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At a large, wooden table sits a large sweaty man.
In front of him, spread out on the table is a large, dusty map of the world. One that still labels East and West Germany.
Spread out on the map, small green soldiers, standing proud on their plastic bases, bayonets at the ready.
Else where there are small green tanks, planes and boats, each placed with strategy and care.
The large sweaty man reaches into a box and pulls out a handful of little soldiers, these ones molded from a dark red plastic.
He places them in a lump on a country to the East of Asia, grouped all together, standing haphazardly, their bases overlapping.
He snickers.
He casts his beedy eyes over the table, the green soldiers far outnumbering the red, positioned across the States of America with small groups in allied countries.
The tanks and planes at the ready and the ships sitting in the waters mere inches from the group of red soldiers.
Again, he snickers.
I have the best army, everybody says so. He mutters to himself.
He lifts up a gold ingot from the table to his right, some loose confidential papers that were being held down by it, drift onto the floor.
With a firm grasp he lifts the ingot above his head, then slams the ingot down on top of the red soldiers, bending and breaking them, some scatter and fly off the table.
He laughs, collects himself and grins smugly.
His small hand reaches out and lifts the ingot, placing it back on the table to his right.
He then sweeps the little red soldiers off the map into a small waste bin, already filled with a hundred broken red soldiers.
Some of the green soldiers had fallen over, or shifted slightly from the attack. He readjusts them, snickers, then reaches into the box and grabs a handful of small red soldiers...