Chapter 124
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 124
Chapter Title: Collapse of Tokyo (4)
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The world is truly a bizarre place.
I couldn't hold back a hollow laugh as I fiddled with the medal bestowed upon me by the Empire of Japan.
Yeah, I'd actually received one before this.
A war hero from Asia? No way those puffed-up Japanese, strutting around as leaders of Asia, wouldn't hand out a medal.
But now, they're tossing another one my way, claiming my contributions this time were monumental?
No matter how I thought about it, it felt like I'd just fueled the Japanese military's cancer cells even more. Still, if they call it merit, then merit it is. And the medal's name? Rising Sun. Rising Sun. Talk about a real mood-killer.
The horrific chaos from the Great Kanto Earthquake had finally started to settle, at least somewhat.
Sure, the refugees still camped out on the streets were dazed and lost, but with tens of thousands of troops patrolling and barking orders to maintain order, they at least avoided a massacre.
"You there! Why are you trying to leave the refugee camp?!"
"I-I have valuables buried at home—"
"Don't give me that nonsense! You're off to loot, aren't you?!"
The fact that their idea of "maintaining order" boiled down to blunt-force trauma was so very 20th century.
Having seized control of disaster relief, the Japanese Army crushed inter-ethnic tensions in their characteristically brutish way.
"Reorganize the refugee zones. Strictly separate mainland Japanese from outsiders. Banish all Okinawans, Koreans, and Chinese to the suburbs for separate management. Even split up the original Tokyo residents and migrants!"
Out of sight, out of mind—magical logic, but in these times, it actually worked.
Anyone who stepped out of line got their skull cracked anyway. What could they do?
In the midst of all this, a few overzealous soldiers went rogue and killed some socialists on their own whim. Yamanashi Hanzō seized the opportunity to take command of the martial law forces.
That's about all I knew. I figured I'd dabbled in politics myself, but the convoluted machinations of these Japanese were too tangled for me to follow.
I got the sense the navy was rumbling too, but a wise man avoids danger. Good kids like me don't jump into those fireworks.
Edsel Ford scrapped his plans to build a factory in Tokyo and headed back to Korea. He'd only come to sign some papers, only to have the most spectacular life experience ever—who'd be crazy enough to build here now?
The Japanese Army didn't object at all, even offering support for acquiring land for my firearms factory and Ford's tank plant.
The Grease Gun business was already on the decline, honestly.
Even in 2020, knockoffs flooded the market. In the 1920s, respecting patents was a laughable concept.
And this wasn't some trinket—it was a weapon tied directly to military power. Britain, France, everyone had churned them out gleefully, then slyly rolled out "improved versions" or "similar but different" domestic submachine guns.
The worst part? Now they were fiddling around exporting them. This international community had no blood, no tears.
That made selling an official license to Japan a huge win. They'd switch to their own production in a few years, no doubt, but hey, cash flow was cash flow.
I'd planned to use Japan as a middleman to sell weapons to China from the start, so our firearms business routed through a Japanese joint venture.
China was a demon realm unto itself.
From the Beiyang government and Nanjing cliques to bandits and warlords—a North Star Fist world overrun with them.
The U.S. government had banned arms exports to China, but according to Ford staff reports, Grease Guns were already rampant there. Amazing, right? Fuck.
British tanks, even M1917s, were rolling around. The French sold them, they said. How could I just sit still? I'd sell too, by any means necessary.
Grinding my teeth, I steadily prepared to wrap things up nicely, hopping from event to event as usual.
Really, I needed to head home now. They wouldn't keep a guy who'd survived the quake stuck here for years, right?
"Thank you so much for visiting the Army War College today."
"No, no. I'm just a mere major, so I'm grateful for all the attention."
"I'm Tojo Hideki, First Lieutenant, accompanying General Kin today. I look forward to your insights."
Pardon?
Who? To-jo?
Meeting the future monster who'd spark the Pacific War right here. The world really was a bizarre place.
Setting aside the future decades from now, I followed Tojo's lead and toured the college briefly.
"How does General Kin view the Imperial Japanese Army?"
What? Didn't he know lip service was all I had?
"With strict discipline and solid morale, it's an army without rivals in East Asia."
"Is that so? They must have shown you only their best side."
Tojo clicked his tongue and started ripping into his own army.
"I was dispatched to Germany three years ago. I expected their army to be a mess, but their discipline was still impeccable."
"I haven't seen the postwar German army myself due to my limited experience, but if someone like you says so, they must still be the elite force of old."
"Our Imperial Army is second-rate at best. Senior officers act like medieval daimyo, fostering toxic discipline to maintain control. In an era of firepower and logistics, they're still hiding their incompetence behind samurai spirit. Pathetic."
Wait... is this the right guy?
Was there another Tojo Hideki? Aren't you the guy behind the infamous Banzai charges?
"As a fellow soldier, I've studied your strategies and tactics in depth, General Kin. Combining Western materialism with Eastern spirit for invincible, profound military art—you're the top general of this era!"
This didn't feel like lip service.
His eyes burned with fervor. Had my antics changed him this much?
Who knew? He seemed sharp now, but decades later, he might turn into a washed-up has-been. Twenty years was plenty of time for anyone to lose it.
"I'm truly grateful for such high praise."
"So, if I may be so bold, one question?"
"Of course. Go ahead."
"If you, General, commanded an army in a far weaker nation without America's endless industrial might, what would you do?"
Just say it: what would you do with the Japanese Army?
What should I tell this future powerhouse?
He'd studied my record, tanks... the future was shifting shape.
The Pacific War wasn't something one madman could start alone anyway. Whatever I said wouldn't matter much.
"The best thing is not fighting at all."
"Isn't that for the politicians?"
Oh. He knew about civilian control. So why'd you ignore it in twenty years?
"I haven't thought much about it, but there's no easy answer. A small nation challenging a giant is always tough and risky. If I could solve it in this short chat, it wouldn't be a real problem."
"Fair enough. Time to head to the auditorium. Looking forward to your words today."
Whew. That was suffocating.
No matter how much these guys pondered, there was no right answer.
Any sane person would know lashing out militarily was doomed from the start, but organizations roll on inertia.
With the military meddling in politics this deep, charging into a hopeless war was inevitable.
Guys who'd won the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese Wars? They wouldn't even consider losing. Hit the casino twice and win, you'll crave it when cash is tight.
So go ahead, rack those thick skulls thinking. Maybe invent anti-tank spear tactics and win.
— Major Kim and Captain Hodge's assignments will end soon.
A welcome message from the mainland, now that communications were restored.
Family sent worried notes too, so I spent ages writing reassuring replies. Us soldiers far from home? Literary genius flows naturally.
Once quake news spread worldwide, all sorts of updates poured in.
— Glad you're safe. Nothing major here in the Philippines.
Vicente Lim, senior, finally got through. His life story rivaled mine in drama.
On WWI's outbreak, this unlucky guy was in Berlin, pulling off an epic escape. Germany to Russia to Philippines—a thriller adventure that'd make Around the World in 80 Days jealous.
Anastacio sent a curse-filled message.
— MacArthur! That insane freak! Damn! Why didn't you warn us Satan was coming?! Whyyyyy!!
But leading 93rd Division Rangers bravely? He's already stamped "competent."
No way MacArthur wastes a hardworking black sheep like that. Anastacio's racking up merits! So jealous!
As I wrote those heartwarming replies, one day, the shadow of death loomed.
— To my dear Major Eugene Kim.
Marshall's letter arrived.
I dreaded even opening it, but couldn't just toss it in the fireplace.
Trembling like a wet dog, I unsealed the murder notice.
— Heard you're safe. Such a relief. Looks like you pulled another stunt there despite everything, but it worked out, so no scolding this time.
Scary.
Really scary! What's "this time" mean?! Feels like there's a "next time" coming.
Marshall worries too much subtly. Who's better at stretching out comfortably than me? He'd know I'd handle it fine.
Then came Marshall's own story, in his dry, matter-of-fact tone—drowning in paperwork, on the brink. Not my fault. Being Pershing's aide was par for the course.
— General Pershing plans to wrap up as Chief of Staff next year and retire. You wouldn't want to return by then, right? So I'm arranging things. As our "Asia expert," you'll love it.
No. I want to go home. Just let me live in America, man.
— General MacArthur in the Philippines specifically requested you. Finally granting your wish—truly, truly fortunate.
I could picture Anastacio, thousands of miles away, giggling and beckoning.
Marshall's memory was too damn good.