Something stopped me in my tracks yesterday when I saw a single word on Lord Ashcroft’s timeline. Just one word, unadorned and unmistakable. “Wow.”
He had reposted an account attributed to a Venezuelan security guard loyal to Nicolás Maduro, a first-person description of an encounter with American forces that was truly astonishing.
Drones overhead, systems going dark, a tiny number of attackers overwhelming hundreds of defenders, strange effects that left men incapacitated and bleeding. It read like something from a techno thriller, and yet it also explained a great deal about why the tone across Latin America appears to have shifted almost overnight.
Is it true in every detail? Who knows. Parts of it are almost certainly exaggerated, the fog of conflict always invites drama. But I would not be too quick to dismiss it entirely. When it comes to American military capability, history suggests that reality often lags far behind imagination, until suddenly it does not.
I lived in the United States for a long time. Around fifteen years ago I had a friend who was a rocket scientist working at Northrop Grumman. He was involved in a project so classified that even casual questions were politely but firmly deflected. All I could get out of him was that it involved space, energy and weapons in a form most people would not recognise. “Sonic weapons” and “space lasers,” he said on more than one occasion, half joking, half not. It blew my mind then, and it comes back to me now as I watch commentators confidently declare what America does and does not possess.
This is the context in which the Venezuela operation should be understood. In early January 2026, the United States carried out a highly coordinated mission in Caracas that resulted in the capture of Nicolás Maduro and his wife, who were transported to the US to face federal charges. The operation involved elite American units, air support and meticulous planning. It succeeded, swiftly and decisively, and it sent a message that was heard far beyond Venezuela’s borders.
What followed was a surge of extraordinary claims about exotic weapons, sonic effects and invisible forces. There is no confirmed public evidence that such systems were used in this operation. The sensible position is scepticism. But scepticism cuts both ways. The absence of confirmation is not the same as proof of impossibility, particularly when dealing with a country that spends more on defence than the next nine countries combined.
The United States defence budget now sits at close to one trillion dollars a year, accounting for roughly a third of all global military spending. China, its nearest competitor, spends less than a third of that. This level of investment buys more than tanks and aircraft. It buys research, development and capabilities that are not discussed at press conferences or paraded down avenues.
Crucially, American military dominance does not depend on science fiction. Training, intelligence, electronic warfare, precision targeting and seamless coordination across land, sea, air, space and cyberspace are more than enough to overwhelm poorly equipped forces. That alone can produce outcomes that look miraculous to those on the receiving end.
If military experts like Lord Ashcroft react with awe, it is because they understand defence. They know that the United States has spent decades building a machine designed to win quickly and decisively when unleashed. There is no need to invent myths to explain that.
There are, of course, serious debates to be had about legality, sovereignty and restraint. Power on this scale always demands scrutiny. But one should not confuse unease with disbelief. Whether or not every detail of that Venezuelan account is accurate, the broader truth is inescapable.
And for all our current political turbulence here in Britain, that truth should give us comfort. We should be thankful to America. Our own flirtation with heavy handed, statist politics under Keir Starmer’s dreadful leadership will not last forever. Governments come and go, alliances endure. The bond between Britain and the United States is deeper than any one administration on either side of the Atlantic.
Donald Trump, whatever one thinks of him, is half British by heritage and unapologetically fond of this country. The United States remains our natural ally, our cultural cousin and, in a dangerous world, our ultimate backstop. When order is threatened and tyrants overreach, it is still America that steps forward.
Thank goodness for our American cousins. The great constant in an uncertain world.
Claire Bullivant
