The Inside Story on Warfare
Mark Twain was a deep writer, twelve feet deep to be precise. But let us not mock Mark, let us tip our hat and skip on down the road. So many heads under one hat, it’s almost like an umbrella.
I’m sure you’ve been touched with uneasiness, perhaps even resentment, getting dragged into this nebulous flanking maneuver. It’s like being drafted or born. A uniform of flesh and blood, the uniform of a warrior, enemies springing up like crab grass all around. Nothing for it but to wield the sword and venture forth into martyrdom.
Lately my head hurts in such a peculiar way that the little doctor up there prognosticates a brain aneurysm. Such a worm of a word for a thick bulging vessel. Pop goes the vessel and strips the captain’s bars from his epaulets. Away with this cumbersome body!
I pool my resources and wait for someone to make a move.