THE TRUMP CLASS BATTLESHIPS

 

 Alright, let’s start at the beginning.

 

Then 

 

“Battleship” is an extremely well-established term that the world’s navies have agreed upon since, oh, the first one: HMS Dreadnought, which revolutionized warships upon commissioning in NINETEEN OH SIX.  For the numerically challenged, that was just about 120 years ago.

 

Dreadnought combined advanced technologies—ordinarily not a wise engineering philosophy—but it worked.  She had the same caliber big guns (12 inchers) rather than mixed armament, with steam turbine propulsion.  At 18,000 tons she was light for later battleships, and relatively slow at 21 knots.  In comparison, the final U.S. Iowa (BB-61) class ships pegged 48,000 tons with 16-inchers and logged 32 knots.

 

Whatever the era, battleships were big, heavy, well armored and heavily gunned.  They were meant to defeat enemy battleships in force-on-force combats to establish control of a given portion of the earth’s surface.  

 

America’s first battleship designated as such was the 10,000-ton USS Indiana (BB-1) in 1895.  Seventeen others were commissioned before World War I. 

 

During the Great War the U.S. Navy considered “Tillman maximum class” battleships--inspired by my shirt-tail relation, South Carolina Senator Benjamin Ryan “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman.  They went through several concepts, peaking at a honking huge 80,000 tons with FIFTEEN 18-INCH guns.  For comparison, only two such monsters were ever produced: Japan’s Yamato and Musashi, both over 70,000 tons and both sunk in 1944-45.

 

Throughout the U.S. Navy’s long history, it has logged very few big-ship engagements, though definitions vary.  Two occurred during the Spanish-American War, resulting in slam-dunk wins at Santiago Bay, Cuba, and Manila Bay the Philippines.  

 

Sidebar: USS Maine (ACR-1) whose self-destruction mistakenly started the flail in 1898 was not repeat not a battleship.  She was an armored cruiser. 

 

The Cuba and Philippines duels preclude qualification as battleship fights.  The major combatants fell into the 3,000 to 6,000-ton “armored cruiser” category.

 

Seven years later the then-largest armored warship clash occurred in Tsushima Strait between Japan and Korea, pitting four Japanese capital ships against 11 Russian including coastal defense vessels. The heavyweights displaced nearly 15,000 tons mounting 12-inch guns. The result was a huge win for the emperor’s sailors, who gunned down six Czarist battleships and 15 lesser vessels for one torpedo boat lost.  

 

In World War II U.S. Navy battleships fought two at-sea engagements.  Off Guadalcanal in November 1942 the spooky-smart Rear Admiral Willis Lee in USS Washington (BB-56) conducted a nocturnal slugfest that left the 36,000-ton Kirishima a floating wreck with four destroyers.  But Lee’s teammate South Dakota (BB-57) suffered serious electrical failure, and the Americans also lost four destroyers.

 

Almost two years later in the Philippines’ Surigao Strait, Rear Admiral Jesse Oldendorf’s crews shot two enemy battleships and two destroyers apart, without loss. 

 

U.S. Navy 16-inch shells weighed up to 2,700 pounds—more than a Volkswagen Beetle—propelled by about 600 pounds of powder.  The shells blasted from the muzzle at 2,300 to 2,700 foot-seconds, achieving a range of 20 miles.  One of my novelist colleagues graduated from Annapolis in time for the war.  He provided a vivid description of a surface engagement, with violent concussion and overpowering noise.  But mostly he remembered the armor-piercing shells striking steel: “It smelled like a giant welding shop.”

 

Battleships fought no more surface engagements though Missouri (BB-63), Wisconsin (BB-64) and New Jersey (BB-62) provided gunfire support to Allied forces in Korea, Vietnam, and ultimately in Lebanon.  

 

The last American battleship in service was New Jersey, decommissioned the last time in 1992.  

 

So where does that put us in the Battleship Compendium?

 

Let’s consider the name.  Apparently the navy (seldom logical in such things for decades) has hit upon USS Defiant (BBG-1) for the first Trump battleship.  Well…that poses a problem.

 

The U.S. Navy already has a USS Defiant (YT-804).  It’s a tugboat in the six-ship Valiant class which, by the way, further illustrates naval ineptitude in ship names.  The others include Reliant (an adjective), Seminole (Florida tribe), Puyallup (Washington), and Menominee (Wisconsin).

 

Assuming the “battleships” are built, it’ll be interesting to see how The Navy deals with the name thing.

 

Today

 

This month the president announced plans to produce two ships approximately immediately followed by eight more, followed by a dozen others—or more.

 

The navy’s description of the Trump class battleships posits a high-high tech sea control vessel for which there is but one potential enemy: China.

 

Nominal displacement is 35,000 tons (about the same as a WW II battle cruiser) capable of 30 knots, crewed by about 500 Sailors (it’s Capitalized since Soldiers and Airmen exhibited proper noun Marine envy). 

 

The ship’s offense includes potentially nuclear-capable cruise missiles plus defensive weapons in vertical launch cells and rolling airframe missiles.  Additionally, 21^st century directed-energy weapons railguns are considered with a 5-inch gun firing hypervelocity projectiles.

 

The latter inspires little confidence: a similar arrangement was proposed for the scandalous Zumwalt (DDG-1000) class destroyer.  Of 32 planned, three have been completed due to immense cost over-runs by Bath Iron Works and Ingalls Shipbuilding.  The Advanced Gun System was so mismanaged that it was canceled because ammunition cost nearly $1 million per round.

 

In self-respecting militaries, those responsible would go away.  Instead, We The People fund their lavish, unearned retirements.

 

Navy insiders—active and retired—express serious doubts about the Defiants.  Although the U.S. has begun a long-overdue commitment to ship building, years are required to bridge the gap.  After the first two “battleships,” Trump posits eight more toward a total of 20 to 25.  Where those ships will be built, how they will be manned and based, remains to be seen. 

 

I’ll finish by citing three of my go-to authorities.

 

Those who follow naval affairs know Norman Polmar, arguably the world’s senior naval analyst.  “We have recently cancelled the frigate and two littoral ship programs.  We need small (frigate size) combatants now for a variety of missions.  It will take several years to design and order the Trump battleships.     

 

“U.S. shipyards are far behind major ship construction--look at the nuclear aircraft carrier programs.

 

“An objective review and ‘overhaul’ of U.S. naval ship design and construction procedures and capabilities is desperately needed.”

 

This summary comes from an uncommonly astute truth-teller among the retired admiral ranks: “It all dates back to insane organizational changes made by Secretary Cheney that fractured the ‘Rule of the Common Commander’ in the Systems Commands and eliminated OPNAV (directorates for surface, sub-surface, aviation, industry liaison and others).  The present organization will not ever function effectively, no matter how many patches they make to it.”

 

Finally, from an influential military journal editor: “I’m going out on a limb and saying they will never be built.”

THOUGHTS ON VETERANS DAY

 

 

I'm going out on a limb here, but bear with me. Memorial Day and Veterans Day always involve reflexive tributes to those who "defended our freedom."

But there's a huge difference between freedom and security, and we should not confuse the two. Absent Britain long ago, no foreign enemy has possessed the ability to deprive us of our freedom. The Soviets could've destroyed us, but they couldn't conquer us. And in the world wars the enemy couldn't even get here.

Only Americans can deprive Americans of their freedom(s), and frequently it appears that some of them are succeeding. But here's the thing: generations of Americans have left these shores bound for places some of them never heard of, risking and often losing their lives TO RETURN FREEDOM TO CONQUERED NATIONS WHO HAD LOST IT. That is a magnificent testament to the character of the American nation, and IMO it does not get one tiny smidgen of the recognition it deserves, hence this post.

A heartfelt salute to those who served over the centuries, in war or in peace, and often both.

Family Ties

 

Most readers can tell similar stories to my family. My mother joined the Daughters of the American Revolution on Captain John Parker who commanded the Lexington, Massachusetts, militia on 19 April 1775, and Colonel James Barrett at Concord.  My mother had a cousin named Parker Barrett.

 

My father’s family included Lieutenant Colonel Tench Tilghman, George Washington’s aide from 1775, who took word of the momentous victory at Yorktown, Virginia, to Congress in Philadelphia in 1781.  It’s significant that Tench’s father remained a crown loyalist and a brother became an officer in the Royal navy. 

 

 

In the Civil War the families again parted ways.  Based on geography the Tilghmans/Tillmans went for the Confederacy by 8 to 1 although at least four died wearing the blue. The Barretts, on the other hand, were from Maine. 

 

As a lifelong shooter I grew up knowing of Sergeant (then Corporal) Alvin York’s combat marksmanship in October 1918.  But not until I saw the 1941 Gary Cooper movie did I realize that one of York’s commanding officers was Captain, later Major, James M. Tilghman from Georgia.

 

Meanwhile, a cherished friend is a retired vice (three-star) admiral who spent a typical amount of time away from home.  He says, “We have a lot of unsung veterans among us we need to also honor on this day.  These are our wives and kids.

 

“We held a ceremony of sorts this morning at this senior facility where the wife and I now reside.  We have five World War II veterans residing here, one being a WAVE Yeoman, and a lot from Korea and Vietnam. I am the senior military veteran in rank, so was given the opportunity to say a few words. 

 

“My words pointed out that our families were also veterans, mentioning the fact my wife orchestrated 30 moves in 40 years, including four ocean crossings and a lot of cross the USA moves, while I flitted from one assignment to another.  This included raising two great kids, who had as many as three schools in one year on one occasion, and whose lives were constantly in motion.  I owe my career to Doree and the kids.”

 

Forgotten Nurses

 

Recently there’s been discussion of issuing a Congressional Gold Medal honoring the 74,000 U.S. military nurses in World War II.  My wife’s aunt was one of 59,000 Army nurses, and the Navy had 14,000.  Together they served in the States and abroad, in field hospitals, evacuation centers, on hospital ships, and as flight nurses.  (My favorite example is the fetching young lady supervising loading a C-47 transport, accessorizing with a Colt .45 pistol in a shoulder holster.)

 

The official figure is 241 who died on active duty, 201 Army personnel.  Sixty-seven Army nurses –“The angels of Bataan”--were captured when Manila fell in 1942, remaining until freed in early 1945.

 

As of this month, five are known living, all well over 100 years of age.

 

Presumably medical facilities and personnel were immune to attack owing to international conventions.  But some nations—notably Japan—ignored such protection.  On a clear April night in 1945 the hospital ship Comfort steamed near Okinawa, illuminated as a noncombatant and painted white with red crosses on the hull.  Then a single Japanese plane passed overhead, came back for another look, and dived into Comfort’s superstructure, killing 28 people including six nurses.

 

Draftees to Volunteers

 

Within living memory, the height of American patriotism undoubtedly was the Second World War—“the good war”--although that pool is rapidly draining.  (I lost my last World War II veteran this year, a 103-year-old naval aviator).  However, even amid that four-year crisis, over 60 percent of military personnel were drafted. 

 

The U.S. military has been all-volunteer since January 1973, the month of the Vietnam War cease fire (predictably resumed two years later when Hanoi’s army smashed into Saigon and conquered the South.)

 

Since then, recruiting has waxed and waned.  The services struggled with serious shortfalls especially from 1999 to 2022, when enlistments hit a 40-year low.  This year, with patriotism surging again, every branch expects to exceed its goal.  Interviews show a significant reason is patriotism and return of “the warrior ethos” after years of tepid leadership from uniformed sociologists. 

 

For years, recruiters have noted the appeal of martial masculinity among young Hispanic males. Recent figures show 18 percent in the army—matching all branches combined--and 27 percent in the Marine Corps.

 

Today’s troops are tomorrow’s veterans, and they earn our respect now—and later.

THE OK CORRAL PLUS 144

 

The 26^th of this month was the 144^th anniversary of the classic Old West Gunfight, the Shootout at the OK Corral.

 

What follows is a pistoliferous author’s take on the subject.

 

But first, my immodest credentials:

 

I’ve shot thousands of rounds from single-action Colts and clones in .44-40 and .45 Long Colt, on the clock.  Got tolerably good at it back in the day as a life member of the Single Action Shooting Society (SASS).  During the late 90s when I was in my prime (yeahright) I led the national championship team/posse and finished in the top 10 percent individually.

 

The OK Corral shootists used various modes of carry.  Some—notably the Clanton gang’s Cowboys—wore holsters while the Earps mostly carried hoglegs in a pocket or waistband.  The latter methods do not enhance speed, as hammer spurs and front sights can snag.

 

I just mention the foregoing to establish my bona fides.

 

Nowthen:

 

As per Prof. Bill O’Neal’s essential Encyclopedia of Western Gunfighters, from 1857 to 1924 there were a few hundred dustups over those 60 years.  (The last year is significant to me because it was when my distant kinsman and SASS alias Marshal William “Billy” Tilghman was murdered by a drunken federal prohibition agent.)

 

Arizona logged 60 shootouts in the study period, obviously averaging one a year.  Texas won going away with 160, followed by Kansas and New Mexico with about 70 each.

 

In 1881 Arizona was second overall with seven gunfights, barely behind New Mexico and just ahead of Texas.       

 

The political-economic dispute between the Clanton-McLaury faction and the Earp faction needn’t divert us.  We’re concerned with the immediate factors attending the Shootout at the OK Corral.  (Which, incidentally, was a fur piece from the corral/stable, but editors decided that The Shootout at the OK Corral sounded a lot juicier than The Shootout Behind C.S. Fly’s Photo Studio.)

 

A sidebar:

 

Folks wonder how the corral got its name.  Some clever Googling showed that it stood for “Old Kindersley,” though how owner John Montgomery arrived at that decision seems unknown. The shooting venue was a narrow, vacant lot reported at 15 to 18 feet wide.  Call it six yards; maybe seven or eight paces. Which bears upon our story.

 

Back to the event:

 

The Tombstone lawdogs--Wyatt, Morgan, and Virgil Earp with Dr. John Holliday bearing a shotgun—confronted miscreant Ike Clanton and some of his Cowboys who were carrying in violation of civic ordinance.  (Apparently Second Amendment concerns did not arise.)  Ike had said repeatedly that he intended to kill some Earps.

 

Originally the four lawmen faced six Cowboys.  After some back-and-forthing at a reputed six feet, Wyatt and Billy Clanton simultaneously opened the ball, and the fight was on.

 

When the Earps began firing, Billy Clanton and Frank McLaury were hit immediately.  Morgan shot Billy point-blank, knocking him down.  Seconds later Billy’s right wrist was broken so he gamely shifted to his left hand, firing from the ground.

 

Billy Clanton missed Wyatt, who prioritized Frank McLaury, considered a dangerous shooter.

 

Ike Clanton rushed up to Wyatt, pleading for an end to the violence.  According to most accounts, Wyatt pushed him back saying, approximately, “The fight’s started, get to fightin’ or get away!”  Ike fled, as did Billy Claiborne and Wes Fuller, leaving three against four.

 

In the flurry of shooting, Morgan took a hit and went down but his blood was up.  He rebounded, remaining in the fight.

 

Tom McLaury, who possibly was unarmed, stood behind his horse with a rifle in the scabbard.  He tried to unlimber the Winchester but when the horse spooked, Doc unloaded his shotgun into him, sending Frank reeling into Fremont Street where he died.

 

Doc dropped his scattergun and pulled his revolver, shooting at Ike who hastily followed Wyatt’s advice.

                                                                                                  

As per Wyatt’s concern, Frank McLaury (and probably with the fatally wounded Billy Clanton) shot Doc and Morgan.  Then, pulling his horse by the reins, Frank staggered into the street, still shooting, then was killed by a head shot, likely from Doc.

 

By most accounts, in about 30 seconds the three Cowboys were dead or dying while Virgil, Morgan, and Doc were wounded. 

 

Hits and Misses

 

Doctors examined the three Cowboys’ bodies, finding that

 

Billy Clanton was hit three times.  He lingered awhile, reportedly asking that his boots be removed, as he had promised his mother he would not die with his boots on.

 

Frank McLaury was hit in the torso and killed by a round near the right ear, the most difficult shot of the fight although the distance is uncertain.

 

Tom McLaury’s 12 buckshot wounds measured four inches across, indicating that Doc fired from 12 to 15 feet. (Modern buckshot spreads an inch per yard.)

 

The Tombstone Epitaph headlined: “Three men hurled into Eternity in Duration of a Moment.”  But the incident did not gain public traction until 1931 with Stuart Edward Lake’s biography of Wyatt, who died in 1929.

 

Otherwise:

 

So: how many rounds were loaded in seven shootists’ revolvers?  (There’s some question whether Tom McLaury was heeled but let’s assume he was.)  Frontier wisdom held that you carried a six-shooter with five rounds loaded, hammer down on the empty sixth chamber for safety reasons.

 

So, let’s assume at least 35 loaded pistol rounds plus Doc’s double-barrel.  We know that of the reputed 30-plus rounds fired, the Earps scored five pistol hits plus the shotgun blast to Tom McLaury.

 

The Cowboys—probably limited to Frank McLaury and Billy Clanton—hit three lawmen once each.

 

That’s a combined total of eight hits among the reputed thirty, a 26 percent ratio.  The ranges largely were at conversational distances, from near muzzle contact to no greater than 15 of the 18-foot-wide lot.

 

Actually, 26 percent isn’t bad within the broader context.  Start with an adrenaline spike, in-your-face lethal stress, some marginal marksmanship skills, plus a cloud of black powder smoke, and you have some idea of the factors.  In the 1880s hardly anyone shot pistols two-handed, as do most SASS competitors who can cock a Colt really fast with the thumb of the support hand.

 

In recent years police gunfight hit rates vary considerably, though there’s no national database.  New York for instance stopped reporting misses around 2006 but NYPD’s figure from 1998 until then ran from 18 to 37 percent, including incidents with no return gunfire.

THE ROUND-UP PLUS 80

  

Following August’s reprise of the August 1945 atomic bombings that ended World War II, I’m devoting this month’s retrospective to the sudden onset of peace.  With a very personal view.  It's excerpted from my 2023 history August 1945: When the Shooting Stopped.  Far as I know, it's the only one-volume account of global events in that world-shaping month.

 

==

 

Beverly Jean Barrett was a princess on the Pendleton, Oregon, Round-Up court in September 1945. A 25-year-old green-eyed brunette, she rode a large sorrel horse called Jimmy who enjoyed ice cream cones and the occasional hamburger. During the week-long rodeo, she and her friends became acquainted with some naval aviators who attended the event with all the innovative enthusiasm of Frederick Wakeman’s wartime novel, Shore Leave.

 

Beverly explained, “The ’45 event was the first full-scale rodeo since the war, and a lot of boys were home from the service. It was and is the major event in Umatilla County every year, and my family had been involved since it began in 1910.”

 

On the first day – Wednesday, September 12 – the queen and court rode into the arena, waving to the crowd in the grandstand, and went to the box seats. Beverly recalled, “We were just sitting down when I heard a sudden, loud noise. I turned around just in time to see a fighter plane swooping down into the arena and pulling up on the other side. There were American flags all around the top row, so I don’t know how the pilot missed any of the poles. He was very low.”

 

That was just the beginning. The miscreant aviator was about 50 air miles off track from NAS Pasco, Washington, across the Columbia River. Pasco was home to part of a light carrier air group and Composite Squadron 82, which had completed a combat tour aboard the escort carrier USS Anzio (CVE-57) in March. Lieutenant Commander F.A. Green’s unit, with FM-2 Wildcats and TBM-3 Avengers, was recycling for another deployment when the war ended. But flying continued with instrument practice and rocket firing.

 

Aside from their end-of-war exuberance, the Navy fliers probably relished the opportunity to upstage their khaki counterparts. Pendleton Army Airfield was home of the B-25 group that provided the Doolittle Raiders in 1942 and continued as an operational training and maintenance facility. Shortly after Pearl Harbor, then-Major Curtis LeMay briefly flew from Pendleton.

 

The blue intruders made themselves known to Umatilla County. Wildcats buzzed tractors in fields and cars on highways– allegedly running an Oregon State trooper off the road. Local legend related the tale of an Avenger that executed a mock torpedo attack against fishing boats on the reservoir south of town–with bomb bay doors open. Finally enough was enough. Some high-decibel phone calls were made, and Pasco grounded the errant tailhookers.

 

Nobody complained–the Navy men were stranded for the duration of Round-Up. Beverly Barrett explained, “They were definitely ready to party. They sort of attached themselves to us, though the court had escorts as well as a chaperone. I had already met Jack Tillman when he was a flight cadet. I had seen him in his dress uniform, leaning against a light pole, and I remember thinking, ‘Hmmm…how did I miss that?’”

 

Tillman had already encountered the Pasco fliers downtown, where they carried a 20mm ammunition case filled with ice and beer.

 

Beverly continued, “One evening the Round-Up court was at the country club for an event. The fliers from Pasco were there in dress blues,

because some of them had met other local girls. It got to be late and we decided to go to dinner, and I got up to leave. Then somebody asked, ‘Where’s Mac?’

 

“Mack was a short, stocky young man. I never did know the full names 

of any of the fliers because they came and went so much. But we all knew Mack. Finally somebody found him out behind the club house, asleep under a tree with the club’s big Saint Bernard. Mack had drunk about 12 Alexander cocktails and apparently crawled through the sprinklers on the green, because his blues were ruined from water and grass stains.

 

I’ve often wondered if Mack or any of those other fliers remember that night. But I certainly do!

THE NUKE SEASON REVISITED

 Because this month marks the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, ending the Second World War, I am reprinting the 2009 original with minor updates.

+++

What does baseball have to do with atom bombs?

A whimsical baseball movie was the 1949 Ray Milland offering, It Happens Every Spring. It’s an enjoyable tale about a college professor who invents a formula that repels wood, making it impossible for a batter to hit a ball coated with the stuff. The title refers to the annual onset of spring training.

That’s a lot like The Nuke Season. It happens every August with the anniversaries of the A-bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Since we’re now into this year’s Nuke Season, I’ll address the matter.

(Caution: if facts do not matter to you, skip this Rant. Some people prefer emotion to facts.)

Inevitably The Nuke Season features the following:

The bombs were unnecessary since Japan was about to surrender.
Truman only wanted to impress the Soviets.
Racist America used nukes against Asians but not against Germans.
A demonstration should have been made before destroying a city.
Blockade was preferable to bombing.

None of the foregoing assertions bear examination, to wit:

As British historian Max Hastings noted in Retribution (2008), "The myth that the Japanese were ready to surrender anyway has been so completely discredited by modern research that it is astonishing some writers continue to give it credence.” In researching Whirlwind, my volume on air operations over Japan, I found a wealth of Japanese testimony supporting Hastings’ conclusion. In 1943 Prime Minister Tojo admitted there was no viable plan to win the war, but hostilities continued. Admiral Onishi, the kamikaze master, asserted in March 1945 that the war had just begun. And a general staff officer told POWs that the war would last at least until 1948. 

Furthermore, the war cabinet’s actions give 0.00 credence to the notion that Japan was about to surrender. Tokyo rebuffed the allies’ Potsdam declaration calling for capitulation, and then sought intervention by the Soviets, who already planned to invade the Kurile Islands! There is no documentation that any of the eight men ruling Japan (including the emperor) stated before Hiroshima that they would have surrendered under any circumstances—not even when some were on trial for their lives. None stated that Soviet entry--plus some guarantee of the imperial system--would have moved them individually, much less triggered the necessary set of actions within the cabinet, that would have ended the war before the atoms were loosed. Two weeks before Hiroshima, Tokyo’s ambassador to Moscow said the best possible outcome was capitulation, perhaps with some guarantee of the emperor’s status—a situation rejected by the foreign minister and known by U.S. intelligence at the time.

So: if Tokyo was “about to surrender anyway” why did Hirohito have to over-ride his warlords? 

Harry Truman’s presumed intention to cow the Soviets with the nukes is another unsupportable contention. As commander in chief his first obligation was to the American forces facing a horrific invasion. Forcing Japan to surrender soonest was Job One, and any geopolitical fallout (!) was a tertiary concern if it was ever discussed at all. 

I encountered the “racism” mantra in college, and it still arises from the moldy PC pond. No less an authority than Malcolm X (!) stated that America would not use nukes against whites—a bald lie when the entire Manhattan Project was spurred by the German nuclear program. Colonel Paul Tibbets’ 509th Composite Group originally was instructed to conduct a dual strike: Germany and Japan. But “the weapon” was not available until July 1945, over two months after Germany surrendered. (When I noted that fact, the tweedy prof merely scrawled, “Are you sure?” and gave me a B+.)

Dropping a demonstration bomb was considered but rejected on at least two counts: it might be a dud, which would only reinforce Tokyo’s resolve; and there existed material for only two weapons at the time. Besides, there were in fact two demonstrations before Japan surrendered: at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

That leaves blockade which, short of invasion, was the only option other than declaring peace and going home. But as my colleague Rich Frank has observed in Downfall (1999), blockade would have killed far more people than the two A-bombs. Precious time would have passed, with at least hundreds of thousands of Japanese starving to death, plus millions more dead in Asia. As it was, perhaps 100,000 died there every month from famine, disease, and Japanese brutality. I have yet to see any critic even mention that fact. And it does not count the American KIAs sustaining a blockade—a cost that nuke critics seem willing to ignore.

So, here’s the deal:

You are Harry Truman in early August 1945. You have responsibility for ending a war that has killed nearly 400,000 Americans, with many thousands more to die in an invasion. Your military is divided on the subject: the Army under the megalomaniacal General Douglas MacArthur favors invasion while the Navy, which understands the human cost, opposes it. You know from intelligence sources that Tokyo is nowhere near capitulation. The daily cost of hostilities runs in the thousands 

You face an enemy unlike any in American history. You have seen the films of mothers throwing their infants off Saipan’s cliffs and jumping after them. You know that Tokyo is impervious to civilian suffering: after Curt LeMay’s B-29s burned down one-seventh of the city and killed at least 85,000 people one night in March, the war cabinet never flinched. You know that the government has closed schools and conscripted most of the civilian population into “volunteer” resistance units.

Now your scientists present you with the ultimate weapon bearing the potential for convincing the samurai zealots in Tokyo to “bear the unbearable.” If you decline that option and the invasion proceeds, eventually the parents of tens of thousands of GIs, Marines, and sailors will demand to know why you sent their sons to their deaths. You may or may not be lynched, but you definitely will be impeached.

What do you do?

It’s the lingering question whenever The Nuke Season rolls around.

THAT BUMP IN THE NIGHT

 

A few years ago around bedtime our security alarm went BEEEP.

 

I got the AR-15 with attached light just in case the electricity failed, but I left the interior lights on.  I briefly considered venturing outside but then thought....

 

Whatever-whomever's out there will see me back lighted and they'll be in darkness, Maglight or not.

 

So we called 911.  

 

I swear, in two minutes the PD had a helicopter overhead, scanning with its searchlight.  The gal at Dispatch was marvelous—calm, focused, even a bit funny.

 

Air One reported nothing visible.

 

Dispatch said two officers would arrive shortly.  I asked for a name.  She provided one.  (Separate story, see below.)

Doorbell rang and I played Whodat thru the door.

 

"Officer Stimpson."

 

Correctomundo.

 

We checked the perimeter (I being unarmed then) and found nothing.  Opened the electrical panel and...

 

A magnet had failed, allowing the alarm circuit to close.  Hence the BEEEP.

 

All was cool. 

 

Separate Story:

 

I asked where Officer Stimpson was from, and he said Utah.  I said dog-gone one of my best Navy ace friends was a Stimpson from Utah.  No relation that we could discern.  

 

Semi-semi related: Charlie Stimpson (16 kills) sported a Victory Model .38 with imitation bone grips.  Somewhere I may have a color pic.  One of his squadron mates (semi-POW of the Vichy French in Saigon) said he preferred the .38 and I asked why.  He said, "Have you ever carried a .45 all day?"  I confessed that yes, I have, but didn't go into details.

 

Anyway…

 

I take the threat of home invasion seriously.  One of my cherished friends—a two-war Marine Corps veteran--was murdered by a teenage POS who broke in late one night, demanding car keys.  The deputy who called to inform me said that the “suspect” was from a logging family with criminal backgrounds.  That came as no surprise—I’ve dealt with the type.

 

The murderer was tried and sentenced to death but then Oregon’s POS leftist governor suspended all death sentences for the remainder of his term.  (That governor later resigned in what passes for “disgrace” among Democrats.  The next Demogovernor commuted all death sentences to life.)

 

The trend continues.  Just this week during a crowded public safety meeting in Encino, California, police responded to two nearby residential break-ins.  The meeting was spurred by increased home invasions, notably the double murder of TV personalities this month.

 

A philosophical aside:

 

There are two kinds of people: grass eaters and meat eaters.

Or…there are copers and non-copers.

 

Both varieties are easily found on internet forums, usually preceded by libs who whine (and I’m quoting here) “Why don’t gun owners leave the house during a burglary?  Are their possessions more important than a life?”

 

Well, snowflake, consider this:

 

How much value does a criminal who invades your home place on his life?

 

Never thought of that did you?

 

No, of course not.

 

Yet  frequently the bleat arises again: “Why doesn’t somebody do something?”

 

Well, why don’t you do something like getting a gun and learning how to use it?

 

During the LA riots in 1992, some well-known entertainers sidled up to film writer-director and NRA board member John Milius (Dirty Harry, Conan, Apocalypse Now, Wind and the Lion, etc.) asking to borrow one of his firearms.  Reputedly he replied, “They’re all being used.

 

Moral: get your own.  And learn how to use them.

 

So…back to the bump in the night.

 

I’m excerpting a couple of passages from a former California police professional, previously one of my editors:

 

“For my pistols, if I need a light, I just turn it on and leave it on. I also turn on all the lights in the house, outside lights, everything. No need to be sneaky because I'll be yelling to get out of my house or my dogs and I are going to kill you!

 

“Dry firing? Turn the light on and aim things at the target and dry fire. At the range? Do the same thing. If you haven't done it much, with some loads, the smoke really shows up in the light and messes things up. Best to see that in person before you do it for real!

 

“My fighting guns are all iron sights. But two lights on the rifle, a light on each pistol.  The AR is a flat top, pencil barrel, old school fixed GI buttstock (I've had the collapsible ones collapse). 

 

I always also have two lights in my pockets. I've been in the dark before! I once started a felony hot stop with my early Streamlight. It died. Then I went to my backup light I had on my gunbelt. It died. Then I finally ended it using a small pocket light I had. 

 

“And I can speak from personal experience, when I pulled my gun on bad guys, my eyes were on the bad guy, not on the sights. Yes, I was indexing the gun, looking over the sights, but there would have been zero time to "transition to irons" if needed. It's silly stuff touted by people who don't know the real world. I agree, they're dandy for competition.

 

“But just that.”