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May the lessons of history compel us toward peace
“You are getting to be a budding WEB Griffin. Putting a bit of a face on real events in war.”
Threads of The War collects and shares personal narratives during real events across the span of The 20th Century's War. From the seats of a German cinema in 1915 and high over Pearl Harbor on December 7th, 1941 to under the water of the port of Alexandria Egypt and on a rail line in East Prussia in 1945, the reader is carried from one front of war to another in short easily-readable, yet emotionally compelling, bursts.
Each story in this collection opens the door to a unique personal facet of war; exposing the reader to the facts, fictions, and fallacies of armed violence. Following each story, the reader is provided specific and revealing facts about the events narrated, offering both entertainment and education within the time it takes to read a blog-post.
Here's a snippet from: First Line of Defense
“Go left… toward the water!” Erich screams out.
The steering wheel lurches, first to the left, then to the right, and then back to the left as our little Kubelwagen (bucket car) bounces and bumps over the sandy beach at over 40 kilometers per hour.
“Ok, ok,” I reply, knowing that as much as I want to, I’ve little if any control over which way our improvised dune buggy of four drunken officers is headed. Realizing how pointless attempting to hold the steering wheel would be, I reach down with my right hand to grab the bottle of ’38 Barolo that Erich is guarding under his left arm.
Seeing that I’m going for the wine, Erich yells out, “Hold the wheel! HOLD THE WHEEL!” He reaches out with both arms to try to stabilize the steering wheel.
The Barolo is free!
I grab the bottle quickly, just in time to save it from hitting the floor when the Kubelwagen makes a hard landing from a jump off of a sand dune.
“I can’t hold it steady!” Erich yells as I press my foot to the brake and slow down the car.
Good, now I can find my bottle opener
The Kubelwagen comes to a halt on the upward slope of another sand dune.
Erich looks shaken. Sober, he is a commanding figure in his crisp Captain’s uniform. Drunk, he is a nervous, disheveled mess of a child with no balls.
“That was fuck’n great!” Jürgen slurs from the back seat.
“I’ve next swig,” Horst calls from behind me as I fumble with the bottle opener on the Barolo.
My fingers are numb from the bouncing steering wheel, thereby slowing down my already alcohol-impaired ability to do anything requiring fine motor skills.
“Damn it, Peter, I’m thirsty!” Horst yells as he kicks my seat from behind.
“I’m opening i….”
BOOOM BOOM BOOOOM BOOOM BOOM BOOOM BOOOOM
Before I can say the word it, a series of explosions rock the beach, spraying sand and dirt into the Kubelwagen from all directions.
What the hell is going on?
Jürgen cheers as each new explosion sends towering geysers of debris into the sky. “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!”
Dazed and confused, Erich looks around.
Horst calls out, “Give me the damn wine!”
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