Just to create a public record of the absolute stupidity of the people who are moderators at F-Book—assuming they are people at all—I am going to share my history of posts over the past year that resulted in my account being restricted.
Here's the first one, posted September 29, 2021, during the height of the COVID vaccine mandate foolishness:
Want to know what this video is? See below. It's an undercover video from Project Veritas showing two employees from Johnson & Johnson expressing doubts about their company's vaccine.
If anything, the supposed "false information" on this video is being provided by employees of Johnson & Johnson. So are we to assume that 60 Minutes-style undercover reporting is now considered against F-Book's community standards? Or only if they don't like what is revealed?
The next one is this, also posted on September 29, 2021:
No idea what this is about. Given the date, it may be another posting of the same video. The funny thing is -- I don't remember F-Book restricting my account on either of these occasions. They may have given me hidden demerits for my bad behavior retroactively and not informed me.
The next one requires a little context. This was posted on October 5, 2021 in response to something I read on the Amanpour and Company F-Book page. Don't ask me what I was doing there. I'm guessing the post showed up in my feed because F-Book likes to give their favored narrative-builders additional free play. In any event, the original post was one of those disgraceful elitist feeding-frenzies from last fall calling for all sorts of exotic, unconstitutional punishments to be meted out to the most wicked pariahs among us, the vaccine hesitant—otherwise known as independent thinkers. I posted this as an absurd, sarcastic rebuttal to one of the more egregious of these comments:
But of course, the F-Book bot-mods don't understand sarcasm.
And apparently, they don't understand colloquial usage of certain terms between friends. Just today, I got 24 hours in the cooler for this terrifying post:
Did you catch that? Do you understand why this post violates F-Book's community standards? I had to read it through three or four times before I got it. Yes, someone (or something) at F-Book interpreted my invitation for my friend's son to come visit my boys as a terroristic threat.
If the soulless morons running Big Tech have their way, this is the world we're headed for:
No humor allowed.
Absolutely no sarcasm allowed.
No unapproved opinions allowed—and we won't apologize to you if said opinions turn out to be facts later on.
You will be told how you may use language.
If you use unapproved words (even ones that were fine for centuries), you will be punished.
You are guilty until proven innocent.
We will track all your sins (and anything we say is a sin, but isn't) and keep a record of them.
Your punishment starts immediately, but your appeal will be heard in 2-3 weeks.
Broadside view of Fort Drum guarding Manila Bay during the interwar years.
The United States is credited with building a battleship that, to this day, is certified as completely unsinkable. It sported four 14-inch naval rifles in two turrets with impressive arcs of fire, along with a variety of smaller guns in casemates along the sides.
Though completely unsinkable, this battleship had one major drawback — it could not move. In fact, it was fixed in place in Manila Bay in the Philippines.
It was also made of concrete.
The name of this battleship was not New Jersey, or Missouri, or North Carolina.
It was Fort Drum.
If you visit the Philippines today, you will find the burnt-out hulk of the unsinkable concrete battleship silently rusting away in Manila Bay.
Fort Drum was originally the island of El Fraile, one of the smallest islands of the Philippine archipelago. Meaning “The Friar” in Spanish, the island’s peaceful moniker would become ironic when the Spanish added gun emplacements prior to the Spanish-American War. Though these weapons proved ineffective at stopping Admiral Dewey's squadron from penetrating Manila Bay on May 1 of 1898 to engage the Spanish fleet, the Americans did not forget the strategic placement of El Fraile once they had taken the Philippine archipelago for themselves.
Beginning in 1909, the US flattened the craggy heights of El Fraile and completely reconstructed the small island using steel and concrete. They reshaped the island completely until it resembled the oblong shape of a ship’s hull. At 350 feet wide and 144 feet at the beam, Fort Drum had the rough dimensions of a battleship of the time. The addition of two main gun turrets, casemated secondary armament and a lattice-work mast and spotting top completed the illusion.
Bow view of Fort Drum's cage-style mast and "B" turret, compared with that of its rough contemporary, the battleship USS Delaware.
When the Japanese invaded the Philippines in late 1941, Fort Drum proved a thorn in the invaders' side, firing effectively on troop transports attempting to land on Corregidor. When defeat became inevitable, Fort Drum was the last American outpost in the Philippines to surrender. Before departing, however, the Americans spiked the fort's main guns, leaving them inoperable.
The situation was turned on its head in April of 1945 when Fort Drum became one of the last outposts held by the Japanese in Manila Bay. But much like their fanatical late-war defense of such island fortresses as Iwo Jima and Okinawa, the Japanese defenders of Fort Drum refused to surrender. What happened next forms one of the most memorable vignettes from Phillip Campbell's new text for young readers, The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia:
While American soldiers were already overrunning Manila, the concrete fortress of Fort Drum defied all U.S. attempts at taking it. U.S. army Lieutenant Miles Schafer and Captain Benny Biancho of the 38th Infantry Regiment scratched their heads.
“It’s like a concrete battleship,” said Lieutenant Schafer.
“Correction, it is a concrete battleship—with four massive 14-inch guns in two turrets,” responded Captain Biancho.
“Poor fellas don’t realize the battle is already lost for them,” said
Schafer, shaking his head. “If only they’d just surrender.”
Rata-tat. Rata-tata!
Machine-gun fire erupted from Fort Drum. Schafer and Biancho took cover. The bullets sailed harmlessly overhead and plinked into the water.
“The Japs won’t surrender. For them, it’s a matter of honor. They would rather die,” said Biancho. “We’re going to have to force them out somehow. It’s gonna be tough because that entire island is one concrete block.
“We’ve come up with a solution for that,” chimed in a third man. It was Major General William Chase, commander of the 38th Infantry Division. Schafer and Biancho stood at attention. “At ease men,” said the Major General. “The top brass has a plan for breaking the Japs out of Fort Drum. We tried it at Fort Hughes back in March and it worked like a charm. It’s a doozey, but it sure does the trick.”
“We’re all ears, sir,” said Biancho.
Rata-tata! Another volley of machine-gun fire exploded from Fort Drum. The three men huddled and listened to General Chase’s plan, struggling to hear over the mortar rounds that also flew out of the embattled fort.
The next day everything was in position to carry out the plan. A landing ship medium—a type of troop transport ship used for amphibious landings—moved into position near Fort Drum. It had been modified with a large bridge structure. On board were Captain Biancho, Lieutenant Schafer, and a hundred men of the 38th. When the ship got close enough, Biancho called out, “Lower bridge!”
“Lower bridge!” Schafer echoed. A team of men scrambled into action, working pulleys and cranks to lower the bridge. It landed on the concrete deck of Fort Drum with a heavy thud. Another team of several dozen men stormed across the bridge and on to the deck. The huge 14-inch cannons of Fort Drum had been spiked and rendered useless by the Americans when they surrendered in 1942, but the men were wary of a suicidal ambush by the Japanese defenders using small arms and grenades. However, the Japanese had retreated into the assumed security of the fort’s lower decks, waiting to attack the Americans when they attempted to enter.
“The deck is secure, sir!” called Lieutenant Schafer.
“Excellent!” cried Biancho from the landing ship. Then, turning to his crew: “Fuel team, move!” Another team of soldiers came running from the ship to the bridge, dragging a large, long hose. The hose was connected to a tank on board the landing ship that was filled with 2,500 gallons of diesel fuel mixed with gasoline.
“Find the air vents!” ordered Schafer. The first team had already located the air vents, the small two square-foot openings atop the deck that provided access to the interior of the fort. The soldiers broke the vent coverings off the opening while the fuel team shoved the hose into the duct. The hose being in place, the team leader gave a thumbs up. Schafer saw the thumbs up and gave a thumbs up to Biancho. Biancho nodded, and turning to one of his officers on the Landing Ship, gave him the signal to turn on the pump. The man cranked a large wheel, opening the valves of the tank and sending gallons of the diesel fuel through the hose.
The hose began belching out hundreds of gallons of fuel down into the darkness of the ventilation duct. Within a few moments the fuel team could hear the panicked cries of the Japanese soldiers within echoing up the duct. They must have realized what was about to happen when they saw their command station being flooded with fuel. The U.S. soldiers did not waver though—they stood stoically atop the deck, holding the hose firm until all 2,500 gallons had been evacuated into the vent.
“Clear deck!” shouted Lieutenant Schafer. In an instant, all the soldiers upon the deck of Fort Drum retreated back across the bridge onto the landing ship. Lieutenant Schafer was the last man to leave the deck. In his hands he dragged a massive wooden spool threaded with copper wire. As he retreated, he unwound the spool. The wire was connected to a timed detonator that had been lowered down the ventilation shaft. He hopped back into the landing ship.
“How much wire do you have left?” said Biancho.
“I’d say 400 yards,” replied Schafer. Captain Biancho nodded. “Move us out about 400 yards!” he called to the ship pilot. When the ship had moved off 400 yards, the spool was almost completely unwound. A pair of soldiers took the wire from the spool and fused it into a detonator, a metallic black box with an ominous red button. It only took a moment to splice the wire into the detonator.
Schafer handed Captain Biancho the box. “Care to do the honors?” he said to the captain.
Biancho took the box. “Here’s a present from Uncle Sam!” he yelled towards Fort Drum. Then he pressed the red button with his thumb.
Fort Drum rumbled and exploded in a blast of destruction that shocked even Biancho and Schafer. The concrete deck of the fortress fragmented into thousands of pieces and was flung hundreds of feet into the air by the force of the explosion. Smoke and flame engulfed the entire concrete island.
Footage of Fort Drum exploding, April 13, 1945.
“Cover!” shouted Schafer. The men on the landing ship covered their heads. Moments later a shower of dirt and pebbles rained down upon them. Fortunately, the heavier pieces of concrete had not fallen so far out, or the landing ship could have been severely damaged.
The men uncovered their heads and looked at the hell they had made of Fort Drum: wreathed in flame, smoke pouring from every opening, the 14-inch gun turrets charred and useless, metal glowing orange, crumbling pieces of concrete deck falling into the orange inferno that had once been the command station.
Captain Biancho grinned. “Schafer, send a message to Major General Chase. Tell him Fort Drum has fallen. Manila is ours.”
* * *
The destruction of Fort Drum was total. Every single one of the sixty-eight Japanese soldiers inside was killed, obliterated in the explosion.
The capture of Fort Drum marked the end of major U.S. operations in Manila, although the city was not completely cleared of Japanese troops until early March. The invasion of Luzon was the largest American operation in the Pacific War, involving more U.S. troops than had fought in North Africa, France, or Italy.
If you enjoyed this vignette, check out Phillip Campbell's The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia. While the book is an outstanding introduction for young readers (ages 12-18) to the history of the Philippine archipelago from earliest times right up through the the 2020s, even an old guy like me learned a tremendous amount reading it!
