“Say it.” He said.
The eight-year-old looked at him and quivered ever so slightly.
“SAY IT,” he yelled, with small droplets of spittle flying in every direction.
“You sank my battleship, Dad!”
“You’re god damned right I did. I know you boys both love this game as much as me. One day, well, maybe you’ll have half a lick of sense while playing it. I swear, I drill you guys every day. Hell, we watched Western Approaches the other night and apparently you weren’t paying attention. Now go make dad his bourbon, two cubes. I have an invasion to lead.”
The vintage phonograph slowly spun the classical record chosen, and as the needle reached the point of repeated plays, the crackles and pops became more frequent. He had skipped to act 3, he always did. Nobody had time to listen to the whole thing. Time was limited, time was important. As the ‘Ride of the Valkyries,’ began to play, the man fired up his computer and carefully loaded the same scenario he had played and replayed thousands of times. This time would be different. He could feel it. Once Panzer Corps booted, he loaded his save point, U.S. West Coast. He played on General level. He always did.
As he began to play, as usual, glaring issues began to show. He didn’t have enough heavy artillery. His tanks were outnumbered. His long and slow pinch of the north and south seemed to fail miserably, as those blasted troops around Seattle took too much of a toll on his group there. He swirled the now leftover ice cubed in his highball glass. He was going to fail this mission. He always did.