He pushed himself off the desk and handed Alexander the folder of the strikes. He felt the automatic weapons were not at all useful. He had blood on his hands himself, and sometimes a strike against moral did just as much as a strike against a soldier, but he still wished they'd do it themselves. Now they could argue the technology just wasn't up to snuff.
It was bad enough he couldn't fight himself. The drones felt cheap. He gave a smile at the rant, he did that himself every day, "the brass, those who know, tend to think I don't know how the world works. That my tactics were more suited to the age I come from. Because, you know, I haven't gone with the times at all." His voiced was laced with sarcasm and it made the accent that had never left more pronounced.
"Here, feel free to take them. And I think they cleared an office a bit farther down. I can show you." Because he was still speaking to a Warrior King he'd looked up to himself, and one that was fairly attractive. He'd already dropped a hint he was older himself, and part of him hoped he'd have been heard of. It was an ego thing.