history
The history of warfare; stories of combat and conflict across land, seas and skies, from ancient times to the present.
SILK, SHARDS and STEEL
Prologue There is little but devastation and remembered horror to be found in the aftermath of war. Surrounded by brokenness, death and destruction of lives and livelihood of innocents and guilty alike, the wounds are deep and the scarring remains for generations.
By Katy Doran-McNamara5 years ago in Serve
I Company
December 19, 1944 its cold and we were hungry, the sun had come up and reminded us that we weren’t home and somewhere near Bastogne. I remember smoking a cigarette in the cold winds as the fog was coming in. You only saw white from the snow covering the ground and it just meant today was going to be colder.
By Paul Brennan5 years ago in Serve
February 13, 1945
This was 20 year old Staff Sergeant Frank McManus, Crew Chief of one of the ordinance crews in the 601st Squadron of the 398th Bomb Group assigned to airbase “Station 131” in Nuthampstead, England from April, 1943 through June, 1945. Frank was my Dad. I was born in 1960, the youngest of four kids and never knew anything about his war experiences. It wasn’t until decades later that I pieced together the story of what my Dad did for the Army Air Corps — the forerunner of the 8th Air Force.
By Steve McManus5 years ago in Serve
Van Lew
EARLY ON There were a lot of people active during the American Civil War aiding in the Union winning. In particular was a woman named Elizabeth Van Lew. She was born in Richmond, Virginia in the year 1818. Her father owned several slaves which were freed by her and her mother when he died. Some of the former slave help was kept and paid to work for the family. Van Lew even took inheritance money and purchased family members of the slaves they owned and freed them as well. When the war broke she began bringing food, and clothing to the Union prisoners, even helping some escape. There were safe houses for those escaped and she even went as far as to help get Union sympathizers roles as prison staff. One of the places that was held as a safe house was her mansion which held Union prisoners and those looking to desert from the Confederacy side.
By Faheem Jackson5 years ago in Serve
One Generation Enemies; Next Generation Friends
I was born in 1943 during World War II in New Zealand. During this war, New Zealand lost eleven thousand, six hundred and twenty men, killed in action. One of them was a third cousin of my father. His name was Lloyd Allan Trigg, a bomber pilot and was the only Allied serviceman to be posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross based on the evidence of an enemy combatant in the second world war.
By Michael Trigg5 years ago in Serve
The Man Who Saved the World
запуск! запуск! The year was 1983, and it was early in the morning in a bunker near Moscow when the sirens went off. The word запуск was displayed in bold red letters. A man stood up and stared at the screen. Perspiration began to gather around his temples.
By Dan Brioli5 years ago in Serve
The Sound of Silence
If you were to ask your mate down the pub when submarines first started going stealthy, and by stealthy I mean the use of acoustic tiles and propulsors, they would point to the Cold War. And in a way they would be right. The Cold War advanced the submarine platform in leaps and bounds.
By Alan Walker5 years ago in Serve
His Small Empire
At the Boat Club in Annapolis, you could often get around the no smoking rule if you asked firmly and had a good reason. This particular afternoon I had a very good reason, and the club manager agreed that I could smoke if I sat out on the Second Deck. I liked the Second Deck because there were parasols and you could smell the boat fuels burning.
By Alexander Miller5 years ago in Serve
Andre
Among so many soldiers, he had expected songs and laughter and the noise of sportive fighting to come in through the window, but the night had been so quiet. Nothing broke his solitude in the little bedroom, and he was alone with his thoughts. His jailers had left paper, quill, ink, and plenty of candles; before dawn, the letter-writing was done. He had little to say, finally, and few loved ones to write anyway. The army had been his life, his passion.
By Kate Goodheart5 years ago in Serve
