* I look at my ally* (Me) get your people to our camp tell the guard I set you. *sometime later the trenches have been dug and the tribals evacuated. I stand at the top of mine. The propaganda has been turned off in favor of music. It's old the red army choir, and I grin. The propaganda sergeant always did like those guys. Looking down at a photograph I whisper a prayer for my men* (LT) Major the enemy is advancing. *I look up at him putting the picture in my pocket* (Me) just as planned tell the armored vehicles to wait till my signal, we don't want them to break cover early. *the enemy tribals advance slowly at first, until mortar rounds start landing among them, they charge fanatically only to be mowed down by heavy machine guns and rifle fire. The horde seems endless but when their rear troops charge as well I set aside my rifle and fire a flare straight up. Signaling my tanks and APCs to charge their sides and rear crushing them like a hammer against an anvil. Some break and run others stand and fight. Those that stay die and when the battle is over the stench of death and suffer overwhelms the senses. An enemy chief has been captured and I have him brought before me.* (me) did you ever think you could win? You don't even have rifles let alone anything to take on a tank. You had to have know we would protect our ally, were you trying to draw us out to raid our camp later. If so you'll find I've only taken a fraction of my men.