The Futility Of War

It is quiet this morning nothing moves and there is no sound in the early morning sun, a sun whose rays are dispersed by a light early morning mist that is gently rolling over the fields along the valley floor.
I sit and look down the valley. My vantage high on this grassy bank at the head of the valley is above the mist and I watch as the heat of the sun slowly burns it off to reveal the valley floor.
The sight that now greets my eyes is one of total devastation. The valley floor is a sea of churned and charred earth criss-crossed by a network of destroyed hedges and uprooted trees. The farmhouse at the end of its winding lane is a smoking ruin. The once flat paddocks around the farm are now a crater filled wasteland dotted with bodies of both livestock and human, together with the destroyed remnants of the once pristine camp
It is as if time has stopped there is no sign of life other than myself, no sign that there could ever have been life here. There will be soon of course as the mist rises the crows will descend to join the other carrion eaters that will soon arrive to feast on the remains of the brave soldiers. Soldiers who lie in mangled heaps at various points along the valley, a single body here and there and a large concentration around the remains of the farmhouse where the fighting had been the fiercest and the most brutal.

Could it only have been yesterday when the battalion arrived, a cheerful bunch of young men chatting in the back of open trucks as they drive down the winding lane towards the rambling farm sheltering below the valley wall.
Setting up camp around the farm, the officers of course getting the bedrooms in the commandeered farmhouse whilst the rest had to make do with the barns or put up tents in the nearby fields.
The valley had been alive then, a green land inhabited by cows and sheep lazily wandering their paddocks enjoying the sun. Swallows and nightingales swooping around the sky chasing insects and filling the air with their joyous song. The hedgerows full of the buzzing of insects as they fly from bloom to bloom.

I come back to the present. The first of the crows are arriving settling on the bodies that are starting to bloat and stink in the rising heat. Flies are everywhere and I have to keep waving them from my face. I wonder when someone will come to see what has happened to the brave young soldiers or even if anyone has noticed the radio silence.
The fire in the farmhouse has run its course, there is nothing left to burn a broken chimneystack is all that is left of the once pretty country house. I wonder how many of the young officers even got out before the house had exploded as the first shell smashed its way through the roof.
That thought sets my mind to wandering again; it takes me back to last night, to before the nightmare began.
The smell of cooking added to the scents of a country summers evening. The sound of soft voices and the odd voice raised in laughter were the only human sounds to break a peaceful evening. The sun was lowering in the western sky and all was well with the world. You would hardly know there was a war on.

That false peace was shattered as the sun finally disappeared over the horizon.
The first scream of an incoming shell broke the peace, before it smashed into the farmhouse and exploded deep within it. The house literally erupted outward sending debris flying through the camp killing those young lads as they lounged and played cards around the house.
The first was quickly followed by a second, a third. Soon there was a deadly rain of hot metal screaming through the evening air followed by huge devastating explosions. Screams filled the air both human and animal, as the metal rain saw no distinction between the two.
The noise and the lights were terrible, the deafening explosions were blindingly bright and the whole scene was now lit by the burning farmhouse.
It stops as suddenly as it began. Men creep from whatever cover they had found. They grab their tools of war for they know what comes next, defensive positions are taken up, the screams and cries of the wounded are ignored for those fortunate enough to still be whole do not want to join their stricken comrades. At last a medic appears and starts his work for the rest; theirs will arrive soon enough.
It starts with a low unseen drone and a frightened whisper goes round the waiting lads "Tanks The pale terrified faces look at one another in the firelight. I don't want to die is the meaning behind those looks and it is mirrored back and forth throughout the ruined camp.
The first dark shape appears over the rim of the valley, a mere shadow in the twilight. It is soon joined by more of its kind with smaller shadows of enemy infantry following crouching for cover behind the metal monsters. Fire bursts from the monsters as they once more send hot death hurtling into the camp. There is no escape this time the tanks roll into the remains of the camp crushing all in their path shells from their great guns sending up spouts of earth and whatever else had the ill luck to be in the way. Machine guns rake the paddocks taking down the fleeing troops. There is no escape; there is nowhere to hide. The metal death rolls on and on until there is no more movement.
It is over not one of those young men will go home; not one will hear the blessed cry of their children or feel the warmth of their families loving embrace.

A movement jolts me back to the present. "There you are we have got the dawn shots is that all we need? Your radio doesn't seem to be working
"Yep that's a wrap, a great nights filming lets get the landscapers in here get this place back to what it should look like