“And who, the fuck, is this?” Lt-col Muller asked with little patience as he stood up from his desk and pointed a finger at the nondescript figure in frumpy civilian clothes in front of him. The role of military governor of an entire country is usually far too important for a mere O-5, but alas, America has already forgotten her latest military misadventure, much like a child tossing aside their Christmas toys by New Year's.
The MLG certainly hasn't given any thought of what's to happen after storming the enemy capital, and neither did the DOD for that matter. Not really the MLG’s fault, not really what is within their responsibilities, DoD though, well, someone somewhere will figure something out right?
Thus a mere middle management in limbo due to interservice shenanigans became the unofficial and probably illegitimate military governor of the occupation of a country in another world.
“That,” Koi explained, with a clear lack of enthusiasm or even fucks left to give, “is your replacement. The incoming president of the newly established Republic of Gulaelt.”
"That?" Muller asked in quiet disbelief, though disbelief at what exactly was not obvious just yet. After all, the frumpy civilian is merely the embodiment of the series of wrongness that led to this moment. The half assed planning, the botched execution of the plans, the making shit up once off the expected path that never existed in the first place.
"Gentlemen if I may-" the civilian attempted to speak before being waved off by the other two in the office, the act of which only further solidified his opinion of this whole enterprise, and the real powers in charge.
"Yes, that." Koi repeated, again without enthusiasm. "According to the guys upstairs, he's the best choice for the role."
"What, you scrounge up that sonofabitch from the depths of 4chan?" Muller asked rhetorically, knowingly using some very outdated references but not really caring. Koi will figure the fuck out. Then he noticed a flush of embarrassment from the civilian. "Oh god no." He muttered, really not relishing what's to come as his random off the cuff remark was all but confirmed in his mind.
It wasn't that he really cared that much for this world, as the reports on the ongoing shitshow that is the attempted democratic efforts has made it abundantly clear that the natives refuse to help themselves. However the American blood being spilled, and casualties are still happening on a regular basis in the ongoing insurgency that had promptly sprung up after the formal end of the 'war', grinded on in his mind, especially when paired up with the seemingly ungrateful natives and uncaring folks back home.
Dying isn’t necessarily the problem. Marines do not fear death. Dying for nothing is the problem though, and politicians fear public backlash resulting from that. And now it appears that they're about to repeat the mistakes of history, except this time in a speedrun.
“Something like that, according to the memos.” Koi conceded, seemingly not having much a stake in the argument. “Most existing thought exercises on this topic of liberating other worlds haven’t been updated since 2015, not to mention that they haven’t accounted for-”
“And that makes randos plucked from the internet so much better?” Muller pointed out sardonically, all the while waving a hand to silence the civilian, who was about to interject again. He’ll have plenty of time to fuck up everything later, but for now, it’s time for the competent to do their thing.
“With no due respect, the die has been cast.” Koi simply replied, having picked his words intentionally to hammer in the point that there’s nothing neither of them could do to change the past. The decisions already made. Their opinions on the matter have been seen and promptly discarded by people who get paid far more because they supposedly knew far better.
People who won’t be held accountable for their screw ups when the time comes. A sentiment shared between the two worlds. Thus why should it be different when it’s a fusion of the two?
“Figures.” Muller muttered, shaking his head at the futility of it all. Even as a part of his mind raged impotently against forces far beyond his ability to do anything about, another part breathed a sigh of relief. If it is that futile, then there’s also a corresponding lack of responsibility attached. The only real danger being scapegoated, but he’s been around the block long enough to dodge that when the time comes.
After all, what the history books never really mentioned was that ‘just following orders’ is perfectly valid the majority of the time, as far as physical consequences are concerned.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Then there's the matter of internal moral conscience, but no one makes it to O-5 and still retains one. Last guy who suddenly found his promptly had a meltdown, did something regrettable, got court martialed, and ended up falling to the dark side anyway. The system he railed against unchanged and uncaring throughout all of that little scruffle.
It do be like that. It always does.
“But since you brought it up, what are this fool’s supposed credentials?” Muller asked, the snark sinisterly lying the the back of that idle question, like a predator ready to pounce. The civilian was yet again about to speak when Muller glared at him, making it abundantly clear that the question was not for him, despite being about him.
“Well, about that.” Koi began after taking a deep breath, mustering the best neutral professional tone he could scrape up. “This guy here wrote a series of blog posts collectively titled: Fixing Failed Worlds: A framework for rebuilding fractured fantasy worlds. Basically lampooning that certain genre of popular fiction and the cliches within. Things we’re dealing with right now.”
“Sounds familiar.” Muller grunted, actually mildly surprised by his reaction, as he has long since given up keeping in touch with pop culture. Koi chuckled humorlessly and nervously, a rather out of place act for someone like him.
“Must be a coincidence.” He lied transparently, hiding his own disheartening thoughts on the matter. Something Muller chose to ignore for the moment. If the spook doesn’t want to say something, chances are he ain’t gonna say it. Fine, he can keep his little inside jokes.
“Well then.” Muller sighed as he finally turned towards the civilian for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. “Congratulations, though I don’t envy you one bit.” He said, holding out a hand for a handshake, glad that he managed to not find out the other guy’s name this entire time.
Koi coughed a bit.
“About that.” He clarified. “The actual changeover of authority isn’t due for another week.”
“Shit.” Muller facepalmed as he quickly withdrew his hand. A dignified exit, they managed to rob even that from him.
------
Muller never liked ceremonies, especially when he actually had a speaking role for it, and the official power transfer from military to civilian in this other world was no different: The droning on of a bunch of nothings, empty platitudes and even more empty promises. The bored working party who was dragged into something that they cared little for at the best of times, and worse still had to put on a professional face for the horde of cameras and film, knowing that the media and the internet mob will do their best to put them in the worst of light.
He did manage to learn the name of the incoming president, he couldn’t possibly avoid that. Issac Kyle. An utterly boring ass name. Nothing really changed though, not of learning his name, nor the transfer of governmental powers.
Not for those who remain behind, and those incoming. Luckily for him he’s in neither of those categories.
He’s going home. That civilian so called expert had made it clear: the military has to go. Not everybody, nor all at once. The void they left behind to be filled by PMCs, local security forces, and daydreams & fantasies. He harbored no delusions as to the stability of the place after the marines leave for home.
Really, the only reason the US gov even agreed to that nonsense was because it’s a convenient way out: they already reached their initial goals, and now someone else is stupid enough to offer them an exit plan that they should have thought of already but didn’t because the whole thing was so slapdash put together and small fries in scope.
Not to mention how easily they could come back through the portal if the need arises.
When the need arises.
So into his idle musings that he almost bumped into a group of junior enlisted, who were loading up one of the 7 tons.
“Oh sorry sir.” One of the lcpl muttered as the rest of them hastily mumbled the proper greeting of the day. The ceremony being over the place is no longer a saluting area.
“As you were.” Muller mumbled as he snapped back into reality. “How are you hard chargers feeling?” He asked, falling back into familiar habits, but somewhat stilted. Has it really been so long? A mere handful of years since being shunted off to become some liaison, to some kind of loose cannon, to military governor, and now…
… Now what? Of course the official orders are clear: to return to one of the MLGs, to some desk job. Back to earth, normality.
“Good sir.” Another of the lcpl replied, not sure what kind of officer this lt-col is. Could be easy going, or stickler for the rules. Muller simply nodded.
“Good to hear.” He smiled, trying to put them at ease. “Glad to be going home?”
“Yes sir!” came in the chorus of hearty replies.
“Good. That’s good.” Muller nodded as he turned and moved off to find his assigned vehicle. For all his misgivings on the clusterfuck that will certainly descend on this land in this other world, he was glad of one thing.
Good men are no longer being thrown away for frivolous reasons. Not permanently of course, never was and never will be given the nature of military service. But a respite is always appreciated, no matter how transient and illusionary.
Time for the other men to pick up the slack and taste the suck.