All Things News

Medal of Honor

Official Citation: “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty:

Staff Sergeant Jared C. Monti distinguished himself by acts of gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty while serving as a team leader with Headquarters and Headquarters Troop, 3d Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment, 3d Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division, in connection with combat operations against an armed enemy in Nuristan Province, Afghanistan, on June 21, 2006.

While Staff Sergeant Monti was leading a mission aimed at gathering intelligence and directing fire against the enemy, his 16-man patrol was attacked by as many as 50 enemy fighters. On the verge of being overrun, Staff Sergeant Monti quickly directed his men to set up a defensive position behind a rock formation. He then called for indirect fire support, accurately targeting the rounds upon the enemy who had closed to within 50 meters of his position. While still directing fire, Staff Sergeant Monti personally engaged the enemy with his rifle and a grenade, successfully disrupting an attempt to flank his patrol. Staff Sergeant Monti then realized that one of his Soldiers was lying wounded in the open ground between the advancing enemy and the patrol’s position.

With complete disregard for his own safety, Staff Sergeant Monti twice attempted to move from behind the cover of the rocks into the face of relentless enemy fire to rescue his fallen comrade. Determined not to leave his Soldier, Staff Sergeant Monti made a third attempt to cross open terrain through intense enemy fire. On this final attempt, he was mortally wounded, sacrificing his own life in an effort to save his fellow Soldier.

Staff Sergeant Monti’s selfless acts of heroism inspired his patrol to fight off the larger enemy force. Staff Sergeant Monti’s immeasurable courage and uncommon valor are in keeping with the highest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself, Headquarters and Headquarters Troop, 3rd Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment, 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division, and the United States Army.”

Straight from Fox News: “President Obama awarded the military’s highest honor to a soldier who died trying to save his wounded comrade in Afghanistan — saying Sgt. First Class Jared C. Monti personified the values of honor and heroism.

Obama presented the prestigious Medal of Honor award to Monti’s parents during a ceremony in the East Room of the White House.

Monti of Raynham, Mass., died in Afghanistan on June 21, 2006, while trying to save a young private who was wounded. Obama said the fallen soldier “did something no amount of training can instill.”

In an interview with FOXNews.com Thursday, Monti’s mother, Janet, said the award is a “tremendous honor,” but she called the ceremony “bittersweet.”

“We’re very proud of him, but we’re also very sad,” she said.

Monti’s platoon — part of the 3rd Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment — was on an intelligence-gathering patrol when it was ambushed by more than 60 insurgents in Afghanistan’s Nuristan province. After calling in artillery support and directing his men’s return fire, Monti braved withering enemy fire to try to pull the comrade to safety from an exposed position. Monti, who was 31, was mortally wounded on the third attempt.

Janet Monti described her son’s innate selflessness and desire to help others, saying he “would always stick up for the underdog.” She recounted a story in which her son rescued a group of children who were being taunted by Albanian youths while he was stationed in Kosovo.

“He picked the children up in his Humvee and drove them to school,” she said. “He had so much compassion.”

Embattled U.S. troops in northeastern Afghanistan also paid homage to Monti Thursday by officially rededicating their isolated outpost in the Hindu Kush Mountains in his name.

Thursday’s ceremony in Afghanistan, at Combat Operations Post Monti in Kunar province, was attended by about 50 soldiers not on duty. It was preceded by artillery fire on nearby mountain ridges to ward off Taliban gunmen who mortar and rocket the post.

“Most of us didn’t know him personally and most of us will know him only by his citation,” Maj. Pete Granger, executive officer of the 1st Battalion, 32nd Infantry Regiment, said before a large plaque was unveiled in Monti’s honor.

“We honor his memory by continuing to fight for the same things he believed in: his soldiers, his family, his friends and his country.”

Nuristan Province, like Kunar province, earned a reputation as the “cradle of Jihad” in the 1980s’ mujahideen war against Soviet occupation forces. And the reputation sticks. Taliban insurgents use the rugged regions close to the Pakistani border as transit areas to and from central Afghanistan.

“He was a real hard-nosed NCO (non-commissioned officer),” Staff Sgt. Matthew Wolfanger, who was a member of Monti’s unit, told FOXNews.com. “He really demanded a lot out of his guys … but in the end we loved him for it because he took us from soldiers who were kinda just going through the motions doing our jobs to guys who were passionate about what we were doing.

“He brought the best out of us. We wanted to be the best because of him. He absolutely loved what he did, and he loved us, his soldiers.”

Wolfanger, 25, the keynote speaker at Thursday’s Afghanistan ceremony, said he wasn’t tasked to go on Monti’s fatal mission, but he and others listened in on the radio traffic.

“I knew it was bad from what they were saying, but it didn’t really go through my mind that my friends were out there and could actually be hurt. But at the end of it, when they said they had wounded and a KIA (killed in action) … you know … and they gave the roster numbers (of casualties) ….”

Wolfanger never finished the sentence.

The Medal of Honor, he said in prepared remarks, is “final confirmation of something that he had been to his soldiers all along, a hero.””

Official Seal of Awesomeness

Straight from the NY Daily News: “A shotgun-wielding owner of a Harlem restaurant-supply company blasted two robbers to death and wounded two others on Thursday when he caught them pistol-whipping his employee, police said.

Turning the tables on the brutish bandits, 72-year-old Charles (Gus) Augusto opened fire with a 12-gauge shotgun he kept handy for such occasions, cops and witnesses said.

“He’s been robbed before, so I’m not totally amazed,” said Stefany Blyn, who rents a space above the store from Augusto.

“They ran into some tough stuff today,” witness Vernon McKenzie, 48, said of the stickup men, including one whose bloody corpse was splayed on the sidewalk in front of Augusto’s store on W. 125th St. near Amsterdam Ave.

The robbers stormed into the business, Kaplan Brothers Blue Flame, just after 3 p.m. demanding cash.

“He did a large cash business,” a police source said. “They were probably watching the place and made a move after a sell.”

Neighbors said Augusto, who was not charged last night, had sold a stove earlier in the day.

The stickup crew – three 21-year-olds and a 29-year-old – came prepared with a pistol and plastic handcuffs. They tried to tie up two of Augusto’s employees – a 35-year-old man and his 47-year-old female co-worker, said Deputy Police Commissioner Paul Browne.

“The male employee started to struggle, and then, as he did that, the perp with the gun struck him once in the head,” Browne said.

Charles Augusto, (in blue shirt and white T-shirt) owner of the Kaplan Brothers Blue Flame Co. is led out after apparently shooting four people with a shotgun during a robbery.

“… That’s when the owner opened fire with the shotgun.”

As the bandits bolted from the store, Augusto squeezed off three blasts from the pistol-grip shotgun from 20 to 30 feet away from the pistol-whipped employee.

He was deadly accurate. The four bandits – who were all from Manhattan – were hit.

Two of the robbers were struck in the back. One, identified as James Morgan, dropped dead inside the store among the sparkling gas stoves, a pistol near his body.

The other – Raylin Footmon, a nephew of a cop in the NYPD’s 25th Precinct – made it across the street before collapsing on the sidewalk, police and witnesses said. He was later pronounced dead at St. Luke’s Hospital.

The furious employee who had been pistol-whipped ran out of the store and leaned over the mortally wounded Footmon, cursing at him, witnesses said.

The worker went back into the store and dragged Morgan’s body onto the sidewalk, yelling at him and kicking him, witnesses said.

“He stood over the body cursing him and shaking him, even though he was dead,” said Matthew Viane, 38, who lives in the neighborhood. “He was screaming at him and stomping him. “He [the employee] said, ‘You were going to kill me? Now you’re dead!’”

Viane said he overheard the 35-year-old employee – whom cops took away from the scene in handcuffs, but later released – thanking Augusto.

“Gus, you saved my life. You saved my life,” Viane quoted the worker as saying.

A man who worked at Blue Flame a couple of years ago unloading trucks said Augusto was just sticking up for himself.

“He’s a respectable businessman. … He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He found a deer by his house and nursed him back to health. He loves animals,” said the man, who declined to give his name.

Cops followed a bloody trail to Amsterdam Ave., where they found the third suspect, Bernard Whitherspoon. He was in police custody last night at St. Luke’s where he was being treated for his wounds. He was in stable condition.

The remaining robbery suspect, Shamel McCloud, was nabbed at 128th St. and St. Nicholas Terrace after being identified by a witness. He was also in stable condition at St. Luke’s last night.

Augusto told cops he bought his shotgun after a robbery nearly 30 years ago. Browne said it was unclear Thursday night if Augusto has a license for the weapon.

“He’s being treated as a witness and the victim of an attempted robbery,” Browne said of Augusto. “He has not been arrested or charged.”

A police source said that if Augusto is hit with a charge, it will be a minor one. “It doesn’t look too bad for him,” the source said.”

USS JASON DUNHAM (DDG-109)

Straight from MSNBC: “In a solemn ceremony punctuated by talk of courage, service and sacrifice, the mother of a Marine corporal on Saturday christened a warship honoring her son, who died after covering an exploding grenade to protect his comrades in Iraq.

After composing herself and taking a deep breath, Deb Dunham smashed a bottle of champagne over the bow of the 510-foot warship Jason Dunham, then held the bottle aloft to the cheers of hundreds.

She was joined by the Marines who served with her son, by her husband, Dan Dunham, and their daughter Katelyn Dunham.”

Corporal Dunham’s Medal of Honor citation: “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as Rifle Squad Leader, 4th Platoon, Company K, Third Battalion, Seventh Marines (Reinforced), Regimental Combat Team 7, First Marine Division (Reinforced), on 14 April 2004. Corporal Dunham’s squad was conducting a reconnaissance mission in the town of Karabilah, Iraq, when they heard rocket-propelled grenade and small arms fire erupt approximately two kilometers to the west. Corporal Dunham led his Combined Anti-Armor Team towards the engagement to provide fire support to their Battalion Commander’s convoy, which had been ambushed as it was traveling to Camp Husaybah. As Corporal Dunham and his Marines advanced, they quickly began to receive enemy fire. Corporal Dunham ordered his squad to dismount their vehicles and led one of his fire teams on foot several blocks south of the ambushed convoy. Discovering seven Iraqi vehicles in a column attempting to depart, Corporal Dunham and his team stopped the vehicles to search them for weapons. As they approached the vehicles, an insurgent leaped out and attacked Corporal Dunham. Corporal Dunham wrestled the insurgent to the ground and in the ensuing struggle saw the insurgent release a grenade. Corporal Dunham immediately alerted his fellow Marines to the threat. Aware of the imminent danger and without hesitation, Corporal Dunham covered the grenade with his helmet and body, bearing the brunt of the explosion and shielding his Marines from the blast. In an ultimate and selfless act of bravery in which he was mortally wounded, he saved the lives of at least two fellow Marines. By his undaunted courage, intrepid fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty, Corporal Dunham gallantly gave his life for his country, thereby reflecting great credit upon himself and upholding the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United States Naval Service”"

Official Seal of Awesomeness

Straight from Fox News: “Patrick Best, after serving with the Army for two tours in Iraq, brought home an American flag that once flew over his base near Mosul, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it — until he heard about Ed Jordan.

Jordan, who served in the Marines in the 1950s, had displayed an American flag in front of his Dallas home until Monday, when it was torched by vandals, according to local media reports. When Best heard about the vandalism, he knew his flag should go to Jordan.

“It needed a home, and he had a home that needed a flag. So it was just very simple to connect the two together,” Best told WFAA.

Jordan said he’d been planning on getting a replacement but didn’t expect one like this.

“It has that much more meaning to know that somebody you’ve been praying for, this flag was flying over them,” Jordan told WFAA.

Best’s new mission is to spend time in Coppell, Texas, with his family, the station reported — and Jordan’s new mission is to find a bigger flag pole.”

The vehicle and stickers in question

Straight from Fox News: “Frank Larison is a disabled veteran with more than 14 years of service, including more than a year of combat duty in Vietnam.

The 58-year-old former Marine now finds himself under attack by his Dallas homeowners association for displaying seven decals on his vehicle supporting the Marine Corps.

“To me, it’s being patriotic, and it shows that I served,” the veteran told FOX 4.

The board says the decals are advertisements that violate HOA rules, and must be covered or removed.

Otherwise, the homeowners association for The Woodlands II on The Creek — where Larimore has lived for eight years — says in a letter it will tow the car at Larimore’s expense. The board also threatens to fine him $50 for any future incident.

Larimore says the decals, ranging from the Marine emblem to Semper Fi slogans, aren’t advertisements for anything. “You can’t buy freedom,” he reasoned.

Some neighbors are outraged.

“That is his identity,” said neighbor Mary Castagna. “He goes to a lot of the veteran meetings, and it means a lot to him. Everyone else agrees with it; it doesn’t bother anybody.”

“He’s in the Marines, and he’s proud of it, and I don’t blame him,” said neighbor Paul Hardy. “If I’d gone through what he’s gone through, I’d be kind of proud of it myself.”

The letter from the board states you can’t have any form of advertisement anywhere on your car on your property. FOX 4 cameras spotted bumper stickers for political parties, health causes, and other non-commercial interests on the property as well.

One board member said he was unaware the HOA presidents sent the letter and did not know of any issue with Larimore’s vehicle.

“I will be looking into it,” said board member Art Bradford. “I didn’t know anything about this. I haven’t seen this.”

The board president was out of town and unavailable. The condo management company did not want to comment.”

Arthur Seltzer

Straight from Fox News: “I’ve interviewed presidents, prime ministers, celebrities and superstars, and it’s been a privilege to talk to them all. But I’m not sure I would put any of them on a par with a man called Arthur Seltzer, a man whose story is as inspirational as it is humbling, the story of an ordinary man who did extraordinary things.

Not that Arthur was alone in his endeavors. He was one of tens of thousands of young Americans who on June 6, 1944, took part in the D-Day landings, an unprecedented invasion that took so many lives, but ultimately saved the world from being crushed under the Nazi jackboot.

Arthur, 84, of Cherry Hill, N.J. has only recently begun to talk about his traumatic experiences, and only then because his granddaughter unwittingly forced him to. She was doing a school project on the Holocaust and asked him if he knew anything about it. Arthur knew more than his granddaughter could have imagined. She wrote about his experiences and got an “A” for her assignment. She then called Arthur and told him she had told her teacher he’d be happy to come in and talk about his experiences. Arthur was terrified, not of standing in front of a class full of kids, but of reliving some of the most horrific memories of his life in public. But, being the man that he is, he couldn’t let his grand-daughter down, so he stood in front of them and told them the story he is now also sharing with FOX News, the story of what he calls “the longest day of my life.”

On June 6 1944, Arthur Seltzer, then just 19 years old, a communications specialist with the 4th Signals Battalion, was attached to a unit of the 29th Infantry. As they approached Omaha Beach at dawn the men on Arthur’s landing craft signed a dollar bill — 36 signatures, a signal of their bond, a lucky dollar in Arthur seltzer’s pocket. Minutes later they were in the water.

Arthur Seltzer - WWII

“We were in the 3rd and 4th wave going in,” says Arthur, “and we were told not to go out the front of the ship but to go over the side of the ship so I had 60 pounds of equipment on my back, soldiers had their stuff and so over the sides we went. I can’t swim. I wasn’t worried about getting shot, I was worried about not drowning. When we finally got to the beach there was no craters for us to hide in and naturally machine guns up there were firing. Omaha got the name ‘bloody Omaha’ because the only thing you could see was soldiers lying on the beach that were dead, blood all around you.”

I asked Arthur what thoughts were going through his head as he waded through the blood-red water and on to the beach, also littered with the bodies of his dead comrades.

“Well basically I believe each one was trying to say where can I go to be saved, where can I hide, where can I be that I won’t get hit.”

His main objective, he said, was simply to stay alive.

Arthur did stay alive, and later on that fateful day he saw the sergeant whose idea it had been to sign the dollar bill, a dollar bill Arthur has kept to this day.

“He says, ‘You and I are the only two survived from that landing craft,’ and I said to him. ‘You mean you lost your whole squad?’ and he says, “Yes I lost my whole squad.”

Arthur Seltzer’s war did not end on D-Day. He went on to fight in the Battle of the Bulge, forever known as the greatest battle of the war, and on April 29, 1945, Arthur, who is Jewish, was with the American troops who discovered the Dachau concentration camp.

Arthur describes the scene as, “Dead bodies all around, naked skeletons, people dressed in these uniforms with black stripes, they were half starved, the odor was so bad you could hardly take it. The odor of death.”

Arthur Seltzer's Signed Bill

Six and a half decades on, Arthur still suffers from post traumatic stress. But he’s learned to talk about his experiences, to pause when he needs to, to relieve the tension by pulling at a rubberband he wears on his wrist, something he did regularly during our hourlong conversation.

When I asked him how he deals with these anniversaries he became particularly emotional.

“Every June 6 the first thing I do is put my flag out.” Arthur then paused, clearly struggling with the memories. “That’s very important to me. It’s a bad day for me.” At this point he stopped, the tears began to flow and he pulled at the rubber band. Eventually he gathered himself and said simply, “It brings back a lot of memories.”

But Arthur Seltzer also told me he is ready to move on. “It’s a different generation.” I asked him whether we should forgive but not forget, to which he replied, “That’s correct. You never forget any anniversary, you don’t forget the friends you lost when you served over there you don’t forget the people who gave their lives to make this country a free country.”

Arthur Seltzer is not just an American hero, he is a world hero. As someone born in Britain I could have been born into a country where German was the first language, where Nazis ruled, had it not been for the efforts of Arthur and so many Americans like him. On this anniversary I owe him, and every D-Day veteran, a huge debt of thanks. We all do. To steal NBC anchor Tom Brokaw’s book title, they truly are The Greatest Generation.”

Jim Norene: D-Day Soldier

Straight from Fox News: “Recalling the “unimaginable hell” of D-Day suffering, President Obama paid tribute Saturday to the against-all-odds Allied landings that broke Nazi Germany’s grip on France and turned the tide of history.

“The sheer improbability of this victory is part of what makes D-Day so memorable,” Obama said.

He spoke under a sunny sky at the American Cemetery on cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach and other landings sites where American, British and Canadian soldiers established a beachhead 65 years ago under the withering fire of Nazi troops awaiting the Allies’ cross-channel gamble.

Obama visited an American battlefield museum with his wife, Michelle; laid a wreath in honor of the fallen; greeted U.S. military members; and mingled with uniformed World War II veterans.

Normandy’s cliffs, still pocked with gun emplacements and other remnants of the war, including the white headstones of thousands of buried American troops, provided sure footing for a new U.S. commander in chief.

Obama noted that the site has been visited by many U.S. presidents and predicted that “Long after our time on this Earth has passed, one word will still bring forth the pride and awe of men and women who will never meet the heroes who sit before us: D-Day.”

He said the lessons of that pivotal effort are eternal.

“Friends and veterans, what we cannot forget — what we must not forget — is that D-Day was a time and a place where the bravery and selflessness of a few was able to change the course of an entire century,” he said.

Speaking at a time when he is directing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan — both of which have lasted longer than the U.S. involvement in World War II — Obama described in stark terms the harsh conditions the Allied invaders faced at Normandy. He noted that in many ways the seaborne invasion plan went awry, leaving the assaulting forces vulnerable to Nazi guns in their path.

“When the ships landed here at Omaha, an unimaginable hell rained down on the men inside,” he said. “Many never made it out of the boats.”

But the Allies prevailed, gathering strength for a breakout from Normandy in July that opened a path toward Paris and eventually took the Allies all the way to Germany and victory over the Nazis. Obama paid tribute to the Allies — the British, the Canadian, the French as well as the Russians, “who sustained some of the war’s heaviest casualties on the Eastern front.”

“At an hour of maximum danger, amid the bleakest of circumstances, men who thought themselves ordinary found it within themselves to do the extraordinary,” Obama said. “They fought out of a simple sense of duty — a duty sustained by the same ideals for which their countrymen had fought and bled for over two centuries.”

Earlier, French President Nicolas Sarkozy, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper and British Prime Minister Gordon Brown each recalled the sacrifices of the Allies.

Obama noted that his grandfather, Stanley Dunham, arrived at Normandy six weeks after D-Day and marched across France in Lt. Gen. George S. Patton’s army. Attending with Obama was his great uncle, Charles Payne, who was part of the first American division to reach and liberate a Nazi concentration camp that Obama and his great uncle visited in Germany on Friday.

Obama saluted the contributions of individual veterans of the Normandy landings, including one veteran, Jim Norene, who fought as a member of the 101st Airborne Division.

“Last night, after visiting this cemetery for one last time, he passed away in his sleep,” the president said. “Jim was gravely ill when he left his home, and he knew that he might not return. But just as he did 65 years ago, he came anyway. May he now rest in peace with the boys he once bled with, and may his family always find solace in the heroism he showed here.”"

The Atlantic Monthly | November 1960
First Wave at Omaha Beach

When he was promoted to officer rank at eighteen, S. L. A. MARSHALL was the youngest shavetail in the United States Army during World War I. He rejoined the Army in 1942, became a combat historian with the rank of colonel; and the notes he made at the time of the Normandy landing are the source of this heroic reminder. Readers will remember his frank and ennobling book about Korea, THE RIVER AND THE GAUNTLET, which was the result of still a third tour of duty.

by S. L. A. Marshall – UNLIKE what happens to other great battles, the passing of the years and the retelling of the story have softened the horror of Omaha Beach on D Day.

Landing Craft

This fluke of history is doubly ironic since no other decisive battle has ever been so thoroughly reported for the official record. While the troops were still fighting in Normandy, what had happened to each unit in the landing had become known through the eyewitness testimony of all survivors. It was this research by the field historians which first determined where each company had hit the beach and by what route it had moved inland. Owing to the fact that every unit save one had been mislanded, it took this work to show the troops where they had fought.

How they fought and what they suffered were also determined in detail during the field research. As published today, the map data showing where the troops came ashore check exactly with the work done in the field; but the accompanying narrative describing their ordeal is a sanitized version of the original field notes.

The Longest Day misses the essence of the Omaha story.

In everything that has been written about Omaha until now, there is less blood and iron than in the original field notes covering any battalion landing in the first wave. Doubt it? Then let’s follow along with Able and Baker companies, 116th Infantry, 29th Division. Their story is lifted from my fading Normandy notebook, which covers the landing of every Omaha company.

ABLE Company riding the tide in seven Higgins boats is still five thousand yards from the beach when first taken under artillery fire. The shells fall short. At one thousand yards, Boat No. 5 is hit dead on and foundered. Six men drown before help arrives. Second Lieutenant Edward Gearing and twenty others paddle around until picked up by naval craft, thereby missing the fight at the shore line. It’s their lucky day. The other six boats ride unscathed to within one hundred yards of the shore, where a shell into Boat No. 3 kills two men. Another dozen drown, taking to the water as the boat sinks. That leaves five boats.

Lieutenant Edward Tidrick in Boat No. 2 cries out: “My God, we’re coming in at the right spot, but look at it! No shingle, no wall, no shell holes, no cover. Nothing!”

His men are at the sides of the boat, straining for a view of the target. They stare but say nothing. At exactly 6:36 A.M. ramps are dropped along the boat line and the men jump off in water anywhere from waist deep to higher than a man’s head. This is the signal awaited by the Germans atop the bluff. Already pounded by mortars, the floundering line is instantly swept by crossing machine-gun fires from both ends of the beach.

Able Company has planned to wade ashore in three files from each boat, center file going first, then flank files peeling off to right and left. The first men out try to do it but are ripped apart before they can make five yards. Even the lightly wounded die by drowning, doomed by the waterlogging of their overloaded packs. From Boat No. 1, all hands jump off in water over their heads. Most of them are carried down. Ten or so survivors get around the boat and clutch at its sides in an attempt to stay afloat. The same thing happens to the section in Boat No. 4. Half of its people are lost to the fire or tide before anyone gets ashore. All order has vanished from Able Company before it has fired a shot.

Already the sea runs red. Even among some of the lightly wounded who jumped into shallow water the hits prove fatal. Knocked down by a bullet in the arm or weakened by fear and shock, they are unable to rise again and are drowned by the onrushing tide. Other wounded men drag themselves ashore and, on finding the sands, lie quiet from total exhaustion, only to be overtaken and killed by the water. A few move safely through the bullet swarm to the beach, then find that they cannot hold there. They return to the water to use it for body cover. Faces turned upward, so that their nostrils are out of water, they creep toward the land at the same rate as the tide. That is how most of the survivors make it. The less rugged or less clever seek the cover of enemy obstacles moored along the upper half of the beach and are knocked off by machine-gun fire.

Within seven minutes after the ramps drop, Able Company is inert and leaderless. At Boat No. 2, Lieutenant Tidrick takes a bullet through the throat as he jumps from the ramp into the water. He staggers onto the sand and flops down ten feet from Private First Class Leo J. Nash. Nash sees the blood spurting and hears the strangled words gasped by Tidrick: “Advance with the wire cutters!” It’s futile; Nash has no cutters. To give the order, Tidrick has raised himself up on his hands and made himself a target for an instant. Nash, burrowing into the sand, sees machine gun bullets rip Tidrick from crown to pelvis. From the cliff above, the German gunners are shooting into the survivors as from a roof top.

Captain Taylor N. Fellers and Lieutenant Benjamin R. Kearfoot never make it. They had loaded with a section of thirty men in Boat No. 6 (Landing Craft, Assault, No. 1015). But exactly what happened to this boat and its human cargo was never to be known. No one saw the craft go down. How each man aboard it met death remains unreported. Half of the drowned bodies were later found along the beach. It is supposed that the others were claimed by the sea.

Omaha Beach Under Fire

Along the beach, only one Able Company officer still lives—Lieutenant Elijah Nance, who is hit in the heel as he quits the boat and hit in the belly by a second bullet as he makes the sand. By the end of ten minutes, every sergeant is either dead or wounded. To the eyes of such men as Private Howard I. Grosser and Private First Class Gilbert G. Murdock, this clean sweep suggests that the Germans on the high ground have spotted all leaders and concentrated fire their way. Among the men who are still moving in with the tide, rifles, packs, and helmets have already been cast away in the interests of survival.

To the right of where Tidrick’s boat is drifting with the tide, its coxswain lying dead next to the shell-shattered wheel, the seventh craft, carrying a medical section with one officer and sixteen men, noses toward the beach. The ramp drops. In that instant, two machine guns concentrate their fire on the opening. Not a man is given time to jump. All aboard are cut down where they stand.

By the end of fifteen minutes, Able Company has still not fired a weapon. No orders are being given by anyone. No words are spoken. The few able-bodied survivors move or not as they see fit. Merely to stay alive is a full-time job. The fight has become a rescue operation in which nothing counts but the force of a strong example.

Above all others stands out the first-aid man, Thomas Breedin. Reaching the sands, he strips off pack, blouse, helmet, and boots. For a moment he stands there so that others on the strand will see him and get the same idea. Then he crawls into the water to pull in wounded men about to be overlapped by the tide. The deeper water is still spotted with tide walkers advancing at the same pace as the rising water. But now, owing to Breedin’s example, the strongest among them become more conspicuous targets. Coming along, they pick up wounded comrades and float them to the shore raftwise. Machine-gun fire still rakes the water. Burst after burst spoils the rescue act, shooting the floating man from the hands of the walker or killing both together. But Breedin for this hour leads a charmed life and stays with his work indomitably.

By the end of one half hour, approximately two thirds of the company is forever gone. There is no precise casualty figure for that moment. There is for the Normandy landing as a whole no accurate figure for the first hour or first day. The circumstances precluded it. Whether more Able Company riflemen died from water than from fire is known only to heaven. All earthly evidence so indicates, but cannot prove it.

By the end of one hour, the survivors from the main body have crawled across the sand to the foot of the bluff, where there is a narrow sanctuary of defiladed space. There they lie all day, clean spent, unarmed, too shocked to feel hunger, incapable even of talking to one another. No one happens by to succor them, ask what has happened, provide water, or offer unwanted pity. D Day at Omaha afforded no time or space for such missions. Every landing company was overloaded by its own assault problems.

By the end of one hour and forty-five minutes, six survivors from the boat section on the extreme right shake loose and work their way to a shelf a few rods up the cliff. Four fall exhausted from the short climb and advance no farther. They stay there through the day, seeing no one else from the company. The other two, Privates Jake Shefer and Thomas Lovejoy, join a group from the Second Ranger Battalion, which is assaulting Pointe du Hoc to the right of the company sector, and fight on with the Rangers through the day. Two men. Two rifles. Except for these, Able Company’s contribution to the D Day fire fight is a cipher.

BAKER Company which is scheduled to land twenty-six minutes after Able and right on top of it, supporting and reinforcing, has had its full load of trouble on the way in. So rough is the sea during the journey that the men have to bail furiously with their helmets to keep the six boats from swamping. Thus preoccupied, they do not see the disaster which is overtaking Able until they are almost atop it. Then, what their eyes behold is either so limited or so staggering to the senses that control withers, the assault wave begins to dissolve, and disunity induced by fear virtually cancels the mission. A great cloud of smoke and dust raised by the mortar and machine-gun fire has almost closed a curtain around Able Company’s ordeal. Outside the pall, nothing is to be seen but a line of corpses adrift, a few heads bobbing in the water and the crimson-running tide. But this is enough for the British coxswains. They raise the cry: “We can’t go in there. We can’t see the landmarks. We must pull off.”

In the command boat, Captain Ettore V. Zappacosta pulls a Colt .45 and says: “By God, you’ll take this boat straight in.” His display of courage wins obedience, but it’s still a fool’s order. Such of Baker’s boats as try to go straight in suffer Able’s fate without helping the other company whatever. Thrice during the approach mortar shells break right next to Zappacosta’s boat but by an irony leave it unscathed, thereby sparing the riders a few more moments of life. At seventy-five yards from the sand Zappacosta yells: “Drop the ramp !” The end goes down, and a storm of bullet fire comes in.

Troops Wade Ashore

Zappacosta jumps first from the boat, reels ten yards through the elbow-high tide, and yells back: “I’m hit.” He staggers on a few more steps. The aid man, Thomas Kenser, sees him bleeding from hip and shoulder. Kenser yells: “Try to make it in; I’m coming.” But the captain falls face forward into the wave, and the weight of his equipment and soaked pack pin him to the bottom. Kenser jumps toward him and is shot dead while in the air. Lieutenant Tom Dallas of Charley Company, who has come along to make a reconnaissance, is the third man. He makes it to the edge of the sand. There a machine-gun burst blows his head apart before he can flatten.

Private First Class Robert L. Sales, who is lugging Zappacosta’s radio (an SCR 300), is the fourth man to leave the boat, having waited long enough to see the others die. His boot heel catches on the edge of the ramp and he falls sprawling into the tide, losing the radio but saving his life. Every man who tries to follow him is either killed or wounded before reaching dry land. Sales alone gets to the beach unhit. To travel those few yards takes him two hours. First he crouches in the water, and waddling forward on his haunches just a few paces, collides with a floating log—driftwood. In that moment, a mortar shell explodes just above his head, knocking him groggy. He hugs the log to keep from going down, and somehow the effort seems to clear his head a little. Next thing he knows, one of Able Company’s tide walkers hoists him aboard the log and, using his sheath knife, cuts away Sales’s pack, boots, and assault jacket.

Feeling stronger, Sales returns to the water, and from behind the log, using it as cover, pushes toward the sand. Private Mack L. Smith of Baker Company, hit three times through the face, joins him there. An Able Company rifleman named Kemper, hit thrice in the right leg, also comes alongside. Together they follow the log until at last they roll it to the farthest reach of high tide. Then they flatten themselves behind it, staying there for hours after the flow has turned to ebb. The dead of both companies wash up to where they lie, and then wash back out to sea again. As a body drifts in close to them, Sales and companions, disregarding the fire, crawl from behind the log to take a look. If any one of them recognizes the face of a comrade, they join in dragging the body up onto the dry sand beyond the water’s reach. The unfamiliar dead are left to the sea. So long as the tide is full, they stay with this unique task. Later, an unidentified first-aid man who comes wiggling along the beach dresses the wounds of Smith. Sales, as he finds strength, bandages Kemper. The three remain behind the log until night falls. There is nothing else to be reported of any member of Zappacosta’s boat team.

Only one other Baker Company boat tries to come straight in to the beach. Somehow the boat founders. Somehow all of its people are killed—one British coxswain and about thirty American infantrymen. Where they fall, there is no one to take note of and report.

FRIGHTENED coxswains in the other four craft take one quick look, instinctively draw back, and then veer right and left away from the Able Company shambles. So doing, they dodge their duty while giving a break to their passengers. Such is the shock to the boat team leaders, and such their feeling of relief at the turning movement, that not one utters a protest. Lieutenant Leo A. Pingenot’s coxswain swings the boat far rightward toward Pointe du Hoc; then, spying a small and deceptively peaceful-looking cove, heads directly for the land. Fifty yards out, Pingenot yells: “Drop the ramp!” The coxswain freezes on the rope, refusing to lower. Staff Sergeant Odell L. Padgett jumps him, throttles him, and bears him to the floor. Padgett’s men lower the rope and jump for the water. In two minutes, they are all in up to their necks and struggling to avoid drowning. That quickly, Pingenot is already far out ahead of them. Padgett comes even with him, and together they cross onto dry land. The beach of the cove is heavily strewn with giant boulders. Bullets seem to be pinging off every rock.

Pingenot and Padgett dive behind the same rock. Then they glance back, but to their horror see not one person. Quite suddenly smoke has half blanked out the scene beyond the water’s edge. Pingenot moans: “My God, the whole boat team is dead.” Padgett sings out: “Hey, are you hit?” Back come many voices from beyond the smoke. “What’s the rush?” “Take it easy!” “We’ll get there.” “Where’s the fire?” “Who wants to know?” The men are still moving along, using the water as cover. Padgett’s yell is their first information that anyone else has moved up front. They all make it to the shore, and they are twenty-eight strong at first. Pingenot and Padgett manage to stay ahead of them, coaxing and encouraging. Padgett keeps yelling: “Come on, goddam it, things are better up here!” But still they lose two men killed and three wounded in crossing the beach.

In the cove, the platoon latches on to a company of Rangers, fights all day as part of that company, and helps destroy the enemy entrenchments atop Pointe du Hoc. By sundown that mop-up is completed. The platoon bivouacs at the first hedgerow beyond the cliff.

The other Baker Company boat, which turns to the right, has far less luck. Staff Sergeant Robert M. Campbell, who leads the section, is the first man to jump out when the ramp goes down. He drops in drowning water, and his load of two bangalore torpedoes takes him straight to the bottom. So he jettisons the bangalores and then, surfacing, cuts away all equipment for good measure. Machine-gun fire brackets him, and he submerges again briefly. Never a strong swimmer, he heads back out to sea. For two hours he paddles around, two hundred or so yards from the shore. Though he hears and sees nothing of the battle, he somehow gets the impression that the invasion has failed and that all other Americans are dead, wounded, or have been taken prisoner. Strength fast going, in despair he moves ashore rather than drown. Beyond the smoke he quickly finds the fire. So he grabs a helmet from a dead man’s head, crawls on hands and knees to the sea wall, and there finds five of his men, two of them unwounded.

Like Campbell, Private First Class Jan J. Budziszewski is carried to the bottom by his load of two bangalores. He hugs them half a minute before realizing that he will either let loose or drown. Next, he shucks off his helmet and pack and drops his rifle. Then he surfaces. After swimming two hundred yards, he sees that he is moving in exactly the wrong direction. So he turns about and heads for the beach, where he crawls ashore “under a rain of bullets.” In his path lies a dead Ranger. Budziszewski takes the dead man’s helmet, rifle, and canteen and crawls on to the sea wall. The only survivor from Campbell’s boat section to get off the beach, he spends his day walking to and fro along the foot of the bluff, looking for a friendly face. But he meets only strangers, and none shows any interest in him.

Low Tide

In Lieutenant William B. Williams’ boat, the coxswain steers sharp left and away from Zappacosta’s sector. Not seeing the captain die, Williams doesn’t know that command has now passed to him. Guiding on his own instinct, the coxswain moves along the coast six hundred yards, then puts the boat straight in. It’s a good guess; he has found a little vacuum in the battle. The ramp drops on dry sand and the boat team jumps ashore. Yet it’s a close thing. Mortar fire has dogged them all the way; and as the last rifleman clears the ramp, one shell lands dead center of the boat, blows it apart, and kills the coxswain. Momentarily, the beach is free of fire, but the men cannot cross it at a bound. Weak from seasickness and fear, they move at a crawl, dragging their equipment. By the end of twenty minutes, Williams and ten men are over the sand and resting in the lee of the sea wall. Five others are hit by machine-gun fire crossing the beach; six men, last seen while taking cover in a tidal pocket, are never heard from again. More mortar fire lands around the party as Williams leads it across the road beyond the sea wall. The men scatter. When the shelling lifts, three of them do not return. Williams leads the seven survivors up a trail toward the fortified village of Les Moulins atop the bluff. He recognizes the ground and knows that he is taking on a tough target. Les Moulins is perched above a draw, up which winds a dirt road from the beach, designated on the invasion maps as Exit No. 3.

Williams and his crew of seven are the first Americans to approach it D Day morning. Machine-gun fire from a concrete pillbox sweeps over them as they near the brow of the hill, moving now at a crawl through thick grass. Williams says to the others: “Stay here; we’re too big a target!” They hug earth, and he crawls forward alone, moving via a shallow gully. Without being detected, he gets to within twenty yards of the gun, obliquely downslope from it. He heaves a grenade; but he has held it just a bit too long and it explodes in air, just outside the embrasure. His second grenade hits the concrete wall and bounces right back on him. Three of its slugs hit him in the shoulders. Then, from out of the pillbox, a German potato masher sails down on him and explodes just a few feet away; five more fragments cut into him. He starts crawling back to his men; en route, three bullets from the machine gun rip his rump and right leg.

The seven are still there. Williams hands his map and compass to Staff Sergeant Frank M. Price, saying: “It’s your job now. But go the other way—toward Vierville.” Price starts to look at Williams’ wounds, but Williams shakes him off, saying: “No, get moving.” He then settles himself in a hole in the embankment, stays there all day, and at last gets medical attention just before midnight.

On leaving Williams, Price’s first act is to hand map and compass (the symbols of leadership) to Technical Sergeant William Pearce, whose seniority the lieutenant has overlooked. They cross the draw, one man at a time, and some distance beyond come to a ravine; on the far side, they bump their first hedgerow, and as they look for an entrance, fire comes against them. Behind a second hedgerow, not more than thirty yards away, are seven Germans, five rides and two burp guns. On exactly even terms, these two forces engage for the better part of an hour, apparently with no one’s getting hit. Then Pearce settles the fight by crawling along a drainage ditch to the enemy flank. He kills the seven Germans with a Browning Automatic Rifle.

For Pearce and his friends, it is a first taste of battle; its success is giddying. Heads up, they walk along the road straight into Vierville, disregarding all precautions. They get away with it only because that village is already firmly in the hands of Lieutenant Walter Taylor of Baker Company and twenty men from his boat team.

Taylor is a luminous figure in the story of D Day, one of the forty-seven immortals of Omaha who, by their dauntless initiative at widely separated points along the beach, saved the landing from total stagnation and disaster. Courage and luck are his in extraordinary measure.

When Baker Company’s assault wave breaks up just short of the surf where Able Company is in ordeal, Taylor’s coxswain swings his boat sharp left, then heads toward the shore about halfway between Zappacosta’s boat and Williams’. Until a few seconds after the ramp drops, this bit of beach next to the village called Hamel-au-Prêtre is blessedly clear of fire. No mortar shells crown the start. Taylor leads his section crawling across the beach and over the sea wall, losing four men killed and two wounded (machine-gun fire) in this brief movement. Some yards off to his right, Taylor has seen Lieutenants Harold Donaldson and Emil Winkler shot dead. But there is no halt for reflection; Taylor leads the section by trail straight up the bluff and into Vierville, where his luck continues. In a two-hour fight he whips a German platoon without losing a man.

The village is quiet when Pearce joins him. Pearce says: “Williams is shot up back there and can’t move.”

Says Taylor: “I guess that makes me company commander.”

Answers Pearce: “This is probably all of Baker Company.” Pearce takes a head count; they number twenty-eight, including Taylor.

Says Taylor: “That ought to be enough. Follow me!”

Omaha Beach American Cemetary

Inland from Vierville about five hundred yards lies the Château de Vaumicel, imposing in its rock-walled massiveness, its hedgerow-bordered fields all entrenched and interconnected with artilleryproof tunnels. To every man but Taylor the target looks prohibitive. Still, they follow him. Fire stops them one hundred yards short of the château. The Germans are behind a hedgerow at mid-distance. Still feeling their way, Taylor’s men flatten, open fire with rifles, and toss a few grenades, though the distance seems too great. By sheer chance, one grenade glances off the helmet of a German squatting in a foxhole. He jumps up, shouting: “Kamerad! Kamerad!” Thereupon twenty-four of the enemy walk from behind the hedgerow with their hands in the air. Taylor pares off one of his riflemen to march the prisoners back to the beach. The brief fight costs him three wounded. Within the château, he takes two more prisoners, a German doctor and his first-aid man. Taylor puts them on a “kind of a parole,” leaving his three wounded in their keeping while moving his platoon to the first crossroads beyond the château.

Here he is stopped by the sudden arrival of three truckloads of German infantry, who deploy into the fields on both flanks of his position and start an envelopment. The manpower odds, about three to one against him, are too heavy. In the first trade of fire, lasting not more than two minutes, a rifleman lying beside Taylor is killed, three others are wounded, and the B.A.R. is shot from Pearce’s hands. That leaves but twenty men and no automatic weapons.

Taylor yells: “Back to the château!” They go out, crawling as far as the first hedgerow; then they rise and trot along, supporting their wounded. Taylor is the last man out, having stayed behind to cover the withdrawal with his carbine until the hedgerows interdict fire against the others. So far, this small group has had no contact with any other part of the expedition, and for all its members know, the invasion may have failed.

They make it to the château. The enemy comes on and moves in close. The attacking fire builds up. But the stone walls are fire-slotted, and through the midday and early afternoon these ports well serve the American riflemen. The question is whether the ammunition will outlast the Germans. It is answered at sundown, just as the supply runs out, by the arrival of fifteen Rangers who join their fire with Taylor’s, and the Germans fade back.

Already Taylor and his force are farther south than any element of the right flank in the Omaha expedition. But Taylor isn’t satisfied. The battalion objective, as specified for the close of D Day, is still more than one half mile to the westward. He says to the others: “We’ve got to make it.”

So he leads them forth, once again serving as first scout, eighteen of his own riflemen and fifteen Rangers following in column. One man is killed by a bullet getting away from Vaumicel. Dark closes over them. They prepare to bivouac. Having got almost to the village of Louvieres, they are by this time almost one half mile in front of anything else in the United States Army. There a runner reaches them with the message that the remnants of the battalion are assembling seven hundred yards closer to the sea; Taylor and party are directed to fall back on them. It is done.

Later, still under the spell, Price paid the perfect tribute to Taylor. He said: “We saw no sign of fear in him. Watching him made men of us. Marching or fighting, he was leading. We followed him because there was nothing else to do.”

Thousands of Americans were spilled onto Omaha Beach. The high ground was won by a handful of men like Taylor who on that day burned with a flame bright beyond common understanding.

Marine Sam Alexander saved the leader of his section, 11 Troop, after the corporal was shot twice in the groin during a firefight with insurgents in Helmand, Afghanistan

Straight from the Independent: “It had been a morning of fierce close-quarter combat with incessant fire coming from insurgents in the heart of Taliban country. As the Royal Marines edged their way past the high walls of a compound the section commander, a corporal, fell to the ground with two shots to the groin.

The team had walked into an ambush and Marine Sam Alexander knew that the only chance they had was to fight their way through. He picked up a heavy machine-gun and “traded lead” with the insurgents just 15 metres away. Running out of ammunition, he opened up with his 9mm pistol until that too was spent. The Taliban fighters were forced to withdraw and found themselves being hunted as they ran into other marine units coming in from the flanks.

By his bravery, 26-year-old Marine Alexander saved the life of the shot corporal and also earned vital minutes for the rest of the team from 42 Commando to gain cover. What made his actions even more remarkable was that just a few hours earlier he had been shot in the head, the bullet embedding itself in his helmet. Waving away offers to fall back, he had insisted on continuing with the others as they went through compounds clashing repeatedly with the insurgents.”

Justice

Straight from the Miami Herald: “An afternoon shootout at a busy Burger King restaurant in Miami left a potential robber dead and the customer who shot him seriously wounded.

Gaspar Musso

Gaspar Musso in his World War II days.

NYPD officer Susan Porcello

Straight from NY Daily News: “Sometimes when old Marines die they do fade away into unmarked graves in Potter’s Field.

Such might have been the case for Gaspar Musso, USMC 925050, who fought in the Battle of Tinian in the Marianas Islands in 1944 and who died Nov. 15 at age 84 in a Brooklyn nursing home.

Enter Police Officer Susan Porcello, a PBA delegate at the 68th Precinct in Bay Ridge and one of those big-hearted New Yorkers who still make this the best city on Earth.

“No way was I going to let this brave old Marine who fought for his country in WWII get buried in Potter’s Field,” she says.

Porcello first met Musso back in July when she responded to a 911 ambulance call to the retired insurance broker’s one-bedroom apartment on, appropriately, Marine Ave.

“When my partner, Eddie Ennis, and I arrived at his apartment Gaspar seemed a little bit down about himself,” Porcello says. “He said he felt alone in the world. We talked to him a bit and as I looked around his tidy apartment I noticed that he had served in the military – the Marines to be exact.”

Porcello asked him about family and friends. “Look around you, what do you see?” Musso said. “I have no family or friends.”

To which Porcello said, “Well, I’m your friend.”

Right there, with those four beautiful words, Gaspar Musso was destined to die with the dignity he’d earned with a rifle in his hands, fighting in a USMC uniform, in a war that saved civilization.

If she didn’t already wear a badge, you’d want to pin a star on Susan Porcello.

Musso, a diabetic with a host of other age-related maladies, had accidentally overdosed on his prescription medications. Porcello accompanied him to Lutheran Medical Center.

“I told him I’d be back to visit him and take him to a senior center where he could make some friends,” said Porcello, who comes from a big Italian family with a mom, dad, three sisters and a brother.

“I told him I was making him my ‘Grandpa,’ and if he liked, he could spend Thanksgiving with my family. Eddie and I discussed alternating holidays with Gaspar so he wouldn’t be alone for any of them.”

Two days later Musso was placed in critical care. Porcello asked hospital staff where he’d be buried if he didn’t make it. “Potter’s Field,” said one administrator.

“This infuriated me,” said Porcello. “There was no way I was going to let a man who fought for our country be buried in Potter’s Field. Not on my watch!”

Porcello told the hospital to keep her apprised of Musso’s condition. She had a local priest visit him. Porcello even asked NYPD’s Missing Person’s Squad to search for next of kin.

No luck.

Musso had been an only child to Anthony and Marie Musso, both deceased. He had no other relatives. Musso’s only friend, an upstairs neighbor, had died the year before.

After his health improved, Musso asked Porcello to become his official health proxy.

She transferred him to Caton Park Nursing Home, where he was treated extremely well. She visited him often, learning that Musso was born May 7, 1924, joined the USMC in December 1943, finished training at Camp Lejune in March 1944 and was fighting with the 2nd Marines on Tinian Island by July 1944.

“I visited Gaspar on Nov. 13, bringing him rosary beads, a Bible, and his reading glasses,” she said.

“The next day, Nov. 14, I returned and found Gaspar sitting up in a chair, dressed in his own clothes. Looking great.”

Porcello washed his hands and face, trimmed his nails and eyebrows and asked if he was coming to her house for Thanksgiving. “I’m trying!” he said. He also asked Porcello to bring him a Christmas wreath for his room.

The next morning Porcello received a phone call saying that Gaspar Musso had died peacefully in his sleep.

No way was she going to let her good friend be toe-tagged and buried in Potter’s Field.

Porcello paid out of her own pocket for a wake at McLaughlin’s on Third Ave. and a mass at St. Patrick’s Church in Bay Ridge, where a crowd of good-hearted cops from the 68th Precinct filled the pews, six serving as pallbearers. Sgt. Angel Rosa of the 68th, also a Marine, arranged for a USMC honor guard at Musso’s funeral.

Then taps blew over Gaspar Musso, United States Marine, as he was buried next to his mother at Resurrection Cemetery in Staten Island.

With the dignity he deserved.

Semper Fi”

Straight from Wikipedia: “Burke’s tour of duty was almost over in October 1951. At the time, Burke was found at the rear of his regiment. He had a plane ticket in his pocket and was eager to see his wife and infant son. Two miles away, Burke’s company was attempting to cross the Yokkok-chon River. The company was hindered by a large and well-entrenched Chinese force on Hill 200. The battle enraged for days as the 2nd Battalion’s attacks were constantly being repelled. At first, Lieutenant Burke kept up with the reports. Eventually, he no longer tolerated what was going on and decided to enter the front lines. As he himself stated, “I couldn’t see leaving my guys up there without trying to do something.”

When Burke was at the base of Hill 200, he was shocked to witness his company’s strength mitigated to thirty-five traumatized survivors. Burke described the condition of his company clearly: “These men were completely beat. They lay huddled in foxholes, unable to move. They all had the thousand-yard stare of men who’d seen too much fighting, too much death.” Burke dragged up a 57 mm recoilless rifle and shot three rounds at the closest enemy bunker. The bunker itself was a wooden-fronted structure covering a cave, which was dug into the overall hillside. The Chinese attacked American troops by hurling a plethora of grenades from their trenches. Burke aimed his M1 rifle at the trench line and shot at every Chinese soldier that rose to throw a grenade. Unfortunately, the grenades were still being thrown. After having used an eight-round clip, Burke decided to take more drastic measures. As he recalled, “I considered myself a pretty fair shot, but this was getting ridiculous. I had to do something.”

After laying down his rifle, Burke took a grenade and ran approximately thirty yards to the Chinese trench line. He avoided enemy fire by hurling himself at the base of a dirt berm that was two feet high. When the Chinese momentarily stopped firing, Burke jumped into one of the trenches with a pistol in one hand and a grenade in the other. He shot five or six Chinese soldiers in the forehead. Burke also fired at two Chinese soldiers from further down the trench. Afterwards, he threw his grenade in their direction, jumped out of the trench, and placed himself against the dirt berm. The Chinese were aware of Burke’s location and began throwing grenades at his position. Most of the grenades thrown rolled down the hill and harmlessly exploded. Some of the grenades, however, did explode nearby Burke’s position. Burke himself managed to catch three grenades and tossed them back at the Chinese. At the same time, troops from Burke’s company threw grenades. However, some of the grenades did not reach their Chinese targets and they exploded in close proximity to Burke’s position.

Burke abandoned the dirt berm by crawling off to the side where he found cover in a gully. The gully itself ended further up Hill 200 at a Korean burial mound. After having edged his way up the hill, Burke peeked over the top of the burial mound. He witnessed the main Chinese trench, which was approximately 100 yards (100 m) away from his position. The trench was covered in enfilade, was curved around the hill and contained a myriad of Chinese troops. Surprisingly, the Chinese were in a state of ease as some of the soldiers talked, sat, and laughed while other units were throwing grenades and firing mortars. Burke went down the gully to Company G’s position and told Sergeant Arthur Foster, the senior NCO, “Get’em ready to attack when I give you the signal!” Burke then dragged the last functioning Browning model 1919 machine gun along with three cans of ammunition back up the hill. On top of the burial mound, he set up his tripod, mounted his machine gun, set the screw to free traverse, and prepared his 250-round ammunition. He began firing at the nearest part of the Chinese trench were the mortars were located. After Burke shot at all of the Chinese mortar squads, he then fired upon a machine gun emplacement. Afterwards, Burke fired up and down the trench with the Chinese too shocked to react. Eventually, the Chinese fled down the trench in a panic. Burke continued to fire until his Browning was jammed. While he attempted to clear his weapon, an enemy started throwing grenades at his position. Burke not only ignored the enemy unit, but he also ignored the grenade fragments that tore open the back of his hand. Eventually, Burke was able to clear his weapon and kill the Chinese grenadier.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Foster was leading a small group to Burke’s location and was summoned by Burke to provide extra firepower. Burke and company were convinced that they were under siege from a full-sized force instead of a few adamant skirmishers. As the Chinese retreated, Burke wrapped his field jacket around the Browning’s hot barrel sleeve and tore the 31-pound weapon off its tripod. He then wrapped the ammunition belt around his body, walked towards the trench, and fired upon retreating units. Naturally, Sergeant Foster and his men followed Burke. When Burke depleted his Browning ammunition, he utilized his .45 automatic and grenades in order to clear out bunkers. At Hill 200, Burke managed to kill over one-hundred men, decimate two mortar emplacements, and three machine-gun nests. For his actions, he was awarded the Medal of Honor at a White House ceremony on April 11, 1952.”

Straight from Fox News: “HOUSTON — A Texas man who shot and killed two men he suspected of burglarizing his neighbor’s home was cleared in the shootings Monday by a grand jury.

Joe Horn, 62, shot the two men in November after he saw them crawling out the windows of a neighbor’s house in the Houston suburb of Pasadena.

Horn called authorities and told the emergency dispatcher he had a shotgun and was going to kill the men. The dispatcher pleaded with him not to go outside, but Horn confronted the men with a 12-gauge shotgun and shot both in the back.

“The message we’re trying to send today is the criminal justice system works,” Harris County District Attorney Kenneth Magidson said.

Horn’s attorney, Tom Lambright, said his client was relieved by the grand jury’s decision and never wanted to hurt anyone.

“He wasn’t trying to take matters into his own hands,” Lambright said. “He was scared. He was not playing cowboy.”

Horn did not speak with reporters Monday, and had a “No Trespass” sign blocking the path to the front door of his home.

Lambright said Horn believed the two men had broken into his neighbor’s home and that he shot them out of fear for his life when they came into his yard and threatened him.

“He wasn’t acting like a vigilante,” Lambright said. “He was well within his rights to do what he was doing.”

The men Horn killed, Hernando Riascos Torres, 38, and Diego Ortiz, 30, were unemployed illegal immigrants from Colombia. Torres was deported to Colombia in 1999 after a 1994 cocaine-related conviction.

The episode touched off protests from civil rights activists who said the shooting was racially motivated and that Horn took the law into his own hands. Horn’s supporters defended his actions, saying he was protecting himself and being a good neighbor to a homeowner who was out of town.

“I understand the concerns of some in the community regarding Mr. Horn’s conduct,” Magidson said. “The use of deadly force is carefully limited in Texas law to certain circumstances … In this case, however, the grand jury concluded that Mr. Horn’s use of deadly force did not rise to a criminal offense.”

Lambright did not immediately return a phone call seeking comment from The Associated Press.

Texas law allows people to use deadly force to protect themselves if it is reasonable to believe they are in mortal danger. In limited circumstances, people also can use deadly force to protect a neighbor’s property; for example, if a homeowner asks a neighbor to watch over his property while he’s out of town.

It is not clear whether the neighbor whose home was burglarized asked Horn to watch over his house.”

Straight from Fox News: “Jack Lucas, who at 14 lied his way into military service during World War II and became the youngest Marine to receive the Medal of Honor, died Thursday in a Hattiesburg, Miss., hospital. He was 80.

Lucas had been battling cancer. Ponda Lee at Moore Funeral Service said the funeral home was told he died before dawn.

Jacklyn “Jack” Lucas was just six days past his 17th birthday in February 1945 when his heroism at Iwo Jima earned him the nation’s highest military honor. He used his body to shield three fellow squad members from two grenades, and was nearly killed when one exploded.

“A couple of grenades rolled into the trench,” Lucas said in an Associated Press interview shortly before he received the medal from President Truman in October 1945. “I hollered to my pals to get out and did a Superman dive at the grenades. I wasn’t a Superman after I got hit. I let out one helluva scream when that thing went off.”

He was left with more than 250 pieces of shrapnel in his body and in every major organ and endured 26 surgeries in the months after Iwo Jima.

He was the youngest serviceman to win the Medal of Honor in any conflict other than the Civil War.

“By his inspiring action and valiant spirit of self-sacrifice, he not only protected his comrades from certain injury or possible death but also enabled them to rout the Japanese patrol and continue the advance,” the Medal of Honor citation said.

In the AP interview, written as a first-person account under his name, he recalled the months he spent in a hospital.

“Soon as I rest up, I imagine I’ll run for president,” the story concluded. “Ain’t I the hero, though?”

Big for his age and eager to serve, Lucas forged his mother’s signature on an enlistment waiver and joined the Marines at 14. Military censors discovered his age through a letter to his 15-year-old girlfriend.

“They had him driving a truck in Hawaii because his age was discovered and they threatened to send him home,” said D.K. Drum, who wrote Lucas’ story in the 2006 book “Indestructible.”

“He said if they sent him home, he would just join the Army.”

Lucas eventually stowed away aboard a Navy ship headed for combat in the Pacific Ocean. He turned himself in to avoid being listed as a deserter and volunteered to fight, and the officers on board allowed him to reach his goal of fighting the Japanese.

“They did not know his age. He didn’t give it up and they didn’t ask,” Drum said.

Born in Plymouth, N.C., on Feb. 14, 1928, Lucas was a 13-year-old cadet captain in a military academy when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.

“I would not settle for watching from the sidelines when the United States was in such desperate need of support from its citizens,” Lucas said in “Indestructible.” “Everyone was needed to do his part and I could not do mine by remaining in North Carolina.”

After the war, Lucas earned a business degree from High Point University in North Carolina and raised, processed and sold beef in the Washington, D.C., area. In the 1960s, he joined the Army and became a paratrooper, Drum said, to conquer his fear of heights. On a training jump, both of his parachutes failed.

“He was the last one out of the airplane and the first one on the ground,” Drum said.

He was diagnosed with a form of leukemia in April and spent his last days in the hospital with family and friends, including his wife, Ruby, standing vigil.”

Straight from Universe Today: “An article published on Universe Today back in March of this year detailing former NASA engineer Jim McLane’s idea for on a one-way, one-person mission to Mars generated a lot of interest. The many comments on the subject posted here on UT and numerous other websites such as ABC News ranged from full support to complete disbelief of the idea. McLane’s concept has literally gone around the world, and a journalist from Spain, Javier Yanes who writes for the newspaper Publico shared with me his correspondence with a US soldier stationed in Afghanistan, who says that battle-hardened soldiers would be the perfect choice to send on a mission of no return to a new world. SFC William H. Ruth III says he and the men in the 101st Airborne Division are ready and willing to go.

SFC Ruth wrote, “While reading Jim McLane and Nancy Atkinson’s thoughts on Space Colonization, I started to realize that we ‘ALL’ have lost our way. We have become so consumed by petty differences and dislikes of others that we all have forgotten our pre destiny of something better.”

And what is the ’something better’ that Ruth envisions? Military personnel from different countries joining together to make “the ultimate sacrifice” of forging the way to establish an outpost on another world, like Mars.

“Here is an ‘out of the box idea’,” Ruth writes. “Let the heroes of ‘All’ our countries, for once, risk the ultimate sacrifice for something greater than one man’s idea. Maybe once let these men and woman that rise every morning and say ‘today I will stand for something’ and say ‘evil will not prevail, not on my watch’. For once let them volunteer for us all, you never know, mankind, the human race. It might just catch on if we let it.”

Ruth continues, “Will we falter at a hint of death or danger? Or will we do now what so many in ‘ALL’ of the world’s history has done before us. NASA of all thinking societies should understand this. Would there even be an America or NASA if a man named Columbus had not pursued a dangerous and possibly deadly voyage to a new world? He certainly had to consider whether or not he would ever return home to see all those he loved so dearly. But what of those aboard his ships, those that left Spain knowing that they would never return. Those few that willingly risked all for the chance at a new world and a new future, could they have possibly known what effects they would have had on the future due to their sacrifices? Now can we have enough vision to see our destiny, can we, for a moment, see past our petty differences of race and religion to see…peace, prosperity and possibly a new world.”

Ruth says 15 years in the military has prepared him for such a mission. “So I am no fool and I am no stranger to what some might call high risks,” he says. “Hundreds of thousands of fighting men and woman from around this world have walked, rode, swam and even jumped into what some would call a high risk situation. Some even considered suicide missions, ones with low probability of success. And why, what did they risk all for? Each and every one of us, even those throughout this earth that has made that choice, risk all for what we believed would make our world better.”

Ruth first began pondering such a mission after reading a quote by Stephen Hawking on Space.com: “The discovery of the New World made a profound difference on the old,” Hawking said. “Spreading out into space will have an even greater effect. It will completely change the future of the human race, and maybe determine whether we have any future at all.”

Ruth sent an email to Space.com’s Anthony Duignan-Cabrera, which was posted on the LiveScience blog: “Here is an idea: Send battle-hardened, strong-minded soldiers and marines on the long trips into space. We are conditioned to live with the bare minimal (of) life’s necessities and are trained to be prepared for … the worst conditions that any environment could throw at us. Hell, me and my men will go, set up a colony somewhere and await colonists to arrive.”

Javier Yanes read Ruth’s proposition and contacted him, sending him the link to the Universe Today article with McLane’s idea.

Ruth responded by sending Yanes a written statement called “A Soldier’s Perspective;,” Yanes wrote an article about Ruth in Publico, and shared Ruth’s proposal and pictures with me.

Ruth doesn’t agree with McLane’s idea of a one-person mission to Mars, but supports the one-way idea.

“I fully agree with NASA and others that it is completely dangerous and potentially deadly for anyone who sets out on this voyage,” he wrote. “But since when has that ever stopped anyone? A one way trip is the way to go about this, it is a proven fact of human history that when the human species is thrown into a no alternative situation, that they will prevail and survive.

The military would never send someone out alone, and Ruth thinks a multiple ship mission is the way to proceed, with three to four smaller vessels, with four to six crew members each.

Ruth admits that other might see sending soldiers into space as more like an invasion or occupation than exploration. “To those who share this concern, consider this for a moment and ask yourself, who else?” Ruth asked. “Who else has the mentality to volunteer to face certain danger and possibly death, thousands of miles away from their homes? I could think of a few hundred thousand that do it everyday across this planet.”

Ruth says that getting the worlds militaries involved with something other than making war with each other could change humanity’s future for the better.

“I wonder who will be the first to extend the hand of complete partnership, representing the whole human species?” Ruth asks. “Could this be the answer that so many have searched for? Could this one thing unite humanity in a new era of global cooperation and a new planetary respect for human life, unlike we know it today? My answers… ask me again when I’ve reached the new world!”"

Straight from the Chicago Sun Times: “With an out-of-control car bearing down, Joseph Richardson grabbed his 4-year-old daughter and held her up out of harm’s way.

It was his last act — and one that apparently saved his daughter’s life.

Richardson, a 39-year-old father of three, was killed Monday evening by the car, driven by a man who police say was drunk.

The car pinned Richardson and his daughter Kaniyah against a wrought iron fence at 95th Street and Wentworth, police said.

Kaniyah survived and was listed in critical but stable condition Tuesday evening at Comer Children’s Hospital, where a spokeswoman said she was doing well.

“He held the baby up to keep the car from destroying the baby, but it totally destroyed him,” said Richardson’s father, the Rev. L.V. Richardson.

Richardson was walking his daughter to a McDonald’s for burgers at 6:40 p.m. Monday when a 1990 Chevy Cavalier jumped a curb and careened towards them, police said, citing witness accounts.

He grabbed his daughter just before the car slammed the two into the fence, police said.

Richardson was pronounced dead shortly after the crash — a loss his twin, Timothy, said he felt before he was told.

“All day I just had a real bad gut feeling that something tragic was gonna happen,” the hospital maintenance worker said. “And then when I was at home I could feel him and see, visualize what happened. . . . Right before they called me I could see him being in an accident. I knew he was gone.

“We had a very special connection and I just felt it.”

The driver of the car, Angelo Thomas, 32, of the 200 block of West 95th Street, was charged with two felony counts of aggravated driving under the influence, police said. He was also cited with driving without a valid license or insurance.

Joseph Richardson, the father of two girls and a boy, all under the age of 11, was described as a devoted father. His other love was music. He was a gifted pianist and organist and performed in choirs at Cottage Grove Baptist Church and Greater Revelation Missionary Baptist Church, where his father ministers. His idols were Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder, his family said.

He wanted to go back to school for a degree in music or theology and become a practicing minister, his brother said.

One of four tight-knit siblings who grew up in the Roseland neighborhood, Joseph Richardson was adept at keeping those close to him safe.

“We looked out for one another,” said Timothy Richardson. But Joseph, the larger twin, did most of the looking out, Timothy admitted.

“We used to go to St. Willibrord Catholic High School, and a guy was picking on me a little bit one time and [Joseph] stepped in,” said Timothy. “I tried to talk him out of fighting, but him and the guy fought and went through a window together.”

On Tuesday, Timothy wanted to remember the good times.

“I am five minutes older than Joseph. But he used to always tease me that even though I’m older, he figured he was better-looking. He always got me with that one.”"

Straight from Fox News: “FORT BRAGG, N.C. — A Special Forces soldier who crawled 200 feet while being fired upon to save a wounded colleague, then led a group of besieged soldiers to safety, received the Army’s second-highest award for valor Wednesday.

Master Sgt. Brendan O’Connor received the Distinguished Service Cross in a ceremony Wednesday at Fort Bragg for his actions in Afghanistan. The award is second in achievement only to the Medal of Honor.

“He made a conscious decision to do whatever it took to get to our wounded soldiers,” said Maj. Sheffield Ford, the team’s commander during the June 2006 battle in southern Afghanistan.

O’Connor, 47, doesn’t believe he is a hero. He said that police officers and firefighters are courageous every day and that he was only completing his mission.

“I am being recognized for a moment of courage,” said O’Connor, whose wife and four children attended the ceremony. “I firmly believe other soldiers in my place would have done the same thing.”

With his Special Forces team surrounded by Taliban fighters, O’Connor volunteered to lead a relief force to rescue two wounded colleagues. He got to the edge of a field, but intense Taliban machine-gun fire made him turn back. After shedding his body armor so he could press himself flat in a ditch, he crawled the last 200 feet to the wounded soldiers.

Taliban fire was so close that it sheared off the blades of tall grass around the ditch as he crawled.

Finally reaching the two wounded soldiers, he stabilized them and led the relief force back to safety.

Admiral Eric T. Olson, commander of U.S. Special Operations Command, and Lt. Gen. Robert W. Wagner, commanding general of the Army Special Operations Command, presented the award to O’Connor.

Olson, who recounted the battle in his speech, described O’Connor’s actions as legendary.

“Master Sgt. O’Connor exemplifies the spirit and ethos of these warriors,” Olson said. “We stand in quiet awe and in the deepest admiration.”

Wednesday’s ceremony marked only the second time the award has been presented to a soldier for actions in Afghanistan.

O’Connor is assigned to the 7th Special Forces Group. The unit is based at Fort Bragg, home to the Army’s Special Operations Command and the 82nd Airborne Division.”

Straight from News of the World: “A chill ran up Commando Matthew Croucher’s spine as his foot brushed a hidden tripwire in the black silence of the Taliban compound.

In a split second came the tell-tale ping of a pin being pulled from a booby-trap GRENADE.

The young Lance Corporal frantically scanned the ground through his night vision goggles. And there it lay. He and his three comrades had SEVEN SECONDS to live…

What brave Matt did next could make him the first Royal Marine since 1945 to win a VICTORIA CROSS.

In an astonishing act of self sacrifice he FLUNG himself at the grenade, FLIPPED on his side next to it and lay there with only his backpack for protection as he prepared to SAVE his pals by SMOTHERING the blast with his body.

Matt, 24, recalled: “I thought, ‘I’ve set this bloody thing off and I’m going to do whatever it takes to protect the others’.

“So I got down with my back to the grenade and used my body as a shield. It was a case of either having four of us as fatalities or badly wounded—or one. I brought my legs up to my chest in the brace position and waited for the explosion.

“When it went off the bang was the loudest I’ve ever heard. There was a flash of light and a big plume of smoke and orange sparks jetted into the air.

“I was flung through the air. My head was ringing. Blood was streaming from my nose. It took 30 seconds before I realised I was definitely not dead.”

Amazingly Matt’s backpack and body armour absorbed the full impact of the blast—and they ALL escaped with just a few cuts and bruises.

Soon the story of his heroics was the talk of his comrades back at base.

He smiles: “The two behind me at the time were convinced they would have died, as they were facing the grenade with their necks exposed. It only takes a little bit of shrapnel to sever an artery, and you’re a goner.

“It’s a pretty unusual thing but the lads put me forward for the VC themselves. It’s entirely out of my hands. But if it was to happen it would be a massive honour not just for me but for the regiment and all my comrades.”

Friends have revealed his citation has been passed up the chain to the Commanding Officer of 40 Commando, Lieutenant Colonel Stuart Birrell. It will now go to the powerful committee who decide on the awarding of VCs.

If Matt is given the top bravery award it will be very rare. Just nine have been handed to Brits since World War II and only two in this century.”

Straight from Fox News: “Gunnery Sgt. William ‘Spanky’ Gibson was shot by a sniper in May of 2006 while on foot patrol in Ramadi, Iraq. When the firefight was over, his left leg was gone.

But Gunnery Sgt. William Gibson, a decorated Marine, didn’t stop serving his country, even after his leg was amputated above the knee. He didn’t settle for a desk job stateside, either. He’s back in Iraq — his second tour — on active duty with the U.S. Marine Corps.

“It’s great — it’s a great feeling,” Gibson told FOX News in an exclusive interview at Camp Fallujah in Iraq.

It seems like yesterday that Gibson was cut down in a gunfight and left unable to walk without crutches and prosthetics.

“The first thing that went through my mind was, get my weapon out and function,” he said. “I knew there was something seriously wrong with me — the round luckily enough severed the nerve, so there was no pain.

“Problem was, I could not get up and stand on my feet because of the destruction the round took.”

Doctors had had no choice but to amputate, and Gibson says he steeled himself for the reality of learning to live without full use of his left leg — and moving forward one step at a time.

“I realized, well, it ain’t growing back, so let’s start recovering,” he said. “Initially, I didn’t allow it to affect me to the point of despair … Now, I roll over and look at my wife and say, this kind of sucks. But you get over it quickly.”

By July of 2006, only two months after his was shot, Gibson was back at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. The experience was marked by a series of firsts: the first time he got back into his uniform; the first time he walked, with crutches on his new prosthetic leg; the first time he was back training with his fellow Marines. That’s when he knew he had to go back to Iraq.

“That was my first step,” he said, “the first step to feeling like I was still a Marine.”

He remembers all the camaraderie and gratitude coming from the other servicemen and women for the sacrifices he’d made in combat. It was then, he said, when he knew he had to go on.

“I definitely felt the obligation to stay in the Marine Corps and pay back that honor,” Gibson said. “Because it is an honor to wear the uniform, and I realized that very quickly.”

So Gibson began training in earnest again — only with his new leg, not his old.”

Straight from WFAA: “Investigators say they were definitely going to rob him – possibly even kill him. But an 80-year-old North Texan wasn’t about to let that happen, so he took action.

One of the suspects is in the hospital and both are facing charges.

Two men obviously thought James Pickett, 80, was an easy target when they showed up at his home on Saturday with a knife.

“He just came through that door, stabbing and beating,” said Pickett.

Captain Clint Pullin said it looked as though the men wanted to kill him.

But before you worry too much about Pickett, learn a bit more about him.

He’s a WWII veteran, former firefighter and lifelong John Wayne devotee.

In short, even at 80, he is someone you just don’t mess with.

What the men didn’t know is Picket had taken a pistol and put it in his pocket before opening the door.

“He jumped and turned and I shot him,” Picket said.

The two brothers, Paul and Holden Perry, ran but didn’t get far before calling an ambulance.

A bullet just missed Paul Perry’s spine.

“The only problem was I run out of bullets,” Picket said.

A neighbor describes Picket as a “hero.”

Worried about retribution, friends are sticking close.

Both brothers face assault, burglary and robbery charges.

Deputies assure James Pickett they aren’t likely to get out of jail anytime soon but he isn’t worried.

“I think I’m a ten times better shot than and he is… But they best not come back,” he said.”