Everything is like in this story by A. Daudet.
Soldiers who have been fighting for days, spending the night in the rain, fatigue, insomnia.
Rain, mud, no fire, no food, darkness, enemies around.
They are ready to attack but do not attack.
They are waiting for orders to come.
Headquarters is across from them, in the magnificent Castle of Louis-Treize.
Everything is perfect at the beginning of the pond like a mirror in which the swans swim.
The dining table describing the feast.
In the next room the marshal is playing pool, and this is why the army has to wait for orders.
Even if the world ended when the Marshal started playing billiards, nothing could stop him from finishing the game.
All around him respectful officers were complimenting him.
Across the road were tired, hungry soldiers shivering in the rain.
The Marshal's opponent, the captain, was much better in the game, but was kind enough to let the commander in front, focusing his energies on not winning the game but also not being beaten too easily. This type of soldier was called the officer with the future. The goal was to take the game this way to the end. Achieving this meant promotion.
Outside, everyone gets scared by the artillery fire and looks at each other.
Only the marshal did not see or hear anything, he bent over the table, planning his shot.
Artillery has accelerated, officers run to the window, could the Prussians be attacking?
Focused on his numbers, the field marshal says, "It's okay, let them attack, it's your turn, captain."
The predatory sound of the machine guns got louder. Red smoke rose from the garden, peacocks and pheasants screamed in terror in the aviary.
The couriers came out of breath and wanted to see the marshal.
No one could see the Marshal, nothing could stop him from finishing his game.
The nervous captain is confused, forgets his tactic, almost wins the match.
The Marshal goes mad with anger.
Just at that moment, the mounted officer in the mud rushing in from the courtyard, overtakes the guards, climbs the stairs in one breath and calls out marshal.
The Marshal goes up to the window and says angrily, "What's the matter, isn't there a guard there?"
Without letting him speak, the officer says, "Okay, wait there for my orders."
The poor soldiers are already waiting for orders.
The wind blows the shrapnel in their faces.
As the battalions disappear, they wait for orders with their weapons at the ready, without understanding why they did not take action. However, since there is no need for an order to die, hundreds of soldiers die in front of the castle. Even after they die, shrapnel continues to tear them apart, and France's generous blood flows silently from their open wounds.
Things start to heat up in the pool room upstairs. The Marshal is ahead again, he just needs one point. Cannonballs are falling into the garden. The army is withdrawing. Marshal won the match.
Although the event took place in France, not much has changed after the 1800s.
The Sovereigns everywhere always won the match of life, with the best conditions.
Politicians, journalists, professors, businessmen always took the lead in the match, just like the marshal.
Horrible news we've been reading lately.
The journalist receives hundreds of thousands of dollars in funds, his hunger is insatiable, he only puts funds in his own safe, not the employees in his team, employs young reporters at the level of hunger, always takes the ball in front of him.
The forensic report of the murdered girl can be exchanged for serious money, and the guilty politician can run his ship without losing his reputation.
The crime machine, in which every woman it touches dies, is taken inside, hosted and taken out soon after.
Those who dominate the numbers always win.
There is no right to be sought in the persecution and murders of strangers, such as soldiers whose dead bodies were torn apart by shrapnel.