The Company's hidden supply of alcohol had run dry eight days ago and now that the men's stomachs weren't filled with spirits, they had a fire in them. They were hungry for battle— or more aptly, thirsty for it. The sooner the enemy was repelled, the sooner they could go back to drinking on the taxpayer's tab. It saddened me immensely that that was what it took to coerce my men into preforming their duties, that our military was reduced to employing such lowly dregs as these, but I could only work with what I had. Regardless of their dubious motives, the men were finally motivated and had begun applying themselves to their training. Once they'd sobered up and got with the program, the results were damned promising.

Discipline was no longer just a word to the men of Kook company. They took to our ongoing wargames with such ferocity that the thuggish Kobryn irregulars were wary of assaulting our positions. I'd even taken to carrying a flask of whiskey on me to positively reinforce this upward trend, rewarding a nip as I saw fit. Never enough to slake their thirst, only enough to remind them of it. The practice of playing off their addiction sat ill with me, but it was effective and I wasn't in a position to ignore unsavory acts that got me results.

It irritated me to no end that just as soon as Kook company was beginning to show a real aptitude for soldiering the name of the game changed. Colonel Lynder (and no doubt those damned mercenaries whispering in his ear) wanted to encourage 'tactical flexibility' over dogmatic discipline. It seemed to me that the bar had been moved just as I'd been about to reach it, but I was a soldier. I had my new orders and I'd just have to make due.

We would be patrolling at the platoon level near the border of Brunswick and the formerly Independent Duchy of Esslaund, now the latest addition to the Russo-Successor-Nation's satellite states.

Having been a teacher, I had a leg up on some of my peers when it came to local geography. The city-state of Brunswick was rich in natural resources, namely minerals, fresh water and lumber; we had a single dominate plain in the state's heartland but otherwise the terrain was largely untamed forest hills and mountain lakes or marshland bogs. There were several mountain villages and logging hamlets well on their way to being proper towns in their own right, but strategically speaking they were of little importance save for the rail yards connecting them to the capital. Aside from a few switchback roads over the mountains or the tunnels through them just waiting to be collapsed at a moment's notice, there was no easy place for heavy armor to punch a beachhead into. Our lands favored the infantryman on the defensive. Brunswick's terrain was the primary reason why coalition forces were concentrating inside our borders, the harsh landscape made it an ideal place to stop the RSN's modernized, predominantly mechanized, war machine. It gave our ill-equipped militias a fighting chance and that was all we needed. Choke-point 2 was the unimaginative name of our battleground to be and our lads patrolled the grounds incessantly, familiarizing themselves with the valley from both sides.

A shallow river marked our border, heavily wooded on both sides and funneled into a marshy valley 3-kilometers wide at the narrowest point. On our side of the river, there was a dense stand of old-growth softwoods about 18-kilometers deep and then an open clearing from an old lightning fire, overlooked by a small hill and then a mining camp we'd commandeered as a forward base. The whole area fit very neatly on a long, narrow map and each company had their own lane of responsibility. In the broader scope, if we couldn't hold this choke-point then RSN forces would have a solid foothold to outflank allied forces elsewhere within our borders. The enemy would come, and when they did we would be waiting with fire in our hearts and steel readied in clenched fists.

Dusk came early in the valley, the days held more twilight than proper sunshine and something about how the wind funneled over the mountains meant thin, misty clouds were more common than not. This was a dreary place but it came alive in a heartbeat when a runner tore through our lines screaming his lungs out.

"They're coming! They're coming!"

The way the men snapped to filled me with pride. Not two weeks ago they were a bumbling lot with glassy stares but now their eyes were hawkish and alert. I had the sargents attend their squads and summoned for my Lieutenants to meet me in the town hall turned command center.

As it turned out, the runner's warning was somewhat premature. The enemy was coming but they weren't close enough to cause a fuss. Every man in the command center was trying to peer over a bookish mercenary's shoulder at the device he was operating. I was no exception and soon discovered the man was piloting some kind of remote helicopter beyond our border. The enemy was coming, en masse. A huge fleet of vehicles was disgorging whole units of men, thousands of soldiers, at the valley's mouth on their side of the border.

"Preposterous, there hasn't been a declaration of war yet!" One of my fellow captains scoffed.

"They can't simply walk into our state-" Another started.

"Why can't they?" Havoc sneered, glaring down his nose at us. "They seem to be doing exactly that. In two, maybe three days if we're lucky, they'll be upon us."

A disorderly rabble rippled throughout our number, officers grumbling orders to subordinates while latecomers tried to find out what was happening. The lights dimmed as Colonel Lynder marched in, accompanied by the other mercenary sargent, Leeroy. A projector painted aerial snapshots on a blank wall and a stunned silence filled the room like a heavy fog.

"As you can see, gentlemen." Col Lynder started. "The major enemy buildup across our border can only mean one thing. Invasion. This is what we and our allies have been training for. We will meet these foreign aggressors with our valor and our resolve. I won't poison this tea with sugar, gentlemen. These may be the final days some of us have, I urge you to make your peace with that fact. In the coming days you will see and do such barbaric things that they shall haunt you for the rest of your lives, but such savage deeds are necessary to ensure not only our lives, but our very way of life. When you fight on that battlefield think of those you love, think of those you wish to shield from the depravity you and your fellows are rising up to meet. Steel yourselves gentlemen, and we shall prevail."

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The Colonel's speech was not met with applause or cheers. I heard one my lieutenant's gulp down his courage. I saw on the faces surrounding me such expressions of grim foreboding that I was glad there were no mirrors in sight. I wasn't sure how I would react to see such dark humors alight on my own demeanor.

"We're harrying their lead elements." Leeroy stated boldly. "We're slowing them down but the tip of the spear will likely hit your front lines as soon as noon tomorrow. As we've planned, we will sustain a collapsing defense as long as is tenable, retreating back to this camp as needed. Resupply points are still being established at the river's edge, swamp rise, burnt clearing and lastly here on the camp's periphery. I say the following not to insult you or your men, but if you can't hold your ground... DON'T. Fall back. Preserve your fighting force, and if some men or squads need to stay behind to delay-"

"Are you telling us to leave them to die!" Some cried in outrage. Faces were turning, all towards me and in a panic I realized I'd spoken out of turn.

"I'm telling you to make the best choice you can in the moment. That's all any of you can do. All the better if you live long enough to stand by or regret it later."

My gaze found the Colonel and to my abject horror I saw he was nodding along with the mercenary. That he of all people would… But he hadn't. He hadn't been the one to tell us to sacrifice our men for the mission. He'd let the mercenary do it for him. He couldn't give that order in good conscious because he knew it would be obeyed. The realization sat heavy in my stomach and I had to gulp down my own courage rather than let my tongue run wild just then.

"I've got another recon party now, Boss. Should I-" The mercenary piloting the remote helicopter asked.

"Put it on-screen." Leeroy answered. "Every man here deserves to see was warfare has evolved into."

At his order, the projector shifted from snapshots to a live picture. The mercenary's helicopter was hovering at some height above the treetops and down below it, completely unawares, were four soldiers huddling together on a dry patch of ground. The image was of such clear quality I could see that those men had paused their advance to eat— I could even see that one of them was eating a chocolate bar and I was sorely reminded that I'd not had a taste of chocolate in nearly three months. I couldn't fathom just what the mercenary was trying to show us with this video and from the wondering faces around me I could tell I was not alone in my confusion.

"Primary… Strike!" Leeroy said.

A small ball fell from the helicopter towards the soldiers changing their socks and eating their chocolate. Then a flash! A cloud of smoke lingered where those men had been and as it drifted away I saw the lot of them wounded and suffering but alive.

"Put directional audio on speaker." Havoc growled, glaring at the pilot until he begrudgingly did so.

A wretched, mewling noise cut through the command center. I couldn't understand the words, I wasn't even sure if there were any words, but some primal part of my brain understood. That was the sound of men dying. They could have been my men, one of them could have been me, and now they were dying without so much as a chance to fight back. He was afraid and confused and so utterly powerless to stop what was happening to him. Those men hadn't even saw their deaths coming for them.

"Merciful God." Someone whispered.

The picture was still live and now there were more men running and crawling around beneath the mercenary's murderous helicopter. I wanted to warn them. To cry out 'No you damned fools, run away!' Yet I could not summon the words. I could do nothing but watch as the cries of the dying drew in more and more soldiers determined to save their comrades. Somehow I already knew their compassion would be their undoing.

"Secondary… Strike!" Leeory said. There was no malice in him, no hatred nor empathy. He sounded almost bored as another cluster of bombs fell on those hapless soldiers.

This time we heard the chain of explosions along with the flashes. This second bomb was larger, some type of cluster munition designed to kill whereas its predecessor was only to maim. There was no mewling in pain, no men writhing as they bled. There were only corpses were had been men just seconds ago. I surveyed the parts and pieces, trying to count how many had died. Maybe ten? Maybe more but I couldn't be certain… It was a horrific thing. Those soldiers were defenseless against the airborn terror.

Those soldiers could have been me and mine, dying without ever getting a rifle in hand to defend ourselves. One of the officers present lost his nerve and fled the room. It took far more will than I cared for to resist joining him.

"What a God awful way to go." Someone uttered. I was inclined to agree.

"They're the enemy and dead is dead." Havoc snapped. He'd been unmoved by the killing, but our sympathy for our fellow man had set him raging in an instant. "You think they won't do this to you?! You and them are enemies! They want you dead! They don't care how 'sporting' or 'honorable' or 'civilized' war is. Why does it matter to them? Why risk their lives just to take yours? If they could get around the pesky fallout, they'd nuke the lot of you because that's the most efficient way to kill."

"Havoc! Stand down." Lerroy barked, but it was too late.

The other mercenary had said his piece and god awful though it might be, sickening as it was to consider, he wasn't wrong. Some small part of me appreciated the scene I'd just witness and I was disgusted with myself for that. For a single moment I distanced myself from my empathy, willfully forgetting that those 'enemies' were my fellow man.

Ten enemies dead without considerable risk to a single one of my men? The politicians would love this! No bodies far from home turning the public against them. No wounded veterans serving as a reminder of war's human price. There was no mutual battle, only unilateral slaughter. War without loss, war without sacrifice. War you could fit on a spreadsheet of expenses and enemy dead without honor or mercy or a just cause making things problematic. That was efficient. It was clean and tidy and I was sickened that a man's life could be ended just like that. Looking down of those soldiers from a laptop, it was all too easy to forget that they were human being just as I was. I regathered my empathy—my humanity—and a wave of disgust so pungent assailed me that I thought I might vomit on the spot.

If war could be so neat and orderly, would we ever know peace again?