lligence. Here is the mother-fucker' s photo!" the major tossed a photo
oable showing a lanky Asian, probably about 46-year-old.
"How did we get this photo?" Dwight raised his brows.
"You don' t believe it," the Major snorted in open disgust," we traihat
piece of shit at West Point! The brass calls it "cross-cultural
de-escalation". Cross-culture fuck my arse! That' s what we get for our
generous de-escalation."
"So, what ...?" Dwight shot a questioning look to his superior.
"Hank is in Iraq and won' t be back for at least 10 months," the Major' s lips
curled in a small devilish grin. "So - given the circumstances -- we will
send a man who handle a bunch of North-Korean fags, because ..."
"What?!" Dwight' s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
" ... because he is a fag himself." The Major finished now with an undisguised
sneer.
"B-but, but ... Sir ... I don' t know Korea at all," Dwight sputtered.
"Bullshit Sarge, we will put an advisor at your side, " the Major walked
around his desk and hugged almost cheerfully the obviously devastated
soldier. Both knew each other very well. Dwight had saved O' Rourke 4 years
ago, when a gang dealing teenagers had almost mao overpower
the former Captain and seize the drugs fiscated at the base. The young
Corporal had made a perfect career always supported by a grateful Captain
O' Rourke who had been promoted Major sihen.
"Dwight, I need you for that job. We ot risk sending in a ... hm ...
straight squad. You know uys. All fine soldiers and tough fighters, but
if they see a chid smell t they get trolled by their dicks. We
know that the North-Koreans have specialized agents who are traio
seduce Westerners and who are only waiting for a squad of horny marines.
You decide who will be on your team, take your time, I' ll back you up and
I' ll get you