SOFREP Cartoon: NATO – Cold War Relic, or Critical Shield?
In Washington, the NATO argument is no longer about deterrence or doctrine, it is about the bar tab, and the guy holding the bottle is starting to ask why he is the only one paying.
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In Washington, the NATO argument is no longer about deterrence or doctrine, it is about the bar tab, and the guy holding the bottle is starting to ask why he is the only one paying.
Even as the Army steps away from formal MRT requirements, the resilience skills it taught are still mission-useful and should be shared through strong mentorship to help soldiers stay alive and pass their PT tests.
SOUTHCOM’s Pirate Upgrade. The mission is sus, but the fit is fire!
Japan’s commitments to Taiwan may stay deliberately foggy, but every new missile battery on the Ryukyus and every long-range purchase order in Tokyo forces Beijing to price Japan into the opening moves, because the “Taiwan problem” stops looking like a solo raid and starts reading like an alliance-triggered brawl.
Europe keeps checking the diplomatic weather report while the artillery writes its own deadly forecast on the map.
A warm room, a cold blade, and a pair of elites too wrapped in their own comfort to notice the danger already polishing their silver.
Happy Thanksgiving from SOFREP!
America didn’t order a platter of bleached-clean bones, but that’s exactly what Congress keeps serving every time it pretends the Epstein files are finally on the table.
A crooked carnival where narco boats explode for pocket change and everyone smiles through the smoke is the kind of sick joke the war on drugs tells without ever bothering to set up a proper punchline.
A cartel kingpin is dancing through a blizzard of cash and skulls, blissfully ignoring the Trump-branded sword overhead that says his winning streak has already expired.
Today we give credit where it’s earned — to every veteran who stood the line, bore the burden, and kept our nation free; thank you for your service. Job well done.
While Nigerian churches collapse into ash, the powerful grope through the smoke with canes of denial, pretending to ignore the growing stench of genocide.