Being launched off the flight deck of an aircraft carrier is a normal routine, but adrenaline junkie pilots love the radical feel of about 4 Gs.
On July 9, 1991, an A-6 Intruder modified to be a refueling aircraft was shot off the Abraham Lincoln in the Persian Gulf. Lieutenant Mark Baden was the pilot and had his friend and navigator (BN), Lieutenant Keith Gallagher beside him.
It was Gallagher's birthday, and he advised Baden when they returned it would be his 100th trap recovery on an aircraft carrier.
A mid-air collision had occurred a few days earlier, and Baden was slightly nervous. On top of all the other odd circumstances, he was actually assigned the plane with his name emblazoned on the side - unlike in the movies, the pilots don't always fly the plane with their name.
He made all the normal checks and touched all the buttons and switches. Satisfied he was ready for anything, the aircraft was blasted off the end of the carrier to accomplish the mission: to refuel other aircraft in the sky.
The refueling version of the A-6 was a KA-6D and was modified by removing radar and bomb equipment to install internal refueling gear. Some attack capability including a visual bombing ability was retained, but the overall design was to provide fuel in the air. This plane served the US Navy extensively from 1963 to 1997.
About mid-way through the flight - which is often considered the most boring time - the crew occupied themselves by performing fuel checks. One problem appeared - a stuck float in one of the tanks.
Baden decided to bounce the aircraft around a bit to try to unstick it. Flying at 8,000 feet, he maneuvered the plane to experience positive and negative G at 230 knots. His body floated out of the seat a bit. Then he heard a BANG!
A sudden depressurization of the cockpit and rush of roaring wind caused Baden to look about for the problem. Expecting to see Gallagher's face, he was shocked to be looking at the navigator's knees. Alarmed, he quickly assessed the situation. The canopy was sealed against the windshield, but the Plexiglas was shattered. Gallagher's upper body was outside the aircraft. He seemed to be stuck in the canopy!
From Gallagher's point of view, he looked down, saw the top of the pilot's helmet, and realized he was sitting on top of A06 flying at over 200 knots! The forceful wind ripped off his mask and hit him in the face. His description: "It was like trying to drink through a fire hose." He maneuvered his hands to hold near his chest. Fighting for air, he tried to think.
Meanwhile, Baden's mind raced, wondering what had happened. One of the first things he thought was, "I need to slow down!" He quickly brought the throttles toward idle and thrust the flaps down. In a panic, he activated an emergency switch. As the plane slowly decelerated, Baden looked up to see the rest of Gallagher's body buffeting in the wind. The navigator's head snapped about he appeared unable to breathe.
Gallagher's face was distorted with the force of the wind. His cheeks and eyes were bulging. His neck strained dreadfully with the attempt to stay with the plane. At his belly were the razor-sharp, jagged edges of the Plexiglas threatening to pierce his body. Baden noted this and considered a quick stop, such as a tail hook catch, might impale his navigator on those knife-edged pieces.
The BN, fighting off unconsciousness, felt blind and lost. Gallagher stated the wind felt like a rushing wall of water. He couldn't see and the roaring of the wind filled his ears. He realized he was suffocating and before blacking out he was aware of saying, "I don't want to die."
Baden saw Gallagher move his arms about and was relieved to see he was still alive. He grabbed the radio and called, "Mayday, Mayday, this is 515. My BN has partially ejected. I need an emergency pull-forward!" Immediately the reply burst from the radio, the calm voice of the air boss on the ship, "Bring it on."
With the clearance to land on the aircraft carrier, Baden attempted to keep the speed as slow as possible and not fall out of the sky. Gallagher's legs kicked wildly causing Baden to heave a sigh of relief: he was still alive. He watched the BN's head and body buffeting about and feared his friend was being beaten to death.
The Boss called over the radio to ask if the BN was still in the plane. Baden quickly responded, "Only his legs are still inside the cockpit," not considering the horrific images people on the ship might be picturing in their minds. But the Boss understood. Declaring the deck clear and notifying other aircraft of the emergency occupied the Abraham Lincoln for a few minutes.
Baden was ready to land the plane and was set up for a straight-in catch. Then his blood ran cold. Gallagher was no longer kicking. A glance through the canopy at the BN's face caused the pilot to quickly turn and avoid looking at his friend. Gallagher's head was on his shoulder and by all appearances, his neck was broken.
The closer to the sea, the more the front windscreen fogged over. Baden switched the defogger on high and was about to unstrap to wipe the glass with his hand when it cleared. Then he saw the ship had turned hard to the left. He uttered some inappropriate remarks toward the ship and prepared to chase the centerline.
Luckily, a landing signal officer advised the captain he could deal with the winds and to cruise "steady." Baden was relieved to see a straight-line wake behind the Abraham Lincoln.
He drove in carefully to not cause any more damage to Gallagher. At the slower speed, he noted the Plexiglas shards, "looked like a butcher's knife collection. I was very concerned that the deceleration of the trap was going to throw him into the jagged edge of the canopy." Further, he had full intention to catch the first wire and get stopped as quickly as possible without cutting his navigator in half.
When the wheels hit the deck, Baden flinched when the hook didn't catch. He raised the nose in an effort to pivot the plane so the hook would be lower. The relief was immense when he felt the tailhook connection with the wire. The thought of rolling off the deck and requiring a helicopter sea rescue would have capped the already horrible flight.
Baden killed the engines and made everything safe. Getting out of his side of the cockpit, he touched his friend's arm. "Am I on the flight deck?" Gallagher asked. Relief washed over the pilot as he gripped the cold hand and waited for the medics. He was talking when the crash crew carefully lifted him from the plane. Baden headed straight for medical as soon as his BN had been extracted.
Gallagher had woken up when the A-6 stopped. He was amazed to be on the flight deck instead of walking through the pearly gates of heaven to see long lost relatives. The mishap which almost cost his life was countered by a series of miraculous happenings, including being pinned by the shoulder harness which prevented his unconscious body from surging forward during the landing.
Later Baden learned the only thing holding Gallagher in the aircraft was the parachute risers caught on the back of the seat. His astute actions saved his BN's life. He was awarded the Air Medal, and the crew of the Abraham Lincoln received a letter from Gallagher's wife thanking them for saving his life.
He recovered fully and continued his Navy career to retirement. He declared there were many reasons he survived that 26th birthday, one of which was some good old fashion Irish luck.
It has become an accepted historical fact that the South could not have won the American Civil War. The North's advantages in finance, population, railroads, manufacturing, technology, and naval assets, among others, are often cited as prohibitively decisive.
Yes, the South had the advantage of fighting on the defensive, this with interior lines, but those two meager pluses appear dwarfed by the North's overwhelming strategic advantages, hence defeat virtually a foregone conclusion.
But if strategic advantage alone was always decisive in warfare, then names like Marathon, Cowpens, Rorke's Drift, and Cannae would today be meaningless, and they are not.
Indeed, there are times when the decided underdog wins in war, and there was one day in 1862 when the stars aligned, so to speak, to offer the South a victory of such magnitude that the Civil War might have ended in its favor.
It was June 30, 1862, and for days the Federal Army of the Potomac had been in retreat from Richmond toward the James River in a series of actions later named The Seven Days.
Their leader, General George McClellan - believing erroneous intelligence reports and Confederate misinformation - was fleeing an enemy he fancied 200,000 strong, when in fact the Rebel army was no larger than his own, about 90,000.
The Yankees had already fought several sharp actions at Beaver Dam, Gaines's Mill, and Savage Station. Now the Federals were marching in strung-out columns on the few roads leading south, while the Confederates had the advantage of a series of roads that ran east and west.
After attempts to break the Federal line at White Oak Swamp had failed, General Robert E. Lee, the recently appointed Confederate commander, glanced at his map and immediately grasped his good fortune, for the road network below the swamp appeared to offer a once in a lifetime opportunity.
The Federals were headed for Harrison's Landing on the James, and Lee realized that, due to the lay of the land, he had one last chance to damage the Yankees before geography turned in their favor. The Confederates could use three east/west roads to attack the Federals, while at the small village of Glendale, the Yankees would be bottlenecked onto only one north/south route.
Thus, if Lee could take Glendale at the proper moment, he could slice the Federal Army in two, and the opportunity for their envelopment and destruction would be his. It was almost too good to be true.
Orders were issued immediately. Stonewall Jackson was to attack the Federal rear at White Oak Swamp, thus holding the entire Union rearguard in place. A division under Theophilus Holmes was to cannonade whatever Federals had managed to reach Malvern Hill, south of Glendale, likewise keeping the Yankees pinned down there.
Meanwhile, Longstreet and Huger's divisions - a force of over 40,000 - would burst through the Federal retreat at Glendale, breaching their long line of march. It was a simple, even brilliant plan. It need only be implemented.
Adding substantially to Lee's design, but unknown to him at the time, General McClellan, in what can only be described as a psychological and moral breakdown, had fled his army for the gunboat Galena on the James, appointing no second in command, thus leaving his troops behind to fight on their own hook.
Therefore, when Lee struck, the entire Federal Army - five full corps - would be leaderless and incapable of internal cooperation or defense, hence utterly ripe for destruction. If all went as planned, there was a good chance that by nightfall, June 30, the Army of the Potomac might no longer exist as a coherent fighting force, and the Army of the Potomac was President Lincoln's primary fighting machine.
But warfare is a particularly fickle undertaking, the best plans meaningless without officers capable of executing them. For the Confederates, things, to say the least, did not go as planned.
Huger, marching east toward Glendale on the Charles City Road, became flummoxed by a sea of trees felled by Federal pioneers and, as a result, his division failed to move or fire a single shot near Glendale that day.
South of Glendale, Holmes, approaching Malvern Hill on the River Road, was spotted by Federal gunboats and dispersed in pandemonium by an avalanche of naval artillery fire.
Worst of all, Stonewall Jackson (probably physically exhausted from his Shenandoah Valley Campaign, recently concluded) simply fell asleep under a large oak at White Oak Swamp, his entire Valley Army accomplishing nothing.
Only Longstreet would perform as ordered. Despite all the Confederate bumbling, late in the day, he ordered his troops forward in an effort to seize the Quaker Road, the one avenue that led south from Glendale to Malvern Hill.
Before his hasty departure, McClellan had been advised to defend Glendale by an observant aide, hence several Federal divisions had been assembled in a loose screen west of the village. By late afternoon, both sides grasped the desperate situations they faced (for the Federals annihilation, for the Rebels a potential war changing victory), and the fighting around the village became some of the fiercest and most violent during the war.
Combat raged back and forth until a single brigade of South Carolina infantry under General Micah Jenkins managed to break through and take the Quaker Road, thus cutting the Federal Army in two. At that moment, only 1/3 of McClellan's army had reached Malvern Hill, while 2/3 remained at, or north of Glendale. Despite all the day's failure, Lee's plan remained in play, envelopment still a possibility.
But a reserve Confederate brigade meant to support Jenkins, mistook his Rebels in the smoke and twilight for Yankees, and began firing into the South Carolinians, ultimately forcing them to withdraw.
Before Longstreet could rush supports forward to retake the road, numerous brigades of Federal infantry began converging on Glendale from White Oak Swamp - where they were unneeded due to Jackson's inactivity - and conveniently plugged the gap in the Yankee line.
When Longstreet tried to retake the Quaker Road, the Rebels ran headfirst into this fresh Federal infantry. The battle momentarily flashed anew, only then to sputter-out in the closing darkness. Late that evening the Yankees withdrew their entire force through Glendale and consolidated on Malvern Hill, precisely the result Lee had feared.
Lee, furious with his junior Lieutenants, had little choice but to attack the Federals, now consolidated atop the heights, or let McClellan's army slip away undamaged to the James. Unfortunately for the Rebels, the Battle of Malvern Hill was just as botched as was the previous day's action at Glendale, and Malvern Hill proved a Confederate disaster.
The following day the Federals withdrew unharried to Harrison's Landing on the river, having inflicted a punishing defeat on Lee's army. After all the fury and activity of the Seven Days, the stunning possibility of victory that stared the Confederates in the face at Glendale - that was there, in fact, for the taking - became lost in the remaining tumult of war.
So lost, in fact, that to this day the engagement goes by any number of names including Frayser's Farm, Charles City Cross-Roads, Nelson's Farm, New Market Road, and Riddell's Shop, to name but a few.
Soon thereafter Lee reorganized his senior lieutenants, but never again would he be presented with an opportunity remotely as ripe with potential victory as he had at Glendale. Douglas Southall Freeman, one of Lee's biographers, wrote "It was the bitterest disappointment Lee had ever sustained, and one he could not conceal.
Victories in the field were to be registered, but two years of from the opening of the campaign did not produce another situation where envelopment seemed possible." Likewise, when ruminating over the failure at Glendale years later, Confederate General Edward Porter Alexander wrote, "When one thinks of the great chances in General Lee's grasp that one summer afternoon, it is enough to make one cry over the story how they were all lost."
And lost they were. Jackson would return to fighting trim, of course, but on the one day Lee needed him at his best, the exhausted general slumbered the afternoon away, and the Army of the Potomac survived to fight another day. Upon such slim, almost inexplicable oddities, do the spokes of history at times turn.
Presented with the Medal of Honor by President Barack Obama in 2014, Bennie Adkins distinguished himself as a war hero during three tours of duty between 1963 and 1971, later creating a charitable foundation to help returning veterans to attend further education and settle into civilian life.
President Obama said at the time, 'to be honest, in a battle and daring escape that lasted four days, Bennie performed so many acts of bravery we actually don't have time to talk about all of them.'
Unfortunately, the popular Vietnam veteran was unable to escape his final battle.
Adkins was admitted to the East Alabama Medical Centre in Opelika, Alabama at the end of March 2020.
When his condition deteriorated, he was moved to intensive care and put on a ventilator, but despite the best efforts of his medical team he sadly died on April 17th following complications caused by Covid-19, coronavirus.
The veteran Soldier was reported to have killed and injured 135 to 175 Vietnamese insurgents during a four-day battle, during which he was wounded eighteen times, but his resilience meant he remained effective helping a number of US soldiers to safety.
Adkins was on his second tour at the time, in 1966, with the 5th Special Forces Group (Airborne) A-102 Detachment as an Intelligence Sergeant.
Their mission was to track enemy movements and report back to HQ.
It was March 9th, 1966, early in the morning when their camp in the A Shau Valley was attacked by hundreds of North Vietnamese with mortars and rocket-propelled grenades.
Then, when a c
ritical resupply drop landed outside of the camp Adkins once again stepped outside of the wire to retrieve it. And this was just the first day.
Adkins dodged through the incoming fire to man a mortar position to repel the insurgents.
He survived being hit by shrapnel many times while breaking cover to reach wounded soldiers in order to get them to a place of safety. But the worst of the attack was to come.
The Vietnamese forces regrouped and redoubled their attack the next day. Before long Adkins was the last man with a mortar, but eventually he too ran out of rounds.
He fell back on small arms, hand grenades, and a recoil-less rifle to repel the attack, dashing back and forth from mortar pit to bunker through enemy fire to resupply his diminishing stock of ammunition.
As the fighting intensified and the US defenses were gradually beaten down Adkins and his men destroyed their signaling equipment and burned classified documents to stop them falling into the hands of the Viet Cong.
The men dug through the back of the bunker and fought their way out of the camp as it was finally overrun by the enemy.
After two days trekking through the jungle, avoiding forward scouts, and keeping out of sight, Adkins and his men were rescued by helicopter.
In an interview in 2015, Adkins said of the escape that, 'we were not going to be prisoners of war, whatever we had to do.'
Bennie Adkins was born in Waurika, Oklahoma, and entered the military in 1956 when he was 22. After being drafted he volunteered for Special Forces.
Following his service in Vietnam, he remained with the Army, working as a jungle warfare trainer at Fort Sherman, Panama, eventually retiring in 1978 with the rank of Command Sergeant Major.
He went on to obtain a bachelor's degree and also two master's degrees, going on to create the Bennie Adkins Foundation to help other retired service personnel into further education, which specifically supports ex-special forces in their transition into civilian life.
Bennie Adkins was married to Mary for 60 years. She died in February 2019. He leaves behind four sons, a daughter, a number of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Sadly, none of his family were able to see him while he was in the hospital due to the restrictions put in place by the Medical Center to contain the spread of the coronavirus.
Air Commodore Sir Ronald Ivelaw-Chapman was one of the few people who knew the details of the upcoming D-Day invasion in Normandy when he was shot down over France by the Nazis during World War II.
British leader Winston Churchill issued orders for the French Resistance to rescue and keep Ivelaw-Chapman safe at all costs. But if there was any chance that he might fall into the hands of the Third Reich, he was to be assassinated rather than risk having the Germans learn of the Allies' plans.
But when Ivelaw-Chapman's minder was killed, he was indeed captured by the Germans and handed over to the Gestapo to be tortured.
Formerly classified documents have been released which show that Churchill needn't have been so concerned. Ivelaw-Chapman did not reveal anything to his captors.
According to the records, even though men of his rank rarely flew on operations missions, Ivelaw-Chapman insisted on flying with his crew during a May 1944 airstrike against a large German ammunition dump at Aubigne Racan.
On the return flight, his plane was engaged by an enemy fighter pilot and the plane crashed in France, Churchill couldn't take the risk of him breaking under torture.
Ivelaw-Chapman and Sergeant Joe Ford survived the crash and were hidden in a farmhouse. They were somehow betrayed which led to the death of the French minder and to Ivelaw-Chapman's interrogation by the Gestapo at their Chambray headquarters.
Ivelaw-Chapman refused to tell the Gestapo anything other than his name, rank, and serial number. He recalled being slapped, beaten with a rubber whip, and other torture methods for approximately twelve hours. After being beaten, he was placed in an unventilated dungeon in the Gestapo headquarters in Tours with his hands cuffed behind his back. This was particularly painful as his shoulder was dislocated.
The Germans finally sent him to a prisoner-of-war camp after he convinced them he was just a regular airman with no special information.
Ivelaw-Chapman survived the war and retired from the RAF as the vice chief of the Air Staff in 1953. He then became a civil servant working with the Ministry of Defense Research Staff and later with the Directing Staff of the Imperial Defense College. He passed away in 1978.
He had been born in British Guinea in 1899. His father was a self-made successful merchant. In 1903 his family moved to Britain.
At the age of 18, he enlisted in the Royal Flying Corps. He flew during World War I and received the Distinguished Flying Cross and was promoted to Acting Captain.
Near the beginning of WWII, Ivelaw-Chapman was promoted to Acting Group Captain and he became station commander of the Linton-on-Ouse No 4 Bomber Group. At the time of his capture, he was the commander of the Elsham Wolds bomber base in North Lincolnshire.
He was heavily involved in intelligence and planning work, including Operation Overlord (the codename for the D-Day landings), and had worked on the plans for two-and-a-half years before his capture. He was one of the very few people to know the dates and locations of the landings.
Poland was given back approximately 100 tons of gold from three nations - the U.K., Canada, and America - that had been holding the bars since the Second World War.
Poland's geography put it in a terrible situation when Adolph Hitler turned his aggression toward the countries he believed had wronged Germany after the First World War.
Because Poland is centered smack dab in the middle of Europe and it borders on Germany, it became instantly vulnerable when Hitler marshaled troupes to invade and occupy territories in Europe.
His first target was Poland, and before citizens really knew what was happening, their country was no longer theirs but occupied by the foreign dictator.
Although the Allies did not react initially, hoping that Hitler would be satisfied with taking Poland by force, they also knew that the man at the helm of the Nazi party was likely to strip the land bare of all its wealth.
The Allies' instincts were correct on that score, but on November 22nd, in the dead of night, a historic wrong was finally righted.
The operation came off without a hitch, authorities said, but it sounds like it took the intricate plotting of a John Le Carre spy novel to ensure the gold's safe return. The only element missing was James Bond himself.
The gold bars are said to be worth about five billion (USD). It arrived in Poland in three separate, bullet-proof trucks, and was taken to the Narodowy Bank Polski, where it was promptly stored in vaults.
Completing the task, getting the gold from the plane to the trucks to the bank, took eight separate trips.
Once the transfer was finished and officials were able to speak about it to the media, authorities assured everyone that the operation had gone very smoothly, with no glitches whatsoever.
The company that handled the deal was G4S Cash Solutions U.K. Its director, John Lennox, told Sky News that, "given the sensitivity of this operation, we needed to be prepared for anything. Plans can change at short notice.
Having a strong team, flexible and professional drivers, and making sure everyone was regularly updated meant the operation was a complete success."
The gold was taken out of Poland in the midst of the war and safely stored in London, New York, and Ottawa.
Its repatriation has been decades coming, and all concerned are delighted that the bars are at long last back where they belong.
Describing the operation to the media, Lennox said, "the movements of the gold were meticulously planned in co-ordination with everyone, including the police, the Bank of England, (and) the Narodowy Bank Polski."
A spokesman for G4S Cash Solutions called the repatriation a "historic day in the gold industry." Each and every bar is stamped and has a serial number that authenticates its origins.
Poland's officials are, needless to say, thrilled that the gold is back where it belongs. In fact, the government plans to issue a special coin to citizens, to mark the historic occasion.
It is a day surely worth noting in modern Polish history. The war took a huge toll on the people and estimates for the many who died during the conflict reach six million.
According to a story by the BBC in August of this year, Poland's citizens suffered enormously when Hitler began his attacks; a town of no military consequence, Wielun, was bombed on September 1st, 1939. It succeeded, and the war ensued from there.
But November 22, 2019, was not a day to reflect on the war's destruction. It was a day of celebration in Poland, now that the nation has seen returned what has been rightfully it's own for many, many decades.
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It was Gallagher's birthday, and he advised Baden when they returned it would be his 100th trap recovery on an aircraft carrier.
A sudden depressurization of the cockpit and rush of roaring wind caused Baden to look about for the problem. Expecting to see Gallagher's face, he was shocked to be looking at the navigator's knees. Alarmed, he quickly assessed the situation. The canopy was sealed against the windshield, but the Plexiglas was shattered. Gallagher's upper body was outside the aircraft. He seemed to be stuck in the canopy!
The Boss called over the radio to ask if the BN was still in the plane. Baden quickly responded, "Only his legs are still inside the cockpit," not considering the horrific images people on the ship might be picturing in their minds. But the Boss understood. Declaring the deck clear and notifying other aircraft of the emergency occupied the Abraham Lincoln for a few minutes.
But if strategic advantage alone was always decisive in warfare, then names like Marathon, Cowpens, Rorke's Drift, and Cannae would today be meaningless, and they are not.
The Federals were headed for Harrison's Landing on the James, and Lee realized that, due to the lay of the land, he had one last chance to damage the Yankees before geography turned in their favor. The Confederates could use three east/west roads to attack the Federals, while at the small village of Glendale, the Yankees would be bottlenecked onto only one north/south route.
Adding substantially to Lee's design, but unknown to him at the time, General McClellan, in what can only be described as a psychological and moral breakdown, had fled his army for the gunboat Galena on the James, appointing no second in command, thus leaving his troops behind to fight on their own hook.
Before his hasty departure, McClellan had been advised to defend Glendale by an observant aide, hence several Federal divisions had been assembled in a loose screen west of the village. By late afternoon, both sides grasped the desperate situations they faced (for the Federals annihilation, for the Rebels a potential war changing victory), and the fighting around the village became some of the fiercest and most violent during the war.
Lee, furious with his junior Lieutenants, had little choice but to attack the Federals, now consolidated atop the heights, or let McClellan's army slip away undamaged to the James. Unfortunately for the Rebels, the Battle of Malvern Hill was just as botched as was the previous day's action at Glendale, and Malvern Hill proved a Confederate disaster.
Following his service in Vietnam, he remained with the Army, working as a jungle warfare trainer at Fort Sherman, Panama, eventually retiring in 1978 with the rank of Command Sergeant Major.
British leader Winston Churchill issued orders for the French Resistance to rescue and keep Ivelaw-Chapman safe at all costs. But if there was any chance that he might fall into the hands of the Third Reich, he was to be assassinated rather than risk having the Germans learn of the Allies' plans.
Ivelaw-Chapman and Sergeant Joe Ford survived the crash and were hidden in a farmhouse. They were somehow betrayed which led to the death of the French minder and to Ivelaw-Chapman's interrogation by the Gestapo at their Chambray headquarters.
Because Poland is centered smack dab in the middle of Europe and it borders on Germany, it became instantly vulnerable when Hitler marshaled troupes to invade and occupy territories in Europe.
The gold bars are said to be worth about five billion (USD). It arrived in Poland in three separate, bullet-proof trucks, and was taken to the Narodowy Bank Polski, where it was promptly stored in vaults.
Poland's officials are, needless to say, thrilled that the gold is back where it belongs. In fact, the government plans to issue a special coin to citizens, to mark the historic occasion.
Real stories told by real people, in their own words, 100 veterans, men, and women caught up in an all too real war. From the Delta to the DMZ, come walk in their boots. If you were there, you understand. If you weren't, grab a copy. 
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