She thoroughly arranged her tin soldiers: on marched the commander with his medals; an anonymous private followed, featuring a worn-out helmet.
She took her rifle and set her aim, rested the cannon on the narrow opening and waited patiently for the enemy soldiers to show. Then she kissed three times her rosary and focused. A single shot, accurate and mortal, ensued.
Far off, she heard yells and the dull sound of an approaching tank. A few seconds later, a deafening blast interrupted her concentration. When a bombshell hit the shaking ground, it opened a huge crater. Her miniature militiamen scattered around. She smiled bitterly, for she knew she’d also fall.