snowmman 3
snowmman 3
Sluggo:
Having an argument with the SW guys here.
They say no spaces or special chars in the gold codes, just letters and numbers. I tend to agree but the argument is about whether the length varies.
Anyone know?
Having an argument with the SW guys here.
They say no spaces or special chars in the gold codes, just letters and numbers. I tend to agree but the argument is about whether the length varies.
Anyone know?
snowmman 3
A Russian friend did a review of "Hunting the Jackal" back April 17th, 2009 here:
http://tiomkin.livejournal.com/
Search for "Billy Waugh" on that page.
Good new photo of Billy in his full dress uniform. (attached) You can see his Sergeant Major stripes. Looking good! Stand tall! Wearing a tie! Wonder if Billy wore clip-on ties for full-dress?
(not sure of the year)
Georger, get out your microscope and circle the scars that come to you in your psychedelic dreams. If the shrooms grow in the woods, are they illegal?
(edit) from another page, attached a photo of General Giap, target of the Oscar Eight raid, and Ho Chi Minh. Giap is on the left. I don't think Giap was Cooper.
Here's a rough translation of my friend's Russian review of the book:
Interesting episode. In the book of Billy [vo] “hunting for the jackal” (Hunting Of the Of jackal by Of billy Of waugh) it stumbled on the reference of the fact that the Navy of the USSR began to operate combat swimmers for the hunting for the American rockets. Look- rummaged - and he understood that in the Russian about this; besides vague rumors - there is nothing.
As source, the book (vo) in me doubts does not cause. I.e., not the fact that I to it to 100% completely entrust - such sources even if exist in nature, then there are few of them. The simply specific work experience makes it possible to evaluate material from the point of view of authenticity. Itself in - without the exaggeration man- legend into [SpN] of the USA.
It was born in 1929, into 1948 it left into the army, it served in Korea, into 1954 entered the service in the special-purpose part - i.e. the veteran “green [beretov]”. Total conducted in Vietnam of approximately 7 years: after arriving there one of the first Special Forces soldiers and after leaving in the number of latter. It served in SOG - Studies of & Observations
Of group (subdivision, which it was occupied by deep reconnaissance and destruction of the infrastructure Of [vetkonga] and [ASV]). 3 silver stars, 4 bronze stars, 8 purple hearts and the heap of other rewards. It was injured, hardly it was not deprived of foot, it found in itself forces not only to arise into the system, but also to attain the transfer into the impact subdivisions SOG. In 1972 it was discharged from the army.
From 1989 - it worked on the contract on the CIA, carrying out different tasks in the different countries (total number of countries, where for it was necessary to occur - 57, moreover neither of one it they sent and nor they did not plant into one). At the beginning of the 1990's in Sudan conducted the observation of Osama of bin Laden - to its greater regret the authorities so did not return sanction for the elimination, after calculating, that does not present straight and explicit threat for the USA. Assumed also participation in the tracking of the terrorist of Ilyich Ramiresa Sanches, on the nickname “jackal”.
At age 71 of year participated in the operation “Enduring Freedom” - the intrusion of the American troops into Afghanistan, in the fall of 2001 (since October until November). At present it lives in Florida. The book “hunting for the jackal” as reading - one pleasure. Language into the simple, at times the juicy, without of loved by many authors 15- complex words, without significant (refleksirovaniy])- which is understandable, since into this of men of action.
In the expressions it especially is not troubled and does not suffer the fact that it weighs out compliments right and left - but in this case and it does not run down without grounds, whom not after falling. , in addition in honestly describes its sensations when in combat with checks sleep (1965) it they heavily wounded and it lay at the swamp, actually already dying - moment interesting.
Men does not stick out its heroism, but simply ordinary are described both happiness of battle and moment, when death entirely next. So here, after being discharged from the army, in it was occupied by the different interesting matters (in particular training Libyan commandos [about which in it remained impression, that they glorious fellows, but to ( do not pull). In the middle 1980- X to it they proposed to become the deputy chief of the police on the rocket range Kwajalein, in Pacific Ocean.
And its task in particular consisted in the fact that - according to its expression - “to chase from there Russian”. Here is the fragment “To me proposed work - the deputy chief of the police on the rocket range of the U.S. Army in the atoll Of (kvazhdaleyn) (USAKMR), on the Marshall Islands - approximately 2500 miles to the south-south- West of Hawaii.
I accepted this proposal, we with the wife sold house and moved to the islands - now this is the rocket proving ground [im]. of Reagan. My were subordinate approximately one hundred people - they constantly flew from the island to the island (them there about 25, small islands), checking the safety of equipment, the integrity of security systems and settling the problems, which appeared in the local population.
Sounds as melancholy mortal - but there was one additional reason, for which a stay on USAKMR was for me gripping - without considering certainly remarkable beaches, pure water and abundance of fish. The USA periodically launched rocket from the range Of (vandenburg) in California - on the intended targets in Kwajalein region.
These enormous rockets travel their way to the atoll out of the atmosphere. Entering into it with the approximation to a purpose, they are divided into several small rockets with the warheads and these rockets they strike their each target in the ocean. From the starting to the entry it passes approximately minutes 30. Since these were our rockets and since the matter occurred in the middle 1980- X - this automatically meant that there [oshivalis] the Russians.
They attempted to reach the technologies, which were used in these nose cones of rockets - and therefore they projected in the region USAKMR simply on a constant basis. Children they were serious and they approached the matter thoroughly: the vessel of electronic reconnaissance there constantly dangled and submarine almost the year round was on duty.
These hooligans straight-away dreamed to steal or to somehow still secure the nose cone of the rocket from the range. It seems that its own missile guidance system to these scoundrels to develop it was not on the forces - so that they send by the most logical way: to (speret) it. As simple to surmise, our work consisted of not giving to Russians to accomplish their task. Generally, the desire of Russians to steal the components of rockets could be understood: our rockets hit the target with the fantastic accuracy.
Multicharged warheads struck targets in Kwajalein in 90 cases of hundred - and this there were not purposes of the type of enormous ships. On the contrary, now and then this was small buoy in the atoll - but for the rocket this did not have a value. It is natural that in essence the Russians projected aboard their ship OF ERAS or submarine. But as soon as (MBCH) struck targets, they here got down to the water inflatable boats with the combat swimmers. “Zodiacs” rushed to the purpose, and divers dived ocean, in the hope of stealing the pieces of rockets.
http://tiomkin.livejournal.com/
Search for "Billy Waugh" on that page.
Good new photo of Billy in his full dress uniform. (attached) You can see his Sergeant Major stripes. Looking good! Stand tall! Wearing a tie! Wonder if Billy wore clip-on ties for full-dress?
(not sure of the year)
Georger, get out your microscope and circle the scars that come to you in your psychedelic dreams. If the shrooms grow in the woods, are they illegal?
(edit) from another page, attached a photo of General Giap, target of the Oscar Eight raid, and Ho Chi Minh. Giap is on the left. I don't think Giap was Cooper.
Here's a rough translation of my friend's Russian review of the book:
Interesting episode. In the book of Billy [vo] “hunting for the jackal” (Hunting Of the Of jackal by Of billy Of waugh) it stumbled on the reference of the fact that the Navy of the USSR began to operate combat swimmers for the hunting for the American rockets. Look- rummaged - and he understood that in the Russian about this; besides vague rumors - there is nothing.
As source, the book (vo) in me doubts does not cause. I.e., not the fact that I to it to 100% completely entrust - such sources even if exist in nature, then there are few of them. The simply specific work experience makes it possible to evaluate material from the point of view of authenticity. Itself in - without the exaggeration man- legend into [SpN] of the USA.
It was born in 1929, into 1948 it left into the army, it served in Korea, into 1954 entered the service in the special-purpose part - i.e. the veteran “green [beretov]”. Total conducted in Vietnam of approximately 7 years: after arriving there one of the first Special Forces soldiers and after leaving in the number of latter. It served in SOG - Studies of & Observations
Of group (subdivision, which it was occupied by deep reconnaissance and destruction of the infrastructure Of [vetkonga] and [ASV]). 3 silver stars, 4 bronze stars, 8 purple hearts and the heap of other rewards. It was injured, hardly it was not deprived of foot, it found in itself forces not only to arise into the system, but also to attain the transfer into the impact subdivisions SOG. In 1972 it was discharged from the army.
From 1989 - it worked on the contract on the CIA, carrying out different tasks in the different countries (total number of countries, where for it was necessary to occur - 57, moreover neither of one it they sent and nor they did not plant into one). At the beginning of the 1990's in Sudan conducted the observation of Osama of bin Laden - to its greater regret the authorities so did not return sanction for the elimination, after calculating, that does not present straight and explicit threat for the USA. Assumed also participation in the tracking of the terrorist of Ilyich Ramiresa Sanches, on the nickname “jackal”.
At age 71 of year participated in the operation “Enduring Freedom” - the intrusion of the American troops into Afghanistan, in the fall of 2001 (since October until November). At present it lives in Florida. The book “hunting for the jackal” as reading - one pleasure. Language into the simple, at times the juicy, without of loved by many authors 15- complex words, without significant (refleksirovaniy])- which is understandable, since into this of men of action.
In the expressions it especially is not troubled and does not suffer the fact that it weighs out compliments right and left - but in this case and it does not run down without grounds, whom not after falling. , in addition in honestly describes its sensations when in combat with checks sleep (1965) it they heavily wounded and it lay at the swamp, actually already dying - moment interesting.
Men does not stick out its heroism, but simply ordinary are described both happiness of battle and moment, when death entirely next. So here, after being discharged from the army, in it was occupied by the different interesting matters (in particular training Libyan commandos [about which in it remained impression, that they glorious fellows, but to ( do not pull). In the middle 1980- X to it they proposed to become the deputy chief of the police on the rocket range Kwajalein, in Pacific Ocean.
And its task in particular consisted in the fact that - according to its expression - “to chase from there Russian”. Here is the fragment “To me proposed work - the deputy chief of the police on the rocket range of the U.S. Army in the atoll Of (kvazhdaleyn) (USAKMR), on the Marshall Islands - approximately 2500 miles to the south-south- West of Hawaii.
I accepted this proposal, we with the wife sold house and moved to the islands - now this is the rocket proving ground [im]. of Reagan. My were subordinate approximately one hundred people - they constantly flew from the island to the island (them there about 25, small islands), checking the safety of equipment, the integrity of security systems and settling the problems, which appeared in the local population.
Sounds as melancholy mortal - but there was one additional reason, for which a stay on USAKMR was for me gripping - without considering certainly remarkable beaches, pure water and abundance of fish. The USA periodically launched rocket from the range Of (vandenburg) in California - on the intended targets in Kwajalein region.
These enormous rockets travel their way to the atoll out of the atmosphere. Entering into it with the approximation to a purpose, they are divided into several small rockets with the warheads and these rockets they strike their each target in the ocean. From the starting to the entry it passes approximately minutes 30. Since these were our rockets and since the matter occurred in the middle 1980- X - this automatically meant that there [oshivalis] the Russians.
They attempted to reach the technologies, which were used in these nose cones of rockets - and therefore they projected in the region USAKMR simply on a constant basis. Children they were serious and they approached the matter thoroughly: the vessel of electronic reconnaissance there constantly dangled and submarine almost the year round was on duty.
These hooligans straight-away dreamed to steal or to somehow still secure the nose cone of the rocket from the range. It seems that its own missile guidance system to these scoundrels to develop it was not on the forces - so that they send by the most logical way: to (speret) it. As simple to surmise, our work consisted of not giving to Russians to accomplish their task. Generally, the desire of Russians to steal the components of rockets could be understood: our rockets hit the target with the fantastic accuracy.
Multicharged warheads struck targets in Kwajalein in 90 cases of hundred - and this there were not purposes of the type of enormous ships. On the contrary, now and then this was small buoy in the atoll - but for the rocket this did not have a value. It is natural that in essence the Russians projected aboard their ship OF ERAS or submarine. But as soon as (MBCH) struck targets, they here got down to the water inflatable boats with the combat swimmers. “Zodiacs” rushed to the purpose, and divers dived ocean, in the hope of stealing the pieces of rockets.
georger 244
Georger, get out your microscope and circle the scars that come to you in your psychedelic dreams. If the shrooms grow in the woods, are they illegal?
A finstere cholem auf dein kopf und auf dein hent und fiss putz -
snowmman 3
“So write as if thou wert alone in the universe, and hadst nothing to fear from the jealousy and prejudices of men, or — thou will fail thy end.” (Julien Offray de la Mettrie)
“Write in such a way as that you can be readily understood by both the young and the old, by men as well as women, even by children.”
(Ho Chi Minh)
“A government that robs Peter to pay Paul can always depend upon the support of Paul.” (G. B. Shaw)
“Write in such a way as that you can be readily understood by both the young and the old, by men as well as women, even by children.”
(Ho Chi Minh)
“A government that robs Peter to pay Paul can always depend upon the support of Paul.” (G. B. Shaw)
snowmman 3
I've been noticing references to pearl tie clasps or tie tacks and studs in evening mess uniforms. (edit) Also gold. Basically "conservative" seems to be the rule.
SW guys???????
Gold codes?????
Web Page
Blog
NORJAK Forum
Gold codes?????
Web Page
Blog
NORJAK Forum
snowmman 3
QuoteSW guys???????
Gold codes?????
sry. Posted wrong window. ignore.
Whew! Thank goodness...
I thought I was going to have to make one of those: "I can neither confirm nor deny....." statements!
Web Page
Blog
NORJAK Forum
I thought I was going to have to make one of those: "I can neither confirm nor deny....." statements!
Web Page
Blog
NORJAK Forum
snowmman 3
from SECRET COMMANDOS: Behind Enemy Lines with the Elite Warriors of SOG, John L. Plaster, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2004, 384 pages
pp 20-21
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA21
One evening, sitting around the fire, we speculated on where we'd be assigned after graduation. Everyone wanted combat with the 5th Special Forces Group, the Green Beret unit serving in Vietnam. Many 5th Group men were assigned to A-Camps, remote outposts where a twelve-man Special Forces A-Team recruited, trained, and advised Vietnamese peasants or Montagnard hill tribesmen. Most A-Camps overlooked the border or sat astride major infiltration routes, where they became burrs under the enemy's saddle. Some of the heaviest Special Forces fighting had been defending besieged A-Camps.
Another possibility was serving in a Mike Force, or Mobile Strike Force. Led by a nucleus of Green Berets, these companies and battalions of Chinese Nungs or Montagnards were America's counterpart to the British Gurkhas. Developed as reaction forces for A-Camps that had been attacked, they'd become conventional Light infantry, fighting as much as any American unit in the war. It was not unusual for an NCO to command a 100-man Mike Force company, and when short of officers, NCOs ran the whole battalion. Imagine, a Green Beret sergeant first class commanding as many combat troops as a U.S. Army lieutenant colonel!
Project Delta, too, was a coveted assignment, running reconnaissance in some of the enemy's most heavily defended enclaves in South Vietnam.
Sitting around the fire, one man started to weigh which of these would be the best assignment, when a voice cut him off.
"That's not all there is," Ricardo Davis interrupted. "There's something else." An amiable New Mexico native with an easygoing spirit, Ricardo had already done one Vietnam combat tour, with the 101st Airborne Division. While waiting for Hueys to lift his company from an airfield near the Laotian border, he said, he'd witnessed something very odd, like nothing he'd seen in Vietnam. "These guys got off some unmarked helicopters. They were dressed in North Vietnamese uniforms. And they carried silenced weapons—British Sten guns. I saw 'em myself."
"Well," another NCO asked, "who were they?"
"1 don't know. But I'm sure they were SF."
Another man added that during weapons training he'd heard vague references to men running for days on end deep behind enemy Lines, even getting B-52 bombers in support. These things were so closely held we couldn't tell how much of it was real. No one knew exactly who these secret operatives were, or where they were, or how to get to that unit. But we'd all heard fourth-hand accounts, incredible stories of wild missions and names like Mad Dog Shriver, Moose Monroe, Billy Waugh, Jason T. Woodworth, Skip Minnicks.
There wasn't a man in Special Forces who hadn't been told Mad Dog's amazing rejoinder when an officer had radioed him, concerned because his encircled team might be overrun. Shriver replied. "No sweat. I've got 'em right where I want 'em—surrounded from the inside." Six weeks earlier. Skip Minnicks and Major George Quamo had led two dozen men into Lang Vei, the Special Forces camp overrun by tanks, and had rescued the survivors. These were legendary deeds, and legendary men.
All of this had something to do with SOG—but we could not even find out what those letters stood for. It remained a great mystery.
pp 20-21
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA21
One evening, sitting around the fire, we speculated on where we'd be assigned after graduation. Everyone wanted combat with the 5th Special Forces Group, the Green Beret unit serving in Vietnam. Many 5th Group men were assigned to A-Camps, remote outposts where a twelve-man Special Forces A-Team recruited, trained, and advised Vietnamese peasants or Montagnard hill tribesmen. Most A-Camps overlooked the border or sat astride major infiltration routes, where they became burrs under the enemy's saddle. Some of the heaviest Special Forces fighting had been defending besieged A-Camps.
Another possibility was serving in a Mike Force, or Mobile Strike Force. Led by a nucleus of Green Berets, these companies and battalions of Chinese Nungs or Montagnards were America's counterpart to the British Gurkhas. Developed as reaction forces for A-Camps that had been attacked, they'd become conventional Light infantry, fighting as much as any American unit in the war. It was not unusual for an NCO to command a 100-man Mike Force company, and when short of officers, NCOs ran the whole battalion. Imagine, a Green Beret sergeant first class commanding as many combat troops as a U.S. Army lieutenant colonel!
Project Delta, too, was a coveted assignment, running reconnaissance in some of the enemy's most heavily defended enclaves in South Vietnam.
Sitting around the fire, one man started to weigh which of these would be the best assignment, when a voice cut him off.
"That's not all there is," Ricardo Davis interrupted. "There's something else." An amiable New Mexico native with an easygoing spirit, Ricardo had already done one Vietnam combat tour, with the 101st Airborne Division. While waiting for Hueys to lift his company from an airfield near the Laotian border, he said, he'd witnessed something very odd, like nothing he'd seen in Vietnam. "These guys got off some unmarked helicopters. They were dressed in North Vietnamese uniforms. And they carried silenced weapons—British Sten guns. I saw 'em myself."
"Well," another NCO asked, "who were they?"
"1 don't know. But I'm sure they were SF."
Another man added that during weapons training he'd heard vague references to men running for days on end deep behind enemy Lines, even getting B-52 bombers in support. These things were so closely held we couldn't tell how much of it was real. No one knew exactly who these secret operatives were, or where they were, or how to get to that unit. But we'd all heard fourth-hand accounts, incredible stories of wild missions and names like Mad Dog Shriver, Moose Monroe, Billy Waugh, Jason T. Woodworth, Skip Minnicks.
There wasn't a man in Special Forces who hadn't been told Mad Dog's amazing rejoinder when an officer had radioed him, concerned because his encircled team might be overrun. Shriver replied. "No sweat. I've got 'em right where I want 'em—surrounded from the inside." Six weeks earlier. Skip Minnicks and Major George Quamo had led two dozen men into Lang Vei, the Special Forces camp overrun by tanks, and had rescued the survivors. These were legendary deeds, and legendary men.
All of this had something to do with SOG—but we could not even find out what those letters stood for. It remained a great mystery.
snowmman 3
from SECRET COMMANDOS: Behind Enemy Lines with the Elite Warriors of SOG, John L. Plaster, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2004, 384 pages
p. 1
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA1
There was a chill in the northern Wisconsin air, that October afternoon of 1998. Bayfield County's apple harvest was underway, and colorful leaves converted my roadway into a sublime cathedral through which I drove to the Iron River post office. On Main Street, I waved to neighbors who as readily waved back. Inside her tiny office, the postal clerk, Peggy, handed me a small package.
Postmarked, Quantico, Virginia, it was from FBI Special Agent Barry Subelsky, a friend and—like me—a former Green Beret. This was curious—I hadn't expected anything from Barry. After an hour running errands, I drove home with the box on the seat beside me. Retrieving it from my truck, I opened it to find an old cassette tape and Barry's note: "John, here's a recording of radio messages, apparently a recon team in trouble in Laos. Where and when isn't certain."
He'd recently found the tape among some forgotten Vietnam War memorabilia. Barry couldn't remember how he got it.
"Maybe you can tell from the jargon," he continued, "if this was SOG," meaning the Studies and Observations Group, which ran top secret missions along the Laotian Ho Chi Minh Trail. He'd been stationed at Ben Het, a remote camp near the border, so that was entirely possible.
Digging around, I found an old cassette player, slipped in the tape, sat back, and pushed "play."
A radio voice called breathlessly, "Prairie Fire.' Prairie Fire.'"—SOG code words for a team in such terrible straits that they were about to be overrun.
The voice raised the hairs on my neck.
Then came a calmer voice, "This is Delta Papa-Three ..."
It was my own voice.
And I realized exactly what this recording was. I turned off the lights, and sat in the dark, listening.
It was, I knew, 29 January 1971, the day we lost David Miner and almost lost his teammates, Pat Mitchel and Lyn St. Laurent. That was Pat's voice calling, "Prairie Fire! Prairie Fire!"
p. 1
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA1
There was a chill in the northern Wisconsin air, that October afternoon of 1998. Bayfield County's apple harvest was underway, and colorful leaves converted my roadway into a sublime cathedral through which I drove to the Iron River post office. On Main Street, I waved to neighbors who as readily waved back. Inside her tiny office, the postal clerk, Peggy, handed me a small package.
Postmarked, Quantico, Virginia, it was from FBI Special Agent Barry Subelsky, a friend and—like me—a former Green Beret. This was curious—I hadn't expected anything from Barry. After an hour running errands, I drove home with the box on the seat beside me. Retrieving it from my truck, I opened it to find an old cassette tape and Barry's note: "John, here's a recording of radio messages, apparently a recon team in trouble in Laos. Where and when isn't certain."
He'd recently found the tape among some forgotten Vietnam War memorabilia. Barry couldn't remember how he got it.
"Maybe you can tell from the jargon," he continued, "if this was SOG," meaning the Studies and Observations Group, which ran top secret missions along the Laotian Ho Chi Minh Trail. He'd been stationed at Ben Het, a remote camp near the border, so that was entirely possible.
Digging around, I found an old cassette player, slipped in the tape, sat back, and pushed "play."
A radio voice called breathlessly, "Prairie Fire.' Prairie Fire.'"—SOG code words for a team in such terrible straits that they were about to be overrun.
The voice raised the hairs on my neck.
Then came a calmer voice, "This is Delta Papa-Three ..."
It was my own voice.
And I realized exactly what this recording was. I turned off the lights, and sat in the dark, listening.
It was, I knew, 29 January 1971, the day we lost David Miner and almost lost his teammates, Pat Mitchel and Lyn St. Laurent. That was Pat's voice calling, "Prairie Fire! Prairie Fire!"
snowmman 3
from SECRET COMMANDOS: Behind Enemy Lines with the Elite Warriors of SOG, John L. Plaster, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2004, 384 pages
page 22
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA22
By mid-September my patience was gone. I could wait no longer.
A senior NCO had given me a Pentagon phone number used by old hands when they wanted a Special Forces overseas assignment. I dialed it from a phone booth. A woman with a pretty Southern accent and a friendly voice answered. Mrs. Billy Alexander listened sympathetically then promised to do her best to get me to Vietnam.
...
[vietnam]
page 28 http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA28
That evening, I sat in the NCO club, complaining about my plight. Then, as fate would have it, in strolled Bill Gabbard, a teammate from Phase Two who'd been in Vietnam about three months. Over drinks we recalled the exciting adventures we'd talked about back at Fort Bragg. Then Bill's companion, an SF sergeant, nodded an "OK" to him. a gesture that caused Bill to slide his chair closer to the table and lower his voice. "John, do you want to do the real shit? The shit you came into SF to do?" Of course I did. "Go to CCN," he advised. "Don't ask. we can't tell you. just go to CCN—Command and Control North."
"Well, at least tell me what it's like."
"Oh, it's dangerous, dangerous as shit," his companion interjected. "But it's really a good deal. You're going to get killed anyhow. May as well come up to CCN and get a good deal out of it."
...
Glenn and Reinald knew as little about CCN as I did. Like me, they'd been advised to volunteer without knowing where or what it was. The following morning, we boarded the strangest C-130 transport plane I'd ever seen. Nicknamed a "Blackbird" because of its distinct black and forest green paint scheme, the plane's nose bore a folded yoke, part of a special apparatus for extracting secret agents from the ground. Its U.S. insignia were painted on removable metal plates, so they easily could be taken off. Inside the C-130, the cargo compartment's forward third was curtained off with a warning; top secret. Squeezed into the remaining seats was a smorgasbord of passengers— Chinese. Vietnamese, Americans in civilian clothes, armed and unarmed Green Berets, and nondescript Asians whose nationality I could not even guess.
..page 30
"You will not keep a diary or journal," he ordered. "Your letters are subject to censorship. You are forbidden to tell anyone outside here what you are doing. We train Vietnamese and Montagnards, that's all.
On paper we belong to the 5th Special Forces Group. In reality, we work for SOG. that's the Studies and Observations Group down in Saigon. Even that relationship is classified secret, so if anyone asks, you don't even know what SOG is. Any questions?"
page 22
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA22
By mid-September my patience was gone. I could wait no longer.
A senior NCO had given me a Pentagon phone number used by old hands when they wanted a Special Forces overseas assignment. I dialed it from a phone booth. A woman with a pretty Southern accent and a friendly voice answered. Mrs. Billy Alexander listened sympathetically then promised to do her best to get me to Vietnam.
...
[vietnam]
page 28 http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA28
That evening, I sat in the NCO club, complaining about my plight. Then, as fate would have it, in strolled Bill Gabbard, a teammate from Phase Two who'd been in Vietnam about three months. Over drinks we recalled the exciting adventures we'd talked about back at Fort Bragg. Then Bill's companion, an SF sergeant, nodded an "OK" to him. a gesture that caused Bill to slide his chair closer to the table and lower his voice. "John, do you want to do the real shit? The shit you came into SF to do?" Of course I did. "Go to CCN," he advised. "Don't ask. we can't tell you. just go to CCN—Command and Control North."
"Well, at least tell me what it's like."
"Oh, it's dangerous, dangerous as shit," his companion interjected. "But it's really a good deal. You're going to get killed anyhow. May as well come up to CCN and get a good deal out of it."
...
Glenn and Reinald knew as little about CCN as I did. Like me, they'd been advised to volunteer without knowing where or what it was. The following morning, we boarded the strangest C-130 transport plane I'd ever seen. Nicknamed a "Blackbird" because of its distinct black and forest green paint scheme, the plane's nose bore a folded yoke, part of a special apparatus for extracting secret agents from the ground. Its U.S. insignia were painted on removable metal plates, so they easily could be taken off. Inside the C-130, the cargo compartment's forward third was curtained off with a warning; top secret. Squeezed into the remaining seats was a smorgasbord of passengers— Chinese. Vietnamese, Americans in civilian clothes, armed and unarmed Green Berets, and nondescript Asians whose nationality I could not even guess.
..page 30
"You will not keep a diary or journal," he ordered. "Your letters are subject to censorship. You are forbidden to tell anyone outside here what you are doing. We train Vietnamese and Montagnards, that's all.
On paper we belong to the 5th Special Forces Group. In reality, we work for SOG. that's the Studies and Observations Group down in Saigon. Even that relationship is classified secret, so if anyone asks, you don't even know what SOG is. Any questions?"
snowmman 3
from SECRET COMMANDOS: Behind Enemy Lines with the Elite Warriors of SOG, John L. Plaster, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2004, 384 pages
page 34
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA34
While Pinn mulled over my team assignment, he told me to go unpack and draw my field gear from supply. That proved a snap because the supply sergeant was Dave Higgins, who'd been on aggressor duty with me at Camp Mackall. Dave already had served on the Hatchet Force, then came here to supply. He couldn't do enough to help, fixing me up with all my standard gear, plus SOG's unique off-the-books items, such as a black windbreaker like Colonel Warren had worn, along with a special SOG knife, a Swiss Army knife, and a commercial Seiko wristwatch. As Higgins told me, those were mine to keep.
I'd completely forgotten it was Christmas Eve until I walked into the NCO club and discovered the crazy culture I'd fallen into. Despite Konrum's out-of-the-way location, these resourceful Green Berets had recruited a major band, the Surfaris, famous for Their top ten hit "Surfer Joe." Just about every one of our US Green Berets was squeezed into an NCO club half the size of a basketball court where the rock band's amplified music shook the roof. How could this little club possibly afford the Surfaris?
Simple, we sold quality liquor to underage U.S. 4th Infantry Division soldiers and other Americans in defiance of official rationing rules. Therefore, while the typical Vietnam NCO club was a plywood and tin firetrap, ours looked like a nice Stateside cocktail lounge, complete with handmade leak furniture flown back from Taiwan aboard a SOG C-130 Blackbird. In addition to a first-class stereo system, we even offered flush toilets, an unheard-of luxury in Vietnam.
Peering through the heavy cigarette smoke. I couldn't believe the variety of attire. In one comer, an eccentric NCO in a camouflage tuxedo swapped stories with friends, while in another corner a drunken pilot danced on a table, wearing only cowboy boots, a helmet, and a pistol belt arranged so his holster covered his crotch. Other men wore everything from cutoff jeans to bowling shirts. A lot of booze had already been consumed, and the night was still young.
When finally [ got a beer and found a seat, it was beside several Vietnamese women, one of whom spoke with a heavy whiskey voice. Known as "Helen," she patted my knee and smiled. "You new guy," she said, "you cherry boy." An NCO behind her called above the loud music, "Hey, Helen, show him your pussy!" Exactly as asked, she hefted her skirl to her naked waist, threatening, "My monkey gonna catch you!"
I backed away, only to be tongued in my ear by another Green Beret, which caused a cluster of recon NCOs to snicker at my shocked reaction. They had me marked as a new guy. At their urging I downed a few shots of liquor, but they kept up the harassment until I tongued the ear of the man who'd tongued mine.
page 34
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA34
While Pinn mulled over my team assignment, he told me to go unpack and draw my field gear from supply. That proved a snap because the supply sergeant was Dave Higgins, who'd been on aggressor duty with me at Camp Mackall. Dave already had served on the Hatchet Force, then came here to supply. He couldn't do enough to help, fixing me up with all my standard gear, plus SOG's unique off-the-books items, such as a black windbreaker like Colonel Warren had worn, along with a special SOG knife, a Swiss Army knife, and a commercial Seiko wristwatch. As Higgins told me, those were mine to keep.
I'd completely forgotten it was Christmas Eve until I walked into the NCO club and discovered the crazy culture I'd fallen into. Despite Konrum's out-of-the-way location, these resourceful Green Berets had recruited a major band, the Surfaris, famous for Their top ten hit "Surfer Joe." Just about every one of our US Green Berets was squeezed into an NCO club half the size of a basketball court where the rock band's amplified music shook the roof. How could this little club possibly afford the Surfaris?
Simple, we sold quality liquor to underage U.S. 4th Infantry Division soldiers and other Americans in defiance of official rationing rules. Therefore, while the typical Vietnam NCO club was a plywood and tin firetrap, ours looked like a nice Stateside cocktail lounge, complete with handmade leak furniture flown back from Taiwan aboard a SOG C-130 Blackbird. In addition to a first-class stereo system, we even offered flush toilets, an unheard-of luxury in Vietnam.
Peering through the heavy cigarette smoke. I couldn't believe the variety of attire. In one comer, an eccentric NCO in a camouflage tuxedo swapped stories with friends, while in another corner a drunken pilot danced on a table, wearing only cowboy boots, a helmet, and a pistol belt arranged so his holster covered his crotch. Other men wore everything from cutoff jeans to bowling shirts. A lot of booze had already been consumed, and the night was still young.
When finally [ got a beer and found a seat, it was beside several Vietnamese women, one of whom spoke with a heavy whiskey voice. Known as "Helen," she patted my knee and smiled. "You new guy," she said, "you cherry boy." An NCO behind her called above the loud music, "Hey, Helen, show him your pussy!" Exactly as asked, she hefted her skirl to her naked waist, threatening, "My monkey gonna catch you!"
I backed away, only to be tongued in my ear by another Green Beret, which caused a cluster of recon NCOs to snicker at my shocked reaction. They had me marked as a new guy. At their urging I downed a few shots of liquor, but they kept up the harassment until I tongued the ear of the man who'd tongued mine.
snowmman 3
from SECRET COMMANDOS: Behind Enemy Lines with the Elite Warriors of SOG, John L. Plaster, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2004, 384 pages
page 36
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA36
In the recon company orderly room I found First Sergeant Pinn and our company commander, Captain Edward Lesesne, a very impressive Special Forces officer. Already on his second SOG tour, he was as much a gunfighter as any of the NCOs. A few months earlier, when recon men grumbled that it was becoming too dangerous to snatch enemy prisoners from the Ho Chi Minh Trail, Captain Lesesne didn't criticize or cajole them—he accompanied a team into Laos and snatched an NVA himself, SOG's first Laotian prisoner in nine months. Prior to his SOG service, Lesesne had been on the classified Special Forces mission in Bolivia that led to the capture and execution of Cuba's infamous revolutionary Che Guevara.
...
page 44
After the briefers finished, I asked Major Jaks, "What about civilians, sir?" He Looked at me as if I were out of my mind. There are no civilians out there, it's all NVA, all enemy," he snapped. 'And you'd better look out, young man, or they will kill you." His directness surprised me, but I would learn that Major Jaks's opinions were always to be taken seriously. No stranger to war, he'd begun fighting as a teenager in the Czech Resistance in World War II. and was already on his third tour in Vietnam,
We had no further questions.
page 36
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA36
In the recon company orderly room I found First Sergeant Pinn and our company commander, Captain Edward Lesesne, a very impressive Special Forces officer. Already on his second SOG tour, he was as much a gunfighter as any of the NCOs. A few months earlier, when recon men grumbled that it was becoming too dangerous to snatch enemy prisoners from the Ho Chi Minh Trail, Captain Lesesne didn't criticize or cajole them—he accompanied a team into Laos and snatched an NVA himself, SOG's first Laotian prisoner in nine months. Prior to his SOG service, Lesesne had been on the classified Special Forces mission in Bolivia that led to the capture and execution of Cuba's infamous revolutionary Che Guevara.
...
page 44
After the briefers finished, I asked Major Jaks, "What about civilians, sir?" He Looked at me as if I were out of my mind. There are no civilians out there, it's all NVA, all enemy," he snapped. 'And you'd better look out, young man, or they will kill you." His directness surprised me, but I would learn that Major Jaks's opinions were always to be taken seriously. No stranger to war, he'd begun fighting as a teenager in the Czech Resistance in World War II. and was already on his third tour in Vietnam,
We had no further questions.
snowmman 3
from SECRET COMMANDOS: Behind Enemy Lines with the Elite Warriors of SOG, John L. Plaster, Simon & Schuster, New York, 2004, 384 pages
page 47
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA47
Then Stephens went over to the lead Huey pilot, who was spooning a can of C ration peaches. This wasn't Stateside, so the pilot didn't pull out a pencil and paper to calculate his load limit. He just looked around at the eight of us. eye-balled our bulging rucksacks, and said, "Nope." Stephens dickered with him for a minute, then the young aviation warrant officer nodded.
I heard Stephens's voice tell me, "You can't go." I couldn't believe it! He continued, "The chopper would be overloaded." I tried to argue but the decision had already been made. "You can go next time." Stephens promised. I accepted his call. He was One-Zero.
Then Covey radioed for a launch.
While the pilots and door gunners prepared for takeoff, we quickly transferred my PRC-25 radio into Billiards rucksack. I walked them to the Huey and wished them well, shaking each man's hand. When their helicopter lifted away I waved. Soon, their long line of choppers disappeared into the western sky and the distant green hills of Laos.
I sat around the rest of the day at Dak To. then flew back to Kontum, embarrassed to have camouflage stick on my face, feeling like I hadn't been chosen for sides in baseball. At the recon company office I retrieved my manila envelope, then went back to the team room, alone. I washed the camouflage off my face, then heated a C ration from my rucksack. Lying in my bunk, I drifted on to sleep, disgusted that my teammates were out there, in Laos, on a mission, and I was sleeping on clean sheets.
Late the next morning, a runner told me I was wanted at recon company. Sure as hell, I thought. First Sergeant Pinn has cooked up some project to keep me busy. I dreaded it.
But when I walked in, Pinn, Howard, and Lesesne stopped talking, and turned to me. Pinn chewed his unlit cigar. Their faces hinted stress. Then Captain Lcscsne said, "Covey couldn't raise Recon Team New Mexico this morning." I wasn't sure what he was trying to say- 'A Bright Light team is on the ground right now."
I had to ask, "What's a Bright Light team?"
I should have heard the slamming of a vault door, or perhaps the chuckle of the Reaper. As it was, I wasn't sure what Lesesne was trying to say. Had someone been wounded? Were they running with the NVA in pursuit? I looked to their faces.
I heard Howard's voice but I barely understood what he said. "They were killed, John. Stephens, Bullard, and Simmons--they're all dead. The Bright Light team is the rescue team, bringing out their bodies.
It was too much. I'd just been at Dak To with them. We'd had a whole team, this couldn't be! How! Then the full realization swept over me. I was the sole survivor of Recon Team New Mexico.
..
page 48
Before I could weep I wandered outside, lit a cigarette, and looked up a the moon. I'd read somewhere that the Greeks believed that as long as someone remembers you, you are immortal. Aloud, I vowed I would never forget my teammates, never, though I had hardly known them...
page 49
I knew nothing.
I must learn how to evade hundreds of armed pursuers out to kill me, learn how to outwit human trackers and dogs. And I had to master my weapons.
Or the NVA would kill me, too, just as Major Jaks had warned.
...
I would never again liken SOG to the Norwegian resistance or to any movie I'd ever seen. My mind-set was there, it was all clear. I knew what I had to do.
There was so much to learn.
page 47
http://books.google.com/books?id=JYT5UO_VHHcC&pg=PA47
Then Stephens went over to the lead Huey pilot, who was spooning a can of C ration peaches. This wasn't Stateside, so the pilot didn't pull out a pencil and paper to calculate his load limit. He just looked around at the eight of us. eye-balled our bulging rucksacks, and said, "Nope." Stephens dickered with him for a minute, then the young aviation warrant officer nodded.
I heard Stephens's voice tell me, "You can't go." I couldn't believe it! He continued, "The chopper would be overloaded." I tried to argue but the decision had already been made. "You can go next time." Stephens promised. I accepted his call. He was One-Zero.
Then Covey radioed for a launch.
While the pilots and door gunners prepared for takeoff, we quickly transferred my PRC-25 radio into Billiards rucksack. I walked them to the Huey and wished them well, shaking each man's hand. When their helicopter lifted away I waved. Soon, their long line of choppers disappeared into the western sky and the distant green hills of Laos.
I sat around the rest of the day at Dak To. then flew back to Kontum, embarrassed to have camouflage stick on my face, feeling like I hadn't been chosen for sides in baseball. At the recon company office I retrieved my manila envelope, then went back to the team room, alone. I washed the camouflage off my face, then heated a C ration from my rucksack. Lying in my bunk, I drifted on to sleep, disgusted that my teammates were out there, in Laos, on a mission, and I was sleeping on clean sheets.
Late the next morning, a runner told me I was wanted at recon company. Sure as hell, I thought. First Sergeant Pinn has cooked up some project to keep me busy. I dreaded it.
But when I walked in, Pinn, Howard, and Lesesne stopped talking, and turned to me. Pinn chewed his unlit cigar. Their faces hinted stress. Then Captain Lcscsne said, "Covey couldn't raise Recon Team New Mexico this morning." I wasn't sure what he was trying to say- 'A Bright Light team is on the ground right now."
I had to ask, "What's a Bright Light team?"
I should have heard the slamming of a vault door, or perhaps the chuckle of the Reaper. As it was, I wasn't sure what Lesesne was trying to say. Had someone been wounded? Were they running with the NVA in pursuit? I looked to their faces.
I heard Howard's voice but I barely understood what he said. "They were killed, John. Stephens, Bullard, and Simmons--they're all dead. The Bright Light team is the rescue team, bringing out their bodies.
It was too much. I'd just been at Dak To with them. We'd had a whole team, this couldn't be! How! Then the full realization swept over me. I was the sole survivor of Recon Team New Mexico.
..
page 48
Before I could weep I wandered outside, lit a cigarette, and looked up a the moon. I'd read somewhere that the Greeks believed that as long as someone remembers you, you are immortal. Aloud, I vowed I would never forget my teammates, never, though I had hardly known them...
page 49
I knew nothing.
I must learn how to evade hundreds of armed pursuers out to kill me, learn how to outwit human trackers and dogs. And I had to master my weapons.
Or the NVA would kill me, too, just as Major Jaks had warned.
...
I would never again liken SOG to the Norwegian resistance or to any movie I'd ever seen. My mind-set was there, it was all clear. I knew what I had to do.
There was so much to learn.
Quote
http://www.historynet.com/a-bad-day-at-bu-dop.htm
It was written by retired Army Major John Mullins, who served three tours in Vietnam with Special Forces. In 1966-67 he was the executive officer of an A-team in Vinh Thanh, and in 1968-69 he served with a Special Operations Group. The article was originally published in the April 2001 issue of Vietnam Magazine.
Please explain this to me:
Note: I have asked for some kind of explanation regarding this in the past. This story is in a book Soldier of Fortune dated December of 1994 so how can the above statement be true.
If I physically have the magazine article published in 1994 with the very same article how could the original article be published in 2001? The 2001 article was NOT the first publish date - the 1994 in Soldier of Fortune is.
QUESTION / ANSWER / PLEASE.
This article MAY NOT be what is so important about this magazine - but, whatever it is holds a clue to Duane's past.
Important enough to keep in safe deposit box - but, WHAT.
Copyright 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 2013, 2014, 2015 by Jo Weber
snowmman 3
Jo,
It's not even worth re-verifying dates.
People rewrite stories for new publications all the time.
There is nothing interesting about Duane Weber or anything he did.
It's not even worth re-verifying dates.
People rewrite stories for new publications all the time.
There is nothing interesting about Duane Weber or anything he did.
page 48
"Before I could weep I wandered outside, lit a cigarette, and looked up a the moon. I'd read somewhere that the Greeks believed that as long as someone remembers you, you are immortal. Aloud, I vowed I would never forget my teammates, never, though I had hardly known them... "
Does anyone else read anything into that line that I do? Maybe we need to explore this writer - age, record, etc?
It just struck a cord with me - could have been a motive for Cooper - and the tie?
Sounds as good as any other that has been given.
"Before I could weep I wandered outside, lit a cigarette, and looked up a the moon. I'd read somewhere that the Greeks believed that as long as someone remembers you, you are immortal. Aloud, I vowed I would never forget my teammates, never, though I had hardly known them... "
Does anyone else read anything into that line that I do? Maybe we need to explore this writer - age, record, etc?
It just struck a cord with me - could have been a motive for Cooper - and the tie?
Sounds as good as any other that has been given.
Copyright 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 2013, 2014, 2015 by Jo Weber
snowmman 3
Jo, don't respond to any of those posts.
I'm just posting their words.
They deserve more respect than your picking.
(edit) Here's the thing, and I'll say it out loud.
If Billy Waugh was Cooper, then anyone who knew was right to say Fuck You to the FBI and the US.
And today, if Billy Waugh is Cooper, everyone should still say Fuck You.
I'm just posting their words.
They deserve more respect than your picking.
(edit) Here's the thing, and I'll say it out loud.
If Billy Waugh was Cooper, then anyone who knew was right to say Fuck You to the FBI and the US.
And today, if Billy Waugh is Cooper, everyone should still say Fuck You.
Orange1 0
QuoteI've been noticing references to pearl tie clasps or tie tacks and studs in evening mess uniforms. (edit) Also gold. Basically "conservative" seems to be the rule.
In the relevant time frame I presume?
The question is if this is "meaningful" or if it was so widespread as to not be be meaningful. (Reference "ma'am" discussion.)
Skydiving: wasting fossil fuels just for fun.
How about any Canadian Hutterites in SOG units, that
would mate up with Cooper DNA profile TK is working with?
Sounds interesting.
You said that many people can search.
Have them search.