My relationship with drones oscillates between two states: hatred and extreme hatred. I consider that drone shooting should be an Olympic sport, I don’t see any need why people incapable of driving inside a single lane with their cars should be allowed to pilot small planes over our heads, and I think that, as a rule, if you need to fly a drone at night you can’t possibly be doing anything good.
What we know so far from the Biden Administration on the Defense issue is a compelling reason to be very concerned.
My hatred for these things was forged last year, when a friend asked me to help him find his damn drone, which had fallen in the middle of a dense forest, on an abandoned farm of about 300 square meters, completely covered with all the bushes in the world, to which God gave the privilege of having the sharpest spikes to protect them from predators, and idiots looking for drones.
Under a full sun, it was summer, my friend and I combed every corner of the farm, with no more help than that provided by a couple of wooden sticks to make our way. My friend considers the field to be somewhat too messy and dirty, and his approach to the brambles and gorse was only circling and superficial, however much he kept leading from afar like a hot-blooded trainer. But, at the same time, he wasn’t willing to give in either. He wanted his drone. And he pouted at me, as if he had suddenly regressed all of a sudden to the age of an infant.
So I, who have a short fuse, decided to go through each and every one of the dense clouds of brambles with my shorts and my summer shirt looking for the damn drone, with the intention of finding it at once and at any cost. But it didn’t show up. What did show up was the moon, which became night at the opposite end of the farm from the exit to the road, and I wandered for minutes that seemed like hours between scratches, expletives, and the occasional flying stick angrily aimed at where I calculated my friend’s head would be in the middle of the gloom, which unfortunately was never followed by an “ouch.”
When I got home, I saw the result: we counted about 600 cuts and scratches on legs, hands, and arms, war marks that lasted me a whole year. Last summer on the beach you could still see those white scribbles like scars on my skin. You will understand that after the experience, I see a drone and my first impulse is to stone it.
I tell you all of this because drones have been appearing on the East Coast for weeks now. Three-thousand sightings in December alone in the Garden State is enough to worry about. The Biden Administration responded by downplaying it, insinuating that people are dumb and confuse regular helicopters with drones.
Republican Congressman Jeff Van Drew does not share Biden’s extreme calm, and he made it clear on Twitter: “Iran’s militarized drone carrier vanished from port between Nov. 12 and Nov. 28, right around when the drones started appearing. It’s our responsibility to at least investigate any potential connection to what is happening in New Jersey. We need answers.
What we know so far from the Biden Administration on the Defense issue is a compelling reason to be very concerned. The current state of the world, with the Middle East going up in flames, and all of America’s enemies waiting for the moment to strike again before the dreaded Trump arrives in the White House, is another compelling reason to be wary of the mysterious nature of these phenomena.
As for the rest, and taking into account that I head the Anti-Drone League, I will not be the one to criticize the army if tomorrow they set up a hefty collection of anti-aircraft batteries in New Jersey and take out the drones without asking for permission. And, if necessary, that Iranian ship as well.
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