We were jetting around Iraq in our Blackhawk, looking for the yellowcake uranium that Saddam Hussein had definitely bought from Africa. It was early in the war, but we were on our guard, because Saddam was the guy who had done 9/11, and he had weapons of mass destruction all over the place. Even reconstituted nuclear weapons!
But our spirits were high. After all, we were greeted as liberators, and all of Iraq’s oil riches were going to pay for this short, popular, casualty-free war.
Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, we were rocked by enemy fire. It was coming from two suicide bombers, a woman in a full veil and her pre-teen son, but thank goodness we had a brilliant Navy Green Beret Recon sniper with us who shot them both dead, then took a few moments to feel bad, because every single one of our overseas troops is an invincible hero who can do anything and also has post-traumatic stress. And who could blame them, when all of the Iraqis are trying to kill you all the time, even the friendly ones?
This particular sniper was a big teddy bear with a conscience of gold who spent his off-time killing ruthless looters in New Orleans during Katrina and punching loudmouthed war protesters. That’s when he wasn’t heroically rescuing Private Jessica Lynch, who’d helped him shoot his way through waves of nasty enemy fighters until she ran out of ammunition. They are the real heroes, which is why we take such good care of them and their comrades when they come back here – medical care, benefits, counseling, jobs, the whole enchilada.
The insurgency had caught us by surprise, but you go to war with the Army you have. There was no way anyone could have foreseen any kind of resistance or difficulties. I mean, it’s not like anyone in the previous administration had ever war-gamed an Iraq conflict and found out it might be difficult or anything. Fortunately, our troops never complained. They always had the equipment they needed, with plenty of armor and protection. A lot of them didn’t even have to work, because we could hire contractors to do all of that stuff for less money. Yep, our soldiers and their taxpaying families back home got an incredible value for their dollars. Not that it would have mattered if the war had gotten expensive; I mean, the economy was booming back home.
Anyway, we neutralized the threat, but an RPG hit our CH-157 UAV-equipped heat-seeking nuclear attack helicopter in the portside jet-rotor stabilator – like, a direct hit, spraying flames everywhere. So our pilot yawed us into a deep turn over the Euphrates River, pouring fiery JP123 fuel down the helicopter’s wing as the door gunner fired thousands of rounds from his 30-millimeter Gatling gun, then switched to his Colt .45 when the cannon ran out of ammo.
We ditched in the water, and that’s when we saw it: A pallet of nuclear bombs floating in the river, labeled: “SHIP PRIORITY TO O. BIN LADEN, AFGHANISTAN.”
Well, by the time we’d shot our way out of there with the pallet of WMDs, the Sunnis and Shiites saw what we’d found, and they immediately cheered us and then shook hands among each other. That’s when we knew this mission was accomplished, just as promised by our duly elected leaders, and the world was better off for it. We had fought “them” over there and beaten them decisively, and now we definitely wouldn’t have to fight “them” back home.
So we left them a functional government and lots of oil wealth, and we marched west, into the sunset, all the way back to America, where we weren’t even bothered by the freedom-hating commies who called us “baby killers” in the streets, because we knew the truth, the truth I’m telling you now. And after all, what would be the point of even having a war if you’re not going to be honest about it?
Adam Weinstein is a Tallahassee-based senior writer for Gawker. He has worked for the Wall Street Journal, Village Voice, and Mother Jones. Column courtesy of Context Florida.