And why? So he can talking about how fuckin' amazing Encino Man, of all people, is. And if you have trouble wrapping your head around that shit, take a look at Encino Man's confused face. He barely knows it's Godfather talking. If he had a tail with a tiny brain in it, it would be wagging. "In Ar Rifa, this Commander taught us something about seizing the initiative. Earlier today, when his company came under attack by Fedayeen paramilitary forces, laying in ambush with RPGs, he chose to stop and bring the fight to them. Captain Patterson, greetings." Patterson, breathless, asks for Meesh: "We just knocked out the Ba'ath headquarters. We have an opportunity..." Godfather holds up a fucking finger, because he'll be damned if anybody actually acts like they're involved with reality while he's giving a bullshit speech that has nothing to do with anything except glorifying his own retarded choices.
"There's a school of thought that says we shouldn't have stopped, particularly given the proximity to a hostile city. But this kind of aggressiveness is what I mean by interrupting the enemy's own decision-making cycle." Patterson is almost doing the pee-pee dance, he's so cockblocked right now; Encino Man is grinning dimly like Sloth; Sixta is nodding like a moron at nothing. Just nothing. Just more ballast for the bullshit, like Godfather is right here in front of you inventing the Art of fucking War. "It's against all doctrine, but as the General often reminds me, doctrine is the last refuge of the unimaginative." Oh, right. Your close personal friend General Chaos. What did you find up his ass today? Was it shiny?
"The fact is I just got off the nets with Chaos, and the General is impressed with our initiative. We are on his radar screen. Gentlemen, we're coming out from beneath all this ass and getting back into the game. And he's given us a tasker." Encino Man nods stupidly, as though he's been asked a question; Sixta has an orgasm with its own retard strength; Patterson is about to actually scream. "This is the Qal'at Sukkar airfield. A British paratroop regiment is staging to hit the field at dawn. The General has advised me that they are running late, and he suggested -- if we're up for it -- that we can get to the field first. To do this, we have to cross 40 kliks. Godfather needs an airfield," he finishes up, like they're going to bring it to him as a gift. Sixta nods stupidly, because that's exactly what it is. He's such a fucking toady it makes my stomach hurt. "Sir," Patterson says, now that Godfather's finally fucking shut up; Godfather seems surprised that Patterson has anything to add. "We've good intelligence from the locals on the Ba'athist and Republican Guard units in this town. We can exploit the information..." Godfather cuts him off again, because God forbid you actually do something with strategic value when you could be sloppily fellating the General, who will never, ever, ever, ever care one way or the other. "-- No time. We're pulling out in the next hour. See to it, gentlemen."