I’ve written about 550 articles for more than 60 publications worldwide, but one magazine stands out. Let me tell you about it.
One morning in 1984 firearms guru Jeff Cooper called, suggesting that I talk to Bob Brown of Soldier of Fortune about the Bren Ten pistol that Jeff was promoting. Since I had contributed to SOF and participated in its shooting matches, I ventured that I’d like to hear more.
Next thing I knew, that Yosemite Sam voice was in my ear. “Tillman? Brown. I guess you heard from Cooper. Are you interested?”
The details were, um, intriguing. I would go to El Salvador with an SOF team to initiate the Bren Ten to combat, then return (!) to write an article about it. As Bob later admitted, "Cooper and I had three criteria: we needed a good enough shooter, we needed a good enough writer--and we needed somebody dumb enough to do it. So we said, LET'S CALL TILLMAN!"
Much as I appreciated Jeff and Bob’s confidence (I was less certain of their rationale!), it never happened. The Bren was plagued with 10mm ammo and magazine problems that were only solved after the El Sal option lapsed.
Nonetheless, that nascent episode represented Soldier of Fortune in microcosm: a hands-on approach to innovative, front-line journalism.
SOF popped its first literary cap in July 1975 with a format that set the trend for the next three decades. Robert K. Brown is a former Special Forces captain and Vietnam vet with a master’s in political science and jump wings from half a dozen nations. He’s also a natural entrepreneur who saw a niche and moved to fill the void.
The magazine began on little more than a shoestring and a hunch. Living in Boulder, Brown perceived an unfilled market and presold 4,000 subscriptions which paid for the printing of the first issue. Billed as “The Journal of Professional Adventurers,” SOF caught on almost immediately.
SOF recruited a network of free lance correspondents who provided on-the-ground coverage of conflicts from Rhodesia to El Salvador to Afghanistan to Burma and many intermediate stops. Consequently, military intelligence operatives began subscribing (or taking home copies in plain brown wrappers) because Bob’s boys in the bush covered events that the mainstream media overlooked.
Bob Brown believes in participatory journalism—the kind that Geraldo can only dream about. SOF provided the U.S. Government with its first AK-74, obtained in Afghanistan, and fetched home with 5,000 rounds of 5.45mm ammo to boot.
A few SOFers like to portray themselves as knuckle-dragging mercs, but that’s for show. Some are deceptively accomplished: one owns a law degree from Harvard; another used more C4 explosive than anyone outside the U.S. government. The byword is professionalism. For instance, a 1983 report describing the work of a 12-man SOF team in El Salvador covers 47 pages including weapons maintenance, ambush doctrine, and field medicine. But one of the salient recommendations was geopolitical: “It is suggested that the Government of El Salvador would gain more support in North America if more publicity were given to the fact that in a nation of 5 million people, one province has had 90,000 individuals who have fled communist areas. Aid given to these and other displaced persons by the government should also be publicized.”
The ultimate authority on RKB is, of course, RKB himself. He never expressed it better than in a 1986 editiorial: “For the last decade, I’ve been humping a rifle and a camera around the world’s combat zones. I’ve hunted terrorists with the Rhodesian African Rifles and fired up a Russian fort in Afghanistan with the mujahadeen. I’ve searched for POWs in Southeast Asia and survived a Sandinista rocket barrage alongside Nicaraguan contras. Between firefights, takeovers and insurgencies, I manage to put out a magazine.’
With a wealth of military experience, SOF staffers essentially became the bow wave of today’s “private military contractors” but frequently worked for expenses--or less. Often as not, Bob’s teams were up front, alongside the host-country nationals, rifles in Condition One and grenade pins straightened. Training “local indigenous personnel” was a big part of what Brown did in Special Forces, and he pursued that goal with relentless determination.
Some SOF correspondents appeared fearless, and some paid the ultimate price. In the first 25 years, four who braved the most dangerous missions died in the line of duty, whether as free-lance journalists or free-lance mercs: George Bacon, III, in Angola; Michael Echanis in Nicaragua; Lance Motley in Thailand; and Colonel Robert MacKenzie in Sierra Leone.
Certainly the magazine has drawn its share of controversy. It has consistently outraged the left by publishing Rhodesian Army recruiting posters, to offering a $25,000 in gold to a defector from Cuban intelligence, to a $1,000,000 reward for the defection of a Nicaraguan MI-24. All the while training the Contras and Salvadorian Army.
In the 1980s SOF was sued for running ads from individuals linked to criminal activities. Most of the suits were dismissed and one was settled out of court, leading to a suspension of work-for-hire advertising.
Behind the front-line reportage and splashy news coverage, SOF did something more: it supported Vietnam veterans as no other publications ever have. That may seem natural since Brown and so many staffers are former Nam vets, but the thread is deeply woven into the magazine’s fabric. The 25th anniversary issue said in part, “Overnight, SOF offered Vietnam vets the recognition they deserved, a home in a sense, a meeting place for like souls. Like a banner, it acknowledged their sacrifices and continues to do so, loudly and loyally.”
The sense of camaraderie was evident in the first SOF convention I attended in the 1980s. Seated beside me was a former Green Beret officer who confided, “Being with these guys is the best I’ve felt about myself since Vietnam.”
In 1985 the magazine’s 10th anniversary drew congratulatory messages from a wide spectrum: Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, the USAF media office, Vietnam Veterans Coalition, U.S. senators, Charlton Heston, and Arnold Schwarzenegger, among others.
Now, 25 years later, SOF and RKB are still going strong, headed for a fourth decade of reporting from the world’s hot spots, with a style and all its own. Bob Brown sums up his philosophy with the motto: “Slay dragons, do noble deeds and never, never, never, give up.”
http://www.sofmag.com/
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
GO AHEAD AND LIE
Question: Does freedom of expression include a “right” to lie?
Answer: Yes, it does.
In 2007 Congress passed the Stolen Valor Act, making it unlawful to falsely state he has been awarded a military decoration. The law was enacted after decades of phony “war heroes” claim to hold everything up to and including the Medal of Honor. The act prevents falsely claiming verbally or in writing to have received “any of the service medals or badges awarded to members (of the armed forces) the ribbon, button, or rosette of any such badge, decoration, or medal, or any colorable imitation of such item.”
Yet earlier this year a Colorado judge deemed the Stolen Valor Act to be unconstitutional on the basis of “free speech.”
The jurist is District Judge Robert Blackburn, who declared the law “troubling” and somehow contrary to “well established First Amendment doctrine.” You have to go a long way around the block to arrive at the destination the judge desires, because his ruling cites higher court decisions regarding public depiction of pornography and animal cruelty.
Previously the federal government had filed dozens of cases against individuals who misrepresented their military records. The offenders include veterans as well as people who have never served in the armed forces. So how does anyone justify a blatant misrepresentation made public by appearance, speech, or writing?
Presumably the “Go ahead and lie” concept relates to the old (old) stricture against shouting “Fire!” in a crowded theater. Consequently, pettifogging lawyers for the wannabe heroes have adopted a “no harm, no foul” argument, asserting that absent any harm, there should be no offense. By extension, that line of “reasoning” holds that people should be free to lie without accountability.
The “Go ahead and lie” crowd ignores an intrinsic contradiction. The U.S. Government produces and awards military medals to service members deemed worthy of the decorations. (The fact that everything from the Medal of Honor on down has been awarded according to vastly different criteria is a separate issue.) Since We The People create and present military medals, it’s entirely appropriate and logical that We the People can and should state under what conditions those items may be worn or otherwise claimed. Limiting their display or claim to individuals who have actually earned them represents no form of discrimination against imposters, nowaynohow. Anybody with two gray cells to rub together understands that concept.
Military imposters are everywhere. It’s almost epidemic proportions, leading to web sites containing the names of fakers. And thereby lies another inherent contradiction: most phonies want to be known under their own names, otherwise what’s the point? So at least part of the problem is due to naïve/gullible/stupid people who accept fakes at their word rather than spending two minutes on Google. After all, this is The Information Age.
Yet liars and fakers persist. One of the most successful was the publisher of Arizona’s largest newspaper. For years he passed himself off as an Air Force pilot, complete with mess dress uniform and miniature medals. Finally in the 1980s he was exposed by one of his own reporters.
A Californian got away with absurd claims to naval aviation heroism for years before he died. His Powerpoint presentation showed “him” with “his squadron.” The photo was immediately recognizable: it was lifted from a book by a colleague of mine. The “lanky gentleman” of email fame was a total fraud: his name appeared in no documents covering the ships or squadrons he claimed. Yet he deceived school teachers and his local paper, which ignored irrevocable evidence of his lying and refused to correct a fawning obituary.
In Florida during the 1990s an individual passed himself off as “Colonel John C. Meyer,” high-scoring fighter ace and recipient of three Distinguished Service Crosses. A model shop run by babes in the Everglades presented him replicas of “his” airplanes and showed his picture on a web site. The teeny-weeny problem was, four-star General John C. Meyer had died in 1975. When the modelers were confronted with the facts—they didn’t believe me at first.
Other fakes persist despite being easily disproved. I’ve met a Jewish gal who claimed she flew F-4 Phantoms in the Israeli Air Force but didn’t know that delta-winged aircraft bleed energy in turns. I’ve met an overweight (read: semi-obese) “sniper” who claimed he’d been in combat three years previously.
So where do we stand with the Colorado case?
Prosecutors said they would appeal Blackburn’s ruling, and undoubtedly it will take years to shake out, if at all. Defenders of the truth default to the emotional level: permitting imposters to get away with their claims denigrates the service and sacrifice of genuine military personnel. That’s undoubtedly true, but it should not obscure the black-white ethical concerns.
Meanwhile, Blackburn’s “Go ahead and lie” decision represents the continued erosion of traditional/historic values in this nation. Another generation will grow up amid greater confusion about right and wrong, increasingly confused as to when it’s alright to lie and when it’s not. So here’s a quick reference for the ethically challenged:
(1) Lying is wrong.
(2) Liars should be held accountable.
Next subject.
Answer: Yes, it does.
In 2007 Congress passed the Stolen Valor Act, making it unlawful to falsely state he has been awarded a military decoration. The law was enacted after decades of phony “war heroes” claim to hold everything up to and including the Medal of Honor. The act prevents falsely claiming verbally or in writing to have received “any of the service medals or badges awarded to members (of the armed forces) the ribbon, button, or rosette of any such badge, decoration, or medal, or any colorable imitation of such item.”
Yet earlier this year a Colorado judge deemed the Stolen Valor Act to be unconstitutional on the basis of “free speech.”
The jurist is District Judge Robert Blackburn, who declared the law “troubling” and somehow contrary to “well established First Amendment doctrine.” You have to go a long way around the block to arrive at the destination the judge desires, because his ruling cites higher court decisions regarding public depiction of pornography and animal cruelty.
Previously the federal government had filed dozens of cases against individuals who misrepresented their military records. The offenders include veterans as well as people who have never served in the armed forces. So how does anyone justify a blatant misrepresentation made public by appearance, speech, or writing?
Presumably the “Go ahead and lie” concept relates to the old (old) stricture against shouting “Fire!” in a crowded theater. Consequently, pettifogging lawyers for the wannabe heroes have adopted a “no harm, no foul” argument, asserting that absent any harm, there should be no offense. By extension, that line of “reasoning” holds that people should be free to lie without accountability.
The “Go ahead and lie” crowd ignores an intrinsic contradiction. The U.S. Government produces and awards military medals to service members deemed worthy of the decorations. (The fact that everything from the Medal of Honor on down has been awarded according to vastly different criteria is a separate issue.) Since We The People create and present military medals, it’s entirely appropriate and logical that We the People can and should state under what conditions those items may be worn or otherwise claimed. Limiting their display or claim to individuals who have actually earned them represents no form of discrimination against imposters, nowaynohow. Anybody with two gray cells to rub together understands that concept.
Military imposters are everywhere. It’s almost epidemic proportions, leading to web sites containing the names of fakers. And thereby lies another inherent contradiction: most phonies want to be known under their own names, otherwise what’s the point? So at least part of the problem is due to naïve/gullible/stupid people who accept fakes at their word rather than spending two minutes on Google. After all, this is The Information Age.
Yet liars and fakers persist. One of the most successful was the publisher of Arizona’s largest newspaper. For years he passed himself off as an Air Force pilot, complete with mess dress uniform and miniature medals. Finally in the 1980s he was exposed by one of his own reporters.
A Californian got away with absurd claims to naval aviation heroism for years before he died. His Powerpoint presentation showed “him” with “his squadron.” The photo was immediately recognizable: it was lifted from a book by a colleague of mine. The “lanky gentleman” of email fame was a total fraud: his name appeared in no documents covering the ships or squadrons he claimed. Yet he deceived school teachers and his local paper, which ignored irrevocable evidence of his lying and refused to correct a fawning obituary.
In Florida during the 1990s an individual passed himself off as “Colonel John C. Meyer,” high-scoring fighter ace and recipient of three Distinguished Service Crosses. A model shop run by babes in the Everglades presented him replicas of “his” airplanes and showed his picture on a web site. The teeny-weeny problem was, four-star General John C. Meyer had died in 1975. When the modelers were confronted with the facts—they didn’t believe me at first.
Other fakes persist despite being easily disproved. I’ve met a Jewish gal who claimed she flew F-4 Phantoms in the Israeli Air Force but didn’t know that delta-winged aircraft bleed energy in turns. I’ve met an overweight (read: semi-obese) “sniper” who claimed he’d been in combat three years previously.
So where do we stand with the Colorado case?
Prosecutors said they would appeal Blackburn’s ruling, and undoubtedly it will take years to shake out, if at all. Defenders of the truth default to the emotional level: permitting imposters to get away with their claims denigrates the service and sacrifice of genuine military personnel. That’s undoubtedly true, but it should not obscure the black-white ethical concerns.
Meanwhile, Blackburn’s “Go ahead and lie” decision represents the continued erosion of traditional/historic values in this nation. Another generation will grow up amid greater confusion about right and wrong, increasingly confused as to when it’s alright to lie and when it’s not. So here’s a quick reference for the ethically challenged:
(1) Lying is wrong.
(2) Liars should be held accountable.
Next subject.
Monday, August 23, 2010
CALLSIGNS
In military aviation, a callsign is the hook upon which radio communication is suspended. There are all kinds of callsigns: for units, bases, ships, control centers—and Sierra Hotel aviators. The latter draws by far the most attention, as per the 1986 movie Top Gun with “Maverick”, “Goose,” “Viper,” and “Iceman.” The film was a live-action cartoon but it did popularize naval aviation—and the callsign culture.
Recently callsigns made the news when a naval officer objected to the suggestions made by his Norfolk squadronmates. Some highly un-PC monikers were thrown about, questioning the individual’s masculinity. Former Navy Secretary John Lehman, a naval flight officer, seemed skeptical, claiming he had never heard any uncomplimentary callsigns in his forty years of experience.
Ahem.
In truth, “callsign” has become a synonym for “nickname.” The ensign in Norfolk is an administrative officer and therefore not eligible for a genuine callsign, which is intended for in-flight transmissions.
Obviously callsigns didn’t exist before airborne radios. Squadrons and bases had code words-cum-callsigns from the 1930s but the practice of a specific pilot adopting a callsign apparently originated in the Italian Air Force in World War II. A piloto rose to squadron command and thereby adopted his academy nickname: Gato. Seems that as a cadet he had accepted a dare to skin and eat a cat.
In the U.S. Navy individual callsigns apparently emerged circa the early 60s. Veterans (read: survivors) of those days recall that division leaders began using their nicknames to identify their four-plane flights, thus “Punchy” was accompanied by Punchy Two, Three, and Four. However, squadrons retained their formal callsigns, followed by each airplane’s side number. “Old Salt 301” belonged to the skipper of Attack Squadron 163, but each squadron in the air wing had a dedicated “CAG bird” with the wing commander’s name painted thereon. Known as “double nuts”, it would be “Old Salt 300” or, for the lower-numbered squadrons, perhaps Charger 100 and Hunter 200.
Many callsigns are inevitable. All Rhodes are “Dusty,” every Lane is “Shady,” and any Gibson is “Hoot.” The skipper and executive officer are "CO" and "XO" while the ordnance warrant officer always is “Gunner.” But most names are far more esoteric. A quick scan of the The Hook magazine over the years produces some notable monikers: Barf, Cuddles, Dirt, Gonzo, Loaf, Manhole, Rattler, Speedface, and Talent. The reasons behind each make diverting speculation.
Probably the most astute comment ever made on the subject was penned by the late aviation photographer George Hall who said, “If pilots were allowed to pick their own callsigns there would be as many ‘Killers’ at Ramstein as there are McDougals in Edinburgh.”
Truth.
Fact is, many callsigns are the result of a screwup or embarrassment. An aviator called “Hook” likely failed to lower his tailhook prior to a carrier landing attempt. One friend, an Eagle driver, confides that he was dubbed "Skippy"--something to do with a blonde, a jar of peanut butter, and mucho tequila. Other names are so blatant that it’s mildly astonishing that they ever got painted on airplanes. “Master” Bates leaps to mind.
A kickass Cruasader pilot (and future MiG killer) chose a self-deprecating callsign. He said, “The other guys wanted to be Warrior or Gladiator but I could beat them one on one so I wanted to humiliate them with the most disgusting name I could think of. That’s how I became ‘Rat.’”
Some official callsigns just don’t make the cut. Two Navy wing commanders from 1965 were “Earlobe” for CAG-7 and “Smoke Tree” for CAG-16. The recipients declined such mundane monikers: Harry Gerhard opted for “Cobra” while James Bond Stockdale used “Zero Zero Seven.”
In the Air Force, callsigns frequently are rotated among units, either as some wings are disbanded or to confuse potential enemies. For instance, “Killer” has been assigned to units flying A-10s, F-15s, and F-16s at three separate bases. “King” is even more eclectic, being used by USAF and USN fighters, surveillance planes, helos, and transports. “Magic” has been used by allied forces from the Netherlands to Japan.
Then there’s “Tiger.” A-10s, B-1s, C-130s, KC-135s, E-2s, F-15s, F-16s, H-53s, and P-3s. But even that is exceeded by no fewer than 20 “Vipers,” only half of which refer to F-16s. If you’re curious, check this impressive site:
http://www.monitoringtimes.com/MilitaryCallsignList-APR09.pdf
Some unit callsigns are more involved than it may seem. For instance, Air Force transports usually have five-letter callsigns such as “Heavy” or “Amway.”
One of the most enduring callsigns is “Horseback,” the radio handle of Colonel Don Blakeslee commanding the fabled Fourth Fighter Group in England in 1944. Just the ticket for a unit flying Mustangs!
However, other callsigns become politically unacceptable. Consider Navy helicopter squadron HS-2, known throughout the Tonkin Gulf as “Chink.” A friend of mine piloted Chink 69 to a spectacular rescue in Haiphong Harbor in 1967, receiving a well deserved Silver Star in the process. But today that’s verboten—probably considered as offensive as “Gook.” Sometimes we’re permitted to slay the enemy but perish forbid we should ever insult him!
Some other favorites: Bison (325th FW), Bronco (A-10s and F-16s among others); Busy Bee (VA-146), City Desk (VF-154), Feedbag (VF-191), Ghost Rider (VA-164), Rampage (VAQ-138) and Showtime (VF-96).
Readers are invited to submit their favorite callsigns in the comments section. If you have trouble signing on (as many do) just drop me an egram and I’ll insert it later.
“Shooter” sends.
Recently callsigns made the news when a naval officer objected to the suggestions made by his Norfolk squadronmates. Some highly un-PC monikers were thrown about, questioning the individual’s masculinity. Former Navy Secretary John Lehman, a naval flight officer, seemed skeptical, claiming he had never heard any uncomplimentary callsigns in his forty years of experience.
Ahem.
In truth, “callsign” has become a synonym for “nickname.” The ensign in Norfolk is an administrative officer and therefore not eligible for a genuine callsign, which is intended for in-flight transmissions.
Obviously callsigns didn’t exist before airborne radios. Squadrons and bases had code words-cum-callsigns from the 1930s but the practice of a specific pilot adopting a callsign apparently originated in the Italian Air Force in World War II. A piloto rose to squadron command and thereby adopted his academy nickname: Gato. Seems that as a cadet he had accepted a dare to skin and eat a cat.
In the U.S. Navy individual callsigns apparently emerged circa the early 60s. Veterans (read: survivors) of those days recall that division leaders began using their nicknames to identify their four-plane flights, thus “Punchy” was accompanied by Punchy Two, Three, and Four. However, squadrons retained their formal callsigns, followed by each airplane’s side number. “Old Salt 301” belonged to the skipper of Attack Squadron 163, but each squadron in the air wing had a dedicated “CAG bird” with the wing commander’s name painted thereon. Known as “double nuts”, it would be “Old Salt 300” or, for the lower-numbered squadrons, perhaps Charger 100 and Hunter 200.
Many callsigns are inevitable. All Rhodes are “Dusty,” every Lane is “Shady,” and any Gibson is “Hoot.” The skipper and executive officer are "CO" and "XO" while the ordnance warrant officer always is “Gunner.” But most names are far more esoteric. A quick scan of the The Hook magazine over the years produces some notable monikers: Barf, Cuddles, Dirt, Gonzo, Loaf, Manhole, Rattler, Speedface, and Talent. The reasons behind each make diverting speculation.
Probably the most astute comment ever made on the subject was penned by the late aviation photographer George Hall who said, “If pilots were allowed to pick their own callsigns there would be as many ‘Killers’ at Ramstein as there are McDougals in Edinburgh.”
Truth.
Fact is, many callsigns are the result of a screwup or embarrassment. An aviator called “Hook” likely failed to lower his tailhook prior to a carrier landing attempt. One friend, an Eagle driver, confides that he was dubbed "Skippy"--something to do with a blonde, a jar of peanut butter, and mucho tequila. Other names are so blatant that it’s mildly astonishing that they ever got painted on airplanes. “Master” Bates leaps to mind.
A kickass Cruasader pilot (and future MiG killer) chose a self-deprecating callsign. He said, “The other guys wanted to be Warrior or Gladiator but I could beat them one on one so I wanted to humiliate them with the most disgusting name I could think of. That’s how I became ‘Rat.’”
Some official callsigns just don’t make the cut. Two Navy wing commanders from 1965 were “Earlobe” for CAG-7 and “Smoke Tree” for CAG-16. The recipients declined such mundane monikers: Harry Gerhard opted for “Cobra” while James Bond Stockdale used “Zero Zero Seven.”
In the Air Force, callsigns frequently are rotated among units, either as some wings are disbanded or to confuse potential enemies. For instance, “Killer” has been assigned to units flying A-10s, F-15s, and F-16s at three separate bases. “King” is even more eclectic, being used by USAF and USN fighters, surveillance planes, helos, and transports. “Magic” has been used by allied forces from the Netherlands to Japan.
Then there’s “Tiger.” A-10s, B-1s, C-130s, KC-135s, E-2s, F-15s, F-16s, H-53s, and P-3s. But even that is exceeded by no fewer than 20 “Vipers,” only half of which refer to F-16s. If you’re curious, check this impressive site:
http://www.monitoringtimes.com/MilitaryCallsignList-APR09.pdf
Some unit callsigns are more involved than it may seem. For instance, Air Force transports usually have five-letter callsigns such as “Heavy” or “Amway.”
One of the most enduring callsigns is “Horseback,” the radio handle of Colonel Don Blakeslee commanding the fabled Fourth Fighter Group in England in 1944. Just the ticket for a unit flying Mustangs!
However, other callsigns become politically unacceptable. Consider Navy helicopter squadron HS-2, known throughout the Tonkin Gulf as “Chink.” A friend of mine piloted Chink 69 to a spectacular rescue in Haiphong Harbor in 1967, receiving a well deserved Silver Star in the process. But today that’s verboten—probably considered as offensive as “Gook.” Sometimes we’re permitted to slay the enemy but perish forbid we should ever insult him!
Some other favorites: Bison (325th FW), Bronco (A-10s and F-16s among others); Busy Bee (VA-146), City Desk (VF-154), Feedbag (VF-191), Ghost Rider (VA-164), Rampage (VAQ-138) and Showtime (VF-96).
Readers are invited to submit their favorite callsigns in the comments section. If you have trouble signing on (as many do) just drop me an egram and I’ll insert it later.
“Shooter” sends.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
