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Today is May 1, 1917. Word has just come to me that several local boys have been drafted to fight the war in Europe. This one is called "The Great War." It's been raging since August 1914. President Wilson asked the Congress for a declaration of war last month. He got it. Hundreds of thousands have died already. Now, many of our own good boys will die. War is a chronic condition, and stupid. I was that young when I first went off to war, fifty-seven years ago. I was twenty-one, about the same age as these kids. I had no idea that I was entering my own personal season in hell when I joined up with a New York volunteer regiment. These young men are about to march off to another war, another cause. Many will die uselessly on torn-up battlefields that nobody will remember except the men who fight there. I still see those faces in the distance, on a hillside at a place called Gettysburg. I see myself, young, but no longer a boy. My innocence was a fa�ade. War is butchery, and I experienced it close-up. I was part of a monster, trained to overwhelm and destroy my enemy, my brother. By the end of the war, I was good at it. It fit me well. I was a seasoned veteran. Killing had become second nature. Experience being the best teacher, I learned well. In April 1865, I knew what I was. The question had become, what was I going to be? The thought once occurred to me that maybe I should not have survived the war, that war should devour its own and leave the remnant in peace.

Today is May 1, 1917. Word has just come to me that several local boys have been drafted to fight the war in Europe. This one is called "The Great War." It's been raging since August 1914. President Wilson asked the Congress for a declaration of war last month. He got it. Hundreds of thousands have died already. Now, many of our own good boys will die. War is a chronic condition, and stupid. I was that young when I first went off to war, fifty-seven years ago. I was twenty-one, about the same age as these kids. I had no idea that I was entering my own personal season in hell when I joined up with a New York volunteer regiment. These young men are about to march off to another war, another cause. Many will die uselessly on torn-up battlefields that nobody will remember except the men who fight there. I still see those faces in the distance, on a hillside at a place called Gettysburg. I see myself, young, but no longer a boy. My innocence was a fa�ade. War is butchery, and I experienced it close-up. I was part of a monster, trained to overwhelm and destroy my enemy, my brother. By the end of the war, I was good at it. It fit me well. I was a seasoned veteran. Killing had become second nature. Experience being the best teacher, I learned well. In April 1865, I knew what I was. The question had become, what was I going to be? The thought once occurred to me that maybe I should not have survived the war, that war should devour its own and leave the remnant in peace.

The world has always had uprisings, revolutions, border conflicts, and dictatorial ambitions. Thus far, there has been minimal interest in a possible cure, or to take action to eliminate, this world wide dilemma. No-one seems to care if these people live or die. We have reached the time that someone, or some country, takes action to support the victims. Someone to offer assistance to the down trodden. America has had its share of pioneers, anxious warriors, and librarians, but none with a suitable response to the acts of violence or aggressive actions. As in the past, there has always been a Leader that was willing to place himself in harm�s way, to pioneer a campaign to minimize or eliminate the perpetrators of these uprisings or insurgents.

Today is May 1, 1917. Word has just come to me that several local boys have been drafted to fight the war in Europe. This one is called "The Great War." It's been raging since August 1914. President Wilson asked the Congress for a declaration of war last month. He got it. Hundreds of thousands have died already. Now, many of our own good boys will die. War is a chronic condition, and stupid. I was that young when I first went off to war, fifty-seven years ago. I was twenty-one, about the same age as these kids. I had no idea that I was entering my own personal season in hell when I joined up with a New York volunteer regiment. These young men are about to march off to another war, another cause. Many will die uselessly on torn-up battlefields that nobody will remember except the men who fight there. I still see those faces in the distance, on a hillside at a place called Gettysburg. I see myself, young, but no longer a boy. My innocence was a fa�ade. War is butchery, and I experienced it close-up. I was part of a monster, trained to overwhelm and destroy my enemy, my brother. By the end of the war, I was good at it. It fit me well. I was a seasoned veteran. Killing had become second nature. Experience being the best teacher, I learned well. In April 1865, I knew what I was. The question had become, what was I going to be? The thought once occurred to me that maybe I should not have survived the war, that war should devour its own and leave the remnant in peace.

The world has always had uprisings, revolutions, border conflicts, and dictatorial ambitions. Thus far, there has been minimal interest in a possible cure, or to take action to eliminate, this world wide dilemma. No-one seems to care if these people live or die. We have reached the time that someone, or some country, takes action to support the victims. Someone to offer assistance to the down trodden. America has had its share of pioneers, anxious warriors, and librarians, but none with a suitable response to the acts of violence or aggressive actions. As in the past, there has always been a Leader that was willing to place himself in harm�s way, to pioneer a campaign to minimize or eliminate the perpetrators of these uprisings or insurgents.

A fast-paced, riveting and vividly told story of unknown and true aviation adventure in the spirit of the legendary Air America. An abundance of actual photos accompany the 328 pages of text. Throughout, the author entertains with gut busting laughs and anecdotes of some truly extraordinary aviating the likes of which will never be seen again.

 

Summer 1984. A lone, desperate pilot arrives in the blistering heat of the south Texas border city of McAllen. Searching for a flying job, he finds old aircraft flying south in the dead of night, their cabins overloaded with electronic contraband. They were headed for clandestine airstrips deep into Mexico's interior. With pockets full of hope and not much else, the pilot's fragile lives hung literally on both engines running. Read about the incredible adventures, the hair raising escapes, the long prison terms and death that await them south of the border. Read about the inherent danger in flying the dark, sinister Sierras and landing at blacked out, improvised airstrips. Dealing with corrupt and ruthless Mexican authorities, pilots found their well-being hung by a tenuous thread. Everyone, north and south, had a price. For more than a few, that price was death.

 

     "While not exactly a fountain of information, Chuck did manage to leave me with an uplifting reflection as I ambled away from his esteemed presence. I think he had sensed my apprehension. Offhandedly, he said that no one had been killed since early June. My pace slowed a bit as that uncertain benediction hit home like a June bug smackin' a Harley driver's eyeball. Whap! I took a quick look at my Seiko watch, a long-lived holdover from another asylum of anxiety called Vietnam. The day/date showed Jun/21. Maybe he meant last June? I thought. I turned to ask but changed my mind. With a somewhat dampened spirit, I returned to my metal abode for more contemplation. Keeping my options open grew more appealing for now."

A fast-paced, riveting and vividly told story of unknown and true aviation adventure in the spirit of the legendary Air America. An abundance of actual photos accompany the 328 pages of text. Throughout, the author entertains with gut busting laughs and anecdotes of some truly extraordinary aviating the likes of which will never be seen again.

 

Summer 1984. A lone, desperate pilot arrives in the blistering heat of the south Texas border city of McAllen. Searching for a flying job, he finds old aircraft flying south in the dead of night, their cabins overloaded with electronic contraband. They were headed for clandestine airstrips deep into Mexico's interior. With pockets full of hope and not much else, the pilot's fragile lives hung literally on both engines running. Read about the incredible adventures, the hair raising escapes, the long prison terms and death that await them south of the border. Read about the inherent danger in flying the dark, sinister Sierras and landing at blacked out, improvised airstrips. Dealing with corrupt and ruthless Mexican authorities, pilots found their well-being hung by a tenuous thread. Everyone, north and south, had a price. For more than a few, that price was death.

 

     "While not exactly a fountain of information, Chuck did manage to leave me with an uplifting reflection as I ambled away from his esteemed presence. I think he had sensed my apprehension. Offhandedly, he said that no one had been killed since early June. My pace slowed a bit as that uncertain benediction hit home like a June bug smackin' a Harley driver's eyeball. Whap! I took a quick look at my Seiko watch, a long-lived holdover from another asylum of anxiety called Vietnam. The day/date showed Jun/21. Maybe he meant last June? I thought. I turned to ask but changed my mind. With a somewhat dampened spirit, I returned to my metal abode for more contemplation. Keeping my options open grew more appealing for now."

Summary of The 508th Connection by Zig Boroughs When I arrived home after my army discharge in 1945, the challenges of adult civilian life excited me tremendously. I passionately anticipated living as a husband and father, no longer separated by the Atlantic Ocean and a dangerous war from my wife and child. I eagerly plunged into active civilian employment, impatient to establish a career of peaceful service to humanity. Although the experiences and feelings of World War II affected by attitudes and ideals, my energies were so devoted to other interests, the memories of the war years were pushed into an inactive part of my brain. For many years I thought very little about the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment, and I lost contact with all but one of my paratrooper buddies. Then at 11:00 PM, Christmas Eve 1983, a memory of Christmas Eve 1944 forced its way to the surface. My wife and I were visiting with our daughter, Gini, and her family. We were waiting for our grandchildren to go to bed so that Santa Claus could prepare for Christmas morning. Noticing that it was 11:00 PM, I announced, �Let me tell you what I was doing at this hour thirty-nine years ago!� I told the story �Burial and Birth,� which you may read in this volume. When I finished the story, Gini told me, �Dad, you should write this story and send it to all our family members.� Once I wrote one story, the dam burst and a floodgate of stories awoke in my memory, which resulted in the book, A Private�s Eye View of World War II. Many details had faded with time, and I needed to check with my paratrooper buddies to get my stories straight. Senator Strom Thurman�s staff helped me locate Jim Allardyce, secretary of the 508th Parachute Infantry Association. Allardyce provided a roster of the association membership with their addresses. This enabled me to verify or correct my stories, A Private�s Eye View of World War II. Other veterans of the 508th began to tell me their stories. Some suggested that I write another book and tell their experiences, which resulted in The Devil�s Tale. For over twenty years, I have collected information from others. The most important source of information has come from the 508th veterans. Since I have been associated with the 508th Parachute Infantry Association, I have met hundreds of fellow veterans of the regiment and have listened to their stories. Through the association, I have also met friends of the 508th from England, France, Belgium, Holland, Germany, and Israel. These friends have also given me valuable information. I have chosen the title The 508th Connection to give credit to all those who have so generously helped as friends and as sources of information. The �connections� are much more than sources for writing a book. They are friends whom I treasure. They are closer than friends. We are family. The 508th Connection tells the stories of the lives of men of the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment, Eighty-second Airborne Division. As you read the stories in The 508th Connection, you will become connected with their lives�in the barracks, in the pubs, and on the battlefield. The stories are both entertaining and educational. They will capture your heart, your imagination, and your understanding of what it was like for the paratroopers to live through the horrors of war while keeping their sanity and humor. There are humorous stories, romantic stories, and battle stories, stories about being captured by the enemy. There are stories of men who killed to survive, who lived in foxholes, who helped and were helped by local people. Throughout the book, we connect with the paratroopers who relied on each other for survival. This is their story.

Summary of The 508th Connection by Zig Boroughs When I arrived home after my army discharge in 1945, the challenges of adult civilian life excited me tremendously. I passionately anticipated living as a husband and father, no longer separated by the Atlantic Ocean and a dangerous war from my wife and child. I eagerly plunged into active civilian employment, impatient to establish a career of peaceful service to humanity. Although the experiences and feelings of World War II affected by attitudes and ideals, my energies were so devoted to other interests, the memories of the war years were pushed into an inactive part of my brain. For many years I thought very little about the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment, and I lost contact with all but one of my paratrooper buddies. Then at 11:00 PM, Christmas Eve 1983, a memory of Christmas Eve 1944 forced its way to the surface. My wife and I were visiting with our daughter, Gini, and her family. We were waiting for our grandchildren to go to bed so that Santa Claus could prepare for Christmas morning. Noticing that it was 11:00 PM, I announced, �Let me tell you what I was doing at this hour thirty-nine years ago!� I told the story �Burial and Birth,� which you may read in this volume. When I finished the story, Gini told me, �Dad, you should write this story and send it to all our family members.� Once I wrote one story, the dam burst and a floodgate of stories awoke in my memory, which resulted in the book, A Private�s Eye View of World War II. Many details had faded with time, and I needed to check with my paratrooper buddies to get my stories straight. Senator Strom Thurman�s staff helped me locate Jim Allardyce, secretary of the 508th Parachute Infantry Association. Allardyce provided a roster of the association membership with their addresses. This enabled me to verify or correct my stories, A Private�s Eye View of World War II. Other veterans of the 508th began to tell me their stories. Some suggested that I write another book and tell their experiences, which resulted in The Devil�s Tale. For over twenty years, I have collected information from others. The most important source of information has come from the 508th veterans. Since I have been associated with the 508th Parachute Infantry Association, I have met hundreds of fellow veterans of the regiment and have listened to their stories. Through the association, I have also met friends of the 508th from England, France, Belgium, Holland, Germany, and Israel. These friends have also given me valuable information. I have chosen the title The 508th Connection to give credit to all those who have so generously helped as friends and as sources of information. The �connections� are much more than sources for writing a book. They are friends whom I treasure. They are closer than friends. We are family. The 508th Connection tells the stories of the lives of men of the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment, Eighty-second Airborne Division. As you read the stories in The 508th Connection, you will become connected with their lives�in the barracks, in the pubs, and on the battlefield. The stories are both entertaining and educational. They will capture your heart, your imagination, and your understanding of what it was like for the paratroopers to live through the horrors of war while keeping their sanity and humor. There are humorous stories, romantic stories, and battle stories, stories about being captured by the enemy. There are stories of men who killed to survive, who lived in foxholes, who helped and were helped by local people. Throughout the book, we connect with the paratroopers who relied on each other for survival. This is their story.

Summary of The 508th Connection by Zig Boroughs When I arrived home after my army discharge in 1945, the challenges of adult civilian life excited me tremendously. I passionately anticipated living as a husband and father, no longer separated by the Atlantic Ocean and a dangerous war from my wife and child. I eagerly plunged into active civilian employment, impatient to establish a career of peaceful service to humanity. Although the experiences and feelings of World War II affected by attitudes and ideals, my energies were so devoted to other interests, the memories of the war years were pushed into an inactive part of my brain. For many years I thought very little about the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment, and I lost contact with all but one of my paratrooper buddies. Then at 11:00 PM, Christmas Eve 1983, a memory of Christmas Eve 1944 forced its way to the surface. My wife and I were visiting with our daughter, Gini, and her family. We were waiting for our grandchildren to go to bed so that Santa Claus could prepare for Christmas morning. Noticing that it was 11:00 PM, I announced, �Let me tell you what I was doing at this hour thirty-nine years ago!� I told the story �Burial and Birth,� which you may read in this volume. When I finished the story, Gini told me, �Dad, you should write this story and send it to all our family members.� Once I wrote one story, the dam burst and a floodgate of stories awoke in my memory, which resulted in the book, A Private�s Eye View of World War II. Many details had faded with time, and I needed to check with my paratrooper buddies to get my stories straight. Senator Strom Thurman�s staff helped me locate Jim Allardyce, secretary of the 508th Parachute Infantry Association. Allardyce provided a roster of the association membership with their addresses. This enabled me to verify or correct my stories, A Private�s Eye View of World War II. Other veterans of the 508th began to tell me their stories. Some suggested that I write another book and tell their experiences, which resulted in The Devil�s Tale. For over twenty years, I have collected information from others. The most important source of information has come from the 508th veterans. Since I have been associated with the 508th Parachute Infantry Association, I have met hundreds of fellow veterans of the regiment and have listened to their stories. Through the association, I have also met friends of the 508th from England, France, Belgium, Holland, Germany, and Israel. These friends have also given me valuable information. I have chosen the title The 508th Connection to give credit to all those who have so generously helped as friends and as sources of information. The �connections� are much more than sources for writing a book. They are friends whom I treasure. They are closer than friends. We are family. The 508th Connection tells the stories of the lives of men of the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment, Eighty-second Airborne Division. As you read the stories in The 508th Connection, you will become connected with their lives�in the barracks, in the pubs, and on the battlefield. The stories are both entertaining and educational. They will capture your heart, your imagination, and your understanding of what it was like for the paratroopers to live through the horrors of war while keeping their sanity and humor. There are humorous stories, romantic stories, and battle stories, stories about being captured by the enemy. There are stories of men who killed to survive, who lived in foxholes, who helped and were helped by local people. Throughout the book, we connect with the paratroopers who relied on each other for survival. This is their story.

THIS IS THE STORY OF THE 445TH HEAVY BOMBER GROUP THAT FLEW A WWII MISSION FROM TIBENHAM, ENGLAND TO BOMB HENSCHEL MOTOR WORKS IN THE AREA OF KASSEL, GERMANY. THE HENSCHEL MOTOR WORKS MANUFACTURED PANZER AND THE ENTIRE WARTIME INVENTORY OF TIGER II TANKS FOR THE GERMAN ARMY. OF THE 35 B-24 LIBERATOR HEAVY BOMBERS THAT LEFT THE TIBENHAM AIR FIELD THE MORNING OF SEPTEMBER 24, 1944, ONLY 4 RETURNED THAT AFTERNOON. EACH B-24 BOMBER WAS FLOWN BY 10 OR 11 MAN CREW. DUE TO REASONS UNKNOWN, FOR OVER 70 YEARS, THIS BOMBER GROUP WAS WITHIN TWO MINUTES OF REACHING THE HENSCHEL MOTOR WORKS TARGET ON ITS BOMB RUN, WHEN SUDDENLY, THE FORMATION DEVIATED AWAY FROM THE BOMB RUN. LEAVING BEHIND ITS FIGHTER ESCORTS AND THE DEFENCES OF SURROUNDING BOMBER GUARDS AND BOMBED ARGUABLY THE WRONG TARGET (GOETTINGEN). ISOLATED FROM THE FIGHTER AND BOMBER STREAM PROTECTION, THE 445TH WAS ATTACKED BY OVER 120 GERMAN FIGHTER INTERCEPTORS EQUIPPED WITH 20mm AND 30mm CANNONS RESULTING IN 28 OF THE 35 BOMBERS BEING DESTROYED WITHIN A PERIOD OF 3-4 MINUTES IN THE MOST INTENSE AERIAL COMBAT ENCOUNTER WITH THE GREATEST PERCENTAGE LOSSES EVER RECORDED IN MILITARY AVIATION HISTORY. THE INTENSE ATTACK RESULTED IN THE LOSS OF 117 USAAF AIRMEN AND 18 GERMAN PILOTS. WITNESSES ON THE GROUND SAID IT SEEMED LIKE THE OVERCAST ABOVE WAS RAINING DOWN AIRPLANES AND PARACHUTES. THE OFFICIAL USAAF CONCLUSION PENNED OCTOBER 23, 1944 WAS TO BLAME THE LEAD BOMBER CREW FOR NAVIGATIONAL ERROR, SPECIFICALLY THE RADAR NAVIGATOR. WE OFFER TWO OTHER FAR MORE SENSIBLE THEORIES AS TO THE CAUSE AND EFFECT, EITHER ONE OF WHICH BY NECESSITY LED TO AN 8TH AIR FORCE COVER UP.

THIS IS THE STORY OF THE 445TH HEAVY BOMBER GROUP THAT FLEW A WWII MISSION FROM TIBENHAM, ENGLAND TO BOMB HENSCHEL MOTOR WORKS IN THE AREA OF KASSEL, GERMANY. THE HENSCHEL MOTOR WORKS MANUFACTURED PANZER AND THE ENTIRE WARTIME INVENTORY OF TIGER II TANKS FOR THE GERMAN ARMY. OF THE 35 B-24 LIBERATOR HEAVY BOMBERS THAT LEFT THE TIBENHAM AIR FIELD THE MORNING OF SEPTEMBER 24, 1944, ONLY 4 RETURNED THAT AFTERNOON. EACH B-24 BOMBER WAS FLOWN BY 10 OR 11 MAN CREW. DUE TO REASONS UNKNOWN, FOR OVER 70 YEARS, THIS BOMBER GROUP WAS WITHIN TWO MINUTES OF REACHING THE HENSCHEL MOTOR WORKS TARGET ON ITS BOMB RUN, WHEN SUDDENLY, THE FORMATION DEVIATED AWAY FROM THE BOMB RUN. LEAVING BEHIND ITS FIGHTER ESCORTS AND THE DEFENCES OF SURROUNDING BOMBER GUARDS AND BOMBED ARGUABLY THE WRONG TARGET (GOETTINGEN). ISOLATED FROM THE FIGHTER AND BOMBER STREAM PROTECTION, THE 445TH WAS ATTACKED BY OVER 120 GERMAN FIGHTER INTERCEPTORS EQUIPPED WITH 20mm AND 30mm CANNONS RESULTING IN 28 OF THE 35 BOMBERS BEING DESTROYED WITHIN A PERIOD OF 3-4 MINUTES IN THE MOST INTENSE AERIAL COMBAT ENCOUNTER WITH THE GREATEST PERCENTAGE LOSSES EVER RECORDED IN MILITARY AVIATION HISTORY. THE INTENSE ATTACK RESULTED IN THE LOSS OF 117 USAAF AIRMEN AND 18 GERMAN PILOTS. WITNESSES ON THE GROUND SAID IT SEEMED LIKE THE OVERCAST ABOVE WAS RAINING DOWN AIRPLANES AND PARACHUTES. THE OFFICIAL USAAF CONCLUSION PENNED OCTOBER 23, 1944 WAS TO BLAME THE LEAD BOMBER CREW FOR NAVIGATIONAL ERROR, SPECIFICALLY THE RADAR NAVIGATOR. WE OFFER TWO OTHER FAR MORE SENSIBLE THEORIES AS TO THE CAUSE AND EFFECT, EITHER ONE OF WHICH BY NECESSITY LED TO AN 8TH AIR FORCE COVER UP.

How familiar is this? You attend a reunion and inevitably several members recollecting a significant event begin arguing over when that event actually occurred. As you listen to them debating over the circumstances you realize that neither has a clue as to the facts or sequence of events.

Since 2003 I have attended Third Battalion Third Marines Viet Nam Era reunions and listened to my fellow warriors of Lima Company recollecting stories of our glory days. I noticed that every year the details of events became more and more obscure. Of course one could consult the official Command Chronologies, but not everyone has access to them. Even if you do have access to this information, it takes time to wade through all the data; a task that the average individual would find tedious. Some of the copies of the Command Chronologies are almost unreadable due to poor quality reproduction methods used. Wouldn�t it be helpful if all the information was assembled in one area and available for quick reference? This project was an answer to that problem.

I started with the Lima Company roster for the end of February 1967, which listed all the members of Company Lima that participated in the battles with the North Vietnamese Army during the first five days of March for which we acquired the tag of �Ripley�s Raiders�. I then determined the Marine who had been with the unit the longest and the Marine who had been there the least length of time. My goal for this project was to chronicle all the entries I could find on Lima Company during their tours of duty. This required compiling information for a period of twenty eight months: December 1966 thru March 1968. I included the names of all other members of Lima Company during this time frame to act as memory joggers for the reader.

I accessed the National Archives on line and in thirteen months transcribed everything I could find from the Command Chronologies into one chronological record of the events experienced by the members of Ripley�s Raiders.