July 28, 1812
Near Drissa, Russia
Last night, at the fire with Eugenio, I asked, “Where will the battle be?” The air was anxiously quiet, – crackling fire and restless horses louder than still air.
“Here,” he said. “It cannot be here, this is too peaceful a place for so many to die,” I thought. I was wrong.
They call them small battles but I see now the method of war and am awake to the pain and embarrassed by the honor of countries who care so little for their sons that they would ever subject them to this reckless risk of death.
This action, while merely counted numbers of units to a general or king, mean the everything for the counted, their families, their children ~ they and we are all victims.
Such waste is unforgivable; a moral travesty and make mockery of our (alleged) ability to reason as civilized humans.
I fear the killing and the dying, I do not want to kill and go so far as to say I am incoherent as to why anyone would – save for the immediate attack to one’s family or self. I fear that in this expansionist campaign, we may loose our freedoms – both mentally and politically, if even are able to save our lives.
Continually yours, H.