Feb 23, 2026

Trump says US strikes on Iran are about to kick into even higher gear: ‘The big one is coming’

Trump says US strikes on Iran are about to kick into even higher gear:

‘The big one is coming’ President Trump on Monday vowed to step up strikes on Iran — warning, “The big one is coming.” The president also told The Post that he won’t shy away from sending American ground troops into the Islamic Republic “if necessary” — though he did not believe they would be needed. Trump pledged to continue the US campaign against the Islamist regime until it was completely defanged, despite the costs.

He previously suggested it could last four weeks. So far, six US service members have been killed — all in Iranian strikes on Kuwait, and America lost three advanced, $31 million F-15E Strike Eagle fighter jets after they were accidentally shot down by the gulf country’s air defenses. Iran has also attacked all of the US’s allies in the region in retaliation for its assaults, launching drones and ballistic missiles at every nation in the Persian Gulf, as well as Iraq, Israel and even Cyprus.

More than 48 hours after the US’s “Operation Epic Fury” began with the assassination of Ayatollah Khamenei and dozens of his top goons, America is not finished with its bombardment campaign, Trump told CNN’s Jake Tapper. “We’re knocking the crap out of them,” Trump told the cable-TV anchor. “I think it’s going very well. It’s very powerful,” he said of the U assault. “We haven’t even started hitting them hard. The big wave hasn’t even happened.

The big one is coming soon.” Operation Epic Fury saw the US and Israel conduct joint strikes across Iran — a nation of 90 million people around the size of Alaska — over the weekend. The US hit more than 1,250 targets, including the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps headquarters, ballistic missile sites, navy ships and command centers, according to US Central Command. The attacks have also reduced Iran’s fleet in the Gulf of Oman from 11 to zero, CENTCOM said. Trump launched the order for the attacks while on his way to a Texas primary rally where he danced to “YMCA” and called for “hamburgers for all” at Whataburger, it was later revealed.

Trump said the attacks would intensify until his goals are completed — as he warned Iranian civilians to stay inside until the fighting concludes. “Right now we want everyone staying inside. It’s not safe out there,” he said. The president outlined four objectives for the war in Iran, including the destruction of Iran’s ballistic missile capabilities and its naval capacity. Trump also said the US would ensure Tehran will not obtain a nuclear weapon and that “the Iranian regime cannot continue to arm, fund and direct terrorist armies outside of their borders.” Secretary of State Marco Rubio said the US was committed to achieving these goals as he echoed Trump’s warning of escalating attacks. “The next phase will be even more punishing on Iran than it is right now,” Rubio told reporters on Capitol Hill. “We will do this as long as it takes to achieve those objectives, and we will achieve those objectives. The world will be a safer place when we’re done with this operation,” he added, while declining to give a timeline.

Trump estimated that the operation would last four or five weeks but stressed that it could go on longer after Iran warned that it was prepared to take part in a “long war.” Along with the missile strikes, Trump told The Post that he was still open to sending troops to Iran depending on how the situation unfolds, with the president noting that the US was “way ahead of schedule” in its goals after the weekend assault.

“I don’t have the yips with respect to boots on the ground — like every president says, ‘There will be no boots on the ground.’ I don’t say it,” Trump said after launching strikes Saturday to decapitate Iran’s military and political leadership. “I say, ‘Probably don’t need them,’ [or] ‘if they were necessary.’” Trump also boasted about the strike that killed Khamenei, noting that his administration killed him in one-go after previous alleged Iranian-linked assassination plots targeting the president. “I got him before he got me,” he told ABC News.

“They tried twice. … I got him first.” The American attacks led Iran to launch a region-wide counterattack, which led to the death of six Americans as of Monday evening. At least four service members were killed when their operations base in Kuwait was struck by Iran, with another four left seriously injured, according to CENTCOM.

The remains of another two soldiers were located after another strike in the Middle East facility, CENTCOM added, without providing further details. The identities of the fallen are being withheld for 24 hours so their families can be officially notified, the military said. Trump told Tapper that the extent of Iran’s retaliation against American allies was “the biggest surprise” of the war so far, but the president said it has only steeled his resolve to fight.

The president told The Post that he wasn’t concerned about Iran using terrorism to repay America for the weekend’s attack. “We’ll take it out. Whatever. It’s like everything else, we’ll take it out,” Trump said.

“The billionaire’s son was dying inside his own mansion while doctors remained helpless — I was just a housemaid, but I uncovered a toxic secret hidden behind the wall of his room.”

“The billionaire’s son was dying inside his own mansion while doctors remained helpless — I was just a housemaid, but I uncovered a toxic secret hidden behind the wall of his room.”

The gates of Lowell Ridge didn’t just open—they groaned, as if something ancient had been disturbed. To the outside world, the estate in Westchester, New York, was a symbol of power and wealth. To me, Brianna Flores, it was about survival—a paycheck that kept my younger brother in college and the creditors away.

I had been the head housemaid for four months. Long enough to learn the true rhythm of the house: silence.

Not peaceful silence, but the kind that presses into your ears until you stop breathing without realizing it.

The owner, Zachary Lowell, a billionaire and software founder, was rarely seen. And when he was, his eyes were always fixed on the second floor—the east wing.

Oliver Lowell, his eight-year-old son.

Or rather… the boy who was slowly fading away.

The staff whispered when they thought no one was listening: autoimmune disease, rare neurological disorder. Some said it was the end. Others claimed the best children’s hospitals in the country had already done everything they could.

But I only knew one thing: every morning, at exactly 6:10 a.m., I heard coughing from behind the silk-paneled door of Oliver’s room.

Not a child’s cough.

A deep, wet, painful sound… like lungs fighting something invisible.

That Tuesday morning, I pushed my cart inside.

The room looked like it came straight out of a design magazine. Velvet curtains drawn. Silk-lined soundproof walls. A silent climate control system.

And at the center… Oliver.

Small. Too small for his age. Pale skin, dark circles, an oxygen tube beneath his nose.

Zachary stood beside the bed, gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

Oliver gave a faint, charming smile. “Hi, Miss Bri.”

My chest tightened.

“He didn’t sleep,” Zachary muttered. “Again.”

The air in the room felt wrong. Heavy. A metallic taste scratched at my throat.

I had smelled that before.

But never in a billionaire’s mansion.

I grew up in a Bronx apartment with leaking ceilings and sick walls. You learn quickly how to recognize danger by smell.

That afternoon, while Oliver was taken to the hospital for more tests, I went back to his room.

I knew I was crossing a line.

But I couldn’t forget that smell.

Behind the custom wardrobe, hidden by silk panels, I pressed my hand against the wall.

It was damp.

Cold.

My fingers came away black…

WHAT I FOUND BEHIND THAT WALL MADE MY BLOOD RUN COLD.

For a second, I just stood there, staring at my hand.

Black dust clung to my fingers, thick and oily, like something that had been growing for a long time… unseen.

My stomach dropped.

“No way…” I whispered.

I looked back at the wall. The silk paneling hid it perfectly—too perfectly. This wasn’t just decoration. It was covering something.

Something bad.

Heart pounding, I pulled the panel aside just enough to peek behind it.

And froze.

The wall wasn’t just damp—it was alive.

Dark, spreading patches crawled across the surface like veins. Black mold. Thick. Deep. Breathing in the shadows. The kind I remembered from my childhood… the kind that made people sick.

The kind that didn’t just stay on walls.

It got into the air.

Into your lungs.

Into your blood.

Suddenly, Oliver’s cough echoed in my head.

Deep. Wet. Painful.

Not invisible at all.

My chest tightened as panic rose in my throat.

“Oh my God…”

Footsteps.

I jumped, quickly dropping the panel back into place, wiping my hands on my apron. My heart was racing so hard I thought it might give me away.

One of the security staff passed by the door, barely glancing in.

I forced myself to breathe.

Think.

If I was right… then Oliver wasn’t dying from some rare disease.

He was being poisoned.

Slowly.

Every single day.

That evening, when they brought him back from the hospital, he looked worse.

Pal er. Weaker. His small body sinking into the bed like it didn’t have the strength to hold itself up anymore.

Zachary stood beside him again, just like before—but now I saw something different.

Not just fear.

Guilt.

“Miss Bri…” Oliver whispered when he saw me. “Can you… stay a little?”

My throat tightened.

“Of course,” I said softly, walking closer.

He smiled faintly, then started coughing again—harder this time. His whole body shook with it.

And I knew.

I couldn’t stay silent.

Not this time.

Later that night, I found Zachary alone in the hallway.

“Mr. Lowell,” I said, my voice steady but low. “We need to talk.”

He looked exhausted. Hollow.

“What is it?”

I hesitated for just a second… then said it.

“It’s not a disease.”

His expression changed instantly.

“What?”

I stepped closer.

“It’s the room. The walls. There’s something behind them—something toxic. I’ve seen it before. Mold. Dangerous mold.”

He stared at me like I had just said something impossible.

“That’s not—this house is inspected every year. It’s state-of-the-art—”

“Then check it again,” I cut in, firmer now. “Because your son is breathing it in every day.”

Silence.

Heavy. Sharp.

His jaw tightened.

“Do you understand what you’re accusing?” he said quietly.

“Yes,” I replied. “I do.”

Another pause.

Then something shifted.

Because deep down…

He already knew something wasn’t right.

By midnight, specialists were back—but not doctors this time.

Environmental inspectors.

They tore into the wall behind the silk panels.

And within minutes… the truth came out.

The mold had spread far beyond what anyone imagined. Hidden behind luxury. Trapped inside sealed walls. Circulating through the very air Oliver breathed.

Toxic.

Severe.

Deadly over time.

One of the inspectors turned to Zachary, his face grim.

“If he stayed in that room much longer…” he said quietly, “he wouldn’t have made it.”

Zachary staggered back, as if the words had physically hit him.

And for the first time…

The most powerful man in the room looked completely powerless.

Oliver was moved out that night.

Within days, his breathing began to improve.

Within weeks… the coughing started to fade.

And one afternoon, as sunlight filled a new, simple hospital room—