When down from the clouds with our weapons of Hell,
we drop to avenge our friends who fell.
Thus all we need when we get the call,
is a handful of silk...and God...that's all.
My first volume of 101st Airborne WWII 'forbidden tales' was published in June of 2006.
So far, as I write this in October, 2006, reaction to the book has been 99% favorable.
Only two veterans of B/502 have criticized me for what I wrote about a certain member of their company. I'll be doing a followup edition, to cover the rest of WW2, as volume 1 only goes up to the summer of 1944 (post-Normandy). In the meantime, I'm writing a contractual book for Zenith Press, (a division of Motorbooks). This is a large format photo history of the 101st Airborne in WW2, entitled "101st Airborne-The Screaming Eagles in WW2". The deadline for this book is January, 2007, with a planned publication date of August, 2007. After that book, I plan to do both volume 2 of AE's and my long-delayed company history of Fox Co. 501 PIR.
'Vanguard of the Crusade' was discontinued by Aegis/Aberjona Press in October, 2006 and is now out of print and unavailable. After the several projects listed above are completed, I'll move on to another writing genre and start my trilogy about life on the Detroit Police Department between 1974-1999. I'll soon post a preview here, of Volume 2, AE's.
AVENGING EAGLES Vol.II WE WAS BAD BASTARDS
In 1944, Nazi propagandists told the French people to be afraid of American Airborne soldiers, because they were mostly violent criminals, who had been released from prisons in America, to serve in combat as parachutists. The above photo of Frank Anness (D/506th), taken in Camp Toccoa, GA in 1942, would've been a good shot to help support their claims. Actually, although Frank's photo looks like it was removed from a post office wall, he never spent a day in jail in his life. However, Frank's 'mug shot' would probably make a good cover photo for Volume 2 of AE's.
BASTOGNE-WIN OR DIE
When Bastogne was relieved by General Patton's Third Army, a Time magazine reporter interviewed one of the paratroopers who had successfully defended Bastogne. What was the secret? What set the 101st Airborne apart from other units in the U.S. Army? The paratrooper snorted and told the reporter:"What the hell-everybody in this outfit is crazy, including me. If we weren't, we wouldn't be in it!" This concept hooked me and led me on a 30 year project of meeting nearly 1000 survivors of the WW2 101st Airborne, in an attempt to study the lowest common denominator. I've tried to figure out what made the enlisted combat soldiers and junior officers tick. The photo above, depicting a 101st trooper with his foot on the head of a dead Panzergrenadier, was taken outside Bastogne, Belgium in December, 1944. In the rear is a knocked-out Mark IV tank. This photo was taken by divisional photographer Albert A. Krochka.
Windy City Crowd
Rudy Korvas, who became a paratrooper in F/501, took this picture beside the 5 Star Liquor store on the north side of Chicago, shortly before entering the Army. This was part of the crowd he ran with. Two other F company troopers came from the south side: Leroy Prahm and Don Schinkoeth. Both of those men were killed in Normandy. Rudy Korvas survived WW2 and passed away in 2002. c/o Korvas
Webmaster's note: If the forbidden tales concept intrigues you, you'll like my 6th book, 'Avenging Eagles-Forbidden Tales of the 101st Airborne in WW2'-see the Books page for ordering information.-MB
“Then there weren’t any stitches to be discovered!” exclaimed Dick. “Here’s something that just came to me.” Sandy bent forward in the lounging chair. “Nothing has happened at night, for ten days. But all that time, Mr. Whiteside has been on the ‘day watch,’ as he calls it.” 246 They argued it from all sides during the whole of a day, and Campbell lent his advice, and the end of it was that Felipa Cabot came out to the land of her forbears. He had seen a large band heading for the ranch, and[Pg 128] had found a dead white man on the north road, he said, and he gesticulated madly, his voice choked with terror. Then he had to define "coward" for Cadnan—and from "coward" he progressed to another new word, "freedom." That was a big word but Cadnan approached it without fear, and without any preconception. "Marvor," Cadnan said after a second. "He is to come and aid them. He tells me this. We join him and come back with him, away from here, to where he stays now. Then none of us are punished." He paused. "It will be a great punishment." "So it be—I shudn't have brought you through all this damp grass. We shud have gone by the lane, I reckon." Another trial to him now was that Robert seemed half-hearted. Hitherto he had always worked conscientiously and well, even though he had never been smart or particularly keen; but now he seemed to loaf and slack—he dawdled, slipped clear of what he could, and once he actually asked Reuben for wages! This was unheard-of—not one of Reuben's sons had ever dreamed of such a thing before. That summer old Mrs. Backfield became completely bedridden. The gratefulness of sunshine to her old bones was counteracted by the clammy fogs that streamed up every night round the farm. It was an exceptionally wet and misty summer—a great deal of Reuben's wheat rotted in the ground, and he scarcely took any notice when Tilly announced one morning that grandmother was too ill to come downstairs. Supper was a quiet meal. Old Jury and his invalid wife sat at each end of the table, while Alice did most of the helping and waiting. They seemed a sorry three to Reuben, pale, washed out, and weakly, their eyes bright as birds' with the factitious light of their enthusiasms for things that did not matter. They ate without much appetite, picking daintily at their food, their knives never in their mouths. Reuben found himself despising them as he despised the Bardons. However, he refused all temptations to discuss this latest prodigal. If anyone asked him how his son was doing, he would answer, "I dunno; ask Pete—he's the nurse." "And Rose?" He gave up going to the Cocks. It had fallen off terribly those last five years, he told Maude the dairy-woman, his only confidant nowadays. The beer had deteriorated, and there was a girl behind the counter all painted and curled like a Jezebubble, and rolling her eyes at you like this.... If any woman thought a man of his experience was to be caught, she was unaccountable mistaken (this doubtless for Maude's benefit, that she might build no false hopes on the invitation to bring her sewing into the kitchen of an evening). Then the fellows in the bar never talked about stocks and crops and such like, but about race-horses and football and tomfooleries of that sort, wot had all come in through the poor being educated and put above themselves. Moreover, there was a gramophone playing trash like "I wouldn't leave my little wooden hut for you"—and the tale of Reuben's grievances ended in expectoration. "My lord," answered Holgrave; "I beg your pardon; but I thought your lordship wouldn't think much of the marriage, as your lordship was not at the castle, and I did not know when you would return. Here is the merchet, my lord, and I hope you will forgive me for not awaiting your return." "No," replied Edith, "and if he had, Stephen, your wife knew how to answer him as befitting a virtuous woman." Wells paused a moment, and then added— HoME免费的一级吃奶A片完整版
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