Last night Jack saved the World again, and yet rumors abound that Fox is cancelling 24. Good call Fox. Maybe you can run more episodes of American Fucking Idol or Bones? I’ve never seen Bones, but after 24 the previews told me the two main characters are finally going to date…that’ll probably help ratings…after all it worked for Moonlighting…

Doth mine eyes deceive me or is he...aiming?!

Better yet, please run some more generic Lawyer, Cop, or Medical dramas. That would be fan-fucking-tastically original! Come on Fox! What else does this American Icon have to do to keep his show?!

Jack Bauer has been a staple of asskickery and military manliness since 9/11. In eight days and one fairly terrible two-hour movie, Jack has killed over 250 terrorists, tortured another 300, pulled a handful of Presidents asses out of the fire, saved the World a dozen times, lost his wife, lost his girlfriend, lost his next girlfriend, drove his most recent girlfriend virtually insane, been captured and tortured at least a baker’s dozen times, and had to rescue his dumbass daughter twice or thrice. Does he complain? No. He just Rangers the Fuck Up (Bauer is tabbed, as one would expect) over and over again.

This season, Jack was hung by his wrists, beaten, electrocuted, and stabbed. You know what happened next? He kicked the terrorist cocksucker in the face and triangle choked him from the air. That’s not only a 9 on the Badass Richter scale, it’s also an incredibly embarrassing way to die, and yet oddly plausible – what I like to call the Bauer Trifecta.

And this isn’t the first time Bauer has escaped from capture. Once when his torturer leaned in to whisper some tough guy sweet nothings into Bauer’s ear, he latched onto the assclown’s throat like a Vampire Pit Bull and spit his larynx across the room.

Jack will eat the fuck out of you if he has to...

You know what else Jack does? He realizes that sheet rock doesn’t stop bullets. He shoots dumb terrorists through walls. You know what that is? That’s outstanding is what that is.

Hey, I’m a woman terrorist. Jack can’t kill me! He’ll have to have his token female co-hero fight me or it won’t be fair and he’ll look bad!

Wrong, terrorist tartlet!

Jack Bauer is not sexist. He is an equal opportunity terrorist killer. You’ll never read this though, because you’re already dead. But he is currently wearing your face so he can pose as you and infiltrate another terrorist lair.

Wait for it…now they’re dead too…

Bottom line, Fox: For a decade Jack Bauer has kicked ass, taken names, and given us a hero willing to sacrifice anything to save the nation and defend the constitution. He was an island of creative terrorist destroying awesomeness in a sea of sappy emotional pap, canned jokes, and general unrestrained lameness and douchebaggery.

If you take him from us, Fox, and your only answer is Human Target, well…we’re probably gonna hate you.

And for those of you out there questioning Jack Bauer’s awesomeness and perhaps wondering why we’d allow a “fictional” character to be Hero of the Week, I leave you with this real life conversation with Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia at a conference in Ottawa, Canada:

During a panel discussion about terrorism, torture and the law, a Canadian judge remarked, “Thankfully, security agencies in all our countries do not subscribe to the mantra ‘What would Jack Bauer do?’ ”

“I don’t think so.”

No, sir, we would not. We’d have covered him while he moved.

Rhino Den, ATTENTION!

PRESENT ARMS!

ORDER ARMS!

Thank you, Mr. Bauer, for your distinguished service.

Jack Bauer’s Military Honors:

Combat Infantryman’s Badge

Kuwaiti Liberation Medal

“How you doing today, Major?” an old guy in civie clothes says to me one afternoon in Afghanistan. I wasn’t surprised by the greeting as much as where it happened-in the JOC. My JOC. I was the JOC chief and some old guy had just invaded it like he was Josey Wales and even greeted me politely. Cheers to that, but my only thought was, “who let this guy in here?” Before I could utter as such, a small crest on his shirt that I immediately recognized as the Medal of Honor stopped me in my tracks.

Holy fuck, was about all I could get my mind to think before he shook my hand. “I’m good, Sir. How are you?” I replied, suddenly humbled.

His name was Robert Howard and he was about the studliest son of a bitch you’ll ever hear about. I call him a son of a bitch with the full reverence of a fellow soldier in complete awe of his accomplishments and because I know that’s what he would have wanted. He was the epitome of a grunt, selfless and patriotic, bereft of ego, and made of something few people (myself included) will ever know. He was a last vestige from the days of wooden ships and iron men and it wasn’t until his death a few weeks ago that I discovered he was the highest decorated soldier since WWII. Besides his MOH, he had two DSC’s, eight purple hearts, five tours of Vietnam, and a tossed salad of bravery that would make the real 300 Spartans at Thermopylae bow in deference. He was Vietnam’s answer to Audie Murphy, a man who displayed undaunted courage as frequently as the rest of us catch a cold.

Yet when cancer finally dragged him down like a pack of hyenas swarming an injured lion, he was relegated to the back pages of most newspapers, subjugated to the more important headlines of the day, like which of Tiger Woods’ new mistresses came out of the closet.

Are you fucking kidding me?

It’s no secret that entertainers are the apple of America’s eyes. It’s a necessary evil of being a secure, rich, strong country with nary an enemy on the horizon of the two oceans that protect us. We’re comfy and lazy and would rather hear about the balloon boy and Simon Cowell’s reduced role in the upcoming season of American Idol than pay respects to a man who was killing zips in the jungle while we were learning the phrase, “mommy…poop!”

As much as I’d like to throw contemptuous bags of shit at the walls of the New York Times, it’s really our own fault. Americans want to be entertained and we place those who provide our entertainment on a pedestal to be scrutinized on the same level as our elected leaders (which begs the question, why would you want that life?). When asked, the typical American teenager will list Brett Favre, Johnny Depp, and 50 Cent as their heroes instead of true leaders like Dwight D. Eisenhower, Ronald Reagan, or (God forbid) their own fathers.

I want to be angry that we worship actors (people who simply pretend to be someone else) instead of our brave warriors. But I can’t blame people who don’t have a care in the world when men like Colonel Robert Howard created it for them. I can only hope they get a healthy dose of perspective (preferably from their responsible parents) and realize America’s most precious asset is not Angelina Jolie in her Beverly Hills mansion, but Sergeant Angel Jiminez in his fighting position in Balad.

Brian Williams of NBC News says Howard leaves behind a grateful nation. Bullshit. Michael Jackson left behind a grateful nation full of weepy fans. Robert Howard left behind a small, yet very appreciative group of people who understood who he was and were proud to meet him, even if it was in a tent in Afghanistan on the eve of his passing. Rest in peace, Sir.

Read more about Colonel Robert Howard here.

Standing on the Cliffs of Pointe Du Hoc

by

Tommy Batboy

One of the first books I remember reading as a child was from a series of books on World War II. I was seven or eight and I picked the book because even as a child war fascinated me, and the title was simple: D-Day. Twenty years later, as I got out of the Eurovan in a recently paved asphalt parking lot, I thought of that book again for some reason.

“Just down that path and to the right are the cliffs, I’ll be waiting here for you,” my driver told me.

“Thank you,” I said a little nervously. After years of wanting to see it, after all the stories my old squad leader had told me, all the reading, and the privilege of talking to some of the battles survivors; I was about to go stand on the cliffs of Point Du Hoc.

If you where a Private in the 75th Ranger Regiment, you grew up knowing about Point Du Hoc. If you were a private in 2nd Ranger Battalion you learned it the way Catholic grammar school children learn the Bible. On D-day the men of 2nd Ranger Battalion drew one the hardest missions of the invasion: Scale the sheer and unprotected cliff faces of Point Du Hoc to destroy the captured French 155mm artillery pieces – the big guns that could rain hell on both the Omaha and Utah landing beaches – the guns that could jeopardize the success or failure of the Normandy landings. The mission was equally impossible and critical and its success hinged on Colonel James Rudder’s 225 men. They were equipped with ladders borrowed from the London fire department and ropes with grappling hooks.

Tommy Batboy at Point Du Hoc

The mission started poorly. The land craft got mixed up and the Germans spotted the Americans on their way to the cliffs. When they got there, they had to scale the cliffs under heavy fire. The Germans were putting grenades in mason jars before dropping them, using the glass to increase shrapnel and lethality. Firing straight down at the men at the base of the cliffs as they climbed proved incredibly lethal. 225 men started; by the end of the two-day mission only 90 were fit to fight.

In the time that it took me to walk 150 meters, I’d be standing where these proud and brave men had fought, and where many of them had died. An eerie feeling of the past settled over me. I started to walk down the path and towards the cliffs. Rounding the corner and coming face to face with the bunker complex was surreal. Unlike many of the battlefields of World War II that have been paved over or converted to tourist traps, the French government has left Point Du Hoc unchanged. 65 years later there are still 5 foot or deeper gouges in the Earth where American Naval fire or German counter battery fell. Even with all the effects from the rain and wind and weather, sixty-five years later the Earth still looks horribly scarred from the events of that day. If you stare closely you can see where American and German rifle fire chipped away at the reinforced concrete on some of the bunkers. Written in rusty, twisted rebar, cold crumbling concrete and a cratered surface similar to that of the moon, you can see the ugliness of what D-day was for those brave men.

A ringing cry shook me from my daze, turning to my left I saw a group of French teenagers, who appeared to be on a field trip, running up one side of a shell crater and out the other, playing grab ass in hopes of impressing the girls that were along on the tour.

I got very angry for a second. Remembering how The Weid, my first squad leader in 2nd Battalion, took our squad through the battle on a dry

The Barbed wire and concertina wire still sit at Point du Hoc.

erase board in the squad room. I remember him explaining that once the Rangers made it up the cliffs they found nothing but logs where the guns should be. The German Army, fearing Allied aerial bombing had moved the guns in-land. Even despite the bad and the rapidly mounting German counter attack the men of 2nd Battalion still fought on, found the guns a mile and a half inland, and completed the mission. I started thinking about meeting two of the men who’d climbed the cliff when I was at the Ranger Hall of Fame Ceremony in 2004, hearing one tell us about watching his friends get shot off the ropes as they climbed – telling us there was nothing to do but to just keep climbing. I was amazed at the matter-of-fact way he said it, and wondered if I could have been half as brave if it had been me on that rope going up the cliffs. The area is listed as a graveyard on the French registry, to see kids disrespect it like that was not an easy pill to swallow.

A deep breath later I started to move towards the cliff faces themselves. Fifteen feet or so from the cliffs there is a fence with signs written in both French and English telling you to stay back for your safety. “They didn’t serve in 2nd Bat,” I told my friend as I hopped right over the fence and marched towards the barbed wire ringing the cliff face, undoubtedly meant to keep people like me from getting right up on the edge. I walked right up the to wire, found a spot that got me just a couple of inches closer and leaned.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, watching the waves crash against the base of the cliffs below me. There is nothing, nothing to protect a man as he climbed. It is as sheer and steep a cliff face as I’ve ever seen. To say these men had no protection but the covering fire from the landing craft is a gross understatement. The moment I looked down I understood why so many men died in training on the Isle of Wright.

I understood even more deeply than I had before why the 6th stanza of the Ranger Creed is “Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor. Ranger’s lead the way!” Through all the adversity, all the hell, through the rifle fire and the grenades, the glass and, even the heavy boulders thrown their way; the men of the 2nd Ranger Battalion climbed. They knew that their buddies were dying and were scared that they might be next, but still they climbed – hoping at least one of them would make it to the top to complete the mission.

Never in my life have I felt so humbled as I did in that moment.

Still standing concrete bunker at Point du Hoc

After taking some pictures and walking around I climbed back over the fence. I walked through the bunkers. I walked around and in the craters. Feeling the chilly, brisk early spring breeze on my face, I stared out into the English Channel, dreary and gray with low clouds that reduced visibility. I wondered what it must have been like to ride in those landing craft, pondering just how much the men that had ridden in them knew. I marveled at the bravery and strength of character a man must possess to take that ride. I wondered what Colonel Rudder would say about my generation of Rangers, and hoped that he’d think we were living up to the standards his men had set on this spot. Standing on the cliffs of Pointe Du Hoc I said a silent prayer of thanks for the sacrifices of Col. Rudder and his men.

“What time is it?” My friend asked me quietly.

“It’s time to go,” I said, checking my watch and turning back towards the path that led to the parking lot.

We walked slowly back towards the van as I looked around the top of the cliff and then back into the English Channel. I was thoroughly humbled by the courage of conviction it must have taken my forefathers to take in the same view on that fateful day in June so many years ago.

RLTW.

We had spent the morning with our wounded soldiers at Walter Reed and had given out about a hundred shirts, each of which was signed by nine-time UFC Welterweight Champion Matt Hughes and Tim, the only three-time All Army Combatives Champion. Kelly Crigger and Soldier’s Angels had spoken with the UWC about a discounted ticket price for our wounded heroes and they had graciously provided 25 free tickets. Uncle Jimbo from Blackfive was there covering the entire event, and he and I spent an hour with the Walter Reed CSM as well as the Regional CSM to determine what else we could do to help the boys and girls of Malogne House.

There had been one bleak moment when, after all the effort everyone put in; Soldier’s Angels couldn’t find transportation for our heroes to get to the fights. Ranger Up chartered a bus.

I sat there and thought that with every day that goes by, Ranger Up is making more and more of a difference. We’re taking care of our own. I was proud. This is what it was all about. This is why we existed.

Tommy looked over his shoulder and then hopped up. He said he’d be back in a few.

I figured he’d gone to hit the head or get a beer or do something obnoxious.

About ten minutes later, one of our wounded soldiers showed up.

He had Tommy’s ticket.

I looked back and saw that Tommy had gone to sit with our wounded heroes. He had given his ticket up. For the rest of the night, they would take turns sitting in Tommy’s chair, only a few feet away from the cage. Tommy is the biggest fight fan I know.

Now, understand that I am writing this behind Tommy’s back, and when he sees his name posted next to our other heroes, who have saved lives, generally at great risk to their own, and oftentimes paid the ultimate sacrifice, he will be upset. He won’t want his name on the site next to theirs, and I appreciate that sentiment.

But this acknowledgement is not just for Tommy.

I’ve been out of active duty for a few years now, and sometimes you forget what it’s like – you forget the men you served with. You forget the quality of their character.

In the NCO Creed there is a stanza that states, All soldiers are entitled to outstanding leadership; I will provide that leadership. I know my soldiers and I will always place their needs above my own.

Tommy lived the creed without fanfare. No one asked Tommy to relinquish his seat. He didn’t call attention to himself when he did it. He just quietly stood up and attended to the business of being a great NCO – and didn’t even realize that there is something special about that.

I grinned a little as I remembered my first platoon sergeant, SFC Stewart, explaining to me that it was his job to train me to be a good platoon leader. He taught me most often not by sitting down and giving speeches on leadership, but by quietly doing his job at a high level and taking care of our guys, whether they liked him for it or not. Looks like no matter where I go, I can’t shake having an NCO remind me of what’s important.

Quit smirking.

Tommy’s favorite toast is “Here’s to us and those like us. We grow fewer every day.”

I’d like to modify that a little.

To Tommy and the Gentlemen (term used loosely, of course) of the NCO Corps, here’s to you. Never forget who you are and what you stand for – no matter where life takes you. You gentlemen make all the difference, and if you grow fewer, we’re in a whole lot of trouble, because quite frankly, there is no one else like you.

by

Tommy Batboy

My heart dropped when the “breaking news” chime on my computer went off. The headline read “Airliner Crashes Into Hudson River.” If I was amazed after the seeing the headline, it was nothing compared to the first sentence – none dead, only a few passengers and crew injured, and they were already on their way to the hospital. How on Earth was this possible? I thought shaking my head. An airplane crash-landed onto the river in New York City proper and everyone is okay? 

That doesn’t happen on accident.

The AP said the tale of US Airways flight 1549 was one “of luck and heroism,” you can take the luck away from this story. The men and women on that flight owe their lives to Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger and his amazing crew aboard the airplane that day.

As the story continues to get discussed, people continue to focus on the luck involved. Yes, they say that Sullenberger’s actions were heroic, but there is a sentiment that that it was really the luck that saved the day – that this was a one in a million type of thing. The guys at Ranger Up and most of you out there aren’t big believers in luck, because Lady Luck, my friends, favors the well-prepared. Whenever someone mentions that the situation was lucky, please tell them to dig a little deeper into this story and learn about the man who saved the lives of 150 people that day. We’d argue that the only luck involved here was that Captain Sullenberger was the man behind the controls.

Well before Captain Sullenberger sat down in that ill-fated cockpit on 15 January, he had graduated at the top of his aviator class at the Air Force Academy. He flew F-4’s before moving on to fly for US Airways, which he’d done for 29 years prior to that day. In that long and decorated career he devoted himself to becoming a subject matter expert in all facets of his job, mastering such skills as glider landings. He devoted himself to studying how pilots and crews react in moments of crisis. He put the hours in the simulators. He stayed at the cutting edge of training. He knew what was at stake if he should ever fail. Long before he ever found himself in the middle of a crisis, he’d spent years preparing for such an event.

Then the day came.

With perfect poise he put his wealth of training to use and executed a flawless emergency glider landing. He was so in control of the situation that he had the presence of mind to land the plane in the section of the river that would facilitate the easiest transport of the passengers and crew to hospitals and treatment centers. Once the plane hit the water, the crew got everyone off the crippled aircraft like a well-oiled machine. Smoothly and carefully the doors were opened, the boats were deployed and the passengers exited from the plane. Finally, after everyone was off the plane Captain Sullenburger walked up and down aisle, twice, just to be sure no one was left on board.

That is not lucky. Nor is it a miracle or any of the number of things people are trying to make it out to be. It was the culmination of decisive actions by a leader refusing to fail at his mission. It was what happens when a person spends his or her life always striving to get better and refusing to compromise. It was heroic. Everyone at Ranger Up has been more and more amazed by Captain Sullenberger the more we find out about him. Not just by his actions last week, but also by the lifetime of vigilance he exhibited – by the hours he’s spent getting ready, just in case. He never let his guard down.

Captain Sullenberger is the manifestation of the thing that all great NCOs and sports coaches have been telling us since as early as we can remember – the game isn’t won on game day – but on the practice field.

Thank you, Sir. Not only for keeping all those people on the plane and in the city safe, but for caring enough about the people under your command to prepare for the worst. You knew the day might come, and when it did, you stood ready.

by

Tommy Batboy

“Hold and die.” Those were the orders he was given.

“Hold.”

“Die.”

During the 1972 North Vietnamese Easter Offensive, it didn’t seem that far fetched an order for Captain John Ripley. He was in charge of a 600-man unit, composed mostly of South Vietnamese soldiers, at the bridge of Dong Ha. He was staring down 20,000 of the enemy, including some 200 tanks. To say it was a modern day Thermopylae is in no way a stretch. His commanders didn’t see another way to accomplish the mission.

Captain Ripley had another idea: run back and forth under heavy enemy fire with 500lbs of explosives so he could blow up the bridge. Not the greatest plan but, better than the alternative. Then he did something legendary, he executed the plan. As 20,000 of the enemy bore down on him, against all odds, Cpt. Ripley ran directly into withering enemy fire, calmly set up the charge, and blew up the damn bridge.

He accomplished the mission and he saved his Marines.

For his acts of bravery in the face of enemy fire he was awarded the Navy Cross.

He would retire a Colonel having graduated from the US Army’s Airborne and Ranger Schools, USMC Recon School, and the British Royal Marine’s Recon school, a testament that his actions on the bridge at Dong Ha weren’t some crazy fluke. He is the only United States Marine to be inducted into the Ranger Hall of Fame at Ft. Benning, Georgia. If you are in Afghanistan reading this, and you’re on FOB Ripley, you are reading about the base’s namesake.

Sadly, he has left us to spend eternity with the Great Ranger in the Sky. He was 69 years old.

This moment almost came in the summer of 2002. Col. Ripley needed a liver transplant because of a tropical disease that he’d caught long ago in Southern Asia. He’d been read his last rites twice, his family steeled themselves for the end, but the man clung to life. A liver was found in Philadelphia. The Commandant of the Marine Corps sent an entire section of CH-46 helicopters to secure the PC, then he coordinated special clearance for the birds to land in Washington DC, where the transplant surgery was to be preformed. Military valor is one thing, service to the nation above and beyond the call of duty another still, but when the Commandant of the Marine Corps whips up a flight of birds for you and garners special security clearance over DC at our current threat levels, you have passed beyond what mortal man can accomplish – you are the stuff of legend. Col. Ripley was such a man.

11 November 2008.

Veterans Day.

This is the day that our nation pays homage and respect to men like Col, John Ripley. It is a day that all of you whom have or are currently serving should hold your heads just a little higher and walk even more proudly through your day.

Freedom isn’t free, and today our nation remembers the price that was paid. Some gave all, everyone who has served gave something, and our nation gets to pay homage to those who have shown such extraordinary courage and sacrifice that only the most callous and out of touch can’t help but be grateful for the protection and freedom our Veterans have provided them.

To our fellow Vets, thank you for all you’ve done. To those currently serving, keep your heads down. To Colonel Ripley, Godspeed, sir. Godspeed.

When Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France 7 times in a row, it wasn’t that he worked harder than everyone else, or was a genetic freak – he was a cheater. In the World Cup, which is apparently a big deal in Europe or something, the French made it to the finals, only to lose to Nick and I’s heritage (the Italians) because France’s star player couldn’t take a joke and head butted a guy in the sternum…then whined about it.

Finally, despite having a disturbing lack of Olympic excellence in swimming, their captain, Alain “the Mouth” Bernard decided to get froggy (sorry!) and declare, when asked about competing against the United States in this years games “We’re going to smash them. That’s what we’re here for.”

Few things on this planet are more American than Summer Olympic domination, and the Red, White, and Blue dominate few sports more than swimming – and in that world, no one has been laying the gold medal smack down more than swim phenom Michael Phelps. Yet the haters were still hating, and the world was taking four Frenchies over four American badasses. These so-called pundits had the French favored as the winners, even though the US team, sans super swimmer Michael Phelps, swam a qualifier in world record time. Regardless, the stage was set and it’d be decided in prime time TV.

300 meters into the 400-meter race, it looked like the pundits and the frogs were right. Despite Phelps setting an American record for a split, and the US being ahead at the 250-meter mark, the French team had pulled ahead. The French anchor swimmer, captain, and head dumbass (pronounced Doo-Ma) Alain Bernard hit the water .55 seconds ahead of American captain, Steve Lezak- an eternity in swimming, and certainly in 100 meters.

At the 50-meter mark, Steve-o had hardly closed any of the distance on the French swimmer. He was nowjust under half a second behind with 50-meters to go against the Frenchman who the so-called experts had championed as the fastest swimmer in the world.

American dominance was hanging in the balance and I felt like I was living in a surreal new world. It looked like in 50 meters the United States of America was about to lose… to the F@*#^%! French. Even the American announcer, Rowdy Gains, was starting to write Team USA off. American captain Steve Lezak, the leader of the team, the man responsible for what we did or didn’t do had a different thought: “No. Freakin. Way.”

For Steve it was immensely personal. At 32 he was one of the oldest swimmers for the United States. He’d lost to Australia in 2000 in their home pool. He’d seen a “feel good story” happen as the South Africans nipped him in Greece. No way was he going to lose again. Something snapped in that distinctly American way. No way.

Lezak kicked it into another gear and started to close. The crowd roared. His teammates screamed at him on the block, Steve went faster. 20, 15, 10 meters- he closed like a madman. At 5 he’d done the near unthinkable, he’d caught up to the Frenchie. Lezak hit the wall with a split of 46.06 second. He’d just swam the fastest split in world history. The Americans had shattered the world record in the 4×100 meter relay by four full seconds. Lezak, amazingly, had turned in a time .63 seconds faster than then French Captain Blabbermouth.

Team U.S.A. had beaten the Frogs by .08 – eight one hundredths of a second.

Lessons learned:

1) Karma is a bitch.

2) Americans love to do what everyone says is impossible.

3) They especially love accomplishing the impossible when it involves smashing a giant pie full of shit in the guy’s face who only moments before was running his mouth.

At the end of the day what the French have never understood about the United States is that we don’t waste our time talking a big game – we back it up. We will meet our goal or die trying.

If it takes the fastest time in the history of the world then we’ll rise to the challenge – we’ll be the man in the arena Teddy Roosevelt talked about so long ago.

Steve Lezak, Michael Phelps, Cullen Jones, and Garrett Weber-Gale put their money where their mouth was, rose to the occasion, and swam the race of their life. The French just talked. That’s why the Frogs will never catch us, that’s why sometimes the world hates us, and that’s why Steve Lezak and the rest of team U.S.A. are such badasses. The flag is more to us than a piece of cloth or a pattern on LZR racing swimsuits. It’s a source of pride and something Americans never want to fail.

On behalf of the crew at Ranger Up, congratulations to team captain Steve Lezak and the rest of the men’s 4X100 relay team on their win over the French. You guys showed what you can do with a little skill, and a lot of heart.

And one more thing:

Suck it France!

Copyright of Tommy

He enlisted into the Army on the very first day he could, his 17th birthday. That was how badly Ross McGinnis wanted to be a soldier. All the drawing of Army men as a kid and all the playing war in the back yard had blossomed into something real. The knowledge that he would have to fight in one or both of our ongoing conflicts did nothing to dissuade this born patriot – Ross McGinnis was committed to being a soldier.

Two years later, in August 2006, his wish had come true – PFC McGinnis touched down in Eastern Baghdad. Only 19 years old and one of the younger members of his platoon he was nonetheless tasked in the most important non-leadership role of his platoon as the M2 .50 caliber machine gunner. For those of you not familiar with this position, not only was he responsible for the most casualty producing weapon in his platoon, he was the eyes and ears of his gun truck. PFC McGinnis was more than up to the task, eventually becoming the trail vehicle gunner in charge of the convoy’s rear security.

That was where Ross McGinnis was on 4 December 2006. While covering his convoy’s rear in Adhamyyah, Iraq, an insurgent threw a grenade from the rooftop of a building. It went through the turret of PFC McGinnis’s gun truck, landing at his feet. Knowing the rest of the men in his Humvee wouldn’t be able to get out in time, and without regard for his own life, PFC McGinnis jumped on the grenade.

He was killed instantly.

Earlier this month, just short of what would have been his 21st birthday, SPC Ross McGinnis’s parents accepted his Medal of Honor on his behalf.

A 19-year-old with the maturity, quick thinking, and grasp of selfless service to save the men of his gun truck, even if they were his friends, was remarkable. Yet what made Ross McGinnis a hero was already there long before he ever laid his life down for his friends and brothers in arms. You need to look no further than hisMySpace page to see what I am talking about. Reading his writing and looking at his pictures you see a young man who loved his job and had most of his life in front of him. You also see a place kept alive by the men who knew him best. Two years later the page is still active with the love and friendship of the men in his unit. His friends and brothers in arms still leave comments like Spc. McGinnis was physically living just down the hall of their barracks in Germany – as if at any moment he might bust through the door cracking jokes and calling out for someone to fire up the Xbox. He is still a part of their lives. He was, and still is, someone who mattered. He is someone who will never be forgotten.

Specialist McGinnis’s legacy isn’t the Medal of Honor his parents accepted on his behalf. It is the impact he has on those around him. Two years after his death, he is still a part of his brothers’ daily lives. We here at Ranger Up honor not only Specialist McGinnis’s courage and self-sacrifice that fateful day – but the manner in which he led his life up until that day. Those are the moments that make him special, and they are the ones that continue to inspire his family and compatriots today – many of which continue to charge into the fray, summoning his strength to protect us against those that would do us harm.

Thank you, brother.

Copyright of Tommy

An IED initiated ambush is never a good thing, but it’s particularly bad for a medic or corpsman.

The rules of war, as set up by the Geneva Convention, state clearly that medical personnel are protected. They are not supposed to be shot at while doing their job on the battlefield.

Shockingly, Afghani insurgents don’t care about that little detail, making a medic or corpsman’s job one of the most dangerous on the modern battlefield.

Five soldiers stumbled out of the burning vehicle into a hail of enemy gunfire, wounded and needing help this already bad day had become a nightmare for the medic. Forgetting what a 3-5 second rush was, or that a medics Geneva Convention card is worthless in Afghanistan, the medic arrived, aide bag in tow, to help the men. Ignoring the rounds flying past, the medic began dragging the wounded to a covered location through heavy insurgent gunfire and when the mortars started falling, this medic bravely acted as a human shield. This medic did everything he was trained to do – and then some, except this medic wasn’t a he at all, but a very impressive “she”. The medic in question that fateful day in April was Specialist Monica Lin Brown, now the first woman since WWII to be awarded the Silver Star for actions under fire.

There have been times when people in the United States, men and women alike have questioned what role, if any, women should have on today’s modern battlefield – a place where one is never sure what the difference is between the rear and the front lines. Many have wondered out loud on CNN or in the New York Times if women should even be involved in this war. Pundits spend hours discussing it. Everyone knows, of course, that boobs get in the way of aiming a rifle, right?

While they were talking, Specialist Brown was acting. She was doing what she was trained to do – making sure that the wounded members of her convoy didn’t get more messed up by insurgent gunfire. She was the living embodiment of what Hoot meant when he said politics goes out the window once a bullet goes over your head in the movie Blackhawk Down. She did what she was trained to do that day, and she did it better than everyone else around her. If she hadn’t been there, men would have likely died. How many of us, even those of us with military service, can truly say that?

Her tour in Afghanistan complete, Specialist Brown finally got back to her childhood home of Lake Jackson, TX this past week. There the local towns people threw her a parade and ceremony, complete with all the pomp and circumstance you could imagine, and culminating in the mayor giving a speech to honor her.

Specialist Brown’s reaction? She still doesn’t understand what the fuss is about. To her she just did her job. Like all true heroes she never thought about what her actions could get her, only what she could give. When asked by reporters she is quick to point out that others helped her save and treat the men on the ground – that it was team effort, and that they should be praised as well.

Heroism is blind. It doesn’t see race. It doesn’t see religion, money, or gender. It understands sacrifice, devotion to duty, and the willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty to save one’s comrade Heroes do what it takes to fight on to the objective, complete the mission, and do everything they can to bring everyone home afterward.

That is exactly what Specialist Brown did that day.

That is why she needed to be on that battlefield.

That is why she deserves our utmost respect and gratitude.

Copyright of Tommy