[https://i.groupme.com/1000x1332.jpeg.b283b2bf9b3f4629a769a56109c04820.large]

“This should be easy enough.” Gysgt Haddox muttered grimly as he surveyed the view through the RCO of his M4 rifle. The little command group has parked their JLTV at the top of a small mound, behind them the no longer so dense forests, in front of them vast fields of amber grains…

… and a few blocks of old-timey pike wielding infantry, the banners of the country and lord they serve under fluttering in the wind, banners of gods who have long forsaken them, and then there’s the oddly out of place banners bearing the image of the front of a Suzuki truck. The last obstacle between them and their final objective… and the goal of one of their side objectives.

“Just like a table 5 shoot…” 1st Lt. Cameron agreed without conviction as he put down the pair of binoculars. “... actually, more like conducting a mass execution,” he muttered under his breath.

It wasn’t the physical part of the upcoming battle he’s worried about, as by this point almost everybody in the company, and the entire battalion for that matter, has fired their weapons in anger. What they had shot at was rather varied, as were the targets of their sometimes less than reputable activities. After a few unfortunate incidents in the beginning higher ups have rerouted them far away from any settlement of note, never mind that one of their main goals is to make their presence known and it doubles their estimated travel times.

As to who to handle all those and when are questions not answered, and way beyond their pay grade to even think about.

“Wait a fucking minute.” Ssgt Juan interjected. “Weren’t all those, um, penal- isekai battalions disbanded when they were sold out to the slavers of the evil empire? According to the spooks anyways.” He hastily added the last part as long forgotten briefing information suddenly resurfaced.

“So the intel missed a spot, shocking I know.” Haddox replied absentmindedly. “Well that does complicate matters a bit.” Not the upcoming battle, which will inevitably end in an orgy of automatic weapon fire- like all the skirmishes so far. The centuries gap in technology allows no other outcome, even before factoring in the oddly convenient incompetency of the hostiles…

The problem is what comes after. The incidents of looting for souvenirs, the taking of pictures and videos for keepsake, and after a while; the setting in of the realization of what they have done, and the cocktail of emotions arising from that.

It’s not that they are particularly worse in terms of discipline and morals compared to generations past. Heck, plenty of hoodrat shit was done by a lot of bubbas in both Iraq and Afghanistan over the decades the US has mucked around those unhappy countries. But that was basically a lifetime ago, as far as the difference that the proliferation of social media has brought upon. For while most of the folks back home so far seemed far too easily accepting the fact that their country has decided to go off on yet another foreign adventure in some place that they can’t point out on a map or pronounce the name of, tolerance for the more gritty aspects of war or even the seedier aspects of military culture is at an all time low.

“Maybe not.” Cameron said softly, as if coming to a conclusion to another conversation entirely. The SNCOs looked at him.

“Sir?” Juan asked, though also discreetly trying to guide the discussion back on topic if need be.

“Maybe they can be persuaded to lay down their arms.” Cameron explained. “Surrender.” He paused a moment, to give the others time to let the words of the seemingly nonsensical idea sink in. “We can offer them a ride home, although we’re supposed to do that anyway.” It was actually a surprisingly necessary reminder, as the supposed ‘missing dead persons’ had slipped from their collective consciousness almost as soon as they had stepped off all those weeks ago.

“Will they take the offer though?” Juan asked, narrowing his eyes in skepticism. “Our briefings mentioned that these, um, sh- shit- shtra- penal battalions being some of the most fanatical units in the known worlds, ones that makes even suicide bombers look self preserving in comparison.”

“Ssgt got a point.” Haddox admitted through gritted teeth, looking not too happy on agreeing with anything intel has given them, especially something that he was already predisposed to believe. “A lot of these folks might be broken beyond saving. The ones the CIA picked up back at Earth were literally punted back by malevolent forces unknown, and a lot of them still needed a lot of mental healthcare to be deprogrammed.”

“Still worth a shot though,” Cameron said, making his decision even in the face of evidence of its likely failure. He then lowered his voice, almost as if trying to convince himself. “For them, and for us…” That latter alluded to hangs in the air as everyone’s minds flinched away from, the hardening of their hearts and souls, something which they despised every step of the process.

Both Haddox and Juan nodded curtly in acknowledgement. The time for discussion has come to an end, and the time for action has begun.

……

To the mild surprise of everyone in the JLTV besides the Cpl driving, who don’t know any better, their singular presence forward under a flag of truce (hastily created with a tarp and a lot of white engineering tape scrounged somewhere best left unanswered) was not met with even scattered undisciplined enemy gunfire, or even much of any response. The only sound being the engine of the vehicle, drowning out the fluttering of the banners, and whatever other random noises still remained. More surprising still was a group from the enemy who stumbled forward, and yes, stumbled. For it was a group of emaciated skeleton-like human creatures carrying a massive ornate chair, on top of which sat a thing that’s less of a human and more of a melted stick of lard wrapped in extravagant robes of a priesthood, like the kind of religion that drives people mad enough to nail thesis onto doors of churches.

It really reminded the marines of that one scene in the movie 300, though none of them in the JLTV looked anywhere close to the Spartans in the movie in terms of physique.

The JLTV rolled to a stop, and even as the marines were exiting the vehicle the obese priest was already screeching at them in a high pitched nasal voice, that the force of righteousness will smite the demons and their unholy constructs.

The delusional rambling continued unabated for what seemed like hours but probably no more than a handful of minutes before the sudden bark of a pistol interrupted the scene.

“What the fuck?!” Cameron shouted, looking around for the source of the shot even before the heap of lard slid onto the ground with a dull thud, before realizing that it was Haddox who fired.

“Sir.” The gunny said as he reholsted his pistol. “We'll never get anywhere with that stubborn fool yapping away.”

“Point taken.” Cameron sighed, knowing that Haddox is probably right about that, before turning back to the opposing party, who had by that point finally set the now empty chair down. “I am First Lieutenant Cameron of the United States Marine Corps Sixth Marine Logistic Group.”

“Richer Fisher. Forsaken by gods and men. Atoning for the sins known only to Truck-Kun.” One of the men in the group replied.

“We are here to rescue you. Lay down your arms, and we will soon reunite you with your families.” Cameron made the offer as bluntly as possible, as the group of starved men in front of them doesn’t strike him as the sort to care much for small talk of little consequences.

After a long moment of silence ensued, during which many of those walking skeletons looked at each other with listless yet seemingly knowing looks, before one of them finally replied.

“That- That we cannot do.” Fisher whispered, drawing all his strength to get those words out.

“Why not?” Cameron asked, frowning. This should have been simple, and obvious. Like freeing the black slaves or liberating the concentration camps. Yet here they are, ready to die pointlessly for a foreign country that clearly hates their guts and very essence.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Because, because the turncoat- is more hated than the fantical villain.” The words stumbled out of the Fisher’s mouth as if malnourished themselves. Yet it’s clear to all the conviction behind them. More worryingly are the nods from the rest of the group.

“What?” Cameron asked, partially genuinely confused, and partially stalling for something, anything, to still salvage what appears to be a rapidly deteriorating situation.

“I ask, how are the Italians remembered in World War Two?” Fisher Simply asked in response. “All those who died to throw off the shackles of tyranny- finally waking up from the lies they have been fed..”

Silence greeted his question, as the marines pondered on the at first seemingly cryptic question. Ssgt Juan was the first to come to the realization.

“Motherfucker.” He finally muttered. “Bastard's got a point. The only thing pop culture remembers of the Italians is a disgraceful change of teams mid game.”

“Well, fuck.” Haddox spat out the words in mild annoyance. It’s so easily forgettable that many of the isekaied ones were reasonably well educated in their previous lives, or at least well aware of pop culture. Heck, chances are that they’re probably more educated than the average junior enlisted in the MLG. “Death in a futile and pointless cause is probably preferable to surrender for them.” Privately he somewhat understands the mentality, as it’s eerily similar to the one drilled into him and the rest at boot camp.

It’s just rather inconvenient when it’s the opponents who are being so unreasonable like that.

“Is there any way, any assurance that I can give, to change your minds?” Cameron asked, not about to give up his little clever idea so easily. “It is a rather extreme take to die a meaningless and pointless death. All for notions that mean nothing compared to life itself.”

“In the absence of all, only duty remains. To give up that would be a death beyond comprehension.” Fisher replied, the response as maddening as ever. Both Haddox and Juan gritted their teeth, though did not make any moves towards drawing their pistols. Unlike the fat ass native bastard, there’s still a slim, very slim, chance of defusing the situation with the isekais, not to mention the isekai has a point through it all.

Cameron sighed as he shook his head, trying to think of something. Anything really. He wasn’t going to lose any sleep over killing a few thousand enemy combatants who are too stubborn to die, it would be the easiest thing in the world… easy to do anyways. Just give the order, and the whole thing could be wrapped up in a handful of minutes with an orgy of automatic fire.

… but something within told him to continue, to figure something the fuck out. Maybe it was the urge to save lives, or perhaps selfishly angling for a future promotion or medal. Regardless, his mind thought mightily… and then something did appear.

A somewhat rather risky idea of questionable chance of success, and even if everything goes as supposed to, quite a few of the luckless isekais will probably still die. Not to mention regardless of success it will be seen as a war crime, technicalities being meaningless next to optics.

But it would be better than a straight up massacre.

"Well then, it is what it is." He said as he signaled the others to get back in the JLTV. "Prepare yourselves to become POWs." He threw the last line out as he slammed the door shut, with a bravado and spite that he doesn't feel.

……

"Everything ready?" Cameron asked, his flat voice hiding a nervousness that he doesn't want to display.

"Yes sir." Replied Juan, a single nod of the head.

"Then began the fire and movement." The 1st Lt said, giving the order.

"Aye sir." Came the chorus of acknowledgements.

The orders were quickly sent out through comms and within a quarter of an hour the first of the grenade launchers fired, discharging smoke grenades into the isekai formation.

That the entire ad hoc plan had been implemented within the span of a couple of hours was less remarkable in that much of the equipment was already in the inventory, if only by mistaken notions of doctrine. That those weapons originally meant for crowd dispersion now being instead used to in essence disarm enemy combatants will be mainly a difference of paperwork long after the fact.

Soon after, as the clouds of CS smoke began to envelop the blocks of isekai troops when a few noticed that something was off.

"Jesus christ, they're still holding." Haddox muttered in astonishment as he watched the scene through the RCO of his M4.

Despite being on the receiving end of enough CS gas that would be considered hazing even for marines during annual training, not a man of the isekai regiment broke and ran. Even as the minutes went by, those who succumbed to the checking effects of the gas simply collapsed where they stood, fulfilling their duty to beyond the breaking point of their bodies as they spasm and scrim on the fields.

"Well, fuck." Cameron spat out the words as he watched his hare brain scheme falling apart at the very first step. Normally a few canisters would suffice to disperse a crowd, and he had naively thought that a few dozen of those would break what amounts to a pre modern military formation completely lacking in PPE.

However, it appears that it'll take more than that to knock out those who have already died before, and willing to die again, for notions that only those who have absolutely nothing left would understand.

“Well shit, keep on firing. Maybe we can get them all choking.” Cameron gave the order, doubling down in the forlorn hope to get some semblance of the plan back on track.

“Aye sir.” Came the acknowledgements of the order, almost equally in shock at the scene before them and running by rote, taking refuge in their training and the military structure.

Thus more canisters shot forth, spewing their foul choking smoke. Soon the entirety of the isekai formation was swallowed up by the thick smoke, and the cacophony of coughs and screams could be heard over the din of the idling engines of the marine’s vehicles.

Still the marines stood by as the minutes passed, waiting for the signal to go in. Finally Cameron gave the order.

“Alright, initiate the next movement.” He simply, while looking at the SNCOs, gauged their expressions as to his call. Although they had hashed out the specifics of the plan beforehand, balancing the needs of minimizing death of both the marines and the isekais, the situation had played out with enough differences that he wanted to check again.

Just to be sure, to sooth his own nerves.

Both Haddox and Juan simply looked back with unreadable expressions, for all their experiences the present situation was also something they haven’t really seen before.

“Roger that.” Came the response from the SNCOs as they began to relay the orders for the next movement.

From their positions the marines cautiously advanced on foot, their rifles held at the ready, a few even with bayonets scrounged up from somewhere. As they came closer the sounds of misery and suffering rose of a sickening crescendo, piercing through the dissipating but still dense smoke.

As the smoke cleared the scene that presented itself was close to what had been briefed to them, yet the sight of thousands of coughing and struggling men still shocked many. More disturbing still were the suspicious numbers of unmoving bodies.

The moment passed quickly however, and soon the marines began the grim task of cuffing the now effectively disarmed opponents. Flex Cuffs soon were slapped onto barely resisting wrists as the long and tedious task of processing POWs proceeded, far different from the practice scenarios during the pre deployment training, but to their credit they quickly adapted to the unplanned situation.

And thus the Battle of Bakersfield ended, in a result that in most other situations would have been considered to be a near flawless victory…

……

"It could have been a lot worse sir.” Juan said. Cameron nodded absentmindedly. The senior leadership were huddled in a group with the side of the dirt track, watching the lines of captives being filed, processed, and loaded onto the 7 tonnes to be sent back, first to the nearest base, and soon enough back to the other side of the portal. The sheer amount of isekais found meant that all of their vehicles had been commandeered for the task of transporting them back, which meant that they’re forced to a halt for a bit, although most simply breathed a sigh of relief at hearing that.

They need the rest, in more than one sense of the term.

“Yes.” He sighed, just wanting to have some time by himself to stew his thoughts. Of course, that’s not an option. Not now, nor probably anytime soon. “Still not good enough.” He finally muttered, his eyes gazing upon the bodies being carried off on stretchers.

At the end of the day, not a single casualty was recorded on the marine’s side, and only a few dozens of those isekais had died, mainly from the complications from their existing malnourished and abused conditions. According to HM1 Adams, a few more dozens of these isekais are likely to die before even reaching the forward base despite their best aid, such are their physical state.

“Nothing’s ever good enough.” Haddox shrugged. “It’s just something you’ll get used to.” The platitude came from years of experience, not only from the conflicts of the battlefield, but also the ones fought from the desks of the S-shops.

All those deaths were so avoidable, so within their grasp. Yet also all but impossible, simply because of made up nonsense, held dearly by those who had everything else ripped away from them. Beaten into them by those who have so far escaped all sorts of karma.

And now so many families will be informed that their sons had died a second time, in a way even more meaningless than the last, killed at the hands of those who were supposed to rescue them. It was decided early on by people with way more ranks that there would be no hiding of any discovered isekais from their relatives, regardless of what state they were found in. A lesson learned from the MIA/POWs of the Vietnam war era.

“We’ll get them.” Cameron muttered, more to himself though both Haddox and Juan heard the words clear enough. “We’ll get all of them motherfuckers.”

The day of reckoning will come when they find those bastards.