Bastards Likely Will Get Us Killed

Hanlon’s Razor

 “”Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.

Or as attributed to Napoleon,

Never ascribe to malice that which can be explained by incompetence.

Trying to make sense of what is happening at the senior leadership level of our Armed Forces is difficult. If someone set out to render military units ineffective without eliminating them entirely, a better scheme than what is occurring now would be hard to construct.

Col. David Hackworth hammered on the theme of perfumed princes. Were he alive today, he might describe the current situation as civilian social justice warriors, to whom feelings supersede facts, meet careerists, who have never had a conflict with what is good for the service, and what is good for their careers. Of course he would state it much better than me.

One quote attributed to him can find parallels in most societies over the course of recorded history.

Our generals talk a good game about taking care of their grunts, and the majority of our Beltway politicians bay with moralistic fervor about how they, too, support the troops.

Another is true today.

The old saying that war is a racket has taken on an even more shameful meaning.

Then there are the harshly true word of Rudyard Kipling’s “Tommy”.

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,

The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."

The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,

I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

    O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";

    But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,

    The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,

    O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,

They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;

They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,

But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!

    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";

    But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,

    The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,

    O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep

Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;

An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit

Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.

    Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"

    But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,

    The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,

    O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;

An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,

Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;

    While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",

    But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,

    There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,

    O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:

We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.

Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face

The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"

    But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;

    An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;

    An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

These fools never learn. Over the centuries, more than one nation’s army has said, “Fuck this shit”, and just walked away. I wonder how close ours is to that point?