For the next four long months, we will be your father, your mother, your preacher, your teacher, and your girlfriend, but I can assure you, you will not screw us. You will run everywhere you go. You will not speak unless spoken to and the last word out of your slimy civilian mouths will always be “Sir.” Do you understand me?” We all answered, “Yes, Sir!” which was not loud enough so he asked again and again until we were all screaming at the top of our lungs “Yes, Sir!”

SSgt Bresnahan continued his instructions to his new recruits. “When I call your name you will sound off in a loud, clear voice “Here, Sir!” and get your slimy civilian asses up out of my chairs, grab all your belongings, and double time outside where yellow footprints are painted on the deck. You will plant your two slimy civilian feet on two of the footprints. You will stand there with your head and eyes glued to the back of the head of the scummy civilian in front of you. Do you understand me?” We went through the same routine again repeating “Yes, Sir!” numerous times until the windows rattled.

As names were called, Sgt Handschumaker was at the door screaming at each recruit to run faster. Once outside we were cantankerously greeted by Sgt Collins who pushed and shoved us to the front of the four lines of yellow footprints. Since our names were called alphabetically, I was one of the first to endure the junior DI’s wrath. I could hear screaming and yelling from inside where recruits had not sounded off, “Here, Sir” at the decibels SSgt Bresnahan required.

The rest of that day was total chaos. From that initial site, we were herded to a building quite a distance away. When I say herded, I mean herded—like animals. SSgt Bresnahan was leading the way at almost a runner’s pace while the two junior DIs yelled and screamed at us to keep the formation closed up. We were tripping over one another and falling down; some even walked out of their shoes, but did not dare ask if they could go back to retrieve them.

We entered a building with large bins, a towel laying in each. We individually stood in front of a bin, undressed completely, and wrapped the towel around our waist. We packed all of our belongings into a box addressed to where it was to be sent. When I say everything, I mean everything went into that box. We could keep nothing even though many of us brought toiletries. Watches, rings, necklaces—every item we brought with us from home went into the box.

While all this was being done, the DIs were running across the top of the bins screaming for us to hurry, shoving stuff into the boxes, and literally creating more chaos and frustration.

The senior drill instructor demanded, “While you’re about it, stuff all of your slimy civilian ways into the box as well. You won’t need them anymore!”

While we were all standing naked, except for the towel wrapped around our waist, someone came down the line and wrote a number on our chest. We were told to remember it. We then entered a room where several barbers eagerly awaited. When the kid in front of me got in the chair, the barber asked if he wanted his sideburns. He hesitatingly answered, “Ye…ye…yes, Sir.” The barber asked that he hold out his hand whereupon he laid each of them in the kid’s palm. Each shaving of our heads took approximately one minute to complete.

We then were treated to a cold shower and issued our new Marine uniforms and other gear. (Marines call their field uniform “utilities,” not fatigues like the Army.) From there we were herded across the huge 1st Battalion parade ground to our barracks. However, we were now carrying a heavy sea bag stuffed with all of the items we had just been issued.

We were designated Platoon 129 of the 1st Recruit Training Battalion. I learned that the hat DIs wore was called a “campaign cover.” Girls wear hats; Marines wear covers.

As any former Marine knows, you never forget your DI’s names—never! They were mean as hell, immaculately dressed, extremely knowledgeable, and I disliked all three of them.

The initial weeks of training continually brought the wrath of the DIs down upon us as we were introduced to the Marine lexicon. Men wore trousers, not pants; doors were hatches; floors were decks; bathrooms were heads; walls were bulkheads; and on it went until we learned to speak “Marine.” Time was even changed; 1:00 p.m. was now 1300.

The hardest one for us all was the use of the word “you.” We were being taught to use the third person when speaking to an officer. For example, the DI may have asked, “Who told you to do that?” If the recruit answered, “You did, Sir!” it resulted in many push-ups, bends and thrusts, or any of the other abominable exercises used as “group tighteners.” The correct response should have been, “The Drill Instructor did, Sir!” (While I freely use the abbreviation “DI” herein, no recruit would dare utter that term when referring to his drill instructor) The DI’s favorite response while the recruit tirelessly did the exercises was, “A ‘ewe’ is a female sheep. Do I look like a female sheep to you, private?” That word, “you,” was never again part of my vocabulary.

Sgt Collins was my least favorite; he seemed to enjoy watching us endure pain. He did have the best marching cadence though. On calm nights, while marching back to the barracks after evening chow, he could really make us strut. However, sometimes he would get mad at us and make us pull our covers down hard on our heads, put our hands in our pockets, and get up on our tiptoes. He did not want to hear the sound of our heels striking he pavement.

When he really got angry, he would have two recruits run around the platoon barking like dogs, while the first and third squads “moo’d” like cows as the second and fourth squads “oinked” like pigs. Other DIs would come out from their barracks as we passed by and yell, “Hey, Collins, what you got there, a herd? I like your herd dogs, can I borrow them?” He seemed to gain a great deal of enjoyment from that.

When he was particularly irate, he’d herd us around back of our barracks where a Dempsey Dumpster was located, a large square steel container for trash, the type that a truck lifts up to dump. He would bellow, “Whoa, herd,” then he would snap his fingers and say, “Get in.” After having done this several times, we knew exactly what he meant.

Now, you are probably saying to yourself, There is no way a platoon of recruits will fit into a Dempsey Dumpster. Wrong! Our platoon numbered about seventy recruits at any given time and we could all get into that dumpster at once. Then he would close the hatch and bang on the sides. The first time was a real experience, but we became so good at it that we could do it in about two minutes flat.

A main topic of barrack’s bull sessions among young Marines was always who had the toughest DIs. Stories of one’s experience that supported any claims likely became more embellished with time. Most stories solicited comments such as, “That’s nothing, one time my DI did….” However, I found that Sgt Collins’ love for that Dempsey Dumpster gave me a story that always topped everyone else’s. It invariably brought astonishment, disbelief, or, if nothing else, much laughter. Every Marine wants to believe his DI was the toughest in the Corps. There is something manly about having the toughest DI—or at least the toughest story.

Sgt Handschumaker was not quite as bad as Sgt Collins, but he could be hell when he wanted to be. He was from Louisiana, spoke with a strong southern drawl, and called a horrible cadence. We could not march well to it, which got us into trouble quite often. I think he must have been the newest of the three DIs, as he always seemed to take note of the other two’s actions.

SSgt Bresnahan appeared to be the consummate professional; he was like the “old man” to us. During the latter part of boot camp, he would gather us into a school circle in the evenings out by the swamp behind the barracks and tell stories of his experiences in the Korean War—he’d let us smoke during these story-telling rituals.

He always alleged that history repeats itself. He reminded us that the first offensive action for Marines in WW II was Guadalcanal on 7 August 1942, and the first offensive action by Marines in Korea was on 7 August 1950, exactly eight years later to the day. Therefore, he would proffer that on 7 August 1958, Marines were going to war somewhere and we’d be right in the thick of it since we were to graduate in June.

If liking a DI was a possibility—and it wasn’t—SSgt Bresnahan would have been my choice. While I could not profess to having liked any of them, I certainly respected each of them.

(There is an ironic twist to the stories about these three drill instructors. I would serve with each of them later in my career.)

I don’t remember many of my fellow members of Platoon 129 since we were not allowed to talk amongst ourselves. Oh, we talked, but we were very careful for if you got caught you were in deep trouble. I do remember Jim Keeley, our platoon guide. I would follow Jim in a job many years later.

That’s the way it was in the Marine Corps. As the smallest branch of the military, you always met up with fellow Marines in subsequent assignments during your career. No matter what duty station I reported to, I would find someone there with whom I served previously, a good feeling for the most part knowing someone in a strange and new place who could help in getting adjusted there.

One member of our platoon was a big Canadian chap who was getting his U.S. citizenship through an enlistment in the Corps. He was the DI’s “bouncer.” Anytime a recruit needed a “group tightener,” they called on Dobie. (When someone was said to be in need of a “group tightener,” it meant he needed an attitude adjustment, usually by physical means.) We referred to him as “Dumb Dobie”—although not to his face. He was big, but not the sharpest pencil in the drawer.

Woody, my friend from Baltimore, was also initially in my platoon. Woody tended to be somewhat chubby, and after the initial strength test he disappeared. I never saw him again at Parris Island; I honestly believed they killed him and threw his body in the swamps. After graduation, I learned that he had been sent to the Fat Man’s Platoon, a platoon of recruits who were overweight and needed strength training.

The one platoon member with whom I became good friends was Fred A. Eberhard from Poughkeepsie, New York.

Funny how, after all these years, I can still recall these individuals by name. One develops that closeness while in the Marines.

The Corps could have searched one hundred years to find the ideal location for a boot camp and never have found a better place than Parris Island, South Carolina. When initially established as a Marine training base in 1915, it was an island accessible only by barge from the town of Port Royal. In 1929, a causeway was built from the mainland over Archer’s Creek and across Horse Island onto Parris Island.

The base was surrounded on three sides by swamp. The DIs would often warn us that if we desired to leave Parris Island to not attempt to swim over to Port Royal or Beaufort. If you made it through the mile of stinking, quicksand-type marsh, the sharks in the bay would eat you.

There were many memorable events in boot camp—far too many to share in this venue. However, I will attempt to give the uninitiated a sense of it all.

For example, one evening after chow, in lieu of marching directly back to the barracks, Sgt Collins detoured over to the replica of the Marine War Memorial located in Arlington, Virginia—often referred to as the Iwo Jima monument—that stood at the edge of our battalion parade ground. He halted us so we were all facing the statue and gave us parade rest.

We paused there for the longest time. We had no idea of his motive, other than letting the sand fleas eat us. It was one of those calm, hot, humid South Carolina evenings when the “Flying Jaws” were out in force looking for fresh meat. His stock comment when someone flinched as a flying jaw chewed on his ear was, “What’sa matter, Privates? You just ate. Now let my sand fleas eat.”

To stand there quietly, in the still of the evening with the sun slowly setting in the west, staring at the faces of those long-ago heroes as they strained to raise that flag on Mount Suribachi, their hands reaching out symbolically for that steel pole, was very moving.

These men—young boys actually—were participating in the fiercest combat in the Pacific campaign. Five Marines and one Navy Corpsman raising “Old Glory” atop a hill that many others had just died taking. Their facial expressions, captured so magnificently by the sculptor, Felix De Weldon, stirred one’s emotions to an indescribable height.

Yet the fight for that island was far from over and three of those raising that flag would be among the nearly seven thousand Marines who died on Iwo Jima.

Inscribed on the base of the monument was Admiral Nimitz’s apt account of the Marines who fought there: “Uncommon valor was a common virtue.”

Sgt Collins wasn’t in our eyesight; he was behind the platoon probably smoking a cigarette and enjoying watching the “jaws” chew on us. He called us to attention and gave us “at ease,” something he never did.

Walking down the sidewalk on the far side of the statue was a female wearing a Marine uniform. None of us yet knew there were women Marines. As she passed in front of us, I sensed she was somewhat embarrassed. Seventy male recruits who had not seen a female in months stared at her from no more than one hundred feet away.

As she reached the front of the platoon, Sgt Collins announced, “Privates, walking across your front is a female Marine, commonly referred to as a “BAM,” which stands for Broad Ass Marine.” We didn’t know whether to laugh or not, but some could not hold back and snickered. He continued, “Let’s give her a loud cheer for what she adds to my Corps.”

Even from a distance, I could see her blushing as she quickened her pace to get past us. I laughed and jeered along with everyone else, but deep down inside I actually felt sorry for her. I have often thought about the changing times in our society and that incident; I am confident that any current DI would not dare do anything like that in today’s Marine Corps.

As mentioned earlier, many of my life’s memories are somehow linked to a rock and roll song. I remember our first day at the rifle range. Our M-1 rifles were being checked before we fired them. We were lined up on the porch of the permanent personnel barracks for a semblance of shelter out of the rain. One of the Marines inside was playing his radio. Having not heard a radio in months, I listened to “Tequila” by the Champs for the first time. Each time I hear that song on my favorite oldies station I’m back in boot camp waiting to have my M-1 inspected.

Graduation Day finally arrived on 3 June 1958. Mom, dad, and my childhood sweetheart attended the ceremony. We spent some time together driving around the base in their car while I pointed out all the sites where I trained—and gotten my butt kicked. It was the proudest day of my life until then. At last, I had accomplished something worthwhile; I had endured and met the test of Marine recruit training. I was now a United States Marine!

Early the next morning, as we boarded Greyhound buses, SSgt Bresnahan was standing at the bus door where he shook each one of our hands and said, “Congratulations, Marine!” Leaving Parris Island wearing the uniform of a United States Marine, having successfully completed what many military organizations consider to be the most demanding recruit training anywhere in the world, and having your DI call you a Marine for the first time was truly an indescribable feeling. It’s one of those life’s events that fall into the category of “having to walk a mile in another man’s shoes” to fully understand it.

The busses pulled away from the curb and headed out the road across Horse Island and to the main gate. It was as dark as it had been that early morning when the bus came in through the gate thirteen weeks prior. This time the Marine sentry saluted as we passed. What a memorable gesture. We were brothers-at-arms now and bound for the Infantry Training Regiment at Camp Geiger, Marine Corps Base, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina.

That scumbag recruit was, of course, me. Today is my anniversary and this event took place sixty-three years ago, but it seems like only yesterday. And you know what? As bad as it was, I’d do it all again as I know damn well everyone of you who have walked in those boots would do so as well.

By the way, in case you’ve not read it. this post is Chapter 3 in the book. If you have not, shame on you. LOL

NOTE: You don’t have to look at the photos, I was just having some fun reminiscing on my anniversary LOL.

Pvt Bathurst                                      LCpl Bathurst

 

 

 

 

 

Sgt Bathurst Senior Drill Instructor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2Lt Croy and Sgt Bathurst Platoon Commanders in E 2/1 RVN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2Lt Bathurst’s First Salute from GySgt Lee M. Bradley    (SgtMajor Retired)

1Lt Bathurst MB, 8th&I SCP Commander

Capt Bathurst CO E 2/7

 

 

 

 

 

Capt Bathurst CO HQ CO                   Major Bathurst CO Marine                                 9th Marines                                     Barracks, Lemoore, CA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Major/LtCol Bathurst CO Recruiting Station, Chicago, IL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LtCol Bathurst Co 2/6  &  BLT 2/6

Final Command CO, SOI (West) CLNC   Retired 30 September 1993

             Thirty-Five years, six months, and twenty-two days of having                    trouble going to sleep at night because I couldn’t wait to get                       up and go to  “work.” But what the hell who was counting?

Originally posted 2021-03-05 17:36:35.

Current Events

Social Justice Warriors – Take That Hill!

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I’ve already posted for the day, but this one came across my desk and I just had to post. I totally agree with this General. I would in no way, recommend any young man or woman to enter any of our armed forces today. None of them. They will become cannon fodder. Mothers and fathers heed what this man is saying for it is the truth! Don’t let Johnny or Mary do something stupid that will get them killed. 

In case you are like me and having difficulty keeping up with the liberal’s new terms, phrases, and acronyms, SJW stands for Social Justice Warrior. Jeez, I’m getting too old for all this new stuff.

By Kurt Schlichter,Col, US Army (Ret)It gives me no pleasure to say that I no longer recommend that young people join the military, and I’m not alone. The non-Blue Falcon veteran community is in full revolt against the conscious decision to decline embraced by our current military leadership. After failing to win a war in the last 20 years – and don’t say Syria, because the second President * woke up in the Oval Office wondering how he got there, more of our troops were heading back into the hellscape for reasons no one has bothered to articulate – the military has decided to target an easier enemy, i.e., other Americans.

See, the problem with me and the other vets who are disgusted by the brass’s choice to focus on SJW priorities instead of, you know, successfully deterring or defeating America’s enemies, is that we actually listened to what we were taught when we were coming up. Most of us were trained by the heroes who put the shattered American military together after the Democrat war in Vietnam broke it. We learned about leadership, about putting mission first but taking care of people always, and about objectives and how to attain them.

None of that’s a thing anymore.

So, count us out from complicity with the degeneration of our proud institution into a giant gender studies struggle session. And that’s a big deal. Do you know where the military gets a huge chunk on its recruits? Legacies. These are young troops who want to be like their father or grandfather or big brother or neighbor or other role model. I was the third-generation commissioned officer in my family, on both sides. Guess what? Right now, if one of my kids goes in, it’s against my advice. And again, I am not alone. I hear this over and over and over from other vets. And it makes me furious.

You put two divisions behind wire in D.C. to protect against phantom insurrections by guys who dress like Vikings. And then you can’t even feed the troops, or house them. Gosh, if only there was a great big five-sided building full of generals just a couple miles away to square that idiocy away.

Oh, wait, there is.

And now, though we have not won a war in two decades, our military has plenty of time to stop training and focus on purging the ranks of people who like the politicians the current administration opposes. I eagerly await the introduction to the new 69D MOS – political officer. A zampolit for every battalion – hell, why not every company?

And don’t patronize us with baloney about how this is just about rooting out all those secret “extremists” lurking in the ranks – that’s right up there with sending the new second louie down to the supply room to retrieve a box of grid squares. How about you stop trying to expel these mystery “extremists” and start firing the incompetents all around you?

Sadly, this trickle-down SJW foolishness is reaching what used to be the pointy end of the spear. Generals and colonels adopt it because if they don’t, they’ll get tossed out – if you invest three decades in the green machine, it must be awfully tempting to hold your tongue to nail down that retirement and then get the hell out ahead of the deluge. It’s the company grades who buy this pap who are most disconcerting. One lieutenant – for you civilians, lieutenants are the wisest officers in the military, according to lieutenants – went on Twitter to inform me and some other people who were actually alive and in the military the last time America won a war that when we Neanderthals were serving, the military was awash in “white supremacy.” Could have fooled me. When I got off active duty the first time 30 years ago this May, I was stunned at how often race came up back in the civilian world. It almost never did when I was in the service, though in basic training it would have been nice for the awesome power of my pallor to keep Drill Sergeant Whittlesey from dropping me for countless sets of 20.

But hey, some 23-year-old assistant S2 who operates the coffeemaker doubtless has better insights into stuff happening before he was born that those of us who were actually there. The only positive thing about my interaction with that guy was my relief in knowing that I was no longer the dumbest lieutenant in the history of the United States military.

We had our imperfections and misadventures back in the day, sure, but if some idiot had done something bigoted to another solder, we would have slammed him. The only thing that mattered when a new soldier showed up was whether or not he was squared away. But not now. No, winning battles is hard, but internal snipe hunts are easy and fun! Why focus on external warfare when the career payoff for witch-hunting within the organization is so much bigger? Check out this new Navy pledge – us vets’ enlistment/commissioning oaths were apparently insufficient for today’s woke battlespace:

“I pledge to advocate for and acknowledge all lived experiences and intersectional identities of every Sailor in the Navy. I pledge to engage in ongoing self-reflection, education and knowledge sharing to better myself and my communities. I pledge to be an example in establishing healthy, inclusive and team-oriented environments. I pledge to constructively share all experiences and information gained from activities above to inform the development of Navy-wide reforms.”

The most disconcerting part of this is that it was apparently written on purpose. Is the next thing we’ll see some sort of mandatory woke Space Force interpretive dance?

No, I do not recommend anyone subject themselves to this sort of four-year camo sociology seminar in which they must “pledge to advocate for and acknowledge all lived experiences and intersectional identities of every Sailor in the Navy” or any other branch. My intersectional identity is “America,” and I am utterly uninterested in any other identity.

Maybe the brass should focus on killing America’s enemies, and maybe not running ships into other ships? Both those things would be totally awesome.

War is a serious business, even for guys like me who ran heavily armed carwashes. But this current tail-chasing is not serious. The military is hollowing out as people vote with their combat boots. Word from inside is that it can’t keep troops from ETSing – that is, leaving the service when their obligation ends. If our troops want their thoughts controlled and to be programed into little lefty conformobots, they can go off to college – the Dems want to give it away to slackers for free anyway, so who needs to ruck march and attend Bill Kristol’s latest war to get the G.I. Bill?

The military used to be a welcoming safe space for patriots. But no more. With this insane babbling about “internal enemies,” does anyone think that potential recruits do not understand that this slur is what the liberal elite that the military brass obeys calls people like them and their families? Why would you join an organization that sees you as an enemy?

I wish I could believe that the generals and admirals will en masse reject this sack race to failure, but it may be too late, at least until we get a real president determined to unscrew this cluster. It will be hard. The academies and war colleges are already full of the same kind of liberal hacks that civilian education is infested with. Michael Walsh’s hardcore new book Last Stands: Why Men Fight When All Is Lost should be required reading for every military leader, but some professor at the Army Command and General Staff College (I’m a graduate, sigh) reviewed it and found it – I’m not kidding – “problematic.” You know what’s really problematic? Turning the military into a cauldron of neurotic SJW obsessions while our foreign enemies circle our senile CINC like vultures.

We can laugh at the antics, but the terrible reality is that this crap is going to get a bunch of our young people killed. Let’s be very clear – when your priority is social justice nonsense instead of preparing to fight and win, you are opening up a lane for the enemy and the enemy is going to drive right through it.

But look on the bright side. When something horrible happens – maybe the Chinese will send a carrier to the bottom, for example – we can all take comfort in the fact that our sons and daughters, because it’s us patriots’ sons and daughters who usually fight and die in America’s wars, perished because our leadership failed to prepare, but at least they died fully aware of trans intersectionality.

See what happens if things get worse in my newest novel Crisis, and catch up with my other four novels of America splitting apart into red and blue nations, People’s Republic, Indian Country, Wildfire, and Collapse!

Originally posted 2021-02-22 13:52:09.

Need Help

On Report

30 Comments

OMG, all those years in the Corps and years after, I have never been put on report, that is until now. LOL I received an email this A. M. from a so called “Concerned marine; no caps on purpose as I do not consider this fellow a Marine, perhaps you might disagree. I won’t post my reply to him, her, or it. I thought I’d allow my followers to do so.  Please feel free to comment. Email follows. My comments inserted are in red..

From: Concerned Marine <ConcernedMarine@mail.com>

Subject: Turning You Into the Marine Corps

Message Body:

Sent to Headquarters Marine Corps

Unlawful use of Marine Corps Emblem and Photo, Hate Speech, Racism, Borders of Sedition

Col Jim Bathhurst (sic) USMC Retired

https://wellalldieasmarines.net/

His blog prominently features a Marine Cops (Sic) Emblem and a possibly illegally copied photo from Headquarters Marine Corps.

His blog is filled with hate and racism. (really?) He brings discredit to the Marine Corps. His blog is close to sedition. He also peddles his book using the Marine Corps Emblem.

He and some of his followers are unhinged and I don’t need to have him or his screwballs coming after me so I will not put my name on this email. (that’s not something patriots do, that’s left for the liberals) He and his followers are similar to the Kooks who invaded the capitol last wee. (Sic) His website speaks for itself and it is a simple thing for you to see what he is doing.

Semper Fi 

A Concerned Marine

Actually, It gave me an early morning chuckle. BTW, the use of the EGA was authorized by HQMC prior to the book’s publication.  I was aware of the Corps’ copyright on the use of EGA and requested permission; I still have their letter of authorization. Liberals just cannot stand for someone expressing the truth about them. Please feel free to comment either directly to him or on the blog, albeit, I’d like to see your replies. LOL You there Smitty?

Originally posted 2021-01-11 14:46:12.

Recent Posts

Looking for a Christmas Gift

6 Comments

For a Marine (actually any service member or civilian who wants to know what a career in the Marines was (is) like?

Well, I have just the solution for you and there is still time if you hurry. It’s a book that will, for a Marine, rekindle many fond (and maybe not so fond LOL) memories. It’s called “We’ll All Die as Marines – One Marines Journey from Private to Colonel.” The author would be me. While I have severed the relationship with the publisher — which is a long story that I won’t get into — you can still get it on Amazon and Barnes & Noble at an exorbitant price. I sell both the hard and the soft covers (not really a paperback) for $35 & $30 respectively, personally inscribed and signed, and since it’s a present, I’ll eat the postage. You can go to Amazon, put in my name and it will take you to the book where you may read the reviews. You’ll have to hurry to get it for Christmas. Since you are now on my blog you may click on “Buy The Book,” fill out the form, and send it. It will come to me with your email address and I will shoot you off instructions, but you must hurry. Or  a faster way would be to simply email me at: sgt-b@comcast.net

Merry Christmas everyone and I wish you a Happy New Year. or let’s just say have the best new year you can, it will be rough with Joe and The Ho.

Originally posted 2020-12-17 10:32:40.