Token, The Elitist

Token was not a Nazi. He certainly wouldn't have been accepted by them if they knew that his blood contained more races than a track meet. He was far too kind to the Iraqis and far too trigger shy to have been an effective mass murderer. He had more of a heart than most Christians, which Ox thought was a total waste in an atheist.
But Token was an elitist. He was a classist, a eugenist, and staunch conservative. Absolutely nothing about Token made sense. He was fascinated in class divided societies like Rome, feudal Europe, India, and Washington State. The goal of breeding out stupidity was a religious mission to Token, though he also firmly believed that the most ignorant tend to do the most breeding. It was an uphill battle, he acknowledged, but he figured a good start was to find intelligent people and convince them to have as many children as possible.

"I figure wars, hard drug use, diabetes, AIDS, and gang violence help weed out many of the useless proles," Token used to share with Ox and Juden. "And the rest serve as an essential lower class labor force."

"So, things will sort themselves out, is that it?" Ox said in a perfect BBC English accent. Ox frequently spoke in a British accent when discussing matters of morality and politics with Token. It made him feel smarter and occasionally made his fellow lieutenant lose focus.

"Well, no, not really," Token continued. "You see, currently the proles are breeding far too rapidly and are producing a surplus of useless idiots that need to be pacified with increasingly strong injections of entertainment and fatty food. There was a time when all a town needed was a bowling alley, booze, and a barbecue to keep the people content. Now we need reality TV, billion dollar fast food joints, 24 hour news stations that focus 23 of those hours on slutty little no-talent starlets, and I mean really, it's not even a news network if you just focus on these flash-in-the-pan celebrities, you know, it's just a gossip network, which is sad that we pay more attention to gossip..."

"Right," interrupted LT Ox, sensing that Token had jumped like a hobo from his train of thought and was currently wandering barefoot towards the soup kitchen. "But without these proles, who would man the Army?" Ox liked to indulge Token's ideas. He didn't necessarily agree with him on any particular point, but Token's conversation was of the most intellectually stimulating Ox could find on the outpost. Conversations with Fats and Juden generally degraded into jokes about Fats' feet or mother and Juden's nose or sexual orientation, and it was harder to pretend like you were working when shouts about whorish women and gay men emanated from the room.

"Like I said," Token reminded Ox. "Lower class labor force."

"So we'll have our thinking done by cowards and our fighting done by fools," Ox stated, feeling intelligent for remembering the quote. Ox liked quoting historical figures, especially when those quotes were displayed on his computer screen while he waited for a battle to load on his video game. "Where do we fit into this?"

"We facilitate the means of appeasement," explained Token. "The regular ignorant public require many different and ever changing methods of appeasement. Soldiers, on the other hand, consistently require very little to appease them. Privates to Specialists just need people constantly thanking them for their service and calling them heroes when most haven't done anything to deserve it. Young sergeants need to be constantly told that they are leaders and that they are the backbone of the army. Senior Sergeants used to be a little more complicated, but fortunately we created our own lodge, the Secret Army Mason Club, to make the old farts think they have some power."

"Wait, I thought that was tied in some way to the Freemasons, the descendants of the Templars? Doesn't that secret society have some actual power?" Ox asked.

"Sure, if by power you mean the ability to enforce asinine uniform and haircut regulations," said Token. "Seriously, the British actors who get knighted by the queen are closer to the Templars than the SAMC."

Ox considered the thought, but secretly feared that if he ever mentioned his views on the club in public, hooded NCOs might sneak up to him in the night, surround him, and tell him that he wasn't authorized to wear his fleece cap while in uniform.

And Ox loved his fleece cap.