The saplings are heavy with the first buds of spring at the foot of Mount Winchester. I can see them from my turreted office, as the searchlights scan the moat below for signs of intruders such as the family of the postman who I had my friends in the Justice Department declare an "enemy combatant" because my Weekly Standard was soaked when it arrived. These are dark times in America.

Tonight, the ground is rumbling with the rubber hooves of mechanized war, and it's about time. How long were we to stand by while the United Nations and all the world's people begged us for a peaceful solution to a problem that we more or less invented for political convenience? Were we really expected to let the French outmaneuver us, to be held hostage by the greed of the black leaders of Cameroon, to allow our little brother Mexico to come out of the kitchen for even a minute?

Sadly, no. It is with a heavy heart, and an even heavier prostate, that I declare World War III in session. As I learned while fighting in The Second World War, doing secret intelligence work in Korea, and working as a "freelance" photographer in Vietnam, war kills people of all colors, of all religious backgrounds, and of all tastes in music. A guy who listens to James Brown and The Stooges might get disemboweled by a land mine while a guy with a Spiro Gyra CD will traipse across the battlefield like Julie Andrews through a field of Edelweiss. But we must not question death, or life, for that matter. The United States is the greatest country ever. If to prove that point we have to defeat Iraq, which has a dangerous navy of nine boats, then we will.

My war reverie is interrupted. Roger is at the door with my Yerba Mate and Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos.

"Shall I come back later, sir?" he asks.

"No, no, Roger," I say. "All's quiet on the Western front."

"It's just that I ordinarily leave you alone when you're staring out over the water, rubbing your hands wickedly."

"This is different," I say. "This is war."

"Yes."

"Our good faith has not been returned. The Iraqi regime has used diplomacy as a ploy to gain time and advantage. It has uniformly defied Security Council resolutions demanding full disarmament."

"Indeed, sir."

"The regime has a history of reckless aggression in the Middle East. It has a deep hatred of America and our friends and it has aided, trained and harbored terrorists, including operatives of Al Qaeda. The danger is clear: Using chemical, biological or, one day, nuclear weapons obtained with the help of Iraq, the terrorists could fulfill their stated ambitions and kill thousands or hundreds of thousands of innocent people in our country or any other."

"Very logically thought-out, sir."

"Please bring me Peggy, our clone baby," I say.

"Of course, sir," says Roger.

"We are a peaceful people," I say, "Yet we are not a fragile people. And we will not be intimidated by thugs and killers."

Later, as I gaze upon the sleeping moonlight visage of my genetically-engineered daughter, I compose this country song that I hope will give our troops courage in the face of swirling clouds of nerve gas:

People in the streets saying peace on earth

Doctors not allowin' teenage moms to give birth

We face our evil enemies in foreign countries and at home

Cause we're the biggest empire since Greece or maybe Rome

So don't let all those hippies and those moms against the war

Make you forget the differences between after and before.

Never forget that we're under attack

Todd Beamer died for all our sins

And now we've got his back

Never forget the charred rubble and the screams

All the crispy critters and their half-forgotten dreams

Osama bin Laden sure as hell ain't won this war yet.

Never forget.

There were bloody corpses strewn all over Chambers Street

Our noble sons and daughters were reduced to luncheon meat

They won't let us see the images, they think we'll be afraid

But now the bill's come overdue and man, it must be paid.

The French and German pansies can't reign in the dogs of war

Our bombs are ten times bigger than they've ever been before.

Never forget that we're under attack

George Bush will die for all our sins

And we know he's got our back

Never forget that evil people are afoot

Like the ones who covered us with all that awful soot.

Osama bin Laden sure as hell ain't won this war yet.

Never forget.

Now I've been there with the soldiers

Who are just there followin' orders.

And I wished I were at Starbucks

Or, in a pinch, at Borders.

Well, get ready, mother-raper cause we're gonna attack

You're going into exile

And you're never coming back

The children that you murdered

Could rise from their mass grave yet

Never forget.

Never forget that we're under attack

Todd Beamer died for all our sins

And now we've got his back

Never forget the charred rubble and the screams

All the crispy critters and their half-forgotten dreams

If you oppose this war, you're Saddam's accidental pet.

Never forget.

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