Tag Archives: Somalia

Somali Pirates Replaced by New Dogs Known as ISIS

Seven years ago today, I shared a piece under the headline, Few Differences Between Somali, Domestic Pirates. Little did I realize how much I’d miss those Somali pirates after they were replaced on the world stage by new dogs known as ISIS.

Above: A screenshot of a post published 8 years ago today, but no longer online.

Above: A screenshot of a post published 8 years ago today, but no longer online.

On Nov. 18, 2008, I wrote:

Regardless of where they sleep — or don’t sleep — at night, modern-day pirates seem to be receiving a lot of attention of late. Perhaps their notoriety stems from the fact that they share so much in common.

Sea-loving lowlifes can be found hijacking ships off the coast of the lawless Puntland region of northeastern Somalia” and pointed to examples of their latest work:

• On Sept. 27, the Somali pirates seized a cargo ship containing 33 Russian T-72 battle tanks bound for Kenya.  Though nearly two months have passed since its capture, the ship and its prized contents remain in the hands of the pirates, birthed alongside 11 other illegally-seized ships.

• Some two weeks later, the Somali pirates nabbed an Iranian vessel carrying what was later determined to be a floating “dirty bomb” headed for the Israeli coast.  It was recovered — but only after 16 pirates died from burns suffered as a result of their proximity to the vessel’s radioactive cargo.

• Over the weekend, the Somali pirates hijacked what has been described as the largest “booty” ever seized by marauders at sea — a Saudi oil tanker carrying $100 million of “black gold.”

Chief Gangplankster Harry Reid (D-Nev.) and cronies.

Chief Gangplankster Harry Reid (D-Nev.) and cronies in 2008.

Conversely, land-lubbing pirates can be found wearing silk and wool suits while walking the halls of government in our nation’s capital, promoting a massive bailout of the financial industry by the federal government (a.k.a., “taxpayers”):

• Two months ago, domestic pirates tossed about problem-solving figures that ranged from $700 billion to $1 trillion — or, by some estimates, an estimated $6,500 per family.  After much rhetoric was exchanged, they passed a two-phased bailout package — $350 billion per phase.  Pirates voting in favor of the measure reconciled their actions by claiming that “doing nothing was not an option.”  Soon after, they began feigning surprise over the fact that the people they put in charge of the money can’t tell us where they’ve spent it.

• Today, the same pirates, led by Chief Gangplankster Harry Reid (D-Nev.) are holding meetings to discuss the matter of a proposed $50 billion bailout of the nation’s domestic automobile industry.  That industry, by the way, is one many of the pirates say is “too big to fail.”  Apparently, their financial illiteracy prevents them from reading articles on the subject — like this one by George Will — that explain in precise detail that the industry has failed.

Obviously, both groups of pirates are keen on taking advantage of opportunities in order to realize their own twisted versions of success.  My worry, however, is that the pirates in Washington will, one day too soon, pass what might be described as a piece of ‘dirty bomb’ legislation that blows up on in the faces of all Americans.

Seven years later, Somali pirates have been replaced by ISIS fighters, but the ranks of our domestic pirates have seen only minor leadership changes (i.e., Paul Ryan replace John Boehner as speaker of the House and Mitch McConnell took the Senate gavel from Harry Reid). And, as for so-called “dirty bomb” pieces of legislation,” we’ve seen plenty of ’em blow up in our faces.

Hope you sleep well tonight, mate!

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Click on image above to order Bob's books.

Click on image above to order Bob’s books.

The National Bet Receives Front-Page Newspaper Coverage

I learned Thursday night that my first crime-fiction mystery novel, The National Bet, had made the front page of a major daily newspaper in Illinois despite having been released only last month!

Bill Grimes' story about The National Bet made the Aug. 11, 2014,  front page of the Effingham Daily News (Image used with permission of newspaper).

Bill Grimes’ story about The National Bet made the Aug. 11, 2014, front page of the Effingham Daily News (Image used with permission of newspaper).

The newspaper about which I’m speaking is the Effingham Daily News, THE major daily serving the people of Effingham County in Southern Illinois where much of the drama takes place inside the book’s 368 pages. The article appeared on the front page of the Aug. 11 print edition of newspaper under the headline, Fiction novel set in Effingham.

Why did it take me so long to discover the article had been published? Allow me to explain.

Around the first of August, reporter Bill Grimes called me after I had sent out pre-release feelers to news media folks I thought might be interested in the story. He interviewed me for about 30 minutes, and then I kept my eyes open for an alert about the article to appear in my email inbox. But it never did.

After spotting a brief-but-positive review of the book in the form of a status update Thursday night on Grimes’ Facebook page, I contacted him to find out if he had written any full-length article about the book. In reply, he told me he had indeed written the aforementioned article.

With permission from Grimes and his bosses at the Effingham Daily News, I share a large chunk of Grimes’ article below:

When Bob McCarty put out a quarterly magazine in the early 2000s, he periodically traveled to Effingham to oversee production at Kingery Printing.

After McCarty found out he lost his job, he decided to strike out on his own as an author. With two nonfiction books under the belt, his first fiction novel pays homage to Effingham.

McCarty, an Oklahoma native who now lives in St. Charles, Missouri, is getting ready to publish “The National Bet,” toward the end of this month. Much of the book is set in Effingham, and McCarty says local people are generally portrayed in a favorable light.

FBI Special Agent Joe-L Wilson has been assigned to investigate the deaths of thousands over a Fourth of July weekend. The probe leads him to Effingham, where he interviews people at a fictitious Illinois Chemical Company.

Other characters include students at Ben Wood College, as well as a female reporter at the Effingham Courier newspaper and a local judge who just can’t behave himself. Ben Wood College is named for the late Benson Wood, Effingham mayor, congressman and namesake of the landmark Benwood Hotel in downtown Effingham.

McCarty said Effingham struck him as a logical place to portray middle America.

“When you drive through that part of Illinois, you see cornfields and mostly small towns,” he said. “I’ve lived all over the planet, but Effingham just struck me as a quintessential American setting.

“I didn’t spend much time in Effingham, but it struck me as a good place to have as the setting for this book,” he added.

Nearly all of the people who die over the tragic weekend depicted in the book are not from Effingham, however.

Aside from having to mention the part about me losing my job (click here for the ugly details about that), Grimes did a good job with the story. Now, I’m waiting for calls from other journalists and bloggers who might be interested in the fictitious action set in their cities (i.e., Groton, Ct., Brooklyn, N.Y., Campton, N.H., and Charlotte, N.C., as well as Manila, Republic of the Philippines, Grozny, Chechnya, Berbera, Somalia, and Washington, D.C. Know anyone?

UPDATE 4/19/2015 at 1:29 p.m. Central: Check out the limited-time free-books offer here.

If you like this article and my other efforts, please show your support by buying my books and encouraging your friends and loved ones to do the same.  Thanks in advance!

Click on image above to order Bob's books.

Click on image above to order Bob’s books.

Book Excerpt: ‘That Others May Live’

My first crime-fiction thriller, The National Bet, went on sale last week, and I thought I’d offer another excerpt to go along with one I shared earlier this month.

HH-60_Pave_Hawk

“K-man! K-man! Wake up! We’ve gotta go!” Waking to those words, Master Sergeant Josh Kastens knew the day was about to get serious.

A twelve-year veteran who had reached his current rank almost two years ahead of his peers, Josh was a member of the elite Air Force pararescue fraternity known as “PJs.” Assigned to the 347th Rescue Group at Moody Air Force Base near Valdosta, Georgia, he was pulling his first six-month tour in Somalia even as most Americans didn’t realize members of their country’s military had been deployed to the African nation since 2007.

Being rousted out of bed at “oh-dark-thirty”—2:15 a.m. local time on this occasion—usually meant an aircraft was down and a pilot needed rescue—or, in PJ vernacular, “saved.”

“A viper flamed out,” said Captain Eddie Hoskins, speaking loud and being unmistakably clear. “Briefing room in five!”

During the briefing, Josh learned the mission would take him and his crew from their base near Berbera on the coast of the Gulf of Aden to an insurgent stronghold almost fifteen miles west of Saylac and ten miles south of Somalia’s border with Djibouti.

By 2:30, their HH-60G Pave Hawk helicopter was airborne. Estimated time to target: twenty minutes. Outside the chopper, the early morning temperature was a stifling ninety-seven degrees Fahrenheit. Inside, the heat was even more oppressive as engine noise drowned out everything but the headset chatter between crewmembers.

Two gunners stood ready at their GAU-2/B miniguns, while Josh and his PJ partner, Staff Sergeant Stu Duckworth, sat with their legs hanging out opposite doors, M-4 carbines across their laps. Just in case.

Josh had made six saves during previous combat tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, but something about this new battlefield gave him the creeps.

Flying fast and low at a ten o’clock heading, the chopper pilot followed instructions from controllers aboard an E-3B Sentry Airborne Warning and Control Systems aircraft flying high above, and they reached the downed pilot’s location without incident.

Due to the latest round of Pentagon budget cuts that had dramatically reduced the number of rescue aircraft in theater, only one chopper participated in this mission. And, thanks to misguided Rules of Engagement that no longer allowed gunners to use preliminary fire to clear landing zones of bad guys, every LZ was considered hot.

Approaching the LZ, the pilot took his chopper down at a steep angle while making a number of irregular turns designed to make it more difficult for anyone to shoot his bird down. Then, after dropping the PJs in a clearing, he climbed back into the sky. The entire process took less than forty seconds, and his chopper took no incoming fire. Now, he and his crew would keep watch over the area as the PJs went to work.

Equipped with night-vision goggles, the PJs reached the downed pilot quickly after spotting him crouched behind an abandoned truck some fifty yards north of the LZ.

“Are you hurt?” Josh asked the pilot, Captain Bud McGowan, who showed no signs of serious injury but was understandably nervous.

“No, but I think there are some bad guys out there,” the pilot replied, motioning with his eyes toward the east. “I heard them shouting to each other, so they can’t be too far away.”

Captain McGowan’s F-16C Fighting Falcon had lost hydraulic pressure in its lone engine. As a result, he had to eject in an area only a few miles away from an enemy base where, a short time earlier, members of the terror group al-Shabaab had been on the receiving end of one of his laser-guided five-hundred-pound bombs. Now, instead of being the hunter, he’d become the prey, hunted by dark-skinned men now less than half a mile away and closing fast.

After attaching a harness to the pilot, Josh radioed the chopper to return for an immediate pickup. As the word “copy” left his lips, a single shot rang out and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sergeant Duckworth—“Duck” to his friends—reach up with his left hand to the side of his head. A large chunk had been ripped out of the PJ’s helmet, but it didn’t appear as if the bullet had penetrated his partner’s skull. It did, however, cause him to be disoriented and have a hard time keeping his balance.

“Mama bear, we’re taking fire!” Josh screamed into his radio. “Duck’s hit! Duck’s hit! We need cover! East, one hundred yards! We need cover!”

More shots rang out, but all missed.

As Josh half-carried his partner toward the makeshift LZ, Captain McGowan fired his 9 mm Beretta in the direction of the attackers who had cut the distance between themselves and their prey in half.

“How many are–” Josh began to ask Captain McGowan before stopping in mid-sentence as an AK-47 round grazed the left side of his neck. Then another round hit him inches above his right hip. Adrenaline surging, a quick assessment confirmed neither wound was life threatening.

Seconds later, the chopper—their lifeline to the world— appeared out of nowhere from over a ridge to the south. After the helo’s right-side gunner spotted the rebels through his night-vision goggles, he unloaded a barrage of 7.62 mm rounds on the enemy positions and declared over the radio, “Enemy destroyed!”

Such an outcome had been made possible only after a U.S. Marine Corps three-star general had taken over as commander of the International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan and succeeded in convincing his superiors in the chain of command to allow crews aboard casualty- evacuation choppers (a.k.a., “CASEVACs” or “dustoffs”) to defend themselves in hot LZs.

Upon hearing the E-D announcement, the chopper pilot dropped his aircraft to the ground within twenty yards of the PJs and the aviator they had come to save.

Ignoring his own wounds, Josh partnered with Captain McGowan to load Sergeant Duckworth onto the chopper. As they began lifting him up to the floor of the chopper, three more gunshots rang out in quick succession and Josh felt more pain. Looking down as he began to collapse, he saw his left leg nearly severed above the knee.

For what seemed an eternity, Josh watched through his night-vision goggles as his own warm blood poured from the leg, yielding a bright-red thermal-infrared signature. Less than a minute after he was hit, he lost consciousness.

Responding to the burst of unexpected gunfire, the chopper’s right-side gunner quickly located and eliminated its source, another Somali sniper who seemed to appear out of nowhere some sixty yards northeast of the LZ. But it was too late for Josh.

While both PJs stayed true to their warrior fraternity’s creed, “That Others May Live,” only one survived.

The National Bet isn’t a military fiction novel, but the action in the book begins in East Africa and makes its way to several locations across the United States. One of those locations, tiny Effingham, Ill., is home to several of the book’s characters, including the father of the fallen PJ.

You can learn more about the book here and order a copy of the book here.

UPDATE 4/19/2015 at 1:31 p.m. Central: Check out the limited-time free-books offer here.

Click on image above to order Bob's books.

Click on image above to order Bob’s books.