Chapter 109
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: Grinning US Army Remaker (3)
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This damn US Army. I must've lost my mind to join the Army.
I should've done whatever it took to get into the Navy. Then I wouldn't be suffering through all this downsizing bullshit right now.
Of course, it's all too late for regrets now.
If I'd joined the Navy and been scrubbing decks while getting called a Yellow Monkey, I wouldn't even be complaining like this.
Besides, I saw King going through hell too, so I know the Navy couldn't escape the cuts either.
Still, the Navy didn't have this level of insane chaos. Hell, we're the victorious army of a superpower—why the fuck are we getting hammered like this? Did I immigrate to Germany without realizing it?
All that's growing is my pile of regrets, but what can you do? That's life.
Under the newly proposed National Defense Act, the Tank Corps will be disbanded, and naturally, no armored branch will be established. The remaining two heavy tank battalions and four light tank battalions will be reassigned under infantry units.
What the hell kind of lightning-bolt bullshit is this?
We shed blood to gain that military know-how and all those techniques from the Tank Corps.
And now they're just going to smash it to pieces?
No matter how much I've acted like I wanted to wash my hands of tanks, I couldn't accept this.
Even if they're crazy about downsizing, they should at least keep the spark of armor alive to prepare for the next big war—the Second World War.
I had no choice but to get involved. Plus, if the very concept of tanks fizzles out like this, it hits the core of my career. This was an unavoidable choice for my own selfish sake.
I returned to Leavenworth with a massive headache, and sure enough, Drum summoned me right away, having noticed my expression.
"Major Kim, how's the baby?"
"Thanks to the Commandant's consideration, a healthy daughter was born. Thank you, sir."
My face must've looked like a rotten tomato, but Drum remained utterly composed throughout.
"Care for some coffee?"
"I'd be grateful if you would."
"Aide. Two cups of coffee here."
Soon, steaming cups arrived, but I was too pissed to even touch mine.
"What's wrong, Major Kim? You look terribly out of sorts."
"I've heard about the new National Defense Act."
"Downsizing was inevitable. It's regrettable, but we must respect the choice of the American people."
He sipped from his cup, striking a pose like some British aristocrat trying to look as elegant as possible.
Today, he looks even more infuriating.
"I heard the Tank Corps is being disbanded."
"That's right. It's the natural course."
"Natural? The United States was the first in the world to standardize tanks. Isn't it a waste to throw away this precious military tradition?"
"Throw away? The tanks are returning to their original role."
Drum set his cup down with a sharp clink that echoed through the room.
"Frankly, it's hard for me to understand your position as well. Weren't you in the middle of stepping away from tanks?"
"I have other duties too, but tanks were my concept from the start. How could I abandon my own children like that?"
"That's a bit odd. Didn't General Pershing give you any heads-up?"
Why the hell is Pershing coming up here?
But Drum's next words left me stunned.
"The disbandment of the Tank Corps was General Pershing's decision. To be precise, Congress questioned the general, and he affirmed that disbandment was appropriate. I merely provided him with the most accurate judgment and its basis."
Pershing? Pershing ditched the Tank Corps?
Suddenly, the back of my head felt hot.
"Of course, tanks were useful in the Great War. No one denies that."
"Then why—"
"The American Expeditionary Force learned invaluable lessons on the European battlefield. That infantry of the United States, armed with unbreakable will and bayonet spirit, possesses firepower strong enough to breach any defensive line."
Uh... what the hell is this guy saying?
Did he fight in a different war from me?
Is Drum saying he came back from some Earth-3 where US infantry used the Force or telekinesis in the Great War? Or does he think his soldiers were clone troopers?
What does he think Meuse-Argonne was, that hellscape?
You bastards sat back in Chateau-Thierry, jerking off, while sending poor riflemen with nothing but bolt-action rifles straight into German machine-gun nests.
Bayonet spirit? Infantry firepower? Bullshit—there was no firepower, so they crawled like dogs and died like dogs!
Those poor souls lost their lives unjustly, piling up mountains of corpses, shedding bloody tears, barely pushing back the enemy—and now scum like Drum spouts crap like, 'See? We broke through. We were right all along!' It was enough to drive anyone mad.
Are you even human?
Have you forgotten the meaning of human lives reduced to numbers, flapping maps and papers from the rear, you loose-screw bastard?
Someone once said that when you're too stunned and furious, you end up laughing. Sure enough, a grin was spreading across my face without me realizing it.
Seeing that, Drum thought I understood and launched into an even more fervent tirade.
"I agree that powerful artillery will be essential in future wars. But in the Great War, that artillery lost its shine due to the lack of communication means. They were useless spectators when you needed them most. In the end, the only firepower frontline troops could rely on was the rifles in their own hands! How can you not grasp that simple truth?"
"The concentrated rifle fire through the US Army's expert marksman badges. Coupled with artillery fire. That's the doctrine—Open Warfare—that General Pershing and our top staff compiled at the end of the Great War."
This... this is just the Imperial Japanese Army, you psychos.
I called you a second-rate power's second-rate army a thousand times? Take it back. You're not even a second-rate power—you're a fake great power, a cult great power with unlicensed soldiers.
Unlicensed doctors only kill patients, but you lot are about to suck dry the lives of other people's precious drafted sons.
The Great War proved beyond doubt that rifle fire alone could never overcome trenches, barbed wire, machine guns, and field artillery-packed enemy lines.
My frontline commanders and I scraped together everything we could—mortars, machine guns, tanks, aircraft, artillery, stormtroopers—to the absolute limit, trying every damn trick in the book just to barely achieve our objectives piercing that cursed Hindenburg Line.
And these assholes' conclusion is 'We weren't wrong. Infantry is all you need'? Wow, I want a pistol. Just clean and quick, gun them all down.
"...Is that all?"
"Oh, my apologies. I should've started by assuring you clearly: even with the Tank Corps abolished, it won't harm your career. Tanks themselves will persist. As weapons to safely escort infantry to enemy trenches, they still have value."
No, that's not what I asked.
What's the point of mobile pillboxes? You thick-headed fool.
I kept my mouth shut tight, and Drum fiddled with his coffee cup for a moment before smirking like he'd solved the riddle.
"I forgot for a moment what kind of man you are."
"Then—"
"Yeah. Let's be frank. It's all political logic. Why hand new weapons to the cavalry bastards?"
Wow. Now it's down to rice-bowl fights?
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
"It's not just about rice bowls. The war showed tanks can't be used for long periods with abysmal operational rates. If one breaks down in enemy territory, it's lost. But in the middle of our infantry, we can recover and repair it. Tanks are too expensive for one-and-done use."
Finally, some facts from Drum's mouth.
Too expensive for cavalry use—what can you do?
But instead of 'develop tech harder to make more reliable tanks,' they went with 'they break anyway, so don't take them far.' Anyone can see that's rice-bowl influence.
"This seals the deal to get rid of MacArthur. He's openly opposing General Pershing's new Army doctrine and poisoning cadets at West Point. Thinking about that bastard flying off to the Philippines soon makes me happy. Hahaha!!"
He stood up, patted my still-seated shoulder, and laughed.
"This is all thanks to you, Major. You have to seize opportunities. Marshall's being passive for some reason, so now's the time to show the world my strong momentum and engrave in everyone's minds that I'm Pershing's successor."
Hmm, Chief of Staff Drum. That's pretty damn horrifying.
Is this the disaster he summoned himself?
Either way, in the Korean Army or US Army, infantry is always the core branch.
So Drum's shrewd calculation to climb to Chief of Staff by securing infantry support was surprisingly realistic.
"Here."
"What's this?"
Drum handed me a small envelope.
"General Pershing's hosting a small party at home soon. Come show your face. You have to poke your head into these little things diligently to get ahead."
Now he's giving solemn advice. How touching.
"Just a word of caution, out of concern."
His voice suddenly lowered.
"Don't cling to trivial matters and lose the big picture."
"Trivial?"
"MacArthur's finished. I know you two are friendly, but watch yourself. Bats aren't welcome anywhere. You get what I mean?"
"...Understood."
No fence-sitting.
My side, or yours.
Drum's blade was finally pointed at me.
I had to choose.
Fuck. This isn't it.
Drum's momentum is at its peak. A skyrocketing stock at limit-up. Like Tesla shares, a miraculous runaway hit.
And behind him is Pershing. Of course he's strutting because Pershing's backing him. Ah, if Pershing ordered it, who can argue?
But that's exactly why it pisses me off more.
This Eugene Kim doesn't bend to threats—he's the ultimate rebel who'll bluntly say 'No thanks' even to the right thing if it rubs him wrong.
If it's not right and sounds fishy, it's rage-inducing; if it's clearly wrong, there's no holding back.
Who's justice? I'm justice. I, President Slayer, won't forgive the bad grown-ups trying to relegate good tanks to infantry sidekicks.
I'd just been warned not to hang with the failed-life MacArthur, but that's exactly why I shamelessly went to see him.
MacArthur's done? No way.
MacArthur's the winner. At least in my first-round memories, there's no Chief of Staff Drum.
MacArthur took flak but left an immortal mark on world history, and Marshall did too. I might screw my career by jumping the gun this time, but with those two around, I can survive somehow.
So, with backup, let's charge in.
Hooray! No worries about fallout—I can just smash them! It feels too damn good!
"So you called me out here again?"
"Haha. Isn't serving a senior like heaven itself a junior's virtue?"
But why does General Mac look like this?
His face is sallow and dry, lips cracked, dark circles under his eyes impossible to hide.
Anyone can see this is a loser's mug.
I'm counting on you, bro—don't bail on me now while I'm prepping fireplay.
Please don't say my meddling changed your future. Please.
"Tank Corps? Or Air Service? Which one?"
"Something up with the Air Service too?"
"They're the beneficiaries this time. Since you asked that way, it's tanks."
MacArthur muttered while dry-washing his face with his hands.
"Give up this time. It's not a fight we can win by clinging."
"I don't think I can save everything either. But shouldn't we keep at least the bare bones?"
"Giving up tank units lets them run more infantry with the maintenance savings. It's not a military logic issue anymore, Major."
It's about how many star positions are left for the heaven-sent star.
His final words made my head throb fiercely.
Yeah. That figures.
Jobs matter. Of course they do.