Touch grass they say. The thought reverberated mockingly through Lcpl Maslow's head as the squad patrolled through the sleepy village. Now that grass has been touched, in the sense of trampling over them, he did not feel any different, especially in the sense of greater maturity or deeper sense of understanding of the real world.
Though calling the village sleepy is akin to calling a dying man resting. The OG guys in the unit weren’t too talkative about the times when shit went down. Just the suck in a different place and a smattering of participation ribbons for their troubles. Nothing worth writing home about, or even Instagram worthy photos for that matter.
Supposedly. Something felt off about such a pat explanation. However the hardened expressions of those guys dissuade him and the other boot drops from being asking too much. It wasn’t as if higher ups were trying to keep a lid or anything, that would have caused the opposite.
But none of that mattered at the moment, for now in the absence of the glories and splendor of combat there’s only the regular suck that is composed of the majority of every deployment: Shuffling about in fireteams, patrolling the same little locations, the same people, the same sense of despair permeating through everything.
No, not exactly despair, as that would imply there’s something to fall into that beforehand. What’s in the sunken eyes of the sea of listless peasantry was something far more disturbing. The damn place has never seen happiness or joy, or even anything around that to have an inkling of those concepts.
Oh shit, this is actual bumfuckstan. He realized with a start, almost tripping over a random rock on the dirt path. Luckily, no one else in the fireteam noticed, being all tired and run ragged by the endless repetitive nature of the patrol.
The same routes, the same scenery, the same nothing new or unusual to note or report. The pointless suffering of the masses all blurred together as the sheer amount of it overwhelmed the human mind to comprehend or empathize.
It has been quite a while since official combat has ended, enough that the last of the CARs has hit MOL for those who earned them. He knew better than to expect much in the way of action or excitement, but this, all of this, just feels… senseless. Wasting time. Just like back in the rear honestly.
"Hey guys." Lcpl Simmons suddenly said out of the blue, the barest trace of a mischievous grin on his face. "Do you know that in terms of-"
"No and fuck you." Cpl Daniel butted in to squash the Vaporeon copypasta before Simmons could start. "Someone else tells us something we don't know." He quipped, not really expecting anyone to actually take up the insincere offer.
"I got something." Lcpl Wu volunteered, and Daniel groaned inwardly. Now having traded Oki weeb degeneracy for unhinged conspiracy, but such are the tradeoffs of patrol chitchat.
“Like what, MSG allergy is made up by the government to screw with your dad’s restaurant?” Lcpl Henson joked. Wu simply shrugged.
“I’ll get back to that someday.” He vowed with insincerity, before diving full force into his current train of nonsensical thoughts. “You know how in the west veggies like turnips and radishes are animal feed and fertilizers?”
“No but what does that have to do with anything?” Simmons asked idly as he raised his rifle at some movement nearby, which ended up being nothing besides some wildlife doing nature things. Probably.
“Well, they’re only eaten when things are down bad.” Wu continued. “But over in China they’re staples in normal times, good times even.”
“And what does that have to do with anything?” Daniel echoed the majority sentiment, wondering if perhaps the Vaporeon copypasta would have been preferable to this nonsensical rambling. Wu did not appear to be discouraged by his battle buddies’ lack of understanding, as it’s par the course. None of them ever do. That’s part of the fun.
And that’s perfectly fine. It’s all mindless small talk to pass the time in the end anyways.
“And in China, when things go bad, they simply die of starvation in large numbers once they run out of dirt and grass to eat.” He continued on. “Which brings us to here.” He paused, whether for dramatic emphasis or that he noticed something that might have been amiss in his field of vision no one could tell. “That’s their normal here, starving and dying in large numbers when they run out of dirt and grass to eat. God knows what their bad times are like…”
“Oh yeah, now that you mentioned it.” Maslow nodded, remembering… well, not even really need to go that far in recent memories. The sheer amount of MREs and other foodstuffs that they’re handing out to the natives every day says louder than any briefings and memos, most of those going in one ear and out the other.
But something’s amiss, and among the handful of brain cells in the fireteam one of which finally took note.
"But what about the crops?" Daniels pointed out as he waved a hand around, towards the seemingly endless fields of amber grain all around them. "What the fucks with them? Explain this shit?"
Wu shrugged. "I don't know." He admitted without any hit to his pride. The stakes of random shittalking out in the field has no relevance once it ends, if there were any in the first place. “A fluke?”
It was at that point in time in which the fireteam were meandering back to the village near their FOB, and noticed the gathering of a crowd at what passed for the town square, which is really nothing more than a patch of dirt with a well around somewhere within. It was not time yet for the food distribution, and the crowd had gathered for a different reason.
That reason became obvious as the fireteam drew nearer, as the high pitched grating screeching spewing out the most vile of hatred and threats.
The rightful liege lord has returned, and he demands his due from those who toil the lands.
“Hey fuck face, fuck off.” Daniel shouted as he waved a hand. The crowd of peasants slowly and hesitantly shuffled aside. The Cpl marched forth, stopping only a few steps in front of the overly dressed and smug faced man. “They’re not your slaves anymore.”
The lord laughed mockingly in response as he completely ignored the marines. “For the laws of the gods are forever, and the words of lessers are of nothing.”
“Yeah buddy whatever.” Daniel said with an eye roll as racked his rifle. The crowd of peasants finally started shuffling away, knowing the implications of a rifle going condition 1.
The lord finally turned his attention towards the marines, though only the barest trace of it, as if he’s merely noting a particular piece of trash that’s gotten stuck to his boot. “Your days are numbered, vile scum.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
And with that he too turned away, and soon he and his retinue passed out of sight, leaving the fireteam slightly dazed, trying to make heads and tails of the sheer delusion they had just witnessed.
Wu was the first to speak again. “Yeah… that’s the reason.” He said, continuing the conversation that everyone else had already long forgotten.
“Yeah, well fuck you too you cocksucker!” Henson shouted after the cloud of dust.
“Alright that’s enough.” Daniel sighed as he tried to get his team back to the regular discipline. “We got shit to do.” He shook his head. “The local election is coming up soon.” He said without enthusiasm, already seeing the kind of shitshow that’s coming.
“The upcoming scam festival you mean.” Maslow muttered sardonically. They all can see where it’ll most likely end up being. Everyone could.
Everyone except for the actual decision makers, who of course will act surprised when things go tits up, and who will never face the fallout of that.
But what’s new?
------
On the day of the election, the first of its kind that land has ever witnessed in all of known and unknown history, was on a rather nondescript day. There was moderate cloud cover, a mild breeze, about the best weather to ask for for those who are standing guard, which many of the marines were unlucky enough to be part of.
Just another working party really, for there aren’t any threats to be found among the milling crowd in front of the voting booth, or nearby, or elsewhere. No chance for a CAR, or a purple heart. No chance for the glories of combat outside of whatever wild tales that everyone will make up after the fact to impress the folks back home.
No threats they can fight with their physical weapons, as off in the corner they can see the local lord liege and his retinue stood around, looking mighty intimidating to anyone who doesn’t have a gun… which is of course the local population.
The US might be able to protect them from the dragons and demon hordes, but not the wrath of their gods and divinely appointed superiors, regardless of the new shiny constitution and declaration of human rights over at the capital and all the marines of the MLG stationed in a dozen FOBs across the lands.
“Man, fuck those gay ass cocksuckers.” Henson said as he flicked his head at the group of technically ex aristocracy.
“Why do they still live?” Maslow asked rhetorically. As usual, Wu failed to read between the lines.
“The reason is due to political necessities.” He began. “Since-"
Henson cut him off. "Yeah fuck that shit." He snapped, not necessarily at him, but moreover at the situation at large. “You know no one here gives a rat’s ass about that political bullshit.”
“But they do.” Wu sighed, ready to go into autistic details on the complexities of geopolitics involving nation building.
“As I said, COCksuckers they all are.” Daniel shook his head, having long since spent his last fuck to give. Now, he’s just here for a paycheck, with that cherry on top of imminent danger pay that’s equivalent to a Big Mac per day. Just the burger, not even the entire meal.
At least they’re all still getting hazard pay, but then again if the stories from the other guys based elsewhere are true. Some of them are earning every penny of that pay.
And he envies them, those who busy their minds with combat where the action is. Not rotting away watching evil triumphing, powerless to do anything despite the rifles in their hands and all the bigger guns back at the FOB.
And evil is triumphing right in front of their faces, for none of them harbored any illusions on the thinly veiled act of voter intimidation on the part of that lord liege. His posture, his gestures, his words.
But all they can do is to stand around, staring back at a rigged contest they are fated to lose.
The foreknowledge in their gut did not make it easier to accept however.
------
“Surprise, surprise.” The sarcasm of the words that left Daniel’s mouth was obvious even if his tone of voice was completely flat and devoid of emotions. He threw the copy of the memo down to the dirt of the tent. No one else bat an eye, being too engrossed to the screens of their phones or laptops.
“Another working party?” Henson asked, oblivious of the implied topic and not really paying any attention to the mood at hand.
“No, not that at least.” Daniel said softly, his mind already moved onto something else entirely. He picked up his rifle and slung it in a backside carry, a move that would be out of place if anyone had paid attention. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke. He declared casually as he walked out of the tent.
“Wait-I’ll join you.” Maslow said as he finally noticed the subtle weirdness of the situation. Nothing particularly out of place of course, just something that set off his gut instinct… and it ain't the MREs either.
It was only a few minutes after the two left did the rest of the fireteam remember that Maslow doesn’t actually smoke.
……
“Cpl, I think you really need to reconsider-” Maslow said worryingly as the two made their way down the dirt path, the firewatch at the gate of the FOB having waved them through lazily as if they didn’t give a fuck. They probably didn’t.
“Oh I thought about this a while.” Daniel replied with a disturbing conviction in his voice. “It’s either this or me deep throating a shotgun a few decades down the line.”
“Come on it’s not that-” The words died on Maslow’s lips as Daniel fired off a 3 round burst into the air with his rifle. The two of them had arrived at the estate of the liege lord, and the sight that greeted them was about what they had expected: the lines of dreary peasants, depositing what they could not afford to those who demand it out of pure greed.
“Hey fuck face.” Daniel shouted as he reslung his rifle. The liege lord turned to look at the marine with an expression of disdain and disgust.
“And what is this maggot doing here?” He asked rhetorically to no one in particular even as Daniel started making his way towards him. “Go back to your hovel, and leave the-” He did not finish as Daniel took out his [personal] ka-bar in one fluid motion, and sunk it deep in the smug bastard’s chest.
Chaos promptly erupted as the liege lord’s retinue unsheath their swords, only to be stopped as Maslow fired off a warning burst of his own from his rifle. Paperwork and future ninja punches be damned, he ain’t about to let his fireteam leader be killed, regardless how out of mind he is at the moment.
As the moment drawn out in stunned silence, Daniel knelt down next to the still spasming body of the liege lord, a cruel, warmless smile on his face. “Let me tell you something.” He said in a bittersweet voice. “I enjoy every minute of this.” He declared as he twisted the knife further.
And with a last gurgle, the body lay still as the light went out of the eyes, and a silence descended at the scene as everyone tried to process what had transpired… and what’s to come.
It was just as well that at that particular moment a couple squads of marines had arrived at the scene, and Daniel and Maslow were quickly relieved of their weapons, cuffed with flexi cuffs, and unceremoniously dumped into the back of a 7 ton.
In the coming days the war crime was gleefully plastered all over by the media and the tabloids of two worlds, and forgotten as quickly as it appeared. It was only another senseless killing, a faceless killing a nobody, their names meaningless to those not in the know.
------
“Feeling better about all that?” PFC Maslow asked sardonically. He was lucky, it was just a ninja punch, with the usual consequences: loss of pay, loss of rank, meaningless constructs out here in the field in this other world. He’ll prestige back to Lcpl soon enough anyways, it’s the nature of the shitbaggery.
“Actually, yes.” Daniel said, his face a blank devoid of expression. He, along with a number of other dubious creatures, were waiting for the 7 tons. To take them back, to be processed, discharged in a way that is other than honorable, possibly even dishonorable.
Honor, according to those who cross all their ‘t’s and dot their ‘i’s. Justice too, or something to that effect when it's words on paperwork.
“You know you have changed nothing right?” Wu pointed out, in his usual tone without malice or intentions. “That bastard’s got relatives, and the peasants still lived in terror of their god appointed slavemasters.”
“Then what the fuck are we even here for?” Daniel asked as he climbed on to the back of the truck. The question hung in the air like the aftermath of a slap of the serious kind, even after the truck and other vehicles left the FOB.
“Bruh. I’m just here to pay off the 26% APR on my Charger.” Henson said to the now settling dust kicked up by the vehicles.