conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Special, Iranian, SOAR with the genre: History, Military
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Night Stalkers'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Night Stalkers
  Many thanks to Al Zuckerman at Writers House, Mark Chait and all the staff at Putnam/New American Library for their assistance in making this project a reality. They recognized, as did we, the significance of these incredible stories of courage and sacrifice that otherwise would have remained untold.
  Maj. Arlo Hurst, 160th RS5; Kim Laudano, 160th Public Affairs Officer; Kelly Tyler, 160th Public Affairs Officer; Carol Darby Jones, USASOC Public Affairs Officer; Walt Sokalski, USASOC Public Affairs Officer; Charles H. Briscoe, Ph.D., USASOC History Office; MW4 (ret.) Carl Brown; Col. (ret.) Randy Cochran; Col. (ret.) Ben Couch; BG (ret.) John "the Coach" Dailey; CW5 Terry Frabott; MG (ret.) Lou Hennies; CW5 (ret.) Randy Jones; Kurt Muse; SSG Doug Wonacott; BG (ret.) Howard Yellen.
  Like most things in life, this effort could not have been accomplished without the support of our families. We are forever indebted to them for their love, patience, courage, and understanding.
  And, finally, to those who've served in this great organization. The incredible accomplishments and the contributions made by so few have helped provide stability and freedom for so many.
  At first it is merely a pulse, a disturbance in the ether, and as your ears prick up and you tilt your head to listen, a gust of wind obscures it, and for a moment you return to illusion. You are safe. They could not possibly reach you here, so far away, so high, so hidden. They may want your life for the things you have done in the name of your cause, but it will not happen here in this impregnable place. Your heart rate slows again. You smile thinly at your own fears. You nod slowly, and then you suddenly freeze as the sound returns. It is unmistakable now. Helicopters.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He was much different now than that pimply, nervous kid flying his first mission at Fort Knox. He was still diminutive in size, yet he had no Napoleon complex and no need to prove himself. He discovered that he needed only two obvious traits to be respected by the soldiers he flew and the commanders he served: being the best pilot he could possibly be and always saying what was on his mind. He had developed a reputation as a "sawed-off warrant officer with a big set of balls."
  In the lexicon of the Joint Special Operations Command, there were two kinds of Special Operations Forces: White and Black. White SOF was comprised of the more conventional special operators, such as the army's SF and the Rangers. Black SOF generally referred to secret special tactics teams, such as Delta and the navy's SEALs. If there was a hijacking or hostage taking somewhere in the world, it was most likely that Black elements would be tasked to handle the crisis, as that was one of their main areas of expertise. If a sniper team was required to take out targets deep behind enemy lines, an insurgent force was to be quietly eliminated or allied foreigners needed expert training and guidance, this would most often fall to the White elements. Within the special operations aviation community, there was an ongoing, competitive argument about whether White or Black ops required more skill. But to Crisafulli, it made no difference and the argument was moot. He would be taking hard men into harm's way.
  You couldn't fly these men for months on end without getting to know them intimately. He drank with them, partied with them and was regarded as an integral part of the Team. The Special Forces men were a particular breed of quiet professionals, yet the pressures of their missions did require a release valve. They were good-looking young men who rarely swaggered, yet they caught the ladies' eyes and were not always welcomed by the locals. Once in a small town in Texas, Jim was drinking with his comrades and sauntered over to the bar for a refill, when he suddenly felt the vise-like grip of a drunken cowboy on the back of his neck.
  Jim tried to spin from the drunkard's grasp. He was wiry and solid and ready to fight, but he didn't have to. The cowboy's boots had already left the sawdust floor and he was suspended by his throat at the end of a master sergeant's arm.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last three paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: There is melancholy in the echo of Mike Grimm's name, for the missions he missed, for the things he would have swelled with pride to see. Yet no doubt without him, and the men who quickly embraced his convictions, there would have been no flag at all to unfurl. Keith Lucas was the first to fall in action, yet every Blackhawk pilot knows the meaning of his name, and swears to mirror his courage, despite the odds or enemy gunfire. Cliff Wolcott—well, his echo brings a smile, for no one ever was more the Night Stalker model of courage as grace under pressure. Crew chiefs proudly raise their chins at the unanswered call for Phillip Svitak, a man who embodied their loyalty and proved it with his life. Steve Reich, whose letters are still fresh and crisp in granite, reminds all that the unit today, no less than decades past, attracts the most brilliant and brave of the ranks. And Jamie Weeks, so recently fallen at the controls of his Little Bird in Iraq, and who spent his entire career as a Night Stalker, elicits a whispered promise to always take the fight to the enemy.
  The traditions begun so long ago on that parade ground at Fort Campbell are infrangible now. The unit trains exactly as it will fight. The operational tempo is merely an invitation to excel. Pilots and commanders and crew chiefs retire, as sons and nephews and young men with dreams of helicopter flight fill their flying boots. And when Night Stalkers take to the air, the ghosts of their heroes are always there, looking over their shoulders; not to chastise, but to encourage. They are gone forever yet never forgotten. Their lessons echo in attentive ears, and as each pilot or crewman returns to earth, he will again inevitably pass beneath a portico, where the muted voice of a fallen brother reaches out to him.
  Among the many tributes to the members of the special operations aviation community, there is one monument that stands alone. The Night Stalker Memorial Wall, an arrangement of three simple stones, is inscribed with the names of all members of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne) who have given their lives in service to our nation. The memorial is located in front of the regimental headquarters on the 160th compound at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, a short distance from the flight line and the mission that these men lived and died for.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Yet no doubt without him, and the men who quickly embraced his convictions, there would have been no flag at all to unfurl. Keith Lucas was the first to fall in action, yet every Blackhawk pilot knows the meaning of his name, and swears to mirror his courage, despite the odds or enemy gunfire. Cliff Wolcott—well, his echo brings a smile, for no one ever was more the Night Stalker model of courage as grace under pressure. Crew chiefs proudly raise their chins at the unanswered call for Phillip Svitak, a man who embodied their loyalty and proved it with his life. Steve Reich, whose letters are still fresh and crisp in granite, reminds all that the unit today, no less than decades past, attracts the most brilliant and brave of the ranks. And Jamie Weeks, so recently fallen at the controls of his Little Bird in Iraq, and who spent his entire career as a Night Stalker, elicits a whispered promise to always take the fight to the enemy.
  The traditions begun so long ago on that parade ground at Fort Campbell are infrangible now. The unit trains exactly as it will fight. The operational tempo is merely an invitation to excel. Pilots and commanders and crew chiefs retire, as sons and nephews and young men with dreams of helicopter flight fill their flying boots. And when Night Stalkers take to the air, the ghosts of their heroes are always there, looking over their shoulders; not to chastise, but to encourage. They are gone forever yet never forgotten. Their lessons echo in attentive ears, and as each pilot or crewman returns to earth, he will again inevitably pass beneath a portico, where the muted voice of a fallen brother reaches out to him.
  Among the many tributes to the members of the special operations aviation community, there is one monument that stands alone. The Night Stalker Memorial Wall, an arrangement of three simple stones, is inscribed with the names of all members of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne) who have given their lives in service to our nation. The memorial is located in front of the regimental headquarters on the 160th compound at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, a short distance from the flight line and the mission that these men lived and died for.