Mosquito plague (A war essay by Dr Martin Kreuels)

In light of the media coverage of the war in Ukraine, Dr Martin Kreuels reflects on the topic. While a few exploding tanks could be seen at the beginning of the war, the situation has become increasingly brutal over time. Dr Kreuels is also deeply concerned about how close the war is to NATO countries. Read Dr Kreuels's war essay now to find out more!

It's a sunny day, perhaps a little humid. The sun beats down and the wind has died down. Here and there, a bird calls. The breeding season is over, so they are no longer stressed. Their young have already left the nest. As expected at this time of year, it is hot. I am standing in a meadow, the trees are far away. They offer no shade or protection from the sun. There are other meadows around me, some mown and some not, with densely overgrown ditches and reeds between them.

A constant buzz accompanies me. Mosquitoes, I think. If there are mosquitoes here, there must be water nearby. They must be coming from somewhere. I can't see them. Maybe they're above me or a few metres away. They're probably too small to see in the glaring midday light. The sun is blinding. The annoying thing is that I always hear the most mosquitoes coming from that direction. But of course, I can blink as much as I like. I still won't see them. It would be nice to have sunglasses, but they're at home.

A shadow flits past. It's too fast for me to make out what it is. The buzzing is much louder than usual, too. Maybe it's a mosquito flying close to my eyes. It was so close that I couldn't focus on it. When it flew close to my head, the buzzing naturally became louder. Stupid creature!

There it is again!

Good God! How can anything be so annoying? What a fuss over a drop of my blood! Just let it land on my hand!

Take your drop and leave me alone!

My backpack is too heavy. I'd like to swat it off, but I'm too slow. One quick movement and I'll lose my balance.

A crane flies overhead. It trumpets a military fanfare across the meadow. It can be heard far away. Can't it catch the mosquitoes?

Something flits past my eyes again. Again, I didn't see it properly. It was too fast, my eyes were blinded. Maybe I'm too tired. I hardly slept last night.

I need to focus on the damn mosquito. Then I'll have a chance to swat it. Then maybe I'll get some peace and quiet.

I stand still. I behave like a pillar of salt. Maybe if I can build up some trust, the mosquito will fly more slowly. I want to set a trap for it.

The buzzing gets louder. Behind me. I can hear it clearly. Now it's above me. A light breeze touches my skin. It must be close, very close. It will surely land soon.

Then you're done for, I swear!

The breeze is getting stronger.

There's a bit too much wind for a mosquito, and it's a bit too loud. Are there different sizes of mosquito? I have no idea – I'm not a scientist. I'm just a car mechanic. I repair cars that have been damaged in combat. If they're still drivable, that is.

I turn around very slowly.

A drone is hovering in front of me. Its camera is pointed at me. There is a grenade underneath it. Contact wires extend from its head. If they touch me, it will explode. The drone is two or three metres away, just hanging in the air, not moving. I am not moving either, even though I know it can see me. Someone far away is watching me.

They're probably a pale gamer sitting somewhere with Red Bull and chocolate, watching me on the field.

Slowly, very slowly, I raise my rifle. Maybe I can shoot it down. The drone rises. It's now hovering twenty metres above me. I take aim and fire a volley, but I miss. It races towards me, then past me. I keep shooting until the magazine is empty. There is no time to reload. I turn the rifle around and try to hit it. It dodges. One moment it's here, the next it's there. Panic rises and I try to run. The trees are too far away. I hear its whirring getting louder again. It flies past me – sometimes in front, sometimes beside me, and sometimes above me. How can I escape? Sweat runs into my eyes. I throw away my backpack to move more quickly. I strike out, running and shouting for help.

The drone is chasing me – everything is frantic.

Meanwhile, the gamer bites into his chocolate bar and takes a sip of his drink before deciding to finish the game.

The drone rises and takes off. I'm still running, but I'm too slow. Much too slow. Then I feel wires on my back, followed by an explosion that throws me to the ground. I fly like the drone did, crashing to the ground. One of my legs flies past me and my arm is torn off. My combat suit is on fire. I lie in the grass, immobile and half-unconscious. I can't move, and I can't feel any pain. My eyes close. A second drone hovers above me, filming as my body burns. I'm already gone. I look at my burning body. I've stepped out of it.

A few minutes later, only a charred patch remains in the meadow. In the centre lies burnt flesh. Two crows land in the grass. The cranes are already on the horizon. They had no interest in me.

Dr Martin Kreuels is a bereavement coach and a biologist. He is the author of '17 years we. My wife is gone' and 'A clown in a children's hospice'.

Further publications by Dr Kreuels include his essay 'The topic of men's grief: A man writes about his emotional world', and his English-language book recommendations, which can be found in our literature portal.

© 'Mosquito Plague': An Essay by Dr Martin Kreuels (translated by Izabel Comati), 08/2025. Image credit: Image of the drone via pexels.com (Stuffedbox NG), CC0 (Public Domain Licence).