Special Forces Operational Detachment/Def-Con and the Battle of Nogales

The following is a fictional story I wrote as a commenter on Downtrend. I posted it in segments in the comments section. Since then I have received a few requests to post it in its entirety. So here it is. I have replaced the names of commenters who no longer post with the names of our new friends here at Def-Con, with the exception of Blackbeard. Blackbeard is a fucking legend and there is no way I can remove him from this story. So sit back and enjoy reading about yourselves kicking some serious ass! And Combat Beard Actual is referred to by his original name here . . . JsBear. I’m a traditionalist. He’ll always be Bear to me. 😉

I offer my apologies to anyone I left out, but there were only so many characters I could fit into this story. I do have another one in the works. Speak up and I’ll fit you in there. 

Jaydolph paced the floor at his secret underground bunker, hands clasped behind his back. He took a long draw off his cigar and exhaled. “What the fuck,” he thought to himself as he exhaled the rich tobacco smoke. The smoke dissipated in a bluish-gray cloud above him. As much as he lusted for the glory of wielding so much power over so many immigration, customs-enforcement officials, and 5,000 more border-security agents, he realized that there was an better, more efficient way.

Jaydolph crushed out his cigar in the crystal ashtray on his desk. An inscription on the ashtray read, “No Quarter!”

“Bullshit!” Jay growled. “This is too expensive! What we need here is a small elite force! It’s not about numbers, it’s about surprise, speed, and intensity of violence! We’ll get these fuckin’ illegals out of here, but we’ll do it cost effectively, by God!” Jay poured a generous shot of Jack Daniels into a glass molded of stainless steel to what appeared to be a set of testicles. Draining the amber liquid from the manly glass, he turned to Mr. Lee, his faithful assistant.

Jay’s voice grew more subdued . . . almost a whisper, but yet ten times more sinister than when he was shouting.

“Mr. Lee . . . get Blackbeard on the horn. We’re going to do this right.”

Mr. Lee, nodded his acknowledgement to Jay’s orders, although as he picked up the receiver to the phone and began to dial, he paused. He glanced up quickly at Jay. He knew that Jay was right. One look at the firey determination in Jay’s eyes convinced him of that.

The phone rang at Blackbeard’s secret lair. Many a Def-Con poster had guessed at his whereabouts, but they had remained largely unknown, other than “somewhere in Alabama.” Blackbeard was asleep. A long night of angry, rum-fueled posts against pants-shiitting liberals on Def-Con had left him spent. The sound of the phone startled him, and he instinctively reached for the .45 he kept under his pillow and flicked the safety off. He quickly became aware of his surroundings. The easy rise and fall of the secret pirate ship he lived on soothed his nerves. That same motion calmed him now. He put the .45 back into condition one and answered the phone, a bit gruffly, “Who the fuck is this?”

“Easy there, broscuitto! It’s Jay. We have a situation.”

Blackbeard rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, “Jay! What’s up?”

“Trump’s tasked me with getting rid of the illegals. But it’s gonna cost up way too much to do it this way. We need to get The Force back together. Make some calls.”

“Roger that. I’m on it.” They hung up simultaneously.

Jay moved towards the situation map on his bunker’s massive computer screens. Fixing his gaze on the Mexican border he said to Mr. Lee, “All we can do now is wait.”

Mr. Lee, nodded.

Jay seemed to snap out an almost hypnotic trance, gazing at that border, flames seeming to flicker in his eyes . . .

“But as long as we’re waiting . . . let’s see if Aidsman has posted anything on DC lately. I need to kick some ass RIGHT NOW, and if via DC is the only way I can do it, so be it!”

Mr. Lee indeed found a sniveling leftist post on Def-Con. He read it back to Jay.

Jay laughed derisively. “Mr. Lee, take this down . . . ” Jaydolph began his retort.

———

Back on the pirate ship, Blackbeard was on the phone. “FreedomFighter?” Blackbeard took a shot of Appleton Estate before continuing, “I’ve got another job for you . . . ”

As FreedomFighter pressed the security code on his weapons chamber, he thought to himself, “Raptor! We need to get Raptor Keeper on the team!” FreedomFighter removed his scrubs from the previous night in the ER and donned his tactical gear. Opting for the Remington 870 shotgun as his main weapon, he racked a round into the chamber, and pressed the emergency button that was wired directly to RK’s house. “Fuck these pieces of shit,” he muttered under his breath. Grabbing a spare car battery, a sponge, and a set of jumper cables, he hissed, “Time to refry some beaners!”

RK is on the range with her firearms instructor who happens to be her brother, when the phone rings. It’s a distinctive ring tone . . . “Shoot to Thrill” blares through her cell. Knowing this ring tone, she twirls her empty sidearm twice, holsters her pistol, and answers, “Condition Brown?”

FreedomFighter replies, “Affirmative.” Raptor Keeper wipes a bit of sweat from her brow and stares back out towards the targets she was shooting. All center mass. She looks to the heavens, reflects on all the training she’s done, and says to herself, “Ok, now we make it real.”

The series of phone calls to the those who will form the team continues. Armadillo is reeling in a 70 pound catfish when his cellphone rings, hearing the ringtone that could only belong to one man, he drops his fishing pole into the river and answers it. Not even giving a thought to the loss of his huge trophy catch, he answers the phone.

“Armadillo here. What’s going on, Infidel83?”

Infidel83 answers, “Jaydolph’s been tasked with controlling the wetbacks. It’s going to get ugly. We rendezvous at Nogales, AZ in 24 hours.”

Armadillo straps on his tactical vest, fills the pockets with the M26 grenades he’s secretly been fishing with and heads out to his vehicle.

—–

William Munny is sitting on his back porch with his gorgeous wife. They’ve been out there shooting the rats their ducks have been attracting with their .22 Benjamin pellet gun. Will spies a rat moving to eat from the duck’s bowl and tracks it through the scope on the pellet gun. The rat pauses to feast on the delicious grain and corn just a moment to long . . . POP! The report of the pellet gun is quiet enough not to disturb the neighbors, but deadly to the rat. A head shot. The rat twitches for a few seconds and dies. Munny lowers the rifle and states, “Tango down. How many is that now, 78?”

“Seventy-nine,’ his wife answers, “Eight with the shovel, one with the bat, and 27 with the rifle . . . of course half of the ones that died by the rifle were killed by me . . . ”

Munny laughs and sets the rifle on his lap and downs a shot of Sailor Jerry. “Imagine what the rat population would be without us? If only they were illegal aliens.” As if it were an answered prayer, just then there’s a knock at the door. Munny hands the pellet gun to his wife and heads inside, grabbing his AR-15, he moves to the door. “Who is it?!?!”

“It’s us!” Peter Brown yells back. Munny looks through the glass on the door and spies Peter Brown, danahan01, Maingearinarkansas, JsBear, Looker, and Chris. They’re all armed to the teeth. All except danahan01, who wields a long 2×4. Munny opens the door and lets the men in. Suddenly, as he tries to close the door, Man of Reason jumps out of the bushes and forces his way in.

“You don’t look like no rootin’ tootin’ cold blooded killer,” says Man of Reason, dancing like a sugarplum fairy.

Munny quickly draws his M9 and shoots Man of Reason between the eyes. “Looks can be deceiving,” Munny calmly states as Reason’s lifeless body crumples to the floor. Curiously, the men can see no evidence of brains despite the gaping hole in the back of Reason’s head. The group drags Man of Reason’s corpse outside and the ducks and rats feast on it.

Brown and the others brief Munny on the mission Jaydolph has assigned them.

Meanwhile, the series of phone calls continues. Sgt Rena, Fogeystogey, Mark726, molon labe, Festus, Greg, SDkid605, Lian, fergn, Navy Vet, Teutonic Knight, Joatmoaf, LuvAMilitaryParade, John Chisum, mikemcgoo, Blackfeet Justin, peaklevelmeter, all get the call. And all of them are eager to accept what will surely be the mission of a lifetime. The group of patriots descends on Nogales.

——-

Heading to Nogales, Jaydolph sits in the back of his bulletproof limousine. The radio is blasting classic rock and Jay sings along to the songs. Only he changes the lyrics to suit his taste. “I miss the chains on the Africans,” he belts out over Toto’s song. Mr. Lee is driving, and driving fast. His speeds easily reaching 130 miles per hour as they tear down Interstate 10. Jay continues his parodies of the old rock tunes, “Allah we’re saying is give peace a chance…HOLD IT STOP THE CAR!”

Mr. Lee slams on the brakes and the limo fishtails to a halt in the middle of an overpass. “What the hell?” asks Mr. Lee.

“Just follow me and watch this.” The two men exit the car amidst the smoke of burning rubber from the tires. Jay produces two grenades from his pocket, pulls the pins, and leaning over the edge of the bridge, calmly drops them ove the railing. Mr. Lee is puzzled, but not for long. A loud explosion ensues and the two are immediately showered in fried chicken, watermelon, and shredded gay porn magazines rising from the blast below. A mournful, whining, whimpering, obviously negro voice comes from below the bridge. “Muh . . . dik, muh dik.”

“It’s Frankie B,” Jaydolph states flatly.

“But how did you know?!?” Mr. Lee asks astonished.

“Simple. I smelled chicken and it’s a bridge. Where else would a negro troll live?” Jay casually drops another grenade over the side and Frankie’s whining ceases. The two continue their journey.

—–

Driving down I-5 in two armored Humvees, Peter Brown’s group passes through San Francisco. Brown sees what appears to be a homeless black woman standing by the side of the road, holding a sign that says, “Unemployed. Will write for food.”

“Is that who I think it is?” he asks as they pass by. He quickly radios Jsbear, who has lagged some distance behind after plowing through a throng of anti-Trump protesters who were trying to block the road. He had to stop at a car wash to get rid of the blood and meat.

“Js, be advised. I just saw Keisha looking for handouts near mile marker 12.”

Keisha was a troll who infiltrated Downtrend posing as a conservative writer but all she did was spew liberal articles before she was let go. Js hasn’t forgotten her.

“Roger that, Peter.” A few moments later Js spots her. Swerving violently, he runs her over. The double thump of the heavy tires going over her body wakes up Maingearinarkansas, who was sleeping in the back. “What was that?”

JsBear smiled wryly, “Oh, nothing. We just hit a snowflake, brother.”

Still groggy and not quite sure what has just happened, the puzzled Maingear shrugs and falls back asleep.

—–

The group begins checking into the Best Western Sonora Inn and Suites. The group draws a lot of worried glances, but non more so than Joatmoaf as he clanks through the lobby in a full suit of armor. Dean Sapp and Festus are flirting with the attractive desk clerk. Festus wasn’t having much luck though. But he didn’t care about her. He was just here to kill illegals.

The clerk looked up from ogling Dean and noticed John Chisum carrying a Ma Deuce over his shoulder heading towards his room. The clerk called out, alarmed,

“Umm, sir! SIR! You can’t bring that in here! I’m calling the police!”

Lian and Sgt Rena who just arrived, drop their bags, and vault over the desk. Sgt Rena slaps the desk clerk hard across the face. The clerk begins to snivel.

Lian slaps her again. “ARIZONA IS AN OPEN CARRY STATE!”

Sgt Rena picks up the phone and hands the receiver to the now sobbing clerk. “Go ahead, call ’em. I’ll even dial the number for you. All our stuff is legal. Go ahead call ’em!”

This was an enormous bluff but it worked. A lot of the groups “stuff” was not legal. The Claymore mines, for instance. The grenades. But the clerk was too cowed by Sgt Rena and Lian to even think of calling the police. And besides, this group of patriots believes the 2nd Amendment means exactly what it says, “The right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” Claymores and grenades are arms.

—–

Jaydolf had rented out the banquet room at the hotel, on his own dime of course. A great feast was planned for the night. Upstairs, in his room Mark726 was out on his balcony and glanced out towards the border wall. There is a wall in Nogales, although nowehere near as grand as the one Trump has coming.

He thought he heard something. Gutteral voices and the rumbling of heavy vehicles. Still, he couldn’t be sure. Quickly striding across the hallway, he knocked on Teutonic Knight’s door. “Teut, it’s me! Come check this out!” Teutonic Knight joins him and they peer into the night.

“Damn it!” Teutonic Knight says. I hear it, but I can’t see a thing.”

At that moment, Blackbeard comes striding down the hall, a gorgeous woman on each arm, he notices the MolonLabe’s door open and looks in.

“Is there a problem, gents?”

“Maybe,” Mark726 replies. “But we can’t see.”

Blackbeard retrieves a set of night vision binoculars from his room two doors down. The girls try to follow him.

Knowing something is going awry, he shouts “Get away, you vile harpies!” and the two women go scurrying down the hall.

Blackbeard joins the two other patriots on the balcony and looks through the binoculars towards the border. There’s a lot of activity on the other side of the wall. Green glowing figures dart back and forth in the night, darting to and from the Mexican side of the wall. He also spots what appear to be several armored cars a couple hundred meters back of it.

Handing the binoculars to Mark726, he firmly states, “You two are going to miss the party tonight. Stay here and keep watching.” Mark726 and Teutonic Knight nod to Blackbeard. Mark726 is armed with an AR-15, Teutonic Knight with an ancient crossbow, Blackbeard hurries downstairs to the banquet room.

Just as he leaves, Candide bursts out of the closet! He/she is dressed in Bruce Jenner’s Olympic uniform, complete with the obligatory short-shorts. He/she thwows confetti in the air, a la Rip Taylor, “Did someone say there’s a party?!?!?”

Teutonic Knight, pivots and puts a bolt into Candide’s right eye. It dies slowly, nobody ever reall knowing, including itself, if it was a man or a woman.

As the adrenaline was still flowing after this killing, to ease their nerves, Mark turned to Teutonic and asked, “Hey. Why can’t gays drive faster than 68mph?

“I don’t know, brother. Why?” Teutonic replied as he reloaded his crossbow with the bolt he pulled out of Candide’s eye.

“Because at 69 they blow a rod.”

The two men laughed, turned again towards the border and continued their vigil.

“Damn, it gets cold here at night,” said Teutonic Knight.

“Could be another Alamo. Molon labe, mutherfuckers. Molon labe.”

—–

The banquet room at the hotel is a spectacle to see. Perfectly cooked prime rib on sterling silver platters, the finest beer, wine, and liquor, the whole room adorned with American Flags, glowing under crystal chandeliers. The Force is at their best. The men, clad in tuxedos, the women in formal evening attire . . . Jaydolf sits at the head table with Mr. Lee.

“God damn, look at this. Look at this! fuckin’ A!” Jay shouts with glee. Jay and Mr. Lee rise from the table, Jay clinks a spoon loudly against a glass, “Attention! Can I have everyone’s attention?”

“You have all traveled hundreds of miles to join together here at a moments notice, to join in this great crusade against the scourge of the wetbacks. I cannot tell you how very proud I am of you all.” The group applauds enthusiastically.

“And President Trump is proud of you too. Earlier today, via executive order, he officially designated you as a military unit. Henceforward, we shall be known as 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Def-Con (SFOD/DC). Congratulations!”

The group erupts in cheers. Tears fill the eyes of many. But the celebration is short-lived as a white guy, Shaun King, flings open the door, and a group of twenty negroes carrying Black Lives Matter signs storm into the room. All of the patriots draw concealed pistols Pistols of all types and calibers, are drawb. Sigs, H&Ks, Glocks, Berettas, Colts, Kimbers, Smith and Wessons.

There’s a tense few seconds, but it seems like hours to the BLMers. Everyone in the entire room hears Shaun King audibly gulp. The mob he is leading begin stomping their feet and making clicking noises. Then King and his group makes their fatal mistake . . . he reaches for the 9mm Ruger, his other he’s so fond of boasting about, what he calls his “hand cannon.” His men prepare to fling their feces at the Force. Fergn yells, “FIRE!”

SFOD/DC all fire simultaneously at the interlopers. They send rounds of all calibers into the black (and one white) mass. 44 magnums, .45 ACPs, .40 S&Ws, 10mms, 9mms, .357s, and even a .25 (although no one to this day knows who fired that puny round and no one has ever admitted to it) all these rounds tear into the BLMers, shredding their bodies. They fall into a huge, bleeding heap, and bits of what’s left of their BLM protest signs flutter down on top of them.

Another cheer erupts from the crowd as the hotel maid begins shoveling their remains into a bucket. Blackbeard, arrives on the scene and hurries over to Jay.

“Jay, there’s a lot of activity on the other side of the wall. I want to check it out.”

“Absolutely. Take Navy Vet and SDkid605 with you. And snatch us a prisoner if you can.”

“Roger that, Jay.” The three go upstairs and change into their tactical gear. They come back downstairs, slip out into the night, and for the first time in recorded history, three men climb over the border wall from the U.S. to the Mexican side.

——

The three men return back over the wall a few hours later. One prisoner is secured. The men knock on Jay’s door. Jay let’s them in.

“Two prisoners secured, sir.” Blackbeard states.

Jay is puzzled. There’s only one man present in the room who isn’t a member of the force.

“Two prisoners, Beard?”

“Yeah.” Blackbeard flings a square piece of human flesh onto the floor at Jay’s feet. Jay picks it up. There’s a distinct MS-13 tatoo on the skin.

“This doesn’t count as a prisoner, Blackbeard!” exclaims Jay, half smiling.

“Yeah, well I had him but he got away. They’re greasy.”

“You sure he got away?” Jay inquires with a huge grin this time.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, sir.” Blackbeard pauses, “But there’s more.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about this other piece of shit we caught. He was humping a goat when we grabbed him. Navy Vet and SDkid had to threaten to cut his dick off to get him out of that goat. He’s a muzzie for sure.”

“Umm,” Navy Vet interjects somewhat hesitantly, “Actually the threats didn’t work, sir . . . ” he nods towards the filthy muzzie prisoner who is clutching at his crotch, crying.

“Roger that,” Jay replies in a concerned manner. “No 72 virgins for this one.” Everyone chuckles.

“Roger that,” Jay replies in a concerned manner.

Blackbeard continues, “Jay, that sack of shit is ISIS. I can smell it.”

“Yeah,” Jay’s eyes begin to fill with a fiery rage.

“This mission is compromised,” Blackbeard says. “What are your orders?”

Jay pauses for a moment. “FreedomFighter, RK, take this goat fucker into the bathroom and find out what he knows.”

FreedomFighter and RK, nod. FF grabs his car battery, jumper cables and sponge, and they proceed to the bathroom, shoving the terrorist in first. They close the door . . .

——-

It’s getting near dawn. Peter Brown and John Chisum are piling up sand bags on the hotel roof to protect John Chisum’s M2. On the floor below, molon labe is keeping watch over the border wall from his balcony. Molon labe is inside the room reading Def-Con on his phone. “Maingeaer! Look at this article by Anderson! ‘ILLEGAL ALIEN RAPED AND MURDERED WOMAN IN CHICAGO SUBURB!’

“Well, that’s why were here.” Maingear says as he turns to see what molon is reading. Just as he turns a bullet smacks into his shoulder. He falls to the floor. Molon rushes to him and drags him away from the window.

“Damn, brother. If you hadn’t have turned that would have hit you square in the chest. Go have FreedomFighter take a look at that.”

In another room, Mike McGoo calls out, “I saw the shooter!”

Blackbeard runs into the room. “Where?”

“He’s in that hotel across the wall on the Mexican side.”

“Shit. I knew it. Ok, I have a little surprise for their asses.” Blackbeard quickly leaves the room and returns with his M79 grenade launcher. He drops a white phosphorous round into it and snaps the barrel shut. “When we were snatching prisoners last night, I noticed a lot of armed mexis in there. So I snuck in and opened a natural gas line in that building. Here’s where we fuck ’em, fuck ’em with a phone poll! Want to do the honors?”

Blackbeard hands the M79 to Mike. Grinning ear to ear, Mike takes the weapon and moves to the wall next to the balcony. He leans out from behind it and fires. A perfect shot. The grenade goes through an open window and . . . BOOOOOOOOM!! There’s a tremendous explosion and the building begins to burn. A group of eight Mexicans dressed in mariachi costumes but carrying AKs in lieu of musical instruments, runs out of the building, some are on fire and screaming that peculiar coyote-like wail that Mexicans make when they are in pain or horny.

The steady, concussive thump of Chisum’s M2 sends all them all to their graves in quick order. Pieces of shredded flesh litter the ground. “Look! Carnitas!” jokes Peter Brown, John’s security.

—–

Hearing the shooting, William Munny drops his Olympia beer and runs to the roof with his M-40 sniper rifle along with Indidel83, his spotter/security. They set up in their pre-prepared position.

Munny takes a drag off his cigarillo, “Ok, I have a trap set for these assholes. It’ll be just like shooting rats back home.” He turns to Infidel83 and reaches out his hand. “Unleash the Kraken.” Infidel83 hands him a bottle of Kraken rum. Munny drinks about two shots worth and hands it back. Infidel83 takes a slug of the delicious spiced rum.

“See,” Munny continues, “Blackbeard and his guys weren’t the only ones who went over the wall last night. I did too. And I piled a bunch of burritos about 700 meters out in the middle of the street at that intersection. Take a look.”

Infidel peers through his M151 spotting scope and sees the pile of burritos.

“I see it.”

“Now we just have to be patient.”

No more than 15 minutes later, Will spies a Mexican scampering out of a building to eat from the pile of burritos. The Mexican pauses to feast on the delicious burritos just a moment to long . . THWACK! his head disappears in a pink mist as the 7.62×51 round strikes home. Munny chambers another round and smiles.

“Yep. Just like home. Only you ain’t near as pretty as my wife and the rats smell better than the Mexicans do.”

“Fuck you, Will.” The two laugh and then prepare for what’s coming.

—–

Meanwhile, RK and FreedomFighter had reported their findings from their interrogation of the prisoner. He was indeed with ISIS, part of a company sized force there to cross the border. Their plan was to blend in with the with the Mexican illegals in an enormous human wave border crossing. Jaydolph, needed to act quickly to prevent uneeded loss of life among U.S. citizens. The gunfire gave him just what he needed. He sent out this somewhat misleading, but effective, press release out to the news media so not to cause panic:

“There’s been a shooting in Nogales. For the safety of the public, I have shut down the border.”

They immediately air it on local TV.

Meanwhile, the Nogales fire department responds to a call about about a hotel fire on the Mexican side of the border. A fire truck arrives to help put it out. Sporadic gunfire breaks out from the Mexican side of the wall. A couple of the firemen are hit. Blackfeet Justin and peaklevelmeter arrive on the scene and advise the firemen to get the hell out of the area. It will be the last time any civil departments become involved in this operation. American citizens quickly flee the area but large masses of Mexicans begin to gather on the other side of the wall. It would seem the two countries are now on the verge of all out war.

Meanwhile, in Mesa, AZ, Fogey pulls up in front of the Commemerative Air Force Headquarters. He walks to the desk and asks to speak to the person in charge. The desk clerk, sensing Fogey’s seriousness, obliges. A man in a flight suit appears at the desk.

“How may I help you sir?”

“I need an aircraft. Now! It’s a matter of national security!” shouts, Fogey.

“Haha! Sir, I can’t just give you an aircraft. And even if I could, they don’t have any armament on them!” Another CAF worker enters the room and stands beside his boss. “Who the hell do you think you are?” They both laugh heartily.

Fogeystogey has had enough. “I’ll tell you who the fuck I am! I’m an American patriot, member of SFOD/DC, AND,” Fogey draws his Wilson Combat 1911, “I’m pissed off that you faggots changed your damn name from Confederate Air Force, you fuckin pussies! Now give me a god damn plane!”

The CAF men are taken aback to say the least. One wets his pants. The other farts loudly. It sounds wet.

“Ok, calm down, calm down.” snivels the man in charge. “We, um, may, uh, be able to accommodate you . . .” a tear flows down his face.

—–

At his command post at the Best Western, Jaydolf looks through his binoculars at the hordes of Mexicans massing opposite the wall. There are hundreds of them and their numbers are growing by the minute.

He turns to Mr. Lee, “Get me SOCOM on the horn. NOW!”

Lee immediately connects him General Raymond A. Thomas.

“General, we’re in a bad spot here. Our mission has been compromised. Mexicans, supported by about 140 ISIS, are massing on the border. I estimate their numbers to be about 1,000 and growing. I have 29 effective personnel and one wounded. We request immediate air support and reinforcements.”

“Jay, I wish I could help, but President Trump declared war on North Korea yesterday and all our assets are committed to that theatre. You’re on your own. We have faith in you. Out.”

Jay is at once elated and disheartened. He hangs up the phone and turns to Mr. Lee.

“Good news . . . we’re finally gonna kick that little fatty faggot Kim’s ass.”

Mr. Lee smiles.

“Bad news,” Jay goes on, “We’re here by ourselves.” Jay picks up the binoculars and looks at the masses of Mexis again.

“May God have mercy on those a-holes. Because we won’t.”

As Jay surveys a series of rolling explosion shakes the ground. The border wall erupts in smoke and dust. JsBear and Armadillo are the nearest to the explosion, manning a two man fighting position which served as a listening post. As dust and debris rain down on them, they slowly raise their heads to survey the damage. A gap, some fifty yards wide, has been blown in the border wall.

“That explains all those beaners running back and forth last night. They were setting demo charges!” says JsBear.

“Sure as shit.” responds Armadillo.

A lime green low rider on hydraulics tears from around a corner of a building on the Mexican side and skids to a stop in front of the gap in the wall. It begins bouncing up and down.

 

Js and Armadillo keep their ARs trained on the car. “Hold your fire, Armadillo. Let’s see what happens.”

Finally, the car stops bouncing. The driver leans on the car’s horn. The Mexican song, “La Cucaracha” blares from the horn. On this signal, would-be wetbacks pour out of every building and begin walking towards the gap in the wall.

Js and Armadillo both fire a few rounds into the lowrider. The driver slumps over dead against the horn, causing the horrific melody about cockroaches to reapeat over and over. Armadillo tosses one of his fishing grenades into the car and the sound ceases.

“There’s too many! Let’s get back to the MLR!” shouts Js, and the two men run back to the hotel.

On the hotel’s ground floor, LuvAMilitaryParade is picking off Mexicans with his AR. He glances over at danahan01, who stands by the entrance, wielding his 2×4. “Damn, dude! What is it with you and that stick?! You’re gonna need more than that with all these taco benders coming at us!”

Danahan01 considers the situation. “You may be right.” He grabs a hammer and a long nail. Driving the nail through the board, he looks admiringly at his work. “That ought to do it.”

Jaydolph is on the move, checking on his team’s positions. Starting on the roof, as at the moment, only John Chisum’s and Munny’s weapons have the effective range to hit the oncoming Mexicans. John fires in short bursts, dropping spics left and right. “Keep it up!” Jay encourages.

He checks on Munny, who is dropping the river rats single shot after single shot. “Good work . . . ” but then as always, Jay can’t resist getting a dig in. “Munny, you’re so gay that you could put a lisp in the word “cracker.”

Munny laughs and fires another round. Another Mexican falls. Munny responds to Jay. “You’re so gay that when they spun you around to play pin the tail on the donkey . . . ” he pauses to shoot another Mexican at 600 meters out ” . . . you turned into Wonder Woman.”

Jay chuckles, pats Will on the back and moves down to the next floor. He finds Chris and Joatmoaf. Chris is on the sandbagged balcony with his AR at the ready, waiting for the enemy hordes to get within range. Joatmoaf, still in armor, sharpens his broadsword in the corner. Looking at Joatmoaf’s weapon, Jay says, “Hey, Joat. Maybe you’d better get down to the lobby with danahan01. I think that thing will do more damage close up.” Joatmoaf clanks to the elevator but as the door is closing, he gets a good dig in at Jay.

Joatmoaf raises the visor on his helmet and says, “Jay, you’re so gay I bet you crap Skittles!” Smiling he closes his visor and the elevator takes him down to the lobby.

—–

Now the hordes of Mexicans pick up their pace to a jog as they draw nearer the to the gap in the wall a few more yards and they will be within range of DC’s main body of troops.

Jay moves to the next floor to check on Looker and fergn. But the Mexicans are getting too close now to check on everyone. He sends out an order on the team’s communication headsets, “Do not fire, I repeat, do not fire, until they reach the gap in the wall. Maintain fire discipline.”

Jay knows the gap will create a bottleneck in the Mexi’s advance so that the team’s fire can do the most possible damage. He and Mr. Lee join Looker and fergn on the balcony and each tracks a target as the human wave of Mexis begins to run at full sprint towards the gap. When they are about 50 yards from the gap, Jaydolph gives the order to Blackfeet Justin, “Give ’em the Claymores!”

Justin detonates the mines and a spray of steel fragments rips into the oncoming greasers. Scores of dead and wounded fall to the ground, but the Mexicans keep coming, climbing over the bodies of their fallen amigos. Now they are at the wall, about 500 are left. At that moment, the whole of SFOD/DC opens fire. Mexicans fall like wheat before the scythe as a hail of accurate 5.56mm bullets tears apart their ranks. But the wetback’s thirst for the free stuff in America is more powerful than their fear of death. Still they come on, now so close to the hotel that John Chisum can’t depress his .50 caliber enough to fire on them. The DC team keeps firing, reloading, firing some more. About 20 illegals somehow manage to reach the hotel entrance.

“Now’s our time, danahan01!” yells Joatmoaf. He flings open the door, LuvAMilitaryParade drops two more Mexis coming through the entrance then has to reload. Joatmoaf and danahan charge out of the hotel and into the oncoming wetbacks. Wooden cranial thumps echo from danhan’s 2×4 as he fractures illegal’s skulls with mighty swings. Joatmoaf hacks off the heads and limbs of his foes with strokes of his heavy sword.

Now danahan01 faces off with the last illegal. The illegal fires a blast of air into danahan’s eyes with the leaf blower he was carrying. Somewhat blinded by dust, danhan shrugs off the assault and with one last swing of his 2×4, danhan takes him down. Hitting the illegal square in the chest, the nail in his board sinks into the illegals heart. The illegal gasps, drops the leaf blower he was carrying and expires. A few wounded illegals stagger back over the heaps of dead and dying to the other side of the wall as yet more and more fresh Mexis appear on the horizon.

——

Molon labe, alone in his room after Maingearinarkansas was wounded, is giving a good account of himself. He kneels amongst empty magazines and spent brass on the balcony floor. How many illegals did he kill in that first charge? At least 60 that he knew of for sure, probably more. He hears a knock on the door behind him. “Housekeeping. Housekeeping,” a Mexican voice comes from behind the door.

“Yeah, come on in. I need towels.” he yells behind him, keeping an eye on the gap in the wall.

Two maids enter, pushing their cart in front of them. One begins making the bed as the other reaches for the towels. She removes the top layer of towels from the cart and puts them in the bathroom. Moving back to the cart she reaches under some more towels and pulls out an AK-47. The other maid grabs a spray can of Lysol and approaches molon.

“Anytheen else, sir?”

Molon labe turns his head, “No, th. . . ” the maid sprays him in the eyes with Lysol. “AAAAA! SHIT!”

BAM! BAM! BAM! The other maid fires three shots into molon labe’s back. The force of the rounds knocks him to the floor. Blinded, and mortally wounded, molon draws his pistol and fires blindly at his assassins. Several of his shots hit home, and both of the maids fall dead to the floor.

“Hope you’re not expecting a tip, fuckin Mexi-hos.”

Gasping now because of his wounds, molon gets on his headset to Jay.

“Jay, molon. The maids . . . are . . . illegals. Out.”

Then, molon labe, a great patrioit and American hero who killed at least 60 times his number in this great battle, drew his last breath.

——–

Jay and Mr. Lee rush to molon’s room and find his body along with the two illegal terrorist maids.

“Jesus. This is my fault. Of course the maids are illegal! God dammit! I’ll never forgive myself.”

Jaydolph gets back on the headset. “We’ve lost molon labe. Be advised, the maids are hostile. Everyone put the “Do Not Disturb” signs on your doors.”

“Sgt. Rena, Lian, I have a mission for you. Meet me at HQ. Out.”

——

During the lull in the fighting, Indidel83 is looking through his spotting
scope. “Holy shit!”

“What is it?” asks Munny, crushing another Olympia beer can and tossing it into the pile.

“It’s a Mexican tank.” Infidel83 takes a shot of Kraken. “And how do you stop a Mexican tank?”

Munny peers through his scope and sees an old WWII vintage Sherman. “I don’t know, how?”

Infidel83 replies, “Well I thought it was just a bad joke, but I guess you shoot the four guys pushing it.”

Looking through his scope again, Munny indeed sees four Mexicans pushing the old tank up a hill. He fires four shots, four men fall, and the tank comes to a halt, hull down on the hill. Although now immobilized, the tank’s main gun, a 75mm is still functioning. It begins shelling the hotel at will. A few armored cars also begin firing at the hotel as well with their 37mm guns. John is able to silence the thin skinned armored cars with his .50, but the Sherman presents a problem. DC has no weapons in it’s arsenal capable of taking out a tank at this distance. The Mexicans form up to try another human wave assault, about 1,500 of them this time.

——-

Sgt. Rena and Lian are stalking the wetback maids still lurking somewhere in the hotel. Lian sports a grumpy cat patch on her body armor.

They move stealthily down a hallway towards the cleaning supply room. Lian covers the door with her AR as, Sgt Rena, standing to the side of the doorway pulls it open. A Mexican maid leaps out and Lian drops her with a double tap. Three more maids charge out of the room spraying disinfectant wildly in all directions. Lian shoots two of them but Sgt Rena is hit in the eyes and partially blinded. Despite this, she manages to grab the last maid by the neck and crushes her windpipe. She feels the life drain out of the maid’s body, releases her grip, and the body falls heavily to the floor. The maid staff is no more. Lian now asks the question that’s just begging to be asked,

“Who’s gonna clean this shit up now?” Laughing, the two return to their posts.

“Come to think of it, we just created four more jobs for actual American citizens,” concludes Sgt Rena.

———

Blackfeet Justin and peaklevelmeter have been taking heavy incoming small arms fire from the burnt out hotel all day. Finally peak is tired of it.

“Fuck this shit. I’m gonna toss a termite grenade in there.” he says.

Justin chuckles, “Dude, you mean a thermite grenade.”

“Nope. Termite.”

“I’m telling you it’s THERMITE!” Justin argues.

“Nope.” insists peak

Peak sprints downstairs and out towards the hotel entrance.

“What the fuuuuuuuuck . . . ” Justin runs out after him. He can’t allow him to go out there alone.

Dodging small arms fire and a couple rounds of 75mm from the tank, they take cover in the rubble of the former border wall. Peter Brown and John Chisum see what’s happening and pour suppressing fire into the burnt out hotel. Infidel83 launches a smoke grenade from his M203 to cover their advance.

Taking advantage of this, peak and Justin sprint to the hotel. Several taco benders jump from the rubble and try to shoot them, but peak and Justin are faster, they’re aim much better. And the Mexicans all die terrible deaths. Finally the two reach the hotel. Peak plucks what looks pretty much like a thermite grenade from his tactical vest, pulls the pin and dumps the grenade inside a ground floor window. They wait for the explosion. A few seconds later there is a dull pop.

Justin, “What the fuck, man?!?! A dud!”

Peak, “Nope. It worked perfectly.”

Justin grabs peak by the collar, “You made me run out here and nearly get killed for a dud thermite grenade?!?! What’s wrong with you?!?!”

“Termite grenade.” peak insists again.

Their argument is cut short by a swarm of ISIS terrorists emerging from the building. The two men get off several shots, killing six of the attackers but they are overwhelmed and now the fighting is hand to hand.

Peter Brown yells over to William Munny on the roof. “Will! Do you have a shot?!?!”

“Negative!” Munny calls out, “They’re too damn close to them!”

Munny does pick off one terrorist after Justin knocked him backwards with his rifle butt, but that’s all he can do. The melee in front of the hotel continues, Justin and peak stab and slash at their attackers, but there’s too many. Eventually they fall. John Chisum cuts down the remaining ISIS with the .50.

Munny and Infidel, watching through their optics are moved almost to tears.

“God damn brave men.” Infidel83 says softly.

“Fuckin A,” Will replies and works the bolt on his rifle and looks for another target. “Fuckin A.”

——-

But there’s no more time than that for reflection on what’s happened. A round from the Sherman’s main gun hits John Chisum’s maching gun position. Brown is tossed a few feet backwards, wounded severly but still alive. The machine gun is destroyed. John Chisum is nowhere to be found. This great man, manning one of the most devastating automatic weapons in military history, has done more than anyone thought humanly possible to keep the Mexicans out of our country. No one could ever even estimate the immense damage he inflicted on the invaders in this battle.

Munny sighs and takes a shot of Kraken. He hands it to Infidel83, who takes a slug, then hands it to Peter Brown, who draws a healthy gulp of the fluid.

“There’s not much reason for us to be up here now. I’m out of ammo for the M40, the .50s gone, and those Mexicants are getting ready to attack again.” He tosses his sniper rifle to the ground and picks up his M&P15X.

Infidel83 nods, “Let’s get back into this fight.”

The two lift Peter Brown and carry him to FreedomFighter’s makeshift aid station.

——

The new Mexican assault begins in earnest and 1,500 “men” charge the hotel. With no more heavy weapon support, all DC can do is watch until they come into range. Jaydolph takes the opportunity to relax for a minute, by turning on the TV. A commercial appears, “Stay tuned, for “Blackish” followed by “Fresh Off the Boat.” He clicks the remote. Rachael Maddow is on MSNBC.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Can’t a guy have five minutes without this bullshit?!?!” Jay kicks over the ottoman he was resting his feet on, draws his .45 and fires five rounds into the television. It sparks and smokes.

As the team watches the front of the hotel, Raptor Keeper spies a new development. She’s been looking out the back and sees large group of illegal aliens approaching the hotel from the U.S. side. She get’s on her headset and calls Jay.

“Be advised, we have approximately 500 armed illegals approaching in from the rear of the building.”

“I should have seen this coming! There’s probably more Mexicans on our side of the border than Mexico’s! Blackbeard, mcgoo, NavyVet, SDkid, RK, and FreedomFighter!, take up defensive postitions at the rear of the building.” Jay orders through his headset.

FreedomFighter, who has been tending to the two wounded, puts down his medical supplies. “You guys will be all right. We’ve got brownies coming in from the back.” he assures Brown and Maingearinarkansas as he grabs his shotgun and takes a shot of Buffalo Trace. Peter Brown is too badly wounded to even hear what FreedomFighter has said.

Maingear however, grabs his AR and says, “I ain’t hurt. It burns a little but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

FreedomFighter smiles, and the two rush out to take up positions.

——

The assault from the Mexican side has picked up it’s pace. The attackers are now withing range and the DC team begins dropping them like flies. Jay, Mr. Lee, Armadillo, JSbear, Munny, Infidel, LuvAMilitaryParade, Festus, Dean Sapp , Mark726, Sgt Rena, Lian, and Teutonic, are pouring rounds into the mass of greasy wetbacks. But more beaners are forming up behind the first wave, at least 2,000 more.

Festus is shouting an Indian war cry as he fells the members of the onrushing hordes. Seizing an opportunity during a brief lull, he crawls out to the pile of bodies and scalps one of them. He hangs it from his belt. A grisly trophy.

Mark726 is screaming, “Come and take it, motherfuckers!!” No one is sure if he’s referring to his weapon or the bottle of Macallen’s cask strength Scotch he’s sipping on. Either way, no one in their right mind would try to take either from this patriot at this moment.

The Sherman tank continues to fire in support of the Mexican assault. It’s main gun and coaxial machine gun are both firing. The tsunami of Mexicans is so close now that it’s almost impossible for DC to miss. But their ammunition is running low.

Munny and Infidel83 are on the ground floor to the right of the main entrance. Both are firing and reloading non-stop. In between kills, they’re shouting out jokes.

Infidel83, “Hey, Will! How many Mexicans does it take to screw in a light bulb?” He shoots two more Mexicans. Juan.”

Munny, “I hate tacos,” slaying three of the attackers, “Said no Juan ever.”

Infidel83, “What do Mexicans put under their carpets?” He shoots three more, “Underlay! Underlay!”

Munny, “Why were there only two thousand Mexicans at the battle of the Alamo? Because they only had two cars.”

Just then a round from the Sherman’s main gun hits the wall in front of Munny and explodes. Infidel is knocked down, but ok. Both Munny’s and Infidel’s ears are ringing from the blast. Infidel83 gets up but Munny lies still. Both his legs are severed at the knees. Infidel83 rushes over and applies tourniquets to both stumps.

“Shit,” Munny says. “”Well, one thing’s for sure– I won’t be able to kick your ass any more without falling on my own.”

Infidel83 doesn’t laugh. “Yeah, I’ll just put you on my doorstep and call you Matt now.” he says with feigned humor. But he knows how serious this is. It’s the end.

Just then Mexicans begin pouring through the gap where the tank blew the hole. Infidel empties his AR, reloads, and fires again. Will draws his M9 and fires into the hordes. At least 15 more fall to his fire. Indidel fires his final magazine and the bolt locks open. Still the Mexican’s come through the gap.

“God dammit, I’m out of ammo!”

“HERE!” Munny throws one of his severed legs to Infidel. He catches it by the ankle and begins swinging away at his attackers. They all fall, mortally wounded. danahan01 sees what’s happening and joins in the defense with his board with a nail in it. Again, that terrible cranium vs wood sound echoes through the lobby over and over. danhan smacks one last Mexican in the head, but this time the nail in his board gets stuck in the foriegner’s skull. He can’t pry it loose.
His weapon gone, danahan01 runs back to where Munny is lying but Munny is also gone. His grip on the M9 still firm, still staring out at the gap where the enemy was coming through as if looking for one more spic to kill.

Both men are speechless.

“Fidelis ad mortem, brother. Fidelis ad mortem.” Whispers Infidel.

Danhan gently but firmly pries the pistol from Will’s hand. Infidel takes a couple spare Magpuls from Munny for his AR and they silently take up their old postitions.

——

More Mexicans enter the building through ground floor windows. Three attack Jsbear, he shoots two and guts the third with his KA-BAR. The Mexcans entrails spill out onto the floor. Coming up from behind Js, Armadillo slips on the blood on the floor, and several Mexicans pounce on him.

He pulls a grenade from his vest, “JS, GET OUT OF HERE!” He pulls the pin.

“Oh shit!” Js, dives behind the hotel’s front desk just as the grenade detonates, killing all of Armadillo’s attackers. Armadillo is also killed instantly in this selfless and courageous act.

“Bravest thing I ever saw.” Js says in awe. Armadillo, the humble fisherman, had proven to be one of DC’s bravest warriors.

——

At the rear of hotel, the group of wetback grows closer. A straggler falls in behind them at the back of their ranks. He wears a very large sombrero pulled down over his face and a large pancho. He looks like a hunchback. In his hand is what looks like a high powered leaf blower.

An MS13 wetback marching near him asks, “Hey, ese. Where you from?”

“No hablo ingles, senior,” the stranger responds.

“That’s a hell of a leaf blower you’ve got there.”

“Si. Eeets the neew Husqvarna Juan Feeefty 0 Beeee Teeee.”

“I thought you didn’t speak English, fool.” The wetback then asks him again where he’s from, this time in Spanish. “De donde eres, cabron?”

The stranger flips his sombrero off his head. It’s a white man. He violently shrugs off his poncho, revealing two large tanks and one smaller one between them. The wetback jumps back in fear.

“I’m from the depths of hell, shithead. RAKKASANS!” It’s Valdez. Since the operation began before he started posting on Def-Con, he didn’t get the call. But the news reports were too much for him to ignore, and he did his patriotic duty by marching to the sound of the guns.

Valdez sprays the group of wetbacks nearest to him with the fiery liquid from his “leaf blower,” which is really an M2A1 flamethrower. Ten of them immediately catch fire and run screaming in all directions, howling like banshees. Valdez advances and hoses down five more. The human torches screech and flee, eventually collapsing in charred heaps. They don’t know what “Rakkasans” means. All they know is that they are on fire and dying. The other illegals, seeing this carnage, are shocked. The psychological impact of this weapon is perhaps even greater than the damage it causes. They all begin to stampeded in panic in the only direction they think can give them safety, the rear of the hotel. Right into the waiting guns of DC operators Jay has positioned there.

FreedomFighter is the first to fire at the oncoming wetbacks. “Enough of saving lives! Now it’s time to take some!”

FreedomFighter smashes out the window of the ground floor window he’s in front of with the butt of his 870, and leaps out of the building. The report of his 12 gauge is somehow heard above the din of the rest of the battle. He fires round after round of 2 3/4 00 buckshot into the panicking Mexicans. They tumble to the ground as if flicked down by the hand of God. Some of the wetbacks come out of their state of panic and begin to fire back. Rounds strike the pavement all around FreedomFighter, but somehow he is not hit. FreedomFighter is in a zone. He fears nothing.

RK sees this potentially fatal situation and leaps out the same window as FreedomFighter to retrieve him. RK is firing on the run, her Glock 19 responds exactly to the commands her trigger finger is giving it. Double tap to the wetback to the left. Another double tap to the one to the right. Two more double taps to the two Mexicans in front of her, all fall dead, bleeding half-developed brains onto the pavement.

RK finally reaches FF. “Goddamit, you can’t stay out here!” she screams, grabbing FreedomFighter by the collar. “Come on!”

She drags FreedomFighter back to the comparative safety of the hotel. FreedomFighter fires at the Mexicans as he goes, laughing maniacally.

——

Back at the front of the hotel, it seems an impossible situation. There’s just too many Mexicans for the small DC force to handle. Felling several more wetbacks with his AR, LuvAMilitaryParade looks to the heavens and as if to ask for some sort of divine intervention. He sees something. Something in the distance.

What LuvAMilitaryParade sees is a dot in the sky. It’s coming closer and growing larger. Now all heads are turned skyward watching this object. It’s a aircraft, an old Douglass Skyraider. Diving, it makes a low pass over the battlefield and wags it’s wings as it roars over the hotel.

“That’s Fogeystogey! fuckin’ A, that’s Fogey! I knew he’d come!” shouts Jay.

It is indeed Fogey. Grinning like a Cheshire cat he turns the Skyraider so generously gifted to him by the Confederate Air Force (even if he did have to pull a gun on them, it was still a generous gift), and makes his first run on the Mexicans. He releases the napalm bomb directly into the center of the mass of Mexican attackers. It explodes in a huge orange, black, and yellow ball of fire. Countless Mexicans are incinerated, they scream and flail, trying futilely to shake the burning gel from their bodies. The smell of gasoline and burning carnitas fills the air.

Inside the cockpit of the Skyraider Fogey sings, “A group of beaners in the grass, but all the fighting has long since passed. Crispy wetbacks in a mass. Napalm sticks to spics!”

He climbs gradually towards the east, preparing for another run.

“The tank!” danahan01 calls out. “He can take out the tank!”

“But he’s not on comms and he might not see it.” Joatmoaf replies.

“We have to mark it for him. Come on!”

Danahan01 takes off running towards the tank. Joatmoaf, who has shed his armor for more convential gear due to the Arizona heat, follows after him, still wielding his heavy sword. danahan picks up a dead Mexi’s AK, and as bullets kick up the earth around them, they continue their charge directly into the wetbacks advance, shooting and hacking the enemy as they go. They make it to the tank. But they are spotted by a squad of ISIS terrorists. A fusillade of rifle fire tears into them. Both men fall, critically wounded and unable to move. They are able to crawl to cover behind some rubble.

“We still have to mark that tank for Fogey.” danhan says with determination.

“I know. Do it.” Joatmoaf groans from the pain of his wounds.

Danhan pops a red smoke grenade, and tosses it right on top of the tank.

“It’s been an honor, Joat.” The two brave patriots shake hands as the cloud of red smoke rises into the air.

Fogeystogey is still singing as he turns for another run.

“Flying low and looking mean, See that family by the stream, Drop some nape & hear them scream, Napalm sticks to spics.”

He then sees the plume of red smoke rising from the battlefield. He sees the tank. He cannot see the men next to it. danahan01 and Joatmoaf hear him coming. They turn and see the Skyraider just as Fogey unleashes a salvo of rockets towards the tank.

“MAAAAAAGAAAAAAA!” danhan yells and then the rockets strike home. These two great men sacrificed themselves to help destroy the tank that was causing the team so much damage.

Jay was watching through his binoculars. He drops them. “My God. Where do we find such men?”

Fogeystogey banks and makes a strafing run. Roaring through the smoke from the napalm fires, he fires his four 20mm cannons and 7.62 minigun pods. Swaths of advancing wetbacks fall into mangled, bloody heaps.

“We shoot the sick, the young, the lame, We do our best to kill and maim, Because the kills all count the same, Napalm sticks to spics.”

He makes yet another strafing run, and the Mexican hordes are broken. They turn tail and run in terror, seeking refuge in buildings. Fogeystogey pulls up and banks again. Suddenly, his cockpit canopy is shattered by fire from a heavy weapon on the roof of a building. Fogeystogey is hit in the head. He knows it’s fatal. Rapidly losing his vision, Fogey spots where the fire came from. The building is also flying an ISIS flag and a Mexican flag. He gains altitude, does a hammerhead, and dives straight for the building.

“God, I loved flying . . .” Fogey smiles and the Skyraider slams into the apparent headquarters building with an enormous explosion. There are numerous secondary explosions as a Mexican ammo dump located in the building catches fire. Fogeystogey’s relentless strafing runs ended an attack that certainly would have sealed the fate of SFOD/DC. His final kamikaze attack on the headquarters building saved unknown numbers of lives and took out a good number of the wetback and ISIS leadership. The DC team witnessed all of this and a new sense of pride surged through all its ranks.

——

With the latest beaner attack broken up, BlackBeard approaches Jay.

“S’up Brohann Sebrostian Bach?” asks Jay.

“Jay, I . . . ” BlackBeard pauses to figure out what Jay just said.

“Oh, I get it. Cute. Anyway, I have a plan. We’re supposed to be special ops. There’s nothing special about what’s happening here. It’s just a toe to toe fight. We can’t win in a battle of attrition. We only have 21 effectives left. God knows how many more of these taco benders there are.”

“Go on.”

“I want three men for a mission.”

“You’ve got ’em.”

BlackBeard takes off.

——

From the Mexican side of the border another car horn blows “La Cucaracha.”

“Damn! Don’t these retards ever give up?!?” Jay gets on comms, “Stand by for another attack!”

But this attack is not the normal human wave. It’s attack dogs. Chihuahuas. Swarms of them. They race towards the hotel barking and frothing at the mouths.

The entire DC team breaks out in laughter.

“Seriously?!?! Chihuahuas?!?! These wetbacks are getting desperate!” Dean Sapp is laughing so hard he’s crying. He picks up one of the dogs and hurls it at the wall.

Then the small but fierce dogs are among them. The DC members kick them in all directions with their combat boots. Laughter mixes with yelps and growls as the team boots the vicious canids. Dogs are flying everywhere. Lian tames one. Sgt. Rena crushes one’s windpipe. Valdez sets a few on fire with a lighter and an aerosol can. No need to waste flamethrower fuel on these mongrels. Teutonic Knight finds an old driver and plays golf with some. THWACK!

“Oh, he got all of that one!” Teutonic shouts, imitating Bill Murray in “Caddyshack,” as he watches the small dog fly a good 25 yards through the air.

Looker walks up to Jay. He is covered in chihuahuas. They’re all latched on to his uniform by their fangs and not letting go. They snarl and shake ferociously. Jay laughs hysterically.

“What happened to you, G.I. Bro?”

“I . . . ” Looker pauses to figure out what Jay just said.

“Oh, I get it. Funny. Anyway, I fell and these little fuckkers swarmed me.”

“HAHA! So what do you want, a Purple Heart?”

“JUST GET ‘EM OFF ME, PLEASE!” Looker says, rather embarrassed.

“Ok, ok.” Jay laughs as he stabs the dogs with his Fairbairn Sykes fighting knife. They plop dead to the floor, and another attack is repelled.

“Umm, there’s still one more on my leg.” Looker said, motioning to the small dog vigorously humping his leg.

“I know, dude. Just let him finish.” The tiny dog falls over after climax, exhausted.

“You bastard.” mutters Looker as he walks back to his post wiping his pants leg with the New York Times.

—–

BlackBeard has assembled NavyVet, SDkid, and mike mcgoo.

“Listen up. LuvAMilitaryParade found a cartel drug tunnel that runs under the wall. We’re going down there and come up behind these fuckin a-holes. Then we’ll have some fun.”

Blackbeard and his team descend into the cartel tunnel. Each is carrying a large duffel bag filled with dynamite and fulminate of mercury in addition to their normal gear. Needless to say, they are treading very lightly as they make there way through the tunnel. Darkness has fallen as they emerge from the tunnel on the Mexican side of the border. The streets appear to be deserted but there is sporadic small arms fire from both sides of the border as DC and the Mexicans continue to exchange fire. Stealthily, they move through the streets. Then BlackBeard sees what he’s been looking for. A pinateria. NavyVet tries the door. It’s locked. He kicks it in and the team clears the building. There’s no one inside.

BlackBeard stands before what he sought. A display of Donald Trump pinatas. “Perfect.”

SDkid looks at mike mcgoo, they both shrug.

“What’s perfect? You don’t like Trump?!?! I don’t get it.” asks NavyVet.

“If there’s one thing illegals can’t resist, well, I mean other than stealing other people’s shit and raping, it’s a pinata. A Donald Trump pinata makes it fucking impossible for them to resist. We fill these things with the dynamite and fulminate of mercury, some ball bearings, and hang them out all over the city. Maybe lie a bat out next to them. Boom.”

The three others grin and nod in their approval.

Mcgoo makes a point. “We don’t have any ball bearings.”

“No, but the hardware store across the street probably does. Let’s find out, shall we?” BlackBeard states and while mcgoo and SDkid provide overwatch, BlackBeard and NavyVet charge across the street. NavyVet tries the door. It’s unlocked. The two men creep inside. There’s a Mexican asleep on the floor, under an enormous sombrero. He hears something, wakes up, sees the two fearsome looking intruders, and yells, “Ay carumba!”

BlackBeard quickly slits his throat and the Mexican dies in gurgling, choking, gasps.

“Hopefully nobody heard that a-hole.” BlackBeard says as he wipes his hands on his pants.

NavyVet watches him, “Blood?”

“No, brother. Illegal alien grease. It’s like these people never bathe, I swear to fuckin God!”

They grab all the ball bearings they can find off the shelves, and anything else that will be useful as a shrapnel in the Trump pinata bombs. The two bring their wares back to the pinata store. They make several more runs before enough materiel is gathered. Now the four men start the process of making the bombs, filling each Trump effigy with explosives and projectiles.

——-

Back at the hotel, Lian and Sgt Rena hear some noises in a broom closet.

Lian hears them first, “What was that? I heard something in the closet.”

Sgt Rena flings open the door and a uniformed maid tries to dive under a pile of soiled linen. Lian covers the maid with her AR and Sgt Rena shouts, “Sal de ahí! Get out of there you fuckhead, move!”

Now both women have their rifles trained on the maid. The maid, flings off the linens covering him, raises his hands, and screams, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Oh my god, please!”

“I thought we killed all the maids!” says Sgt Rena. The maid craps himself, the brown slurry flowing out from under his skirt, and the already soiled linens will need further cleaning.

“Holeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, shit!” exclaims Lian. “That’s Stephen Colbert!”

Sgt Rena lowers her rifle and squints her eyes to be sure. It’s hard for her to tell because of the heavy mascara, lipstick, and rouge that he is wearing, but she deduces that it is indeed Colbert.

“Yep! I’d recognize that libspooge anywhere. Get up, queer! I realize that may be damn near impossible for you to do when a woman tells you to do it, but get up!!”

Lian snickers at the off-color joke, keeping her AR aimed at Colbert. He scrables to his feet, hands raised in the air. There is more movement under the dirty laundry.

“We’ve got another one!” Sgt Rena advises, and puts more pressure on the trigger, aiming at the moving pile of dirty bedsheets.

Bill Maher jumps up from the pile with hands in the air.

“Don’t move, homo!” Rena commands.

Maher is a mess. He is also in a French maid’s outfit with heavy makeup. But his lipstick is suspiciously smeared. He belches and what appears to be Cream O’ Wheat, trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, Jesus.” mutters Lian. “Let’s take these things to Raptor for interrogation.”

They escort the two “political pundits” at gunpoint to where Raptor is stationed.

Sgt Rena can’t help herself as they pass the bar on the way, “Hey, Lian. What’s the most effective pickup line in a gay bar?”

“What?” asks Lian.

“Can I push in your stool?” They laugh hysterically and, with the aid of a few kicks and bayonet prods, lead their captives to Raptor Keeper. A couple minutes later Lian pauses.

“Hey, Festus and WIlliam Munny used to say that Jay was gay though.”

“Yeah, but it was just a game they played. I guess it’s the irony that makes it funny. Jay is the guardian of masculinity, so if they call him gay it’s funny. Men are weird like that. They insult each other but it’s meant as a compliment. I don’t really understand it but I do. There’s a whole scene about it in ‘Gran Torino’ that explains it a lot better than I can.”

Finally they reach RK’s position with the prisoners. RK is at her combat post. It’s littered with spent brass, grenade pins, and letters from the NRA. She turns from her vigil over the border as she hears Lian and Sgt Rena entering, her face streaked with gunpowder and grime from the continuous combat . . . she smiles once she recognizes the two liberal pissants that they have captured. The two communist captives are crying and their mascara is running worse than Tammy Faye Bakker in an onion cutting contest.

RK was just reloading her Glock 19.

“Well, well. What have we here?” She chambers a round and smiles.

“We caught these two lovebirds under a pile of bed sheets, in a closet, of course.” says Lian.

“Did you search them?” asks RK?

“No, we didn’t really want to touch them. Especially Colbert. He pooped himself.”

Colbert looks down at the floor in shame.

“Well, it has to be done.” RK says and gives them a quick pat down. She finds nothing on Colbert but notices a piece of paper stuck in Maher’s thigh high nylons. He grabs at it as she pulls it out and she punches him squarely in his bulbous nose. He squeals as his nose breaks and begins to bleed. He pauses, grabs his nose, and then falls squarely on his ass, bawling like an infant.

“My, baby!” Colbert screams and moves to comfort his injured boyfriend only to be met by the butt of Sgt Rena’s rifle as it smacks into his cheek. Colbert groans and falls to the floor.

“Now let’s just see what this is.” RK opens the paper and reads it. Her eyes fill with anger as she realizes it’s a map indicating all of SFOD/DC’s positions written in Spanish. She hands it to Lian and Sgt Rena.

RK looms over the two homos who are sitting on the floor sniveling.

“I always knew you two turd burglars were communists, but this . . .” she shakes her head slowly, “This is treason, guys. What are we going to do about this?”

“I say you let us go, you deplorable bitch!” cries Colbert.

“Oh, that’s not a nice thing to say!” says RK mockingly and kicks Colbert in the chin with her combat boot.

Colbert shrieks and falls backwards. He whimpers and gingerly spits three or four teeth into his hand. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Colbert whines.

“You know . . . I’m a certified NRA instructor.” RK says pacing as she holds her Glock by her side.

“Yeah, you’re certifiable!” shouts Maher. Lian deeply clears her throat and spits an enormous loogie directly into Maher’s eye. He begins to raise his hand to try to wipe it away but raising her rifle, Lian shouts, “LEAVE IT, BITCH!” He obeys and it slowly drips down his face.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” RK continues, “To be honest, I didn’t really pay much attention in my NRA classes.” She turns her back on the two captives and winks at Sgt Rena and Lian. She turns back towards the fags, casually waving her pistol around at them in all directions.

“In reality I’m really not sure how this thing even works . . .” BAM! she fires her pistol. The round strikes Maher in the middle of his right foot. He yelps.

“Oh, dear! See? I’m so sorry!” RK sarcastically apologizes.

“There must be a button or a thingy on this to stop it from doing that . . . ” she examines the pistol as if to check it. BAM! BAM! BAM! She fires three more shots, one into Maher’s other foot, one strikes Colbert in his right foot, and one in his thigh.

The two scream and writhe in pain.

“Gosh! Silly me! Oh no, Stephen. There’s a run in your stocking! Don’t you hate when that happens?” Colbert’s thigh oozes blood.

“Now, would either of you girls be so kind as to tell me who’s leading the Mexican forces?” RK inquires. “Who’s behind this?”

The two sissies glance nervously at each other but neither is talking. Valdez hears the gunfire and enters the room. He leans against the wall and watches, amused, lighting a cigar with a small blow torch.

“You, doughboy. Speak up.” RK yells at the pasty Maher who just snivels.

“One of my favorite shows was Andy Griffith. I liked how Barney was always accidentally discharging his weapon.” She stands over Maher and holsters her weapon. BAM! Another gunshot. This one hits Maher in the kneecap.

“Haha! Oops! That was just like Barney Fife!!” Maher screams in agony.

“Ok,” RK continues, “Now I’m done playing. Tell us who’s running the show. Who told the Mexicans we were coming? Talk or I’m going to do some damage that you won’t walk away from!”

Still the two bloodied libs won’t talk.

“We can’t tell you. It’s too big. This goes all the way to the top.” Colbert lisps through the blood pouring from his mouth.

“Fine. I’m done with this.” RK says, exasperated.

SgtRena, and Lian all turn to leave. Seizing the opportunity, Colbert reaches out for an AR that’s propped up against a wall, but Valdez sees him. He reaches for his Ranger tomahawk and throws it at Colbert just as he is grabbing the rifle. It strikes home, the blade severing three of the fingers on Colbert’s hand. Colbert grovels on the floor, sobbing.

“Thanks, Valdez.” RK says. “Now get rid of these pricks, will you?”

Valdez picks up his tomahawk and pulls his Browning Hi Power. “Let’s go, fags.” He escorts the limping pair out to the parking lot in back of the hotel. He shoots both of them twice in the knees and they fall to the ground, now completely incapacitated.

“You know,” Valdez says as he aims his flamethrower at the pair, “I often dream of being the doorman to Hell. And now I actually get to do it.” His flamethrower spews its fiery contents at the two libs.

“NOOOOOO!” his victims scream and then they are bathed in fire.

“Rakkasans, motherfuckers.” whispers Valdez as he walks back to the hotel.

——-

On the Mexican side, BlackBeard and his men have been placing their explosive trump pinatas all over the city. They’ve made about twenty in all. They take cover on the rooftop of a small building overlooking one of the pinatas and wait to see if their scheme will bear fruit. It doesn’t take long. Soon, two Mexicans appear in the street below. They cautiously approach the pinata hanging from a street light.

“Look, Juan! Eeets Donald Trump!” yells one of the Mexicans.

“And look, Pepe! There is a bat next to eeeet!” yells the other.

“Odelay!” they both scream in excitement.

Now a large crowd of about fifty has gathered around the pinata. They jump up and down with excitement.

“That’s right,” hisses BlackBeard, “This is your last dance, you Mexican jumping beans.”

One of the Mexicans grabs the bat. He takes a mighty swing at the pinata. Nothing happens. He takes another swing. Nothing.

SDkid whispers, “It’s not working.”

The beaner takes a third swing, and there’s a blinding flash and mighty explosion. Dead and dying beaners lie in the street everywhere.

“You were saying?” a grinning BlackBeard winks at SDkid. “Now let’s get back to the hotel.”

The group finds it’s way back to the cartel tunnel. Every so often they hear more explosions as other Trump pinatas claim even more lives. They descend into the tunnel and round a corner. Mikemcgoo, who is on point, throws himself to the ground and begins firing his AR.

“WETBACKS!” he yells to the rest of the group.

The tunnel ahead is filled with Mexicans, cartel MS13 gang members smuggling drugs into the U.S.. Mike has dropped thirty of them, one for every bullet in his magazine. He reloads. BlackBeard, NavyVet, and SDkid all go prone and join in the firefight. The sound of the gunfire in the tunnel is deafening. Dead MS13 members lie in heaps everywhere. A shot glances off BlackBeard’s helmet. But he realizes this shot came from behind him. He turns to find another horde of Mexicans charging at the group from the other end of the tunnel.

“BEHIND US!” he yells. NavyVet turns to fire at this new group of attackers. The group is killing Mexicans in both directions but there’s too many of them. In short order all four of the DC members are hit. Despite his wounds, BlackBead manages to ask NavyVet a riddle.

“What do you call a Mexican chick with no legs?”

“Jesus, Beard! I don’t know!” NavyVet yells in amazement and kills four more Mexicans.

“Cuntswaylow!” yells BlackBeard, laughing as he shoots five more beaners.

“Ok, I’ve got one!” shouts mikemcgoo as he shoots an oncoming beaner in the forehead. “What are the first 3 words in every mexican cookbook?”

“Oh, I know this one!” answers SDkid as he stabs a Mexican in the neck. “Steal a chicken!”

Then a bullet finds its mark. The heroic SDkid is shot through the heart. He dies instantly.

“NO!” screams mikemcgoo as he moves to see if he can do anything for SDkid. But now mike is hit as well. He is incapcitated and dying. NavyVet moves to help him. He can see his wounds are fatal.

“Tell me a joke, NavyVet.” mikemcgoo softly implores NavyVet.

NavyVet grasps his hand and says, “Sure, buddy. Sure.”

“What is the difference between a Mexican and a elevator? One can raise families.”

Mike smiles and passes on to Valhalla.

“God dammit! I’m out of ammo!” yells BlackBeard. A Mexican lunges at him but BlackBeard throws him to the ground and stabs him repeatedly. NavyVet is shot again. He goes down, mortally wounded. Just then a grenade rolls next to him. BlackBeard sees it.

“Well, lets see if this bastard really exists . . . ” he says and throws himself on the grenade to save NavyVet. And with that, the great BlackBeard, survivor of countless encounters with enemies of America all over the world, finally ran out of luck. But it was on his own terms. And to save a comrade in arms.

NavyVet is fading fast as what’s left of the Mexicans grow near him. But with the last of his strength, he manages to draw his pistol and shoot one.

“Bury me upside down so the whole world can kiss my ass!” he yells in defiance and then he is engulfed by a fusillade of gunfire.

——

BlackBeard arrives in Valhalla to find William Munny sitting in what appears to be a Fox Sports broadcasting booth.

“BB! We’ve been expecting you!” a happy Munny exclaims. “Sit down and have a drink.”

He pours BlackBeard a large mug of Appleton Estate rum. Slightly confused, BlackBeard sits and takes a long draw of the rum.

“Let’s talk . . . ” says Munny.

BlackBeard gulps down the rest of his rum and leans back in his chair, finally able to relax after all these years.

“Valhalla is pretty cool, huh?” Munny asks and smiles. “Watch this. WAITRESS! A bottle of Renegade Trinidad Angostura 17 Year Old 1991 – Château Le Pin Finish!”

BlackBeard, still dazzled by the lights of the Fox Sports Valhalla set watches in astonishment as a scantily clad valkyrie waitress delivers the bottle to the desk with two shot glasses. Munny pours the amber fluid into the glasses. And they both drink.

“By the way, Blackfeet Justin, peaklevelmeter, danahan01, Joatmoaf, Armadillo, John Chisum, molon labe, Fogey, NavVet, SDkid, mikemcgoo, are all here too. I think danahan01 is in the batting cage, Joatmoaf is in the jousting tournament, Fogey is checking out the virtual reality combat flight simulator, Armadillo is always at the catfish river, and the rest are probably in the theater that plays the 1st Cav’s air assault in ‘Apocalypse Now!” 24-7. Just that one part. You can do whatever you want here.”

“But let me fill you in on what’s happening. Odin had an idea, and I think it’s a pretty damned good one, to set up a television station here that would broadcast combat that’s happening on earth for the enjoyment of the warriors up here. And He feels that there’s nothing going on down there that would generate more ratings than SFOD/DC’s stand against the illegals. I mean, sure we’ve got the big fight in Korea, but this is heroic shit our DC guys are doing! So He gave me this broadcasting spot but what we need is an expert color commentator.”

BlackBeard takes a sip of his fine rum. “Go on.”

Munny laughs. “Dude . . . this is Valhalla. You don’t need to sip anything here. There’s plenty more of whatever you want!” he punctuates his statement by grabbing the bottle and chugging down a quarter of the bottle.

“DAMN, that’s good stuff!” he exclaims and slams the bottle down on the table. “And the best part is, that you can drink all you want but there’s no hangover after.”

BlackBeard smiles and drinks the rest of the bottle. “Waitress! Another bottle of the same!” He shouts, and the valkyrie returns promptly with his order. He swats her on the ass as she leaves. She giggles.

“Yeah, I could get used to this.” BlackBeard chuckles and takes another drink.

“So anyway, I’m here to give the play-by-play, and you’ll give the expert commentary on what’s happening in the fight. Like when peaklevelmeter ran out to throw the termite grenade and got Blackfeet Justin killed, I’d be, ‘peaklevelmeter runs out on the battlefield, and Justin Blackfeet is going after him . . . ‘ and you’d be like, ‘Yeah, that’s just not a good move on either of their parts. Once Justin saw peak losing it, he should have stopped that shit right then and there. It’s always a bad move to lose your cool in combat.’ That kind of thing. You in?”

“Hell yes, I’m in!” BlackBeard nods and puts his feet up on the desk.

Tecumseh Sherman passes by just then and calls out to Munny derisively, “Ooooh, look at the big TV star.”

“fuck off, prick! Kill any civilians lately? Go find your boyfriend Hitler and maybe he’ll stick a bratwurst in your ass for you, you big pu$$y!” shouts Munny.

Sherman scowls and stomps off.

“Yeah, go find your boyfriend! He’ll make you howl like you did to Georgia!” Munny calls out after him and laughs.

“I see you’ve made some friends here.” BlackBeard laughs.

“Yeah, we have all kinds up here. But it’s easy to keep the bad ones in line. They’re all talk.”

——-

Back on earth, as the new day dawns, Jay is concerned to say the least. SFOD/DC is down to 15 combat effectives and they’re running low on ammo. The Mexicans are now shelling the hotel non-stop with 105mm artillery. The structural integrity of the building has become unstable, forcing FreedomFighter to move his aid station into the basement. Festus, severely wounded by artillery fire, is also there being tended to along with Peter Brown. But FF is out of morphine and the only pain medication he can give his patients is some Patron and a chaser of Michelob Ultra. He comforts the men with Mexican jokes.

“Did you hear about the Mexican racist? He joined the que que que.”

It lifts the men’s spirits but that’s about all he can do for them. Yet another round of artillery fire hits the building. And soon after, LuvAMilitaryParade and JSBear help bring in Looker, fergn, and Maingearinarkansas, who is now twice wounded.

“Dammit!” FreedomFighter screams in desperation. “I can’t do anything for these guys!” Dust and debris from the ceiling rains down on the men in the basement as new artillery rounds land on the building.

He takes a shot of Patron. Then, from outside they hear that awful car horn. It’s “La Cucaracha” again and for the third time the Mexicans charge the beleaguered patriots. Mark726 and Teutonic Knight pour deadly accurate fire into the wall of wetbacks. They fire and reload, fire and reload. Bodies are stacked like cord wood in front of them. Then they are out of ammo. A Mexican leaps through the window, Mark726 removes his helmet and crushes the Mexicans skull with it. Teutonic Knight has fixed his bayonet and is skewering the Mexicans as they try to get in. The men fight like lions but are eventually overwhelmed. The Mexicans are now in the hotel. They reinforce their foothold and spread out to occupy another room. A large group of them head down to the basement.

——-

In Valhalla, Munny watches the action on a monitor. “Looks like the Mexicans are inside, BlackBeard. Your thoughts?”

“Well,” BlackBeard takes a shot of rum, “There really isn’t much more anyone could have done in that situation. If you’re outnumbered and out of ammo, all you can do is surrender or fight to the death. And having fought with these guys, you just know that surrendering never occurred to them.”

“They took a hell of a lot of Mexicans with them.” adds Munny.

“Fuckin’ a right, they did.” BlackBead agrees.

The action is being broadcast in Valhalla on enormous big screen monitors set up in an exact replica of the Roman Colosseum. It’s packed to capacity, 50,000 in all. Fallen warriors from history’s greatest conflicts are all in attendance. From Thermopylae to Gettysburg, the Ardennes to LZ-XRay, they all stand and cheer at the valor demonstrated by Mark726 and TeutonicKnight.

——–

FreedomFighter and the wounded hear the Mexicans jabbering at the top of the stairs. FF racks a round into the chamber of his 870 and kneels, facing the stairs. The wounded Peter Brown, Festus, Looker, fergn, and Maingearinarkansas are all armed with pistols, having given all their 5.56mm ammo to the more able team members. Despite their wounds, they are sitting with their backs against the wall facing the stairs, ready to defend themselves. The door bursts open and wetbacks come pouring down the stairs. FreedomFighter fires and the lead Mexican’s head explodes as the buckshot strikes home. The rest of the men are firing and beaners topple down the stairs one after another. This horrific carnage goes on for what seems an eternity. But then the Mexicans finally learn their frontal assaults are getting them nowhere. Several of them simultaneously toss grenades into the basement and slam the door.

FreedomFighter sees the grenades as they roll in all directions. “Another Alamo,” he whispers.

The muffled explosions are heard upstairs by Jay and Mr. Lee, and they know it’s over for the fighting medic FreedomFighter and the courageous wounded of DC.

Again, the warriors in the Colosseum stand and cheer for the brave men of DC. A contingent from the Battle of the Alamo removes their hats and is moved to tears.

Jaydolph gets on comms and calls his remaining nine operators to him.

“Rendezvous in room 666.”

The surviving team, RK, SgtRena, Lian, JSbear, Infidel83, LuvAMilitaryParade, and Valdez all move to join Jay and Mr Lee in room 666.

In Valhalla, Munny watches the monitor. “This does not look good for SFOD/DC. What can they do to save the situation, Beard?”

“They’re going to have to clear the hotel of Mexicans. Room by room. It’s probably the most dangerous kind of combat. I’d think Valdez and his flamethrower would be a an asset in this sort of operation.”

The team has assembled in room 666. Jay, exhausted from the continuous combat, plops down on the couch, puts his AR in his lap, and addresses the team.

“Look. You all have fought valiantly, better than anyone could have dreamed of, against impossible odds.” He makes eye contact with everyone in the room. “I lead you all into this fight. I was not expecting what has happened. For that, I blame myself.”

“No! NO!” the group counters.

“Bullshit, Jay. This isn’t your fault. We were tipped off! You couldn’t have known! They knew we were coming!” counters RK. “And we’re not out of this fight!”

The chihuahua Lian tamed and now sits on her shoulder, also yelps it’s approval and snarls.

Jay, pauses and looks around the room at what’s left of his elite force. They are bloody and battered, but not beaten. He sees the steely resolve in all of their eyes.

Jay rises from the couch. His determination is renewed. He works the charging handle on his AR. A green tip 5.56 is slammed into the chamber.

“Ok, then. Here’s how were going to get out of this . . . . ”

“The beaners are basically holed up in two rooms. The basement and room 55.” Jay continues.

LuvAMilitaryParade ponders this for a moment. “Ah, makes sense. Room 55. Cinco de Mayo.”

“That reminds me of a joke.” JsBear interjects. “Whats the difference between St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco de Mayo? Nobody pretends to be Mexican.”

“You got that right.” Infidel83 laughs.

“Ok, knock it off.” scolds Jay. “This is serious.” But he can’t resist telling one more joke. “Ok, ok, one more. What do Mexicans and vending machines have in common? They both take your money and don’t work.” Everybody laughs. “Ok, that’s it though. No more jokes.” He continues.

“We’re going to split into two teams. SgtRena, LuvAMilitaryParade, Js, Valdez will form one team. Me, Mr. Lee, RK, Lian, and Infidel83 will form the other. SgtRena, do you have any det cord left?”

“Not much, but I still have some.” SgtRena replies.

“Good. That should be all you need to make a hole in the interior wall. They’re pretty thin. Your team will occupy room 54 and breach the wall to room 55. Valdez, your flamethrower will take it from there.”

SgtRena immediately sets to work making a breaching charge out of two pieces of cardboard she cuts from FreedomFighter’s case of Patron. She tapes the two pieces together and then tapes the det cord around the edges, leaving a pigtail for priming. She then places some double sided contact tape on the other side of the cardboard. The charge is ready to go.

“The basement is going to prove to be harder. There’s no way in there but through the door. Does anyone have any grenades left? Jay asks.”

“Negative.” The team responds.

“I have one flashbang, but that’s it.” Infidel83 says.

“That’s better than nothing.” Jay says. “There’s a ventilation duct to the basement. Lian, I think you’ll be able to fit in there and provide overwatch. We’ll attack simultaneously on my command. Now let’s move.”

———

The team splits into their two groups and make their way downstairs. Once there, Jay’s team helps Lian into the ventilation duct and she makes her way, silently, towards the basement. Once there, she peers through the slats and surveys the basement. It’s full of wetbacks. They don’t seem to be very concerned about anything. Perhaps thinking they’ve killed all their enemies, they lounge around drinking tequila and eating beans. One holds a lighter to his buttocks and he farts. A small blue flame erupts and he and his compadres laugh hysterically. Lian is disgusted.

“Fuckin’ savages,” she mutters to herself. “So easily amused.”

Jay’s team stacks outside the basement open basement door. They’re ready.

SgtRena’s team moves down the hallway and she and Valdez enter room 54. LuvAMilitaryParade and JSbear remain outside covering the door to room 55. SgtRena and Valdez can hear the wetbacks in the next room blasting their crappy banda music.

“God, I hate that shit!” whispers Valdez.

“No worries,” replies SgtRena as she removes the backing from the double stick tape, fastens her charge to the wall, and primes it. “You won’t have to hear it much longer.” She winks at Valdez.

Jay gets on comms.

“Go.” he says quietly.

All hell breaks loose. SgtRena detonates the charge she placed on the wall. It blows a nice sized hole, though which Valdez immediately sticks the nozzle of his flamethrower into it and spews fire into room 55. The woosh of the flamethrower mixes with the screams of burning wetbacks. Several try to make a run for it out the door where the waiting LuvAMilitaryParade and JsBear easily cut them down with their rifles. The rest are burned alive inside the room.

Simultaneously at the basement, Mr. Lee who is the number one man in the stack, tosses the flashbang into the basement and immediately follows behind it, heading to the right corner of the room, dropping stunned and confused wetbacks as he goes. RK is right behind him, and heads to the left corner of the basement, also shooting spics. Jay is next, moving in the opposite direction of RK and taking position to the right of the door, followed by Infidel83, who moves opposite Jay. Lian meanwhile has popped open the vent above and is also firing at the wetbacks. The entire room is enveloped in interlocking fields of fire. It’s all over in a few seconds. Bloody wetback corpses litter the room. One is wounded and moaning in pain. Jay walks over to him, his .45 in hand.

“This is for FF.” He fires one round into the Mexicans forehead and then there is silence.
———

Both teams regroup in the lobby. They’re congratulating each other on their victory. The sickly smell of burning flesh wafts down the hall.

“FUCKIN’ A! NOW THAT’S WHAT THIS TEAM WAS DESIGNED TO DO!” Jay takes out a flask of Johnny Walker Blue Label and passes it around. Everyone takes a swig. Valdez takes out a Marlboro red and lights it. Just then he sees movement behind the front desk. A Mexican pops up from behind it with an AK. The Mexican levels his rifle at RK.

“RAPTOR NOOOOO!” shouts Valdez, and pushes her out of the way as the Mexican fires. Valdez is hit multiple times and falls. LuvAMilitaryParade puts a round through the Mexican’s head. The group gathers around Valdez, who has just sacrificed his own life to save his beloved RK. “Rakkasans,” he whispers one last time, and then he is off to Valhalla.

When he arrives, Munny motions him over to the Fox Sports desk. “Valdez, do you have any thoughts about your death?” he asks.

Valdez takes a drag off his smoke. “No, not really. I was just glad I could fry a few beaners and save RK.”

“Well, you killed quite a few. Looks like somewhere in the neighborhood of 200.”

“You know, individual stats are great, but it’s really about the team. Jay’s a proven winner and I think we can still win this one.” Valdez replies in true sports interview cliche fashion.

“Well thanks for talking with us.” Munny says.

“Uh oh,” Blackbeard interrupts. “Looks like they’re not out of the woods yet down there.” The monitors show another large number of Mexicans massing to attack.

——–

Indeed there are more Mexicans. Not as many as before, but certainly enough to overrun the eight remaining DC survivors. Jay contemplates the situation. “Well . . . I always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.”

“What do you have in mind, brofessor?” asks Js.

“We attack. We attack, Bromer Pyle.” Jay laughs cavalierly.

“And how are we going to do that, brommando?” inquires Infidel83.

“We still have the two Hummers that you all drove down here in. There’s still ammo for the two .50s on them. That’s all I’ve got left. Would you rather retreat or surrender?

“Hell no!” the whole group yells back in unison.

“Then let’s mount up, bro-getters.”

Heading out the backdoor, they split back into their two groups, four in each vehicle. They pile into the Hummers. Jay is in the turret of one, Infidel in the other. They both work the charging handles on their M2s as JsBear and Mr. Lee fire up the engines of their respective vehicles. They both put CDs of Carl Orf’s “O’ Fortuna” into their stereos, set it to repeat, and crank up the volume. The smell of gasoline fills the air as the two drivers rev their engines. The others on the team lock and load their ARs.

In the Valhalla Colosseum, the men from Pickett’s Charge and the Light Brigade stand and cheer wildly.

“Wait!” RK exclaims. She whistles and two enormous bald eagles fly into view. They circle the team’s vehicles.

“Nice. Air support.” Jay says as he looks upwards at the beautiful birds of prey. His eyes fill with tears of pride as he looks over his team of patriots.

“All right, then. Jaydolph actual to Jaydolph one . . . ADVANCE!” he shouts over comms and points defiantly forward. The Humvees tear out of the parking lot and speed towards the mass of Mexicans. Immediately, Jay and Infidel open up with their .50s. Huge gaps open up in the Mexican ranks as the heavy slugs tear apart their bodies. RK, Lian, SgtRena, and LuvAMilitaryParade all open up with their rifles as they get within range. Mexicans are dropping like greasy flies in heaps in this drive-by from hell. Raptor’s eagles swoop down from the heavens and pluck Mexican eyes from their sockets with their talons. Now the Humvee’s are among them. Js and Mr. Lee swerve left and right crushing wetbacks under their wheels.

“FUCKIN A, IT’S BEAUTIFUL!” Jay shouts as he fires another burst from his M2. The Mexicans are finally broken. They run in panic in all directions only to be killed by SFOD/DC’s gunfire or run down by the Humvees. Jay sees the Mexican headquarters building in the distance.

“Js, follow me! Let’s finish this!” Jay orders.

The two vehicles speed towards the headquarters building, killing even more of the defeated wetbacks as they go. They approach a large berm. The last obstacle before the HQ building. And then there is a series of large explosions as IEDs are remotely detonated. The Humvees roll several times and come to a stop. Everyone is injured and dazed from the explosion.

As the dust settles, three armed figures, silhouetted by the sun in back of them slowly walk over the berm towards the helpless DC group. As they descend the berm, it becomes clear who they are. It’s ademain, Funkenstein, and the pedophile, Mark Dreher. Dreher shoots the two eagles out of the sky with a shotgun.

“Oh, goodie, another symbol of America destroyed!” Funkenstein yelps and jumps up and down in excitement. He embraces Dreher and the two kiss passionately.

“Ademain giggles and grabs one of Funkenstein’s sagging man boobs. Funk moans with pleasure.

The dazed DC memebers can do nothing but watch. They are far too injured and barely conscious.

Ademain leads the group towards the doomed DC memebers.

“It was me all along.” He/she/it says gleefully to Jay. “I told them everything. That’s how they knew you were coming. I hacked into your email.”

“Fuck you,” Jay tries to get up to kick ademain’s ass, but can’t because his arms and legs are broken. He can only watch.

Funkenstein cackles and walks up with his AK, “Ahahahaha! You may have banned me from Def-Con but we sure as shite won this battle.”

The group of liberal homo trolls takes aim, and then the sound of automatic weapons fire comes from behind them. They are riddled with .45 ACP slugs and dance a comical dance of death as they fall twitching and screaming to the ground. Another group of nine armed figures comes walking down the berm. As they move out of the sun, they can be identified. It’s Johnny Cardell, Six Cents, maddog, Sagelike, Charliedontsurf, rik, huntersgirl, AmeriGirl, and the infamous Josey Wales. They all fire a few more rounds into the dead liberals, just to make sure. Lowering their smoking Thompson submachine guns, they stand over Jay. Wales spits a long stream of tobacco juice on ademain’s face to show his disdain for the expired troll.

Cardell winks and asks Jay, “What’s up, Bronail?”

Jay musters a smile, lays his head back down on the ground and chuckles. A single tear flows from his right eye.

And so America was saved from the scourge of illegal aliens. The surviving eight members of Special Forces Operational Detachement Def-Con, as well as their nine rescuers, were celebrated as heroes throughout the country. Raptor Keeper rode her fame to become America’s first female president. The rest became hugely successful and rich doing advertisements for gun manufacturers. An enormous monument was erected in Nogales at the top of the great border wall that Trump eventually built to honor the heroic actions of all that served here. On it, the names of the 23 SFOD/DC operators (all of whom received the Medal of Honor for their actions) are inscribed. Jay had the city renamed, “Brogales.”

POSTSCRIPT:

Twenty years later on the anniversary of the Battle of Brogales, The democrats held their national convention at the hotel on the Mexican side of the border that had been the scene of so much fighting. It was intended as a symbol of protest to allow illegals back into the country. During the convention, the entire structure collapsed, killing everyone inside. It was determined that the collapse was due to termite infestation.

In Valhalla, peaklevelmeter kicked his feet up, took a shot of Scotch, lit a cigar, turned to Blackfeet Justin and said with satisfaction.

“I told you. TERMITE grenade.”