When they brought the spy into the command bunker for me to
interrogate, I was taken aback. Not that my men followed my orders, they knew
the penalty for disobedience, but by the age of the spy. I was hoping for some attractive
girl to have fun with, and expecting a nondescript young man to torture.
Instead, the enemy kneeling before me must have been eighty
years old.
Now, had I known the lengths my enemies would go to, I’d
have ordered him x-rayed for homing beacons instead of just strip-searched. But
by then, the missile was already on target.
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