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.