War is a primitive job, and the mindset required to perform the task has never been one to bandy words. They shoot from the hip, and talk the same way. You can either accept it, or you can refuse to play, but changing the players changes the eventual outcome.

We're doing fine.

I've worked with these folks, and the problem I see here reminds me of Caleb -- one of my most favorite parables, paraphrased here from memory out of The Old Farmer’s Almanac (circa 1960-something):

Caleb Waterson was a farmer. He wasn’t an overly productive farmer, but he did manage to keep his family fed. He was also not particularly religious, something the religious of the time took as downright offensive. Caleb was, however, a good man.

This particular day, Caleb was out in his field, not too far from the main road, and slapping a leather strap at the ass of his mule, cussing up a storm, while he worked at removing a tree stump from his property. Passing by on the road, all done up in her finest pastel blue dress, was Miss Juliet Purdy, alone in her buggy. She pulled her horse up and just sat there, looking completely stunned, listening to the profanities that spewed so easily from this man’s mouth.

“Caleb Waterson!” she shouted. “What are you doing?”

Surprised, Caleb’s head jerked up, and he regarded the young woman. Somewhat confused that such a question needed to be asked, he replied, “Well, I’m working, Miss Purdy.”

“On the Sabbath?” she demanded. “And the words you’re using against one of God’s own creatures. Why, that poor dumb animal is working himself to a lather, and all you can do to reward him is to beat him and curse at him.”

Caleb smiled. “A lather? Why this lazy old...”

“Mr. Waterson!” she warned. “Well, we’ll just have to see what the congregation has to say about all this. I’ll be speaking with the Reverend Parker after services today -- about you.”

“I see. Well, Miss Purdy, I’m awful sorry to have been carrying on the way I was -- I mean with you passing by and all -- but I need this stump removed so I can plow tomorrow. This is the last tree of the row, and it gives me an additional quarter acre to sow.” He looked at his mule. “And as for old Jess, here, why he’s a lot stronger than he looks, and he’s barely broken a sweat.” He patted the beast’s neck in appreciation. “I’ve had him a long time, and he’s accustomed to the way I speak to him. And I’m sure the Good Lord will hold no ill regard for one who would curse and mean no harm...” He looked to Miss Purdy. “...Any more than he would appreciate those who pray and mean no good -- and on the Sabbath.”

“What?”

“Good day, Miss Purdy.”

Dan