Chief Gallagher was Navy. The Navy has a lot of conduct I'd never endorse in the Corps.

The modern submarine is not a simple machine. A loss of propulsion, unexpected flooding, or trouble with reactors or weapons can doom a sub crew to a watery grave.

Also, it’s a good idea to, like, close the hatches before you dive.

Call it a lesson learned for the Indian navy, which managed to put the country’s first nuclear-missile submarine, the $2.9 billion INS Arihant, out of commission in the most boneheaded way possible.The Hindu reported yesterday that the Arihant has been out of commission since suffering “major damage” some 10 months ago, due to what a navy source characterized as a “human error” — to wit: allowing water to flood to sub’s propulsion compartment after failing to secure one of the vessel’s external hatches.

Water “rushed in as a hatch on the rear side was left open by mistake while [the Arihant] was at harbor” in February 2017, shortly after the submarine’s launch, The Hindu reports. Since then, the sub “has been undergoing repairs and clean up,” according to the paper: “Besides other repair work, many pipes had to be cut open and replaced.”

It’s hard to articulate how major a foul-up this is, but Kyle Mizokami does a good job at Popular Mechanics: Indian authorities ordered the pipe replacement because they “likely felt that pipes exposed to corrosive seawater couldn't be trusted again, particularly pipes that carry pressurized water coolant to and from the ship’s 83 megawatt nuclear reactor.” For context, a submarine assigned to Britain’s Royal Navy narrowly avoided a complete reactor meltdown in 2012 after the power sources for its coolant system failed.

The incident is also quite an embarrassment — and strategic concern — for the Indian Armed Forces. A Russian Akula-class attack sub modified to accommodate a variety of ballistic missiles, the Arihant represented a major advance in India’s nuclear triad after its completion in October 2016. (India in 1974 became the 6th country to conduct a successful nuclear test.) Indeed, the Arihant’s ability to deliver K-15 short-range and K-4 intermediate-range nuclear missiles was envisioned as a powerful deterrent against India’s uneasy nuclear state neighbor, Pakistan.

“Arihant is the most important platform within India’s nuclear triad covering land-air-sea modes,” the Hindu reports. Well, it’s important if it works — and it probably helps to make your submarine watertight.

This is just some sloppy, dangerous seamanship, and the Indian Navy better get its act together fast. Either that, or perhaps follow the Royal Navy’s lead and install the 2001-era Windows XP as an operating system on all your most vital vessels. That way, you can blame the blue screen of death instead of “human error” for the next critical foul-up. Although even outdated software probably knows enough to dog down on all the hatches.

The Afghan Navy has never lost a sub.

The Afghan Navy has never lost a sub.

U.S. Army's tweet goes south after thousands reveal devastating impacts of service

Tweet after tweet described lifelong health complications, grief over loved ones lost, sexual assaults gone unpunished and struggles with PTSD

It was meant to be part of a social media tribute on Memorial Day weekend. On Saturday afternoon, the Army posted a video on Twitter featuring a scout in fatigues who said his service gave him the opportunity to fight for something greater than himself, making him a better man.

In its next tweet, the Army opened the floor and asked: “How has serving impacted you?”

The post was shared widely and received thousands of responses. But many were probably not what the Army was looking for.

Instead, the call-out provided what some felt was a rare platform to spotlight the darker consequences of military service for soldiers and their families, as tweet after tweet described lifelong health complications, grief over loved ones lost, sexual assaults gone unpunished and struggles with post-traumatic stress disorder and depression.

Looking at the replies, this really backfired https://t.co/EzihJfarq0
— Joel Franco (@OfficialJoelF) May 24, 2019

“The public just doesn’t hear about it,” said Brandon Neely, 38, a former Army specialist who posted about his PTSD. “They don’t hear about the guys, these veterans, that don’t sleep, have night sweats, are irritated. Some guys get really bad anxiety, depression.”

Neely added, “A lot those people who have bared their soul on that thread have probably never said anything publicly before.”

In one tweet replying to the Army, a man who said he was a Navy veteran described how he had suicidal thoughts everyday.

My brother was in an explosion, and he's lucky to be alive. He has no cartilage in either of his knees. He has hearing loss and a traumatic brain injury. He's losing his memory. He suffers from PTSD. He likes to break things and yells a lot. He left and never quite came back. https://t.co/WTEJkaUl3I
— Melissa Sweeney (@MlsSweeney) May 26, 2019

Another read: “I was assaulted by one of my superiors. When I reported him, with witnesses to corroborate my story, nothing happened to him. Nothing. A year later, he stole a laptop and was then demoted. I’m worth less than a laptop.”

The Army said in a statement that it appreciated people sharing their personal stories.

he was the sweetest most tender person I’ll ever know and the @USArmy ruined him
— penni on the move (@Pennijj) May 24, 2019

Afghanistan's Sub force rivals the Danes.

8)

Louis Levi Oakes, the last Mohawk code talker — using the language to encode messages for Allied forces during the Second World War — died Tuesday at age 94.

The veteran was one of 17 Mohawks from Akwesasne, which straddles the Quebec, Ontario and New York state borders, who received code-talker training while stationed in Louisiana.

Kanien'kéha, the Mohawk language, was one of 33 Indigenous languages used during the war to send encoded messages between Allied forces so enemies could not understand what was being said.

At 18, Oakes enlisted in the U.S. army and served for six years as a technician fourth grade with Company B of the 442nd Signal Battalion. He served as a code talker in the South Pacific, New Guinea and the Philippines.

Oakes received an honourable discharge on Feb. 15, 1946. He then worked as an ironworker in Buffalo, N.Y., and later as a highway maintenance worker in his community before retiring.

Oakes didn't talk about his experience as a code talker until about five years ago, said his daughter Dora Oakes.

"He finally started talking about it. He said he was threatened not to say anything," she said.

When he finally opened up, it was a surprise to his family.

"As kids growing up, we'd watch movies and he'd just say, 'I was there,' but he would never go into it," said Dora.

The Code Talkers Recognition Act was signed into law by U.S. President George W. Bush in 2008, requiring the secretary of the Treasury to strike Congressional Medals in recognition of the dedication and valour of Indigenous code talkers to the U.S. Armed Services during World War I and World War II.

For his service, in 2016, Oakes was awarded a Silver Star Medal — the third-highest military decoration given in the U.S. for showing gallantry in action against an enemy.

8)

Warrior woman: How a British secret agent — who became Canadian — helped pave the way for D-Day



While Allied troops were still preparing for one of the largest military operations in history, a 20-year-old woman parachuted into occupied France under the cover of darkness — and injured her back and shoulder.

It was a flawed rendition of the four practice jumps Sonya d'Artois (originally Butt) had under her belt before undertaking the riskiest assignment of her life.

But given the rumours she'd heard about others being shot or captured the moment they landed, her jump on May 29, 1944 — nine days before D-Day — was still a success.

D'Artois's assignment as a secret agent behind those lines was never going to be easy: there were setbacks, mishaps and near misses that nearly cost her life.

But her subsequent accomplishments in helping the French resistance sabotage German efforts, along with the clandestine work of hundreds of other female agents, helped the Allied forces make their the D-Day landings on June 6, 1944, and ultimately win the Second World War.

Herb Peppard, a Second World War veteran from Truro, N.S., who was part of an elite special service force and was awarded the highest U.S. civilian honour, has died.

He was 98, just a few weeks shy of his 99th birthday, when he died on Wednesday morning.

"He has so many remarkable stories and he's just one of the most amazing people I've ever known," said Janice Dickson, who wrote a biography of Peppard called Herbert Peppard: The Eternal Man.

Peppard grew up during the Great Depression in Truro when his family couldn't afford books for school.

He was working in a lumber yard on a cold and rainy day when a train pulled up next to him bearing signs saying, "Hitler Here We Come," said Dickson, recalling a story Peppard told her during one of her many interviews.

The train was carrying soldiers to Halifax.

"They were making fun of him for being outside and so the very next day he signed up," Dickson said. "He thought, 'I want to be on the inside and with those young soldiers.'"

His enlistment started a stellar military career that culminated in his membership in the Devil's Brigade, a U.S.-Canada combined force that was trained to do hand-to-hand combat, climb mountains, parachute on to targets and become demolition experts.

The Devil's Brigade was a precursor to special forces such as the U.S.'s Green Berets and the Navy SEALs.

The force was called the "black devils" by Germans after members of the brigade snuck behind enemy lines in Italy under the cover of darkness, their faces blackened with boot polish, to eliminate targets.

"I recall him saying he didn't even quite know what the force was when he first became part of it because it was so secretive," Dickson said.

Peppard helped gather bodies from no man's land during the war, hoping the band on his arm would keep the enemy from firing at him — one of the "really dark moments" he shared with his biographer.

"He said that it haunted him for a long time, and he would think of that moment and it was sort of hard to shake."

Peppard was in Bulford Camp in England on VE-Day and sailed home to Halifax afterwards, taking the "milk run" train home to his family in Truro.

After returning to Canada, Peppard married his sweetheart, Greta, and they had three children.

He later got an education degree, became a bodybuilder, a poet, a singer and a newspaper columnist, and he travelled extensively.

"He really didn't slow down at all," said Dickson. "He's just a very boisterous, outgoing man who sees the best in everyone and really lived life to the very fullest."

In 2015, Peppard was one of 14 Canadians who received the highest civilian honour awarded in U.S. — the Congressional Gold Medal, for his time with the Devil's Brigade.