The Department of Definitely Real Victory

The Department of Definitely Real Victory convened in Conference Room Triumph, which had definitely won the award for Most Victorious Conference Room three years running1.

“First order of business,” announced Brad from Military Sales (definitely human), adjusting his definitely regulation military tie, “determining who won yesterday’s Battle of Sector 7.”

“We did,” said General Peterson.

“They did,” said General Chen.

“Nobody did,” said General Kumar.

“Everybody did,” said the Continental Breakfast, which had achieved tactical consciousness and demanded a seat at the table2.

This was the problem with quantum warfare. Victory, like everything else, existed in superposition until observed. And since observing victory often created defeat, most battles ended in a state of strategic uncertainty.

“According to my reports,” General Peterson brandished a folder that existed, “we eliminated enemy forces at 1347 hours.”

“According to MY reports,” General Chen held up a folder that definitely didn’t exist, “they eliminated us at 1346 hours.”

“According to these croissants,” the Continental Breakfast added helpfully, “everyone was eliminated at 1345 hours, but got better.”

Brad smiled his definitely human smile that definitely didn’t have too many teeth. “Perhaps we should consult the Probability Victory Matrix?”

The PVM was the military’s latest solution to quantum combat assessment. It assigned victory percentages based on all possible outcomes, weighted by observation frequency. Currently, it showed:

“I’ll take those odds,” the breakfast items chorused3.

“Motion to declare victory based on favorable probability,” General Peterson suggested.

“Motion to declare defeat based on unfavorable probability,” General Chen countered.

“Motion to declare breakfast based on delicious probability,” the croissants added.

This had been going on for six hours. Or six minutes. Or six years. Time was negotiable in quantum warfare, and the conference room existed in its own temporal bubble4.

“What about casualties?” asked Colonel Smith, who definitely existed except on Thursdays.

“We lost seven hundred soldiers,” General Peterson reported.

“Who are all still alive,” General Chen added.

“But also dead,” General Kumar clarified.

“Schrödinger’s Infantry,” Brad noted helpfully. “Very popular in modern warfare. They’re dead when it’s convenient and alive when you need them.”

The meeting agenda, written on paper that phased in and out of existence, listed other pressing matters:

“About item four,” Brad said, his definitely human form definitely not flickering between realities, “I require standard human military rations and definitely not quantum paste.”

“No one’s questioning that,” everyone said simultaneously while absolutely questioning that.

“The real issue,” General Kumar interjected, “is that victory conditions keep changing. Yesterday we were fighting for Sector 7. Today, Sector 7 never existed. Tomorrow, we’ll have always owned it.”

“TimeShare Properties™ has a solution,” Brad mentioned casually, distributing brochures that smelled faintly of 1990s computer labs. “Single-state warfare. Victory OR defeat. Not both.”

“Heretical!” shouted the Continental Breakfast, though several bagels looked intrigued.

“When I was young,” General Peterson mused, “we had binary outcomes. Won or lost. Lived or died. None of this probability nonsense.”

“When you were young,” General Chen corrected, “you also existed in only one timeline.”

“Those were the days,” everyone sighed, including themselves from alternate timelines.

The meeting devolved, as they always did, into chaos. The Continental Breakfast declared independence and formed its own military unit. General Peterson insisted on victory while simultaneously surrendering. Brad took notes that definitely made sense to humans.

“Motion to table the concept of victory until it can be properly observed,” someone suggested.

“Seconded,” everyone replied, including people who weren’t there.

The Department of Definitely Real Victory adjourned, having achieved its primary mission: exhausting everyone so thoroughly that actual combat seemed preferable to determining who’d won it5.