It is 1864, and many other years simultaneously, laminated one atop the other. Mini-balls whiz across an open field and decimate a line of soldiers; a phalanx of Roman soldiers tear into the scattered ranks of an unknown enemy. In the skies overhead a squadron of Stuka bombers scream earthward and let loose high-explosive mayhem. It is 1917, it is 3016, it is 1898, and countless other years, all stacked and intertwined. How many layers are there? One cannot count them all. Ancient Chinese rockets burn the sky; a metal-giant bomber drops an object that levels an entire city; uniformed soldiers of a hostile regime slaughter thousands and watch as untold liters of blood soak into the desert sands. And always afterwards thousands of surviving (as well as some who do not survive) warriors are awarded medals and other honors.
The layers of war are as many as the stars in the night sky.