Chapter 112
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: Grinning US Army Maker (6)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Ah, my head hurts.
I’m confident I could handle something like, ‘Let’s plot to toss all our enemies into the Hudson River for the victory of our faction.’
But what the hell is this sticky mess? I’ve got no connection to that sort of thing. In both of my lives combined, I’ve had zero entanglements with women. Haha! Hate it!
I’m so confused myself that I should probably sort out a rough timeline.
In 1915, Pershing lost his wife and three daughters. The twenty-year age gap with his wife isn’t important, so let’s set that aside.
In 1917, Pershing got engaged to Nita Patton, Patton’s 27-year-younger sister.
In 1918, Pershing locked eyes with some artist woman in France. She was 36 years younger, I think. Naturally, the engagement with Miss Patton fell through.
And now, in 1921, Pershing was advancing his relationship with Louise Cromwell Brooks. No, General. Is fooling around with a girl young enough to be your granddaughter really the only joy left in your life?
So who the hell is this Miss Brooks?
Turns out she was already a big name in high society.
Born in 1890. Three years older than me, and a divorcee with three kids. In this era, being a divorcee is a massive negative, but she had too much money. Her stepdad was one of the top bankers in America—how could it not be?
She wasn’t just some hick playing around in New York. After her 1919 divorce, she stormed into Paris high society, sparking scandals with countless people—including, predictably, some married men. It’s making my head spin.
Upon digging deeper, I found out she and Pershing had already been seeing each other discreetly since their time in Paris. Wasn’t he messing around with that artist? What happened to her?
And now, Miss Brooks was igniting fiery sparks with our senior, MacArthur. Ah, damn. It’s dizzying. My Confucian mindset can’t take this.
“Kim, junior. It’s all a misunderstanding.”
A little later, when I met MacArthur again at the Officers’ Club, he was desperate.
I crossed my arms and cocked one leg sideways, listening silently to MacArthur’s ‘explanation’ without responding.
To sum up his long-winded excuses:
- Louise had already ended things with Pershing. Why would she like a thirty-year-older guy?
- She recently turned down Pershing’s proposal, and they’d only appeared together publicly as ‘friends’ due to public scrutiny.
- He and Louise met after that relationship ended. They were never engaged or married anyway, so he and Louise were aboveboard.
“So... you were doing that at General Pershing’s mansion?”
“No! That really wasn’t my intention! Louise... ahem. I know it just sounds pathetic the more I say. But trust me, junior. Do you think this MacArthur is the type to play with fire on enemy turf, lacking any tactical sense?”
Hmm. Yeah. This sharp guy wouldn’t deliberately pull a stunt like smoking next to a gas station. That doesn’t change the fact that he already did it, though!
But then another bombshell dropped from MacArthur’s mouth.
“Louise and I are already engaged.”
“...What?”
Are my ears going bad lately? Did all that artillery in the trenches give me tinnitus?
“I’m engaged to Louise.”
“Are you insane? Engaged to a woman with three kids? What’s lacking in your life?”
“The moment I first saw her, I knew. She’s the one to spend the rest of my life with. On the day we met, we already promised each other marriage.”
Look at this guy who’s completely lost his mind.
Engaged to Paris’s fiery femme fatale and a natural-born grunt who can’t even grasp her stock portfolio? On the first day they met? Even stripping away the divorcee part, they’re as mismatched as a Allosaurus and a Pachycephalosaurus!
Screw it. True love really drives people crazy. I... I don’t get it. Eugene Kim doesn’t understand that stuff.
Do whatever you want, you bastard. I’ll stick to tanks. Eugene’s just a baby. Babies shouldn’t know about love or war...
The moment I gave up interpreting this madness with human reason, my excellent survival instincts kicked in again, blaring warnings fiercely.
“Pack your bags.”
“My bags?”
“Pack for the Philippines! You messed with the Army Chief of Staff’s woman, so you’re getting shipped out across the ocean—Philippines, Panama, whatever!”
“That’s why I’m saying Louise isn’t Pershing’s woman anymore!”
“Like that’ll fly, you idiot!”
“Calling this MacArthur an idiot? Even if you’re Major Kim—”
“Shut up! If you don’t want to strip naked, apply for a transfer now!”
Fuck, now that I know, I’m in deep shit too.
Ratting him out to Pershing right now is trouble, and pretending I don’t know is trouble. Who knows how far the old man’s rage at losing a woman to his subordinate will spread?
No choice.
I have to run too. Soon, a massive mushroom cloud will erupt at the War Department in D.C., and anyone caught in it will be toast.
He won’t have any reason left after losing a woman in his own house. No need for plots or schemes. Better to run from a guy with bloodshot eyes than talk to him.
I need to submit my Philippines transfer request right now.
“Captain Kim—no, Major now!”
“Kim, junior! Get over here!”
War Department in Washington D.C.
I’d come to beg Marshall to send me anywhere outside U.S. borders, only to get ambushed by bandits. No, when did you two get so chummy?
This bizarre duo of Chaffee and Patton attacked as a pair, dragging me off like a damsel kidnapped by King Kong.
Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see me and let me go? I’ll even make up a song. Chaffee and Patton are the best~ Driving tanks over sand dunes~ Over they go~
“Come sit here! Take this!”
I wasn’t expecting tea. I took the hip flask full of booze and chugged it. How else to deal with these two sober?
“What’s going on?”
“What’s going on? With all of America cheering for tanks, isn’t now the time to protect them from those dog-eating bastards!”
“Swift offense is the mercenary’s basics. This is our chance!”
Tone it down a bit. My ears hurt.
Captured by the bandits, I calmly explained at length that I didn’t want the tank corps disbanded either and was doing my utmost.
“Honestly, I thought you were backing out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, even if you did, I wouldn’t blame you. Pershing’s acting like that, so we’d be the crazy ones opposing him! Haha!”
“Hate to say it, but the general’s getting old and out of touch with modern stuff! How can he dismiss our tank achievements after seeing them!”
Chaffee and Patton went back and forth like soulmates, praising tanks and cursing the Army nonstop.
“So, got any good ideas?”
“Nothing I’d call an idea. What can a mere major do?”
“Hmm...”
“But there’s this headache I need to deal with.”
“What?”
“Congress summoned me.”
“Congress??”
Yeah.
Finally, the perfect setup to escape.
Congress, burning hot with the new defense bill debates, finally admitted more investigation was needed.
More precisely, they needed new testimony to justify stepping back.
After more deliberations, they decided to summon me—the one who first proposed the tank concept and proved its battlefield utility—as a witness.
The stakes are rising. Dizzying.
Stepping forward isn’t my hobby, but sticking around D.C. means either being an audience to Pershing’s rage-blade storm or his sparring partner.
Going out with a bang and flying to the Philippines sounds fine.
I’d prepared something to end this tiresome tank debate anyway, and Congress calling me decided its use.
The moment I drop it in Congress, it’ll be quite the spectacle.
“Congress, huh. Things are twisting weirdly again.”
“Junior! Hammer it home to those booming congressmen as much as you can!”
“Don’t worry. That’s exactly what I plan.”
The finale’s already loaded.
After tons of nagging, I was finally released and met the esteemed Marshall.
“Aren’t you pushing too hard? I heard about Congress.”
“Prep my next posting. Far away. Philippines seems perfect.”
Newly appointed Army Chief of Staff Pershing delegated most routine work to subordinates.
As a result, Marshall’s workload exploded unlike a typical aide.
Of course, tons covet that spot. Marshall and his wife got the No. 3 quarters next to Chief of Staff Pershing’s No. 1—immense power.
But seeing the mountain of papers on Marshall’s desk, the fear of ‘what time do I get off?’ overshadows any ambition. I’d decline even if offered.
“Philippines?”
Marshall frowned immediately at my words.
“What about the kid?”
“No choice. Solo posting.”
“It’s routine for soldiers, but... What changed your mind so suddenly? Weren’t you dead set on staying stateside?”
“Since I’m testifying anyway, I’ll burn myself out protecting the tanks. Gotta have an overseas deployment on my resume sometime. A few years away will air things out.”
Of course, Marshall doesn’t know the undercurrents.
But he’d sense the tide shifting from ‘disband tank corps, downsize tanks’ to a fifty-fifty fight.
“Is it because of what I said? I meant focusing on tanks might dent your career a bit, not this.”
“I know. But sponsors and all, and honestly, it bugs me too.”
“Sigh. Alright. I’ll line up a good spot. Don’t pull anything weird in Congress. Promise. Absolutely! Got it?!”
If Marshall says he’ll handle it, it’s done.
Back’s covered.
“You listening?!”
“Way to make me sound like a troublemaker.”
“Troublemaker? You’re a walking disaster!”
So distrustful.
Have some faith, will ya?
A little later.
I took an oath before hundreds of U.S. congressmen.
Nervous.
First time at the Capitol. Facing hundreds of politicians—each harboring dozens of serpents—is always burdensome.
Plus, this issue tangled in complex politics.
“Major Eugene Kim. You’re here to testify on U.S. tanks.”
“Yes.”
“We understand you were heavily involved in developing and producing the M1917 tanks supplied to the Army.”
“Yes.”
“Did you receive bribes or hospitality from Ford, the producer?”
“Hey, shut up!”
“Democrats spouting bullshit again!”
“You think that’s relevant?!”
“You all took bribes too!”
Hmm. Chaos. Total chaos.
Now that’s Congress. Finally feels like the one I know.
“After I first proposed the tank concept, Ford approached me to make it real. We collaborated on the world’s first standard tank. That’s it.”
“Sounds like you got well paid.”
“Hey! Quit barking!”
“What’s that got to do with this bill?!”
I nodded, ignoring the outbursts.
“Yes. I received much from Ford.”
“You’re admitting it?!”
“Of course. Ford gave the world’s first standard tank, saving the lives of America’s sons—my precious subordinates. As an officer paid by U.S. taxes, I think it’s the best reward possible.”
Time for some fancy tongue-fencing.
Congressman, you’re now confirmed scum who values money over soldiers’ lives.