A Navy Career -- Guest Post From Chris Kennedy

Shaun asked me to talk about changing careers in the Navy. The one thing you always hear in the Navy’s marketing (or used to, before it became a “Global Force for Good”) was “Join the Navy and See the World.” One thing that no one ever promised you, though, is what you’d do while you were seeing it.

There are plenty of cases where unscrupulous recruiters signed up people to do things that they really didn’t want to do…but sometimes you start a career and it goes away on you. That is what happened to me.

I started out flying the mighty A-6E Intruder.

Chris Kennedy with AG-501, an A-6E TRAM Intruder

It was a bomber that flew off of the aircraft carrier and could carry 15,000 pounds of bombs, rockets and missiles. Enough to really ruin someone’s day. It was also able to carry nukes, back during the Cold War when that was something that we routinely trained for. It was a great plane to fly, especially as a navigator, as it was about the only plane that you got to look out the front window of. It was a two-seater, side-by-side, with the pilot on the left and the bombardier/navigator (that’s me!) on the right. The pilot flew the plane and I handled all of the communications, navigation and weapons systems.

We used to fly at 450 miles an hour at 200 feet above the ground…MAN! The fence poles went by fast like that!

We’re higher than 200 feet here!

One of the best parts of flying an Intruder was that it could carry just about any weapon that we had in our inventory, like big laser guided bombs (the one below is blue because it didn't have high explosive in it).

All good stuff. When I went through the training squadron in 1989, I was told, “There are people that aren't even born yet that will be flying this plane.” Woohoo! Job security! I could fly this plane for 20 years and then retire. Awesome!

A funny thing happened. We won the Cold War during my first cruise on the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower. Yes, my squadron, the VA-34 Blue Blasters, was on cruise when the Berlin Wall fell, so we feel responsible for winning the war all by ourselves.

Near Brandenburg Gate, November 9, 1989. S

While that was good for world peace, it was bad for us as, in 1993 (just 4 years later), I was told that they (the infamous “they” that resides in Washington, DC somewhere) had decided to cut the A-6 due to budget reasons. It was either kill the A-6 or the F-14, and the decision was made to axe the A-6 because it was older.

Once proud Intruders en route to their final resting place, 1996. S

“They” then axed the F-14 shortly thereafter, too, deciding to go with an airwing of all F-18s. (The fact that parts for the F-18 are made in 49 of the 50 states had nothing to do with it, I’m sure, but that is a topic for another day).

So I found a new home in EP-3E’s, along with a number of former A-6 guys. What’s an EP-3E? It is a large, land-based airplane that flies high and does reconnaissance (trying to figure out what the bad guys are doing). If there is an opposite to the A-6, it is probably this.

Even though it was WAY different from flying an A-6, it was a lot of fun to fly a reconnaissance aircraft. If nothing else, you always knew what would be on CNN two days later. One thing that is common throughout the Navy is esprit de corps; we believed that we were just as important doing recon as we had been when we were flying A-6s. Funny thing; I ended up going to war in the EP-3E and getting an Air Medal for it, where I never did that in the plane that was meant for war. Life is funny that way, sometimes, eh? Here we are on the first night of the Kosovo War. I’m in the front row, third from the right.

What’s the point in all this? Life (and the Navy) is what you make of it. We were given a choice of getting out of the Navy or transitioning to a new plane. I chose the new plane and finished out my career with it. I made a lot of friends and have a lot of stories to tell (although I’d have to kill you for some of them, lol) that I wouldn’t have if I had left the Navy.

As someone much wiser than me once said, “Life is like a box of chocolates…”

Bestselling Science Fiction/Fantasy author and speaker Chris Kennedy is a former naval aviator with over 3,000 hours in the A-6E Intruder (300 traps) and EP-3E Aires II. Now retired from the Navy, he works as an Instructional Systems Designer for the Navy Department and is an advisory board member of Hampton Roads Writers. His full length novels include the "Occupied Seattle" military fiction duology, the "Theogony" science fiction trilogy and the "War for Dominance" fantasy trilogy. His latest book is "Self-Publishing for Profit: How to Get Your Book Out of Your Head and Onto the Shelves," and he is working on "The Search for Gram," the fourth book set in the Theogony universe.

Chris’ website is chriskennedypublishing.com. He’s on Facebook at  https://www.facebook.com/chriskennedypublishing.biz and you can follow him on Twitter at @ChrisKennedy110

Bicentennial Duke

A little gem from the interwebs. I'm working on a different post and came across this. It's kinda nice. Don't know whether the full thing is available or not.



This 2009 follow-up with Marisa Wayne is nice too.

Now that it's over

Yesterday was my birthday. I've arrived at a point where that's rather less an occasion for celebration than for whining, so I try to ignore it as much as possible.

I'm quite fortunate that my folks are still living, hale and hearty, young octogenarians. Mom is recently embarked on a Snowshoe Siamese breeding project, and I spent several hours yesterday with Dad, tromping through cattle pens in the search for a perfect heifer bull. This gives me hope that I've got another twenty good years before I succumb to bed-ridden invalidity.

Of course you never know.

I took a gander through the interwebs last evening to see how many famous people share my birthday. Lon Chaney Jr., Jimmy Durante, Robert Wagner, and Mark Spitz. Lots of young apparently famous names and faces that I do not recognize at all. As I suspect they do not recognize me.

But a couple of the ones I didn't recognize jumped out at me.

Ever hear of Sir John Suckling?

Sir John Suckling, February 10, 1609 - June 1, 1642. S

I admit it was the name that drew me in. Imagine carrying that moniker around in junior high.

But I plunged in and read a fascinating tale at the poetry foundation. 

Suckling was a "Cavalier," a term derived from the french cheval, or horse. A member of the gentlemanly social class, Suckling was allied to Charles I and an active fighter in both military and political battles. Alongside others of his class and allegiance, he went to war a-horseback in the English Civil War.

He was also a poet and playwright. His plays are said to be rather pedestrian, but noted for lavish sets, scenery, and costumes. His poetry is held in higher esteem and includes, "Ballade upon a Wedding", "I prithee, send me back my heart," "Out upon it, I have loved three whole days together," and "Why so pale and wan, fond lover?" from Aglaura.

Fragmenta Aurea, 1646. S

I've only scanned his poems, but they're well conceived and there's more than a hint of a lively and passionate mind there. He is/was well known as an outrageous rake, and it comes through in his verse. That alone is enough to endear him to me.

I rather like his poem "A Soldier," the title of which echoes through time in Frost's later work.

I am a man of war and might,
And know thus much, that I can fight,
Whether I am i'th' wrong or right, devoutly.

No woman under heaven I fear,
New Oaths I can exactly swear,
And forty Healths my brain will bear most stoutly.

I cannot speak, but I can doe
As much as any of our crew.
And if you doubt it, some of you may prove me.

I dare be bold thus much to say,
If that my bullets do but play,
You would be hurt so night and day, Yet love me.


Suckling died in Paris in 1642, allegedly at his own hand. I'll have to read more about him.

--------------------------------------------------

The other famous fellow who caught my eye was Samuel Plimsoll.

Samuel Plimsoll, February 10, 1824 - June 3, 1898. S

As you might have guessed, Plimsoll was the inventor of "Plimsoll Lines," those markings near the waterline of ships hulls which indicate draft and freeboard. This simple-seeming marking scheme is taken for granted today, but it's adoption is credited with saving countless ships and the lives of countless sailors down the years.

Plimsoll is another Englishman, born at Bristol and, unsurprisingly, strongly associated with the sea and seafaring. During a down time in his early life he dedicated himself to improving the lot of the socially disadvantaged, including that of sailors condemned to sail in 'coffin ships."

He was elected a Liberal Member of Parliament for Derby in 1867. In 1872 he published a pamphlet called Our Seamen, a treatise on Britain's merchant fleet and in part the plight of her merchant sailors. A year later, backed by strong support generated by Our Seamen, Plimsoll introduced a bill calling for reforms. Eventually the reforms were adopted, but not before a dramatic scene in Parliament where he called some members "villians" and shook his fist in the Speaker's face.

As you might have guessed, I like the cut of his jib.

Memorial to Samuel Plimsoll, Victoria Embankment, London. S

And that's about enough, don't you think?

What price beauty?

New SOG chapter over there on the fiction page at the right. -->

The other day a ranch tour guest told me how lucky I am and bemoaned the fact that she couldn't see beauty in her daily life.

I launched into my patented lecture about beauty being everywhere, but I could see her growing frustrated at my response.

It took a moment (not the sharpest crayon in the box here) before I realized her meaning. She knew that the world abounds in beauty. Her struggle was in finding a way to appreciate it.

I didn't have a canned, patented answer for her.

Yesterday as I drove along a barbed wire fence I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, something that put a huge grin on my face. It was evidence that a shrike had been in the area.

What's so beautiful about a shrike?

Well, there are these:

VFA-94 F/A-18C. Wikimedia Commons.

VFA-94 F/A-18C. Wikimedia Commons. 

VFA-94 F/A-18C. Wikimedia Commons.

Beautiful airplanes, and Shrikes one and all. Beautiful for many reasons. But I'm talking about a different bird, of course.

Great Grey Shrike. Wikimedia Commons.

The Great Grey Shrike is common across much of North America and is no stranger to the EJE Ranch. They're migratory birds, and it's uncommon to see them this early in the season. But if nothing else, seeing one in February is a reminder that spring will soon be here. A beautiful thing.

Great Grey Shrike with prey. Wikimedia Commons.

I didn't see the bird though. I saw evidence that the bird had been there. Look closely at the picture above. The shrike has impaled his field mouse prey on a thorn. It's what they do. They're called "butcher birds" after all.

Below is the evidence of a shrike's presence on the ranch.

Field mouse impaled on barbed wire, EJE Ranch, February 8.

Beautiful, no?

Shrikes predate invertebrates, too.

Not especially aesthetically pleasing, is it? But it's still beautiful, for it's evidence of nature being nature on nature's terms. This is the real world, and the real world is breathtakingly beautiful in her complexity and interconnectedness.

In thinking about my guest and her problem, it occurs to me that she may be expecting nature to conform to a particular aesthetic.

Nature isn't all internet kittens. She doesn't rely on like clicks and attaboys. Nature goes her own way, regardless of what people like or dislike. Her beauty is deeper and more profound than pretty-shiny-cuddly.

Here's a fun example. Who doesn't love a quick, red, fox. So refined and delicate, so coppery, so fluid, so photogenic.

But foxes aren't always quick, and they aren't quick forever.

Not quick enough to beat the truck.

Everything that is born, dies. Everything that dies eventually decomposes and returns to an elemental state. This is the way of nature.

And then there are the means of nature. She has helpers.

Turkey vulture.

Look closer.

What's missing?

That vulture, or "buzzard" as we commonly call them, has only one leg. Think about that.

The bird isn't any more aesthetically pleasing with wings spread. Ugly bald red head, dirty brown feathers. On the wing their flight is beautiful. An ugly, one-legged bird. An improbable snapshot of survival.

Hmm. Ugly and beautiful. Maybe ugly is beautiful. Maybe it bears thinking about, maybe it's worth the application of effort to open the mind to larger possibilities.

Takes work to get there though.

Playing around for fun and profit

I hope you enjoyed Chris' post from February 5.

It's a kind of exciting thing for me, as a relatively new and unaccomplished blogger, to have a successful published author stopping by occasionally to post.

Speaking of successful and published authors, Chris has a book out on self publishing. I bought it the other night and read it from cover to cover. Well, as cover to cover as you can do on a kindle.

You might be able to see where this is going. Not only am I a new and unaccomplished blogger, I'm an unaccomplished and unpublished author.

If that sentence didn't chase you away I commend you on your courage, though perhaps not on your judgement.

I've got a half-dozen partly-finished novels in my 'lectronic desk drawer. I've been playing around with them for several years with the half-baked intention to "do something" with them someday.

Well, Chris has some great and detailed advice for folks in my situation.

Put together a plan and execute it.

Simple, huh? Why didn't I think of that?

He also notes that the nascent author's worst enemy is him(her)self. "I'm not good enough." "I'm not trained." "I'm not..." "I don't..." "I can't..."



So I'm working on the plan. I'll not go into detail, but part of the plan is to use this blog. I'm still fleshing out my ideas and I'll possibly have to generate a separate, business specific blog. But I'm going to do a little trial and error at this place first.

If you look over at the top of the starboard column, you'll see a heading called "Fiction!" with some (just one right now) links.  If you're so inclined, click and read, then comment. Good, bad, indifferent, all comments will be appreciated.

We'll see how this goes. Plan and execute. Like Clausewitz said, everything (in war) is simple, but all the simple things are hard. I'm down with hard. Hard's good.

Just gotta keep them negative waves locked in the dungeon.

Regbo, Departing

From the Intruder Association:

'99

CAPT Reggie "Regbo" Carpenter, renowned (loved) A-6 pilot aboard Midway during Desert Storm. Currently the Naval Attaché in Argentina, apparently died yesterday 2/4/15. Learned from a colleague at Embassy Buenos Aires that Regbo suffered a fatal heart attack while driving home from the embassy.

This is a man I didn't know, but a man who was clearly an American Hero. Follow this link and see what happens in your heart.

Fair winds and following seas Regbo.

Pulling Weeds, A guest post from Chris Kennedy

Here's a guest post from former Naval Aviator and current science fiction and fantasy author Chris Kennedy. As you might imagine, he has strong opinions about burning aviators alive.

I’d like to thank Shaun for the opportunity to post here. When he contacted me yesterday, I took a look at the blog and it really took me back in time. Like many folks who have been out of the Navy a while, I had a lot of common memories. Pigs in Space? Been there; done that. I even have a similar scar from an Achilles surgery of my own. I got nostalgic looking at it. Even though I feel no desire to go back and do it again, it was a good time of my life, when things made a little more sense.

What the world looked like from Chris' office chair when he was an A-6E Bombardier/Navigator with the Blue Blasters of VA-34. From the Intruder Association, this image dates from slightly before his time with the Blasters.

How much sense? If someone had been burning aviators in cages back then, we would have strapped on our trusty A-6E Intruders (see below) and gone to show them what happens when you do stupid things like that.

LT Chris “Teddy” Kennedy (left) and LT Greg “Torch” Buck in front of a KA-6D (1992) Author's image.

If you had read my story in “Riding the Red Horse,” you’d know I’m all for pulling out the weeds of society, and ISIS is certainly a weed that needs pulling. What did they say in “Aliens?” “I think we should haul off and nuke them from orbit; it’s the only way to be sure.” Okay, that’s a little excessive, perhaps; maybe the repeated application of 15,000 pounds of explosives (an A-6’s “full load”) would be more appropriate. If the Navy wants to pull some of them out of the boneyard, I’d be awfully happy to man one up. I think I could probably still run the weapons systems, even if I don’t look as cool as Jordan’s King Abdullah as he went to war today.

Abdulla II of Jordan pilots his helo while touring Jordanian military bases. S

Bestselling Science Fiction/Fantasy author and speaker Chris Kennedy is a former naval aviator with over 3,000 hours in the A-6E Intruder (300 traps) and EP-3E Aires II. Now retired from the Navy, he works as an Instructional Systems Designer for the Navy Department and is an advisory board member of Hampton Roads Writers. His full length novels include the "Occupied Seattle" military fiction duology, the "Theogony" science fiction trilogy and the "War for Dominance" fantasy trilogy. His latest book is "Self-Publishing for Profit: How to Get Your Book Out of Your Head and Onto the Shelves," and he is working on "The Search for Gram," the fourth book set in the Theogony universe.

Chris’ website is chriskennedypublishing.com. He’s on Facebook at  https://www.facebook.com/chriskennedypublishing.biz and you can follow him on Twitter at @ChrisKennedy110

Moments

After a nice couple of weeks to close out January and start February off on a pleasant note, winter returned to the Panhandle of Nebraska yesterday.

That's not a bad thing though. The snow will melt and provide moisture for the grass, and the grass is the real resource on the ranch. I like to say I'm a rancher, which is tough and macho and far more cool than being a plow jockey. But in truth I'm a grass farmer.

Yesterday morning the snow was still coming down when I checked cattle. It was a fairly light snow, but steady and constant, and there was no wind so it came straight down. The temperature was in the mid-20's, and that's just about perfect in the midst of a windless snowfall.

I try to capture these things in pictures and video, but I'm always disappointed. I'd like to be able to share the direct experience, because the images don't do it justice. The snowfall brings the horizon in close and the still air seems to add depth and richness to the quiet beauty of the prairie. You can actually hear the snow as it falls, a soft hissing sound, and a perfect accompaniment to the muted crunching of boots negotiating the slowly accumulating ground cover. This morning was peace and beauty and contentment. I am blessed.

Not Pigs in Space

Okay, if Sarge can do it, I can too. Hang a pair of posts on a single day, that is. As if this were a contest or something.

No, he has a very cool post over at his place which caused my not-so-reliable Wayback Machine to lurch into a reasonable simulation of activity.

It's something of a snow day here, and I should be working on taxes, but the Wayback Machine is really chugging along.

The topic Sarge posted on was along the lines of the first date, first hand-holding, etc.

The girl that comes to mind wasn't the first date. I'd had quite a few dates. As something of an aside, I could never figure out how so many of my peers struggled to find the courage to ask a girl out. Just ask! If she says yes, great. If she says no, so what?

The girl that comes to mind wasn't the first I held hands with. That was way back in like fourth grade.

Wasn't even the first kiss. That happened in the local movie theater when an eighth grade girl mauled the hell out of my seventh grade carcass. Frightened me badly. But not that badly.

No, the girl that comes to mind was named Corina. We met at the local Pizza Hut where I had a part-time gig as a cook, and she as a waitress. Those were dark and politically incorrect times. Somehow (hormones are the most likely culprit) we hit it off. And I promptly and for the first time experienced the whole "asking out cowardice" thing.

Which was probably the first time I noticed a significant difference between reality and my certainty about how reality works.

Eventually I asked her out, and it was fine. Actually, considerably better than fine.

One summer night after work, sometime between midnight and gettin'-in-serious-trouble-o:clock, as we leaned against my trusty '69 Torino in the Hut parking lot, we kissed. A very sweet, very chaste kiss. A truck drove by and blew his air horn in approval. As I look back on that event I have to chuckle. A couple of tired, oregano scented teenagers kissing in a parking lot. SMH. But it's a good, warm, wholesome memory.

Eventually she ran me off, and with good reason. Few 17 year old boys are civilized, and I wasn't among that small cohort. I was headed for the navy, and she was...

I have no idea. I was a tad self-centered in those days.

I've thought about searching for her down the interweb trail, but I'll leave it alone. She'll be forever 16 in my mind, and like Schrodinger's Cat, her life will exist in an indeterminate state so long as I don't look. I'd hate to open the box and force an outcome.

Hmmm. Getting pretty deep around here.

Corpsman Chronicles V: More space stuff

But first, an update on my whining.

The ol' Achilles tendon is still sore, but much improved. Maybe the public whining did the trick. More likely it was simply time and rest. I tend toward whining when I'm resting injuries, but that's a poor excuse for inflicting it on you kind readers.

Anyway, space. If you can stand to slog all the way through there's something kinda cool toward the end, where it'll all (hopefully) come together.

So there was this:



And then there was this:

Same name, different location. Fallon, Nevada, to be precise. Found the image on the interwebs.

If you've ever done a Fallon det, you've probably done Pigs in Space. And that's more than enough on that topic.

So how did the promise of "more space stuff" devolve into this?

It all starts in my mind, I guess. I got an email earlier today with a subject line promising "Ammo To Space!" For some reason my goofy brain went into a pigs in space flashback, and that made me smile.

But I'm seriously digressing. Because this is really cool.

9mm Ammo for Sale with Free Shipping - AmmoMan.com

AmmoMan is an online ammunition store based in Newark, New Jersey. They've been doing this since 1998, pretty much the dawn of the interwebs. That in itself is pretty cool, and if you think about it, it tends to give lie to the progressive anti-gun narrative. If most Americans hated yucky-icky guns, places like AmmoMan wouldn't exist. Nor, by the way, would 88.8 percent of Americans own firearms. But I digress.

To those who hate yucky-icky guns and every poopy-head who doesn't agree with them. So to those folks I say,

I like the cut of AmmoMan's jib. 

I plan to purchase much ammunition from them.

Corpsman Chronicles IV: Groundhogs and the Iliad

What's the difference between a fairy tale and a sea-story? A fairy tale begins, "Once upon a time..." A sea story begins, "This is no shit!"

I try to be careful to change names, but to the best of my recollection the events and locations are substantially correct. Of course I can only describe events from my perspective, so there's that. Readers who were present will doubtless have different recollections of any particular event. This is what it was like to serve in my tiny slice of the U.S. Navy between the late 1970's and early 1990's. It really was an adventure.

Remember,

This is no shit!

On Groundhog Day 2015, when this post was originally published, Phil saw his shadow and predicted six more weeks of winter. Which we got. As we always do, because solar/celestial/calendar spring doesn't arrive until six weeks after Groundhog Day. See how the magic is done?

##########

Achilles was laid low by an arrow in the heel. As the story goes, Achilles smoked Hector at the gates of Troy. With his dying breath Hector predicted Achilles' pending demise. Hector's brother Paris, a sniveling coward, fired the fatal shot from ambush. The god Apollo is said to have guided the missile.

It wasn't like that at all.

But I digress.

About a decade ago I began having a lot of pain in the back of my heel. As a former corpsman I knew that the problem was most likely something going on at the calcaneal (heel bone) achilles insertion -- the place where the tendon attaches to the bone. I was correct.

X-rays revealed quite a large bone spur, and we decided to treat it with mortin (hey, I was a corpsman, right) ice, and physical therapy.

Everything went well for a while though I never did get on top of the pain. Then on Groundhog Day 2007, I had a partial tear of the tendon.

A week later I went under the knife for a repair.

The surgery went well and I was back to power hiking within three months, which was possibly a bit soon, but whatchagonnado?

Occasionally the thing flares up into tendonitis, and that's what I've been dealing with for the last 10 days or so. Today it's quite sore and I'm gimpy and grumpy.

Even more swelling than post-surgery. Arrrgggghhhhh!!

It's my own fault.

I hated running, but it was the price of keeping my job, so I did it. I even learned to enjoy it, but I'll deny that under oath. On the beach I ran with like-minded bunch. At sea I ran on the roof or on the hangar deck. Those venues were tricky and I have the scars to prove it. At a guess I ran 1,000 miles on the boat in the course of about 2,000 days underway.

Wikimedia commons

As it turns out, running on steel decks, particularly when shod in boots, is an ongoing trauma. I'm a poster child, as it were. Who knew?

Well, of course, I knew. And now I'm paying for it.

When I'm grumpy I do a lot of whining, and the stuff I whine about is minor. I'm blessed with good health. A lot of folks aren't. But sometimes I dream about running on the roof, and in my dream there is no pain at all.

Sigh.

##########

February 3, 2021 postscript. I have different pains these days, and they are all hard to fight through and deal with, but I have God's grace and blessings to see me through. When the stars line up, which happens not infrequently, I can once again run without pain. I can run hard and grow in fitness and taste the delightful endorphin rush of the runner's high. I am blessed.

Be well and embrace the blessings of liberty.