“A two-pronged attack at Queen Charlotte Bay and the Byron Sound…that should be enough to retake the west island,” Luis Scola mumbled, standing above a table-sized map of the Falkland Islands. He pushed little figurines to an fro. “West Point would be ours in a day, the perfect base for the rest of our operation…”
“What you up to, Luis?” came David West’s voice from the doorway.
Luis turned around and crossed his arms across his chest. “Nothing,” he said.
“To me it looks like a whole lot something,” David replied. “You playing one of those geeky war games?”
Bristling, Luis answered, “The liberation of the Falkland Islands from their tyrannical British oppressors is not a game, David.” He turned around to resume work on his tactics.
“So you the commander of the Argentina military or what?” David ribbed, walking over to examine the map. “Where’d you get all the GI Joes?”
“They’re not GI Joes,” Luis snapped, pushing a cluster of them around the perimeter of the island. “GI Joe is a symbol of western oppression on my native lands. Las Malvinas son Argentinas! And no, since you asked, I do not yet have the Argentine military at my command. That comes later, when I present my plans for invasion.”
David shrugged. “Good luck with that. I’m sure they’re real eager to take over some shitty, rocky islands.”
“GET OUT! GET OUT!” Luis yelled as the military helmet which he had been wearing on his head was thrown at the wall. “Do not talk that way about the Falkland Islands!”
“Fine, sorry, sorry,” David west said testily, backing out of the room. “I’ll just leave you to it.”
Once he was alone again, Luis furrowed his brow. “But how to maintain control of the Falkland Sound…?”