Skip to comments.Hazardous Duty
Posted on 02/12/2005 8:23:08 AM PST by pickrell
It's a story you won't see in the mainstream media, but it should be told. We are assigned to fly the missions in a supply 'copter, rather than one of the sexy armed and armored craft that the ground-attack guys "strap on". We love our machine anyway, and have "up-armored" the seats with several layers of the "Boston Globe". It is fitting on so many levels...
While the media, in the person of our embedded reporter, concentrate on covering and reporting stories of progress and "improving" conditions, we instead witness the awful truth.
Today is no different than most. We were up well before dawn, and having just flown over the endless vineyards, are now passing low over a mosque, where young Arab females are being indoctrinated in the glories of suicide bombings. As we watch them exit the building, we witness, if you will excuse the expression, the emergence of the next veiled threats.
Part of our cargo are several cases of handbooks meant to acquaint the citizens of this dark land with modern economics. We hook north around the Eiffel Tower, before landing in the Bordeau district. Here we hand out "Capitalism; a novel new economic theory.." pamphlets to the uneducated inhabitants. Plainly, they have no clue what strange concepts are detailed within. Their ignorance tugs at our heartstrings; their hopelessness undeniable.
The locals are on a hunger strike, at least until lunch, against the government's savage attempt to extend the current 35 minute work week. We witness an unfortunate government official caught up by the crowds, and, you'll excuse the expression- "frog-marched" in front of the media cameras. It is a tragic event.
Thunderous exchanges roll across our ears from the distance, as we answer their salvos of Chianti and "Cannes", with our overwhelming counterbattery of Coca-Cola and "The History Channel". Their impotence is obvious as they reel under the impacts.
It was far earlier this morning, as we left the "supposed safety" of our base back across "the big water", (as the superstitious locals refer in awe to the Channel), that the conflict re-ignited. Upcountry, the "Guardian" building was taking pot shots into the night skies at the Americans, while similar chaos reigned in the "Daily Mirror" district. The only dark area seemed to be around the bombed out "Daily Telegraph" building, since the conservative workers had not yet left heterosexual marriages and children behind at home to come to work.
The gun ownership bans passed here recently, have reinvigorated the local pawn shops, as the daily harvests of purses, wallets and other booty from the increasingly victimized populace has provided a ready inventory of pre-owned fashion accessories. We haven't seen such a fleecing of wealth since the last U.N. administered relief program.
Occasionally, from the locals back at the base, we hear the hopelessness from the inhabitants of that land. "Ever since the bleedin' Labor Party banned guns, you daren't walk London's streets without bloody body armor." The pain on the local's face betrays his attempts at composure. "Now only the sodding criminals have guns, and we're hiding indoors, like Guantanamo inmates! We wonder what America must be like. Is it true that you chaps actually have Fox News?" In spite of his heavily accented, emotionally charged English, we managed to understand what he had said without need of our on-call translator.
Our embedded reporter, mindful of his agenda, hadn't even bothered to film the bitter outburst. "Not newsworthy," he snorted dismissively, while looking for documentable evidence of outdoor smoking.
Tribal chieftains, who visited the base earlier, claimed that soon British Rail will become viable again, and the "Greens", the "Reds", and the "Yellows" will all be given one-way tickets through the "chunnel". With all their problems thereby neatly gone, the chieftains hope to rid themselves of the "blues"... so to speak. Everyone needs a dream.
But we need to focus, and return our minds to our work. Over here in this desparate land, the miniscule members of the "Sunny" sect are far outnumbered by the dark and militant "Sh*tty" sect, and are cowed by the ferocity of the majority. As we watch, one of the young toughs takes notice of us from his seat at the bistro, and in a burst of adrenalin, sniffs disdainfully. The effort visibly draws down his reservoir of cynicism. He will rest later.
Our next stop is to deliver cases of experimental, single-use syringes full of synthetic honor to try to stop the ravages of the Europlague.
Patiently we explain to the mystified local authorities that "...you apply the sharp end to your arm, and push the blunt end in with your thumb..." After many disheartening failures, they finally begin to master the concept. The simple cartoon drawings haven't helped as much as the experts had hoped... It will take months to see if the injections have any effect, and their spines begin to regrow. Personally, I'd rather bet on Ellen Degeneres heading the Girl Scouts. But, you never know...
Our job done, we leave them behind, as they discuss among themselves new ways to concoct and conceal gentleman's agreements with more of the worst tyrants on the planet. Frankly, if the drug regimen doesn't take hold- we fear for their immortal souls. Men with no hope; no sources of clean, sanitary, running integrity- even from the public wells!
On the way back to base, over our radio, we hear remarks from Senator Kennedy that "...those gutless people must soon begin defending themselves..." As we pass over now-neglected cemetaries from World War Two, and look down at the defenseless and listless population, gorged on snails and wine, we feel compassion for them in their helplessness.
"Who're you tryin' ta kid, Sparky?" the pilot upbrades me. Apparently, I have been mumbling out loud. "These little Jihadist sympathizers and wannabes couldn't fight their way out of a light fog." He drops the nose and buzzes a few listless Parisians. Pulling up hard on the collective control as we pass over, he sends berets flying. "They are guerillas in the mist....", he sneers, "...of their froggy minds."
Yet, if we should abandon these helpless Europeans now... then who could they blame their economic malaise on? But this quagmire will have to be brought to an end.
If only the Media would show the truth...
Oh they wouldnt show the truth b.c it wouldnt be good for business...
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