Civilization is a Drag, man.

One of the eternal gifts of the Baby Boomers is the conviction that civilization is a drag. Combined with the perpetual desire never to grow up, the Rousseauvians have gone old and soft in the belly, still convinced of their eternal role of the Chosen Generation. As they stumble into the history books along with every generation, their epitaph grows longer.

WAR, actually, is a thrilling and primitive way to bang the drum and roll in the mud, release one's Inner Hominid and generally having a good time. Some of the other cultures seem to object to this, because war causes people to get real dead.

John Galt was always a drag; John Bradshaw and Iron John, effete; let's go John Wayne. Embrace illusory masculinity. The macho keyboard commando vows - SURRENDER IS NOT AN OPTION! But in fact, during wartime, surrender is everywhere. The only ones who will not run are those who have not gone to fight in the first place.

On to Richmond, in the name of God and Country!

The spirit of '76 is there - or perhaps, the spirit of '61, when America was awash with righteous indignation, confronting an unjust foe, and ready to loose the forces of righteousness awash with wrath, with God on our side.

In the name of God and Country.

At a time when bravery was cheap, and honor was the thing shouted over beverages to admiring throngs, and blood was the thing seen in the flushed faces, but not clotted about icy rocks, YES!

In the name of God and Country!

All things horrible and desperate begin this way. These brave warriors do not think of Stalingrad, or death from consumption at Valley Forge. They do not know Andersonville, or Gettysburg, or the Hornet's Nest.
ON TO RICHMOND!
The men and women who once shouted this lie long dead in their quiet graves. We know from their words, and from inference about their human decency, that they were long shamed by those words, and hoped never to hear them again; unto the very moment when their last breath passed. And they were the lucky ones.

Yes, we are brave! Yes, we are true - for we know it in our hearts! And righteous wrath shall prevail, in the Name of God!

They carried their Sharps rifles, and were outfitted in the most modern manner for any combat soldier - part Special Forces Ranger, part GI Joe. Even the Armies of the World could not equip a combat soldier in the manner these proud American volunteers were rigged out - a complete contrast from their fore-fathers with their fowling pieces, a ragged commissary sack, and home-made shoes.

And so they died, in the Virginia mud, covering a retreat. For this was war.

During the moments of honor, the words NO RETREAT! NO SURRENDER!! peal from the lips of the brave. No doubt, these words were shouted from the Congressmen's carriages as they trundled down the road to Manassas, to set out for a picnic and jolly good show for a languid July summer's day. Perhaps not a shot will be fired, and the Rebels will run - and we'll chase those rabbits to Richmond, so don't let the horses over-graze and get lazy, for there's a sprint a-coming!

That day, it became a war. For the skeedaddle happened, and it was the skeedaddle of the fortunate, who still had legs, and it was a run towards Home and Mother, because, by God, the Hand of the Lord did not smite the enemy, as the proud fire-breathers promised in the whiskey houses and taverns. This was war.

War sucks. Careful what you say.