“This is no way to talk to a superior,” Mokri said. “You insolent son of a whore, you were designed to be a soldier, a follower. Leave the bridge and await my orders, or—” “Or what, you will run to Spitkovsky like a child? You will tell him we are misbehaving? No, you will tell him we did not destroy the Huntress because you refused to listen to me.” Heat flushed through Mokri hotter than the sun over Tehran. “You are nothing but an animal, an attack dog bred for a single purpose. You only know how to kill. You do not know how to win a war. When they made you this thing, did they lobotomize
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