Flight 93 - the movie

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My heart is heavy and my eyes misting in a most un—paratrooper—like manner, for I have just watched A&E's presentation of the movie Flight 93, and I am filled with a whirling mixture of emotions: sadness first for the innocent lives lost: anger second for the horrible, fright—filled deaths inflicted upon blameless Americans by Islamic fanatics; but thirdly and most powerfully, a newly reinvigorated, soul—deep, cold resolve that my country must do whatever is in its power to defeat these Jihadists, to hunt them down in every rat hole corner of the world and to exterminate them without hesitation or mercy.

I'm an old warhorse now, too old to actually aim the weapon, to get one of those bastards in my sights, pull the trigger and grimly satisfied, claim the kill. But I tell you now, I am resolved to do everything in my power to enable those young warriors now in the field to accomplish what I would gladly do were it in my power. I would hope that others who view this film will share my sense of resurrected resentment and renewed resolve.

Although I have been a staunch supporter of the administration since 9/11, I, like many, have backslid a bit: my anger and sense of retribution somewhat mitigated by the misting effects of history on the events of 9/11. Like so many others, I have fallen into the habit of carping at the Republicans in Congress, forgetting that it is their majority presence that is the only thing that enables our government to relentlessly pursue these Jihadi bastards into their heartlands, the sole power that prevents cut and run, defeatist, weak—willed Democrats like Murtha, Kerry and Kennedy from disgracing our nation before the world.

Flight 93 also filled me with a sense of pride: there were Sheepdogs on that flight, the kind of Americans of whom I have written previously, who, in the face of fiery, explosive death, rose up and attacked the invading wolves with a brave ferocity that denied the predators their ultimate victim, the veritable fold of the flock, that great, symbolic White House or Capitol in Washington, DC. Yes, they were unable to save their immediate flock, but those stalwart Sheepdogs fought tooth and fang to protect the heart and soul of our national flock, icons of democracy whose destruction would have been a breathtaking victory for the terrorists and a dreadful blow to the American psyche.

Our debt to those gallant Sheepdogs will be forever unending.

Were it within my power, I would gather Murtha, Kerry, Kennedy and all of their weak—sister kin and force them to watch Flight 93 over and over until it might finally penetrate their partisan, politically besotted brains that this country is in a war for its very existence. But that is surely wishful thinking; for I am convinced that the only thing that is going to shock these liberal idiots into reality is to once again be witness to the constant replaying on their office television monitors of the horrific sight of a new terrorist strike. But this time, rather than twin crumbling towers, it will most likely be a dark, fulminating, mushroom cloud over one of America's great cities.

Of course, if that great city is our capital, then the fools won't be watching anything, will they?

Russ Vaughn   1 31 06

My heart is heavy and my eyes misting in a most un—paratrooper—like manner, for I have just watched A&E's presentation of the movie Flight 93, and I am filled with a whirling mixture of emotions: sadness first for the innocent lives lost: anger second for the horrible, fright—filled deaths inflicted upon blameless Americans by Islamic fanatics; but thirdly and most powerfully, a newly reinvigorated, soul—deep, cold resolve that my country must do whatever is in its power to defeat these Jihadists, to hunt them down in every rat hole corner of the world and to exterminate them without hesitation or mercy.

I'm an old warhorse now, too old to actually aim the weapon, to get one of those bastards in my sights, pull the trigger and grimly satisfied, claim the kill. But I tell you now, I am resolved to do everything in my power to enable those young warriors now in the field to accomplish what I would gladly do were it in my power. I would hope that others who view this film will share my sense of resurrected resentment and renewed resolve.

Although I have been a staunch supporter of the administration since 9/11, I, like many, have backslid a bit: my anger and sense of retribution somewhat mitigated by the misting effects of history on the events of 9/11. Like so many others, I have fallen into the habit of carping at the Republicans in Congress, forgetting that it is their majority presence that is the only thing that enables our government to relentlessly pursue these Jihadi bastards into their heartlands, the sole power that prevents cut and run, defeatist, weak—willed Democrats like Murtha, Kerry and Kennedy from disgracing our nation before the world.

Flight 93 also filled me with a sense of pride: there were Sheepdogs on that flight, the kind of Americans of whom I have written previously, who, in the face of fiery, explosive death, rose up and attacked the invading wolves with a brave ferocity that denied the predators their ultimate victim, the veritable fold of the flock, that great, symbolic White House or Capitol in Washington, DC. Yes, they were unable to save their immediate flock, but those stalwart Sheepdogs fought tooth and fang to protect the heart and soul of our national flock, icons of democracy whose destruction would have been a breathtaking victory for the terrorists and a dreadful blow to the American psyche.

Our debt to those gallant Sheepdogs will be forever unending.

Were it within my power, I would gather Murtha, Kerry, Kennedy and all of their weak—sister kin and force them to watch Flight 93 over and over until it might finally penetrate their partisan, politically besotted brains that this country is in a war for its very existence. But that is surely wishful thinking; for I am convinced that the only thing that is going to shock these liberal idiots into reality is to once again be witness to the constant replaying on their office television monitors of the horrific sight of a new terrorist strike. But this time, rather than twin crumbling towers, it will most likely be a dark, fulminating, mushroom cloud over one of America's great cities.

Of course, if that great city is our capital, then the fools won't be watching anything, will they?

Russ Vaughn   1 31 06