In Remembrance

Before I begin today, given the time of year, I thought I'd pass along three selections of music entirely appropriate for tomorrow.

The first link has the Metis fiddler Sierra Noble giving an achingly beautiful performance of The Warrior's Lament at the Vimy Ridge Monument Re-Dedication in 2007.

The second is from the soundtrack for Passchendaele, a song called After The War by Sarah Slean.

And the last is a concert version of the majestic Hymn To The Fallen, by the great John Williams, for the Saving Private Ryan soundtrack.

Tomorrow, in places across the world, people will come together at cenotaphs and monuments at the eleventh hour for a yearly commemoration. November 11th carries with it several names. The British call it Armistice Day. The Americans call it Veteran's Day. And here in Canada and other Commonwealth affiliated nations, it carries the title Remembrance Day. Each year, a dwindling number of veterans of the Second World War march together with their comrades from later wars and service Each year, it seems, the crowds grow larger. And each year, more veterans pass away, joining those of their brethren who have gone on before them.

We mark the day to commemorate the ending of the First World War, of course, and the memory of the veterans who have fought in the wars that have followed. On November 11th, 1918, an armistice was signed that took effect at eleven in the morning, ending four years of bloody conflict that had taken the lives, seemingly, of an entire generation. It was a war that had saw massive casualties, trench warfare, and outdated tactics against machine guns and new weaponry at places like the Somme, Ypres, Passchendaele, Gallipoli, Amiens, Mons, and Vimy Ridge. For my country, it was the event that made the nation a reality, much like the Civil War truly forged the United States into one nation. Hundreds of thousands of young Canadians went off and fought in the Great War. Many of them paid the ultimate sacrifice and remained behind, buried in the fields of Europe.

Passchendaele

Vimy Ridge

Vimy Ridge

The Menin Gate

Of course, the War to end all Wars wasn't the end. Out of the ashes came the circumstances of the Second World War. To borrow a phrase, though there is no such thing as a good war,  there are wars that are nessecary wars, because the alternative is far worse. Never was this more true then in the struggle against Nazi Germany, Italy, Japan, and their allies. In battles that spread across the world, from Midway, Guam, Okinawa, and Hong Kong in the Pacific to the Battle of Britain, El Alamein, Sicily, Italy, Stalingrad, Leningrad, Normandy, and the final drive into Germany, it was the darkest hour humanity has ever faced. And in the end, the darkness was turned back, by the sacrifice, determination, and drive of what really is the greatest generation, young men who stood up to the greatest force of evil that has ever walked this planet, and brought it to an end.

Juno Beach, Normandy

Juno Beach, June 1944

Gold Beach

Utah Beach

The USS Arizona, Pearl Harbor

World War Two Memorial, Washington



The Motherland, Volgograd, Russia

 

Plymouth Naval Memorial, Great Britain



Plymouth, Great Britain


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Admittedly, I have good cause to be grateful to the veterans of the Second World War. You see, I wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for those young men, some of whom have lived to be old men. During the war, my grandparents were in the occupied Netherlands. From the stories they told, it was obvious that if the war had gone on a few more months, the families would have died of starvation. I quite literally owe my life to veterans of the Second World War. And so each year I attend Remembrance Day ceremonies at our national war memorial. I know the words that will be said. I'll see the laying of wreaths and the march of the veterans who gave so much of themselves, and who remember the young men who never got a chance to have a life for themselves. And I'll go to our war museum, to walk in the path of my country's military history.

National War Memorial, Ottawa

Take time to reflect tomorrow. If you can get to a cenotaph, do so. Remind yourself that you owe your freedom to these men. Remember them, and how much they gave for us. 

Jefferson Barracks Cemetery, St. Louis

Arlington, Virginia

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, England

I leave you then, with the eloquent words of John McCrae, a Canadian soldier who died during the Great War, but not before he penned these words for the ages, In Flanders Fields....

Of Spoiled Brats And Over Indulgent Parents

Before I begin... those of you who might overindulge your kids might want to skip this blog. I'm going off on a wee bit of a rant. In Clint Eastwood mode. Maybe a bit of Denis Leary too.

Okay. I assume everyone who's staying doesn't mind a bit of a rant. I've got a bit of a story about brats and parents to tell, and it's from the newspapers. These kids are going to grow up to be absolutely rotten people as adults. And they have their rotten parents to thank for it.

Out of Oshawa, Ontario, east of Toronto, comes a story from this past Hallowe'en. The link is right here, but the gist of the story is as follows. The new resident of a home in the city wasn't home this past Hallowe'en, and got an anonymous letter shortly thereafter, supposedly written by the children of the neighbourhood. It chastised him for not giving out candy on Hallowe'en night, like the former resident of the house always did. It added that he could rectify this by giving out lots of chocolate (no chips) next year. The man in question is new to the neighbourhood, and doesn't know his neighbours, but feels they should respect his decision not to give out candy.

Given that rectify was actually a word used in the letter, you can safely bet it wasn't a ten year old kid writing the letter. Anyway, his reaction to it was to write a letter online, and it went viral. Entitled "Dear Children Of Entitlement (and likely their parents), the letter was a grand "screw you" to the over-indulged spoiled brats and their parents. The line that I liked out of the lot? "You have gone ahead and reminded me of why I do not want children, and why I weep for the future."

Ouch.

My personal response: bravo, sir. I salute you, and offer my compliments.

Full disclosure time: I'm not a kid person. I don't like children personally, and don't ever see myself as a father. That's a personal choice. The sound of a kid having a temper tantrum is the sort of thing that has a "dear God, will someone shut that kid up" response in me. Since my teens, I've found young kids to be a general annoyance. I have no patience with children. Never have, and never will. Fortunately my parents have plenty of grandchildren, and I'm under no pressure to make another one.

The kids of that neighbourhood, I expect, are like all too many kids these days. Spoiled rotten by parents who treat them as if they're the center of the bloody universe, indulging every whim, setting no boundaries at all. I don't know about you, but as a trick or treater, if a house was dark, that simply meant not going up to the door on Hallowe'en. There was always more candy elsewhere. It didn't mean whining to mommy and daddy, who promised they'd make it all better with an anonymous letter of entitlement to the person in question wagging their anonymous finger.

These parents are doing their children no favours. They're teaching them that if they don't get what they want, whining and griping will solve the problem. They're teaching them that the world owes them. They're teaching them horrific social skills. They're teaching them that the world does revolve around them, and that they're entitled to everything they wish for... to hell with earning it.

I'm not a parent (at least that I know of)... but I can tell you that approach is not going to result in a well adjusted human being. That's going to result in a narcissistic, self absorbed human being who's incapable of functioning in an adult society. Life isn't about getting everything you want. It's about challenges, obstacles, and disappointments. It's how you deal with those challenges, obstacles, and disappointments that marks who you are as a human being. You can either be the person who copes with these things, learns from them, and overcomes them... or you can be the shallow buffoon whining "that's not fair" everytime you come up short.

Of course, these parents will never see it that way. They'll claim that their little Joey or little Katie is the most special child ever and deserves to get all that they want and can't ever be faced with a disappointment or a setback. Such things are not good for their emotional well being, don't you know? Meanwhile, little Joey and little Katie know exactly how to bend their idiot parents right to their ways, put on the waterworks when they have to... and get away with bloody murder.

I can see it now. A mommy in the school office with the principal, confronted with her precious little daughter's bad behavior after the cafeteria caught on fire.

"My precious little Clarissa would never hurt a fly! She's so special and good and well adjusted and... Clarissa, sweetie? Would you mind putting down the matches for Mommy? I'll buy you a new teddy bear on the way home if you do..."

The Second Coming Of A Crazy Wingnut

We are, as of yesterday, one year to the Presidential election. And so it seems appropriate to turn my attention once more to the work of the editorial cartoonists, and their take on the seemingly endless Republican quest to find someone who can take down President Obama a year from now.

It hasn't been going well. Sufficed to say... these morons are what the GOP would select?

Let's see here... when we last left off, Governor Chris Christie (who might well have been a half respectable choice for the nomination) kept telling the party hacks to "go away, I'm not interested, leave me alone, what part of drop dead do you not understand?" Oh, and of course "if you don't stop bothering me, I'll have you whacked, you idiots." And of course, the Mama Grizzly, Sarah Palin, has dropped out of the game. Her day is done, and rather then blame herself and her ill considered decision to do a reality show about her family, she's planning on having that author who moved in next door for awhile to do a bio... whacked.

Meanwhile, for some inexplicable reason, Pizza Guy moved into first place in the polls. It's an abberation. No, I don't understand it either....

Basic Presidential rules: no one named Herman should even have the right to run for President. Let's face it, no foreign leader will respect a President named Herman. Especially when this Herman seems to think that no government report should be more then three pages.

I'll have more next time on the scandal erupting around Pizza Guy. For now, I'll say this. Having had heard enough of his nutty statements, I was wondering what it was about Herman Cain that seemed so familiar. Then it hit me. He reminds me of Ross Perot.

Herman Cain is the Second Coming of Ross Perot.

By the way, that's not a good thing.

Meanwhile, Governor Mittens and the Second Coming of Dubya, Rick Perry remain in the race, taking shots at each other with regularity....

And Michelle Bachmann just won't go away....

There's just one way to settle this whole thing, and come up with a candidate. In the Thunderdome...

"Two men enter! One man leaves!"

 

In Character: John Kersten

And here's the second of my two character blogs. John Kersten is a character who has been lingering in the back story of one of my two main characters, Tom Stryker. John was his mentor and professor in his student days, and best friend to Stryker's late parents. He's unaware of the reasons Stryker abandoned his former profession. And though he's only referred to in Heaven & Hell (when this vignette takes place), he will turn up in Sword of the Faith, my next book, which serves as a prequel, and I intend to use him again down the line. A bit of an easter egg for you: John Kersten is a name that turns up in a branch of my extended family...

There are several actors I could see as the character, such as Sam Elliot, Chris Cooper, Jeff Bridges, or Wes Studi....

His parents were my best friends. He was like the son I never had... hell, my daughter was half in love with him. Okay, I'll admit... that sounds stranger then it actually is. The fact is that his family and mine were close, and yes, I felt like a father to him. He followed in his mother's footsteps... and mine, for that matter... put himself towards a career in archaeology. And if he'd married my daughter, nothing would have made me more proud.

Which is what makes what he decided to do all the more disappointing.

Tom Stryker seemed to be born to archaeology. It's the profession his mother chose for herself even before she met his father. He had a deeply felt curiousity about the past, about finding out the secrets of history. He had a bright mind, patience in spades. And he grew up hearing stories about ancient Egypt. His parents practically raised him on those stories. So it was little surprise that he breezed through school as fast as he did, getting his degree and getting out there in the field. Even after his parents died, he still applied himself to finishing up, to contributing to a life of scholarship and knowledge. When he'd come home, he had a place here. I'd see the way Tara would look at him... and maybe if things had been different... well, in the end, that didn't matter.

It's been a year now. He was a few months past graduation, on a dig in Egypt. He and his work crew were working a site near Lake Nasser. A remote valley, and it felt like a promising spot. It was the sort of dig that might well have taken years. If not a lifetime. And then something happened. I still don't have all of the details, but there was a terrorist incident. Tom and his crew were held captive. And when it was over... it was as if he had changed.

He abandoned everything. All of the work he had done to get to where he was. His responsibilities as an archaeologist. He threw that all away, ended up walking away from the profession, and for what? Last I heard, he's a consultant. Hell, the world's got too many of those as it is. He's turned his back on what used to matter to him. 

I'm glad his parents didn't live to see this, as bad as that sounds. They wouldn't understand it either. My wife tells me I've got to let it go... but how? All the good he could have done, a bright mind like that. Wasted.

Maybe it would be easier if I hadn't come to think of him as family. If I hadn't had all these thoughts in the back of my head about my daughter marrying the son of my best friends. If he'd just been another former student. If that had been the case... I wouldn't have cared this damned much.

I haven't spoken to him in a year. That last time... I said things that I can't take back.

He was like a son to me. Now... that bond is broken. And nothing can ever make that right again.

In Character: Michael Campbell

It's been awhile since I've done one of these, and so I thought I'd do two character blogs. The first is from the point of view of an MI5 agent. Michael Campbell is a character who's appeared throughout Heaven & Hell, and will continue to appear in future works. I've gotten to like writing him. This interlude is set late in the book, after a sit down meeting in Belfast with a former IRA gunman....


And I could see Idris Elba (Thor, The Wire) playing the character.....

I had tea with a murderer today.

Oh, we can't prove it, but he's the sort with a lot of blood on his hands. Kevin Conlon runs his own security firm in Belfast these days, but back in the bad old days, he was an cell leader and gunman for the IRA. Granted, he didn't move off to one of the splinter groups when peace broke out, but every assessment we've ever made of the man suggests he's just biding his time, that he doesn't really believe peace will last. Not with the other side, and not with the British. That's his way of thinking.


The Prime Minister and my boss at Five sent me to Belfast today. They wanted to get a sense of the man. The events of the last two days overseas have had a connection that led straight back to Conlon. He had a business link with a member of the Covenant. The information our people in the field gathered has it that he provided them with support in an assassination here several weeks ago.

And so I went. I met with a police inspector we've coordinated with before. We found the bastard at the Europa. During the Troubles it was said that was the most bombed hotel in Europe. Today you wouldn't know it to look at it. And sure enough, there he was, having tea. He even invited us to join him. From an outsider's point of view, it probably seemed like a friendly chat. It was anything but that. It's what's in the eyes that's important. Inspector Grady did most of the talking. I just watched Conlon. He spoke very pleasantly, as if without a care in the world. Underneath all of that, though, I was looking at a man who's killed people before. A man who sees nothing wrong with the taking of innocent lives if it achieves his objectives. A cold blooded bastard, that's Kevin.

He wouldn't crack, not under a more serious questioning. And that's not even what this was. All this was about was getting a measure of the man. And he got a measure of me, for that matter. I'm certain he knows full well I'm a Five man. I'd imagine he'd love the chance to set a bomb in the boot of my car and send me off to an early grave.

I live in a world of shadows, where I don't talk about my work, not with friends, family, or women. That can raise hell with a social life, believe me. I do it for Queen and country. Where my colleagues at Six spend their time abroad, I spend my time defusing the threats that turn up here at home. I've met some nasty, dangerous people in my time. Conlon certainly qualifies as such. And someday, when the peace breaks... he'll be right back in the thick of the fighting.

When that happens.... we'll be ready for him.