Marine Corps Air Station Yuma weathered the drug cartel attacks far better than those who aimed the cartels at them expected. Yuma did not know who could have managed it, but they smelled a rat. Yuma was far away from most things important, so they suspected someone had targeted them for destruction. The question was “why?” The first question, that is. There were many other questions, and it galvanized them to look for other ways to survive. The new President was not going to help them, so they began sounding out the Arizona State government. Arizona was already talking to Texas on matters of regional self-defense, and they roped Yuma into the discussion. Yuma’s commander was clear on the point that they were United States Marines, and were not interested in joining whatever Texas was cooking up. But if Texas was getting ready to shoot up the drug cartels, Yuma would deploy everything they could fly in support of that operation.
Every Marine on Marine Corps Air Station Yuma learned to hate their base commander as the Second Great Depression ran them into the ground. Literally. With the budget cuts slashing his ability to keep the F-35Bs in the air, he ordered his Marines on double physical training duty. He led them into hell every morning, denying them even the chance to hate him for not putting himself through it as well, including the morning of the surprise drug cartel attack. They came from the sun at daybreak, expecting to find an airbase filled with pilots, mechanics, clerks, and other Rear Echelon Marginal Fighters that would be ripe for the pickings. They found a base of angry Marines looking for someone to vent their hate on. Most could not claim marksman status, but months of physical training had at least driven the basics back into their hindbrains. The drug cartels did not enjoy the success they expected.
The Second Great Depression affected every military base across America differently. Marine Corps Air Station Yuma did not collapse into internal fighting. It did not suffer massive desertions. Yes, there were some, but Yuma’s fighting strength remained largely intact. The new President slashed their budget, though, and that cut their ability to train and deploy the expensive F-35Bs that were their primary striking power. So the base commander talked to his drill instructors about the Marine Corps unofficial motto. No. Not the one that probably just came to your mind. The “Every Marine is a Rifleman” motto. Knowing that idle hands makes for mischief, he ordered every Marine on base, starting with himself, placed on double physical training duty until the budget issues could be worked out. As you may imagine, his Marines did not love him for that. Though they did follow him onto the parade field every morning.
Marine Corps Air Station Yuma was the busiest air station in the United States Marine Corps when the Second Great Depression came upon us all. It sported excellent year-round flying conditions and thousands of acres of open terrain all round for conducting training missions or tests. The powerful F-35B Lightning fighters covered the Old Border as Marines from all over the nation passed through the command. As with most American bases of the time, most young officers spent their time training or providing aggressor forces to train others. They never expected to have to defend the base itself from ground attack. Everybody knew the Mexican military was smart enough not to start anything with America after all. They were right. Despite contemporary reports to the contrary, the Mexican military did not attack MCAS Yuma.

Mandatory Credit: Photo by Ralph Arvesen/Shutterstock (10302709b)
The Charlie Daniels Band – Charlie Daniels
The Charlie Daniels Band in concert at the HEB Center, Cedar Park, USA – 09 Jun 2019
I grew up listening to Charlie Daniels. Even before I started listening to Country Music, when I only listened to 80s pop rock, I knew who he was and knew his songs. He was one of those few artists who transcends the exact style of their music and is simply… a music star.
I will miss him. And I will never hear the song about a golden fiddle in Georgia the same way again.
Godspeed, Charlie Daniels.
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