P-Day has arrived

 

Publishing Day finally here.

 

 

Forty-four years after leaving the US Air Force and two years after starting this project, I can look up and see the results. Yesterday Force of Fate - Letters to Oma was published on Amazon.com. For me and my family this is a major milestone. I had begun to doubt myself when everything took so long to come together. My family was tired of hearing my story and my gripes about it not being published. Several times I was ready to give up. But the audacity in me kept me going forward. I feel at this moment that I am winning the battle. Don't get me wrong, I know we still have to sell books, and that would be nice. Those results are still in my hands as to how I handle the publicising of the book. Having it available was my first goal and that I have achieved. I have had some replies from friends and strangers asking me about the contents of the book and that is encouraging. The most frequent question is that folks who don't have the Kindle want to know if ii will be available in other format. Amazon tells me that in order to cash in on their generous royalties I have to stay with them for 90 days exclusively. I can handle that. I'm hoping that in 90 days we can have the soft cover book available as well. All I'm asking those who are purchasing or borrowing the book to please return to Amazon and critique the book for me. It could help my sales but most of all it will give me a measure of how I did and what I have to change in the second book.

 

 

Force of Fate has brought much to my life. It has allowed me to shed a demon that lived in me for over forty years. It has opened my mind to accept outside help for my condition. The VA has been great in pushing me towards a more normal life. On the downside, Force of Fate has opened some memories that bring with them really a dark part of my life. The psychiatrist says that it is good to face these demons. Just as we cleanse our bodies, we have to cleanse our mind. The single good factor that talking about my experience is that the more I talk about it the more I accept it, unconditionally.

 

 

During the past two months so many people who have read my blog or follow me on Facebook have been in touch with me and shared my story. Recently a friend of my middle son called me. He is now a teacher at a Western Pennsylvania High School. I remember him being a young lad in college and having the time of his life. Now he is so professional about everything. We talked about my story and because he is a History teacher, he really got into it. He now has a family so I am blessed that he finds 30 minutes every so often to call me and ask me about my adventures. Last night I spoke to him and told him about the publishing. He was so happy to hear that. The point I'm trying to make is that I am glad as well. Children will most likely never study about the dark days of the Cold War. I, however, can bask in the light of the release of the book. I know the story is out there now for all to see and my goals are met.

 

 

I would like to thank all those who have persevered with me on this journey. I hope my randing and raving as well as my soap box speeches have kept you entertained. I hope it has given you an inside into me, of who I am and who I am not. Do not judge a book by its covers for it might disillusion you.

 

 

I want to leave you today with one thought. I did not seek this life, just as you did not seek your. We are born into it with little say of how it will go for us. We do have the power to make ourselves worthy or worthless. I wrote a little ditty for a Preface to the book but my ghostwriter thought I was long winded again and we came up with a different one. Here was what I thought of when I finished the book:

Preface

From the time of my childhood with my Oma, it has been instilled in me that Fate or Destiny was to be my guiding light my entire life. To further cement this believe into my soul, some years ago a friend recruited me to aid him in a project he was working on. It was not the object of this project that fascinated me as much as the little booklet he printed and packed with the object. In short, the title of the booklet was ‘The pyramidal threat of life’. It was his believe that each of us was a threat in the tapestry of life. We, the threat , were pulled off some huge spool and inserted into the weaving machine. From that moment on we would cross paths with many other threats. We, as a threat, would break and be repaired to continue on our way. At some point another threat would intersect hours and we would be knotted together to continue our joint venture. We had tight the knot. Unfortunately all threats end at some point and we are left behind, perhaps forgotten, or we could have made an impressive statement with our threat that we would go down in history.

There was something missing to me. I searched for some time and finally realized that to little emphasis was placed on the ‘spool of threat’ we came from. This spool used to contain the threats of our ancestors, who, through the makeup of the material of the threat had left us with their character and hence the threat that still remained on the spool was that of my future generations who would inherit the trades of my ancestors and those I would pass unto them

So no matter what I did or didn’t do, my legacy will always be a part of my tapestry of life. Whether anyone would see it and interpret it cannot be said for certain. No matter, we are all there for history, preserved forever .This book, placed in the darkest corner of a library, covered with spider webs will still bear witness to the deeds a few did for the many.

All this we did for God and Country.

Rudi Fischer

  

 

 

 



The world is changing, let's go along for the ride.

Post Military Service Continued

 

During the next two years I had to learn the chemical composition of ferrite powder, the art of 'pressing' the cores, kiln firing them, cooling them and then look at all the data. Any minute change created havoc on the acceptance rate of the mass of cores. At the time I took charge of the Quality Control section of Fabri-Tek, the acceptance rate of good vs bad cores finished was less that 50% in the testing department. Once the cores were tested and the bad ones ejected, the vials full of 'good' cores came to my department. We would still reject approximately 10% of the vials if more than 7 out of 100 proved defective. In retrospect we produced millions of cores just to have enough good ones for a single computer. Memory in those days were measured in 4 kilo bytes increments not in megabytes or giga bytes as today.

My research into all facets of production led me to find changes that were tremendous boosts to the reliability of memory cores. When I finally stumbled upon the holy grail we upped the acceptance rate at the testing level to above 90% and the failure rate in QC to less than 1%. We applied for a patent and received one. Only it was in the name of Fabri-Tek since we all signed contracts with the company, just for matters such as these. Reliablitity was not the only facet I experimented with. Size and speed was just as critical. It is here that I must make some changes to my previous posting. Last night I typed the numbers as fast as I could remember them without going to my spec sheet. Tonight I want to correct that In 1958, Fabri-Tek created the first memory core that actually contained a lettering and numbering system.The A5080 was a core that was 50 mil. in diameter and had a speed of 1 micro second. This meant that the 80 was not really true. When I arrived at Fabri-Tek they had moved past the A through the B3050 to the C2530. As I studied the memory core they introduced their latest D1820. This core literally looked like a piece of fly speck (if you know what I mean). After my experimenting andhaving our first automatic press build for us in France we were able to press the E1418. 1 mil in size and an access speed of0.125 micro seconds. The A core cost $1.00 to produce. The E core just $0.01 per unit. The largest facture in this was the acceptance ratio of the core vs the rejection rate.

We had made giant steps but we were still playing with cores. In the mean time other companies tried other means for memory. The most promising one was 'THIN FILM'. Ultimately it did not last long because of the complexity of producing it. Then one day in 1970, while we were at a meeting of Department Manager, looking over the blue prints of our new manufacturing plant in Fort Washington, Pa, Fabri-Tek's president made the announcement that all plans for a new building were to be put on hold because a couple of scientist in New Jersey had come up with a new mousetrap, a 'Chip' that was designed to be better, smaller in size yet larger in capacity and spell the end for our technology.

 

Now I don;t give up easily and so I began to look into this new product. It was so radical that is was hard for us old timers to understand it completely. At that moment I became a 'Conspiracy" advocate and I have not stopped since then. Many of the things we used then and now have a history of development, enhancement and ultimately leading to new products. Chips, the microwave oven, memory metal and others throw these theories out of the window.

 

This brings me forward some 4 decades and things have not changed. Technology now changes almost every 6 months. Most of the new gadgets are based on previous ones just made better and with more mind bogglers.

 

And so I was left behind like many hundreds of us were. I made several attempts to catch up, but as I got older and younger and younger people outshone me. I knew it was time to stop the madness and just be happy with what I had.

 

We now have texting, video messaging , Facebook, tweeter, you tube, Skype,  Google, googling and now Google+, URL: plus.google.com. This new endeavor was launched to be the next Facebook. It is not based on text but video connections to friends and face to face conversations. Google allowed outside programmers to play with Google Plus and along came "Hang Ten"

 URL: plus.google.com/hangten

 

Hang ten is a means of having a corporate size video conferencing at no cost (not taking into consideration that a web camera, and audio devices are needed) The latest innovation is to have scheduled broadcasts by persons having special subject matters.

 

This is were I come in again. I'm in the process in starting my own channel on Hang Ten with the subject matter at this time being writing, publishing and marketing novels. I will keep everyone informed when we go on the air for the first time. I'm trying to encourage my Facebook Friends to come on board but as expected of the 146 friends I claim only 5 answered me and only one said yes. Makes you wonder who really is your friend. I grant you other than through photos I can't tell you what my friends look like nor have I heard their voices. Or most of all if they are who they say they are. Food for Thought. If you have any interest please get in touch with me. Would love to have you and most of all I can call you my friend and mean it.

'Til later. Stay strong and smile, we will prevail. God Bless you.

The sky is not falling but the world is changing.

 

 

Post Military Years

Excuse me while I pull up my soap box a little closer to the microphone, take a sip of water, get my mind in gear and let the words roll off my tongue. Now, I am not one of those conspiracy theory nuts, but some things get me to wonder what has had a hand in it to make it this way.

When I finished my days in the Air Force of these here United States of America, I left with a plan, a plan that was so tight there was no room to wiggle. I came home, chilled a few days and listened to my family bitching because I was still unemployed and finally hit the pavement. I think even my car knew where we were headed to. When I arrived at my future place of employment, I looked in the mirror, checked myself out and took the most important steps in my life. Once in the building the Personnel Director, as he was known at the time, handed me an application, offered me a pencil but I took my pen out of my jacket pocket, sat down and did my thing. I filled out every question completely. Something I had learned in the service: Leave no stone unturned. That's what gave me my Top Secret clearance so fast. When I was all done, I walked to the receptionist and handed her my paperwork. She instructed me to take a seat until the Director looked over my application and called me into his office. Nothing different between civilian life and the military: Hurry up and wait. After sitting there for some time and growing older, the Director came out, sat down on the sofa next to me and had one question."Son", he said, " it says here in Question One that you are not a US Citizen?" "Yes Sir", was my reply. He looked at me and said: "I'm sorry but I cannot hire you. We work mainly for the Department of Defense and are only allowed to hire citizens." I looked at him dumbfounded, pulled myself together and spoke. " Sir, I don't mean to blow my own whistle, but I probably know your equipment better than anyone in here. I have worked and used all of your systems. I have send your company numerous technical changes to your equipment that was then incorporated into the system, and you can't hire me?' He shook his head, thanked me for coming, stood up and walked back to his office. Well my plan was shattered, maybe I should have had a back-up plan. If this happens, walk away go to the Russian Embassy and offer your services to them. They don't care what citizenship you have, only the information.

But I am a Patriot, I love my adopted country no matter what happens and I will find another street paved with gold that has my name on it. And so I went to the unemployment office. In those days they actually had a veteran working there that would help people like me. The old chap convinced a former grunt to give me a job in his company and so my janitorial career started with Fabri-Tek, Inc. They manufactured  memory that went into computers that took up a whole room. That, however did not concern me. I was in charge of emptying the trash, sweep the floors and mop when necessary. Oh, and don't forget to make sure those sanitary napkin holders in the Ladies Toilet are full. Unbeknown  to the company I did empty the trash cans, but I did not put the trash into the dumpster. Well, not the same day. During my breaks (remember in the 60's the laws said that you had to have a 10 minute break twice a day, plus lunch) I would take the papers, read them and sort them by importance. See, I was going to Fabri-Tek College on a scholarship from Fabri-Tek. Now you're asking yourself: "Why". Well, you never know when somebody leaves and they need someone else to step into his slot. Problem was the company was so good, no-one wanted to leave. So I had to create a hardship for someone and I soon found my candidate. In retrospect I must say this, I was always taught to give the company their money's worth of work. Our Quality Control Manager was not of the same opinion. Because of his lack of enthusiasm, shipment went out late, which cost the company precious dollars. I made it my mission to cause this individual to quit and me take his spot. Took me six months.

I had arrived where I wanted to be. Work is work, the product was new to me. I had worked with electron or vacuum tubes, some transistors, diodes, resistors and capacitors. Plus of course transformers in various sizes depending on the equipment you worked on. Now I no longer worked with many of these components other than in the testers used to evaluate our product in a pass or fail scenario. Fabri-Tek manufactured ferrite memory cores. What drove the electronics industry was speed. In the Air Force we know that a delay of seconds making an enemy on radar could cost us our life. When I was the janitor, Fabri-Tek produced the A6080 core. This stood for a core that took on a size of .00060 inches and had a speed supposedly of 80 nano seconds. In actuality it was much slower. We employed mechanical presses bought as scrap from Bayer Aspirin Company to press the ferrite powder into donut shaped cores. It was the job of my department to sample test the finished product and if passed our standards the cores would be on their way to Hong Cong, a British Colony at that time. Here they were strung with 4 wires in a plane 64 rows by 64 columns. This required 4096 cores. Hence it became known as a 4K memory plane.

Are you bored yet reading all this jargon? Well, I was. So I created myself a new job. Product Development. I took a small corner in my Quality Control shop and became R&D.

Tomorrow I will continue the purpose of this lecture as it pertains to not only myself but also to each of you every day in your life.

Diagnosis: PTSD

Someone once told me that 'We are merely a threat in the tapestry of life. We have a beginning, an end, sometimes we break during our time when we are woven, at which time we either are repaired or sometimes we are tied into a knot with another threat, this is marriage. But when the spool runs out our life is at its end'

Friends our spool is getting lighter, make the most out of it!

My last post was my second encounter with the tragedies of the Vietnam War. The blog consisted of Chapter 8 of my book Force of Fate - Letters to Oma. I always understood that what happened to me was not the result of an assignment, TDY or other connected excursion. It was the boredom of the type of assignment I was experiencing that caused me to seek out friends and fun. In the mean time Fate had other ideas for me. Certainly my first day trip to Vietnam was exciting and fun. It was a life lesson without many twists and turns. The second day-trip was the exact opposite. From the arrival at Da Nang to my departure some 22 hours later. Fate threw everything possible at me. This became a life-changing trip. My stepfather had trained me years earlier to be the best soldier, in retrospect a killing machine. After boot camp I was asked many times why I did not become a sniper and even today my answer is the same; The US Government decided  my Fate the day I raised my hand and became a soldier. No matter what I did , right or wrong, there was no deviation from their expected goals. How many soldiers have you heard of that struck a superior officer and remained in the service of Uncle Sam? Probably not many, but I was told to be more careful.

So time passes and I return home and slowly I sink into a place that is dark, bare, cold and lonely for me. After 4o years it takes a military friend and my wife to convince me to go to the VA for treatment. Reluctantly I go and I begin a regiment of psychological treatments augmented with constant changes of doctors. No sooner did I take to a doctors and he or she would be transferred somewhere else. Finally in 2010, I had a psychiatrist and a psychologist which I trusted enough to confide in. The psychiatrist was the first to wonder if it was PTSD that I was suffering from? Of course being a proud man I denied it to myself every chance I got. Some notes were made in my medical records and upon my next visit with my psychologist the subject was brought up and I was instructed that I would begin a 12 visit program to address my problem.
It all began with my "Stuck Points". I had to go home think about them and write them down. That's better said than done. The dog ate my homework. So when I arrived for my first encounter, I had not written one line. I had no 'stuck points'. So the doctor began writing down my problems and each time she wrote a line, I just smiled. She knew me better than my wife. OK, so you call them stuck points, to me they are survival points. Her answer was: Why do you need survival points now? You are home, you are safe. " Doc, have you picked up a paper lately or turned on the TV, we are far from safe. " That didn't phase her, she continued and ended up with a long dozen. I was to focus on these and change my outlook. By week seven some points stuck with me or perhaps I became unstuck from them. On of them did not budge, I could not stop it from blaming myself for the death of my best friend.

For those who read my previous blog, you will remember that after I returned to base aboard the Spooky, I waited for my friend to return. Than did not happen. When automatic beacon signals were picked up in the jungle a Search and Rescue Mission was initiated. Pulling some strings I ran out to the helicopter only to be told that I could not travel on this mission without proper equipment. Flak jacket, helmet and a M-16. They held the chopper until I returned and we were airborne. When we arrived at the crash site, the VC had moved their prisoners to a nearby hiding place. When the chopper landed and we disembarked we heard gunfire coming from a path nearby. Without retelling the entire story let me just say this. Since that day I have asked myself constantly why him, why not me. Then the guild would strike: was it my fault, because I held up the helicopter because I was not prepared and that caused the loss of life? I might sleep a little better because with medicine and constant discussions I have done away with some of my nightmares but the one question still hangs over me. Was it my fault.

In 2012 another change took place when a new psychiatrist came to our little outpost here in Delaware. Reluctantly I went to my first appointment with him. Now friends you all know by now that I am 100% German. Born in the Vaterland, raised there and I speak the language. My name gives me away, especially if whoever sees it is a history buff. In 1945, when I was given this name I was only the second child born in Germany with such a name. The first was the son of Rudolf Hess. I will let you research who he was. I stay out of politics. Turns out my new doctor is of Jewish descend. With these facts people right away thought we would have problems. Not so, at all. He was very professional at first until he got to know me and our conversation became personal. At one point he read in my records that I still suffered from 'self blame'. He looked at me and asked point blank: " Why do you blame yourself?" Now I am used to have psychiatrists ask me question and then ask me to give them the answer. He was different, he looked at me with a frown on his face. When he spoke again these were the words that came out of his mouth: "Did you ever think that had you been prepared and the helicopter was on time that your helicopter may have been shot down and all of you may have died that day?' I almost fell off my chair. The fact that he answered his question was unique but the answer itself was so to the point. Its taken me 6 months to accept this theory but since I can't answer it with any certainty, I have to accept its possibility. Blame is not gone but has been diminished. maybe 2013 will be better for me and I can make it better for those who care about me.

Maybe now I can allow love to come into my heart again and let it surround me with a new light.

Fate May Come With Turbulence

Chapter 8

Fate May Come With Turbulence

Lovers of air travel find it exhilarating to hang poised between the illusion of immortality and the fact of death.  ~Alexander Chase

 

It was the middle of March and Niklas was reaching his boiling point.  Since the spotting of the atomic cloud and the trip to see Michael, he had not left the ground.  So, thinking quickly, he found a way to rearrange his schedule, in order to get two days off in a row.  Then, he found a ride to Vietnam.

The plane that would take him on the trip was nicknamed the Gooney Bird and it was the transport version of Spooky.  Niklas had heard rumors that the North Vietnamese soldiers were instructed never to fire at Puff the Magic Dragon, because otherwise he would be angered and spit flames of death.

It doesn’t seem so deadly, when you ride in it, thought Niklas as the plane bumped and jumped along its flight path.

“DaNang is receiving enemy fire.  We may be here a while,” called out the Pilot at one point.  He wasn’t lying.  Niklas watched time tick by for more than half an hour before they were provided clearance to land.

When finally on the ground, Niklas wasted no more of his precious time off; he hurried toward the tent of his good friend.

“Hey man, wake up.  There is much to do and much to drink,” he joked, when finding Michael still in bed, but when the other man didn’t even stir, Niklas thought it best to leave a note.  So, he did and headed to the Beer Garden to wait.

At about 1400 hours, Michael stumbled into the place, still looking rather exhausted.

Must have been a long night, thought Niklas.

“Hey,” he said with a smile.  “It’s great to see you, but kinda sucks because I’m on duty for the next few days.”

Then maybe I will get to climb aboard Spooky again,  Niklas thought and smiled widely at his friend, as if to say, ‘no big deal.’  He offered Michael a beer and they sat and drank for a few minutes.

“Do you mind walking to the chow hall?  I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch, yesterday,” Michael said and they both rose and headed in that direction.

“Is everything all right,” Niklas asked.

Michael just nodded.  “Yea, it’s fine.”

Three more times Niklas asked and finally Michael came out of his shell.

“It’s nothing really.  We just lost an AC-47 over Thua Thien a few days ago.  I didn’t know any of the men well, but… well, it just… I don’t know.”  Niklas tried to change the subject, in the hopes of cheering his friend up, but now Michael couldn’t let go of what was bothering him.  “I think I believe you now… you know?  Like… fate.

 

 

***

 

 

That night, after Michael got himself ready to go, both men headed for the flight line.  When it was time to take to the air, Michael helped with the quick, last minute checks and then came back over to Niklas. 

“You can’t ride with me this time!”  he yelled over the sounds of the tarmac.  “But, there is a second AC-47 going up!  They are a gunner short…”  He didn’t need to say anything more, Niklas was ready.

Seated behind he guns, Niklas awaited instructions and they soon came.

“Ready to fire,” called out the pilot.  Niklas did his best to recall everything he was supposed to do.  When the plane fell into a familiar left turn, the guns opened fire and Niklas watched the tracers shooting off toward the land mass below them.

A huge noise shook the plane as something below was blown to smithereens. Niklas assumed a fuel storage or ammunition storage facility had been struck.

I have to ask Michael how to tell the difference, he told himself, while his adrenaline continued to pump at a fantastic rate.

For a long time, they continued to fire, until the pilot called out, “we’re outta ammo.  Time to head back.”  Quickly the plane was turned around and put back on the path to DaNang base.  After the reload, the plane took to the sky again, and even more fire was dropped on the jungle below. 

Don’t anger Puff, thought Niklas.  He had once been told that it was the deadliest of all aircraft.  It couldn’t drop as much as the B-52, but it wreaked havoc on the enemy troops.

 

 

***

 

 

The next morning came quickly and finally the plane careened down to meet the runway.  After a quick inspection to find no damage from enemy fire, Niklas hurried to the Base Operations.

“Excuse me, do you know the location of Spooky 70?”

“Uh… no.”  Answered the other man, looking down at something on the desk before him.  Then looking up to Niklas, he said, “No, they are overdue.  Haven’t had communication for the past two hours.”

So, Niklas decided to wait there.  He found a comfortable, oversized settee and laid his head back.  He actually appreciated the time to rest after the long flight and started to doze, but commotion coming from the radio brought him back to the real world.

The extra plush settee had all but swallowed him whole and it took some effort to get his weary legs up again, but once standing he hurried for the counter.

“What’s the commotion,” he asked.  There was no response.  The same man, who sat at the other side of the desk simply ignored the question.

Clearing his throat, in order to make a point, Niklas asked again.  “What’s the commotion on the radio about? 

“Hey man, I’m really busy at the moment…”

“Listen,” Niklas said, thinking on the spot, “I am Agent Thumper and, if you know what’s good for you, you will respond now!”  His tone was hushed, because he knew damned well that it wasn’t information to be given out to just anyone, but he was beginning to get nervous and felt it appropriate.

The man gave a surprised look, but only stood and walked away.  Niklas stayed planted to the floor.  Frustration was growing within him.

“A possible signal has been received,” the other man started, when back at the desk.  His voice too was barely above a whisper.  “It is thought to be Spooky 70.  Search and Rescue are trying to triangulate a position.”

“Does that mean a possible rescue mission?”

“Yes.  It does.”

“Where is the mission being formulated?” he asked.  The blood was now rushing through his veins and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.  He brushed them away.

The man shot back information about the location of the helicopter and Niklas was instantly on the move.

Explaining again his special clearance, Niklas was told that he better get himself dressed appropriately, if he wished to play any part.  So, off he went again.  At top speed, he made his way to Mission Control where he was supplied a bullet proof vest, helmet, full ammo belt, and an M-16.  He took a moment to look at the gun and then rushed off again.

Orders were radioed and Niklas, along with a group of other airmen took to the air in the helicopter.  They flew low and the trees were so thick that Niklas actually felt his heart trying to pound out of his chest.

Gunnery Sergeant Lopinger gave him a look that could kill when he tried to move from his seat to get closer to the man.  Lopinger sat in the open doorway, with his feet on the runner.  Niklas did as the man’s eye’s had instructed. He was too consumed with fear for his friend to be concerned with anything else.  So, he sat back against the seat, closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

“Approaching location.  Keep your eyes peeled.”

At that, Niklas’s eyes shot open again and scanned the ground.

“Seeking a good LZ…” the Captain said and then there was so more chatter between then men.  “…that’ll work.”

The small clearing that they came down on was surrounded on all sides by jungle -- jungle that was likely infested with people who would like to see him and the other men dead.

Lopinger’s feet were on the ground immediately and he moved quickly, stealthily, surveying what they hand landed themselves in.

Niklas hit the ground.  It was plush under foot and blades of grass tickled his pant legs.

“Path,” Niklas called, having reached the opposite side of the giant metal bird.

Lopinger ordered them all to follow it.  Thick rows of trees grew high above them on either side of the narrow path.  Niklas was ready for a lot of walking, but within fifty feet of leaving the clearing, shots rang out from every angle. 

“Hit the deck!”  The command cut through all other sound and Niklas’s vest hit hard against the ground.  Instantly, he had the gun pointing out in front of him, while his body stretched out against the warm earth.

Thirty yards from where they laid, several Vietcong soldiers took off running.  Niklas climbed to his feet and started to advance in the same direction.

“Stop!” Lopingers loud voice called after him, but Niklas could barely hear it.  He continued onward, following the back of the native soldier at the rear of the pack.  Suddenly, the man turned.  Niklas was staring down the end of a barrel and like a deer ready to meet his fate, he froze.  The sound of the bullet was deafening. 

But, it didn’t connect, he thought, thrust from his shocked state.  Then, the man before him dropped his gun. Just as it hit the plush jungle floor, the soldier collapsed and when his body landed, Niklas saw the back side of the wound.  It hadn’t been the enemy’s gun that had fired.  The bullet was that of Lopinger, who had just saved Niklas’ life.

The bloodied hole was at least three inches in diameter.  It continued to ooze, as Niklas stood there transfixed, until something caught his eye.  This time he was ready and acted fast.  Looking up, he smoothly raised his gun to find another Vietcong soldier at the other end.  Except this was no man. 

I just killed a woman, was the only thought he had, as her body fell forward on top of the gun she had been holding.  Behind her was another, ready to take aim.  The boy was no more than ten years old.  His emaciated figure looked too weak to wield the rifle, and yet he raised it with relative grace and pulled back on the trigger.  Nothing happened.  The gun was out of ammo or had misfired, but nothing came at Niklas.  At once the stick thin legs of the child took off running.  Down the path he cruised and then around a corner.

“Do not pursue!” 

This time Niklas heard and obeyed the command from Lopinger.  He watched as the boy disappeared behind the thick brush.  His nerves were so amped up that the scream from within the jungle made his heart race even faster and every hair on his body was on end.  Niklas looked to the man, now standing beside him. 

“He got the trap,” the Gunner Sergeant said, as if answering an unasked question.

 Stories Niklas had heard of Vietcong traps instantly circled his brain. 

“Man, I hear that it’s insane.  Those guys are crazy.  They booby-trap everything!  Large shaved bamboo sticks, threaded with razor sharp spikes can come out of nowhere, if you accidently come in contact with invisible trigger wire. BAM!  Just pierces through you.  You better hope you die,” told a friend, “because otherwise, the feces that they use to cover those spikes… well let’s just say, that ain’t gonna be a good way to go!”

He thought of the young child succumbing to such a fate and his heart ached.

“Stop dwelling.  Kid was short.  That thing would have made contact with his head.  Dead instantly. Now come on!”  Lopinger commanded.

Niklas shook the thoughts and the guilt, leaving it on the ground behind them, as they carefully maneuvered up the path and into another clearing.  Once more, his heart sank to his stomach. 

The bullet hole was huge.  It had nearly destroyed every inch of the head.  Niklas felt sick, but then the rage took over.  On the ground were two men, both donning matching bullet wounds, which exited straight through the temples.

I will kill them!  I will KILL THEM ALL!  The anger consumed him; threatened to eat him alive.  He heard again the voice of his step-father.  “When the enemy is armed and intends to cause harm to you or your fellow soldier, show no restraint!” When that voice vanished, another filled his mind.  He was unarmed!  Those sons of bitches killed him and he didn’t even hold a weapon.  I will kill them!

Lopinger was at his side instantly.  Like a mother holding a child, the man tried to calm Niklas.  Yet, Niklas didn’t want to cry.  He didn’t want to think.  He was numb, except for the anger. He could not control the pure, raw hurt.

“That’s enough,” Lopinger said, taking control again.  “Take these soldiers to the helicopter and let’s get outta here before we join them.”

Niklas, always the soldier, took the order.  Dropping his weapon, he dead-lifted the body of his friend and laid him gingerly over his shoulder.  Then, squatting, he retrieved the weapon.  Looking like a true mad man, he pointed the gun straight ahead and began to walk with purpose in the direction of their aircraft.

“Can I give a hand, Sergeant?”

Niklas looked at the man, but could not see his face.  “No.  Thank you, Sergeant.  He ain’t heavy…” he sighed, and then thinking back to happier days, added, “He’s my brother.”

So, the group marched forward and boarded the helicopter that would take them back to base.  The ride was to be silent and even if another man had uttered something directly to him, Niklas wouldn’t have heard it.  Seated on the cold, hard floor of that helicopter, Niklas held the head of his friend in his lap.

 

My favorite time of the year.

December, my favorite month of the year. December 6^th- Saint Nickolaus day, December 25^th -Christmas day, January 1^st - New Years, January 6^th - Three Kings day and this year we have one more important day: December 21^st - end of the 4^th World.

Since I was born in Germany and we were always a generation behind America, I grew up like your grandparents did in this country. On December 6^th, St. Nickolaus would make his rounds to all the children on the street. He would be accompanied by a helper  dressed in old fashioned garb.  He would carry a large book and when he entered your house he would open the book, look under your name to see if you were naughty or nice and then ask you to reach in the burlap sack and get your gift. If you were on the naughty list he would grab you by the seat of your pants and stuff you in the bag and off you went to the next house. There he would release you, have your moment of embarrassment and run home. You would usually only make the list once in your early years. Because of the not so long ago World War, gifts were hard to come by so much regifting was done. I can remember getting a hand-made wooden truck, painted red for my first gift. By March or April I would have stopped playing with it and it would disappear. The following Christmas it would become a gift again, mine that is, with a new paintjob. On December 24^th we would get our real Christmas Tree and put it up on Christmas Eve. The tree was decorated with hand-blown glass ornament that were beautifully painted. Since the Christmas tree is a spin-off of the Festival of Lights our pagan ancestors celebrated, we placed real candles on the tree.  Today we can’t even place electric lights on trees without sometimes causing fires. Yet in my 13 years of living in my home town I never once heard of someone starting a fire on Christmas Day by lighting the candles. My Oma (grandmother) would cook a very festive meal for Christmas day. Usually a nice ham, potatoes and a vegetable that she would have grown in the summer and canned herself for a later use. Her claim to fame was her baking.  As I began school she thought I was old enough to help her make cookies for Christmas. And cookies we made, by the hundreds. Then came the cakes. We had cakes that looked like pies but the dough was like a sweet pizza dough. She would use apples, cherries, pears or berries for filling these pies. Then came her specialty: The Torte.. a three or four layer cake with home-made jams and whip cream between the layers. After dinner on Christmas day we would retreat to the “Wohnzimmer”, our living room, start a fire in the potbelly stove, ate some sweets, drank some schnapps and sang Christmas Carols. What was there not to like about December? The day after Christmas was just as much fun for me because now I went into town to visit my God Parents. I had four of them, two males and two females and the gifts would flow again. I especially liked one of my female God Parents. She owned a jewelry business and she was always to busy to get me anything for the holydays, so she would give me cash and told me to get what I wanted most. You never had to tell me twice.

I miss those olden days, when things were simpler, not hectic. When I was a generation of latch-key kids that did not have to worry about going home after school to an empty house. I learned early on to respect my elders no matter how screwed up they were. At least they were harmless. As a boy, I always wore a cap when I went into town and if a lady came the opposite way I was taught to step off the sidewalk, let her pass, and remove my cap to greet her. I could go on and on about those days but we have to live in the present,  not the past, not the future. So to all my friends, have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and here is to all of us coming through the 4^th ending of the World.

Spy Planes

I know I have been silent for a while now. Nothing seems to be going my way or any way to guarantee the publication of this book. Then yesterday some strange things happened. I received a video clip from someone I knew a long time ago. The clip was not much new to me but it touched upon the subjects of my book and left me with the feeling that what I'm doing is right. It also shored up my believe that I am not giving away any secrets. Believe me I was shocked to find that their are still secrets out there and by all accounts will be there for a long time. The video dealt with spyplanes and began with the converting of the the P2V-7 into the RB-69A. The purpose of the change of designation was that the Navy wanted nothing to do with the missions of the P2V-7 by the CIA but the Air Force took a chance and allowed its designation. The P2V-7 operated from 1955 until 1964 beginning their missions in Wiesbaden, then West Germany and ended their missions with the ROCAF/Taiwan Black Bat Squadron. Most of the 34th Squadron's Black Op missions still remain classified by the CIA, although a CIA internal draft history, Low-Level Technical Reconnaissance over Mainland China (1955-66), reference CSHP-2.348, written in 1972 that covers CIA/ROCAF/Taiwan 34th Squadron's Black Op missions is known to be in existence but would not be declassified by the CIA until after 2022. (As written in en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P-2_Neptune) The video further showed President Eisenhower making it his main mission to assure full reconnaissance of the Soviet Union and Communist China. No mention is ever made of President Johnson. It is here that I have first hand knowledge that President Kennedy wanted the secret reconnaissance missions stopped. When President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, President Johnson reinstated the missions immediately. Because of the lack of a qualified aircraft, several penetration missions into the Eastern Block countries were performed by the British B-57 Canberra. This led to enhancing this aircraft into the RB-57D by the Martin Corporation. The redesign allowed the aircraft to travel 2000 miles at altitudes of 65,000 feet. Two or three RB-57D were flown to Taoyuan AB, near Taipei, Taiwan in early 1959. Taiwanese pilots had been trained to fly this aircraft and they began penetration missions over Mainland China in 1959. RB-57D "5643", piloted by Capt Ying-Chin Wang, was shot down and killed on October 7, 1959 by a People's Liberation Army SA-2 Surface to Air missile which was the first successful shoot-down of an aircraft ever achieved by a SAM. Some 23 years later I was very fortunate to meet Capt. Wang's widow while on assignment to Taiwan.

 It was the subsequent losses of another aircraft that allowed our once in a life-time mission over China in a General Dynamics modified WB-57F. Of all the faces in the video I actually recognized one individual. As I stated in my book, it was customary to only know the contact below oneself and the contact above oneself. Because of a fluke in timing I reported to my superior just as another gentleman was leaving his office. By recognizing him on the videa I can only surmise that this gentleman was my handler's handler. (Talking about talking out of both ends of your mouth, but such were the times) What stuck with me was the words this man spoke on the video. Although he never actually referred to our mission, he did note that our altitude, which is still classified, prevented any further loss of life.

And so the waiting goes on. The second book may be finished before the first one is published. Thanks to all those who stop by and read and comment. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.