Special Operations Forces

Watch “Big Mountain Heroes”, Healing Veterans Holistically

We all know or are ourselves in various stages of a love/hate relationship with the Veterans Administration. And most of us know that the vast majority of the VA is staffed with dedicated doctors that truly want to help our veterans. But that like any huge bureaucracy, that help is often caught up in an endless sea of red tape.

And in that, the VA is often just using drugs as therapy rather than a holistic approach to cure rather than just treat the symptoms is…at times, infuriating. We’ve all been there. But there are other ways to treat our veterans.

One alternative method was tried by Hurricane Media’s Brandon Webb, a former Navy SEAL, and best-selling author. His idea was to bring several Special Operations veterans from various services and units together, bond them together in a challenging yet beautiful environment at Chamonix in the French Alps and use extreme sports and the outdoors as a way of healing the entire person and not just by using drug therapy.

Webb, Nick Betts, and Jason Kenitzer from Hurricane Media brought together these veterans and filmed their experiences in the Alps and put together the film, “Big Mountain Heroes”, which is now available on YouTube.

It is beautifully filmed with gorgeous shots of the French Alps, but arguably the best shots are the closeups of the vets themselves. Getting lost in the extreme adventure of conquering the difficulties of the mountains, the years of stress and physical pain are melted away, if only for a few days.

“Big Mountain Heroes” was recently awarded the award for Best Action Sports Short at the Mammoth Film Festival recently. We encourage all of our readers to check it out.

Will this kind of therapy work for everyone? Of course not. But it does show there are alternatives out there. As someone who is never truly happy unless he’s doing something worthwhile outdoors, I wish someone had been around to offer myself a chance at something like this when my service was done.

Photo: Big Mountain Heroes, Hurricane Media

Special Operations Forces Selection PT Preparation Week 15, Day 3

Tuesday is one of our Leg Days at the gym followed by a 4-mile run. Begin with pull-ups then Deadlifts before moving on to squats, lunges and the sled followed by a four-mile run

UBRR Training:

Continue to prep for the UBRR

3 x Pullups 10 reps

3 x 10 Deadlifts

3 x Front Squat 20-15-12 reps (lighter weight)

3 x 10 reps One Leg Body Weight Squats with a stability ball balanced on the wall

4 x Sled Push heavier weight or substitute Fireman’s Carry

3 x 10 reps Dumbbell lunges

3 x 20 Plank Step Ups

4-Mile Run (32 Minutes Maximum)

Stretch well after completion

Australian Special Forces Doctor, “Never, Ever Quit”

Leaving No Rounds in the Chamber

We highlighted an earlier post by Australian Special Forces doctor in NEWSREP recently and he has posted another must-read piece for not only aspiring Special Operations Forces candidates but for everyone.

This fits in perfectly with our own earlier piece today about never quitting in the face of adversity. Pronk reached the limits of his in Selection and found the will and fortitude to keep driving on and putting one foot in front of the other until he met his goal. This is another fantastic post and we recommend that all of our readers check it out.

There are lots of motivational sayings relating to not giving up until you quite literally can’t go any further—”don’t leave any gas in the tank,” for instance. These relate to the idea that you never quite know when success is right around the corner and just hanging in there for a tiny bit more time might get you to your objective. There are sayings for that as well, including, “The night is darkest just before the dawn,” but I like to think of this one in a more military way and use the analogy of not leaving any rounds in the magazine.

This one stems from the concept of leaving a cartridge or two in your magazine in the combat environment in order to give yourself the option to turn the rifle on yourself as an alternative to falling into enemy hands if all has gone to custard. It is the stuff that gets glamorized in war movies for the most part, but something that I actually found myself pondering seriously prior to my first tour of Afghanistan.

It was assumed that any coalition soldier falling into enemy hands in that theater was in for a particularly rough time, and the thought of a swift ending at your own hand might have been a fairly reasonable alternative. I dismissed the idea outright myself for a couple of reasons. First of all, I was always pretty rubbish at counting the number of rounds that I had shot, especially under the heightened state associated with a tactical situation, and I figured that I would have little to no chance of pulling up with one or two rounds left in my final magazine if it came to that. Secondly, you just never know how things are going to play out.

It would be a terrible shame to turn the rifle on yourself only to have a helicopter gunship show up overhead a few seconds later or a support element arrive to save you only to find you with a rifle in your mouth! In my opinion, I might as well keep shooting until my rifle goes click instead of bang, and then cross that bridge when I got there. I had a lot to live for and I was committed to staying alive at all costs and seeing how the chips might fall in the worst-case scenario. Many years later I had the chance to hear a firsthand account from a British SAS soldier from the ill-fated and much-publicized Bravo Two Zero patrol in the first Gulf War who had been captured and tortured by Iraqi forces and then subsequently released. While his vivid recollections of the torture he endured were chilling to say the least, to his credit he had managed to physically and psychologically move past the ordeal and return back to his role as a SAS soldier. Hearing his remarkable story solidified my stance for future deployments that I would leave no rounds in the magazine if it came to it and see how it all played out. Thankfully it was a decision I never had to make for real.

Translating that metaphor into a far less dramatic application, I had an experience on my Special Forces selection course where my overwhelming desire was to quit but, largely thanks to the motivation provided by another candidate, I managed to push on and fire the last few rounds in my magazine. The event occurred on a section of the course involving a five-day individual navigation exercise comprising long-distance hikes in a national park between checkpoints at the tops of mountains while carrying a very heavy pack. The real challenge of the exercise was a psychological one in that we were provided no indication as to how much distance we needed to cover or how many checkpoints we needed to reach to pass the activity. We were left completely to our own devices and needed to pace ourselves to cover as much or as little ground as we felt reasonable, all the while keeping in mind the fact that there were an additional five days of the selection course to go afterward.

We were under strict instructions not to interact with other candidates during the activity and, for the most part, the individual routes between checkpoints we had all been assigned meant that full days could pass without seeing other candidates, anyway. I had crossed paths with a few others over the first couple of days and we had played by the rules and given one another nothing more than a nod of acknowledgment before going our separate ways. On the morning of the final day of the activity I bumped into another candidate in a deep creek line I was moving along. Figuring that the chance of getting caught was slim, we took the chance of having a quick chat. The topic of that discussion centered on how much distance we had both covered and how many checkpoints we had hit. During the conversation the other candidate told me with a decent degree of conviction that a minimum of five checkpoints were required to pass the activity. Without really questioning the authenticity of his information, I took it as gospel.

We wrapped up our conversation and parted ways, leaving me to ponder my situation. I had hit four checkpoints by that point and my fifth was at the very top of a mountain some 20km away. We were under instruction not to move after dark, which left me with about seven hours to get to it. By that stage, we were a couple of weeks into the selection course and my body was starting to show some wear and tear. I had strained one of my quadriceps muscles quite badly and it was giving me hell with every step. I had started to lose a considerable amount of weight from the intense physical exertion of the course and the limited food provided. My physical deterioration was starting to take a toll on my psychological state. For the first time on the course, I was having moments of mental weakness and doubt. I trudged along throughout the rest of the final day of the activity and was approaching the base of the mountain that my fifth checkpoint sat atop as the sun started to get low on the horizon. By that time I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t make it to the checkpoint before dark and I had decided to set up camp at the base of the mountain for the night and radio in my location for the scheduled pick-up the following morning. In the final few hundred meters of stomping toward the base of the mountain another candidate came charging up from behind without me noticing and drew level with me, scaring the life out of me as he did so.

It turned out that his next checkpoint was the same one as mine, but unlike me his attitude was positive and despite acknowledging that he wasn’t going to make the checkpoint before dark he was going for it anyway. He urged me to do the climb with him, but I was mentally defeated at the time. When we hit the start of the track leading up the mountain I wished him the best of luck and then found a place to camp for the night and dropped my pack. Although I had made my decision to quit, something inside of me didn’t allow me to unpack my kit to set up camp. As I sat there dejected, I turned my gaze to the other candidate in the distance making his way up the climb to the checkpoint as the sun began to set. I ran all the years of training that had led up to that point through my mind. As I did so it occurred to me that they had all led to that moment and I was in the very process of giving up on my dream. I had the sickening realization that everything that I had worked so hard for and all the sacrifices I had made may have been all for nothing if I didn’t at least give that final climb a crack.

My fifth checkpoint was less than a kilometer away, albeit all uphill, and I wouldn’t get there before dark, but I’d rather take a beating from an angry SAS soldier at the checkpoint for moving after dark than live the rest of my days knowing that I’d let myself down by quitting on my dream. I slung my pack back onto my aching shoulders, and with my lungs and legs burning, I made the best pace I was capable of up the mountain track as the light faded. As it got darker and darker I got more and more frantic, stumbling on the rocky track underfoot as I
raced toward the summit, the close foliage surrounding the track grabbing at my shoulders and pack as I plowed on.

To Read the entire piece, click here:

Photo: Courtesy of Dan Pronk, Australian SF

“Never Quit Attitude” Even If Wrestling A Mountain Lion

Much of our writing here has to do with the task of passing Selection and becoming a member of our Special Operations community, the best brotherhood there is. And in our writings we will frequently use the much-used but very true catchphrases that we all use in Special Operations like “Never Quit”, and my personal favorite, “Embrace the Suck.”

And after recent events here at home during the past few weeks, it put several things into perspective. Recent construction in a couple of parts of town has upset the balance of wildlife in our area. I live in a bucolic little town in Central Massachusetts, that borders on the urban setting of Worcester, the 2nd largest city in the state.

In less than two minutes you can go from deep woods in the country to a very urban setting. We have an abundance of wildlife that frequently comes into contact with people due to the human population encroaching on their land. One of the most unwelcome of guests has been coyotes. And they’re getting increasingly bolder as time moves on and they are frequently seen now in neighborhoods, rather than on the edge of them. They are losing their fear of man and it is strictly a matter of time when not if, an encounter with man takes place.

I have had brushes with them… at a distance several times, but lately those encounters have been getting closer. A few weeks ago, after a snowstorm, my dog decided that at 2:45 a.m. was when she needed to go “drop a deuce”. I walked her in the woods, as being a girl she won’t go in the yard. With the snow on the ground and a bright moonlit night, visibility was excellent. As we stood next to a trail about 100 yards from our house, I saw two figures at the top of a hill about 50 yards away. The wind was blowing in their direction and they immediately picked up on us. I could see right away what they were.

The bigger one stared and then took a step down the hill as if to come and check us out. At the time the only thing I had was a Maglite which has the power of a searchlight. Thanks to the Crate Club. I pulled the lens to make it a narrower beam and shined it right in his eyes. He stopped short and then the two of them beat it back off the trail and into the woods.

Sunday is our normal ruck day for our PT Prep pieces and I was out just before five to get a ruck in before our normal Sunday stuff takes over. There is still quite a bit of snow left on the trail, and after a melt on Thursday and Friday, the snow refroze into a hard shell. Walking on the trail, I was making more noise than a platoon of Hondo recruits made in the dark so many moons ago.

The bright moon was setting on the horizon but still cast a really good glow, especially off the frozen snow on the ground. And once again on the trail near my home were a pack of coyotes, far enough away to not be an immediate danger but close enough to stop you short in your tracks. I could see three, which means there were a few more.

Rather than turn and run, which may incite them, I froze and waited to see what they intended to do. I still had my trusty mini-Maglite, but in the right pocket was a .380, hardly a hand cannon, but I could give Wiley Coyote seven reasons to rethink things. After a few seconds, they scampered off and it seemed like a good idea to change direction and take the ruck march another way today. Which got me to think about Travis Kauffman.

Who is Travis Kauffman you say? He’s the 31-year old guy who was jogging in the mountains in Ft. Collins, Colorado when he was attacked by a mountain lion and choked it to death trying to defend himself. And on the way home, I thought about my not-so-close encounter, which in no way compares to what he went thru and thought, “how many people would have panicked and ended up as a statistic rather than fight their way thru what he went thru.”

Kauffman was out for a run on a scenic trail in the Fort Collins mountain area on Feb. 4 when his encounter happened. He said he heard a rustling sound in the woods nearby and turned to see the mountain lion only 10 feet away.

After the big cat launched itself at Kauffman, he said he and the lion fell down the side of a slope. “From there, it was just a wrestling match,” he said to NBC News in an interview.

Knowing he had to pin its legs or he’d be shredded, Kauffman picked up sticks trying to jab the cat in the throat, but they snapped. He then tried bashing its head with a rock to no avail. Finally, “I stepped on its neck and then was eventually able to suffocate it,” he said.

“It was just pure adrenaline,” Kauffman added. “There was a certain point where I just kind of imagined being stuck on this hillside and just having a cat gnaw at me, which is a pretty creepy way to go.” Indeed.

He later made it back down the mountain, where other hikers were able to give him a lift to the hospital where he received 20 stitches. He was lucky but kept his head about him. He’d get my vote in an absoute second.

This is a prime example of “Never Quit” despite the odds being in favor of the cat. And this takes “Embracing the Suck” to the nth level. This is more embracing life and choosing not to die rather than panicking and losing everything.

Honestly, the majority of the people you’d meet on the street, probably wouldn’t have survived such an encounter. That isn’t an indictment on them, simply a fact. Kauffman kept his head about him in a crisis life or death situation and lived to tell the tale. That is the kind of stuff we should all strive to attain. And that is the type of thinking that many of you someday will face. Kauffman was able to think and act clearly with a wild animal trying to kill it. There’s a lot of wild animals out there in the world, both human and other, that will want to kill you. Don’t be a statistic. Be like Kauffman.

Photo of Mountain Lion in Glacier National Park: Wikipedia

Special Operations Forces Selection PT Preparation Week 15, Day 2

Monday morning means another mini-UBRR test to judge where our fitness level is at. Start off with pushups, sit-ups, and crunches, then to the bar for V-ups, Pull-ups, and dips before a 5-mile run.

Remember, if you can pass the UBRR with little or no problem, you should be in very good shape to begin Selection.

Remember to stay hydrated and mark your progress in your workout log book. Note your weak spots in the test and strive to correct them before your class date.

UBRR Training:

More preparation for the UBRR

1 x 1-minute Pushups

1 x 1-minute Sit-ups

1 x 1-minute, Crunches

1 x 1-minute, V-ups

1 x Dips as many as possible to muscle failure (No time limit)

1 x Pullups as many as possible or to muscle failure (No time limit)

5-mile run (40-minute maximum)

Stretch well after completion

Special Operations Forces Selection PT Preparation Week 15, Day 1

Sunday morning rucksack march. Do a quick warmup of pushups and sit-ups before heading out. Head out over varied terrain and try to go as fast as you can without running.

Stretch well both before and after the event. Remember to drink plenty of water and stay hydrated out there. Even though the winter weather remains among us, you can still become a heat casualty by dehydration, even before the sun comes up. And if you do it will really set you back in your preparation.

UBRR Training:

Warm up

1 x 20 Pushups

1 x 20 Sit-ups

8-mile Rucksack march over varied terrain with a 45-pound minimum. Go as fast as you can without jogging. And mark your times in your workout log book.

Stretch well after completion

Special Operations Forces Selection PT Preparation Week 17, Day 7

Let’s kick off this Saturday morning right and head back to the gym for a shoulder and back workout. Pulldowns, pullups and some shoulder work followed by a four-mile run. Log your numbers down in the workout notebook

Training:

More Preparation for the UBRR:

3 x 10 Lat Pulldowns, rear

3 x 10 Barbell Dead Lift

3 x 10 Wide Grip Pull-ups

3 x 10 Seated Rows

3 x 10 Dumbbell Side Raises

3 x 10 Seated Bent-Over Delt Raise

3 x 10 Dumbbell Shoulder Press

3 x 10 Arnold Dumbbell Press

4-mile run (32-minutes maximum)

Stretch well after completion

Paratrooper: Following in my Father’s Footsteps

Today we’d like to share another story from one of our readers. Heath Hansen is a paratrooper and grew up watching his dad jump out of a perfectly good airplane with the 12th Special Forces Group, while a youngster. His story is one about continuing the legacy between father and son and the bond of the airborne troops. Thanks again to Heath for the submission… Enjoy.

_______________________

I looked up into the big, blue sky. Far in the distance, I spotted a C-130 Hercules headed towards the open grass field I waited in. For a few moments, I watched as the plane continued in my direction; suddenly, from the tail-end of the aircraft, paratroopers jumped out into the open air. The parachutes expanded sideways as they became caught in the wind and fully inflated, pulling the soldiers swiftly with them. Dozens of troops poured out of the fuselage and descended to the ground. I saw the first jumper hit the grass and quickly sprinted to him.

“Dad?” I asked. “No kid, your dad is still coming down; we put a white band on his helmet so you could recognize him.” Looking up, he extended his arm and pointed to a spot about 200 feet in the air at a fast descending grunt with white sports tape lining the outside of his helmet. “There he is.”

I was 4 years old when I ran towards my father and reached him as he hit the drop zone. In BDUs and Army equipment, he was a green giant towering over me. As he bent down to collect his parachute, I started helping him pick up the soft, shiny, green canopy. “Wow!” I exclaimed. “I wanna jump out of airplanes when I grow up!”

“Maybe one day you will, son,” he smiled.

Heath Hansen carrying his father’s reserve off the drop zone while his dad was assigned to the 12th SFG.

Several years later, I found myself at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. “Hey, Hansen, the formation is at 0500. If you forget your air-items, I’ll smoke your ass in the front-leaning-rest position,” my squad leader warned. “Roger, sergeant.” My buddy and I walked towards our rooms after being released. “This jump is gonna suck. There’s supposed to be high winds and cold temperatures,” my squadmate complained. “If it doesn’t suck, this isn’t the 82^nd Airborne. Ah, I love it,” I sarcastically replied. “Livin’ the dream.”

I arrived at the company the following morning. We loaded onto large, white buses and headed to Pope Air Force Base. Our battalion went through the pre-jump rituals, using C-130 mock doors, required before all airborne operations – obeying jumpmaster commands, proper exit, proper parachute landing fall, etc. Later, we entered the “pax shed,” a large open bay, donned our parachutes and transformed into paratroopers. After the Jumpmaster Personnel Inspection (JMPI), we waited. And waited. And waited. Hours passed until we got word the engine issues stalling our departure were fixed and the planes were ready for take-off. The show was about to begin.

We approached the C-130 and boarded using the rear ramp. The propellers spun furiously, blasting us with a continuous stream of hot wind while we loaded up (which we welcomed on this frigid day). As our group packed in, I found a spot on the red, cargo-net jump seat in the middle of the aircraft. I would ride “inboard” today before jumping. We continued to cram into the plane until 64 of us were tightly squeezed into its big, grey belly; the ramp closed and the pilots began the taxi for takeoff. The guy in front of me was using an empty Gatorade bottle to spit his tobacco dip into. I made eye contact with him and he passed it to me. I made my contribution and passed it to my squad leader. The bottle continued making its way to the rear of the plane, each soldier taking his turn. The engines roared as the pilots increased the throttle, and our bird took flight.

A few feet away from me a private was sweating profusely and dry heaving. A crew member passed him a vomit bag which he immediately hyperventilated into. As we climbed higher and higher, he breathed harder and harder. Before we reached cruising altitude, he puked. Laughter swept through our section of the plane. “Five-jump-chump!” my team-leader yelled. “Cherry!” I shouted. A “five-jump-chump” is someone fresh out of Airborne School, with no jumps in Division. To receive your parachutist’s wings, you have to complete five jumps from an aircraft. Until you’ve jumped 10 times, you’re considered a “cherry”- a new guy, a fresh, untested, inexperienced virgin to the ways of the Airborne.

As we approached the Drop Zone (DZ), the jumpmasters shouted directives at us to get ready to jump. “Hook up!” We grabbed our static lines and hooked them to the anchor cable (steel cables suspended about a foot above our heads, running the length of the cargo bay). The Air Force loadmasters opened the paratroop doors and violent wind rushed into the plane. Heavy turbulence knocked jumpers off balance – it was almost go time.

There was a nervous looking butter-bar lieutenant standing next to me. I patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, sir!” I yelled in his ear. He looked back, “What’s going on?” he asked. My squadmate saw me talking to the lieutenant and listened in, smirking. “There’s a small piece of canopy hanging out of your pack tray. I wouldn’t jump this.” A look of horror came over him. “Can you fix it?” the butter-bar pleaded. “Negative, sir. I’m not a chute rigger.” As the lieutenant’s trepidation increased, my buddy chimed in, “Your parachute’s screwed, sir, but you’ve got a reserve. You’ll be fine.” I reflected briefly, wondering if my father’s generation of paratroopers enjoyed messing with junior officers as well – I’m sure they did.

“30 seconds!” The jumpmasters yelled. The Gatorade bottle made it’s way back to me. It was now about a quarter full of brown, slimy dip-spit. I used it once more and passed it forward. The small, circular light next to the doors changed from red to green. We were over the DZ.

“Go!” The jumpmasters screamed. One by one, doing the Airborne shuffle, the paratroopers handed their static lines off to the jumpmasters. After he took the lines, the troopers faced right and vigorously jumped from the aircraft. I watched as all the outboard jumpers exited the C-130 – all but the last one. The soldier, a private, handed off his static line, turned to the door, and froze. The jumpmaster had turned the opposite direction to collect the used lines. When he looked back, he saw the private standing in the door. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed. The private shouted back “I’m not jumping, sergeant! I refuse to jump!” Within a second of the private’s response, the jumpmaster (sergeant) grabbed the static line anchor cable with both hands, yelling over the roaring wind “GET THE HELL-,” he lifted his feet and slammed them into the private “-OUT!!!” kicking him out of the aircraft. There was no room for the faint of heart on this plane.

Inboard personnel headed for the door. Gripping the static line in my left hand, with my arm fully extended, I made eye contact with the jumpmaster, handed off my line, faced right 90 degrees and jumped out the door. I was immediately smacked by the wind. Keeping my feet and knees together and my chin to my chest, I counted in my head “One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thou-” my parachute canopy deployed and violently spun me around. After a couple of seconds, I was able to get the parachute cords untwisted and look up at my canopy. My parachute was fully inflated; I had made a good exit and cleared the plane.

My descent towards Sicily DZ was underway. I looked at the other soldiers descending and caught a glimpse of a jumper above me, oscillating back and forth, very close to my canopy. Being that close in the air could result in entanglement, followed quickly by our chutes deflating. The paratrooper – a private, with little jumping experience – swung outward, then inward again, and stopped about two feet away from my face, his parachute canopy now touching mine. I looked at him and shouted, “Slip away dumb-ass!” Distraught, the soldier quickly grabbed his rear risers and pulled as hard as he could. His parachute cleared mine and he began heading away from me. I pulled my risers and made extra space between us; I could now focus on landing.

Looking down, I could see the ground quickly approaching. Ensuring my feet and knees were together, legs slightly bent, I looked back up and stared at the horizon, trying not to anticipate my landing. I could feel the cold wind on my face and pulled the risers on my parachute, into the wind, attempting to reduce my velocity. My body collided with the ground – I took a second to process the impact, but everything was okay. I stood up and took a few steps – any jump you can walk away from is a good jump.

I collected my parachute and headed over to the turn-in point. Making my way to the logistics trucks, I passed a paratrooper being treated by medics. He was writhing in pain and bemoaning a broken ankle – he had a bad jump.

I looked up into the big, blue sky; a cool breeze brushed across my face. I saw another C-130 approaching. Paratroopers poured out the back and slowly drifted towards the earth. I remembered being a child, two decades earlier, waiting on a DZ and watching my Dad jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Patriotism, a desire for adventure, and a deep admiration for my father had led me to this moment. We all have dreams about what we want to be when we grow up, but not all of us realize that dream. I was an airborne infantryman, following in my father’s footsteps, and livin’ the dream.

Photos: Courtesy of Heath Hansen

Special Operations Forces Selection PT Preparation Week 14, Day 6

Friday is Leg Day at the gym. Start off with our favorite, Squats – (Front, Dumbbell Goblet, and Barbell), then Lunges and the Weighted Sled Push. Follow it all up with a five-mile run.

Mark your progress down in your workout log book and stretch well after the session. Remember….keep hydrating, even in the rain.

UBRR Training:

Continue to prep for the UBRR.

3 x Front Squat 20-15-12 reps (lighter weight)

3 x Goblet Dumbbell Squats 20-15-12 reps (lighter weight)

3 x 10 Barbell Squats

3 x 10 Deadlifts

3 x 10 Dumbbell Lunges

3 x 10 Romanian Lunges

3 x Weighted Sled Push or Fireman’s Carry

5-mile run (40 mins. Max)

Stretch well after completion

“Kill the Enemy, But Please…Don’t Hurt His Feelings”

If this sounds strange, ludicrous and outright ridiculous…then congratulations! Welcome to our politically correct world where our leaders who send our troops into harm’s way to kill our enemies are more worried about hurting those said enemies’ feelings than they are about ensuring that our troops have everything they need to accomplish their mission and return home safely.

Take for instance this latest fiasco with the British government, their Ministry of Defense (MOD), and the political correctness B.S. that is overrunning not just the British, but our own leaders as well.

So, the Brit SAS boys were told to remove the Punisher logo from all of their kits as the logo …“could be disrespectful to enemy forces.” This isn’t even PC run amok it is foolishness of the nth degree. Anyone who knows anything about the SAS or who has been around them knows that the Brits don’t deploy them on a whim. And if you’re an enemy who was close enough to see a Punisher logo on a trooper’s kit, to quote Samuel L. Jackson, “it meant your ass.”

So we’ll deploy SAS and Special Operations troops to kill ISIS in the Middle East and 100 other places but heaven forbid we hurt their delicate feelings? My oh my, the tangled webs we weave.

Newsrep’s Stavros Atlamazoglou hits on the fiasco right on the button.

British media reports state that Special Air Service (SAS) operators were ordered to remove all Punisher patches and other similar insignias from their kits. SAS received the removal order after military VIPs visited the unit’s headquarters in Hereford, saw the skull-like emblems on troopers’ combat kits, and considered them controversial.
The rationale behind the decision appears to be the Punisher skull closely resembles the death’s head “Totenkopf” emblem of Nazi Germany’s SS. More specifically, British outlets report the British military hierarchy believes the Punisher emblem could be “be upsetting to other units and disrespectful to enemy forces.”
Just by that remark, you can tell the leadership’s level of detachment from reality on the ground. If the destruction of an enemy is disrespectful––destruction being what the Punisher insignia portrays––then something is utterly wrong. Of course, all troops must abide by the laws of war and the Geneva Conventions. But in the end, armies are mostly intended to wreak havoc, not be politically-correct organizations that strive for designations of the “most friendly” group to work alongside.
Whether accurate or not, the story highlights the deep rift between troops on the ground and their political––and sometimes higher military––leaders. Units formed, funded, trained, and kitted for close combat have one primary mission: to engage with the enemy and destroy it.
Former SAS Sgt.Trevor Coult, a recipient of the Military Cross for his actions during a combat deployment to Iraq, said that “the Ministry of Defense should be doing everything in its power to support the SAS, not messing around telling them what they can and can’t wear on operations. This is politically-correct nonsense, and it’s ludicrous.”
Marvel Comics’ the Punisher symbol has a long history with the military. But its popularity skyrocketed after Navy SEAL Chris Kyle and his fellow frogmen in SEAL Team 3 adopted the insignia. Kyle, heralded for his astounding effectiveness during multiple combat deployments to Iraq, wrote about the decision in his autobiography, American Sniper.
Kyle wrote. “We all thought what the Punisher did was cool: He righted wrongs. He killed bad guys. He made wrongdoers fear him. That’s what we were all about. And so, we adapted his symbol––a skull––and made it our own, with some modifications. We spray-painted it on our Humvees and body armor, and our helmets, and all our guns. And we spray-painted it on every building or wall we could. We wanted people to know: we’re here, and we want to fuck with you.”

To read the entire article click here:

Photo: Marvel Comics/Netflix