The image above is the sad memorial at my deceased Grandma’s house. It stands in memory of my uncle, Private Merton R. Johnson, KIA Korea, on the 15th of August, 1952. There is a ton of pain behind that little picture frame. I’m not doing a deep dive into it. Suffice it to say that my mom’s family suffered from his loss.

I retired as a commissioned officer in 2014, with three GWOT deployments behind me, counter-drug stuff, and a post-Gulf War hangover tour in ’95-’96. I’m not sure how many months I drew “HFP,” or hostile-fire pay, but it was probably about four, maybe five years, give or take a bit.

This is in no way a boast or loathsome self-promotion. I wish some of it had never happened, but it did. It is what it is, all of it.

From the above, I think I can judge a case of “Stolen Valor,” an accusation that is cheapened by frequent use. Unfortunately, the topic has been in the news lately, with some politicians accusing others of this phrase.

When I read about some of these accusations and looked into them, it seemed to be pretty thin soup.

“Stolen Valor” occurs when someone claims to have earned an award like my uncle’s, but they didn’t. If you claim a “V” for Valor award, be prepared to back up your bullshit. Neither party in this dispute has ever made any such claims, so I’m confused about how accusations of “Stolen Valor” can be made.

IMO a vague statement given off the cuff in an interview years ago by a proven long-service NCO does not rise to this level. I’m sure he regrets his careless wording in this age of eternal documentation and general lack of knowledge re: all things military. The furthest connection most people have to military service these days is playing “Call of Duty,” or they watched “Saving Private Ryan.” This is why I’ve written this article; to help people who may not have direct contact with military life. To tell the tale of a common soldier; much like my fiction.

There are also accusations of “Stolen Valor” regarding the man’s rank. “Stolen Valor,” in my narrow definition, applies to boasts of wartime heroism. But that’s just me. Others may feel differently. Also, the man was promoted to the rank and served as a CSM. I have much respect for anyone who achieves this level of non-commissioned service; while I thought a few CSM’s I’ve known were complete dicks, I’ve never met one who wore the rank to be a soup sandwich. Your knowledge and expertise are godlike if you are a sergeant major with hundreds of enlisted troops under your supervision. Yes, he took an admin bust to master sergeant upon retirement because he didn’t complete some schooling and didn’t have time in grade. This happens to many people; it does not reflect the character of his service. Master Sergeant, three up and three down is still impressive. So I’m mixed on this one in regards to the accuracy of his statements. Yes, he was a CSM. Yes, he retired officially as a MSG. IMO, he can claim either because he was either. Period.

Re: guys he served with who hate his guts. This is the case; those people have popped up throughout his political life. They have many messed up things to say about him—guess what? ANYONE in a leadership position who does his/her job will always have people with beef. Always. You must take these accusations with a grain of salt and look at people’s motivations. The person leveling the accusations didn’t serve as a senior NCO, while the accused did. A corporal doesn’t have the time to accumulate enemies like a CSM, but I’m sure the accused had people who didn’t like him, either. They just haven’t come forward. Yet. The election cycle is still young.

Re: deserting his unit before a deployment. From what I understand, his unit only had vague rumors of a deployment in early 2005 when he filled out his retirement paperwork. Look, I’ve been through the mobilization process. Rumors are just that, bullshit rumors. When I was a reservist going through college, our unit commander stood before us and said, “I’ve got a gut feeling that we’ll deploy.” Later, an old master sergeant said, “If you have a gut feeling, you should go take a fat shit.” He referred to the fact that rumors in the military are worthless—you can’t base any decision upon them. Especially important life-altering decisions. You could hang out forever, waiting on the mythical deployment that may never come, or you can get out and get on with your life. It’s a fact of military life. Until you have orders, it’s garbage. Sometimes, AFTER you have orders, the mission is scrubbed. Sometimes, the orders change, and you do something unanticipated. Long story short, the man did go to Vincenza in support of OEF, and he served for five years during wartime (don’t forget the Gulf War, when tons of Guardsmen were called up). The Fickle Finger of Fate could have screwed him at any time. He had the good luck not to have the Finger land upon him before retirement; at any time throughout his career, it could have caused him to do some bad stuff.

I’m not a fan of people who worm out of deployments. I don’t know about the Marines, but the Army doesn’t casually let people skate when it’s time to go on a trip. Do any of you remember the phrase “Stop Loss?” It was a thing in ’05. Looking carefully at the records of both these guys, I don’t see any history of duty avoidance from either.

This is an important point—the accused did way more than most dudes at Walmart and doesn’t base his entire identity on his honorable service. Let’s also not forget that both of these men were volunteers! Neither had to be there, doing what they chose to do. Both men signed the proverbial “blank check,” which all of us signed, which could be cashed at any time by the enemy.

Honorable service. Both the accuser and accused have it. We should leave it at that and switch to other topics, like individual policy. Politics is a bloodsport; there is plenty of room for the politicians to destroy one another based upon policy ideas and votes.

Leave it at that. Both of these guys did their time and got out, as was their right. Neither “ducked” service, combat or otherwise, or performed any less-than-honorable actions.

This is my take. It’s a good thing to have veterans in politics. It’s a bad thing when they throw mud about perfectly acceptable service. It makes all of us look bad and muddies the water for civilians who don’t know the ins and outs of the military.

Knock it off.

Morning, everyone. This will be a series of posts about a thirty-day plus project, the rescue of a forlorn, unloved, and ugly violin.

First, a few admin notes. Regarding writing, I’ve got two plates in the air right now. One is the Javan War, a book I co-authored with JB that should launch soon. I worked on it while in Oz, and then John took over from there. The second is my new ISOLATED series, a new alt-history look at the Second World War where everything goes wrong because of small decisions and leadership. All of my long-time readers know that I harp on leadership a bit, because in the real world, leadership makes the difference between success and failure.

Period.

If you choose, you can read along with my hardcore fans on my Patreon site. To date, reader reactions have been good, and I’m excited to write this series.

In addition, I’ve been busy with the folks in Minnesota. Some interesting stuff happening up there.

Alright, poor Silver. I recognized its potential when the music store dumped this fiddle on me. Good wood, workmanlike construction. However, it needed the ugly 2004 Chrysler metallic paint stripped from it as a minimum, and I wasn’t sure if I could do this. A friend and mentor in Pennsylvania egged me on, so I bought some materials and started.

The above picture was the first step in the process. The violin had to be stripped to the body alone. I mostly tossed its worthless furniture, and I took off the painted, low-quality fingerboard with a butter knife. Then, I sprayed a test spot with a chemical stripper. I’ve always learned you should never do this to a violin; however, this fiddle was worthless as-is, so I had nothing to lose. This was intended as a learning exercise, and boy, was I right. See below.

Silly me. I thought the crappy paint would lift easily. No, not so much. It was very difficult to remove; also, I had to be careful with the wood beneath the horrible paint. I used an old credit card to scrape the glop. They are perfect for delicate finishes. When I scraped all that I could, I’d clean up with Scotch Brite.

Did I mention how tough the paint was? This was terrible, and it took a while before I saw the wood.

You can see the beginning here. As I suspected, this violin had real purfling (the wood inlay around the edge) and tight-grained spruce. It wasn’t junk.

This took FOREVER. Plus the stripper is caustic, of course, and the old paint JUST DIDN’T WANT TO DIE. But it had to. This became a mission. When I finished the belly, I saw the first inkling of a reward.

There was some decent, if pedestrian, wood under that crap. Wood with character. I pressed on.

The top plate, as expected, was a nightmare. Especially around the F holes! Not only did glop fall into the notches, I had to exercise extreme caution to get that sparkly crap out of the notches. Did I mention that this took forever? It did.

When the top plate was kind of OK, I started on the ribs. Wow, was that crappy. So many nooks and crannies, all loaded down with cheap hell paint. And let’s not talk about the scroll and box. Good Lord, the end of the fiddle cost me days of detail work, and yes, the scroll and box were positively slathered with that silver crap. But I managed. I reached the end of what I could do with stripper, it was time to reach for sharp metal objects.

I learned in this process that it’s not good to really scrub with Scotch Brite while the wood is soaked; it leaves rough patches. Patches I had to fix later when the fiddle dried.

Also, you have to neutralize the stripper by cleaning the entire work surface with alcohol. I did this several times before I had clean wood. See below.

This is the top plate when it was close to clean. I still had detail work to do with tools, but you could see what you’d have. Honest spruce, as opposed to minivan chic.

I’m sure you can imagine what it took to get this woebegone violin to this stage. If not, I’ll tell you. It was three weeks of intermittent scrubbing and gentle scraping. Bad news.

At the end, I had this. A 99.9 percent clean fiddle, dull from alcohol baths. It may not have been perfect, but it was good enough.

Silver was ready for the next step(s).

More follows soon.

This is a terribly ugly instrument that was donated to a local music store. The music store couldn’t find anyone to take it, for free. Perhaps it was that oh-so-attractive, sickly silver sparkly stuff that coated the instrument like a shroud. And the garbage accessories, horrible cattle fence strings, etc. They asked if I could do something ith it, maybe.

At first glance, I wanted to throw it in the dumpster. But then I looked harder. You can find potential in the strangest places, really.

Well. This Chinese violin that some maniac spray painted the color of a 2004 Chrysler had some surprises upon close examination. A violin is not junk because it is Chinese. The Chinese can make really excellent violins, actually, and I’ve seen plenty of crappy European ones. So, I looked hard at the instrument itself. First, I noticed it had real purfling, or inlaid wood, around its edge. That’s a plus. Then, I looked in the F hole and saw real maple in there, and the top plate was clearly tight-grained spruce. While I was looking in the F hole, I glanced at the bass bar. It seemed the more-or-less correct profile, height, and length. Trust me, not all inexpensive violins have these things.

A good violin must have good wood. This is not an option. With spruce and maple, you have the foundations.

Hey, it was free. So, I took it. It didn’t deserve to go in the trash.

Thus began a three week odyssey that isn’t over by any means.

More follows.

IMO Rhiannon Giddens is one of the amazing talents of this generation.

I decided to talk about something I enjoy today, as opposed to dwelling on the developing train wrecks around the globe. There’s nothing to be gained from that.

I found Rhiannon while surfing YouTube for good fiddle songs. Yes, she plays the violin. She’s also a prodigy on the banjo, and plays everything from simple tunes like Cripple Creek and Shake Sugaree to incredibly complex pieces like Spanish Mary.

She has become one of my very favorites to listen to on the rare occasions when I feel like just kicking back and listening to tunes.

In other news, I’m laying the groundwork for a new alt-history novel. This one is based in a very different, plausible, Second World War.

Catch you guys.

Hey, all. So far, the launch of “Light’s End,” my take on the alien invasion trope, has gone OK. Have I sold bone-crushing amounts of books to fund my very own hovercraft? No. However, by my standards, it’s been good so far. I even broke (briefly) into the top 100 of one of my categories (Sci-Fi, Colonization) on the Beast US. If you know anything about indie publishing, that’s not actively terrible.

Right now, I’m preparing several inexpensive violins for the local flea market in hopes of attracting aspiring musicians to my wares. We’ll see how that goes. They are priced to sell, with just a tad of profit to pay me for the time I have in each. Some were tougher than others, and all are a light-year better than what you’ll get in the mail from sellers on Amazon. In any case, it’s enjoyable, precision work.

But—and this is the reason for today’s post—I’ve discovered a reasonably tasty US analog to the Aussie Short Black. See the image above.

This is an easy thing. Buy a pot of Nescafe Gold Expresso at Wally World. Ensure you have a teaspoon and a means of heating water. Dip teaspoon into pot, dump it into a waiting cup. Pour about one finger of boiling water onto powder. Mix.

The resulting drink is pretty close to the Short Black, and it’s the first decent coffee I’ve had since my return. I even ordered an expensive coffee at Starbucks and paid the big bucks for an extra shot, and it was pretty lame for six USD. This concoction is pretty good and a LOT cheaper than Starbucks!

Recommend.

Well guys, I’m back in the land of mediocre food. After my sojurn in Oz, I’ve come to realize that I live in a food desert- you have to drive about 25-30 minutes to get anything to eat or to do grocery shopping. If you do eat in town, your choices are mostly limited to chains. Whether fast food or sit-down places, your food comes from massive industrial farms a thousand miles away, and it’s usually frozen and then plopped onto your plate by a line cook with three weeks experience working from a script.

The food scene in Australia isn’t anything like that, and the coffee is world-class. Right now I’m feeling a tad cheated as I drink my drip coffee—a quick cup of tea bag coffee in Oz was better, I’m afraid.

It is what it is. Now, a post-mortem on my working vacation in Australia.

Much happened. Did I see kangaroos and other cool stuff? Yes, including the last existing WW1 German tank, captured by Queensland troops in 1918. Observe.

Strange to think that an ungainly beast like this heralded a new age in warfare, but it did. The Kaiser only fielded twenty of these in the Great War, and this is the sole remaining example, preserved at the Queensland Museum. If you look closely, it is scarred by shot and shell, and apparently sat in no-man’s-land until recovered by some really brave Aussie troops. Somehow they hauled it to a ship and sent it on the long voyage south, where it sat outside for decades.

Pretty cool. This was but one of dozens of interesting things I saw there. The wildlife was super interesting, as was Brisbane, probably the nicest city I’ve ever visited. My hosts were gracious, and they were fantastic guides and friends. Every time I looked into their garden it was like a trip to the zoo! One day, while writing, a scrub turkey climbed onto the tree branch outside my window.

Observe.

The neighbors had raucous kookaburras. Their cries must be heard to be believed. They sound like maniacs.

There’s a lot I could write here- it was a fantastic trip. But now it’s done.

Regarding writing, much happened. I polished off my end of the Javan War, an upcoming co-authored deal with JB. It’s the origin story of Lucinda Hardy, the chief protagonist of the Cruel Stars universe. Also, I finished the preps for Light’s End, my upcoming alien invasion novel. I’m looking at a fifteen June launch. In addition, helped a little with moving around blocks on an upcoming JB thing, and dreamed up a new series and wrote the premise while brainstorming with John and Elana.

It was a totally cool trip, even if the trip is beyond hellish. It’s worth it. I even became a fan of vegemite, something that I had not foreseen. It is pretty awesome combined with eggs!

It was only fitting that I smeared it on my toast while enjoying my last breakfast, brekkie, in Oz. Delicious eggs benedict and good coffee, sigh. When I grabbed a coffee in Vancouver on the trip back it tasted like ditch water.

Nice country you’ve got down there, Aussie readers. I’d imagine I’ll visit again.