Trafford Publishing: "We Will Neither Confirm, Nor Deny"

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"We Will Neither Confirm, Nor Deny"

by Hi Holt and Bob Schmidt

202 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0216; ISBN 1-55369-403-1; US$21.50, C$25.00, EUR18.00, £12.50

Retired staff sergeant Hi Holt's Amazing story of survival of B-36 crash, capture, and pentagon cover-up via 35 year vow of silence. Join Hi in his quest for "veterans rights" and justice.

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about the book about the author & editor sample excerpts catalogue info

About the Book

The true story of Sergeant Hiram Holt, USAF Retired.
Pentagon demands 35 year Vow of Silence, now the truth is out!
Every Veteran will embrace this book which speaks to their unique problems with retirement and benefits.
Action, Intrigue, and Patriotism
Covers Korea,Vietnam,and up to the War on Terror in response to The World Trade Center Attack.
If you love America, read this book!

About the Author and Editor

Hiram "Hi" Holt is a native of upstate New York. As a patriotic young American he volunteered to serve in the U.S. Navy in the late 1940s. He re-enlisted into the Air Force to serve his country during the Korean War. His 22 year career included serving as a "Ranch-hand" in Viet Nam. The telling of his amazing story is dedicated to improving the plight of U.S. Military Veterans. Intrigue, secrecy, and the inner workings of the military are under fire in this true story. The impact that his career had on his personal life will motivate you to ask, "How can this have happened to Hi, and how can we keep it from happening again, and again?" You will enjoy the down-to-earth dialogue, and the many turns and bumps encountered in this true story.

Bob Schmidt, pictured at left, is a native of South Texas. He is bi-lingual, English and Spanish, and created and produced a Spanish-language children's TV program from 1993 to 1998 for XHAB-TV in Matamoros, Tamps., Mexico. His permanent home is across the Rio Grande River in Brownsville, Texas. As a student of human behavior Bob teamed up with Hi on their joint effort to make a positive difference for military veterans with "We Will Neither Confirm, Nor Deny." His south Texas background combined with Hi's upstate New York upbringing creates an interesting texture of dialogue and facts. "This is the most interesting project that I have ever undertaken" remarked Bob, who added, "It speaks for itself. Hi's experience is an amazing story."

Sample Excerpt

CHAPTER 3 (The crash) pg. 16

....When I reached my station in the tail station, I sat down and attached my seat belt. No sooner than when I finished doing that, all hell broke loose. There was a tremendously loud explosion, and a piece of metal hit me in the chest spinning me around in my seat. It hit me in my chest pack parachute, or I would have been history. Everything seemed to be happening at once, the explosion, getting hit in the chest, and being aware of a big blast of cold air. It was my good fortune that I was still plugged in to the portable oxygen bottle, otherwise I would have blacked out at the altitude at which we were cruising. I struggled, but I didn't seem to be able to move. There was a large gaping hole in front of me, where aircraft should have been. In this split-second, it seemed, I suddenly realized that we had been hit. I could see fragments of aircraft in front of me, smoke, and intermittent glimpses of sky. My senses started to respond to the crisis, and I realized that the only thing left of my plane was about 25 feet of tail section, and it was falling at something like a 45 degree angle. Instinctively, I wanted to call out to my fellow crew members, but I knew that I was alone, and falling out of the sky!
Again, I tried to get out of my seat, and could not. Desperate to move, and to try to save myself, it suddenly occurred to me to release my seat belt. I did, and was able to stand. In an instant I realized that I couldn't walk out of the tail section, so I started crawling. It seemed like each time that I moved I cut myself on the torn and crumpled aluminum. My right arm was bleeding heavily, and I had moments of panic that I wouldn't make it. I could see that I was going to crash into the water, and was thankful that under my parachute harness I was wearing my Mae West life jacket. Crawling towards the squashed-up opening of the tail section was taking every bit of strength that I could muster. My arm continued to bleed freely, and the additional cuts made me feel like a piece of hamburger meat. I knew that I would be trapped in a watery grave if I didn't clear myself from this "would-be-tomb". I questioned myself, "Will this parachute still work if I can get to the opening to jump?" I didn't know, but I did know that I did not want to die, not this way.
Knowing that I would die if I quit, I just tried to keep moving. My arm kept bleeding, and I was getting weaker, but I could not let myself quit moving my arms and legs. After what seemed to be an eternity, I saw that I only lacked about 5 feet to clear the tail section, and I gave a great lunge. I damn near fell out of the plane, and teetered on the edge. I still had time to jump, the water was a ways down, so I leaped and pulled the "D" ring when I cleared the wreckage. The parachute began to stream out, to my great relief, and I looked about to assess my situation. There were no other parachutes in view, and I sadly realized that everyone else was probably "gone". I looked up and saw a B-36 that had broken formation and was circling several miles overhead. I wondered if he could see my chute, which had one complete panel badly torn and flapping in the breeze. There were several other tears in the canopy, and I hoped that it would hang together long enough to get me down. The wind was causing me to drift towards the shoreline, and I realized that I was not going to land in water after all. Then, I saw people working in a field adjacent to the coastal waters, and I thought, "There's going to be help, what a good break!" I could feel blood pooling in my right boot, and I guessed that the lunge that had freed me from the wreck had caused another cut. I began to feel a little light-headed from the blood loss from all the cuts caused by the explosion, and my efforts to get out. I was in rough shape, but I was alive. As I descended, lower and lower, the people working in the field began running towards me, carrying what looked like shovels and hoes. Surely they had seen the explosion of my plane, and would help me. Now I could see them more clearly, they looked oriental, and most were carrying pitchforks, and seemed to be hollering towards me, but I couldn't understand a word they were saying...

CHAPTER 4 (The dogs came) pg. 26

...The sound of trucks interrupted my troubled sleep, and I wondered what was going on now. I dragged my stool over to the window, stood on it and managed to barely see through the bars. My hope was to see some of my crew members, survivors like me, being brought to join me. What I saw haunts me to this day, they were unloading my crewmembers' bodies and body parts, tossing them against the wall under my window! I fainted, falling off of the stool onto the dirt floor. I was unprepared to see such a sight, and felt sick to my stomach. After staggering back to my corner to sit, leaning against the wall, I began crying. The trucks left, and I was undisturbed in my misery. I asked God why He was permitting this to happen, but He did not answer. As I attempted to regain my composure a sound reached my ears as if to punctuate the horror that I had seen. I heard growling, and yips, and dreaded what I would see if I looked out of my window again.
Anger welled up from within me, as I moved the stool so that I could look out of my window. My eyes verified what my ears had already told me, a pack of mongrel dogs, some 8 or 10 of them, had arrived to feast on my fellow crewmembers' bodies. As I watched I began to holler to try to scare the beasts away, but to no avail. I watched as the Sergeant, who had been my roommate, had his intestines ripped out. Another mongrel tore off his penis and ran with his prize. I became weak in the knees and started puking. I couldn't watch any longer, wouldn't have if I could have. I puked until I was puking blood. If there has ever been something that you don't want to remember, this was that thing, for me. I relive this scene in nightmares to this day.
I had always thought that I was pretty tough. As the sounds of the dogs diminished, I was still having dry heaves, and crying. I couldn't yell anymore, I didn't have the strength. Through all of the physical injury and pain that I had endured, I had never felt the kind of pain that this had caused me. I actually wished that I was dead, that way I wouldn't have to remember the horror that I felt. Having crawled back to my straw bed, I fell into troubled slumber. I don't remember dreaming, but when I awoke late in the day, I felt that a part of me had died earlier, and that had it not been for the Good Lord, and my Guardian Angel watching over me, I might have died from the horrors of what I'd seen.
The reason that I woke up was that my evening meal had arrived. I didn't have the strength to go close to the door to see the outside light, I just watched as the food was left for me. Maybe an hour later I did find the strength to get to my food basket. I drank some water, I sure couldn't have stomached any food. Returning to my straw bed, I felt comforted by the cool, dry padding. I fell into the kind of sleep that denies the senses of perceiving anything. Once, I awoke to go to the bathroom, but immediately fell back asleep until the following morning.
As light began to overtake the darkness of night, consciousness began to overtake the nothingness of deep sleep. I fought to hold onto that sleeping state, free of thoughts and memories, but lost the battle. It was quiet, and I was relieved. Unfortunately, the silence was shattered with the sounds of those damn dogs returning...

CHAPTER 16 pg. 129 (they killed the Cong)

...They did not have far to go. About 30 yards from us a shot rung out, and I realized that they had killed one of our attackers. Moments later another enemy got to his knees out of the grass, only to get kicked in the back by one of the patrol fellows. He shot the guy in the back of the head, which bounced like a pumpkin at the bullet's impact. These patrol guys knew how to handle the enemy trying to hide in the grass, and, one by one, executed all of them. I counted 17 bodies scattered in the field, and some were no bigger than my own sons back home. The sergeant of the patrol unit remarked to us that this was a young band of Viet Cong, and that they had probably spotted our truck sitting on the highway and had designs on taking it as a prize possession for their side. The age of our attackers was a real problem for me because I felt guilt at being involved with killing adolescent boys, even if they were the enemy. It seemed to be such a waste, and was just one more thing that I wouldn't want to talk about as a war experience. My eventual relationship with my own sons suffered from this haunting memory, and being in the presence of adolescent boys causes me to have flash-backs to this very day.
The bodies of our enemies were left where they fell. Their guns were...

CHAPTER 23, pg. 195-200

...I am so proud of America, and each and every citizen who has stepped forward to be a hero in the aftermath of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attack. Until that event, I sometimes doubted the soul of our country. I remembered parades from July 4th in the 1930s, 1940s, and the 1950s. Patriotism was a major part of those events. Flags would wave, and patriotic music would abound. A parade was a celebration within the community, both local and national. Americans strutted their stuff, and with pride. It may sound corny, but it is true.
The things that I experienced as a serviceman in the Vietnam years caused me great concern for the future of the United States. As an American soldier, I was spat upon, and scorned by some ungrateful Americans. I served my country, and some of my countries' citizens called me names. It was not pretty, it was ugly. Our nation was divided, and, I think, falling apart. The eyes of the world saw war, up close for the first time, via television. This same media, in its horror, slanted opinion against the military machine. America was aghast, and divided in a most damaging way.
The subsequent years of placating the special interest groups, and the obvious lack of patriotism exhibited during the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s had caused me to doubt our very ability to survive as a democracy in the not too distant future. Cohesion was a word almost destined to antiquity by the "me-first attitude". I am not familiar with all of the latest monikers used to describe the recent decades, but I saw little to encourage me that everything was all right with America. I accepted that change, progress, and technology had forever altered the America that I remembered as a youth. That equates with losing your last hero. I feared that my hero was gone, forever.
But, as the twin towers of the World Trade Center collapsed, America arose to the challenge. More importantly, Americans arose to the challenge. Partisan politics ceased to exist, if only for the time being, and a common cause was embraced. The liberal left did not scream as the military was activated to protect us. They stood side by side with their philosophical antagonists in support of the Commander-In-Chief of the United States of America. The conservative right did not gloat over the need to exert force upon those who would destroy us. They embraced their rivals as they stood in support of The President. The moderate majority found it's voice, and demanded action against our common enemy, as they demonstrated their support for our Leaders. Americans spoke as one, and reacted in unity to the common cause.
Flags sprouted up everywhere! I felt like saluting every flag that I saw, which became impossible as almost everyone tried to display their patriotism. Some did not even know proper etiquette for our standard, but I forgive them for that. Recent generations of Americans have not had the same type of education that some of us have had. Also, they have never experienced war other than on TV or at the movies. Their patriotism superseded their ignorance, and I applaud their intent.
"God Bless America" could be heard at almost every gathering of Americans, anxious to contribute their heart-felt emotion to their country feeling a pain never before experienced in the homeland. The sounds of patriotism and unity were music to my tired, old ears. Indeed, my spirits soar at the sight of Americans at peace with one another, and fighting against a common enemy instead of each other. What a wonderful change it is to have partisan politics on the side-lines for a change. The din of incessant bickering in Washington D.C. is enough to make one deaf to significant dialogue. I hope that politicians notice how nice it is to actually listen to one another, instead of falling back to their respective party-position on every subject discussed.
I get goose-bumps every time that one of our fallen policemen or firemen is recovered, and respectfully moved for a proper burial from the devastated World Trade Center site. The dedication of these rescuers is inspiring. Their reverence to the memory of each hero that they uncover should serve as an inspiration for generations to come. Heroic sacrifice is much easier to give if it is known to be acknowledged, and appreciated. Every Vietnam Veteran knows this to the core of their being. Ungrateful criticism is a mighty poor substitute for gracious respect.
The attack on the twin towers caused several generations of Americans to experience something similar to what many older Americans experienced with Pearl Harbor. They experienced fear, resulting from vulnerability to attack from outside. No amount of warning to the general public could have achieved the result of that blow to America's safety. I feel truly blessed to have witnessed the response of our country as a whole. Heroic rescues, unselfish sacrifice, spiritual outreach from strangers, and universal horror at the total disregard for loss of innocent life dominated the everyday routines of everyone in our beloved country. I am proud to be an American, and grateful to my fellow citizens for helping restore my faith in their spirit. It is nice to feel good about the people with whom you share your "home".
Regarding the war on terror presently underway in Afghanistan, I cannot overstate how proud I am of how we have responded to the terrorists based in that country. Our leadership has been great, and the servicemen and women have been a credit to their profession, and our country. Every time that a serviceman or woman has been injured, or killed serving our country, a tear comes to my eye. I must tell you, that tear is not from grief, that tear comes from pride. I served with many who did not survive, and I cried for them because I knew them. Some were not properly remembered, excepting as statistics. Those of us who survived Korea, and Vietnam were not afforded proper treatment, and we knew it. The pride that causes my tear today is defiance to those who would attack freedom. Soldiers all know that they may have to make the ultimate sacrifice, and are prepared to do so. When you believe something to the very core of your being, it is not hard to defend it with your last breath. Today, America, and her soldiers know who they are, and what they are defending. Our spirit cannot be broken, even if our bodies can be. Anyone who doubts the resolve of America had best rethink their position. The spirit that made this country great is dormant no longer...
This book tackles the problems of "Concurrent Receipt", inaccessible records, and the obstacles that many veterans encounter in retirement. It may perturb you, and will perhaps give you a different perspective of the "military experience" that some of our veterans have lived. Enjoy a good read, and then go out and "make a difference!"

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