War doesn’t come with flags or anthems here—just empty nets and diesel costs climbing like they smell blood. The navy runs drills north of Chiloé while old women in Arica still dig ditches for water, same as under Pinochet. I watched a documentary once where they called the Falklands a small war; I laughed so hard I woke my wife. Out there on the dark water, you learn real quick which silence means peace and which one means someone’s about to disappear. The only thing we ship now is copper and regret. War’s not what happens between countries—it’s what happens to the ones who can’t leave the shore.
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