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What happened in that stairwell is less important than what came after: a cottage industry of self appointed referees who profit from shredding another man’s service while preaching a code they no longer live by.

Rob O’Neill’s $25 million defamation suit is more than self-defense; it is a hard line in the sand against the vet-on-vet outrage economy that treats brotherhood like clickbait.

From Phuket, I watch Thailand sit on the fault line between Washington and Beijing, absorbing every shock with the quiet discipline of a country that learned long ago that peace is something you patrol, not something you are given.

Using my VA loan through Navy Federal to buy a four unit place in Brooklyn is not just about finally getting my own NYC “Bat Cave,” it is about turning a hard earned benefit into an income producing asset that helps secure my family’s future.

From a 19-year-old aircrew new guy in Hong Kong to a retired SEAL and father watching his son build an AI startup, Navy Federal has been the one financial partner I could count on to show up, fight for me, and actually pick up the phone when it matters.

If you’ve ever worn the uniform or supported those who do, this is a smart time to let Navy Federal step into your corner with a savings offer that respects your service and helps you build what comes next.

Christians are dying in Nigeria, but so are Muslims and countless other civilians, and the bloodshed has less to do with a holy war than with a government that has let the country slip into the hands of jihadists, militias, and land-grabbers.

The arrest of a GRU-linked cyber-operative down the road was a reminder that the world’s sharpest edges have a way of slipping quietly into ordinary places.

Amidst the chaos and carnage, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer audacity of these men—pilots who crawled from the wreckage, dusted themselves off, and pressed forward as if crashing a helicopter was just another Tuesday.

The shutdown may be over, but the same entrenched division, weak leadership, and political gamesmanship that brought us to the brink are still eroding our national security from the inside out.

Parked off Venezuela like a steel cathedral, the Ford isn’t here to chase panga boats — it’s a billion-dollar warning flare meant to make someone, somewhere, think very hard about what happens next.

We poured into the cabin like a living freight train—boots, pistol muzzles and halogen beams—smashing doors, vaulting seat-belt hurdles and dragging the terrified into the search corridor while Sam, lip busted and grinning, turned chaos into business and I kept replaying that stupid puddle of sweat on the wing that could’ve made the whole perfect plan look like a slapstick funeral.