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Okay, here's how it goes. See, the old man was a Colonel in the Egyptian army back in the '60s. Not from any martial skill; he's a dentist you see. A man of learning and healing.

Anyway, at one point, a war started. They tended to pop up rather frequently. I believe Jews were involved.

So, padre is motoring through the Sinai peninsula in a truck. He is in the front cab, and there are troops in the back. Regretfully, Israel controls the airspace.

A projectile, commonly considered to be Napalm, strikes the truck. The grunts in the back decease, leaving my beloved padre and the driver.

My dad is somewhat the worse for wear. The voyage out of the desert is done at night, to avoid more jets, and consists primarily of him being handcuffed to the driver.

The next thing he knows, he's back safe (what, Port Said or some Red Sea haven). I figure a couple years later he's on the Jumbo for the great white north.

That is the great tale of a Mohareb at war. In spite of any mistakes of etymology, we are lovers. Not fighters.
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thebitterguy

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