The blood of a captive and a mostly torched beginning to a plan for peace.  The remains of the paper'd thoughts almost weightless to the rumble of tanks. 

     "Tell Mother Teresa to move her ass," a soldier hollered.  "That's an order," a Captain reinforced.  "We'll have to go with only our Christian contentment," a missionary woman remarked of clearing out of a sandbagged plywood shack used to conduct staging of humanitarian aid.

     Razed revealed the crude entrance of a tunnel.  Almost immediately visiting/observing people were shocked and satisfied.  One radio'd a different battlefield, "Vind me a dunn-el."  A Senior Ranking Official held the cord up in the air, plug pulled.  "It doesn't exactly work quite like that."  Guy had a broken nose.  Ever after we came up with a hundred stories why.  The long and the short: Youwa notta spose'd to sneak up on peopwah.  By the time that conversation was re-iterated we could add, especially when they are getting ready to disarm a bomb.

     Evidence strapped to steering wheels of explodable vehicles, children's toys, AID packages...all of it ordinance.

     Allies and Axis had to agree to some topics being "delicate" and some aspects of what had been "lawful" being different then.  That was after neutral peacekeepers had been strapped to fronts of tanks and other fuel-hot sources since they were the documents. 

     It was slow going walking back a bit from the nuclear edge.

     At a Regional Airport that was an ongoing battle to keep open a Catholic priest helped couples renew vows.  And admonished all of us to quit running around the planet airing dirty laundry and having marital spats.  He blessed rings and jewelry in bags for safes.  Words were sparse, but feelings were speaking volumes.

     Somewhere on some Continent someone asked, "How 'bout a song?" 

     A scholar realized that traditional folk music of all variety was "country music". 

     People slept soundly for the first time in a long time.