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-<div class="indent">{{a|opcoboone|}}Look, I’m not proud of it, but everyone was doing it.
+<div class="indent">
+{{a|opcoboone|}}===Interview===
-We were five years into this raging war and we were bogged down by pointless, unwinnable conflicts with German regional savings banks. It was mad. Our CDO howitzers were running gangbusters, laying waste to credulous ECPs up and down the industrial heartland but the local authorities were getting wise. They were picking off our Locust Class attack funds. They had their own start-up challenger bank charlatans running behind our lines with BaFin cover. We didn’t know it but they were setting fused recession-sensitive timebombs. Just when things were turning down they would go off and throw the combat field into chaos.
+“Look, I’m not ''proud'' of it, but everyone was doing it. Tough times, man.”
-The Europeans got better. The Spanish captured a British savings bank. They deployed engagement battalions in river deltas and semi-cultivated woodland thickets. They engaged in limited ways — effective ways. They trained their troops better.
+Private Melvin P. Melvin, Jr. dragged on a cigarette and squashed it into an aluminium foil tray. He wiped his eye with his wrist.
-Our trading units took sustained margin flak. Collateral damage. We got bogged down.
+Palmer offered him another one. Melvin stooped, clutched it between his lips and dragged hard as Palmer sparked his zippo. The cheroot caught.
-The orders came down the line — always with the plausible deniability of well-diffused escalation circles, so you never know who gave the order — ''clear out easy targets''. Prepare the ground for a spring assault.
+“You have to understand: we were five years into this raging transcontinental war, and we were bogged down. Five goddamn years. We hadn’t moved fifty metres, forward or back.  Oh sure, you’ve heard about the tranche warfare — ''everyone'' knows that: miles and miles of winding, sopping slits in the Belgian forests — but you didn’t have to ''live'' it.
-They sanctioned lethal force. It didn’t sit well with me but, look: orders are orders. Still, I rode light. I made sure I was late to the contact. I let the others do the work. My buddies didn’t mind  –  they loved the action. They lapped it up. Guilt free wasting of regional Italian landbank units? What’s not to like? We felt no guilt. It was win-win. This was war.
+“Even the upper tranches were bad: cold, wet, wind-whipped, vulnerable from three sides, but the bottom tranches was hell.”
+“What was so bad?”
+“Mud. Oh, the constant mud.”
+“Mud?”
+“Dirty credit. You know — sludge. Gunge. Mucky pulp. Really low quality, sordid, filthy stuff. And we lived in that shit. I saw good men drown in that sludge, before my eyes. And, oh man, it stank to high heaven. We were deluged — subordinated — by it: it just saturated everything. It got in your hair, in under your fingernails, in your mouth. Oh! I can barely stand to think about it, even now.  Just cascades of mud. Waterfalls of the stinking stuff, running down your backs, up to your waist, gushing around, and all we had was these shitty, gutless howitzers. If they fired at all, they barely shifted ordnance out of the goddamn tranche, but so much of it was shitty credit. It kept going off: blowing up we could even get it out of the warehouses, let alone into those crumby howitzers. And even then, every other one we loaded was a dud.
+“How so?”
+“It was just gunk, man. They only sent us the cheapest crap they could find. Even the stuff we managed to deliver — much of that the Jerries caught and sent straight back.
+“Jerries?”
+“Germans. Landesbanken units. Sparkassen units. Girozentralen. The odd Handelsbanken. They weren’t that sophisticated, but they were well organised and they fought like tomcats. I mean, it wasn’t just the Jerries. The Dutch, the Belgians, the French — they were all at it, too. But the Germans were the best organised: the BvB drilled their units well, and kept the liquidity supply lines strong and well-defended.
+“But I have to think the mud was just as bad for them. Given how much we sent over with our howitzers. A lot of the time, they just took it. We laid waste to their ECP emplacements up and down the front, but they just sucked it up. We ran low on ammo, started putting anything we could find in those cannons. Cheap credits.
+“As the Europeans got better, we got more bogged down. Eventually they started getting the upper hand. We didn’t know it, but they were setting up fused, recession-sensitive mines. And timebombs. Just when things were turning down they would go off and throw the combat field into chaos. They executed lightning raids behind our lines with their own start-up challengers. Incredible: just showered us with BaFin cover.
+“They engaged in limited, effective ways. They trained their troops better. They began regularly picking off our Locust Class attack funds. The Spanish captured a British savings bank. Our trading units took sustained margin flak. Collateral damage. We got ''more'' bogged down.
+“Then we got, you know” — Melvin made air quotes — “the ‘orders’.”
+“Who gave the orders?”
+“Oh, you know, they came down the line, like they always do — always with plausible deniability; you know, well-diffused escalations, so you never know ''who'' gave the order. But make no mistake, it ''was'' an order. Go down range
+“Down range?”
+“You know, ''clear out easy targets''. Prepare the ground for a spring assault. Break their will, but clearing out the weak gazelles.”
+Melvin looked far away. He dragged hard on the cigarette. He coughed.
+“They sanctioned lethal force. It didn’t sit well with me but, look: orders are orders. Still, I rode light. I made sure I was late to the contact. I let the others do the work. My buddies didn’t mind  –  they loved the action. They lapped it up. Guilt free wasting of regional Italian landbank units? What’s not to like? We felt no guilt. It was win-win. This was war.
 But one day it got me. It was a mistake. I couldn’t have seen it coming. We were clearing out some bomb-damaged structures on the main supply line back to real money. Just knocking them flat, making them safe, putting them beyond moral hazard. The bulldozer detail was assigned to clearing out radioactive waste in the Enron badlands, do for this low priority stuff they were happy enough for us sappers and doc jockeys to go in and clear them out, physical style.