Queries regarding Diplomatic Intervention

It is my pleasure to clarify some of the undercurrents.
My lawyer 2009.. apparently approached the british naval attache at the embassy.. to get confirmation of my flight bookings night of 17sept 2008.

This would have proved that I did not drive across military border post.. and that all my alibis were truthful.
Apparently...British military stood back and stated categorically that at the time of my arrest,   I was operating alone in kuwait, out of their care as a civilian contractor.
As such, it was a civilian matter and nothing to do with them.
If I had been on a military transport or official escort , as was normally my practice.. it would have been in  their interest to assist.

So it was a justified response by them , because I was on my way home on leave and had left the shelter of the military the night before.

I had to settle for this,  understanding the extreme sensitivity of the high security military relationship that was being threatened.

Embassy warned me about this politely.

What I had caused ,was an appalling shame.. an extreme embarrassment and it was my duty and obligation to keep myself and this debacle as far away from my company..Inchcape and KBR,
the associated British M.O.Defense  primary contractors.. and the british forces ... as possible.

I did that.

Asking Tony Blair or his office for advice or influence ... once, is a knock on the door.
Twice, a second time... they  might open to see whos there....

Thrice they ask your name.

Four times they might look at your letter... and suggest trying the neighbours.

Thats how it works..or doesnt..
Persistence has a better chance....

I am attending a religious school.
It is the most insidious brainwashing mechanism put in place to reorientate the most evil criminals in the country.
I am compelled to participate for obvious reasons.
They love having me in there.

For many of the poor criminals in here,  it is a very good thing...as for the first time in their criminal lives they get sight of social values and some self discipline... no spitting.. no killing...no more raping..and...
the alternative is too sad for me to explain here.

I am one alone here in this jail..
a single, educated, white, english  speaking, still christian, British Citizen.

I tried swimming against the flow initially.. but it was futile.
They scorned my religious fortitude and broke my wooden cross.. lured me to their heathen ways. Threatened me and attacked me twice.
They rubbed my nose into their precious sacred dogma and cajoled me into faux conversion rituals.

I found my safe middle ground and have only become stronger.. more resolute and my support groups have burgeoned.
They commend me and inspire me to keep going.. hoping....
And we are doing it..many of us now...

I have a limited protection amongst some "friends"  in here, who respect my individuality and the consistent good example I have set... they cannot be seen to be too sympathetic or to be following too closely in my infidel ways....but weve survived thus far and it remains always ..
that  I  am alone here..

 And my smile every day hides my constant torment.. an effective facade against my, once failing resolve.

No matter how much I have tried to assimilate.. I could never become quite like any of them.
I couldnt.. i tried..

I joined the mosque and attended all the classes as I applied myself to the language .. culture.. religion and social practices....and ive enjoyed it and I am proud of my  modest achievements there.

After all the years .. I had no choice, but to go with the flow, and martyrdom is not my track.
I made the best of it .. but its been so hard and so humiliating.

I learnt other things.. more and better !
I swam obliquely downstream and found my compromise..
I learnt how to grab a hold on the riverbank.. but i will  still never be one of them.

I am alone here ...and frozen out of their groups because of my continued loyalty to my roots and my heritage.

Embassy seemed to be dissapointed in me because of these Muslim affiliations.. though I cant yet quite isolate their exact  attitudes or sentiments but i will learn more at my next meeting with them.

Even the kuwait church groups scorn my entanglement with the web of islam and the clutches of its spinners.

I am so alone.
In order to get through every day where embassy are compelled by their diplomatic limitations,  and keep their polite distance from this worthy cause. .. I have to make my own path through this cultural and political minefield.
But they will soon be on board with us.

I am compelled to do anything that will afford me the briefest reprieve and even as Embassy fco are so respectfully cautious still..they will soon see the reasons for my apparent  disloyalty or ingratitude.

I am alone here.

Nobody needs a sad sack..
I am  not that..

Im fine..
Better,  stronger ..
And maybe learnt a tutch.?

But please dont be deceived by my faux bravado or stoic smiles.
This torment is such a continued trauma. 
This trumped-up punishment is a gross violation of my human rights.This has been ignored for all the above reasons.

The matter of my exoneration or immediate release has been constantly avoided..because the authorities all see that I am in good health and monitored under maximum security.... but they will never know the sadness.. horror.. trauma that I have so well hidden year after year.

Im not doing that anymore..
Im not going to conceal the  twisting blade they've already driven so deep.

My dear mother died in the clouds of shame and sadness alone without my hand at her side because of this.
My old dad ailing now in his last years, waiting too.. in vain.

Even as i have made these empassioned appeals to embassy and various government agencies on all sides... they have all stayed well aloof and impotent.

Some basic personal items, sent to me from far away at enormous expense and great effort.... dental floss. Underpants.. marmite.. bedsheets and covers.. lay untended .. unaddressed for over a year at embassy... as diplomacy failed. The prison beurocracy seemed to be inflexible.
Six registered packages  addressed to british embassy kuwait , were stolen at kuwait postal depot.
Dissapeared.!

Nothing was said or done..
I fear so much causing any ill to my tentative relationship... even now,  too afraid to phone them.
I am so alone ..

All this should have been suitably resolved diplomatically long ago.
It was sadly such a great trauma and dissapointment .. specially to all those caring friends that sent them...a travesty of compassion.. but I forgive them.

I know that when I do get out  of this jail one day,  to address the offices legally.. and in my detailed  publications. .. that they will scoff saying "why ?".. "for goodness sakes Gareth.. didnt you say something sooner..?" "
You poor fellow..""we had no idea"
"Oh we gave you everything we could Gareth... but ignored your mistrials for political sensitivities.."
"So sorry you didnt point this out eight years ago Gareth.."
"We needed only to phone the Amir... you should have written more clearly Gareth"
"You seemed so happy Gareth"
"Our hands were tied"
"Gareth ..you must understand that Fco may not intervene in a  sovereign criminal judiciary...especially as political tensions are so strained globally."

And we respect that...

Well .. Ive been saying all this for a  long time but have been  continuously rebuffed.
There are thankfully crowds of thousands who have now  witnessed this spectacle.

All it would have taken, was one phonecall..
It could have been settled long back..

Still..and I am ever grateful to them for having come this far under the circumstances and, though years delayed... they will join with us in the success of  this long concealed truth and its justice.

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/appeal-to-the-authorities-and-the-emir-of-kuwait?utm_medium=email&utm_source=facebook&utm_campaign=thank-you

Military 2 = Survivor Guilt.. Shared Honour

Response by

Gareth Rutherford...Regarding the award of Honorus Crux for gallantry and to a glowing tribute to the thirteen young men that died one day defending our country in June 1980 as recorded by Revered Historian, Mentor and Devoted schoolmaster..

Mr Axel  Brauman.

Gareth writes... 

Thank you Sir for awakening this long dormant memory..by this great tribute to the men who were part of one of the last few concerted military operations executed in the defence of our heritage ...civilization and hometowns..

Most importantly as the echos of yesterdays anniverary of op Sceptic still reverberate on 10th June every year, the memories of our lost brothers, forever young and brave. We will never forget them. 

I have explained previously how I always was embarrassed at being the only HC recipient  that day amongst many braver men.

Everyone taking part in that intense battle did something brave in that enemy territory, and in a fair world there would have been 500 awards..

But it cannot be so.. there has to be something rare and uncommon for this award to be of any significance.

As it happened, I was doing the right thing that day.. in the right place and I was seen doing it.. by the right person.. unknown to myself...enough to be noticed and commended.

Credit to my training and trainers who were most proud of this HC..
it was as much their achievement as it was to Col Dippenaar leading us into battle and Col Tony Savides our Commanding Officer back at base. 

There were silences by my comrades that caused me great distress and reservations 
because every one of them deserved that same award. .. we know that.

After many years of discussion and detailed introspection ..
we realised that my declining the award would have been a pointless snub.. And so I undertook to use it as a lense, to focus back to our fallen,  and the brave soldiers who made up that team..our platoon... our entire battle group.

It is an accolade to be hailed and applauded.. not to me alone .. but to the calibre of the men that fought together that day all those years ago. Every grenade thrown or bullet fired by me those days came from the concerted efforts of every chef and Admin clerk back at base all the way down the line. 

So today.. I no longer scuttle around in pensive glory.. or undeserving shame...
I will wear that award proudly in front of them all, now knowing that I am their representative..
and my voice and pen will continue to hail their great efforts so proudly.

For many years the "survivor guilt" I carried cast doubts on my pride and this great honour.

 As I was honoured, the bravest lay dead as their families grieved. It was so hard. 

Time was generous to me and after many close examinations of the events by the wisest of our historians, I became ever more grateful to find that every one of my fellow veterans present there in that battle, applauded my single actions that day, running the gauntlet alone and tending the wounded and dying under fire.. Actions that were well deserving of this great acknowledgement..

To any one that ever disapproved...I will gladly hand it over to him.

Thank you my brothers for your vital affirmations.. Of this accolade most humbly appreciated and worn with such great honour.

But yes.. most proudly still..
An accolade for 61⚡⚡, and never to forget those who died and their long-suffering families.

God bless them all. 

Dont Read This...too scary!

We went outside into the yard covered by steel grids.
There was no sun.. the sky was an orange glow.. and i shivered.
But i went on out following the few others who appreciated the the opportunity to take a breath of fresh air. Air that has not been rebreathed or tainted so by these tightly closed cell blocks.
As i walked out over the dry powder earth.. the sky opened.
This hot dry desert so long so harsh.
The rain poured down in big heavy drops. Bursting cool on my scalp.. was  so wow !!
I walked on out into the long bleak high walled yard as the damp smell of wet dust rose around me.
I tore off my jacket and wrinkled old tee shirt and stood with my arms out sideways as the rain gushed over the startled bare skin of my shoulders and back.
My face to the sky.. and eyes closed .. drops plopping on my eyelids and face..
I prayed a thank you.. and the others must have thought me a bit crazy.. but i ignored that.. as they came out from the sheltered edges and copied me in my ritual of chilly gratitide and acceptance of the great gift.
I think it was for me..
Just to say.. stay..

Ch (3) What Happened.. Summary

I started working at Inchcape Shipping Services trading as KMMC in Kuwait in September  2003 as an operations maintenance  manager on Military Logistics.

Travel cross border after 2005 became very highly restricted under military escort only.
And then after 2006 only by air.

We naturally cut down our movements to the bare minimum  and I flew to Kuwait to collect personnel and cash about once a month.

The security situation deteriorated early 2006 and a number of my collegues opted out of the scary war ..left the operational area..  and l fell into a more senior position and became the most senior field operations manager over the entire project. 

Port operations at Umm Qassar harbour  separated from my control but l still flew in from time to time by helicopter and dropped off large quantities of cash for the execution of shipping services as they required.

All my flights were on military aircraft.. authorised by British ministry of defence (MOD) and as my activities were all operational .. my travel authorisations were military, vetted by British Military Attache at the Embassy in Kuwait.

I required no passport and carried only a laminated UK. MOD military authorisation registered with the Kuwait Ministry of Interior.

Copies of all these authorisations are on file at  Inchcape  Shipping Services in Kuwait.

As a supplier of labour ..materials and machines to a number of different subcontractors... l sourced all our requirements and spoke with many local suppliers in lraq.

I was a networker and knew everybody..  military and civilian....and everyone knew me in Iraq.

I arrived on a military  hercules Aircraft from Iraq at the Kuwait military airport  on the midnight flight of 17th September 2008.

I went through all the high security checks before leaving  together with staff from the british  embassy.
I carried only cash and documents.

After l had arrived back at my hotel...l drove the company vehicle  to my office where I was to go over all the paperwork and finances for the next few weeks.

En route to my office.. the lraqi contractors phoned me from their location on site in Basrah airport ,  to request me to collect their tools.

I was running late.. it was Thursday and my bosses at the office were expecting me along with a heap of gifts I had managed to get hold of some weeks previously.

So l was a bit annoyed by the request to detour so far out of my way...but l was strictly obliged to do their every bidding and to keep our relations on track for the promise of much future business.

There was no question.. l had no option.. and so l sped out  in my pickup to collect all the goods they had waiting for me to deliver.

l drove straight to the fuelstation location they described... and then loaded the articles..wheelbarrow.. toolbox.. spades and a spare tyre.
I left immediately to the location they directed me to ,  near my hotel.

There was nothing illegal or suspicious and l trusted them all completely.  
I had worked with them for months before,  loading and unloading cement in the batching yard and had eaten lunch with them a couple of times.

When l arrived, the whole CID  drug squad were lying in wait for me there.

They made the whole thing look like it was l that was "the big drug supplier",  who had just driven from lraq in my pickup with a load of beer .. hashish inside a tyre.
The tyre had been filled with packets of hashish and neatly closed using some machine i guess. Nearly 50 kg i was told.
I guessed far too much..

I was arrested that afternoon  of 18th Sept 2008.
My flight home had been booked for  the  following day.
A flight i still long for.

The Cid police took all the cash in my possession.. and threw all my documentation out into the carpark and interrogated me alone for days until finally in the end a police investigator phoned the embassy.

The whole thing had been meticulously planned and it is now  so awfully simple to see it all in hindsight.

There were four other tyres with those druglords that i saw..
I was arrested for doing my job a little too well...
Slammed into jail where ive been ever since for this.
For doing this.
The druglords and their cohorts all free and trading out there, have not stopped laughing at all this...  ever since.

Stalwart Friends and Their Truth

 Gareth,
you know, we just carry on with our normal lives every day, as if everything is okay, we are all so self focused and self centered.
Just accepting everything as logical and automatically working out well.

Until I get into bed tonight and see that you have liked one of my posts sharing a Sunday afternoon braai with friends and family and then the whole thing jerks me to a halt !! I then suddenly realise that there are you, Gareth, not having the luxuries that we so take for granted. Not having a braai, not having family and friends to socialise with. It almost makes me feel guilty....but I know it shouldn't.
But it does.

Tonight I just want to tell you and share with you my feelings and respect for you and the situation you are in.

There are so many of us that think if you, pray for you, are with you in spirit.
You share our joys with us on facebook. But you know what...every day that passes is a day closer to your freedom. That is for sure.
We all know that and believe that.....all of us who are your facebook friends. And you believe it too.....I know it.

Be strong Gareth...
always on our minds and thoughts. Keep it up partner.....and may I have the privilage to personally shake your hand one day...

​

Hi Gareth.. Da.Lr
Thank you very much for this e mail.
And since I know the limitations of your device, the lengthy reply is even more appreciated.
You show a very deep understanding of the dilemmas that confronted all of us. Your description and vivid images are excellent. I am glad that you enjoy my poetry.
It is good to read the comments from a connoisseur like yourself. You should consider putting this on the 61 FB site.
You are a well known person in 61. I believe it will be received very positively.
Unfortunately I will not know since I am not on the 61 Gp.
Personal problems with the admins.
I do not know your religious connotations and also not your future. But should you consider a real soul enriching experience and also a form of non secular recognition, you should consider a course in Metaphysics as the link. When I was on a all-out low 6 years back this course brought some very valuable perspectives to
6, Gareth Rutherford <rutherfordgareth@gma

Hi Dawid..
I wanted to share a facet of my response to your clear and vivid images on recent posts.
I am so enjoying your writings here silent and alone..and i am most anxious to tell you this.Images of our thoughts when confronted by the "pinch zone"   .. do or die. Combat situations.
I am not as well experienced as you by far.. but still remember these same dilemmas that confronted all of us.
Me then just a little lancejack section medic..As you so poignantly describe...The fear of the bullet that hunts for your destruction and pain.
The fear of Death itself is something else.?. it was something less realistic then to us young boys,  i think.?. quick final and there were few options.
Except maybe.. dying alone.. ?Now there is one i saw..and today still  my lasting sadness.
But not here. Later for that.
Another sad tale..But what happens before such combat situations ...is the part that burns itself deeply into those of us who have been so close to it and dodged it.
Seen the side of its face in an instant and ducked away out of its random clutching reach.
The choices we make.. the training we've had.. the weapons and equipment.. our comrades.. all have direct bearing on life or death here. 
So "random" may be used speculatively i think.
The constant expectation of being taken by that speeding spinning metal projectile.The savage numbing thud..and its impact, as its kinetic energy transfer into your flesh.. A pulp of fragments or death.
Breathless and winded and suffocating you glance down to where your webbing once  covered your stomach to see vapour, dust and blood .. and the numbness.
Or perhaps your leg gone completely and shredded battle fatigues soaked in blood.
And the smell of singed hair ..that same dust ..and your fresh blood... and yet even as the whole world is tilted sideways..Still the hope and trust in knowing that your comrades wont leave you.That they will fetch you..? fix you.?. the medics .. doctors and the great hospitals.?
Frightened more.. alone now they have all gone as the afternoon sun settles low. 
Cant feel your legs.. flies in your face..eyes..Only minutes pass and sand in your mouth..lie still.. no pain..And then sounds of voices .. percussive battle.. and then faces close and supporting.
Gentle words and hands deftly bandaging.. no longer alone..now safe.
Reassurance and relief and hope  consoling the terror.. washed away in floods of adrenaline.
All too soon.. embers of hope seep away... lying in the lee of the vehicle as flies feast and swarm.
 A hand in yours ..as waves of pain sweep through your ebbing hope. Futile tourniques.. morphine and ineffective saline drips.
The rescue too late.. the light grows dim and a prayer at last and a brave knowing smile and closing dry hot eyes and so forever in peace.But not alone.. That is what happened and i am sure much the same as what you have heard before.This was a part of smokeshell i witnessed ...and those  young men who waited so long for casevac.. and died under my care... but with their hands in ours.. gently. 
So Dawid.. this is a tiny bit of what your words ignite in all of us i am sure..And i have never stopped listening to others who tell of much the same.. sadness and loss.. gallantry.. futility and it all just keeps on repeating.

Different place.. different time.. same blood.. brave young men.Same in the Bible.. over and over..Far worse.I love your language usage.. i read it aloud alone here and its articulation reads much more by the fabric of words you choose so beautifully.

I never respond enough as i read the appreciation by so many who have chanced apon your most vivid articulations. 
Most accurate and inspired by your experience and i am sure.. the grateful responses by all of us who devoted our lives to the same causes and live to tell of that war and its secrets that we are perhaps still fighting today.

I hope you make some sense of my language .. as i so enjoy yours.. my afrikaans is fairly fluent and i clearly understand all you say.. even catch your spelling slips.. hahaaa.

But i dont have the vocab i would have,  if i spoke every day so its messy and for use in shorter letters.I am stuck in an arab jail far away from home and I delight in the clear pure afrikaans that is my perfect second language and my great pride.
God bless you and family
Regards
Gareth​

You should consider putting this on the 61 FB site. You are a well known person in 61.
Ja weet jy my maat ek onthou jou goed. Hoe kan ek een van my seuns vergeet. Ja ek is Piet. Julle het my Fris Chris genoem. From my battle training sergeant major.. He remembers me and I'm so happy for this. I'm so proud to be one of the best soldiers he trained.

Gareth, I've only recently become aware of the awful injustice that you've had to endure and I wanted to reach out to you and say that I'd like to add whatever I can bring to those who are already supporting you and who are involved in trying to rectify the grievous wrong that you've suffered - rather late than never I guess??.

I spoke with Geoff Olivier in the week and he has given me Tammy's number (obviously it will be easier for me to understand directly from Tammy where / what / how I might be ble to contribute to the overall effort, if at all). One thing - i work closely with Desmond Tutu and have done so for the last decade (see www.tutudesk.org for the work I do).

I couldn't guarantee his involvement as he's a very old man now; however, after speaking with Tammy I'll have better understanding of everything and if it's at all possible / feasable - and something that wouldn't upset any other efforts - then it might be possible to engage him directly: to ask him to evaluate if he would consider lending assistance, and if 'yes', then to understand in what form etc etc.
As I've indicated I can't offer you any guarantees in this regard; however, I do believe that there could possibly be an outside chance that we could get him involved in siome way, shape or form if approached correctly and with a ccomprehensive dossier of the facts - which would vindicate you and clearly outline the terrible injustice that you've been a victim of.

Ch (20) Son returns Ember Takes Flame

At long last.. after eight agonising years of loss and certain disdain.. there happened a little miracle.

Some may not realise the significance of this delightful incident which took place on June 6th 2016..
After being trashed into jail without knowing how or why the fabulous manipulations were set into place just for a simple chap like me.

A devoted husband and father working thousands of miles away from home,  months at a time under terrifying and dangerous conditions.

This all for the benefit of those alone back home,  and a chance of future economic stability.
I missed being with them so badly while i was away so long and found that on my brief leaves back home,  I had become more of a stranger and a disturbance to the daily routines than a member of the group.

It was heartbreaking for me to see,  but there was no immediate alternative and i kept my head down and excelled at my work further .
Saying anything made no difference, and i found one day i had been booked to see a psychiatrist for assessment.

My son and wife waited for me so gallantly,   but my visits became more of a hinderance than a pleasure.
The two of them became very independent as there was  more than sufficient money to make up for my absence.
And .. they were very busy all the time..

Contentedly they spent months alone in a silent house with no dad on the couch. No one to wash the dogs or service the cars.
No braai on a saturday  . No rugby supporter.. or role model to emulate.

Well as you may gave guessed.. my stay away was extended rather  unexpectedly.. with my roughshod arrest and ludicrous conviction by a kangaroo legal system in the arab spring.

Snatched out of the mainstream and thrown into jail and interrogated under extreme duress without anyone knowing where i was.
For nearly a week i was kidnapped and tormented by the manipulators of this crime.. and led to believe a whole sequence of deviated events.
Made to sign bogus statements in arabic under great duress.
Held under the most appalling conditions,  I suffered such humiliation and cruelty as I longed to explain what had happened to me... to my dear wife and child back home.
No such opportunity was afforded and my seat flew empty back home to south africa where my wife and child waited days  long at arrivals for me.

What a shock two weeks later to hear via the grapevine, that i had been arrested in kuwait with hashish in my cargo.
What a lot of mumbo jumbo and not possible by any manner of means..
The shock and humiliation they had to endure was unbearable..

I was muzzled and shut away out of contact with anyone in order that i did not figure out , or determine in any way,  what had happened or what had caused this comedy of errors.
Days.. weeks.. months... suffering.. shame... heartrending distress... i languished in a pit of snakes and vermin criminals.

To cut a boring story more towards the point i originally was so delighted to share with you...

My son at home grew up without me for eight of his most formative years.
He managed well considering the most miserable humiliation he had to endure as the whispers  of my predicament grew to a cresendo.
At school and all round the neighbourhoods..
Bravely my wife and 9yr old son  waited in hope every day,  with rumours that i would soon be pardoned.. released and exonerated.
My court appearances were an absolute fiasco....all in arabic..
witnessed by British FCO embassy representatives. David Curtis.

Nothing was said,  and i was advised to stay quiet. Behave and be patient.. i was sure to be granted a reprieve soon.

  Five years of waiting alone at home.. my dear ones finally gave up all hope for my release.
My wife had taken advice from a junior school teacher councellor that all contact with the child and father must cease.
To adapt to a life with no mention of me at any time.
The child became completely cloistered even as his uncle requested to see him at school.
No contact.
I begged  over and over for a mobile number and his email.
All to a flat and categoric refusal.

And then  one day,  out the blue,  a month before my mother died of a broken heart...by special diplomatic delivery ...a court document for my divorce arrived.

There were numerous demands for fair distribution of my assets which i happily signed over.. and more.

I gave them all i had worked for my whole life.. willingly .
Still the boy remained shut away and was obsessively shaperoned every minute of the day.
I missed him so badly and heard brief reports of his numerous talents...academic and sporting successes.
All credit to my as "widowed",  ex wife.
She managed her "project"... from cradle to matric.. so far A+

But here i sat.. excommunicated and muzzled.. until i managed to get a tiny phone connected to the internet.
I wrote numerous letters to my mother .. my father and a few dear friends who had written to me.

I wrote most importantly to my son expressing my love and requesting a simple response.
None of  those letters ever found him.
My wife read them all, and tore them up.

Dear friends that visited me here hand delivered letters to the doorstep but to no avail.
Even the headmaster imposed an iron curtain on me , never replying to any of my mails and refusing entry of my brother.

Eight years it took as someone somewhere.. i suspect one of his more sensible schoolmates .? Convinced him to reply to me.

Finally he linked with me on facebook... acknowledging that he had no good reason not to reply and that i should have no hard feelings.

Well.. i was so stunned and elated..and I pored over every word,  savouring its nuance and seeing his face writing that.. wondering what was going through his mind ?

I had to weigh up my response carefully and after a long while thinking... I replied briefly of my great relief.. and that we would have plenty of time now .. to catch up.
What a great step forward this has been after all these silent years.

How many of my dear caring friends have known of this but have been too afraid to confront my now ex wife.

Still i love her.. and hold no grudge.
A terrible burden she carried alone
A rage... a reprisal or a reason to judge
My errors.. my heart.. never back home.

My dear son .. my absolute delight
My reason for living
Now blessed with new insight
Ive missed years of giving
Im so tired now .. no more fight
Still i love them both so much...
Dont think ill ever be  right
But  at least theres a flame now burning bright.
My boy now connected...the end is in sight.
Thank you my caring friends for following my plight.
My duty now to return to you all the great things youve done
And to include you all in this story a happy ending and then some
We are going to have a party with no expense spared.
Right through the night till the rising sun.
My tears of joy and my heart once again bared.
All this for you.. Michael.my son.

Military 4 = Death all Alone

A response to an old friend regarding a fear worse than death alone... dying alone..THE PINCH ZONE. 

This happened to me and many others some days in 1980.
Something I wanted to share with others who may have had the same thoughts.
Here I write to Dawid .. an honoured veteran .. esteemed poet and author.
a facet of my response to your clear and vivid images on recent posts.

I am so enjoying your writings here silent and alone..and I am most anxious to tell you this.

Images of our thoughts when confronted by the "pinch zone"   .. do or die. Combat situations.

I am not as well experienced as you by far.. but still remember these same dilemmas that confronted all of us.

Me then just a little lancejack section MEDIC.  and then..  

As you so poignantly describe...The fear of the bullet that hunts for your destruction and pain.

The fear of Death itself is something else.?. it was something less realistic then to us young boys,  I think.?. quick final and there were few options.

Except maybe.. dying alone.. ?

Now there is one I saw..and today is still  my lasting sadness.

But not here. Later for that.
Another sad tale..

But what happens before such combat situations ...is the part that burns itself deeply into those of us who have been so close to it and dodged it.

Seen the side of its face in an instant and ducked away out of its random clutching reach.

The choices we make.. the training we've had.. the weapons and equipment.. our comrades.. all have direct bearing on life or death here. 

So "random" may be used speculatively I think? 

The constant expectation of being taken by that speeding spinning metal projectile.

The savage numbing thud..and its impact, as its kinetic energy transfer into your flesh.. A pulp of fragments or death.
Breathless and winded and suffocating you glance down to where your webbing once  covered your stomach to see vapour, dust and blood .. and the numbness.

Or perhaps your leg gone completely and shredded battle fatigues soaked in blood.

And the smell of singed hair ..that same dust ..and your fresh blood... and yet even as the whole world is tilted sideways..
Still the hope and trust in knowing that your comrades wont leave you.

That they will fetch you..? fix you.?. the medics .. doctors and the great hospitals.?

Frightened more.. alone now they have all gone as the afternoon sun settles low. Cant feel your legs.. flies in your face..eyes..

Only minutes pass and sand in your mouth..lie still.. no pain..And then sounds of voices .. percussive battle.. and then faces close and supporting.

Gentle words and hands deftly bandaging.. no longer alone..now safe.

Reassurance and relief and hope  consoling the terror.. washed away in floods of adrenaline.

All too soon.. embers of hope seep away... lying in the lee of the vehicle as flies feast and swarm. 

A hand in yours ..as waves of pain sweep through your ebbing hope. Futile tourniques.. morphine and ineffective saline drips.

The rescue too late.. the light grows dim and a prayer at last and a brave knowing smile and closing dry hot eyes and so forever in peace. Cold.. 

But not alone.. That is what happened and i am sure much the same as what you have heard before.

This was a part of operation  smokeshell I witnessed ...and those  young men who waited so long for casevac.. and died under my care... but with their hands in ours.. gently. 
So Dawid.. this is a tiny bit of what your words ignite in all of us I am sure..

And I have never stopped listening to others who tell of much the same.. sadness and loss.. gallantry.. futility and it all just keeps on repeating.

Different place.. different time.. same blood.. brave young men.

Same in the Bible.. over and over..Far worse then than now..
We never learn..wont change..

I never respond enough as I read the appreciation by so many who have chanced apon your most vivid articulations.

 Most accurate and inspired by your experience and I am sure.. the grateful responses by all of us who devoted our lives to the same causes and live to tell of that war and its secrets that we are perhaps still fighting today.