It was a war that had begun well before my husband had left with his ships. A bloody mess I was told. The images were on file. I had to see, to engage somehow, from his memories. They were indeed bloody, bodies dismembered from explosions. Crying children and women, and even men. They know not what to do for they were engulfed in war.
His military were hired desperately at the last minute. I couldn’t understand how my husband knew which side was the side of good or did he just worked by contract. I dared not ask him. I didn’t want to find out that I too may be guilty. Instead I thought positive thoughts and considered my husband always on the right side.
They threw the dead bodies in the river as they cleared the field, setting new traps for their assailants. My husband had reached just in time. He was able to scan the field and identify the traps, disabling the bombs. But to me, he had reached too late. They had contracted him near the end. There was just too many who had died. Their enemies, our enemies, had a new technology they used indiscriminately at anyone that got in their way. Their orders was to simply kill everyone and take the land.
My husband gave orders to disable their technology and go in to capture them. They needed to ascertain their plans and to find out who was in charge. But our prisoners refused to talk.
Instead our prisoners were either killed or contained for scientific research. They weren’t given up any information. So, indeed, the war continued to be bloody. By the time it ended, much of the land had been destroyed and few survivors on both side were alive. The rest were dying, miserably.
The contract was eventually deemed fulfilled. Our military was asked to dispose of the bodies and to assist in the cleanup. They continued to dump it into the river, creating a damn of dead burning bodies, but had to stop burning them to prevent the flames from destroying everything else. Then they decided to use chemicals to burn the bodies, my husband warned against it, but they did it anyway. Polluting the river with chemically burned bodies, festering in the water and killing fishes immediately was unforgiven to say the least. There were just the gasses from the chemicals that they saw. It was creating a fog spreading across the lands causing the few people that were alive, to cough and gasp for air.
My husband left with his payment as they recovered from leaving the desecrated land. The war had managed to kill their assailants, their land, and their waters.
Fear and guilt hit me hard when I learned that our contractors weren’t the side of good. My husband had learned it too late. It was the prisoners, that we took as our payment for scientific research, that were good.
One of the ways we built our military was from the captured. Our people were explorers and wanted to learn about every different kind of man that existed. The captured would eventually assimilate into our military, usually having nowhere else to go and for being allowed to rebuild elsewhere after training and us learning all about their kind. It was the prisoners that told their side of how the war began.
It turned out that the assailants were indeed not the prisoners that we had captured. It was the people that hired us. They had squatted on a land that belonged to the prisoners, when they were in desperate need of a place to stay. It was supposed to be temporary, but temporary became permanent with them spreading their seed to gain more land. The prisoners had realized what was happening too late and had learned about the squatters from another ruler. They were told to remove them before they were replaced by them. It was that removal that caused the war. It was that kind of confusion of who’s land is it, that no hired gun would be able to learn before engagement.
Now, our responsibility was to confirm the truth and if possible to regain the land. The prisoners couldn’t foresee how they can return to a spoiled land and river. How would they live? But my husband assured them that he had built many lands back to fruitfulness from barren.
The last of the pictures on file that I saw was a little girls grin. She had returned to her barren land with her people, once who was our prisoners. As promised its fruitfulness bloomed. That was the smile on her face, with her apple in her hand.
For me, our military was spoiled by such a mistake and I feared returning for revenge was somewhere lingering.