The Narco-Boat Killings Expose America’s Deadly Double Standard
If we’re going to call it war when it sells and justice when it burns, then we’re not the good guys, we’re a cartel with better branding and a flag.
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If we’re going to call it war when it sells and justice when it burns, then we’re not the good guys, we’re a cartel with better branding and a flag.
The war is unlikely to end with a clear military decision; instead, as Russia’s reserves erode and Ukraine’s strikes steadily raise the cost of continuation, Moscow will be pushed toward a de facto halt sometime in 2026.
I am not interested in abstract “peace plans” drafted in Miami hotel suites; I am interested in whether the people I fought beside in Ukraine are being asked to trade their homes, language, and dead for the illusion of stability.
The Legion was never built to last; it was a stopgap of anger, idealism, and broken men thrown together under fire, and its dissolution only makes official what the front line knew years ago.
As military professionals, we have a duty to question and, when necessary, refuse orders that violate law, morality, or basic safety, because our oath is to the Constitution and the principles it defends, not to blind obedience.
Ukraine and Russia are locked in a grinding stalemate where neither can win outright, yet both refuse to accept the cost of defeat as the political ground beneath them steadily erodes.
When accountability breaks down, the integrity of our institutions erodes, our adversaries gain opportunity, and the security of the nation itself is placed at risk.
We are posturing for a fight in Venezuela without a coherent strategy, bleeding scarce combat power and credibility in pursuit of a mission that serves politics more than the security of the American people.
In a world fraying with division and hardship, our real strength is the quiet, unseen gold forged in daily struggle, service to others, and the deep roots of our values that no frost can reach.
After twenty so called successes against drug boats, my experience tells me we are spending billions to swat at speedboats while the cartels calmly rebuild the same networks we refuse to confront at the source.
Amidst the chaos and carnage, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer audacity of these men—pilots who crawled from the wreckage, dusted themselves off, and pressed forward as if crashing a helicopter was just another Tuesday.
From the shadow of the Pyrénées at Pau to the hottest trouble spots across the globe, the blue-bereted aircrews of the 4e RHFS—laden with Glock-17s, MP7s clipped to their vests, compact APC556 carbines at hand and retractable 20mm door cannons ready to bloom—never board a helicopter without the firepower, training and cold resolve to turn any arrival into an instant advantage.