The group was hardly more than a rag-tag mob of children, the oldest of them being fifteen, and the youngest twelve, all of them more assured than they had any right to be. There they stood simply holding branches sharpened with rocks, eager to meet their foe in the battle that had been called for this day, for this time. It was the eldest who had issued the challenge, and he remained silent on it, leaving everything up to the imagination for his ‘army’.
Their battlefield was a simple clearing, left bare for times like this one. For wars to be decided, lives ended. A concept that was perhaps lost on the younger of the group.
All were made aware when their opponent appeared on the horizon. Not an army, but a machine unlike any other; a tank built of flesh and bone and gore, bound together by muscle and piloted by an unseen darkness.
As it drew nearer and nearer, its intent clearly the most lethal of choices in this, only the youngest found the voice to speak what they all thought.
“God damn it, Jack.”