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My friends, it has often been said that I like war. Friends, I like war. No, friends, I love war!
I love holocausts. I love blitzkriegs. I love defensive lines. I love sieges, charges, I love mop-up operations, and retreats.
Wars across prairies, in streets, in trenches, in grasslands, in frozen tundras, through deserts, on the sea, in the air, I love every act of war that can occur upon this earth.
I love blasting the enemy to smithereens with artillery salvos that thunder across the lines of battle.
My heart leaps with joy whenever a soldier is tossed high into the air and cut to pieces by well placed sniper rounds.
And there is nothing like a tank operator using a Tiger 88 to destroy enemy tanks. And the feeling that comes when a soldier runs screaming from his blazing tank only to be mowed down by heavy machine gun fire, is such an exquisite feeling.
Like when ranks of infantry brandish their bayonets rushing into the enemy line. It moves me deep within my heart to watch a fresh recruit stabbing over and over into the bloated chest of a long-dead enemy.
The sight of deserters being strung up from a street lamp is an irresistible pleasure. And there is nothing more arousing, than the sounds made by prisoners of war dropping like flies, screaming in agony as they're mowed down by ear piercing schmeissers!
When a band of pitiful resistance fighters makes their final stands with nothing but small arms, only to have their city smashed to atoms block by block by 4.8 ton bombshells, I'm in ecstasy.
I love it when my forces are ravaged by a Russian armored division. It's so sad to see towns and villages that were supposed to be defended at all costs, being laid to waste, their women and children being raped, and killed.
I love to be squashed under the heel of the British and American war machines. The humiliation, as my men crawl around like vermin, ducking the Jabo flying overhead.