CATS

1

A  Story of  Unadulterated  Terror 

Chapter  1

         I’ve always been leery of tellin’ “war stories,” and this is true for many reasons. First and foremost, far too many have already been told.

         I’ll bet most readers have listened to 40,000 tales of combat. No doubt you’ve been led across “no-mans land” at least that number of times, ran zig-zag courses thru deadly mine-fields, charged uphill into withering hails  of machinegun fire  while assaulting enemy-held positions, slept for weeks unending in foxholes filled with muddy water, chomped on C-rations prepared shortly after the Civil War ( amazing how them there saltines retained their zest and flavor after all those decades. Grape jelly usually accompanied the crackers. Try that combination tonight for a truly delightful evening of sumptuous dining. The lady friend will love ya' to death for it ).

         I’ve listened to some really “farout” war stories…live hand grenades caught in mid-air and promptly tossed back at the enemy who originally pulled the pin. Duck low and keep a flattened profile when in company with these types. The shrapnel and concussions are, in some instances, most realistic.

         One dude told me he’d captured 4 enemy divisions all by his lonesome. Not to be outdone, his buddy took 100,000 enemy prisoners without any assistance whatsoever. Amazingly, neither of this dynamic duo suffered any puncture wounds, not even a little scratch. For years I’ve wondered where their fellow soldiers were during that tumultuous action. Guess they musta’ been in the chowline, on sick call, at the PX buyin’ shoe polish, or else had gone home on furlough.

         Well sir, thought I’d heard it all. And then one day along comes a lad who spoke forcefully and with great conviction. He’s won not just one, but two wars…singlehandedly! A truly astounding feat, accomplished without aircover, naval bombardment, or even an itty-bitty artillery barrage to back him up ( wonder if a female soldier will ever match that colossal feat? Probably not. I just can’t see it happenin.’ More’n likely the svelte young   lass, resplendent in camouflage and ear-rings, will win only one).

         One of my reasons for telling war stories is among the very best. Why hell, a better reason will never be found. Simply stated, this person has never participated  in a war.

         True, I’ve served in uniform during a period of hostilities. Even found myself wandering around in a “designated combat zone” where 8 million armed men had gone completely insane and were shootin’ at each other. But podnuh, it sho’ ‘nuff wuzn’t a war!                                                              

         In 1950 Mr. Harry Truman decided an on-going conflict in Korea wasn’t actually a war. Our President from Missouri called it a misunderstanding of sorts, a disagreement between brothers and cousins of the same nation, and oughta’ be called a “police action.” It was indeed so named, and is in the history books as such.

         Therefore, Americans who went to that faraway Asian peninsula in 1950-53, myself included, are forever denied the privilege of tellin’ “war stories.” Which simply means Korean veterans can gather at unit reunions, but can engage only in the tellin’ of “police stories.”

         Against that clouded background I am nonetheless gonna’ tell a “war story,” one that’s all too terrifyingly true. Have no fears, don’t crouch low. You won’t be exposed  to a solid wall of gunfire…

Chapter  2

         Wars are very noisy affairs with a lotta’ racket happenin’ all around. Bullets zinging thru the air, thundering rockets whooshing forth from mobile launchers, bombs bursting in mid-air, and screaming jets overhead. Sergeants yelling their fool heads off add considerably to the din and roar.

         The really well prepared person will carry several extra bales of cotton  to act as earplugs when he or she journeys off to their next war. A cumbersome weight perhaps, but preferable to gittin’ yer durn eardrums severely damaged, or destroyed completely ( world scientists are workin’ frantically around the clock to discover methods which might mute the noise, soften the tones, deaden the din of wars. General Electric is currently the forerunner in this field, and I wish them the best of  luck. However, this is probably another extravagant waste of time, money and effort. It’s highly unlikely them kooks will find anything better than wads of cotton ).

         Wars. Shindigs which can be quite distracting to the person who seeks only peace and solitude. A bit of advice for individuals who might be searching for calmness and serenity. Don’t go off to a war!

         These damned clambakes tend to be chaotic and messy. Tumultuous times and events where mass confusion prevails. The thinking mechanisms of the human-being goes atilt, all coherence is lost. A fella’ finds himself continually wondering if it’s Tuesday… or Saturday.

         Wars are disruptive. Normalcy is replaced with abnormality, the unthinkable becomes commonplace, the unreal transformed into reality. Gleaming light takes on eerie hues of a strange darkness during wars, and trauma awaits the fool who dares venture therein. For in that darkness one comes face-to-face with his most devastating nightmares.

         These big fights called wars are terribly, terribly expensive. Folks, ya’ gotta’ have mucho cash to be an active participant in a calamity known as war. They can cost an arm and leg, both financially and physically. It’s a generally known fact that every government on earth is now in total bankruptcy, or damned close to it. (Ain’t nobody got no money! ). All nations are penniless. Paupers, bums, begging panhandlers lookin’ for a handout!

         But even midst these monetary shambles some good can come. I see an extended “breathing spell” for the human race from the drudgery of wars. Who the hell can afford ‘em?  (Maybe the Japanese, and some Arab oil-shiekdoms can enjoy one or two. Here’s hoping they have it among themselves. I wish ‘em luck…and may the best man win ).

         Wars are silly. And silliness is the thrust of this story. Here the spotlight will fall on goofiness.

         Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the daffy world of military thinking. Their planning is truly somethin’…

Chapter  3

         This “war story” doesn’t focus on deadly combat between human antagonists per se, but takes a somewhat different twist. Yet would I urge a tad of caution. For here is one filled with roars, snarls, spittin’ and scratchin.’ We’ll find ourselves facing unleashed feline fury.

         The Korean people, in the language native to that land, call their country Chosen. The American G.I., wherever he may go, is hasty in bestowing nicknames on everything in sight. A wretchedly cold place in the winter time is Chosen.

         Thus it was obvious what Americans would call that faraway land on the Asian perimeter. Only one choice, for none other would suffice. Korea, in military jargon, very quickly became known as “Frozen Chosen.”

         Frost in the beard and eyebrows, icicles forming in runny noses. Vivid and unpleasant recollections of a “police action” 40 years after the fact, etched into one’s memory to remain forever and all time.

         There are certain rules and guidelines folks should obey when venturing out into sub-zero temperatures. These regulations focus attention mainly on togs…attire, wearing apparel, clothing. The bottom line? Wear the proper type and plenty of ‘em. Layer upon layer. Remember, an ounce of prevention is worth 500 pounds of cure.

         One forgets “style” in times of duress and extenuating circumstances. A mercury reading of 40 degrees below zero is an extenuating circumstance, and will cause unbelievable duress. Also more than a little discomfort. Pilgrim, such weather will make ya’ moan, groan, lament, bitch, gripe… and wish you’d never left home ( “Congratulations,” the draft notice had stated. “Your friends and neighbors have selected you”…blah, blah, blah).

         Let’s pause and ponder here for a moment. Many times in Korea I wuz nigh to becoming a block of ice. In those instances I had strong feelings about that piece of mail. Gave me an overwhelming urge to do something nasty. Truly horrible thoughts ran thru my mind as I envisioned those “dear friends and neighbors ” back home, snuggled up in their cozy parlors by a warm fireplace. I wanted very much to wring their scrawny necks! Hell fella,’ ya’ need such friends like ya’ need a huge, gaping hole in the middle of ye olde forehead!

         You kiddies especially should pay heed to this data about freezing weather. Do as mommy says, be leery of cold days. Mommy won’t steer you on a bum course, cause Mommy knows best. Wrap up tightly ere goin’ outside to sled down a hill covered with the fluffy white stuff. Wear your warm mittens while makin’ a pretty snowman. Don’t roll in the snow, don’t tread on dangerously thin ice at Narrows Millpond.

         Obey Mommy, you ornery little rascal, or suffer the excruciating pain of fingernails thawing.

         And one final thought. Be sure and tell Mommy not to make plans for a wintertime vacation in Korea. Taint healthy…                                                                                                      

Chapter  4

         A vast majority of our citizens have never served in the armed-forces, which is good. This chapter is directed toward that fine group of folks who ain’t never been to camp. Too bad, for they’ve missed one of life’s most thrilling and exhilarating experiences…marchin’ to the rhythmic cadence of “Hut, two, three, four!”

         Ladies and gentlemen, the purpose of this weeks educational essay is to clear the air of some long-held misconceptions about life in the military. More’n likely  every non-veteran in America has heard trainloads of falsehoods. In all probability the uninitiated have been listening to many troughs of hogwash. Good buddy, you who have never left home have been fed some “facts”  which weren’t exactly squared!

         These mistaken ideas about “soldiering” are fostered on the unknowing from many sources.  The recently discharged American serviceman is immediately suspect, and for good reason. These newly returnees to civilian life have an exaggerated talent for over- dramatizing their experiences while serving in uniform. Hell man, we’ve all watched way yonder too many movies!

         Which brings to mind, what else, Hollywood. A lying, deceitful township is that west coast community. Beyond all doubt the biggest culprit in doling out misinformation about garrison life. At least half the world’s creeps are congregated within it’s corporate-limits… the other half are massed just slightly north in San Francisco!

         The motion-picture industry has entirely too much influence in our lives. Hollywood wields scary powers and uses them adeptly to set trends and patterns. Hollywood script-writers are surely the most ridiculous clan on earth, a festering tribe in desperate need of a good cleansing and extensive psychiatric counseling. Weird riff-raff are these nuts who need commiting en-masse to mental institutions. Ponder for a moment the rotten garbage being shown on TV and in our theaters. Sick, moronic, idiotic plots hatched out in the deranged minds of imbeciles. I’d like to go on record here with a statement: “If that crap on the screen is entertainment, then I’m the original Abominable Snowman.”

         We’ve deployed our military to the Middle East for the purpose (allegedly ) of protecting that area from Saddam Hussein. The Arab strongman is ( according to our propaganda machine ) a threat and needs holding in check. But threats often come from within. Danger is frequently poised in the least expected places. Neighbor, we’re facing such a situation right now.

We should’ve dispatched half the United States Marine Corps in a westerly direction toward Hollywood. At least 3 airborne divisions oughta’ parachute down from the sky to surround that municipality which is populated wholly by freaks. We need to keep ‘em isolated from the rest of humanity before yet more irreparable damage can be done…

Chapter 5

         Hollywood is notorious for screwin’ up everything it’s dirty paws comes in contact with. This is true no matter which type cinema production one might wish to discuss. The movie-goer will have his intelligence insulted and battered to a pulp each time he walks into a theater.

         Consider, if you will, “them thar oaters.” Westerns, shoot ‘em ups…cowboys and Indians. Every human-being who crossed the Mississippi, on arrival in the wild and wooly west, strapped on his trusty six-shooters. Everyone on the western frontier was a gunslinger. Their weapons protrude menacingly from well-oiled holsters which are tied tightly to the thighs of bow-legged cowboys. But a funny thing about six-guns belonging to cowboys ( Them durn things never need reloading ). Six rounds of ammo wuz all a frontier sheriff needed to blast everything to smithereens. The tall man wearin’ a white hat could fire thousands of bullets before hollerin’ fer a new box of cartridges.

         I once watched a cavalry Colonel wipe out 8 tribes of Indians to the last brave, a huge war party comprised of well over 15,000 warriors. Took only 6 bullets to send ‘em all to that mysterious land in the sky where the Great Spirits dwell.

         And how about those steeds ridden by cowboys? Truly incredible animals. Tireless, strong, and with lungs I’ve always envied. As a mere lad attending Saturday matinees I devised a method for measuring the speeds and distance covered in those “posse vs. outlaw”chase scenes. One white horse reached a top speed of 156 mph, and maintained that dizzying pace for 211 miles. Uphill and down, o’er plains, deserts, oases, fertile farmland, barren lava beds, across snow-covered mountaintops and thru boulder-strewn ravines before the sheriff finally reined him in. Hell man, the nag wuzn’t even heavin’ at the flanks, hadn’t worked up one iota of lather. That hoss could have immediately galloped out onto Churchill Downs and won the Kentucky Derby by 30 lengths!

         Once upon a time Hollywood cranked out some  pretty good romantic flick, “boy meets girl and they live happily ever after” kind of stuff. You know…naturalness, normal.

         Tis sad to contemplate, but such films are down the drain, gone forever. Nowadays the entire movie-industry is populated by diseased oddballs who are deep into drugs and  alternate lifestyles. Shucks, the current residents of cesspool Hollywood know nothing  about normality. So don’t expect to ever again view a good movie concerning “affairs of the heart.” Expect to see a sick film with sicko’s in the starring roles. Written, produced and directed by same.

         But war movies! Now here is where them Hollywood morons really stink up the place. Their depictions of “war and carnage” is absolutely God-awful.

         Distances between the galaxies of our endless universe are vast and unimaginable. Hollywood renditions of war are just as far removed from reality…