Chapter 104
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: The Magician of Leavenworth (8)
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November 2, 1920.
The next president, who would bring order and peace to the chaotic United States, had been elected.
"Harding! Harding! Harding!"
"Republicans! Republicans! Republicans!"
A landslide victory.
The Republicans crushed the Democrats with nearly two-thirds of the vote.
"America will return to normal! Back to our comfortable homes!"
Harding declared confidently, but
the United States could no longer go back to how it was.
With Congress rejecting the Treaty of Versailles, the country was in the bizarre legal state of still being at war with Germany, Austria, and others.
As the Wilson administration suffered its worst collapse, nearly all legislation and political decisions were on hold until the Harding administration took over.
Among these dust-gathering critical issues were countless ticking time bombs.
The new naval arms race breaking out among the victors—Britain, France, Japan, America.
Separate peace treaties to negotiate with the defeated nations.
Compensation for veterans who shed blood, and treatment for the colored soldiers who newly devoted themselves to the Union.
The unending yellow peril rhetoric, how much to cut military spending post-war, and more...
But astonishingly.
"Deal 'em up, heh heh."
"They say you get drunk fast on sweet booze. Looks like he's in for a real beating tonight. Ha ha!"
What vision or philosophy did the man who would lead the nation for the next four years have in his head to untangle this mess?
Who knows.
Our president-elect was still lost in his golf and poker trance.
That unflappable pace of his.
At this point, it was downright awe-inspiring. How could a man about to enter the White House receive those colorful Trump cards in such a state of zen detachment?
Maybe I'd misjudged Harding's caliber.
No way a president could be that thoughtless. He must be hiding his grand ambitions, biding his time endlessly.
"This place is great and all, but it's boring without women!"
"Indeed, indeed."
"You need beauties tucked under each arm, pouring drinks while you get your cards dealt. Damn, is it 'cause this feels like a funeral parlor? No thrill to it."
There it is.
This guy really is just a thoughtless lecher.
"Once you're in the White House, you won't be visiting the U-Boke often anymore."
"You're right. Such a shame! All sorts of busybodies will stick to me saying no booze. I'll sneak over sometimes, so leave the door cracked?"
"There's a secret entrance to the building. I'll give you a pass for that tunnel. Visit whenever you like."
"Ha ha ha! Thank you! Now I can run the country with peace of mind!"
Is this the art of non-action?
Just breathe and do nothing, and the invisible hand takes care of everything?
Who knows.
Maybe I'd put the biggest idiot on the presidential throne.
No. Nah. Even without me, Americans chose this guy.
Not my fault.
Dorothy's belly was growing bigger by the day.
"What's this now?"
"A phonograph."
"I know that. Why'd you suddenly buy one?"
"They say good music helps with prenatal care."
"Picking up weird ideas again..."
Some folks clicked their tongues at my frivolity upon seeing me, but that was their problem. If anything, the laissez-faire parenting around here shocked me more.
Yushin was planning to get married next year.
With Dorothy pregnant, I'd probably have to go to the wedding alone. Could I bring Henry? I barely get to show my parents their first grandkid's face as it is.
Things with Japan—or rather, Oota—weren't hitting any snags.
Oota, ever the diplomat, fully grasped that any leak would end the deal.
—Report to superiors complete. Message received: they wish to avoid any unfortunate misunderstandings between you, Captain, and the Empire going forward.
Perfect. They get exactly what I meant by the proposal.
Of course, as a U.S. Army officer—or even as a Korean-American—I had no intention of playing nice with Japan.
But Oota, deeply invested in protecting Asian rights in San Francisco, saw it as purely 'personal': he'd attend Yushin's wedding, forging a 'personal connection' with me beyond nationality or job. Pure coincidence, nothing planned.
Just acquaintances, not even friends—who could complain?
Now, even if we clashed publicly, backchannel talks could go through Oota. He'd maximize his value as the pipe and mediator, Japan could spin sweet delusions that Eugene Kim was secretly on their side.
Me? Infiltrating Japanese society was a done deal, and personally, I'd get early signals before the Empire tried chopping my head off.
They've got brains too—rather than killing me outright, they'd probably start with "Kim Eugene! You arrogant bastard!" and talk first. In short, Oota was my canary in the coal mine.
With the board set, I returned to my main job worry-free.
Things at Leavenworth were wrapping up gradually.
Tank doctrine development was just me tossing out one 'opinion' anyway. Collating them was upper management's job. Get to it, Marshall.
So I could push aggressively without restraint.
A conceptual design for the MBT precursor, assuming sufficient tech:
—Impossible with current tech, but tanks must ultimately handle anti-tank and anti-infantry roles with a single main gun, while possessing ample mobility and protection.
And compromises with reality, designs ready for immediate adoption:
—Light and medium tanks have distinct roles. Tanks for infantry support and anti-infantry combat differ vastly in development needs from those aimed at suppressing and destroying enemy tanks.
Multi-turret nuts. Guys dying to turn tanks into department stores—gotta crush them. Over my dead body would taxpayer money build twin-barrel monstrosities.
And I had to fight like dogs with the artillery branch claiming anti-tank could be all theirs. Grrr, woof! How dare immobile bastards challenge tanks!
Polishing this chaos into dignified prose and firing off endless reports was most of my recent work.
Navy stuff mattered to me, but it wasn't my Leavenworth instructor duty. That's why I was only cracking Navy docs after hours. Definitely not because Marines were raging "That landlubber's ditching us for squid games?!"
Reviewing Army and Navy docs together, the Asia-Pacific core issue came into view.
The Philippines.
How to handle that tumor would be key going forward.
The Navy wanted steady advance from Hawaii, smashing Japan. Least blood, most certain.
So while I didn't know the whole Navy's take, the planners seemed to quietly think ditching the Philippines might be best.
But the Army?
Too many screamed holding the Philippines was America's sacred duty as the 'civilized' nurturing the 'savages' toward civilization.
Leonard Wood, the number one candidate this election, said it outright.
Our fine senior, General Douglas MacArthur, wouldn't entertain abandoning it even in his dreams.
Plus, I had Filipino friends. How could I face Vicente or Anastacio if I pushed to ditch it?
Human relations are so tricky. My head's gonna explode.
"What about tomorrow's guests?"
"Feeding squids fancy? Just give 'em dog chow."
"Squids are dog chow!!"
"Quit saying weird stuff—Henry's picking it up. Raising two kids is driving me nuts."
Got scolded again.
Better show the wife I'm diligently parenting before she blows up.
"Our good boy Henry. Listen to Daddy."
"Yes."
"Squids are never okay. Got it? Only mean, nasty drunks join the Navy—Ow! Ow!"
Hit anyway.
And the next day, I finally heard the guest I'd dissed had changed.
"Sorry for the imposition, Captain Kim. Colonel Pye, who was coming with me, had urgent business, so it's just me."
"Too bad. As you know, this is purely social, not official. Relax and enjoy."
"Appreciate the consideration."
"Come in. I'll take your coat."
"Thank you, ma'am."
He looked exactly like a strict, prickly Spartan boarding school dorm master.
Not in uniform, but grab any passerby and ask their job—eight out of ten would peg him as military from the vet vibe.
If he'd groveled to Dorothy, Navy-Army cooperation be damned—I'd have buried him in the yard. But he wasn't that spineless squid, luckily.
He extended a hand for a shake.
"Belated intro. I'm Colonel Ernest King, head of the Naval Postgraduate School."
"Eugene Kim. Nice to meet you."
"Daddyyy."
Henry toddled over clutching a toy soldier, grabbing my pant leg tight.
"Who's this uncle?"
"He's a Navy uncle who studies with Daddy how to protect kids like Henry."
"Pleased to meet you, little guy."
King twisted his stern face into a awkward smile.
But that looked even scarier, you jerk. What're you doing to my son?
Henry, hit full-force by that mug, freaked out and dropped his precious toy.
"Squid?? A squid?"
"Henry!"
"Mommy! A squid's at our house!!"
Startled Dorothy clapped a hand over his mouth, scooped him up, and bolted inside. I felt her glare.
"...Your son is quite... forthright."
"Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha."
Old sayings are spot on: don't even drink cold water in front of kids.