THE STORY SO FAR: PART 182

WARRIOR AND SON—STAFF SERGEANT SEAN KEOUGH. A SALUTE TO HIS MOTHER, MRS. KRIS KEOUGH

MY APOLOGIES FOR AN OMISSION

When I wrote about Staff Sergeant Sean Keough’s courage some time back—which resulted in his being awarded a Silver Star—I made a major omission. Sadly, his parents are now divorced, and I forgot to mention his mother. My mistake, and one I regret deeply.

The achievements of a son reflects well on both parents. I was reminded of this truth when his mother, Mrs. Kris Keough, wrote to me to thank me for honoring Sean (whom I have known since he was a difficult teenager). I guess the word “difficult” is redundant in such a contest. Let’s put it this way: He was showing character and promise in his own idiosyncratic way—and he certainly delivered.

I have scant idea how to compensate for my errors in judgment. Arguably, the best thing I can do is repeat his citation. If you think about what was involved, and over such an extended period, his conduct was, indeed, awesome.

Acts of courage are always praiseworthy, and should be admired, but courage over a prolonged period is in a league of its own.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Army Ranger of 2nd Battalion Receives the Silver Star

In a rare public appearance for a tightly-knit special operations unit, awards were presented to members of the 2nd Battalion, 75th Rangers, home based at Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Tacoma, Washington.

One Ranger, Staff Sergeant Sean Keough, received the Silver Star for action against Taliban insurgents during a raid on an enemy compound last autumn.

Leading his squad, Keough saw one of his fellow Rangers shot and fall wounded, still under fire from the enemy. Keough placed himself between the fallen soldier and the enemy, returning fire in order to provide cover for other members of the unit who administered aid and retrieved their downed teammate.

Keough and another Ranger shot an insurgent who attacked them, but he received a gunshot wound to his arm. Despite his wound he remained in place, still delivering effective fire at the enemy while his squad radioed for a medevac.

The attacking force regrouped but Keough refused medical aid that would interfere with his mission, and directed and participated in attacking and overrunning the enemy compound eight hours later. He also received the Purple Heart for his wounds sustained in action against the enemy.

The award was presented by Lieutenant General John F Mulholland, commander of the US Army Special Operations Command. In addition to Keough, the battalion received two Valorous Unit Awards for operations in Iraq and Afghanistan in summer 2005. Seven Rangers received the Bronze Star Medal (‘V’) for actions in combat, and five received the Soldier’s Medal for heroism in a non-combat role for rescuing two stranded climbers on Mount McKinley (Denali) in Alaska, in addition to 17 who received the Purple Heart, among other awards. During this latest deployment, four Rangers and an attached junior officer were killed in action, and many wounded, including 30 as a result of the explosion of an IED.

Since October 2001, the battalion has deployed 14 times and conducted over 2500 raids. It is preparing for its 15th deployment.

Posted by Nicholas Darkwater at 12:09 PM

The figures quoted in this citation are worthy of both consideration and admiration. They reflect an intensity of combat that is practically inconceivable. “14 deployments—2,500 raids?”

Consider the stress and violence of just one.

I am a professional writer, and I just do not have the words to pay adequate tribute to such ongoing courage. Let me salute the entire Keough family.

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 175

HOW LIGHT CAN A WRITER TRAVEL?

I’m completing my packing, and moving shortly, so my daily blogs are likely to be shorter than normal—and there maybe some gaps. But, I’ll fill them in later. I’m dedicated to achieving a blog a day until I have completed a year. Then, I’ll take a fresh look at the situation.

I have made a lot of progress at moving with less stuff, but am far from the ideal as yet.

Theoretically, all a writer needs this days are a few clothes and a computer—but the reality tends to be different—at least in my case.

I’m working in it.

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 174

“LONG, COMPLICATED CONVERSATIONS” 

WORDS, AND HOW THEY ARE USED, HAVE A SPECIAL STATUS IN IRELAND—AND IT SHOWS

My gorgeous sister, Lucy, featured the above anecdote on Facebook—and it set me to thinking. Lucy’s observations have a tendency to do that. She is the youngest member of the family, and almost certainly the wisest—and she has an excellent visual sense.

Where conversation is concerned, the reputation of the Irish is already legendary—whether the Blarney stone has been kissed or not. If you haven’t heard of the Blarney stone, I will say no more except to report that legend has it that if you do kiss it (you need a head for heights to do this) you will have the gift of the gab forever. Frankly, I don’t think most Irish need such encouragement.

So, let me turn to the written word. Here, I am nothing if not biased because my life is focused on just that—words—and written words at that. Whether such words are printed on paper, or read on an e-reader, tablet, or Smart Phone makes scant difference to the process of writing (although I detect a tendency for e-books to be shorter). But writing is writing.

Where writing is concerned, as it happens, Ireland, an extremely small country in terms of population—a  little over 6 million in a world of 7 billion—has produced an impressive number of world class writers, and continues to do so; one of them being that truly admirable teller of tales, the late Maeve Binchy quoted above.

Another being my own son, Christian O’Reilly, who apart from being an award winning playwright, has one movie to his credit—more than I have so far—and now writes for the BBC (which is the literary equivalent of qualifying as a Navy SEAL; it’s that tough).

They are both part of a magnificent tradition.

I could go on. There is that phenomenal poet, Seamus Heaney, and that beautiful writer, Peter Cunningham.

And then we come to to movie director Neil Jordan, who is also an author of surpassing talent. Can you place Neil Jordan? Think INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE with Tom Cruise—and much else besides.

All in all, even if one does not hark back to such literary luminaries as Swift, Yeats and Wilde, the roll call of Irish talent (both past and current)constitutes a long, long, list—longer than most people realize because Irish writers are also often claimed by the British as well! Indeed they claim the Duke of Wellington, himself a very fine writer, as a British military hero. But the man was Irish, I will have you know. Yes he did say: “Being born in a stable doesn’t make one a horse,” but nobody is perfect.

What can I say! It’s a complex relationship, and the British are not exactly short of bards (let me throw in Shakespeare, who is generally reckoned to be culturally acceptable)) but they still like to claim the successful Irish as their own, when they can. I suspect this stems from their empire complex—a feeling that they have a right to sail the world and grab whatever they can. Appreciate that a lot of Vikings settled in Britain and contributed to the gene pool. Indeed, the Normans, who won the Battle of Hastings and thus conquered England in 1066, were originally Vikings. Not many people know that.

But let me offer a few thoughts on how Ireland’s continuing literary tradition has come about. Much as the Vikings long had a tradition of raiding, pillage, rape and destruction (which somehow has produced the extraordinarily peaceful and economically successful Scandinavian countries) the Irish have long been besotted with words. Think “grand passion.” This is not a minor dalliance.

And here we are talking about a love affair that has endured for roughly a millennium and a half—a singular display of affection and fidelity. For most of that time it has been predominately oral, but the written word has been present—principally because of the influence of monks—for longer than most people realize. Nonetheless, the dominant tradition was oral.

Here is an insight from Wikipedia:

Poetry in Irish represents the oldest vernacular poetry in Europe. The earliest examples date from the 6th century, and are generally short lyrics on themes from religion or the world of nature. They were frequently written by their scribe authors in the margins of the illuminated manuscripts that they were copying. The best known example is Pangur Bán.

It was practical for poems to be short because the Irish recognized that it was necessary to use any means necessary to make the poems lasting in their oral culture. To accomplish such a feat as well as they have, they used complicated rhyme schemes that would render a poem nonsensical if any of the key words were changed from the original version.

In an oral culture, Irish poetry had many uses. A poem could be used to immortalize both the poet and the subject of the poem; oftentimes kings would commission poets to create a piece about them. Such poems would be passed on to descendants so they would remember the great deeds of past generations.

But why are the Irish oral and literary traditions so distinctive and so enduring?

• They are endemic to the culture. Words and what you can do with them, are enormously important to the Irish—and wit is considered fundamental to the human condition.
• Oppression under English rule for many hundreds of years meant that, for many, words and dreams were all the Irish had left—so they made the most of them. In Ireland, dreams have substance.
• Success breeds success. It is singularly inspiring to have so many extraordinarily talented role models for generation after generation.
• The juxtaposition of the Irish and English languages—with Irish adding something very special to the way English is both spoken and written.
• The high status of education in Ireland which has long resulted in an extremely literate population.
• The active support of the Irish government from the foundation of the state in the belief that the nourishment of the culture was –and remains—singularly important.

The results, I am delighted to say, have been—and continue to be—spectacular, despite Ireland’s current economic woes. Enlightened societies have long known that investing in a nation’s culture generates  both tangible and intangible added value—and that the free market alone is not sufficient. This raises the interesting question of what tangible benefits could be generated if the U.S. ever decided to invest in the arts in a serious way. Current support for the arts, in a nation of about 315 million, is little more than tokenism.

I suspect we would be agreeably surprised, economic growth would be stimulated, and the quality of our lives would be enhanced.

It would be interesting to pick one state and really experiment—because if one could show definitively what the effect of supporting the arts could be, the consequences could change our thinking profoundly.

If you doubt me, just take a trip to Europe and there just imagine the economic effects of the Renaissance. Wander, browse, look and think. Stare in awe. Wander around Verona. Soak up the beauty of Florence. Watch the palio—it’s a horse race--in Sienna. Gaze in admiration at St. Peters. Consider what these people created.

The impact of that extraordinary time must have exceeded that of the Marshall Plan many times.

I rest my case.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 172.

OF AIRSHIPS AND EARTHQUAKES—AND OF UNKNOWN UNKNOWNS

When I was writing about airships the other day—and commented on the advantages of the Airlander hybrid airship in disasters (particularly because such a hybrid aircraft is unaffected by buckled roads and broken bridges, and does not require a runway—yet can carry many tons of cargo), my mind quickly recalled that such a disaster is highly likely to hit Seattle—where I happen to be living right now.

Hmmm!

This is earthquake territory with a vengeance—and sooner or later the Big One will hit.

Gulp! Pause… while fingers of fear do what such things do.

But earthquakes are a predicable hazard—even if difficult to predict with any precision—so if the ground shakes and is ripped open; and if I fall six floors before the roof falls on me—into Lake Washington where drowning seems highly likely on top of my being crushed—I shall be able to console myself with the thought that such an event was not entirely unexpected—though a little warning would have been nice. In effect, I will have died in my comfort zone. What a relief!

In truth, I am much more concerned (and interested) about the unpredictability of life—in a more fundamental sense of the threat being unknown—and I am somewhat of a believer in Nicholas Taleb’s Black Swan theory. Here is what Wikipedia says about it:

The black swan theory or theory of black swan events is a metaphor that describes an event that is a surprise (to the observer), has a major effect, and after the fact is often inappropriately rationalized with the benefit of hindsight.

The theory was developed by Nassim Nicholas Taleb to explain:

1. The disproportionate role of high-profile, hard-to-predict, and rare events that are beyond the realm of normal expectations in history, science, finance, and technology
2. The non-computability of the probability of the consequential rare events using scientific methods (owing to the very nature of small probabilities)
3. The psychological biases that make people individually and collectively blind to uncertainty and unaware of the massive role of the rare event in historical affairs

Unlike the earlier philosophical "black swan problem," the "black swan theory" refers only to unexpected events of large magnitude and consequence and their dominant role in history. Such events, considered extreme outliers, collectively play vastly larger roles than regular occurrences.^[1]

The question now is whether I am thinking of all this from a personal point of view, or as a writer. Am I revealing some of my own inner fears—or am I thinking in terms of plotting another story? Frankly, I am damned if I can tell the difference.

I find it hard to express the joy that last sentence gives me. My life, and my writing life, have now become one (and it only took a few decades).

But let me close with a quote that encapsulates the very essence of what I feel about good books. They are not just a pleasure to read, or an inspiration to the intellect—marvelous though that is: They are a call for action. Ideas are what move us forward.

“ A truly good book teaches me better than to read it. I must soon lay it down, and commence living on its hint. What I began by reading, I must finish by acting. ”
- Henry David Thoreau

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 167

THE FRENCH IN MALI ARE BACK TO USING SOME OF THE SAME HIGH MOBILITY TACTICS THEY USED IN ALGERIA ALL OF SIXTY YEARS AGO

THEY ARE AS EFFECTIVE AS EVER

It is common in the U.S. to disparage the French—and I really don’t understand why. Nonetheless, the sentence, “We saved their butts in two world wars,” is one I have had repeated to me on numerous occasions. We tend to forget that we had an interest in the outcomes of both wars, which had nothing to do with saving the French

We also tend to forget that without the French there might not have been a United States of America in the first place.

Personally, I love France. Its politics are no screwier than those of most other nations, and it has long had an admirable quality of life. That apart, its culture is extraordinarily rich; and the country, itself, is beautiful. As for the French people, they have endured much, and achieved much, and the world would be a vastly poorer place without them. Most people associate the French with food, fashion and sex—significant factors in our lives, to be sure—but are not aware that France, amongst its other attributes, boasts a remarkable tradition of producing fine engineers. It is no accident that Boeing’s greatest rival, EADS (best known for its Airbus range of aircraft) is located in France in Toulouse. And, by the way, a rather dramatic sequence in my new thriller, THE BLOOD OF GENERATIONS, is located there. Consider also the truly breathtaking Millau Bridge.

The French lost their war in Indo-China much as we would go on to do in Vietnam. Nonetheless, some of their military units learned a great deal from the experience, and went on to apply this knowledge and expertise against the FLN in the Algerian War in the Fifties and early Sixties. In particular, the French paras made something of an art out of high mobility warfare, particularly when tracking down bands of FLN infiltrators. Either by parachute or helicopter, they would insert blocking forces and then destroy the rebels by way of bombing or close quarters infantry combat. In short, the French were pioneers of helicopter warfare and were also the first people to use TOW missiles from rotary aircraft.

Observing their operations in Mali reminds me of all this—together with the weeks I spent researching the French Foreign Legion in Corsica in 1964. These were highly disciplined and scarily tough soldiers. The parachute unit I got to know was the 2nd REP based near Calvi, Corsica. It is now France’s cutting edge rapid response unit. I blogged about it a little time ago.

What will happen in Mali, I do not know. The French are trying to accomplish a prodigious amount with a very small force. Mali is huge. Nonetheless, a great deal can be accomplished through high-speed maneuver warfare – and the French have plenty of experience at it.

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 166.

HOW LONG SHOULD A BOOK BE?

Most people have forgotten the Korean War. Nonetheless, it fascinated me even though I was only six when it started in 1950. It finished—more or less—in  1953, though a full peace treaty has never been signed. Given that North Korea is now a nuclear power, that is somewhat disturbing.

While scouring the school library, I ran across an article in the National Geographic about it, which, amongst other things, showed how the Koreans could carry heavy weights on their backs by using a frame.

Why don’t we do that, I wondered?

And, of course, now we do—but it was an early lesson that the West was not the repository of all wisdom (which, essentially, was the kind of thing I was originally taught). I was an early skeptic because attitudes, and what I could see and read, did not seem to match.

There is a nice story about the Korean War I have long remembered. There were press briefings every day, and a constant theme was that a particular position in the U.N. lines—it would vary—had been attacked by “hordes of Chinese.” This phrase became part of the daily ritual until finally one of the journalists stood up and asked: “How many Chinese to a horde?”

The effect of this question was to create absolute confusion because, needless to say, there was no credible answer. It remains one of my favorite lines.

One used to be able to be more precise when talking about a book. A novella used to be about 30,000 words long. A novel started at about 60,000 words—and a classic big thriller (the kind of book I love and write) came in at 120,000 words plus and could easily be 160,000. Assuming a talented author, this substantial heft guaranteed, in my eyes, a really good read.

Apparently, all of that is changing. A recent article by Michael Lewin in Book Publishing today states that:

“Today, however, the closing of the American mind has given way to the collapse of the American attention span thanks to texting, Facebook and Twitter. Neither authors nor readers seek size from their books.”

“If you are writing a business book to brand yourself as an expert in your field, keep it under 50,000 words… You fiction writers should take heed as well; 90,000 is the new optimum maximum length, down from 50,000 words just a few years ago.”

I guess that means I’ll only have to do half the work in future. Assuming I believe that—which I don’t—how do I feel about the supposed demise of the really good read read?

Profoundly sad, if you really want to know. I guess reading WAR AND PEACE by Leo Tolstoy—which I loved—when I was 13 had a lasting impact on me.

Tolstoy is illustrated above.