Gentlemen, I love war. I love holocaust.
I love blitzkrieg.
I love onslaught.
I love defensive.

I love besiegement.
I love breakthrough.
I love retreat.
I love mop-up.
I love withdrawal.
On the plains, In the streets, In the trenches, On the prairies, On the tundra, In the desert, On the sea, In the sky, In the mud, In the swamp.
I cherish each and every way war can be waged on this earth.

I love the thunderous roar of all artillery arrayed at the battle line firing at once, as it blows away the enemy line. My heart dances when the bodies of enemy troops are hurled into the air in pieces from a direct hit.
I love it when a tiger tank smashes an enemy tank with its 88mm cannon. It left a warm feeling in my chest when the enemy soldiers would jump screaming from the blazing tank, only to be mowed down by machine gun fire.
I love it when the infantry ranks overrun the enemy line, bayonets first. It moves me when I remember the sight of a new recruit in a state of panic, stabbing an already dead enemy soldier over and over.

I can hardly contain myself, thinking of hanging the defeatist deserters from streetlights. And it is superb when the enemy prisoners screams in time... with the shriek escaping from the Schmeisser I hold as I mow him down.
I even remember distinctly the 4.8 ton shrapnel shells from the Dora (80cm Railway Canon) pulverizing whole city blocks. Where the pitiful resistance fighters heroically stood up against us with their assorted small arms.
I love the Russkie armored divisions thrown into disorder. It is very very sad thing when the villages they should have protected to the death are overrun and the women and children are violated and killed.
I love the English and American war machines being crushed and annihilated. Their creeping about on the ground like vermin, chased by the Jabo, is the height of humiliation.

Gentlemen. I wish to see a war worthy of one in hell itself.