“Damn it!”
Sarah York smashed the table with her fist. It hurt, but she didn’t notice the pain. She was too enraged to notice it. The Mongols were still fighting. They were ignoring even their emperor.
She stood up.
“This thing has to end,” she said.
The messenger had left. If she was speaking to anyone in particular she was speaking to Omar. The dog was looking up at her expectantly.
“This is our last war,” she said, “There could be no better name for it. We’re tired of fighting. We’re tired of warlords waging battles, and then freedom fighters having to fight the warlords. This is it, damn it! These things have gone on for far too long. There is never going to be another war after this because this is the final decision maker, Omar.
“If the Mongols defeat us, that’s it. The world will be oppressed, and we’ll all bow to Jagatai or whoever. Because if they win, no one will want to fight any longer. People are not going to want to wage another war, ever again.
“This has been the longest, bloodiest, deadliest war in history. There’s never been a higher loss of life, civilian or military, ever. The Last War can be pointed to as the incarnation of the horror which we inflict on ourselves.
“If, on the other hand, we are victorious today, the opposite will be true. Everyone will be free, and they will be so sick and tired of war everyone will stay free. Because there won’t be any communist revolutions or Nazi revolutions or Imperialist revolutions. This is it. This is the end. This is our last war.”
The die was cast.
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