Bill O’Reilly Recommends the Universal Solvent – Money

Thursday, I finished late – the last consultation ended at a quarter of nine. My footsteps echoed in the quiet, deserted parking garage under the building. Approaching my imported sports car, just as I was about to take out the electronic key to open the door, I heard an anxious whisper from behind a nearby concrete column.
“Hey, Tom!”
I immediately recognized the voice. It belonged to my brother-in-law, Hank Palikowski. “Jesus Christ, Hank! What the hell are you doing, lurking around my parking garage? Aren’t you supposed to be up in the wilds of West Virginia with Shannon, preparing for the End Times?”
“We had to come back to DC,” he explained in a hushed voice as he and his sister-in-law stepped out of the shadows.
“To talk to you,” Shannon continued, pointing at the ceiling. “Upstairs.”
A few minutes later, the three of us were seated in the TS/Q secure room situated off the corridor behind my office.
“So, what are you two so wound up about?” I began.
“Bill O’Reilly’s proposal for a Mercenary Force,” Shannon answered with an air of impatient irritation, “you do listen to the news, don’t you?”
“You mean,” I replied, “that insane idea Bill O’Reilly spouted off on his show Monday night, the one about having the United States create an army of 25,000 mercenaries to fight terrorists around the world?”
“It’s not insane!” Shannon insisted. “O’Reilly is right – if we didn’t have a bumbling, dithering, liberal [expletive] for a president, if we fought the war on terror the way George S. Patton would fight it, by bringing the battle to the enemy and making him die for his cause instead of us, things would be a lot different!”
“The US has to confront the trajectory of terrorism,” Hank earnestly added, “or pretty soon they’re going to be here, in America, cutting our heads off!”
“The campaign on terrorism is mired in politics,” Shannon explained, “and like Bill O’Reilly says, the Mercenary Force is the best way to take politics out of it.”
“And I’m sure the French Foreign Legion seemed like a great idea to King Louis Philippe back in 1831,” I remarked. “Of course, after the Algiers Putsch of 1961 and the mutiny of the First Foreign Parachute Regiment, I’m equally sure President Charles André Joseph Marie de Gaulle had a slightly different opinion of it.”
“So,” Shannon rebutted, “by your reasoning, if the Mercenary Force is formed in 2015, part of it might possibly mutiny around the year 2145. Given the seriousness of the current terrorist threat, I believe that’s an acceptable risk.”
“Okay,” I sighed, “it makes sense you two would think having the United States Special Forces train what would amount to 25,000 private contractors to fight ISIS, Al Qaeda and the rest is a brilliant concept.”
“A corps of elite fighters,” Shannon pointed out, “well-trained and well-paid, with only one mission: destroy the terrorists menace wherever and whenever it can be found.”
“It’s inevitable,” Hank added. “I’m absolutely sure.”
“How do you know that?” I asked. “Because if you can tell me how you are absolutely sure something is going to happen, I’d like to know the name of the next one-hundred-to-one nag that’s going to win at Pimlico and what race it’s going to be running in. So come on, tell me, how do you know that it’s inevitable?”
“Uh… um… well, ah… because Bill O’Reilly said so,” Hank responded, betraying just a hint of nervous uncertainty as he glanced at Shannon for reassurance.


“That’s good enough for us,” Shannon vouched as she put her hand atop Hank’s and gave it a squeeze. “Bill O’Reilly’s always been right before.”
“You are aware, aren’t you,” I noted, “that in 1989, the United Nations prohibited the organization, creation, funding and use of mercenary armies?”
“The UN?” Shannon barked. “The UN is full of terrorists who want to destroy America!”
“It’s the New World Order government!” Hank fumed. “Why should Americans bow down to some creep named Ban Ki-moon?”
“Besides,” Shannon self-righteously huffed, “the United States never ratified that agreement. You know that, Tom. And we didn’t go in for banning land mines, either, and we still use them – a lot of them, as a matter of fact – to protect Ban Ki-moon’s home country of South Korea from invasion by hordes of godless North Korean commies.”
“Besides,” Hank asserted, “it’s obvious that even if we equip and train the Syrians fighting ISIS, there’s no way they’re going to win! With a Mercenary Force, on the other hand, freedom is going to have a chance!”
“Look,” I argued, “there’s a lot more to achieving an end to terrorism than defeating a bunch of murderous fanatics like ISIS. There are myriad intricate political, social, cultural and economic issues involved. What does this Mercenary Force do about them after the shooting stops?”
“When the shooting stops,” Hank declared, “all the terrorists will be dead. End of problem.”
“If only it were that simple,” I countered.
“It is,” Shannon confidently proclaimed. “Screw all that nation-building [expletive]! The only good terrorist is a dead terrorist!”
“And what do these mercenaries do” I inquired, “when they aren’t wiping out ISIS and its ilk? Are we going to put them up with three-star accommodations in a Fortress of Solitude and take them out and use them when the next troupe of Koran-thumping baboons causes a ruckus? And meanwhile, there’s not much an army can do about some lone nut case stealing a large, heavy vehicle in the Name of Allah and using it to crush people in the crowd at the Podunk Fourth of July parade, now is there?”
“A lone nut case,” Shannon shot back, “can’t found a rogue Sharia Law state that can pose a credible threat the United States. ISIS can, and the Mercenary Force is the only way to stop them from doing it without committing US troops. And it’s obvious that the America people have no stomach for any more US boots on the ground. But you can’t win without boots on the ground, and that’s what the Mercenary Force will provide.”
“Mercenary armies,” I cautioned, “have been problematic since ancient times. When the Carthaginians couldn’t pay their mercenaries, they mutinied and took over an entire city. In 397 BC, the Greek general Conon’s Cypriot mercenaries revolted over pay issues and torched several of his triremes. Mercenaries under the command of Arnaud de Cervole occupied castles in Burgundy in 1364 and refused to give them back until the local nobles paid a ransom of two thousand five hundred gold francs. In 1373, a mercenary army under the command of Bertrand du Guesclin went berserk and committed unspeakable crimes during a five month rampage through Picardy, Champagne, Burgundy, Auvernge and the Limousin, burning, robbing, raping, looting, pillaging and massacring everyone in sight. In 1456, unpaid Bohemian mercenaries turned on the Teutonic Knights and handed over the city of Marienburg to the Poles without a shot being fired. In 1527, mutinous mercenaries hired by Emperor Charles V to fight the League of Cognac decided that sacking Rome was a better alternative, and they massacred thousands while they were at it. Irish and German mercenaries got out of control during the Cisplatine War in South America in 1828, because they didn’t care for the discipline and wanted more pay. By the time it was over, half of downtown Rio de Janeiro had gone up in flames. Sudanese mercenaries revolted against the British in East Africa in 1897 and it took an entire British regiment nearly two years to stop them. And, strangely enough for mercenaries, the Kisangani Mutiny in 1967 saw two thousand mercenaries revolt over a political decision they didn’t like. They held off a force of thirty-three thousand regular troops, so you can see what can happen when an experienced modern elite mercenary fighting force gets out of control. And consider this: the mercenary general Giovanni Acuto became a law unto himself in fourteenth century Italy. He had more massacres to his name than Pol Pot. His troops would show up late for battles because they were too busy raping, pillaging and looting the countryside. And one time, he switched sides in the middle of a war because his opponents were offering more money. Now, ISIS, for example, they get millions of dollars a day from selling stolen oil on the black market. How do we know they won’t outbid us for the services of these highly-trained killers Bill O’Reilly wants us to hire?”
“If anybody defects just because the terrorists offer them more money,” Shannon snarled, “they’re going to die, they’re going to die slow, they’re going to die hard, and it won’t be pretty to watch!”
“Not,” I quipped, “by being slowly beheaded with a buck knife, because we’re too civilized for that, right?”
“I’m sure that’s never going to be a problem anyway,” Shannon opined, “because the US is so rich it can outbid anybody. So let the terrorists offer double the money – we’ll just match it.”
“And end up paying a million dollars a year,” I speculated, “for every mercenary?”
“Uh, now that you mention it,” Hank informed me, “that’s more or less why we’re here.”
“You mean,” I gasped, “that you think the money will be so good, you want to join the Mercenary Force? Hank, you’re going to be forty years old pretty soon, you know, and you’re the father of God… how many is it, I forget, but I’m sure your wife, my dear sister Rose, has kept an accurate count, and furthermore, why do you insist on stocking up guns, ammo and freeze dried food over in there in some abandoned coal mine in West Virginia when you could come back to Fairfax and live with your family and…”
“Not me,” Hank interrupted, pointing to Shannon. “Her.”
“Okay,” I pressed on, “in that case, the same thing goes for you, Shannon, plus the fact that you’re the mother of God… how many is it… of Hank here’s nieces and nephews, who, every time I see them, tell me how much they miss you and…”
“I’m nowhere near forty yet!” Shannon interrupted. “And I’ve spent the last two years studying martial arts!”
“Better believe it,” Hank advised. “I’ve seen her throw a three-hundred pound guy flat on his [expletive].”
“And you want me,” I sought to confirm, completely astounded, “to advise Shannon on how she can get in on the ground floor of this fantasy-league Mercenary Force Bill O’Reilly’s dreamed up?”
They nodded in unison. “Yeah.”
“Mind telling me why?” I implored.
“Because,” Shannon explained, “the money will be so good. Where else can I make a quarter of a million dollars a year, tax free?”
“Tax free?” I wondered. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Americans working in the oil industry over in the Middle East get to keep all their pay,” she reasoned, “so I figure it will have to be the same deal for mercenaries who fight there.”
“All right, whatever,” I conceded. “I’m sure the pay would be outrageous. And you won’t mind that Bill O’Reilly has stipulated that the Saudis, Kuwaitis, the UAE and Iraqis will be paying for the Mercenary Force, instead of the United States?”
“I don’t know, maybe he said that,” she acknowledged, “although I sort of doubt they’ll actually contribute anything. But frankly, I don’t give a damn where the money comes from, as long as there’s a lot of it.”
“And what’s Hank’s anticipated role here?” I queried.
“She’s going to send money back to me,” Hank answered, “so I can use it to build up the bunker and put in the air filtration system and water purification system and radiation shields and stuff like that; and buy more guns and ammo, of course.”
“And you,” I asked, turning to Shannon, “won’t have any problems taking orders from US military officers?”
“Huh?” Shannon replied with a puzzled expression. “You mean, there wouldn’t be any mercenary officers?”
“No,” I told her, “that’s not the plan. All the highly-trained, highly-payed mercenaries would be grunts, reporting to officers receiving nothing above their regular US or NATO pay, and…”
“NATO officers?” Shannon exclaimed. “You mean there’s a chance I’d have to take orders from a British guy? Or some guy from Holland? Or some… Greek?”
“Or an Italian, or a Slovak, or a Spaniard, or a Lithuanian, or a Pole, or a Bulgarian, or a Croat. You might,” I warned, “even end up taking orders from a Frenchman.”
Shannon spent about two minutes staring down at the table, then turned and looked at Hank.
“Time to go back to West Virginia and think of something else,” she flatly intoned as she rose and made for the corridor access door, followed quickly by Hank.
“Promise me,” I called after them, “it won’t be anything illegal!”