"What is the status of our military?"

"What is the status of our military? I wish to know more about our situation before I commit further funds to our war effort."

The General gritted his teeth.

"As I said during the meeting yesterday, we are stretched thin, Presidente. I wish not to speak ill of the dead, but Morales was a fool, allowing our men to rot away in the Reserves while he wasted his time at the golf course. I've been pushing to expand the Army, and build up our air ****, but he laughed in my face time after time. Now, our men find themselves ill-equipped to deal with an enemy that has entrenched themselves in the jungles, outnumbered and outgunned. The guerillas have the advantage of the terrain, and we are suffering heavy losses."

Serrano jumped to his feet, his anger riling up with every word, his face flushed red. Isabella could feel the fury radiating off the General, as though she was standing before a raging inferno.

"Our men are dying out there, Presidente! We need more men and equipment. We need to hit back and turn them into dust and ash before they can strike again! You must commit to this war, or the communists will overrun us and bring ruin upon the people!"

Isabella felt her own temper rising, her patience tested by the General's demands.

"Enough! I have come to discuss about the military, not be screamed at by my subordinates."

The General fell silent, though his rage was evident. He glared at her, his jaw clenched, hands balled into fists.

"I understand your concerns, General, and I shall consider them carefully. But do not think you can intimidate me. I am not some little girl you can order around."

Isabella met his glare, her eyes narrowing, her own anger simmering beneath the surface.

The two stared at each other, a tense silence hanging in the air.

Suddenly, the General let out a sigh, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. He muttered something under his breath, and retook his seat.