War: What's it Good For?

Last night I was engaged in a battle that I was lucky to survive. My unit had overtaken an enemy camp but they ambushed us. We found ourselves fighting them with their own weaponry. The trigger mechanisms on their artillery were a bit different than what I was used to. Instead of using the conventional finger-pull, most of their weapons were very modern blowguns. In order to fire multiple consecutive rounds, I had to make machine gun sounds into the blow-trigger. The damage created was less than desired, but the ammunition seemed to never run out. After what seemed like hours of blowing bullets, there were only a few of us left who were not dead, seriously wounded, or just too out of breath to blow anymore. It was announced that the war was over, and that a peace agreement had in fact been reached the day before, but that communications had been down for a time, sorry for the delay. So we had been killing each other for nothing. By this time there were only myself and one enemy soldier continuing to fight. Upon hearing that the war was over, we both stood up and left our guns on the ground. Gasping for air and filled with confusion, we wandered toward each other. Still filled with adrenaline, we both arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously: "OK, so I don't have to kill you. But we have to finish this." So we began hand-to-hand combat. As it turned out, my opponent was significantly weaker than myself. Perhaps this is because I have been going to the gym recently. He was honorable, though, and never tried to grab a gun. He did, however, find two dustpans with very sharp edges, one for each hand. I anticipated this, though, and made him pay for it by taking them from him and bludgeoning him repeatedly with the handles. I don't think he ever hit me once, actually. He could use a blowgun, but he didn't have much skill in dealing blows. He could take them, however. No glass jaw on this guy. He was tough, and he was stubborn, doggedly refusing to quit despite being obviously outmatched. I respected his guts, and decided to award myself a TKO before I killed the poor chap, and while his face was still recognizable. So I applied a sleeper hold. Oddly enough, he began to sing. His national anthem, I believe it was. I was impressed that he was able to sing so clearly in spite of everything. A real patriot. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I was failing to execute the hold properly, the singing abruptly stopped. I stood silently for a moment, surrounded by bewildered men from both sides all breathing heavily. I took one last look at my defeated rival, dropped my dustpans and reported back to my commanding officer.