Barely awake, I lay in the bloody mud. My wounds ooze unexpected colors. The field is full of the dead, enemy and comrade alike. I alone am still alive.
The battle was fierce and futile. People died on and for an empty field. Mothers and lovers will weep. The wolves and vultures are already disposing of the remains.
Our God and their God look down and pity us as they share a somber drink in some heavenly tavern. No glory for the fools below.
Years from now the schoolbooks will label this my greatest victory. The schoolbooks will be wrong.