I was in the Army Corps of Engineers for six years. Sounds impressive. I must know my stuff.
Let me tell you war stories. Let me show you my tattoos. Let me regale you with heroics that will make you swoon. I will lead into battle and command troops like no other. Just look at me — a true American hero. All you have to do is be stupid enough to believe me.
Now for the truth.
Yes, I was in the Army for six years. Yes, I was trained as a Pioneer Combat Engineer. Yes, I was taught to clear minefields with a bayonet, build bridges between our infantry and theirs, and duck when the bullets screamed by.
But what wasn’t said — what never gets said by people like me — is that I enlisted right after my 17th birthday, still in high school, in the California National Guard. November 1963. Monthly Guard meetings until graduation, then off to basic training at Fort Ord.
For anyone who went through basic training, you know the first thing they try to do is intimidate, confuse, and disorient you. That’s a pretty hard thing to accomplish when you and your brother had the run of the base because your father had been the East Garrison Commander — but that’s another story.
Basic done. Off to Fort Leonard Wood for advanced training. Back by Christmas. Monthly meetings. First summer camp and we had the Watts Riots — not nice, but afterwards a walk in the park.
Why? Because I did the worst thing you can do in the military. I volunteered.
During monthly meetings there isn’t much to do except clean things. So when they needed a cook I raised my hand. I like to cook. Every summer camp afterward, instead of going to the desert and sleeping in the dirt, I went to Camp San Luis Obispo and cooked for the California Military Academy. Didn’t ride in a deuce and a half for 200 miles — I drove my ’48 MG TC and later my ’68 Plymouth GTX. Rough six years. Great war stories — catching flies and drag racing up the main entrance.
I tell you all of this for one reason.
The people who tell you heroic war stories are liars. The people who actually saw the horrors of war keep it to themselves. My father served in the Pacific, was stationed in Japan, served in Korea, was stationed in Germany. My brother’s National Guard unit was one of the very few activated and sent to Vietnam. I had close friends drafted who went. None of them ever told me war stories. And I never asked.
I also tell you this because I know what I am talking about. I am an Army brat — born and bred. And I know BS when I smell it.
You don’t have to be Rambo. You just have to be honest with and about yourself.
Which is why I am bothered — genuinely, deeply bothered — when a Fox News broadcaster covered in tattoos has the unmitigated gall to believe he has the experience and wisdom to lead our fine service personnel into battle.
He is such a leader that his spiritual pep talks are plagiarized from Tarantino movies.
Perhaps that explains why Major General William Green Jr., Army Chief of Chaplains, was fired in April 2026. He may have thought the Bible was a better source for scripture than Pulp Fiction.
He wasn’t alone. Here is what the first string looks like after the second string finished with it:
General Randy George, Army Chief of Staff — removed and asked to retire, April 2026, following disputes with Hegseth. Major General William Green Jr., Army Chief of Chaplains — fired — the first time in history this role was terminated by the Secretary of Defense. General David Hodne — removed from command of the Transformation and Training Command. General C.Q. Brown, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs — fired. General James Slife, Air Force Vice Chief of Staff — removed. Admiral Lisa Franchetti, Chief of Naval Operations — fired. Lieutenant General Jeffrey Kruse, Defense Intelligence Agency — fired.
The first string was either fired or asked to resign. What we have left is the second string. At best.
And at the very top — bone spurs and all — a man now talking about bringing back firing squads because he finds other people’s free speech inconvenient. Only his own has value.
Pete’s Crusader Cross tattoo is going to look real interesting sagging off an eighty year old man’s bitch tits in about twenty years. But that’s the least of our problems right now.
