Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio wiped the drool from his mouth with his tie as he surveyed the fifteen M113 armored personnel carriers that Governor Jan Brewer had purchased for him. Instinctively, his right hand plunged down the front of his pants, intending to scratch his balls. But, finding none, he stuck his finger up his ass instead.
Ever since a Turkish drug lord had cut off Arpaio's balls, he had had a serious case of little man disease. But now, basking in the glory of being “America's Toughest Sheriff,” Arpaio felt like a big man. Imagine, Joe Arpaio, commander of fifteen armored personnel carriers! It was almost as if he had testicles again!
The Democrats – bunch of candy-assed liberal tree-huggers – had questioned the purchase of fifteen military vehicles, especially at a time when the state budget was running millions of dollars in the red. But Governor Brewer had assured them that, in the long run, the APCs would save the state money. There are illegal immigrants making as much as $30 an hour in skilled trades like plumbing or heavy equipment operation, she told them. And they send most of that money home to their families in Mexico. All the while there are red-blooded White boys with college degrees in important fields like psychology or criminal justice who go unemployed. We've got to do something about this injustice!
Ever since SB1070 had been passed, Maricopa County had become a mecca for Neo-Nazis from all over America. They could be seen walking three abreast down the sidewalk, bright red laces in their Doc Martins, their shirts off to display their tattoos. People jumped out of their way as they strode down the sidewalk. They were an important player in Arizona politics!
“We're gonna grab up some of those $30-an-hour jobs,” they told their mothers in the letters they sent home every week asking for money.
“But you don't know how to fit pipe. You don't know how to operate heavy equipment. How can this be?” their mothers responded, though never forgetting to enclose checks to help out with the rent.
“Don't worry,” their sons assured them, “As soon as the Mexicans are driven out, the employers will have no choice but to hire us and train us. You'll see. Spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to send us to school to study psychology was a good investment after all.”
“But isn't that terrorism? Won't you get in trouble?” their mothers fretted.
“No, no. You have to be associated with al-Qaida to be considered a terrorist,” their sons explained, “For instance, al-Awlaki is on the internet encouraging Arabs to kill White people and now we are hunting him in Yemen with Predator drones ready to stick a Hellfire missile up his ass without giving him a trial or anything. He's never killed anyone with his own hand; he gets that treatment just for encouraging others to kill.
“But, in the meantime, the Adolph Hitler of the internet, Geoffrey Transom, is encouraging White people to kill Hispanics – the political parasite class as we call 'em – and he gets a free pass. The Bureau won't even put Transom on their Terrorist Watch List. It's great! It's a total double standard in our favor!”
The Numidians, a motorcycle gang/militia out of Michigan, was furious. Twelve of their members had spent thousands of dollars apiece to attend a training class at the GPS Sniper School in Arizona, where Ryan Cleckner had promised to teach them to hit man-sized targets at 1200 yards with their AR-15s. Now they were missing. The local sheriff's department was stonewalling them. Even their letters to the governor's office went unanswered.
Then there was a breakthrough in the case. All twelve gang members (“militia members” as the Numidians preferred to call them) had been found in the desert. Beheaded. Their bullet-riddled bodies lay neatly in a row, their heads on poles. The fact that no bodily fluids had leaked into the desert soil proved that they had been killed elsewhere and brought to this spot, but there was precious little else by the way of clues.
“Headless bodies in the desert! I told you so! I've been telling you all along!” shrieked Governor Brewer into the microphone, FOX News lapping up every word of her diatribe, “We've got to do something about these Mexican drug cartels. They're bringing terror and carnage to our fair state!”
A thousand miles away, the Numidians mounted up. Pistols tucked into their shoulder holsters, ammunition and Power Bars stuffed into their saddle bags, vengeance on their minds, they were on their way to Arizona. Nobody was going to pole the heads of patriots and get away with it!
The vengeance had already started in Arizona. Neo-Nazis roamed downtown Phoenix, grabbing any Hispanic person they saw, holding his head down on the curb and stomping on his skull with their big boots. Heavy equipment operators were dragged from their backhoes and bulldozers, beaten and set running. A plumber was pulled through the window of his plumbing truck and beaten to death with his own pipe wrench.
Pinal County Sheriff Paul Babeu was ecstatic. “Faking that deputy's shooting didn't work. Everybody knows that smugglers drop their loads when engaged by law enforcement. Nobody believes that they went through an entire gun battle and then sprinted three miles to the nearest dirt road with 80-pounds of marijuana on their backs. But now that we've got some actual headless bodies to show the media, all doubts will be forgotten!”
Sheriff Arpaio went into high gear, sweeping all the construction sites in the county, arresting anybody with brown skin. Tent City quickly filled to overflowing. There was no time to check which ones were illegals.
“We'll just send them all to Mexico,” the sheriff said, “The legal ones can find their own way back.”
But the Mexican government refused to accept U.S. Citizens. So a vast concentration camp was set up outside the border town of Nogales while lawyers on both sides attempted to straighten out the mess.
A few Superior Court judges and county supervisors dared to point out that Arpaio's actions were a violation of the people's civil rights. But Andrew Thomas quickly slapped corruption and racketeering charges on them and not another word about the Constitution was heard. Seeing all legal obstacles swept out of his way, Arpaio moved quickly to implement the final solution to the Mexican problem that Russell Pearce had been advocating all along.
"What part of 'illegal' don't you understand?" demanded Pierce, "It's time to implement the final solution to the Mexican problem!"
"Um... the part about accepting bribes from the Fiesta Bowl?"
"No, no. Bribery is the American way," Pierce explained, "I mean the part about earning an honest living in the construction trades."
The Numidians arrived in Phoenix. A hundred strong, they occupied all three lanes of I-17 for a quarter of a mile, the roar of their Harley Davidson engines audible for miles. But the National Socialist Movement, led by Harry Hughes and numbering in the thousands, and the U.S. Border Guard, led by J.T. Ready and also numbering in the thousands, held no fear of these new-comers.
“They're here to kill Mexicans, aren't they?” said Ready, “White people everywhere are uniting against the Mexican menace!”
“Kill the Mexicans!” echoed Hughes, “Save our jobs!”
Yet wiser heads prevailed among the Numidians. “Look, we have to treat this like a regular investigation,” said their leader.
“But we know that a Mexican drug cartel killed them! The only question is, which cartel?”
“Who cares?” demanded another Numidian, “Kill all the Mexicans! Let God sort them out!”
“No, no,” said their leader, “Standard procedure in any investigation is to start where the victims were last seen alive. We need to go out to the GPS Sniper School. Look, I've been doing some inquiries. It turns out that, in spite of William Graves' and Ryan Cleckner's big talk of being able to hit man-sized targets at 1200 yards, the Arizona State Rifle and Pistol Association has no record of either man having ever competed in a 1000-yard match with an AR-15.”
“How can that be? The GPS Sniper School is located five miles past Ben Avery Shooting Facility, which holds 1000-yard matches every month!”
“It's true. These are exact quotations:
“I have no record of a William Graves ever shooting a registered match in Arizona.” - Middleton Tompkins, Palma Rifle Director
“The name is not familiar to me and I compile most of our match results. I remember most names and all winners.” - German Salazar, High Power Rifle Director
Most of the Numidians just wanted revenge against the Mexicans. That's what they had come for. But, in the end, their leader found a dozen men to accompany him out to the abandoned old west movie studio that GPS used for their training facility.
“Look! Here's something,” said a Numidian, crawling on his hands and knees under the shooting bench, “It's a microphone. And it's hooked up to what looks like a radio transmitter.”
“I found something too,” said another Numidian, standing in the parking lot, “There's blood in the gravel. People were killed here.”
“Hmm.....” said their leader, “Let's go have a look at those targets 1200 yards away.”
“It's an antennae. And it's hooked up to that hammer set to ring the gong.”
“I think I get it. The microphone picks up the sound of the rifle shot and it sends a signal to ring the gong, so the shooter thinks he hit it. That way GPS students can go home claiming that they have learned to hit man-sized targets at 1200 yards with their AR-15s. Then they won't complain that their thousands of dollars in tuition was wasted.”
“Ha! Ha! I should have seen through Cleckner's spiel!” chimed in another Numidian, “Anybody with actual combat experience would know that the standard procedure is to zero an AR-15 for 200 yards. The maximum effective range in combat is 500 yards. It should have been obvious that Ryan Cleckner was selling snake oil when he convinced us that three days of playing soldier in the desert and a few thousand dollars changing hands was all it takes to hit man-sized targets at 1200 yards with a mouse gun.”
“Our guys must have figured out the scam. William Graves and Ryan Cleckner killed them and then dumped the bodies in the desert to pin the blame on Mexican drug cartels!”
“Makes sense. Governor Brewer has been pining for headless bodies. So she finally got what she's been wishing for!”
Sheriff Arpaio stood tall on an M113 speaking to the FOX News reporters gathered below. He looked so gallant, silhouetted against the bright blue sky. It was enough to make one's heart swoon!
“As you know, the National Socialist Movement and the U.S. Border Guard have been patrolling the desert looking for illegal immigrants for some time now. Our efforts to round up Mexicans would be impossible without them. Thankfully, Mr. Ready and Mr. Hughes have agreed to help us now in seeking the final solution to the Mexican problem.
“Mounted on these M113 armored personnel carriers that our governor has so graciously provided, my deputies, accompanied by Vinlander infantry, will attack the center of the Mexican front. The National Socialist Movement will cover our right flank and the U.S. Border Guard will cover our left flank. The GPS Sniper School instructors and fifty of their top students will man the heavy machine guns you see on the hilltop behind us. The Numidians, on their motorcycles, will sweep around the Mexicans' left flank to prevent any of them from escaping through those dry washes.
“As you can see, we have positioned our strongest units in the center, a classic formation first employed by the Roman Consul Varro in 216 B.C.”
“Wow! You're a military genius!” cooed the FOX News reporter.
“Yeah! Kill the Mexicans!” J.T. Ready chimed in.
“Kill 'em all!”
“Save our jobs!”
“Keep a sharp eye out for the children,” Arpaio whispered to the Numidian leader, “Little Mexicans grow into big Mexicans, you know. I don't want any of those little weasels slipping away through the underbrush.”
And with that the MCSO and their Nazi allies lined up to carry out the final solution to the Mexican problem. M113 engines roared to life and the crack of heavy machine guns filled the air. Mexican laborers dove into the zig-zag trenches that the landscapers had dug as .50 caliber bullets tore into their camp, shredding the bushes and toppling the trees.
Illegal immigrants, legal immigrants and U.S. Citizens of Hispanic descent pressed themselves into the dirt, seeking even the tiniest bit of cover to protect themselves from the metal rain. With a 30-foot high steel and concrete fence at their backs and no weapons but the tools of their trades to defend themselves with, it looked like a hopeless cause.
The M113 armored personnel carriers, with MCSO deputies inside and Vinlander infantry on top and running alongside with their SKSs, plowed straight into the center of the Mexican position. They were met with sporadic pistol fire and then the line broke. The Mexicans were in full retreat!
“Sieg Heil!” the Vinlanders shouted as they ran after the M113s, plunging their bayonets into the broken bodies of Mexicans who had been run over by the armored personnel carriers.
“Blood on the tracks!” squealed Arpaio, wetting himself.
The entire center of the Mexican line had collapsed. The National Socialist Movement on the right and the U.S. Border Guard on the left ran inwards, eager to share in the carnage. It appeared to be a complete rout!
The blood lust among the Nazis was so great that nobody noticed that the .50 caliber machine guns were no longer firing over their heads. Nor did they notice that the Numidians, tasked with cutting off the Mexicans' retreat, were nowhere to be found. Instead, they had circled around behind and attacked the hilltop position of the GPS Sniper School from behind.
Ryan Cleckner saw the Numidians coming and rallied the other snipers to defend the hilltop with their AR-15s. But they had their rifles zeroed for 900 yards, just over a half a mile. This in spite of the fact that the AR-15 has a maximum effective range in combat of 500 yards. But, even with a rifle capable of 900-yard shots, it takes many minutes to set up and fire on a stationary target. It is impossible to hit fast-moving motorcycles at that range.
Within seconds the Numidians had closed to within 200 yards of the GPS Sniper School. At this range an accurized AR-15 can be deadly in well-trained hands. But the GPS Sniper School, so intent on teaching their fantastic half-mile shots, had never practiced at 200 yards. None of them had the faintest idea how many minutes of angle were required to dial their scopes back to 200 yards from their 900-yard zeros.
Seconds later the Numidians over-ran the GPS position, shooting them at point-blank range with their pistols. The CAR-15 (a variant of the AR-15) is short and light enough to be effective in close quarter combat. But the SPR (the AR-15 variant that GPS uses) is much too long and heavy to be used at short range. Their weapons were just too unwieldy and the GPS Sniper School fell without inflicting a single casualty among the Numidians. Ryan Cleckner was the last to fall, firing his SPR from the hip with his shirt off like Rambo. But then it was all over for the GPS Sniper School.
At the same time the M113s ran up against stone anti-tank traps that they had not been aware of. The masons had constructed an array of stone pillars and concealed them with brush. The concrete was still green, but they were strong enough to stop the M113s. The Mexicans who, only moments before had been running for their lives, now turned and directed a barrage of pistol fire at their pursuers.
A hundred yards behind them the carpenters had constructed a line of catapults that they had learned how to build on the internet and were pelting the Nazis with rocks. And the plumbers, a hundred yards farther back, had used their steel pipe to construct homemade mortars that they had learned to sight on the internet and were now shelling the MCSO vehicles with pipe bombs.
Too late, the deputies and their Vinlander allies realized that the “collapse” of the center was a ruse. By plunging into the center of the Mexican position, they were now surrounded on three sides. Worse, the heavy machine guns behind them, now in Numidian hands, were raking the MCSO column down its long axis, pressed in on both sides as they were by their own infantry. Unable to maneuver because the National Socialist Movement on their right and the U.S. Border Guard on their left were crowding in on them, the M113 drivers could neither retreat nor advance.
The carpet installers attacked the Nazi's left flank, cutting at them with their carpet knives. The gardeners attacked the Nazi's right flank, hacking at them with their machetes. Nazis on both sides recoiled inwards from the ferocity of the Mexicans' counter-attack. Soon they had been pushed together to the point where they could no longer handle their weapons effectively. The Nazis were stepping on each other's toes and poking one another in the eye with their elbows just trying to raise their SKSs to their shoulders to fire them. When their weapons ran dry, the jostling of their comrades prevented them from loading another stripper clip.
In an hour it was all over. Pressed together from attacks on three sides, the Nazi corpses lay piled on top of each other. Plumes of black smoke rose from fourteen burned-out fighting vehicles. Only one M113 escaped and its crew would later be hung for cowardice as they had driven over their own infantry in a desperate attempt to break out of the Mexican pincer. The Battle of Nogales was a total loss for the Nazi forces. It would be another seventy years before the Nazis would again rise to threaten America with fascism.