A Micro History of Human Warfare

The terrible but not unexpected news came. "Your majesty, there has been another massacre by chemical weapon at the Rafah mine. It's the third one in as many days. We should hold off our mining operations until we know..."

"Nonsense!" The queen interrupted him, pushing off three smaller servants  who were in the act of attending to her. "Regather your troops, the work must go on. A few fallen soldiers is a small price to pay for what we have to gain in return. How many more days do you need to mine the great white mountain?" He fumbled hesitantly. A general was supposed to be cold and calculating but he could only think of his finest, lying twisted by the roadside. He was sending them to certain death and contrary to what the murderers believed, he had room for conscience and consciousness. He often wondered who they were and where they came from. He knew they were not forces of nature like water falling from the sky. These were technologies of warfare that they sported. Efficient killing things applied deliberately. They did not have the appearance or randomness of the natural disaster. He felt powerless against an enemy so mighty; how he wished he were back in the thick of battle of limb to limb combat. He had seen many of these and led the kingdom to great victories. 

                                                                          *** 

When news of the third massacre at the mine came, Arletta was at her station as usual, packing away the produce in the cellular granary of the hive. Distressed, she asked if anyone had seen her love but those who were returning from the site could not help her. Their heads were bowed and a certain look of defeat crossed their worn faces. It always comes without warning, it's faster than the speed of light, how quickly that cloud mass bursts over our heads. Without giving thought to what would happen if she left the production line, Arletta started running toward the mine. 

She ran and ran and ran and finally made it to the high road above ground. The linear battlefield was strewn with bodies of the dead, some were still writhing in agony. She looked into their faces and felt each of their pain and for a moment she was struck by her own selfishness. How could she be only

really interested in the survival of one in particular above the others? Ever since she was a little one, obedience of the queen and service of the collective had been impressed upon her. Individual ties and personal romances were heavily discouraged and now she could see why, because there were no guarantees, the one could be taken away at any moment, never to be seen again.

                                                                         *** 

Angelo sat at the kitchen table in quiet disgust and self-loathing. "Ants are people too," he said peering over his typewriter and looking the teenager and her mother in the eye.

"No they're not," protested the child with alacrity. "Their brains are so small, they don't even know they're dying."

"You have no way of substantiating that claim, but how comforting it must be for you to think that," he said quietly.

"You know," he continued after a long silence during which the landlady was thumbing through a photographic history of the Guatemalan civil war, "if you give them enough time they complete the work they are doing and then go back to the colony. They're breaking down the big chunks of food you left out last night into small enough pieces that they can then transport. When the 

mission is complete or in the absence of a food source, they have no interest in your table top or your kitchen. All they needed was a bit more time." He looked back at the typewriter and stared for hours at an otherwise blank page with the title: A Macro History of Human Warfare.