Warriors Read Online Free PDF

was, f’crissakes.
    So what he said to the Russian was “Prime Minister, just give me a little wiggle room here. Just enough to get through the All-Asia Conference next month. After that, I can show a lot more flexibility. Trust me.”
    And for that, a few offhand comments taken completely out of context, he was paying a steep price. Using up a lot of political capital to hold his fragile coalition together. Had the Senate whip and the Speaker of the House breathing down his neck, wanting him to issue a clarifying statement.
    Hell, he had Tom Friedman and the New York Times questioning his fitness for office. The Washington Post ! The Post ran a goddamn editorial in the most recent Sunday edition headlined “Is He Losing It?” Well, so be it. Politics at this level was a game for those who could take the heat, stay in the kitchen, and keep their heads in the fucking oven.
    And now this!
    At 0441 hours GMT, a North Korean fast-attack warship had deliberately rammed and disabled a small and lightly armed U.S. Navy surveillance vessel now taking on water in the disputed international region of the East China Sea. It was a moonless night, there was fog, but there was no conceivable excuse for the USN captain’s behavior.
    In a state of relatively minor duress, he had folded his cards and surrendered his vessel to the North Koreans, for God’s sake. Was the U.S. skipper insane?
    The U.S. boat was CIA, of course, but the captain of the North Korean vessel didn’t know that. All he knew was that his claim of territorial incursion and his demand to board (backed up by overwhelming firepower) had been granted by the U.S. skipper.
    Now, the president of the United States and his team watched as four young able-bodied American seamen, bound and blindfolded, were kneeling side by side with their backs against a steel bulkhead on the foredeck of their vessel.
    The American skipper and his crew were being held at gunpoint up on the bridge. God knew what was going up there, McCloskey thought, feeling a sense of impotent rage come close to overwhelming him.
    An oddly tall and lean Korean officer was screaming at the four captives, bending down, getting right up into their faces.
    “What’s that bastard saying?” McCloskey said to the State Department translator.
    He told him.
    “Son of a bitch,” the president muttered.
    “He’s got a gun!” someone at the table said.
    The NK navy officer stepped in front of one of the Americans and stuck a large black automatic pistol up under his chin. The officer was red-faced and screaming at the sailor now, venting all his pent-up hatred and anger on the helpless sailor.
    Everyone in the room saw the blindfolded youth working his mouth and knew instantly what would happen next.
    “Don’t do it, boy!” General Charles Moore, chairman of the Joint Chiefs said to the screen. “Don’t give that bastard any excuse, son! None, no way, never.”
    “Oh, Christ,” McCloskey said, “no, no, no.”
    The sailor spat, catching the hysterical officer square in the face.
    The Korean officer recoiled in anger, using the sleeve of his uniform to wipe away the saliva.
    He suddenly raised his arm and drove the pistol into the sailor’s face, smashing his nose into a red pulp.
    “Sonofabitch!” the president said, leaning forward, his face twisted in anger.
    Further enraged by the sight of blood, the North Korean officer put the barrel of his automatic between the young American’s eyes . . . and pulled the trigger.
    The dead sailor slumped forward, facedown on the cold wet deck.
    “Tell me I’m not seeing this,” the president said, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen.
    “He’s going to execute all four,” General Moore said in a steady voice that sounded oddly detached.
    And, as they all watched in abject horror, that is exactly what he did. Head shots, at close range.
    A pin could drop.
    “Turn that damn thing off,” the president said.
    “Off, Mr. President?”
    “Isn’t