You're going to special ops heaven, and it's goddamned great! A G-Man Valhalla! There's trim and guns everywhere! And we eat steak-flavored clouds and poop secrets!
Never had such a war been fought. Never again would it be possible. It was if the
gods had looked down on this puny creature man, with his war-like dreams of glory,
his monstrous proud machines, and said: go to it! If that's what you want, then here's
your chance to show what you can do(perhaps your last chance before you have so much
power that there can be no glory in it's use). For once let brazen knoights, pennants
raised and flying in the desert sunlight, spur thir armored steeds across the blazing
sands. Let Greek and Trojan pause in frozen battle to stare in awe and see themselves
surpassed in spectacle for song and story...
And so the gods picked man up, with all his treasured playthings-his trucks, his tanks,
his armored cars, his guns, his planes, his mountains of bombs and shells and-and set him
down in a barren land where he could do little harm to anyone or anything else and turned
him loose in the desert sun. It was an alien land to these men of bronze and steel-of brazen
spirit and iron machines-but a land well chosen to absorb their worst...
There was of course another view. The sand that covered every face, and sought to wedge
it's particles under the protective eyeglasses; the oppressive daytime heat that was everywhere
...These-and the same shells as before, blasting, maiming still...
But there is no war without the dead. And if dead is dead, no matter how, yet to survivors years later and to us looking through the reverse cap of history, they seemed somehow to die in style. And if it seemed otherwise to the dead themselves, no one has yet found a way to survey the dead for an opinion.
Rulebook, Knights of the Desert: the North African Campaign of 1941-43, Strategic Simulations, Inc