The Six Hundred

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Everyone knows these words, and they are pertinent to every battle in every war. The men and women on the field are cannon fodder, and those that direct them, the politicians, the generals, and the bankers reap the rewards, kudos and benefits.

Six hundred died in that battle, six hundred families bereaved, while the generals, politicians and bankers rubbed their hands in glee and the dividends they would be able to bank from that and subsequent battles.

They say that weapons used to be manufactured to win and stop wars, but now wars are manufactured to sell weapons and rebuilding schemes. The killed and maimed are nothing but collateral damage and they were now the responsibility of charities, or needed to stand up for themselves.

The wars continued, the battles raged, the soldiers and civilians died, and Cuban cigars and French Champagne sales went through the roof and the back of the arms dividends.

The media eulogised the generals, bankers and politicians and for them life was very good.

The soldiers' families were demonised as scroungers and ungrateful that they had been allowed to fight for their country.

The families of the dead were consumed with grief, and that grief began to ferment, they wanted justice for their losses, and they wanted the ones who had caused it to pay, but they knew and the bankers, politicians and generals would always back each other up, and never do the right things.

Parties went on, bankers fat on bonuses, politicians rich from their lobbying money and real jobs, and generals from their war spoils, and they were all smirking and the plight of the dead soldiers' families.

They had no concerns and thought this would go on forever, they were living the good life and enjoying every moment.

And then there was a death.

A politician.

Then another, this time a general. Then two bankers.

Every one was exsanguinated. Their facial expressions showed they had died frightened and in pain.

This scenario played out for each of the war beneficiaries.

Around ten o'clock at night, a dark bloodstained figure appears in the beneficiary's house and says something along these lines:

Dead Soldier: "You used us, and destroyed us. Our deaths didn't matter to you. All that mattered was the money you gained from our sacrifice. You didn't think you you would would have to pay, but I have come to take payment for us"

Beneficiary: "I didn't do anything, I didn't kill anyone, I am innocent, you shouldn't be here, I'll call the police"

Dead Soldier: "You did nothing to help us or make amends. You did take the money from your arms investments though and that is your crime, and for that you will now pay"

The soldier laid his blood hands on the beneficiary and began to exsanguinate the beneficiary who screamed in fright as his life left him.