Trump’s Private Security Force

Donald Trump is keeping his private security team. It lets him suppress dissent at his rallies, quell the press and intimidate. It’s  beginning to look like my prognostication for our near future in “GTE” The Great Transformation” Could this unfold?

“Meantime growing numbers of RW&B security forces were deployed in all major urban centers. When asked at his first news conference why he wasn’t deploying USA military forces or the National Guard, he drawled smugly in his Texas two-step accent: “Why, everyone knows that private military contractors are more efficient.”

Wall Street was cordoned off returning it to its antecedents as an area enclosed to protect it from the “hostiles.” Chicago’s Mercantile Exchange was similarly locked down, while that city’s simmering pot, its South Side, was doused with cold water when the National Guard, now led by a RW&B commander, swarmed through its decaying buildings and projects confiscating guns, semi-automatics, and pistols.

Simultaneously, another military contractor, Fortified Star, threw up an electrified fence along that neighborhood’s perimeter providing its residents with only one entry and exit checkpoint. When asked about this at a hastily put together news conference, the President elect’s spokeswoman, a well-known right wing pundit May Halter, tossed her mane of bleached blond hair, stabbed her bony finger at the assembled media, brusquely informing them:
“A new plot was hatched that would have stopped our President elect from assuming office. But Jesus be praised [her eyes rolled up to the heavens] certain patriotic Americans stepped forward to alert President elect Cross who, with the full assistance of our military and the RW&B forces, were able to quash this plot guaranteeing the peaceful, orderly, and lawful transformation of power.”
She paused. Looked out over the audience of the stunned assembled media and continued…
“Let me ask you, ” questioned the reporter, “I see a military presence here in this room.” She motioned to the armed minutemen with a jerk of her head. As she did so those men visibly tensed, but the commander standing well behind Halter to her left quickly raised and lowered his hand and the soldiers’ trigger fingers relaxed.
“Why,” she continued, “in a free country are they required? Are they here to intimidate the press, the public? And why is the acting president, soon to be the Vice-President Randall Carey, using a private contractor? And last, why has the National Guard been placed under its direction?”
“Well,” began the simmering Halter, “I am surprised that someone from your network would ask such a question. What would you have us do? Permit an insurrection; a coup d’état against the legitimately elected president? Or are you in league with those advocating the overthrow of the government by fomenting revolution through such scurrilous accusations? Is that what you want Inez?”
“What I am suggesting,” the suddenly plucky reporter responded, “is that the rule of law be respected in this country. What I am asking is why are military contractors being deployed and why is the National Guard under their command? What I am asking is why have all the nation’s major urban centers – specifically the so-called ghettos- been literally walled off as if they were prisons?
“And why are what looks like – and forgive me for drawing this always controversial comparison- but for lack of a better term – storm troopers, stationed in this room armed to the teeth and clearly ready to mow us all down with a nod from that RW&B commander standing over there in the corner?”
As she finished she stood very still, clutching her cellphone [as they were called back in the day] and some papers in her hand. Halter glanced back at the Commander who crooked his finger and a shot rang out. Inez, in a final protective gesture, raised her hand that still gripped her cell phone as she fell to the floor, a bullet cleanly wedged in her left temple. As this happened the assembled media luminaries dashed for cover, diving [when they could fit] under chairs, some making for the doors, which were blocked by soldiers who intoned as if ushers at a Broadway show, “Sorry ma’am, Sorry sir, no one’s to leave. Please return to your seat.”
The Commander, looking as if he were arriving at a state dinner his dark blue uniform bearing the identifying red and white shoulder stripes of his employer encased his body like a glove, grabbed the mike out of Halter’s now shaking hand and unceremoniously pushed her into a chair on the stage. Leaning over her while pushing back the streams of blond hair falling willfully over her face he hissed at her, “What a mess you are! Pull yourself together. We are about to move in for the kill.”
Then as if realizing the irony of what he just said, grinned, “No pun intended, just stand behind me.”
“But, but, don’t you see what’s happened,” she gasped, her eyes darting here and there as if she could not fully absorb what had occurred.
“But, what?” he asked nonchalantly.
Coming back to life she looked up at him. “Not this, “she sobbed, “not this…” as she gestured to the dead reporter.
He grabbed her, pulled her to her feet spinning her around to face the audience whispering in the stunned woman’s ear in what almost sounded like a caress, “What were you expecting? Did you think we were playing? Did you think this was another one of your ridiculous talk shows? Lady, this is and has always been the plan. It was all put in motion well over eighty years ago. Of course, no one had expected it to take so long. Each succeeding generation used their own tactics, but the bottom line was always the same: dismantle the New Deal, the Liberal Society ushered in by Roosevelt and his ilk. You are either with us or against us. Your choice.”
“I’m…I am…with you…I just hadn’t expected… I wasn’t told…that’s all,” she mumbled while smoothing down her hair and clothes. That action caused her entire demeanor to brighten so that she was able to look up at him with that TV personality smile plastered on her face declaring in her most professional tone: “Commander, you’re on in five.”
He beamed down at her. “Now, that’s better. We each have our part to play. Follow my lead. Just remember, rats must be exterminated.”
She obediently did as instructed trailing after the Commander as he took center stage. She handed him the microphone. He put it to his lips like a child about to lick his favorite ice cream pop, but nothing sweet emanated from his mouth. He bellowed:
“Shut the FUCK up you sniveling little shits…take your seats!”
Immediately, the dazed reporters who unexpectedly found themselves the subjects as opposed to the objects of a huge media event [ahhh…how the worm had changed position] returned, zombie-like, to their seats. All except, of course, the dead reporter who remained where she was when shot, lying face up, slumped across three seats, cell phone frozen in her dead grip.
“Now, that’s better,” the Commander crooned at them. “Things aren’t always as they appear. I know what you’re all thinking. You believe you just saw one of my men blow away your colleague. You think we did it to intimidate you, to muzzle the press. Well nothing could be further from the truth.”
He stepped forward toward the row of chairs where the dead reporter sprawled, motioning to one of his soldiers.
“Lieutenant Jimenez. Take the phone out of Rosenfeld’s hand- mind you- remove it carefully.”
Jimenez, with a show of great caution, gingerly removed the phone from the now lifeless hand and handed it to the Commander.
“NOW, ladies and gentlemen, watch and learn that appearances can indeed be deceptive.”
He turned to the lieutenant commanding, “Jimenz pick up the chair Rosenfeld was sitting on. Turn it over to show these good people here what’s there.”
Again, Jimenez did as he was told revealing what appeared to be a plastic explosive taped under the chair. The assembled group gasped.
“You see, your so-called colleague was doing a bit of moonlighting. That chair was rigged to explode. She was an operative for domestic terrorists, a suicide bomber.” [Murmurs from the audience of: “Oh, no!” “How’s that possible?” “She seemed so nice, so normal.”]
“This is what we are facing; like it or not. It’s a coordinated effort by domestic and foreign terrorists to destabilize the country to stop President-elect Cross from taking office. Did you all believe that once President Harris was arrested all was right again in the world? Think again. She was simply a plant. The forces behind her have burrowed deep into the American political, social, economic and yes, even military fabric. That’s why I’m here. That’s why the RW&B has stepped up; to preserve the American way of life; to preserve American democracy. To ensure there is, as there has been for over two centuries, a peaceful transformation of power. So yes, we shot her. We shot a terrorist who was about to send your comfortable butts into the next world.”
He removed his marauder style military cap putting it to his chest bowing low, “So please forgive me if we had to put a bullet through her head to protect you and the Constitution.”
As he rose from his formal bow the audience began to clap, first tentatively and then it came as a roiling roar as the group leapt to its feet chanting, “Pab-lo Cross, Pa-blo Cross, Pa-blo Cross …”
The Commander, knowing when to make his exit, turned to Halter, kissed her hand and signaled to his “boys” to take their leave.
After that, all went off without a hitch. Any media dissenters were quieted. Some got with the program while those that refused quietly disappeared. No one asked questions. No one dared.
On January 20, 2021 President Pablo Cross, along with Vice-President Randall Carey, were inaugurated. As it turned out, they would be the last president and vice-president of the United States of America. Two years later President Cross called for and got a constitutional amendment and three months later the USA was no more.

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