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The cadences of a father-son argument between Captain Pain and Spartan rise and fall from another part of camp. Ghost leans his elbow against the arm of his chair, flicks his wrist, and lobs the bullet into the embers. “It’s hard to believe that just on the other side of that is Mexico,” he says. We walk along the ridge to the southern side of the mountain. From here, the border fence is a barely perceptible stitch across the land. A few minutes later, Captain Pain radios for us to head toward the road for exfiltration. Iceman and I find a dirt road and make a leisurely descent. “I guess people just aren’t really used to seeing a group out practicing their right to bear their arms, and they freak out if they do. I asked him whether they ever get any pressure from their superiors in Washington, DC, about us being around. “When you guys come through, they warn us like, ‘Heads up, those guys are out there.’ Good! “Nah, you guys aren’t scary,” Officer Hernandez says. “If you listen to the lyrics, they make a very good point,” Jaeger says. “They come along and say, ‘Pay us restitution,'” he says in a mock-stupid voice. ” “The goddamn Irish dealt with more bullshit than the niggers,” Spartan says. Doc and one of the Borderkeepers of Alabama gear up and take a position on a nearby hill. The other day, a Border Patrol agent showed up with two boxes of doughnuts.

“We got two ops that we want to plan, based off the intel that we got from the Border Patrol last night about a drug run that may be coming in,” he says.

This story forms part of the Julie Journals and for years has gone untold as many mainstream sites won't publish this subject matter.

By way of background you may want to read The Julie Journals – The Biker Gang.

“Camaro with rims.” His hands rest casually on the butt of his camouflage AR-15, which hangs over his chest from a three-point tactical sling. Birds trill and a white-blue light is filling the sky.

“You know every other Mexican has chrome rims on his car,” Destroyer says in a reasoned tone, suggesting that this particular ride might not belong to a drug cartel. Eventually, we reach the top and sit, looking over the southwest side of the mountain. “Delta is in position.” “Solid copy.” Iceman scans the valley below with his binoculars and then bundles up in his nylon woobie blanket.

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