Conduct Unbecoming

the author with Andy Smith Balad, Iraq 2004

Iraq, 2005, on a routine patrol in Al Saydiya, I was running commo for the Field Artillery.  Field Artillery batteries didn’t do mounted patrols.  They load small infant sized explosives to bad guys.  Now we were cruising Al Kahrabaa Shopping Center looking for love in all the wrong places.

“Come on Jared.  It’s my turn in the turret.”

“Get bent Rob!  It’s a nice day and I am enjoying it.”

“What a koon-ass redneck!” I sighed to myself as I turned to the green Sincgars radio and check in.  “Red 6, Red 1-5, turning left off Al Karkh.”

“Copy,” the steel metal box responded over static.

I could see the creepy deserted Ferris Wheel on my right as we made the turn.  This place used to be a city park now it looks the set of a zombie movie, spiritless, evil and undead.  It saddened me but I could never pass by al Karkh without feeling annoyed.  We had to pass by a 3 minaret mosque that looked like 3 snow cones.  The “Song It’s A Small World After All” looped back in my head like a nightmare where I am a 12 year old boy being chased by a randy Michael Jackson.  Great, now I hate Disneyland.

I put the headset down and sighed.  My driver, PFC Irvin, a lanky Floridian looked me at with a half smile, “He’s not going to trade out with you.  He has some kind of death wish.”  

“He’ll do what’s told.” I smiled.  Crawling out of the TC chair in the back of the Humvee.  I moved toward Specialist Wilson’s legs as he stood strong in the turret.

I tapped on him on Wilson’s right leg.  “Come on redneck, my turn.  You know you can’t hit moving targets if something went down.”

Then I heard something, maybe a crack, maybe something else.  But the next thing I knew Jered collapsed and his head cradled in my lap bleeding out neck pints of blood warm and sticky on my pants.  He tried to say something.  But I don’t remember what.  I couldn’t talk.  He died about 30 seconds after that.

Fort Huachuca, Arizona.  3 AM, 2007.   I have a loaded 1911 in my mouth.  It took me three months to get to this point.  But here I am.  If I put it in my mouth I am going to do it.  I am going to do it.  Then my son starts to cry in the next room and the light in the bedroom switches on and my wife, Amy is up.

5 hours later.  Morning formation comes and goes.  The guys are coming back from PT getting ready to shower and I am rolling up in my work uniform.  I already called Top.  He’s pissed, but what do you expect?

But here’s comes Mister Clean, in peak physical condition First Lieutenant Ratliff, “So nice of you to show up Staff Sergeant!”

First Sergeant Stipovich, over forty and showing it, yells, “Sergeant Byrd!  In my office now!”

“You guys think you can get away with whatever you want just because you have been down range.”  LT wore his ring while in his PTs.  Most guys don’t wear their wedding rings while working out but here LT is wearing is West Point graduation ring.  At twenty-seven, he can’t be more than a couple of months older than me.  He is yelling at me at the top of his lungs in front of the entire company.  And I know he’s angry and trying hard to be tough, but I can’t help but think that his first sexual experience has been with a man.

“Sir, I respectfully request a private conference with my commander.”

The LT cannot control his rage.  

“It is my right!”

The both of us walk away from the company area toward the wilderness area but Fort Huachuca is fairly open and bleak.

But he won’t hear what I have to say and automatically demands that I snap to the position of attention and he screams at me in private (finally) but he keeps encroaching into my private space.  He is less than an inch from my nose and I can feel his hot breath and spittle on my face.  

“Get away from me.  Your breath smells like dick.”

I warned him.  Top shows up.  LT is in face again and I lay him out.  I punched him in the nose blood is every where.  Top tackles me.  The LT is screaming even louder.  Within a couple of months, LT takes away my rank and dishonorably discharges me.  But not before the docs diagnosis me with severe PTSD.  I get my discharge upgraded.  But I never got my rank back.  They said it was conduct unbecoming of a non-commissioned officer.

the Spoiled Wife part 1

I.

April 15, 1951

(Real Life Soviet Korean War Ace - Yevgeny Pepelyaev credited with 20 air to air kills)

We begin our tale around a table where pilots in North Korean uniforms drink vodka and are playing cards.  One of the pilots, Andrei Orlov shuffles the cards and he is telling a story. 

Inside his cockpit above his flight speedometer is a picture of his smiling wife.  "Americans one o'clock," the excited voice of Flight Lieutenant Malchnikov over the net.

"Flight Lieutenant Malchnikov you are to only speak Chinese."

(The Mig-15 - agile, fast and able to climb higher than its US counterparts - this jet tipped the balance to the Communists.)

His fellow pilots laugh throughout the net.  Andrei takes one last look at Dasha.  He kisses the picture and then makes the sign of the cross in the orthodox way. "Red wolves on me!" 

His squadron along with 2 other sister squadrons, 30 Mig-15s total intercept an American bomber group over the Yalu River.  The Americans outnumber the Russians 3 to 1.  A brutal aerial combat ensues.  In the melee, American F-48 Thunderjet strafes the wings of Andrei's wingman, Sasha Lugovskaya.  Lugovskaya separates from fight and heads back to bases deep into Manchuria.   The Russians shoot down 12 B-29 bombers and the bomber group. Andrei orders his men to return back to base.  Then he sees F-80 shooting star fly over top of him and decides to pursue the lone aircraft to claim his 15th air to air kill. 

He checks his fuel gauge, he is running low on fuel.  His eyes lock with the eyes of his wife, Dasha smiling proudly.  

F-80 Shooting Star

If Andrei knocks this aircraft out of the sky, he will be a three time war ace.  Although Andrei's Mig-15 can quickly overtake the wandering aircraft, he decides to conserve his fuel and slowly make up the distance.  The Shooting Star nears the big board blue waters of the Bay of Korea, Andrei's thumb moves a quarter of an inch to the button for the 23mm cannons.  The Shooting Star limply glides seemingly unaware of its impeding fate.

Then 50 caliber bullets rock Andrei's aircraft with direct hits into his fuselage.  He is sitting duck over the ocean far away from his support, alone and wounded.  Two F-84 Thunderjets blaze away in hot pursuit.  Andrei climbs steeply in a rolling climb evading the bullets of the Thunderjets.  Andrei's aircraft quickly evades a deadly fate easily outclassing the Americans.  They call off the chase.  Andrei's expert flying thrusts his body from side to side the force of the aircraft throwing him like bouncer against two brick walls.  Andrei spies his dashboard where his wife's picture lies.  The dashboard shakes and rattles.    His aircraft begins to shake it cannot withstand altitudes exceeding 50,000 feet and Andrei himself leveling his aircraft cannot breathe.  He dives painfully his aircraft harder and harder to control as the joystick stiffens.

He can breathe but his aircraft is harder and harder to control.  Lost, he looks back and he sees he is leaking fuel and hydraulic fluid.  It is only a matter of time before he looses control of his aircraft.  He decides to bail out.  He pulls his wife's picture and kisses it, then tucks it inside his jacket.  He reaches for the ejection handle.  But the explosive bolts malfunction and debris flies everywhere and

Andrei looses consciousness.

Meanwhile at the Soviet base, General Loshka Petrov stands silently and grimly as he counts the planes.  The political officer, General Poverotoff directs two camera crews - one taking pictures of Loshka and the other watching the swept winged MiG-15's land gracefully.

"Twenty nine" Loshka says grimly.

Lugovskaya walks up to the General.  Loshka asks, "Were there any Mayday calls over the net?"

"No, Comrade General."

"Go tight on the General's eyes."  Poverotoff directs his cameraman.  Loshka makes eye contact with Povertoff before the Cameraman can refocus and walks away but in front of his second camera man who is filming the the final aircraft landing.

"You blocked my shot Loshka!" 

Loshka mutters walking away.  "My apologies Comrade General, I have to write a condolence letter to Squadron Commander's wife and tell her that she will be a widow."

Loshka then turns to Poverotoff.  "Instead of telling Dasha that her damned fool husband of hers got himself killed trying to be the Hero of the Soviet Union over Korean Water.   Did you know one of my pilots shot himself in the head rather than be taken alive by the Americans?  Did you know that?  His name was Sergey Andreivich, he must twenty five years old.  I did not ask him shoot himself.  I would have let him get captured and sit out the war with the Americans.  You asked him to kill himself and he did.  I wrote that letter to his mother.  Another one of my pilots was shot down and strafed by his men.  You remember him Major Lugovskaya, you strafed him.  His name of Captain Antoly Illych.  I wrote that letter too.  So what will I tell Dasha Yurivna?  Do I have to tell her that he died in a training accident?  He lost control of his aircraft while reading Pushkin?  Or while that his service revolver accidentally discharged while he was on the toilet?  Or that an anvil  struck him in the head while he was tying his shoes.  His wife and mine are very close so it better be good, because my Lana knows when I am lying."

Poverotoff's men break down their cameras. 

"Loshka, look it's Andrei!"  Lugovskaya points to a trail of faint smoke follow the little black dot that wobbles on the horizon. 

Loshka and Lugovskaya strain to see it is indeed Andrei limping back to base.

Andrei explains, "I blacked out.  I didn't know if I was in the air floating from my parachute or in the Worker's Paradise in the Sky.  But Lenin's Ghost, I was in the cockpit of my aircraft losing altitude and speed.  But I was in my bird and I control her.  I lost fuel and all my hydraulic fluid.  I knew I might have to belly land her but if only one of my wheels had come down.  That would be difficult."

With both heels down, Andrei lands gracefully the entire fight wing swarms his aircraft.  He gets out to a hero's welcome.  He kisses his aircraft.  "This is truly a soldier's airplane."

Money is on the table and the men place their bets. Lugovskaya opens the turn by playing one card face up - a seven.  Malchnikov plays a King.  Another Officer an Ace, causing Andrei to exclaim, "I am playing against myself."

He picks up the cards. Then Poverotoff arrives with a bottle of cognac in his hand.  All the men stop what they are doing.

Poverotoff, "Congratulations from the People's Commissar on your great air victory today!"

He stands by the bar and beckons all to the bar to fill their glasses from his bottle.  All of them reluctantly gather except for Andrei who instead pulls out his picture of his wife, he kisses it and makes the sign of the cross in the Orthodox way, re-shuffles the deck and plays solitaire drinking unhealthy shots of vodka in secession.

Poverotof fills the men's glasses liberally.  A few drink the cognac behind his back and then place their empty glasses in front of him to be re-filled.  No one in the wing makes a sound, he tries to make conversation with each pilot praising each of them saying, "12 Bombers have been destroyed.  3 dozen fighters, our allies are scooping up their crews, this is a great victory and potentially a great intelligence and propaganda crew!  You have defeated the Americans!!!!"

"Our former allies," Andrei drinks.

Poverotoff smiles broadly, "And to our hero, Lieutenant Colonel Andrei Orlov who scored his 15th air to air kill.  Our sources confirm Colonel Andrei Orlov shot down a F-80 Shooting Star piloted by Captain Antony Nelson over the Korean Bay.  At the age 34, this makes Colonel Orlov the youngest 3 time fighter ace in Soviet history even though he violated direct orders not to fly over enemy waters for fear of losing our aircraft and hence our air superiority."

"Captain Nelson ditched his aircraft before I could get to him."  He stood up.  "I cannot confirm that he went down.  I can confirm I didn't kill him or damage his plane.  It flew fine the last I saw of it."  Getting up and quitting his game of Solitaire in disgust, "No, Comrade General, I wouldn't want you to lie."

He walks over to the Poverotoff, "How about a toast to you Comrade Poverotoff?"

"Colonel Verusderoff, really . . . I"

"To the Blue Caps, you SMERSH men, you know I have nephew in the NKVD - a worthless boy - my brother Kostya's boy, Gerochka, Gerochka Kostantinovich.  My brother was an ace!  Kostya shot down six of the Germans - two of them in single combat.  When the Luftwaffe shot him down, I requested to be transferred instead of languishing here as an instructor.  But no, I languished here and Gerochka had no father.  He is rotten to the core.  Evil.  Lazy.  Worthless, not fit to break rocks in the Kolyma.  Her mother wrote me, "What will happen to my son, a sniveling youth, I don't know where to turn to launch him in life. He is such a fool he doesn't want to study, barely got through three years of school, but then he joined you.  How his situation changed!"

"Andryushka!"  Loschka stepped in.  The entire room snaps to attention except Poverotoff, technically his peer in rank.  "Come here!"

Andrei left the bar and met Loschka in the hall.  "Andryushka, you must come home.  There's been an accident, your wife Dasha is in the hospital."

You Are Under Arrest

A summary of Chapter 1

of Aleksandr Isayevich Solzhenitsyn's

Gulag Archipelago

Imagine you are a soldier, not just any soldier, but an officer, a captain in charge of 120 men and not just just in any Army but  the Soviet Army, the Soviet Army at war, not just any war, but the Great Patriotic War.  The Year is 1945, February.

Maybe you know that today is Chinese New Year - the year of the rooster.  You mail a letter to a friend, Sasha, he's on the Ukrainian front.  You lead a patrol behind enemy lines to reconnoiter the exact location of the enemy artillery battery and command post.  You have been wounded several times. You are decorated for bravery twice.   These thoughts occur to you after the mission just as you present your report to the Brigade Commander.   The self important twit  does not even bother to stand up as you make your report.

A thought flashes in your mind, your service revolver in your holster, "Shoot him!" You dismiss such thoughts.  He has never done you any harm.  He doesn't respect you, doesn't like you.  You tell yourself to that you should rest.  You think about the brutality of the consequences, arrest, a firing squad, and your wife in poverty.  You shift back on to one foot and begin a sentence with "The Germans."  But what about the rooster?  What does a rooster do? Cocks and crows.  By the time the cock crowed, Peter had denied his Lord three times.  But you will never deny your country.  You are a patriot.  You are a socialist.  You believe in the rightness of your cause and the fidelity of your country.  Yet the word 'Traitor' has invaded your mind like a burglar in the night.

Your orderly, a think be-speckeled man with a round face hands you a letter.  Nina, your wife, reminded you of that couple with no children, the older man who had a wife, twenty years his junior - Yaroslav?  Or was it Yakov.  Arrested!  What?  Nina, she writes, "He was Burgermeister for the Germans."  Everyone in the battery relaxes to eat and one of the enlisted men makes a joke about Stalin  and the universal laughter of all follows.

Your thoughts return to Nina, the war would soon be over, it is a question of months and not years now, even the Germans know that.  Nina, my sweet Nina, I should give you a child, maybe two, you wanted that.  I should have listened to you.  I am sorry.

You think about the house you will build her with your own two hands and all the good things in life you want to give a woman, a woman who has been so faithful in your long almost three year absence.

The first sergeant yells at the platoon sergeants, fun's over and everyone returns to their trucks laden with katusha rockets.  You too, climb into your jeep.  You will be passing through the Warmian forrest near the old city of Allenstein.  Allenstein, wasn't that the place where Old General Samsonov blew his brains out over the loss of the Tsar's Army?  "Aleksandr Vassilievich, was the weight on your shoulders so great that you were reduced to such an un-Christian fate?  Did General Varus kill himself after seeing his Army slaughtered by Germans?"

The darkness of the wood overtakes you.  "Shoot the bastard!"

"You are under arrest."

"Traitor"

"I'm sorry."

"Rooster."

At dusk, the convoy stops.  You step out of your jeep and walk toward the vista of Allenstein burning, the city of Copernicus' birth and Napoleon's visit burns under Soviet bombs as Nazi rubble.  Your men take your positions designated by your amiable friend Battalion Commander - Petro Poverpaltinik.  "The Brigade Commander wants to see you."  Colonel   Poverpaltinik's blonde face shines like a candle in the darkness.

"What does that fat bastard want now?"  You think.

Allenstien on Zepplin Street

You saunter toward the hastily constructed Command Tent.  You enter and you salute the Brigadier Yuri Obyknovenky is standing.  "The fat bastard is standing."  He returns the salute with parade formality.  He looks as if he could have been in the Czar's Army.

"Your pistol, Captain."

You place your service revolver on the table.  It rests like a paper weight over the maps, field orders and manuals.

Two blue boarded counter intelligence  officers dart from behind the darkness and seize you.  "You are under arrest!"  They rip off your rank and shoulder boards and grab your arms.


Arrest! Need it be said that it is a breaking point in your life, a bolt of lightning which has scored a direct hit on you? That it is an unassimilable spiritual earthquake not every person can cope with, as a result of which people often slip into insanity?

NKVD Officers - SMERSH men

The Universe has as many different centers as there are living beings in it. Each of us is a center of the Universe, and that Universe is shattered when they hiss at you: "You are under arrest."

If you are arrested, can anything else remain unshattered by this cataclysm?

But the darkened mind is incapable of embracing these dis­placements in our universe, and both the most sophisticated and the veriest simpleton among us, drawing on all life's experience, can gasp out only: "Me? What for?"

And this is a question which, though repeated millions and millions of times before, has yet to receive an answer.

Arrest is an instantaneous, shattering thrust, expulsion, somer­sault from one state into another.

. . . 

four white male hands, unaccustomed to physical labor but none­theless strong and tenacious, grab us by the leg, arm, collar, cap, ear, and drag us in like a sack, and the gate behind us, the gate to our past life, is slammed shut once and for all.

That's all there is to it! You are arrested!

And you'll find nothing better to respond with than a lamblike bleat: "Me? What for?"

That's what arrest is: it's a blinding flash and a blow which shifts the present instantly into the past and the impossible into omnipotent actuality.

You resist them and shake one of them to the ground and punch the other one in the face.  Before you can grab your pistol, a father voice shouts, "Alexander Isayevich!"

You turn and it is your Brigadier Commander.  He offers you his hand.  "Your letters to your friend on the Second Ukrainian Front."

And you remember.  Your deflate like a sail cut loose from its yard arm.  The Brigadier shakes your hand.  "Good luck my son."

And like that they take you away.

Philip Orlik

While in Kiev, I took pictures of things I did not understand, but liked and thought was cool.  I lived in 2-room Soviet Style apartment.  I rented a 64 square meter in the Lipki, Kostya Hordijenka Ln, 1А, Kiev, Kiev City 02000, Ukraine from Valentine of Airbnb.  On my walk toward the Pinchuk Art center.  I passed by a curious monument.  I later did the research and submitted for your approval, offerings from my collection. 

On June 16, 2010, the people of Ukraine erected a monument to Philip Orlik, an 18th century Ukrainian freedom fighter. Following the defeat at the Battle of Poltava, Orlik organized Mazepa's forces and gave the people of  a democratic Constitution - one of the the first Constitutions in Europe.

Philip Orlik was born on the 11th of October 1672 to Stephen and Irina Orlik. His father, a Catholic noble of Czech extraction serving at the Grand duchy of Lithuania married an Orthodox woman, Iryni Malachowski from Belorussian and Ukrainian nobility. Stephen Orlik died one year after Philip was born under the banner of the Polish king fighting the muslim Turk at the battle of Khotin.

The sculpture is the work of Anatoliy Kush (born 1945).  Well respected and famous, Mr. Kush's works, such as the Monument of Independence, the sculpture of the legendary founders of Kiev and the bust of Lenin in the Kiev Metro)  dot many of the national monuments across Ukraine.  Mr. Kush is a member of the National Union of  Ukrainian Artists and a 1972 alumni of the Kiev State Art Institute.  His awards include Honored Artist of Ukraine (1979) and People's Artist of Ukraine (1996).

Jesuit educated in Vilnius and at the Kiev Mohyla Academy.  In 1698, he served as secretary of the kiev Metropolia.  Sweden, Poland and the Turks went war with Peter the Great of Russia.  In 1699, he joined Ivan Mazepa;s General Military chancellory and organized anti-Russian resistance.


The 38 year old Philip Orlik offered the first free Ukrainian Constitution to Europe following the Battle of Poltava. The Constitution often called the Cossack Social Contract, set up three branches and limited the powers of the executive in terms of taxation, foreign policy and the execution of justice.  Historians sometimes refer to the Constitution as the Bender's Constitution as Philip Orlik composed the Constitution in exile in Bender, Moldalvia.  Orlik spent the rest of his life in the courts of France, England and all over Europe championing the cause of a free Ukraine, but the Constitution met to entice free Ukrainian patriots would have to wait three centuries to carry the weight of the law. 

The Monument to Philip Orlik stands at the intersection of Orlik and Lipsky* Street. Considered one of the most prestigious places to stay in Kiev. Plans for settlement began in the 18th century when the military governor of kiev subdivided the land around Klovsky Place - the current site of the Ukrainian Supreme Court. Construction did not begin until the 1830s. Many mansions dot the boulevard.

Built in 1911, architect I. Belyaev designed House number 3 in the neoclassical style. Across the street sits house number 4, a sumptuous mansion built in 1908 in the Renaissance style.

This area of town was badly damaged in the Russian Civil War. Reconstruction begin in 1930. From 1930 to 1950, new buildings mark the Soviet period where NKVD employees lived.

*Lipsky means lime.

Spielberg's LINCOLN: bad

Camera movement was good.  The art direction lush and good performances from Sally Field, David Strathaim, Spader, Holbrook and Jones.  Jackie Earle Haley had the best scene in this movie.

JGL sucked in the movie.  What a surprise.  He has not had a good movie since he was in 500 days of summer.  By the way, if JGL was playing Lincoln's son Robert because I was not sure what he was doing while he was on screen maybe he didn't know either, Robert Lincoln was 22 years old and not in his 30s like JGL is.  JGL is the very definition of an overrated matinee idol who, like Ryan Gosling, gets by sheerly on his looks and the cozy relationship his agent has with the butts of studio execs.

This was a terrible movie.  Really bad.  Chris Stuckmann says the Spielberg is an actor's director.  If that means giving the actors no direction and letting them do whatever the heck they want, then yes.  He is an actor's director.  A good director will make a bad script compelling and stack the scenes with tension. There was no tension movie

‪JeremyJahns‬ compared this movie with John Adams.  Sad.  John Adams was good so was Paul Giamatti.  DDL was better in there will be blood.

His performance was weak.  I never felt like he was Lincoln but rather DDL was caricaturing an archetype.  His role adds nothing new and leave much in doubt about who Lincoln was.  In fact, DDL's contribution to Lincoln as a historical person in art leaves much to be desired.  DDL plays Lincoln as if he's some Holy Man without an arc when the most compelling thing about DDL as Lincoln is when he talked about the tyrannical powers he wielded dubbed war powers.  The movie celebrates corrupt lobbyists.  It makes me want to read Thomas DiLorenzo's "Lincoln Unmasked" and "The Real Lincoln."

Horrible script

Battle scene was terrible.  The script was weak.  But maybe the source material was weak as well because if the movie was based on a book, than SS would be better of making Bill O'Rielly's books Killing Lincoln and Killing Kennedy into movies.  And oh by the way, I despise Bill O'Rielly's have it both ways politics.

Spielberg is in decline which is sad.  But that's what happens to directors that don't believe in anything and like Lucas have rested rather comfortably on their laurels too long.  Do you think Kubrick was or even Polanski in decline?  Spielberg is. Lucas maybe in decline.  I have not seen red tails.

Wliberforce was better than this really bad movie.  The best political talky movie I have seen was the madness of King George.  Nigel Hawthorne was King George.  There are scenes from that movie that I remember.

Praise for Courage, NH

De : James Bretney
À : James Riley ; "monique@colonybay.net"
Cc : "info@rileysfarm.com"
Envoyé le : Mercredi 8 août 2012 12h53
Objet : Re: Thank you from Courage, New Hampshire!

Dear James and Monique,

I watched episodes 1 thru 3 and I can't wait for 4.  I learned about the series through a mutual friend, Patrick Finerty.  I think Finerty plays a Tory.  (I love Finerty - underrated actor.)  My general impressions is that it is a drama told from a Christian evangelical point of view.  There are some first time filmmaker mistakes.  At times, I think the performances are campy.  There are some actors I like and some I don't like conversely there are some characters I like and some I don't like.

The production design is beautiful.  The visual effects are very good.  I admire your bravery in taking on such an awesome subject matter.  I really enjoy your social commentary laced inside the subplots.  I enjoyed seeing AlfonZo Rachel and Governor Wentworth's character.  I googled and wikipedia'd Wentworth.  My favorite actor is Nathan Kershaw mostly because I identified with his problem in Episode 1.  I think Episode 1 is your best though you keep upping the ante and we are starting to get to know these characters more.  

My favorite characters are the baddies.  I sympathize with Edmund Burke's conservatism and would probably be a Tory until I was on the wrong side of the Crown's whims.  Though Burke and Pitt the Elder wanted to avert a confrontation with the colonies.  Your series is in the same niche as Mel Gibson and that series about Adams.  My own sympathies would be that of John Dickinson of Delaware until the bullets are flying or that of Sam Adams.  I can be a bit of a firebrand if provoked.    

But England is still preferable to an alliance with capricious France the enemy they went to war with not more than 10 years ago.  England did have a right to tax the colonies to pay for their own protection.  

The fact that your show can evoke such thoughts says something of its power.  

It is a hard thing you are doing.  I have tried it myself and I regret to say that I am not nearly along as you are, but I admire your success and will patronize the series as a customer and a donor until you get the big bucks from History Channel or something like that.

God Bless!

 

James A. Bretney
President, Airborne Productions, Inc | 
520 255 4137
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Interview with Writer, Producer, Actress and Stuntwoman, Arron Marie Fenton