Twenty years. Twenty fruitless years we wasted on this war… What are we fighting? Desert tribesmen? Ghosts? The dialogue of a forgettable flop of a movie concerning an even more forgettable conflict reverberates throughout the halls of power in two worlds, occasionally haunting the conscience of the bureaucrats in their moments of weakness.
But not for the marines who patrol that accursed land. For they see with their own eyes the reality behind the illusion of the supposed harsh truth. In war, the work is hard but simple: You either shoot, or be shot. No certainty whether it’ll be them or you.
But in that case at least something could be done. A reaction if nothing else.
Not this farce of a peace. A notional peace for notional people doing notional things.
Bitter thoughts of learned helplessness once again flashed though the mind of Lcpl Richard Lee White, as he and his squad watched yet another supposed witch burning by the local folks in progress. The laws of the land and the rules of engagement prevent the marines from interfering with the injustice before their eyes as surely as any magical or physical barrier.
They have eyes, but forbidden to see. Ears, but forbidden to hear. Hands, but forbidden to act upon. A mouth, but their words scattered into the background noise known as the chain of command.
It’s their culture. Command said, as if that justify executing rape victims on tumpted up charges in order to cover up for pedo scumbags. Can’t afford to dismantle the existing social-political framework completely. The talking heads said, as if that justified letting innocents die for the twisted debauchery of local (and some not so local) elites.
And the worst thing is that those policies do nothing to curb the simmering insurgency. They offer nothing new or great. On the contrary, their continued presence was an affront to the natives, who so many of them got notions that misery builds character, and that they should seek the most pointless of martyrdoms to absolve their fundamental sins or some such nonsense.
What’s even the point of them being in this godforsaken land? Nation building? Built what? Bringing the kidnapped folks back home? Who even remembers that? Fuck, if anything there’s even more jackasses from earth running around in this shithole these days. More belligerent too for that matter, probably making up most of the active insurgents and other troublemakers.
Unsurprisingly, somehow, things got worse in every conceivable measure.
“Hey killer, the fuck you think you’re doing?” The voice of Cpl Steiner, his squad leader, broke White’s wallowing of self-loathing and idle musing.
“Wha- Oh shit.” White replied indifferently as he realized that he had unconsciously racked back his M27 and made his weapon to condition 1.
“Save your indignation for the internet.” Steiner sighed, knowing reasonably well what’s going through the mind of his subordinate. Those same intrusive thoughts had gone through all of their minds at some point or another. And unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, a few acted upon them.
And while Steiner couldn’t fault their moral conscience, that being said he would rather not deal with the paperwork of someone on his squad going postal.
“Roger… As if that’ll change anything.” White muttered as he fidgeted around with his rifle and mag to get back into condition 3.
“Look man, just run that clock down.” Steiner muttered through gritted teeth as he and the rest of the squad turned their gazes away from the horrific scene of mob injustice right in front of them. Powerless to intervene, the words of their orders are as ironclad as any petrification spell. “Just one fucking day at a time.”
“Rah.” Came the unenthusiastic responses by rote. Weariness enveloped the marines like raindrops soaking through cheap Gore-Tex. The weariness of the mind and of the soul, of all the power in the world except for permission, and the burden which that place on the heart.
Perhaps for all that they’re cowards. Slaved to the hypocrisy of those above, and those beyond. The fear of negative paperwork and judgmental eyes keeping them from doing what should be done. What needs to be done.
“What are we here for then?” Lcpl Tobes asked out loud the question that’s on everyone’s minds.
“Rhetorical or actual?” Steiner replied, hoping for the former, and not really feeling answering the latter if it came down to it.
“Actual.” Tobes clarified. Steiner sighed.
“To protect, um, these folks.” He finally said without conviction, pointing a finger at the heinous mob that they have all turned away from, not that it saved any of them from the atrocity that they know is happening, was happening, and will continue to happen for the foreseeable future. All across this goddamn forsaken land, forever and forever.
“Clearly not from themselves.” PFC Brown remarked, keeping a remarkably emotionless expression through it all.
“Yeah, well… there’s our orders, handed down directly from the cocksuckers from the COC.” Steiner said in a weary monotone voice. Again, this fruitless banter makes the rounds at least once a week, and the results being all the same: nothing meaningful being done, and they all slide further into their guilt by association and inaction.
And there will be an accounting. Not for the bigwig decision makers themselves obviously, the worlds are not just enough for that. Not even for the rest of them, not in the legal sense. Yet in their bones they could already feel it, forces and feelings from elsewhere. Inside, outside, wayside? No one knows and no one really wants to dwell too much on it. Not while there’s a lot of other things going on in the here and now.
“Well, if they’re expecting notional effort they’re gonna get notional effort.” Tobes half heartedly declared with a shrug as he turned around from the lynch mob, looking at the rest of the squad to gauge how much of the hint they’re getting. To his relief he noticed Steiner’s barely perceivable nod.
“Well, place looks orderly enough.” The squad leader said with the barest trace of sarcasm as he motioned for his squad to form up. “Surely we have done all we can.” He declared.
The rest simply nodded along as they stepped off, knowing how the dog and pony show should play out.
They were not 50 paces away when the unmistakable fireballs of the isekai insurgents and the shrieking of the villagers filled the air. But of course, no one saw or heard a thing. For the usage of eyes and ears are for only specific circumstances.
Just another tragedy all too common in that picturesque hellscape. Today, tomorrow, and forever.
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“What? No thanks.” White muttered as he waved off the canteen held out from Lcpl Yuan, an Asian whose most notable feature being his lack of anything notable. Truly a background character if there ever was one.
“You- drink. You need it.” The diminutive man insisted. The two of them, actually the entire platoon for that matter, were huddling around the smoke pit. Some vaping, others enjoying their tobacco products in more traditional ways, and the remainder just hanging around, as misery loves company.
And there’s plenty of misery to go around. Completely predictably their failure to stop the terrorist attack was not received well, and they were chewed out by their entire chain of command. The paperwork for the NJPs and the rest of the punishments will arrive in the coming days, the UCMJ remains as efficient as ever- at least on paper, and that paper is the almighty god of many worlds.
With a sigh White accepted the canteen and took a swig, the unexpected content within almost made him gag and drop the canteen. “What the fuck- How do you get it out here- You don’t even drink!” He choked out the words as he tried to get a hold of himself. Yuan shrugged.
“Exactly. I don’t drink. Company guns ever checks.” He explained, as if revealing the masquerade was just something mundane, like the weather.
“That’s some top shelf shit you got there.” White whistled, now that he had a moment to savor the bitter aftertaste of the liquor. Belatedly he realized that Yuan had already offered everyone else a drink, who all took it gratefully.
“Smuggling is high risk. Goods should be high value.” Yuan said, answering the rhetorical question that no one asked.
“But why now?” White asked, though he already had his suspicions, which was promptly confirmed.
“Because life is sucking a lot right now, and everyone need some cope.” Yuan replied, taking back the canteen and passing it to another all too willing hand. “A moment of illusion before the curtain rises again.”
……
And they did need a lot of cope, and Yuan delivered. Somehow the dude managed to smuggle through two full canteens and a camelback worth of the finest liquor. As he was going down with the rest of them he felt he had nothing to lose with the carefully husbanded contraband.
It was near midnight when white staggered away from the smoke pit, his head pounding from the sudden and unexpected intake of alcohol rather than the actual amount consumed, which was really nothing in comparison with even the weakest of barrack parties.
As he stumbled through the FOB the shadows seemed to melt into each other, creating strange and unsettling new shapes. He dismissed those, and the rest of the slightly off sights and sounds. It was a bad idea to cope with alcohol, but at the time he was past caring. After all, what can he look forward to besides the NJP, the consequences of that, and a service that will be known as disgraceful.
He won’t even have the dignity to die a mysterious death like his father, or the man that’s presumed to be his biological father. The man who had barely graduated from being a boy had gone missing in this shithole of a world before he was born back on earth. They never found a body. Could have gone AWOL for all anyone knew.
He never made it back to his squadbay. Shuffling through what felt like an entrance or something to that effect, he promptly fell facedown into the dirt, the hard ground oddly warm and welcoming in his altered state.
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With a groan White rubbed his head as he got up from his unplanned sleeping spot. Steeling himself for the upcoming chewing out that he’s gonna get from his platoon sergeant. Yet as he rubbed his eyes the outworldly sights around him remained. Sinister spikes everywhere, demonic shadows swirling to and fro, the chatter of clicks and shrieks echoing in directions that seemed to defy logic or reasoning. Also the general foreboding atmosphere and darkness isn’t helping matters.
The time on his shitty ass $40 watch bought at the PX before the deployment says 05:35, confirming the suspicion in his mind that he is already late for reveille. But the little light on it showed nothing of the strange setting he is now in.
Or rather, he has eyes, but no understanding of what he’s seeing. Ears, but no understanding of what he's hearing. Suspicions in his mind, but no willingness to act upon them.
And then he saw it: the massive and sinister figure walking up to him, its ungainly walk oddly familiar in a way that he dares not make the comparison. As his eyesight adjusted to the darkness around the slightly offset familiarity became all the more unsettling.
“Huh, figures” The figure muttered in a jarring human-ish voice as it stopped right in front of him, a rather large and menacing sword in his hand. “Get up, marine. The least you can do is to die a dignified death in your last moments.”
“Wha- how do you- you can speak English?” White asked in between fits of coughs, the words and thoughts spilling out in a disorganized heap as he struggled to get up.
“Of all the times and people to question the absurdity of this entire world it has to be you here and now.” The figure mused, almost to itself- himself. The voice is male and deep enough. It was then White noticed the tattered remains of MARPAT, including a rather salted name tape with the letters LEE still barely legible…
Of course it could be a coincidence, it’s probably- most likely a coincidence. There’s more than a handful of Lees in the corps at any one time, probably more than a few who went MIA…
He brushed the doubts away. "Dad?” He asked in a dazed voice, shaking his head to sweep away the cobwebs of his mind.
“What?” the being that once upon a time went by the name of Lee asked, his voice dropped at the sudden and seemingly nonsensical question from the marine.
“No, my father died honorably in the war.” White spat out, as if reassuring himself more than anything else.
“Honorable? There was nothing honorable about that damn war!” Lee snapped back. “Wait, you’re still here- THIS WAR!” He corrected with a growl, remembering the nature of modern conflicts in -stan type countries.
And this one certainly is one of those, as once stripped away the trappings of another world it’s no different from Afghanistan, Iraqistan, whatever-stan.
“What do you know of honor, you ugly motherfucker?” White snapped back, his bravado momentarily getting the better of him before the gravity of the situation reasserted itself once again.
“Enough to wear the uniform, and to die in it.” Lee said with a mild trace of regret, pointing at the faded nametape with a finger.
“What?” White asked, slapping himself in the cheek. Trying to wake up from the nightmare, the nonsense. Another world or not, isekai cliches like the demon lord or contrived coincidences have no place in any real world.
“Young man, I was like you once.” Lee began. “Clean shaven dumbass lance coolie going off to some grand adventure. Fought the last maou, shanked his ass too. Died around then.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Then I woke up in this weirdass cosplay, couldn’t do shit for a while, just watching the world turn.” He sighed. “I've seen enough.” Those three words had a finality different from the rest of the rambling mess.
“And why should I believe any of that?” White countered.
“You shouldn’t. You should believe what your own eyes have seen.” Lee simply said.
He got you there. The voice inside White’s mind snarked. Ignoring the lies of the demon lord is easy. Ignoring the bullshit of real life, another matter entirely.
Still, that doesn’t exactly change his present predicament.
“If you think I’ll betray the corps and my country you have another thing coming.” White said, mustering up whatever fake confidence he could scrape up. The maou simply snorted in derision.
“Save your bravado for your chain of command.” He said dismissively as he motioned for a couple of his guards, who promptly grabbed the unarmed marine with ease. “Tell them we’re coming, and that it would be prudent for them to leave, for this is not their fight.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that your chain of command will believe you, good luck on your court martial.” He motioned the guards again. “Take him away, drop his ass in front of the FOB gate.”
------
Of course the maou was right, they didn’t believe a damn thing. Not even the literal demons who dropped his ass in front of the shocked marines on duty at the gate. Of course good order and discipline was the far more pressing issue, certainly not the literal demon invasion that’s about to occur.
After all, evil has never triumphed in that land, and never will.
Luckily for White, the COC’s pursuit of justice was only surpassed by the incompetency of their handling of the evidence, and like so many other cases from the valid to the absurd, he managed to dodge a conviction by the slimmest of technicalities.
No matter. There are other ways to push out inconvenient people.
All the while the steps of war marched closer to its sickening conclusion.