Alas, the logistics simply renders such an egalitarian gesture into:

the near-certainty of focussed, relentless mayhem within miles of wherever that unit ever went. Sometimes - logic trumps idealism. (Not nearly as often as claimed, though - I am unanimous in that.)

Where he, his unit, our troops belong - is fucking Outta There, and helping patch up a few of the internecine victims (with the wrong local-God) sent out for repair. About the only sane role I can envision next, given events through today.






Then what we do is - send them all free copies of Vista; thus assuring lock-in to an albatross ... before they discover FOSS. Keep 'em dumbed down while we find the inevitable ways of siphoning off that oil, from a distance. $ R'US.