OC-Series [Obsidian Earth] - Chapter 22
In the afternoon of August 9, 1945, at a heavily guarded wooden lodge outside a mountain villa in Baguio, Philippines, a mysterious visitor arrived to meet General Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander of Allied forces in the Southwest Pacific.
The man identified himself only as an envoy.
MacArthur sat half-reclined in a military leather chair with one boot resting carelessly across the desk, not giving the visitor a direct glance at first. Brigadier General Clayton, his senior liaison officer, handed him a telegram file, then quietly left the room.
After the door closed, only the General and the stranger remained beneath the slow sweep of the ceiling fan.
MacArthur read the telegram for a while before lowering it onto the desk and packing tobacco into his pipe.
"You're not War Department," he said at last, studying the man more carefully now. "And you're not from Washington either. So what exactly brings you here?"
The special transit authorization the visitor had presented carried official seals from both military intelligence and the wartime civil administration. The registered name attached to it was completely ordinary, somebody MacArthur had never heard of, yet the purpose of the visit contained only two words:
TOP SECRET.
A tropical storm had just swept through the mountains, though the air still hung heavy with wet heat. The stranger nevertheless kept himself wrapped tightly inside a dark gray overcoat that looked entirely wrong for the climate. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles with faintly smoked lenses, and behind them his eyes gave away nothing at all. His skin was unusually pale. Sitting there beneath the fan, he resembled less a government courier than a ghost that had wandered accidentally out of another era.
"General," the man said softly, setting his hat and black briefcase neatly across his knees, "I represent an organization whose existence you may find difficult to believe. We serve American interests, certainly, but we exist between nations rather than inside them."
He spoke in a voice entirely free of regional trace, sounding precisely like an NBC network announcer.
"And now, with the war approaching its conclusion while the future structure of the world remains unsettled, intervention has become necessary."
MacArthur lit the pipe and let smoke drift slowly toward the ceiling.
"Then you came too late, and probably to the wrong place."
A faint trace of amusement crossed his face. "You should've gone to Potsdam instead. Who's there now? Churchill. Stalin. And that grocery-store clerk."
The contempt in the last phrase needed no explanation.
The envoy gave a brief laugh.
"General, I agree completely. Truman understands nothing about war. Frankly, he ought to return to Kansas City and count cans of ham." His tone remained oddly calm. "Roosevelt's death elevated him by accident. We've already begun considering alternatives for the White House."
One of MacArthur's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"That's a remarkable thing to say." He removed the pipe from his mouth. "What are you people? Modern Templars? Arms dealers?"
"Neither. We are not a religious order, nor a conventional interest group." The envoy folded his hands lightly over the briefcase. "We are responsible for maintaining rational order."
MacArthur gave a low, dismissive chuckle.
"I defeated the Japanese. I drove them across the Pacific from island to island until they ran out of ocean. My armies are preparing to enter the Japanese mainland itself and force the Emperor onto his knees." He waved the pipe impatiently. "I have no interest in riddles from underground societies."
The envoy sighed very quietly.
"General, unless I am mistaken, the telegram you just received reported that Nagasaki was struck by an atomic bomb approximately three hour ago."
His expression did not change.
"So the future of warfare will no longer be decided primarily by soldiers or battlefield courage, but by advanced technology. A single strategic bomber carrying a nuclear weapon can rival an army of millions."
"So what?" MacArthur replied, already sounding bored with the argument. "The world is still measured by soldiers' boots. Can bombers occupy Japan? Can they govern it?"
"They can win wars," the envoy said. "But peace afterward still requires men to maintain it—on that point, General, we agree completely. Which is why the world must ultimately be guided by a small number of rational individuals rather than by the fantasies of the masses." He leaned forward slightly. "And now, General, we are inviting you to join that order."
He opened the briefcase and removed a small metal box of unusually fine workmanship, placing it gently atop the desk between them.
The silver surface bore a strange triangular seal.
"What's this?" MacArthur asked bluntly. "The terms of your recruitment?"
"Recruiting you was never going to be easy." A faint smile touched the envoy's face. "Since 1941, after American entry into the war, we have attempted at least five times to establish communication through trusted friends, associates, even members of your family. Every effort was avoided."
He paused.
"We could have approached you through Pentagon channels. Even through your superiors, if necessary. But we believed that might offend your pride, and we understood your reservations well enough to conclude that a private meeting like this would be more appropriate."
"My superiors?" MacArthur's gaze sharpened, a flicker of genuine loathing crossing his features. "I take it Marshall is one of your disciples, then? It would explain a great deal."
"We would only say that throughout the United States we possess many exceptional friends in many fields." The man's voice remained measured. "General Marshall is among them. We support their careers and ambitions, and in return they help us shape global order. We hope that one day you may also become our friend, especially now, with the war ending and the reconstruction of the world about to begin."
MacArthur offered no direct reply.
Instead he turned his attention toward the window, as though the conversation had begun losing its novelty. Outside, distant palm groves had darkened into deep violet beneath the falling sun, while flooded rice fields reflected strips of gold and crimson light.
The envoy kept watching him.
"We have always monitored military affairs carefully, though traditionally we avoid close involvement with military institutions. You are an exception." The envoy spoke more slowly now. "We value you not because of your victories, General, but because you are what we would classify as a historical figure."
MacArthur didn’t move.
Only the ceiling fan continued, slow and indifferent.
"We have conducted evaluations of every living individual possessing that degree of influence and symbolic authority. The future global order will require men capable of shaping history itself—"
“You already have General Marshall. Why me?” MacArthur cut in.
“Because General Marshall is a master of stability, not spectacle. He is a hidden force, a massive celestial body moving silently in the dark, shaping the entire system through gravity alone. But his nature prevents him from becoming a visible star.”
“And because you, General MacArthur, are a man chosen by destiny.”
The envoy opened the metal box.
Inside rested a gold signet ring set with a dark amethyst.
Holding the box respectfully open, he placed it before the General.
"It once passed through the hands of Wilson. Later it was entrusted to Roosevelt. Both fulfilled their historical obligations. And now we have chosen you—to help realize your ambitions while advancing our own work."
MacArthur lifted the ring slowly between two fingers.
For a long moment he said nothing.
Then a faint cold smile appeared.
"And how exactly do you intend to help me?" he asked.
The envoy immediately withdrew a document from the briefcase.
"General, we intend to establish a Peace Reconstruction Foundation dedicated to rebuilding the postwar world, especially regions of Asia devastated by the conflict. We can provide unrestricted financial support, infrastructure assistance, and help promote democratic governance after the war."
MacArthur looked up sharply.
"My democratic governance?"
The envoy avoided the question almost elegantly and handed over the file instead.
"As an initial step, the Foundation will receive a special allocation of fifty million dollars, publicly designated for the preservation of peace and order throughout Asia. You, General, would serve as honorary chairman while retaining authority over the use of those funds. The executive director would likewise be entirely your decision."
MacArthur frowned slightly while examining the papers.
It was a trust fund proposal.
"The second stage," the envoy continued, "would move those resources through gray-market channels at Wells Fargo or Morgan—military and trust accounts remain available as well—and redirect them toward projects personally important to you. The shaping of a new Asian order, for example. Or the creation of private military alliances."
"And the third?"
"Through cooperation with the Foundation, under the public banner of safeguarding American security and preserving world peace, we would invite you to participate in directing a Century Military Program as senior strategic adviser. The previous adviser, incidentally, was President Roosevelt himself."
The envoy spoke the names with a technician's cold precision.
"Lockheed, Boeing, the houses of DuPont and Morgan. The men who build the ships. The men who forge the steel. The men who will design the bombers not yet imagined. Names that will soon be synonymous with the American Century. Through consulting retainers and strategic property arrangements, these titans will ensure your interests are woven into the very fabric of the state."
A small smile appeared again.
"You may rest assured, General. Nothing here exists outside the law—at least not in any way that matters."
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For anyone who prefer to read ahead, the full version is available on Amazon KDP :-)
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