"We believed that our terrible war was a terrifying Hell; and so were ashamed to hear God declare it to be just another instance of man's brutal stupidity, with a promise of worse to come. We, all being brave soldiers, are discouraged and more frightened than ever, because death will no longer end our suffering."
soldier's account from 15^th Century diary

War is a form of Hell in which personal triumphs postpone private loss. Death not only has its own currency, but also has its own economy ... where value is more important than price, where method is more important than purchases, and where means is more important than objectives. Perhaps if funerals were as debilitatingly dismal as the act of dying, and if mortuaries were as starkly grotesque as unprepared death, then our unbelievable sacrificial myths and deferential promises of enduring afterlife would be less appealing to the gullible and credulous. Desperate mourning and inconsolable grief do not herald another episodic revival or instantaneous recycling of intermittent annihilation; but proclaim triumphal death as our final defeat. War would assume a hellish insanity if it could not achieve closure, if it could not be interrupted, if it could not collapse into exhaustion. The ability to silence the alarm, to quell the challenge, to kill the adversary is critical to resolution. Resurrecting dead issues and revitalizing extinct masses is every combatant's nightmare. Every combatant suspects that weapons are futile, and that an unjust cause or an impure heart cannot defeat an implacable foe, who is immune to impotent means. The threat of relentless death stalking the combat zone is not as horrible as its total absence amidst persistent mayhem. We soon learn that we're not invincible, but remain terrified that our inexorable enemy can withstand everything ... and will pursue us beyond the grave.