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Russia’s Oil Problem Just Got Worse
Eventually, these guys wear out and come home. However, they
still retain a few marketable skills. Images: Department of Defense
My editors here at FMG let me indulge in a bit of fiction from time to time so long as I don’t grow overly accustomed to the space…
After all he had been through, after all he had seen and done, Matt Eastman never imagined that going to college could be so intimidating. Matt was the archetypal non-traditional student. He found himself utterly alone in an unfamiliar town, living off his GI bill, about to embark on Life 2.0.
Matt had discovered the crummy apartment online and dropped his deposit sight unseen. It turned out that the pictures on the website had been taken during the Clinton administration. This place was a dump, but the price was right. The actual unit he rented had peeling paint and smelled vaguely of cats. The carpet looked like some teenager’s High School science experiment. As Matt had moved his few possessions in, he humored himself. He had seen worse.
That first evening, around nine, there came a knock upon the door. Matt didn’t know a soul. He had literally no idea who this could be.
Matt was fit and lived alone. He also had very few material possessions. He had always been conservative with money. What he saved on this dump was going into his savings account to facilitate something better later, ideally something he might share with somebody a bit softer and less hairy than he. However, that was down the road a ways. For now, with literally nothing to fear, he just padded over to the door and swung it wide.
There were three rough-looking young men standing outside. Matt sized them up without conscious thought. He couldn’t help that. It was simply residual fallout from his former life. All three sported shaved heads, wife-beater t-shirts, and an excess of tats. They seemed vaguely surprised that Matt had actually opened his door without any extra cajoling.
The apparent alpha of this motley trio spoke first. He didn’t bother giving his name, “I am the leader of the local neighborhood watch, amigo. We come around every month to collect the neighborhood watch dues. They are fifty dollars due on the first.”
Matt did some quick mental math, multiplying his estimate of the number of apartments in this complex times fifty bucks each month. He was impressed. This was a pretty lucrative racket.
“What does that fifty bucks buy me, guys?” Matt asked amiably.
The leader spoke up again, “Fifty dollars a month guarantees you protection against the less savory members of the local community. My men and I patrol 24/7, making sure nobody messes with you or your stuff. However, fail to pay on time and bad stuff will happen to you. That’s predictable. Participation is not voluntary.”
The other two men just stood with their arms crossed and smiled.
Matt pondered for a moment before proceeding, “Well, I certainly appreciate your keeping our cozy little neighborhood safe, but I don’t have cash.
Something tells me you likely can’t process plastic. I don’t see how I can pay you for your service. That and today is the fifth of the month. I don’t have to pay for five days when I wasn’t here, do I?”
The leader continued, “Whatever, jefe. As today is the fifth, we’ll prorate it. That means you still owe us fifty bucks. We’ll give you until tomorrow to find an ATM. Don’t be late going forward. This is a dangerous neighborhood. We would hate for something bad to happen.”
“Why can’t I just call the cops?” Matt mused. “If this place is so rugged, surely the police could come up with some handy tips.”
“Listen, buddy,” the spokesman said. “Cops don’t come here. We own those that do. It’s just us in this place. Nobody else is coming to help you. Just dig up fifty bucks by the first of every month, and you’ll be fine.”
Matt answered, “I’m a brand new student, so I’ll be gone most of tomorrow. However, I will be back in time for supper. I’ll make a point to be ready then. I appreciate the selfless work that you neighborhood watch volunteers do on my behalf. Fifty dollars seems like a bargain.”
The three men stole a quick glance at each other. The only one who had spoken carefully lifted the edge of his shirt to expose the butt of a heavy magnum revolver stuffed into his low-slung britches. Matt seemed suitably impressed, and the three men departed.
Matt pored over the exchange much of the evening and into the following morning. The next day was a blur of offices and administrative minutiae. In some ways, that wasn’t altogether different from his old job. Before he knew it, the day’s school registration chores were done, he had a class schedule, and it was time to head home. He didn’t bother with the ATM.
Matt slipped into his austere apartment and bolted the flimsy door. In his entire world, he owned one single item of value. He spun the combination lock off of his heavy plastic case and swung the lid wide. Resting atop his hand-built rifle was his tan beret, carefully folded. This he set aside. He then hefted his Mk 18 and worked the action by rote, its familiar dimensions falling into his hands like a piece of his anatomy.
He had built the weapon up himself to reflect the gun he had used during his time in special operations. He gave the suppressor a quick twist to ensure that it was still locked tight and then replaced the batteries in both the Holosight as well as the tactical light. Scooping up four full P-Mags, he then placed everything on his rickety coffee table.
Matt judged the space with a discerning eye. He then dragged his battered recliner over until it faced the apartment’s only door squarely. Satisfied that the geometry was right, he flipped on the outside light before extinguishing everything inside. He then unlocked the door and cracked it open about two inches. Sickly yellow illumination streamed through the opening from the isolated bulb on the landing.
Satisfied, Matt dropped himself back into his chair, quietly charged his rifle, and rested the weapon across his lap. The only adornment in the apartment was a professionally framed scroll from his time in the 2-75 Rangers hanging lonely and alone on his living room wall. This he could just barely make out in the dim glow from outside. Glancing at the luminescent hands of his expensive dive watch, Matt allowed his vision to acclimate, steadied his breathing, and waited.
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Liking, Disliking & vise versa
A Japanese sword took LT George Cairns’ arm on a Burmese hilltop. He seized that same blade, kept fighting, and earned a place among Britain’s most savage Victoria Cross legends.
Mankind has been consumed with war since our very beginnings. Ever since Cain knocked his brother Abel’s brains out with a rock, we have been a species of scrappers. We venerate warriors and celebrate their wars. Along the way, we have somehow lost touch with just how ghastly real war actually is.
Everybody dies. That’s obviously a given. However, that war takes young people in their prime is what makes it so utterly repugnant. Were that not so, I’m sure we would be doing even more of it.
War Never Changes: How George Cairns Reached Burma
The development of weapons brought us such stuff as GPS, microwave ovens, and the Internet. Jet engines, digital cameras, synthetic materials, and EpiPens all had their origins in military technologies as well. However, at the end of the day, whether it is a HIMARS rocket, a ship-mounted laser, or a 16th-century Scottish Claymore broadsword, the ultimate objective is still simply to tear the very life out of our enemies. No matter how much seems to change, the unfortunate end goal nonetheless remains the same.
Modern battlefields are truly horrible things. JDAM smart bombs, shaped charges, thermobaric weapons, and depleted uranium projectiles all conspire to make a proper mess of human flesh. However, war in eras past was hardly all unicorns and butterflies. Hacking some poor schmuck limb from limb was also fairly untidy. It turns out that this propensity toward vivisection extends up into the last century as well.
George Cairns Before the Victoria Cross: Banker, Husband, Soldier
George Albert Cairns was born in December 1913 in London. He attended the Sir Henry Compton School in Fulham from 1923 through 1930. He subsequently took a job in a bank in Kent, where he met his future wife, Ena. The two were married in 1940. The following year, George answered his nation’s call and went off to war.
Cairns was a dedicated natural leader. He earned a commission and was appointed to the Somerset Light Infantry (Prince Albert’s). He was subsequently attached to the South Staffordshire Regiment and deployed to Burma. The South Staffordshire was a Chindit battalion subordinate to the 77th Indian Infantry Brigade commanded by the legendary Brigadier Michael Calvert.
By March of 1944, Cairns was 30 years old. That seems pretty young to me. However, in soldier years, he was veritably ancient.
Soldiering is a young man’s game. I look back with fondness on my time in uniform. However, I do recall being tired and sore a lot. Deprivation, hunger, and misery are integral parts of the life of any proper combat soldier in the field. Cairns and his mates found that in abundance in the fetid jungles of Burma.
Pagoda Hill Explodes: The Chindits Meet the Japanese
On 16 March 1944, Cairns and the South Staffords dug in near a place called the White City. The Japanese were rabid to stop the British advance. The Brits, for their part, were disinclined to comply. The end result was a most ferocious fight.
Near the South Staffords’ fighting positions was a pagoda on a prominent hilltop. As near as anyone could tell, neither force had bothered to take that place just yet. Both sides had actually dug formidable fighting positions within earshot of the other, apparently without either unit being the wiser. That all changed when an unsuspecting Japanese patrol wandered across the abandoned pagoda in search of something or other. At around 11 am, everything came unglued.
Brigadier Calvert led the attack himself. He later wrote, “On the top of Pagoda Hill, not much bigger than two tennis courts, an amazing scene developed. The small white Pagoda was in the centre of the hill. Between that and the slopes which came up was a mêlée of South Staffords and Japanese bayonetting, fighting with each other, with some Japanese just throwing grenades from the flanks…There, at the top of the hill, about fifty yards square, an extraordinary mêlée took place, everyone shooting, bayoneting, kicking at everyone else, rather like an officers’ guest night.”
Amidst all of that mayhem, LT Cairns strived mightily to hold the defensive line intact. While coordinating this vigorous defense, Cairns looked up just in time to spot a Japanese officer charging toward him at a dead run, waving a sword. There was no time to react properly. In the face of imminent death, Albert Cairns did what any normal person might do–he reflexively raised his left arm. The maniacal Japanese officer slashed with his weapon and all but took LT Cairns’ left arm off.
One Arm Gone, Sword in Hand: Cairns Refuses to Die Quietly
At this point, LT Cairns had a decision to make. If some screaming nutjob hacked my arm off with a big honking sword, I’m fairly certain I would just take my toys and go home. Not so, LT Cairns. Cairns shot and killed the Japanese officer who had taken his arm before snatching up the dead soldier’s blade and going to town on the rest of his maniacal buddies.
LT Norman Durant was a machine gun platoon leader assigned to the same unit. His vantage with his support weapons afforded him a fairly decent view of the battlefield. This is what he had to say about LT Cairns: “The first thing I saw on reaching the path was a horrible hand-to-hand struggle going on further up the hill. George Cairns and a Jap were struggling and choking on the ground, and as I picked up a Jap rifle and climbed up towards them, I saw George break free and, picking up a rifle bayonet, stab the Jap again and again like a madman. It was only when I got near that I saw he himself had already been bayoneted twice through the side and that his left arm was hanging on by a few strips of muscle. How he had found the strength to fight was a miracle, but the effort had been too much and he died the next morning.”
So, this brass-balled young British infantry officer had been ventilated twice with bayonets before having his left arm quite literally chopped off. Despite these extraordinary wounds, Cairns unleashed his inner monster on the attacking Japanese.
Using the dead Japanese officer’s sword, this one-armed lunatic launched himself into the remaining Japanese troops like a Dervish. When the dust settled, survivors counted 42 Japanese dead in and around the hilltop that housed the pagoda. Nobody knew who got whom. However, Cairns did most of his serious killing with the same sword that had been used to, moments before, lop off his own left arm.
The Victoria Cross Fight That Nearly Vanished With Wingate
Once the dust settled, LT Cairns understandably ran out of gas. His words were, “’Have we won sir? Was it all right? Did we do our stuff? Don’t worry about me.” The following day, this remarkable young man died.
Stripping a sword from an adversary and then using it to obliterate an attacking unit after having your own arm chopped off seemed like Victoria Cross material, no matter how you sliced it. The VC is Great Britain’s highest award for gallantry in action. It is the Limey equivalent of our Medal of Honor.
One of Cairns’ officers duly put in the work, and the award recommendation made its way up to General Orde Wingate, the commanding general of the Chindits. Wingate was a weird duck. A committed Christian Zionist, Wingate cut his teeth fighting the Arabs in British-occupied Palestine. He once attempted suicide by stabbing himself in the neck while under the depressing effects of atabrine for his malaria.
By the time he commanded the Chindits, Wingate was habitually munching on raw onions to help ward off disease and made a habit of greeting visitors in the nude. On 24 March 1944, Wingate climbed aboard an American B25 Mitchell bomber along with two British war correspondents. The pilot objected that the airplane was grossly overloaded, but Wingate insisted. The plane subsequently crashed into the jungle in India, killing all aboard. LT Cairns’ VC recommendation was on Wingate’s person at the time.
George Cairns’ Victoria Cross Citation: Valor Beyond Belief
A 1949 article in The Times revived the process. By then, two of the three required witnesses had been killed in action. Eventually, thanks to the tireless efforts of his widow Ena Cairns, George’s Victoria Cross was approved. This is the citation:
“On 12 March 1944, columns from the South Staffordshire Regiment and 3/6 Gurkha Rifles established a road and rail block across the Japanese lines of communication at Henu Block.
The Japanese counter-attacked this position heavily in the early morning of 13 March 1944, and the South Staffordshire Regiment was ordered to attack a hill-top which formed the basis of the Japanese attack.
During this action, in which Lieutenant CAIRNS took a foremost part, he was attacked by a Japanese officer, who, with his sword, hacked off Lieutenant CAIRNS’s left arm. Lieutenant CAIRNS killed this Officer; picked up the sword and continued to lead his men in the attack, and, slashing left and right with the captured sword, killed and wounded several Japanese before he himself fell to the ground.
Lieutenant CAIRNS subsequently died from his wounds. His action so inspired all his comrades that, later, the Japanese were completely routed, a very rare occurrence at that time.”
LT George Cairns Went Down Fighting and Became a Legend
We have explored a great many remarkable tales of daring and elan in this space in the past. I can’t recall ever writing about some lunatic guy who kept on fighting with the sword his attacker had only recently used to relieve him of his arm. LT George Cairns was indeed a hero of the highest order.
Will is still trying to figure out what he really wants to be when he grows up. However, shooting guns and claiming it was work seemed like a pretty sweet hustle. As a result, Will serendipitously transformed an avocation into a vocation.
Raised in the Mississippi Delta, Will flew UH1H, OH58A/C, CH47D and AH1S helicopters operationally as an Army Aviator. He is SCUBA-qualified and has parachuted out of perfectly good airplanes at 3 o’clock in the morning. Will has summited Mount McKinley, Alaska, six times…always at the controls of an Army helicopter, which is the only way sensible folk climb mountains.
Will has delivered sixty babies and occasionally wrung human blood out of his socks. He is married to his high school sweetheart and has three awesome adult children. Turn-ons include vintage German machineguns, flying his sexy-cool RV6A airplane, Count Chocula cereal and the movie “Aliens.”
www.word-monkey.com
Experience:
-Professional Writer-thousands of publishing credits for dozens of titles
-Mechanical Engineer/Practicing Physician
-Instrument-rated Commercial Pilot
-Sunday School Teacher
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