I walked back to the SUV and boarded Air Force One. That would be my hotel for a little while. I flew that night to Mexico City to meet President Ortiz. Things were heating up. I laid down when I got back on board and told the security guard to wake me when we were about to depart. I had to change into nicer clothes to meet the President. We arrived at 2300 hours local time and I was taken to a secure location pre-arranged by my people. President Ortiz wasn’t waiting for me. I hoped he would show up soon; I wanted to leave ASAP. About 10 minutes later, President Ortiz and his entourage came into the room. Out on the balcony I stood looking over Mexico City. The Mexican President stepped outside to join me.
President Ortiz reaches out and said, “Cigar?”
“No, thank you.”
President Ortiz lit up one for himself.
“I’m pleased you accepted my visit.”
“Of course. I’m pleased you offered to make it.”
Together we looked over the vast city.
I spoke, “In light of the policy changes I’m making up north, it’s important to me that relations between our two nations are not strained.”
President Ortiz argued, “Quite the contrary; I admire your bold approach.”
“Well, thank you. But just the same.”
I turned to face the President. The Mexican President followed my lead. We locked eyes.
I say, “I’m sending the illegal immigrants home, sir. I’m sure you’ve noticed this by now. You’re going to have a lot of upset people pouring back over your borders for about a month or two more. Some of them are not your countrymen. Some will come back in legally. Others will try to slip in again. That could become a problem!”
The Mexican President gently squints his eyes, taking in the news.
I continue, “Illegals coming back across will be shot. I know that sounds harsh, but one example will probably stop it. The caravans coming up from Central America will stop, when the TV coverage shows a dead body from an attempt to cross the border. But the good part is, I’d like to make it up to you, as best I can.”
President Ortiz collects himself and responds, “I don’t understand. You can do with them as you wish. They were never legally your problem to begin with.”
“I appreciate you saying that, and I agree. But I don’t like to clean up one mess only to create another. So as an offering of peace, I’d like you to know that my team will be eliminating your drug cartels within the next 10 days. For right now, this is just between you and me.”
The Mexican President’s face nearly melts off his skull; he’s overcome with shock. “Eliminating? I don’t understand.”
“It’ll be done in secret. In the middle of night. Same way we got Osama bin Laden. Only this time it’ll be widespread. We’re declaring a war, of sorts. But they won’t fight back against the US; they’re not strong enough. We will confiscate all the drugs and drug money. One half of the money will go to your government and the US will keep the other half. The drugs will be destroyed. There will be some collateral damage, but we will try to allow the women and children safe passage out of the compounds before all hell breaks loose. There will be few prisoners. Only those we can extract information from about the tunnels, etc., will live through this mini-war.
I think President Ortiz came to the realization that the U.S. could own Mexico if we wanted. But I had made this easy for him. It would look like the pursuit of smugglers he knew nothing about. And when the calls came in from his police, he could just tell them to stand down. If I were the Mexican authorities, and the U.S. was doing me a favor by cleaning out the cartels, wouldn’t the Mexican police or troops be more than happy to follow a stand down order from their President?
I said, “You’re a wise man and a great leader. Beloved by your people. But with all due respect, I’m not asking to come; I’m telling you we’re coming. This mess gets cleaned up now.”
The Mexican President sighed and replied, “If you insist, then . . . I shall not make a mockery of you.”
I answered, “I’m happy to hear that. Nor I of you. This will help both our nations. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. I brought you a small gift.” I went over to one of my security men and he handed me a small bag. Inside are some golf balls. I handed them to President Ortiz.
He opened the bag and commented, “Wow, you went all out . . . Titleist.”
“That should get me a round of golf with you on our next meeting,” I said. “I’ll make the announcement about the illegals when I get home. And fair warning: Those who try to return illegally will be struck down. So, I need you to warn your citizens not to ever try to cross the border again.”
Understanding shone from the Mexican President’s eyes.
I continued, “Then I’ll tell my men about the cartels.”
The Mexican President lit up the cigar again and said, “You have my full cooperation, Commander Marsh. And I’ll see to it that the cartels will receive no advanced warning. You will be doing the Mexican people a most generous service.”
We shook hands and I left for the airport. I needed sleep and I was starving. I took care of both on Air Force One as we flew back to DC. The General waited to hear about my meeting with President Ortiz. Operation Cartel was going to happen, but this way, with the President’s approval, we would meet little resistance. I hoped the details of the strike were completed sooner rather than later. I worried about leaks warning the cartels the longer it took for us to launch.
One week later in the oval office, General St. Claire came in looking concerned about something. “Commander Marsh, one of our border guards has fired on an MS13 gang member trying to cross the border, and the boy is dead,” said General St. Claire.
“General,” I said, “You knew this would eventually happen. How do we know he was a gang member?”
The General answered, “The tattoos on his face and neck gave him away. He was carrying drugs and brandishing a weapon. The guard had no choice but to fire his weapon with intent to kill.”
“They were warned and chose to challenge our resolve,” I stated, “and it didn’t turn out like he expected. We will no longer be pushed around by illegals and this will echo throughout the entire world when the press picks up on this.”
“Don’t worry,” replied the General. “They are on the way now to the border. The pictures and report will hit the airwaves very soon.”
The press soon had their story and sent it out worldwide. The backlash was expected to be horrible toward me, and it did not disappoint. But little does anyone know, I would have shot that gang member myself if he had tried to cross the border on my watch. And I wouldn’t lose one minute of sleep over it. I couldn’t wait to see how effective this message would be in reducing the illegal border crossings. I didn’t think they would be brave enough to try crossing for a while, and maybe forever. If the U.S. government had taken this stance years ago the border could have been a piece of string instead of a wall. And thousands of U.S. citizens killed by illegal aliens would be alive today. My job was to protect American lives and this is the best way to do just that! However, I wanted legal immigration to pick up the pace. We needed good, honest, hard working people to apply to come to our country and help it grow. What we didn’t need was a criminal element or terrorists to get a foothold in our nation. Also, we couldn’t be a welfare state and just ignore our border, letting everyone in.
The General set up a press conference for 1400 hours to allow me to put out the fire ablaze in the press. I’d be there.
When 1400 hours rolled around, the pressroom was filled to the max, all the reporters waiting to crucify me. I stepped to the podium and said, “Okay. I’m going to start by letting Brent Wooldridge from CNN ask me a question. I think I know what it will be, and I want to answer it pointblank.”
Wooldridge was shocked, almost speechless, but I couldn’t be that lucky. He gathered himself and said, “Thank you, Commander Marsh. This comes as a very unexpected, yet nice, surprise. So, here is my question: Why would you giv
e your troops an order to use lethal force to stop poor immigrants from coming to our country?”
I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was just all getting to me or maybe I couldn’t stand the ignorance of the liberals, but with a wry smile, I looked right at Wooldridge and said, “Why wouldn’t I?”
The whole room tried to boo me out of the room. It didn’t work. I raised my hands and finally got them to calm down. I started, “First of all, the illegal that was killed wasn’t a poor immigrant wanting to come to America to search for a job and a better life. You know that to be true. He was an MS13 gang member with a backpack full of drugs and he was brandishing a pistol. Once again, I ask you why wouldn’t I want deadly force used on such a person in that scenario? I have never treated the press like the former President. I have never called you an enemy of the people, but you must start reporting the news truthfully. News is not supposed to be for entertainment purposes, produced merely for ratings. It has to be informative and correct, not invented to suit a certain narrative. News is not your opinion or mine. It is what it is. No more, no less. This gang member had been warned and he knew what to expect. He called my bluff, but I don’t bluff. He paid the ultimate price. Do you wonder about what might have happened to one of our citizens from the drugs he was delivering? So, now I turn to you, Mr. Wooldridge. Answer my question.”
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” answered the reporter, “but I would never take another man’s life.”
“That’s why you are a reporter and not a soldier,” I replied.
“Yes, and as a reporter I will call this what it is: You are an accessory to murder,” explained Wooldridge.
I shook my head in disgust and turned back to the reporter and told him, “You just don’t get it and probably never will. You are doing a great disservice to your viewers. Well, here is some meat for you and the rest of the reporters here: I am and always will be an Old Testament kind of guy. I believe in an eye for an eye and making the punishment fit the crime. Our court system has been a joke for years. States without the death penalty have cost taxpayers billions of dollars taking care of horrible criminals sentenced to life in prison. Common sense has been in short supply in our nation for the last 75 years. Deadlines, promises, red lines, and deals have been missed, broken, crossed, and changed by gutless, spineless, lying politicians. All that is over! I am here to regain the respect that our nation deserves in this world, and I will accomplish my mission with or without the help of guys like you. Are there any more questions at this time?”
Hands went up everywhere in the room. I chose Sally Rayburn from MSNBC.
“Commander Marsh, the families of the inmates in our maximum security prisons have not been able to get in touch with their relatives,” she stated and continued, “Where are they being kept?” She went on, “and the second part of my question concerns the spike in the number of available organs for transplant. Is there a connection between these two things, or is this a mere coincidence?”
I responded, “It looks like you have put 2 and 2 together and come up with 4. As I told everyone a few minutes ago, I am an Old Testament kind of guy. The relatives of these inmates will not see them again. They have been executed and their organs harvested. Their deaths have meant life to thousands of people needing organ transplants. I don’t care that their relatives didn’t get to say good-bye to them. The lives of their victims were taken suddenly and there were no goodbyes for them either. While I am in charge, punishments for the worst crimes will be the maximum…. Death! The US Taxpayer cannot afford to pay billions of dollars every year to provide meals, shelter, health and dental needs, utilities, clothing, etc. to people who will never integrate into society again. Their crimes deserved the death penalty, and I sentenced them. The organ donation is the only good thing any of these inmates would ever be able to offer to society. Bleeding heart liberals, who don’t have the stomach for the tough decisions, need to leave these decisions to stronger leaders. That’s where I come in. I made this decision and I stand by it. Now the prisons are taking in the homeless and serving as drug rehabilitation facilities. I feel this is a much better use of our former maximum security prisons.”
The looks on the faces of the reporters were a mixture of astonishment, surprise, hysteria and amazement. They didn’t know what to say or ask next. Finally, a hand raised belonging to Georgia Bender from CBS News. She looked at me with a sad expression and said, “Commander Marsh, you have played God with the lives of these inmates. You have become judge, jury and executioner. I consider you a madman, equal to Adolph Hitler. How do you answer these charges I levy against you?”
I shook my head,. “You are entitled to your opinion just like everyone else. I am not the judge or jury for any of these inmates. They went through our judicial process and were found guilty. I corrected the mistake made in the sentencing. As far as me playing God, the tough decisions I have made make it appear that way. I know I will answer to God in the end, and not to any one of you. And I thank God every day that it is me that is in charge of the repair of our government, instead of you, Ms. Bender, or any of your pathetic liberal allies. Are there anymore questions?”
Crickets! I continued, “I thought not.”
I walked out of the pressroom thoroughly disgusted but ever more determined to fix my nation that I love so much. The General followed me to the oval office and patted me on the back.
“Damn!” he said, “You turned the tables on those reporters like I have never seen before. I wanted to stand and salute you.”
“That’s over for now, but I did vent a little frustration in there.”
“They needed that, in my opinion,” stated the General.
“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “When will operation cartel take place?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m going with you.”
For the next 20 minutes, General St. Claire told me at least 10 reasons why I couldn’t go. I just listened, politely nodding my head in agreement with everything he said: It’s too dangerous, what about your family, we need you here, you’ll just get in the way. After he finished talking, I interjected, “You know I’m going, right?” He shook his head and laughed. He was fighting a losing battle . . . and he never lost.
I met the General at the military air base. I was dressed for battle. I bought a pair of combat boots and borrowed a flak jacket from the marines. I flaunted my 9mm Smith&Wesson and the General saw it. He laughed and said, “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Sure,” I said. “I want to be ready for any emergencies.”
“Let’s hope you don’t need that thing,” he said pointing to my pistol.
“I won’t if you’ve done your job,” I replied. That got me a dirty look but then a little chuckle.
“Watch and learn,” he ordered. “We’re leaving now. Come on.”
As we flew to the border he went over the plan. We would surround the compounds of the four cartels, giving them no escape. Surgical teams of Navy seals and U.S. Army special ops would slip in under cover of darkness. Using silencers on their weapons, the guards will be taken out and women and children will be evacuated. All hostiles would be eliminated while searching for all drugs and money on the grounds. Any vehicles trying to escape would meet rocket fire from the attack helicopters.
We landed at the Air Force base and transported to the staging area. I stretched my legs as helicopters crossed the sky.
Two young Marines sat inside one chopper. Marine 1 asked, “There’s going to be collateral damage, you think?”
Marine 2 answers, “Isn’t there always at times like these?”
“Yeah, but these people have families in these homes. Women and children, man.” Marine 1 drew his breath.
“From what I’ve heard, we’re taking measures to deal with that,” said Marine 2.
Marine 1 said, “Oh yeah? What you’ve heard, huh? Well, last I heard we weren’t doing squat.”
&
nbsp; I didn’t say anything. Soon we were in the air. The surgical teams were on the ground. The helicopters dropped troops in to surround the compounds. My heart was racing. That was a rush like I had never felt before, but I tried to look calm. I had on a headset, so I could communicate with our base camp and let them know what was happening. However, the men all have body cameras and were sending video back to the base. I think they just gave me a “nothing” job to keep me satisfied. I was okay with that.
General St. Claire sat in the chopper wearing a radio headset. He spoke into it, “Now listen up here, fellas: We’re using a ton of force. We want this done in less than an hour. That means we must be precise. So, we go in surgically. Just as soon as I get word that the women and children are clear, we finish the job.”
On the ground we were getting reports of shots fired, people running, and some women and children being escorted out. All of a sudden we saw an SUV go speeding up the driveway of the compound. General St. Claire merely ordered one of the other helicopters, “Take him out.”
That SUV never had a chance. The pilot fired two missiles at the vehicle and made it disappear in a huge explosion. Another SUV tried to make it out the back way. It met the same fate. Reports come in that the compound was clear and we closed in. Troops searched the main house and found a room full of pallets of cash. They were chatting on the radio about the amount being unbelievable.
The troops started to move the cash in bags to their helicopters. Other men were entering the drug lab adjacent to the main house. The guards gave up and were questioned about any tunnels. Neither one would answer. Captain Keith Goldston’s team of Navy Seals was in charge of the situation. I switched to their channel on my headset. Captain Goldston told them he would let them live if they could tell us about the tunnels. One of them started to speak up and the other slapped him and went after the captain. Bad idea! He was killed in front of the other guy.
“I guess he didn’t want you to tell us,” proclaimed Captain Goldston, “I’ll ask you one more time, and if you can’t take me to the tunnel, you will meet the same fate.”
The (New) American Way Page 10