Watching the madness unfold this past week in Beantown . . . is heartwrenching.
I always loved this song - of course, from this day on it will always have more meaning.
There's a lot I could say about Monday's terrorist operation, but I am deliberately withholding comment. I don't reveal tactics, techniques and procedures, or tradecraft - I'm not even going to comment on the mistakes the bombers made, and they are significant. Sure, there's a boatload of information out there on the Internet about manufacturing or emplacing improvised explosive devices; that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for the bad guys by spilling my guts about what I know.
My mentor the Deacon of Doom and I both learned the demolitions trade from Sensei Ernie, at our alma mater US Army John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center & School. Deacon has more knowledge of explosives - improvised or otherwise - in his little finger than I have in my entire head, and I've forgotten more about explosives than most demo men will ever know in an entire lifetime. That information will stay in my head and it will go to the grave with me; I will not enable the terrorist enemy.
Needless to say, this situation renders mute the entire gun control debate as far as I'm concerned. If I lived in Boston right now I'd sure as Hell want an assault rifle with at least a double basic load of ammo - 420 rounds - loaded up into 30-round magazines.
Hopes & prayers at this time to the people of Boston, and to the brave law enforcement personnel who are dealing with a lot of unknowns in an extremely hazardous environment.