The Littlest War


My first day here, what struck me most was the doors. I mean, obvious, right? But you go through six or seven layers of them, all locking behind you, before you realize they only open in one direction — and that’s in. Once you’re inside and you see the thirty foot walls that surround this place, that’s it; no way out. And that’s cool with me. I dont know whose idea this was, but man, it’s freaking brilliant.

Yeah, the global war thing was getting out of hand. Too many options, I guess, for someone like me. Syria? Ukraine? CAR? The choices were endless, so you can imagine how happy I was when the UN announced the formation of a War Zone. Every country scraped together a few billion, bought off some tin pot dictators, cleared the space of any animal life, and turned it into the perfect battlefield. No idea how big this mutha is, but it’s huge, like some infinite video game, ‘cept it’s, you know, real. Sweet. Buddy told me this was almost half of Northern Africa, and I wouldnt be surprised. Basically, it works like this: say you got an issue with another country. Rather than blowing up each other’s real estate, you get some guys, they get some guys, and everyone heads to the War Zone. Happy times.

Once you arrive, they take you into the Armory. Tell you to load up with as much as you can carry. The idiots are the ones who act like it’s a Chinese buffet and take one of everything. Then they find out real fast that it aint easy carrying all that stuff around. Now me, I travel light, so I picked up a couple of small things, just enough to get me started. I figured, hell, there’s gonna be a lot of stuff lying around out there. I was right. Anything I need — from an M-16 to a shoulder-borne ground-to-air missile launcher — is out there next to someone who couldnt cut it. Hell, weaponry, armour, rations: it’s all out there, ready for the taking. Sure, you have to get past all the bodies — and after a decade of the War Zone, there’s a lot of ’em — but I’m down with that. Never waste, that’s my motto. If some guys gets it, no sense in letting his rations go to waste, right? See this helicopter? I shot this puppy down with one really clean, elegant shot. Havent checked through all of the wreckage yet, but way I see it, I’m gonna be eating like a king for the next week.

Oh sure, technically you’re supposed to only go after your own enemy — rumour has it that almost every country on earth has someone here, and I wouldnt be surprised at that either. I dont think anyone’s left in Syria or Lebanon or Israel — least, not any of the menfolk. They turn us loose here, and the Geneva Convention is out the window. You dont get POWs here, nossir. And those UN guys were smart: even so much as mention war, in any fashion, and off you went, whether you liked it or not. Personally, I like that idea. If you think war is so great — which, man, I do — then you better be ready to put your money where your mouth is. So you look around this place, and you see everyone from drunken frat boys who got a little macho one night at some pizza joint to members of some North Dakota militia who were just itching to play to even a few congressmen who said the wrong thing on a Fox talk show — and let me tell you, those fat old men squeal real pretty when you corner one.

Who wins, you ask? Hell, out here? Everyone.


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