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Pain says that when he gets back he’s going to try to get some gun shops to sponsor the border operations. “I’ll let you in on a little something nobody knows but me,” Ghost says to the few of us sitting around. It won’t be ours, but it will be leased to us.” He says the land is directly on the border, so immigrants would have to pass right through it. Ghost assigns Iceman and me to go up Witch’s Tit, the spot Dennis recommended. He is wearing a nylon skull mask and a battle helmet with built-in night vision goggles that pull down over his eyes, which he’s blackened like a raccoon’s.

Ghost says he has propane lights and gas burners back home. I wake at 3 a.m., stumble past the guys around the fire, and pour a cup of coffee.

“Three Percent United Patriots.” “So do you guys get like deployed and come for days at a time, or…? “Our CO has the final say in who comes and who doesn’t.” “It takes balls to do what you guys do out there,” Hernandez says. Captain Pain says that with the new connection to Border Patrol intel, Colorado won’t need to rely on the Arizona guys for their local knowledge. There is still the problem of equipment, though: The Arizona guys supply the kitchen and lights. “Throw up a sign that says, ‘No Trespassing,'” Destroyer says. I’m too exhausted to deal with the cold and the next op is only four hours away, so I get in the cab of my truck, lay the passenger seat back, and turn on the heat.

“Well, back in Colorado we are part of a patriot organization,” Jaeger says. A spokesman only replied that the agency “appreciates the efforts of concerned citizens as they act as our eyes and ears” but “does not endorse or support any private group or organization taking matters into their own hands.” Fifty Cal told me he’s still in touch with his Border Patrol contacts “pretty much weekly.” The agents “give us very useful information to help make our ops better,” including recommendations for times and areas to patrol. We can do whatever we want to the property.” “Catch fucking beaners,” Captain Pain says.

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“I lost a high school friend.” His voice is solemn. We called her ‘mountain titties.'” Back at the base, the cook has bacon and rice ready for us.

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.

“You know, Cali, I have to say, you’re not a bad operator,” Iceman says. “If you ever decide to make your way over to Colorado, you give me a holler.

Idris Elba isn't Stringer Bell; he's DCI John Luther.

“Keep your weapons nice and tight,” Captain Pain orders. Unlike the others, I don’t view southern Arizona as a war zone, so I didn’t put steel plates in my chest rig. He has an eye condition that makes him nearly blind at night, even with the goggles.

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