“We have ten battalions – a hundred thousand troops – in place, sir, just waiting for our orders.”
“Good. Very well, this is what I want them to do.”
The president moved to the table and picked up one of the models. Setting it down, deliberately onto the large map, he stated:
“I want you to send one of your battalions here.”
Considering for a moment, the president rested his ageing hand onto his chin.
“And another here.”
On a roll now, he continued:
The deferential general pulled on the lapels of his flawless uniform and raised his thick-set eyebrows but said nothing until he surmised that the president had finished.
“Thank you, sir, we will position our units exactly as you instruct.”
A smile spread onto the president’s steely face.
“This will fuck those fucking Ukrainian bastards.”
“Yes, Mr Putin, sir.”