This would be the final battle. The losses were mounting, and he had launched half a dozen assaults against the enemy, each fruitless. The enemy mocked him, but he would not be put down like some mongrel dog. He studied the field, smoke-blue eyes alighting on the faces of the enemy soldiers.

Each one came to war in his own way: some jubilant, eyes bright with the fervor of war; others came to it with zen-like poise, faces unmoved, content to see what card fate would deal them. Still others were reduced to bestial aggression, more animal than man. Their tactics were unorthodox, more horde than organized fighting force — they relied on their numbers and tight bunching to protect them. They rarely attacked, save to tumble down like an iron tsunami, crushing all in their path - their own numbers not excluded.

This war would be won with patience: he had learned the game well, having fought the enemy in many other theaters. First, he must study their defenses. He paced, restless, but ever watchful, seeking what he knew he would find: that one overeager unit, just brave and stupid enough to separate itself from the group. That unit would be the lynch-pin, and he would pluck it out like an offending hair. Then, they would fall. That first unit was the key to winning the war.

He circled the field, a wolf prowling around its prey, always seeking new angles and vectors of attack. Then he saw it: one of the bestial ones, head held high, flanks unprotected and just out of reach of its comrades. If he struck fast, he could neutralize that unit, and then there would be a vulnerable gap in their defensive wall.

He returned to his command post, and carefully rechecked his trajectories. He mustn’t be too hasty: this operation required surgical precision, or all was lost. The enemy was still. Perhaps they were sleeping, or maybe his previous failures had lured them into lax patrol. It would be their undoing.

He inserted the little token that would unlock the safeguards on his weapon systems, and guided his assault craft by remote towards the target unit. The placement must be perfect, he knew, but he trained for this: he was ready.

Once the craft was in place, he pressed the large red button on his control module. The crane descended, a spider on its cord, and wrapped its claws around the small bear’s head. A moment later, it fell into a chute, and into his daughter’s hands.

“Come on, honey,” he said. “You’ve got your toy. The movie’s about to start.” As they walked away, he glanced back. With the vital unit excised, the enemy line collapsed.

They would regroup. They always did. But today, he was victorious.