The war went on for a long time. A very long time. Every conceivable resource began to come to an end. And the first resource, that depleted was a human. There was nowhere else to take new recruits from. People either died in this war, or left, or already fought. There was still a miserable handful, who were finishing transferring production to a military footing. But soon they had to take up arms.
Gradually, even the bodies of those who were not seriously injured had to be augmented. Of the infrastructure, only a net of underground tunnels and dilapidated strongholds remained, where weapons were still produced and equipment was somehow repaired.
After some time of this endless war, our soldiers suddenly began to notice that for some reason the enemy was gradually leave strategic points one after another. The few remaining officers decided that this was some kind of trap or provocation... but everything turned out to be simpler.
War is over. After 142 years. Those who joined the militia as fourteen-year-old boys and girls were now seasoned veterans who saw nothing but war. The ruler of the country was killed in beginning of the war, and the staff officers shortly before the last technician changed his yellow overalls for an Armor-Suit. And now this war is over. We won.
Everything we fought for was destroyed. Everyone we loved was dead.
They asked us what requirements we put forward. We didn't know what to say to them.