JAG Hangs an Admiral

Daily Report USA

On March 15, the U.S. Navy Judge Advocate General’s Corps hanged to death Coast Guard officer Rear Admiral Michael Platt, whom a military commission convicted of treason for betraying his constitutional oath and aiding and abetting the criminal Biden regime.

Immediately after the verdict, a shaken and furious Platt told MPs that Vice Admiral Crandall was a coward for sitting out the tribunal and letting a lesser officer adjudicate his fate. His foaming enmity and limitless rancor continued even after he unwillingly returned to his cell and was forcefully given a mild sedative to calm his agita. But that only fueled his rage. He told a guard that if he couldn’t wear his uniform, he’d wear no clothes at all, and began disrobing, shedding his orange jumpsuit and prison shoes until he stood stark naked and raving mad in his cell, the embodiment of insanity. He then said that if he couldn’t eat in the officers’ mess, he’d starve himself.

“Suit yourself. You’ll hang before you starve,” a guard told him.

Platt’s commitment to starvation lasted three days, after which he accused his jailors of depriving him of proper nourishment, complaining about how other detainees on death row received suitable rations while he groveled for rice and beans and buttered toast.

A GITMO source told Real Raw News that staff had reduced the caloric content of Platt’s meals, for still he acted like an addlepated idiot and spent each day fully nude and pacing about his cell like a fenced-in rooster and invoking Adm. Crandall’s name as if to summon him. When told that Adm. Crandall was too preoccupied to entertain detainees and, moreover, would not attend the execution, Platt’s madness, genuine or theatric, intensified.

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“There is no God, there is no God,” Platt chanted. “I went to church, did everything right. Why is this happening to me?”

He started running in place, then spurred forward and propelled himself headfirst into the cement wall of his cell, shouting, “You can’t hang me if I’m already dead.” A gash on his forehead leaked blood, but the wound seemed to invigorate him, and twice more his head met immovable concrete. Injured but alive, Platt was taken to the base hospital, stitched up, and given three days to recover before MPs showed up to drive him to the gallows.

He died that morning with a rope around his neck and a sack over his head, never having seen Vice Admiral Darse E. Crandall.

The young captain who prosecuted Platt’s case had overseen the execution, worsening Platt’s spiraling, frenetic lunacy. In the instant before he died, all his self-created sufferings, depression, mental trauma, and oppression escaped his lips in a final, anguished roar.

“You tell Admiral Crandall I’ll be waiting for him in the afterlife. All of you. Look what you motherfuc**** have done to me,” he had said.