The Beast of Boredom by Richard R. Smith

The shack at the edge of the dead canal was so carefully camouflaged, he almost passed by it. Hoping he hadn't been seen, he dropped to his stomach and crawled through the mud toward the door.flame

It wasn't a long distance, but inching his way on his elbows and knees, and with his face close to the evil-smelling mud, it seemed like a mile. As he crawled, he reflected bitterly that most of mankind's really great achievements always ended in war. Columbus had crossed the Atlantic Ocean and it had ended in war with the Indians. Mankind had invented atomic energy and then used it to kill millions. Their latest achievement was the marvel of spaceflight and where had that ended? It had also ended in war....

Personally, he didn't believe they were justified in fighting the Martians. If they didn't want anyone intruding on their planet, what right did Earthmen have to force their way? The popular theory that they could help rebuild the dying Martian civilization didn't seem very logical when millions had to be killed in the process. And if Martians were an independent race and wanted to sit around and watch their civilization crumble, why shouldn't they have that privilege?

When he was within a few yards of the door, he set aside his philosophical thoughts. Leaping to his feet, he ran into the small shack and screamed shrilly in the manner designed to momentarily paralyze an enemy with fear.

He raised the rifle instinctively when something moved in the shadows, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he felt a queasiness in his stomach. The emaciated alien who cowered in the shadows resembled a pitiful bundle of rags more than an enemy!

Trembling hands lifted an object and three things happened so rapidly that they seemed to happen simultaneously: the Martian's bony fingers moved over the object; a burning sensation ripped through his brain; he realized it must be a weapon and squeezed the trigger of his rifle.