Proper Translation 

The canvas of Spec-4 Sullivan’s harness and the frame of his ruck dug into his back and he clutched the shotgun in his left hand. He cut through the jungle.

The insects dug into his skin, he had the sleeves on his jacket rolled up. He was on point. He was waiting for his turn to be over. Half the platoon was thinking the same, only “their turn” meant their short time.

He saw something shift in the bush. They were on a rough trail that ran up and down a mountain. He raised his hand with the machete and the platoon halted behind him. The LT stood up—Sullivan knew Krebs, the Top, the first sergeant, was giving the LT a dirty look—and came over to Sullivan.

“What is it?” the LT asked.


It continued and a gook with a bicycle came out of the bush. Sullivan dropped the machete and raised the shotgun.

“Get on line, now,” the Top said. He spoke with a measured voice. He never had to yell so much as just project his voice. People hated Krebs. “We’re not taking any chances again. I’m not having anyone sent home in a damn body bag.” Krebs turned to Sullivan while the men tried to hunker down in the thick bush on either side of the trail. The slope seemed to tense up when he saw Krebs’ broad frame approach.

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Update on blogging

I have not published much in the way of essays on this site in some time, for a reason. There is enough criticism and mountains of blogs on all kinds of subjects, where the author’s expertise is dubious (see any political/philisophical blog). 

As for polemical writing related to literature and publishing, I have said more or less what I feel needed to be said. In the future I am going to be focused on creative work and trying to produce something people will enjoy. There’s enough critique online. 

Thank you to the people that have read up to now, and I hope you keep coming back. There will be more stories and books in the coming years.