excerpt
https://www.yahoo.com/news/entertainment/celebrity/articles/stephen-king-reveals-worst-trump-060429278.html
Yahoo! News
HuffPost
Stephen King Reveals The 'Worst' Trump Plot Twist That Truly Terrifies Him
Ed Mazza
Sun, September 7, 2025 at 11:04 PM PDT
Bestselling author Stephen King over the weekend revealed the one possible plot twist in the Donald Trump presidency that truly gives him chills.
“The worst thing that I could think of is that this guy would get a third term because he’s basically an idiot, isn’t he?” King told MSNBC’s Ali Velshi in an interview that aired Saturday. “I mean, he doesn’t read.”
by me, Kerry Burgess, 09/08/2025 04:39 AM
There he goes again.
A perfect illustration of that imbecile Donald J. Trump, clearly being manipulated, probably by outside agency
He knows you know that Donald J. Trump has always been a weak, little guy.
He has always been easy to manipulate because Donald J. Trump has always been a weak, little guy.
Susceptible to foreign influence not in the interests of the United States of America.
Not For Merit.
by me, Kerry Burgess: March 26, 2019
The typical United States American is childish and naive.
Your feeble, dim-wit mind always thinks that movies, especially action, are always about *somebody*.
Americans, in their pathetic lives, are incapable of seeing through the messenger to the message.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 62
“You were the crappiest lover I ever had, Lloyd,” she said sweetly.
He tried to lunge back at her, but Whitney and Ken DeMott held him back and drew him through the doorway. The double doors closed with a low snicking sound.
“Get dressed, Dayna,” Jenny said.
Dayna stood up, still rubbing the purpling bruise on her arm. “You people like that?” she asked. “Is that where you’re at? People like Lloyd Henreid?”
“You were the one sleeping with him, not me.” Her face showed an emotion for the first time: angry reproach. “You think it’s nice to come over here and spy on folks? You deserve everything you’re going to get. And, sister, you’re going to get a lot.”
“I was sleeping with him for a reason.” She drew on her panties. “And I was spying for a reason.”
“Why don’t you just shut up?”
Dayna turned and looked at Jenny. “What do you think they’re doing here, girl? Why do you think they’re learning to fly those jets out at Indian Springs? Those Shrike missiles, do you think they’re so Flagg can win his girl a Kewpie doll at the country fair?”
Jenny pressed her lips tightly together. “That’s none of my business.”
“Will it be none of your business if they use the jets to fly over the Rockies next spring and the missiles to wipe out everyone living there?”
“I hope they do. It’s us or you people; that’s what he says. And I believe him.”
“They believed Hitler, too. But you don’t believe him; you’re just scared gutless of him.”
“Get dressed, Dayna.”
https://www.yahoo.com/news/articles/trump-roils-chicago-democrats-apocalypse-192024757.html
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 48
And before he could say anything else, the elevator door had slid shut and Lloyd was gone.
Trashcan Man turned around. He was in a wide, sumptuous hallway. There were two doors… and the one at the end was slowly opening. It was dark in there. But Trash could see a form standing in the doorway. And eyes. Red eyes.
Heart thudding slowly in his chest, mouth dry, Trashcan Man started to walk toward that form. As he did, the air seemed to grow steadily cooler and cooler. Goosebumps rushed out on his sunbaked arms. Somewhere deep inside him, the corpse of Donald Merwin Elbert rolled over in its grave and seemed to cry out.
Then it was still again.
“The Trashcan Man,” a low and charming voice said. “How good it is to have you here. How very good.”
The words fell like dust from his mouth: “My… my life for you.”
“Yes,” the shape in the doorway said soothingly. Lips parted and white teeth showed in a grin. “But I don’t think it will come to that. Come in. Let me look at you.”
His eyes overbright, his face as slack as the face of a sleepwalker, Trashcan Man stepped inside. The door closed, std they were in dimness. A terribly hot hand closed over Trashcan Man’s icy one… and suddenly he felt at peace.
Flagg said: “There’s work for you in the desert, Trash. Great work. If you want it.”
“Anything,” Trashcan Man whispered. “Anything.”
Randall Flagg slipped an arm around his wasted shoulders. “I’m going to set you to burn,” he said.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 73
Tomorrow, Larry thought again, and slept. That night he dreamed that he and Barry Greig and the Tattered Remnants were playing at the Garden. It was their big chance—they were opening for some supergroup that was named after a city. Boston, or maybe Chicago. And all the microphone stands were at least nine feet tall again and he began to stumble from one to the other again as the audience began to clap rhythmically and call for “Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?” again.
He looked down in the first row and felt a slapping dash of cold icewater fear. Charles Manson was there, the x on his forehead healed to a white, twisted scar, clapping and chanting. And Richard Speck was there, looking up at Larry with cocky, impudent eyes, an unfiltered cigarette jittering between his lips. They were flanking the dark man. John Wayne Gacy was behind them. Flagg was leading the chant.
Tomorrow, Larry thought again, stumbling from one too-tall mike to the next under the hot dreamlights of Madison Square Garden. I’ll see you tomorrow.
But it was not the next day, or the day after that. On the evening of September 27 they camped in the town of Freemont Junction, and there was plenty to eat.
“I keep expecting it to be over,” Larry told Glen that evening. “And every day that it’s not, it gets worse.”
Glen nodded. “I feel the same way. It would be funny if he was just a mirage, wouldn’t it? Nothing but a bad dream in our collective consciousness.”
Larry looked at him with momentary surprised consideration. Then he shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t think it’s just a dream.”
Glen smiled. “Nor do I, young man. Nor do I.”
They made contact the following day.
At just past ten in the morning, they topped a rise and below them and to the west, five miles away, two cars were parked nose-to-nose, blocking the highway. It all looked exactly as Larry had thought it would.
“Accident?” Glen asked.
Ralph was shading his eyes. “I don’t think so. Not parked that way.”
“His men,” Larry said.
“Yeah, I think so,” Ralph agreed. “What do we do now, Larry?”
Larry took his bandanna out of his back pocket and wiped his face with it. Today either summer had come back or they were starting to feel the southwestern desert. The temperature was in the low eighties.
But it’s a dry heat, he thought calmly. I’m only sweating a little. Just a little. He stuffed the bandanna back into his pocket. Now that it was actually on, he felt all right. Again there was that queer feeling that it was a performance, a show to be played.
“We go down and see if God really is with us. Right, Glen?”
“You’re the boss.”
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 2
He struck a light and for just a moment as cigarette smoke raftered up she clearly saw a man and a boy fighting for control of the same face.
“Oh hell,” he said.
“The choices as I see them,” she said. “We can get married and keep the baby. We can get married and give the baby up. Or we don’t get married and I keep the baby. Or—”
“Frannie —”
“Or we don’t get married and I don’t keep the baby. Or I could get an abortion. Does that cover everything? Have I left anything out?”
“Frannie, can’t we just talk—”
“We are talking!” she flashed at him. “You had your chance and you said ‘Oh hell.’ Your exact words. I have just outlined all of the possible choices. Of course I’ve had a little more time to work up an agenda.”
“You want a cigarette?”
“No. They’re bad for the baby.”
“Frannie, goddammit!”
“Why are you shouting?” she asked softly.
“Because you seem determined to aggravate me as much as you can,” Jess said hotly. He controlled himself. “I’m sorry. I just can’t think of this as my fault.”
“You can’t?” She looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “And behold, a virgin shall conceive.”
“Do you have to be so goddam flip? You had the pill, you said. I took you at your word. Was I so wrong?”
“No. You weren’t so wrong. But that doesn’t change the fact.”
“I guess not,” he said gloomily, and pitched his cigarette out half-smoked.
“So what do we do?”
“You keep asking me, Jesse. I just outlined the choices as I see them. I thought you might have some ideas. There’s suicide, but I’m not considering it at this point. So pick the other choice you like and we’ll talk about it.”
“Let’s get married,” he said in a sudden strong voice. He had the air of a man who has decided that the best way to solve the Gordian knot problem would be to hack right down through the middle of it. Full speed ahead and get the whiners below decks.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to marry you.”
It was as if his face was held together by a number of unseen bolts and each of them had suddenly been loosened a turn and a half. Everything sagged at once. The image was so cruelly comical that she had to rub her wounded tongue against the rough top of her mouth to keep from getting the giggles again. She didn’t want to laugh at Jess.
“Why not?” he asked. “Fran—”
“I have to think of my reasons why not. I’m not going to let you draw me into a discussion of my reasons why not, because right now I don’t know.”
“You don’t love me,” he said sulkily.
“In most cases, love and marriage are mutually exclusive states. Pick another choice.”
He was silent for a long time. He fiddled with a fresh cigarette but didn’t light it. At last he said: “I can’t pick another choice, Frannie, because you don’t want to discuss this. You want to score points off me.”
That touched her a little bit. She nodded. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve had a few scored off me in the last couple of weeks. Now you, Jess, you’re Joe College all the way. If a mugger came at you with a knife, you’d want to convene a seminar on the spot.”
From 7/22/1968 ( from Wikipedia: Virginia Slims cigarettes, a tobacco product marketed as the choice of a modern woman, were introduced by the Benson & Hedges company with the slogan "You've come a long way, baby" ) To 12/8/1998 ( ) is 11096 days
11096 = 5548 + 5548
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 1/10/1981 ( Jared Kushner ) is 5548 days
https://www.imdb.com/name/nm4977122/bio/
IMDb
Biography
Owen Teague
Born December 8, 1998 Tampa, Florida, USA
Birth name Owen William Teague
Credits
The Stand (2020-2021) as Harold Lauder
From 2/24/1917 ( from Wikipedia: Zimmermann Telegram – Walter Hines Page, U.S. ambassador to the United Kingdom, met with Foreign Secretary Arthur Balfour where he was shown the original intercepted telegram, in which Germany offered to support the Mexican reoccupation of the American Southwest if the country declared war on the United States. ) To 10/30/1981 ( Ivanka Trump ) is 23624 days
23624 = 11812 + 11812
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 3/6/1998 ( ) is 11812 days
https://www.imdb.com/name/nm3747611/bio/
IMDb
Odessa Young
Biography
Born March 6, 1998 Sydney, Australia
excerpt, Credits
The Stand (2020-2021) as Frannie Goldsmith
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 50
He would be leaving Boulder soon. A month or two, no more. When he finally settled on a method of settling his scores. Then he would head out west. And when he got there he would open his mouth and spill his guts about this place. He would tell them what went on at the public meetings, and much more important, what went on at the private meetings. He was sure to be on the Free Zone Committee. He would be welcomed, and he would be well rewarded by the fellow in charge over there… not by an end to hate but by the perfect vehicle for it, a Hate Cadillac, a Fearderado, long and darkly shining. He would climb into it and it would bear him and his hate down on them. He and Flagg would kick this miserable settlement apart like an anthill. But first he would settle with Redman, who had lied to him and stolen his woman.
Yes, Harold, but why do you hate?
No; there was no satisfactory answer to that, only a kind of… of endorsement for the hate itself. Was it even a fair question? He thought not. You might as well ask a woman why she gave birth to a defective baby.
There had been a time, an hour or an instant, when he had contemplated jettisoning the hate. That had been after he had finished reading Fran’s diary and had discovered she was irrevocably committed to Stu Redman. That sudden knowledge had acted upon him the way a dash of cold water acts on a slug, causing it to contract into a tight little ball instead of a spread-out, loosely questing organism. In that hour or instant, he became aware that he could simply accept what was, and that knowledge had both exhilarated and terrified him. For that space of time he knew he could turn himself into a new person, a fresh Harold Lauder cloned from the old one by the sharp intervening knife of the superflu epidemic. He sensed, more clearly than any of the others, that that was what the Boulder Free Zone was all about. People were not the same as they had been. This small-town society was like no other in American pre-plague society. They didn’t see it because they didn’t stand outside the boundaries as he did. Men and women were living together with no apparent desire to reinstitute the ceremony of marriage. Whole groups of people were living together in small subcommunities like communes. There wasn’t much fighting. People seemed to be getting along. And strangest of all, none of them seemed to be questioning the profound theological implications of the dreams… and of the plague itself. Boulder itself was a cloned society, a tabula so rasa that it could not sense its own novel beauty.
Harold sensed it, and hated it.
Far away over the mountains was another cloned creature. A cutting from the dark malignancy, a single wild cell taken from the dying corpus of the old body politic, a lone representative of the carcinoma that had been eating the old society alive. One single cell, but it had already begun to reproduce itself and spawn other wild cells. For society it would be the old struggle, the effort of healthy tissue to reject the malignant incursion. But for each individual cell there was the old, old question, the one that went back to the Garden—did you eat the apple or leave it alone? Over there, in the West, they were already eating them a mess of apple pie and apple cobbler. The assassins of Eden were there, the dark fusiliers.
And he himself, when faced with the knowledge that he was free to accept what was, had rejected the new opportunity. To seize it would have been to murder himself. The ghost of every humiliation he had ever suffered cried out against it. His murdered dreams and ambitions came back to eldritch life and asked if he could forget them so easily. In the new Free Zone society he could only be Harold Lauder. Over there he could be a prince.
From 3/17/1979 ( Stormy Daniels ) To 7/12/1984 ( ) is 1944 days
1944 = 972 + 972
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 7/1/1968 ( ) is 972 days
https://www.imdb.com/name/nm2358540/bio/
IMDb
Natalie Martinez
Biography
Born July 12, 1984 Miami, Florida, USA
excerpt, Credits
The Stand (2020-2021) as Dayna Jurgens
https://www.presidency.ucsb.edu/documents/memorandum-the-need-for-improving-procedures-for-clearing-incoming-travelers-ports-entry
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 48
There was a sudden gigantic explosion on the east side of town, as if the fabric of existence had been torn briskly in two. A liquid pillar of fire shot up against dusk’s deepening indigo. He had to squeeze his eyes to watering, protesting slits against it.
Even in his agony, the fire pleased him… more, it delighted, fulfilled him. The fire was the best medicine, even better than the morphine he found the next day (as a trusty in prison he had worked in the infirmary as well as the library and the motorpool, and he knew about morphine and Elavil and Darvon Complex). He did not connect his present agony to the pillar of fire. He only knew that the fire was good, the fire was beautiful, the fire was something he needed and would always need. Wonderful fire!
Moments later a second oiltank exploded and even here, three miles away, he could feel the warm push of expanding air. Another tank went, and another. A slight pause, and then six of them went up in a rattling string and now it was too bright over there to look at but he looked anyway, grinning, his eyes full of yellow flames, his wounded arm forgotten, thoughts of suicide forgotten.
It took better than two hours for all of them to go up, and by then dark had fallen but it wasn’t dark, the night was yellow and orange and feverish with flames. The entire eastern arc of the horizon danced with fire. It reminded him of a Classic funnybook he had owned as a child, an adaptation of H.G. Wells’s The War of the Worlds. Now, years later, the boy who had owned that funnybook was gone, but the Trashcan Man was here, and Trash owned the wonderful, terrible secret of the Martians’ deathray.
It was time to leave the park. Already the temperature had risen ten degrees. He ought to go west, stay ahead of the fire the way he had in Powtanville, racing the expanding arc of destruction. But he was in no condition to race. And so he fell asleep on the grass, and the firelight played over the face of a tired, ill-used child.
In his dream, the dark man came in his hooded robe, his face invisible… yet the Trashcan Man thought he had seen this man before. When the loungers in the candy store and the beer parlor back in Powtanville catcalled at him, it seemed that this man had been among them, silent and thoughtful. When he had worked at the Scrubba-Dubba (soap the headlights, knock the wipers, soap the rocker panels, hey mister you want hotwax on that?), wearing the sponge glove on his right hand until the hand beneath looked like a pale dead fish, the nails as white as fresh ivory, it seemed he had seen this man’s face, fiery and grinning with lunatic joy from beneath the rippling film of water rolling down the windshield. When the sheriff had sent him away to the nuthatch in Terre Haute, he had been the grinning psych aide standing above his head in the room where they gave you the shocks, his hands on the controls (I’m gonna fry your brains out, boy, help you on your way as you change from Donald Merwin Elbert into the Trashcan Man, would you like hotwax on that?), ready to send about a thousand volts zizzing into his brain. He knew this dark man all right, his was the face you could never quite see, his the hands which dealt all spades from a dead deck, his the eyes beyond the flames, his the grin from beyond the grave of the world.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said gratefully in the dream. “My life for you!”
The dark man had lifted his arms inside his robe, turning the robe into the shape of a black kite. They stood on a high place, and below them, America lay in flames.
I will set you high in my artillery. You are the man I want.
Then he saw an army of ten thousand raggle-taggle castoff men and women driving east, driving across the desert and into the mountains, a rough beast of an army whose time had come round at last; they loaded down trucks and jeeps and Wagoneers and campers and tanks; each man and woman wore a dark stone about his or her neck, and deep in some of those stones was a red shape that might have been an Eye or might have been a Key. And riding in their van, atop a giant tanker with pillow tires, he saw himself, and knew that the truck was filled with jellied napalm… and behind him, in column, were trucks loaded with pressure bombs and Teller mines and plastic explosive; flame throwers and flares and heat-seeking missiles; grenades and machine guns and rocket launchers. The dance of death was about to begin, and already the strings of the fiddles and guitars were smoking and the stench of brimstone and cordite filled the air.
The dark man lifted his arms again and when he dropped them everything was cold and silent, the fires gone, even the ashes cold, and for just a moment he was only Donald Merwin Elbert again, small and afraid and confused. For just that moment he suspected he was just another pawn in the dark man’s huge chess game, that he had been deceived.
Then he saw the dark man’s face was no longer entirely hidden; two dark red coals burned in the sunken pits where his eyes should have been, and illuminated a nose as narrow as a blade.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Trash said gratefully in the dream. “My life for you! My soul for you!”
“I will set you to burn,” the dark man said gravely. “You must come to my city and there all will be made clear.”
“Where? Where?” He was in an agony of hope and expectation.
“West,” the dark man said, fading. “West. Beyond the mountains.”
He woke up then, and it was still night and still bright. The flames were closer. The heat was stifling. Houses were exploding. The stars were gone, shrouded in a thick pall of oilsmoke. A fine rain of soot had begun. The shuffleboard courts were dusted with black snow.
Now that he had a purpose, he found he could walk. He limped west, and from time to time he saw a few others leaving Gary, looking back over their shoulders at the conflagration. Fools, Trash thought, almost affectionately. You’ll burn. In good time, you’ll burn. They took no notice of him; to them, the Trashcan Man was only another survivor. They disappeared into the smoke and sometime after dawn Trashcan Man limped across the Illinois state line. Chicago was north of him, Joliet to the southwest, the fire lost in its own horizon-blotting smoke behind. That had been the dawn of July 2.
He had forgotten his dreams of burning Chicago to the ground—his dreams of more oiltanks and freightcars full of LP gas tucked away on railroad sidings and the tinder-dry tenements. He didn’t care a fig for the Windy City. That afternoon he broke into a Chicago Heights doctor’s office and stole a case of morphine syrettes. The morphine drove back the pain a little, but it had a more important side-effect: it made him care less about the pain he did feel.
He took a huge jar of Vaseline from a drugstore that night and packed the burned part of his arm in an inch of the jelly. He was very thirsty; it seemed he wanted to drink all of the time. Fantasies of the dark man buzzed in and out of his mind like blowflies. When he collapsed at dusk, he had already begun to think that the city the dark man was directing him to must be Cibola, Seven-in-One, the City that is Promised.
That night the dark man came to him again in his dreams, and with a sardonic giggle confirmed that this was so.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Napalm
Napalm
From Wikipedia
Napalm is an incendiary mixture of a gelling agent and a volatile petrochemical (usually gasoline or diesel fuel). The name is a portmanteau of two of the constituents of the original thickening and gelling agents: coprecipitated aluminium salts of naphthenic acid and palmitic acid. A team led by chemist Louis Fieser originally developed napalm for the US Chemical Warfare Service in 1942 in a secret laboratory at Harvard University. Of immediate first interest was its viability as an incendiary device to be used in American fire bombing campaigns during World War II; its potential to be coherently projected into a solid stream that would carry for distance (instead of the bloomy fireball of pure gasoline) resulted in widespread adoption in infantry and tank/boat mounted flamethrowers as well.
Napalm burns at temperatures ranging from 800 to 1,200 °C (1,470 to 2,190 °F). It burns longer than gasoline, is more easily dispersed, and adheres to its targets.
From 5/11/1994 ( premiere USA TV miniseries episode "The Stand"::"The Betrayal" ) To 9/6/2025 ( Saturday ) is 11441 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 2/28/1997 ( the so-called "Blue Dress" incident of Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky ) is 11441 days
From 6/11/2001 ( Timothy James McVeigh was executed by lethal injection at the United States federal penitentiary in Terre Haute Indiana ) To 9/6/2025 ( ) is 8853 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 1/28/1990 ( premiere USA TV series episode "The Simpsons"::"There's No Disgrace Like Home" ) is 8853 days
From 2/20/1949 ( from Wikipedia: Ivana Trump ) To 12/25/2008 ( ) is 21858 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 9/6/2025 ( ) is 21858 days
https://www.yahoo.com/news/articles/trump-roils-chicago-democrats-apocalypse-192024757.html
Yahoo! News
Fox News
Trump roils Chicago Democrats with 'Apocalypse Now' meme hinting at National Guard deployment
Michael Dorgan
Sat, September 6, 2025 at 12:20 PM PDT
President Donald Trump on Saturday gave possibly his strongest hint yet that he may deploy federal troops to Chicago by posting a parody meme of himself as a commander at war with Chicago. The post drew a swift rebuke from Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker and other officials who said it amounted to a threat.
In the image, Trump, known to provoke his opponents with his savvy use of social media, is styled as Robert Duvall’s character in "Apocalypse Now," a Vietnam War epic about a decorated U.S. officer who has gone rogue deep in the Cambodian jungle.
"I love the smell of deportations in the morning…" Trump wrote above the image, a play on the famous quote from the hit 1979 film.
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"Chicago is about to find out why it’s called the Department of WAR," he wrote, followed by three helicopter emoji. It came a day after he signed an executive order changing the Defense Department’s name to the Department of War.
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In the image, Trump is dressed in military fatigues resembling Duvall’s character, Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore, a flamboyant and fearless air cavalry officer who leads a helicopter air assault on a Vietnamese village.
Helicopters fly over the Chicago skyline in a fiery background, evoking Vietnam War scenes.
The text "Chipocalypse Now" is scrawled on the bottom of the image, a riff on "Apocalypse Now," with "Chi" referring to Chicago.
Trump’s goading appeared to work. Within an hour, Pritzker shot back, with Johnson also weighing in.
Illinois Gov Calls For Mass Protests Against Trump Admin: Gop 'Cannot Know A Moment Of Peace'
"The President of the United States is threatening to go to war with an American city," Pritzker wrote on X "This is not a joke. This is not normal. Donald Trump isn't a strongman, he's a scared man. Illinois won’t be intimidated by a wannabe dictator."
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Johnson conveyed similar words of warning.
"The President’s threats are beneath the honor of our nation, but the reality is that he wants to occupy our city and break our Constitution," Johnson wrote. "We must defend our democracy from this authoritarianism by protecting each other and protecting Chicago from Donald Trump."
Another outspoken Trump critic, Sen. Dick Durbin, D-Ill., also decried the post on Saturday during remarks before a parade in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood.
"This tweet this morning was disgusting to suggest that the troops are coming into Chicago or that the Department of War is going to be engaged is an embarrassment," Durban said, according to Fox 32 Chicago.
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Trump has repeatedly floated the idea of deploying the National Guard in Chicago, replicating operations in Washington, D.C., which has also seen the federal government take control of the local police.
National Guard units sent without state approval are generally restricted to defending federal property and personnel. When Guard troops were deployed to Los Angeles in June over anti-U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement protests, they were confined to federal buildings and escort duties for immigration agents. In Washington, D.C., which is under federal jurisdiction, Guard units have conducted armed patrols alongside local police.
Chicago recorded 573 homicides in 2024, marking the 13th straight year Chicago has led the nation in total murders, according to Chicago Police Department data compiled by Wirepoints.
According to the Council on Criminal Justice’s year-end 2024 update, aggravated assaults declined by 4% compared to 2023 but remained 4% higher than in 2019. The council reported that gun assaults fell 15%, though they were still 5% above 2019 levels, and that carjackings dropped 32% year-over-year, yet were 25% higher than in 2019.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Glendon
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePTpg_qJ5Gs
Apocalypse Now Helicopter Attack full scene
[from YouTube]
Red Storm Rising (1986) - Tom Clancy
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 40
USS INDEPENDENCE
Quite a change from the last time, Toland thought. The Air Force had an E-3 Sentry operating out of Sondrestrom to protect the fleet, and four of their own E-2C Hawkeyes were also up. There was even an Army-manned ground radar just coming up on Iceland. Two Aegis cruisers were with the carriers, and a third with the amphibious force.
"You think they'll hit us first, or the 'phibs?" Admiral Jacobsen asked.
"That's a coin-toss, Admiral," Toland replied. "Depends on who gives the orders. Their navy will want to kill us first. Their army will want to kill the 'phibs."
Jacobsen crossed his arms and stared at the map display. "This close, they can come in from any direction they want."
They expected no more than fifty Backfires, but there were still plenty of the older Badgers, and the fleet was only fifteen hundred miles from the Soviet bomber bases: they could come out with nearly their maximum ordnance loads. To stop the Russians, the Navy had six squadrons of Tomcats, and six more of Hornets, nearly a hundred forty fighters in all. Twenty-four were aloft now, supported by tankers while the ground attack aircraft pounded Russian positions continuously. The battleships had ended their first visit to the Keflavik area and were now in Hvalfjrdur-Whale Bay-providing fire support to the Marines north of Bogarnes. The entire operation had been planned with the likelihood of a Russian air-to-surface missile attack in mind. There would be more vampires.
The loss of northern Norway had eliminated the utility of Realtime. The submarine was still on station gathering signal intelligence, but the task of spotting the outbound Russian bomber streams passed on to British and Norwegian patrol aircraft operating out of Scotland. One of the latter spotted a three-plane Vic of Badgers heading southwest and radioed a warning. The Russian aircraft were roughly seventy minutes from the fleet.
Toland's station in CIC was immediately below the flight deck, and he listened to the roar of jet engines overhead as the fighters catapulted off. He was nervous. Toland knew that the tactical situation was very different now from that on the second day of the war, but he also remembered that he was one of the two men who'd escaped alive from a compartment just like this. A flood of information came into the room. The land-based radar, the Air Force E-3, and the Navy E-2s all linked their data to the carriers. There was enough electromagnetic energy in the sky to cook the birds in flight. The display showed the fighters proceeding to their stations. The Tomcats reached out to the northern Icelandic shore, curving into loitering circles as they awaited the Russian bombers.
"Ideas, Toland. I want ideas!" the Admiral said quietly.
"If they're after us, they'll approach from the east. If they're going for the 'Phibs, they'll come straight in. There's just no percentage in deceptive tactics if they're heading for Stykkishohnur."
Jacobsen nodded. "That's how I see it."
The pounding on the flight deck continued overhead as strike aircraft landed to rearm for new bombing strikes. Aside from the expected material effect, they hoped to wreck the morale of the Soviet paratroopers by violent and continuous air attacks. Marine Harriers were also in action, along with attack helicopters. Initial progress was somewhat better than expected. The Russians did not have their troops as widely dispersed as they'd thought, and the known concentrations were being subjected to a hurricane of bombs and rockets.
"Starbase, this is Hawk-Blue-Three. I'm getting some jamming, bearing zero-two-four . . . more jamming now." The data was linked directly to the carrier, and the thick yellow strobes came up on the electronic display. The other Hawkeyes quickly reported the same information.
The fleet air-ops officer smiled thinly as he lifted his microphone. His units were fully in place, and this gave him several options.
"Plan Delta."
Hawk-Green-One carried Independence's air-wing commander. A fighter pilot who would have much preferred riding his Tomcat for the mission, he directed two fighters from each Tomcat squadron to seek out the Russian jamming aircraft. The converted Badgers were spread on a wide front to cover the approach of the missile-armed bombers and advanced at five hundred knots, three hundred miles now from the line of radar-picket aircraft. The Tomcats homed in on them at five hundred knots as well.
Each jammer created a "strobe," an opaque wedge shape on the U.S. radar screens, so that they looked like the spokes of a wagon wheel. Since every such spoke was particular to each of the radar transmitters, the controllers were able to compare data, triangulate, and plot the position of the jammers. The Tomcats closed in quickly
- by me, Kerry Wayne Burgess, posted by me: 11:41 AM Pacific-timezone USA Monday 09/08/2025
