Chapter 127
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 127
Chapter Title: Era of the Gold Rush (3)
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The first half of 1924, spent in the Philippines, was truly fantastical.
Beyond the Provisional Government, I had a mountain of things to do.
To be precise, getting news about the Provisional Government on this tropical island was incredibly difficult in itself, and the pile of tasks right in front of me was testing the limits of my humanity.
The Filipinos still distrusted America, and to ease that distrust, we had to formulate a defense strategy against Japan—but every single strategy was utterly unrealistic.
It felt all too familiar. It was just like the utterly hollow operations plans from the Republic of Korea Army's rear units. Paperwork for the sake of paperwork.
MacArthur still believed that with sufficient preparation, strengthening the local Philippine forces, and building proper defenses, we could put up a heroic fight against the Japanese army.
"But building those defenses would violate the treaty, sir."
"Sigh. This is the front line, and we can't even prepare basic defenses? Does it make sense that we can't build a single ammo depot? They might as well confiscate all our entrenching tools."
"That's the treaty, sir."
"Hands and feet all tied up. How the hell are we supposed to fight a defensive war like this...?"
I told you. It's impossible to defend.
The root cause of this whole mad party was America's firm policy at the time.
'We will never strike first.'
As a result, War Plan Orange, the blueprint for war with Japan, always began with the assumption of an America with virtually no war preparations getting smashed in the back of the head by a sneaky Jap brick.
Both the Army and Navy agreed with the government's policy, for a simple reason.
Even if they smash us once with that brick, we'll win in the end anyway.
No matter how much the Japs flap around, they can't occupy Hawaii or land in California.
The island monkeys can't touch the mainland unless they open a gate, so we'd have plenty of time to leisurely carve a bat to give the invaders a proper schooling.
Two years.
The grand strategy: endure for two years while the Japs beat drums and gongs and crash cymbals, bulk up, and then crush their heads.
A magnificent plan with almost no difference from the original Pacific War in history.
"War Plan Orange has a fatal flaw."
"What would that be, sir?"
"Our people's will. If war-weariness spreads and everyone just wants to call it quits, no amount of military readiness will matter—it's all for naught."
In fact, that was the biggest concern of War Plan Orange.
During those two years of endurance, could a nation that hates war more than anyone—folks who go 'eww, but we have to'—keep their fighting spirit burning while watching retreat after retreat?
Now that the Washington Naval Treaty had ended the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, that was the only remaining worry.
"We'll just have to pray our people's will stays strong."
"Honestly, I suspect the Navy's treating the Philippine garrison as a sacrificial pawn to stoke that will. At this rate, the troops here are doomed to a tragic end."
MacArthur's words rang true.
And as for war will... the mighty Japanese army would fill it up on their own, so no need to worry.
The Pearl Harbor sneak attack was that irrational, brainless, and ultimately shortsighted an operation, strangling their own necks.
But we couldn't produce a perfect answer for Philippine defense and ended up with new assignments.
We probably won't have an answer even by '41.
The Bataan Peninsula, shrouded in jungle, looked to me like a massive cemetery.
This tumultuous life in the Philippines finally came to an end.
Dobby is good. Good Dobby worked hard. Having seen the Philippine Scouts go on strike in their old age, isn't that enough of a hellish sight?
But it doesn't matter.
I'm finally home.
I raided a nearby toy store, hugged a pile of kids' toys, and flung open the front door with all my might.
"Kids! Daddy's home!"
But the kids' reaction was ice-cold.
They stared at me blankly, like "whose dog is barking," and tossed out casually,
"Who's this uncle?"
"Uncle, you're not Daddy."
"No, no, kids. I'm your daddy."
"Our daddy's over there."
The kids pointed somewhere off to the side, and my gaze naturally followed.
There stood an impossibly handsome... President Harding!
"Ah, Major Kim. Back at last, I see. You managed to return after I stuck you in the Philippines."
Harding flashed that charming smile that won voters' hearts and slyly wrapped his arm around Dorothy's waist.
"Sorry. But you, always wandering around outside claiming you're a soldier?"
"You said you understood! I won't be going anywhere from now on. So—"
"You're volunteering to crawl into a death trap? I could understand the battlefield, but I don't want to rack my brain over stuff like this. Meanwhile, this guy's quietly boozing and gambling in the White House?"
"That's right. The U-Block's nice, but White House nights are even flashier."
"No, what the hell is this mess."
Damn, no pistol on me. I was about to rack up my second presidential kill.
Dorothy, spotting me, narrowed her eyes sharply and grabbed my collar out of nowhere.
"You bastard! How many close calls with death is this?!"
"Gah, gack! I promise. I won't die for real. For real—"
I clasped my hands and begged even while choked, but it was no use.
"Sorry, Major Kim, but you have to head to Europe right now. The Germans have invaded France."
"What? What kind of nonsense is that."
Marshal, the five-star general playing with the kids nearby, commanded me with utmost gravity.
"Hitler's mastered black magic and is leading a zombie army into France. Take command of the tank unit with Patton and head there immediately."
"You're joking, right?"
"Joking? I told you I'd shove you onto the European front no matter what. What's the holdup? Get packing."
Hearing Marshal's order, Dorothy choked me even harder, and Harding started crooning some shitty tune beside us. Come on over, everyone's waiting, in the White House on a midsummer night~
Oh god, I'm dying.
This time for real. Can't breathe worse than with malaria....
"Gah, gack! Gack!!"
A familiar ceiling.
A dim room without a single light.
Dorothy was sleeping soundly beside me, oblivious to the world.
So... it was a dream.
Fuck.
What kind of shitty, ominous dream is this? Why the hell did Harding show up?
"Ah... Dad... ."
No wonder my throat felt strangled.
Henry, turned into a chimp, had me locked in a merciless guillotine choke with his legs, pressing down on my belly and chest relentlessly.
"Son? You're gonna kill Daddy like this. You'll snap the neck I couldn't even take from Ludendorff...."
"Don't gooo...."
Suddenly, it felt like a brick smashed into the back of my head.
This is no good.
I get why Mrs. MacArthur keeps nagging her husband to quit the military and get a job.
"Oof."
I barely pried Henry off and tucked him neatly into his own bed. When the hell did he sneak into the master bedroom?
I've filled my overseas deployment quota plenty.
Until that day of World War II, wars would rage across the world, but America wouldn't actively intervene in any.
The Spanish Civil War, the Sino-Japanese War, the Winter War—all just stories from afar for a man in the United States.
No more overseas assignments. China, Panama, wherever—I'm not going.
So what if I fall behind in posting competitions? MacArthur, Marshall—they're all itching to use me, so they'll promote me and ship me to the front anyway.
I'll just quietly do my job here.
Gazing at Henry, still calling for Daddy in his sleep, I steeled my resolve.
A short while later.
To celebrate my return, we threw a small party, and our D.C. home bustled for the first time in ages.
"So you're not going overseas anymore?"
"Something like that. Not like it's up to me, though. I'm not going now? For real?"
"We wouldn't force someone who says no. Quit nagging. How many times do we have to go through this?"
"Hear that? No more going."
But that dream Marshal was too damn realistic.
Clutching a whip for schooling cotton slaves in one hand, ready to suck dry my labor—how huge a shock was that to my delicate soul?
With firm reassurance from Marshall, I turned to my two younger brothers nearby and gave them strict instructions.
"You guys take good care of yourselves. Exercise too. Yushin, why no kid news yet?"
"Bro, even Dad doesn't pry like that. Stop whining."
"Back in my day! Just say 'pop out a kid, bam!' and Henry was born! Huh?!"
"Did you see the birth, though?"
Ow, you little shit, sucker-punching the solar plexus out of nowhere. Sneaky bastard.
I changed the subject quick to move on.
"Nearly dying made me realize—we need to get into pharmaceuticals too."
"With Dosan heading to Shanghai, you're expanding business here? You promised to send me to college. Don't you think working non-stop is why no nieces or nephews?"
Shut up, punk. Think kids just pop out when you're free? I even rerouted Ryukyu folk because of my sister-in-law.
"And bro, our business portfolio's a total mess, right? We need to clean it up. Last time, you said we gotta touch shipbuilding too."
"We'll do that and this."
"No money, idiot! Both are money pits!"
Shipbuilding's a money printer even without saying.
Especially when WWII hits, demand for transports and freighters will explode—whoever grabs it first wins. Plus great job creation, can't miss it.
Pharma... honestly, dunno. Isn't this the late 1920s where Listerine sells as medicine?
First thing that comes to mind is penicillin, but the world's not even heard the 'P'. Sulfa drugs same. Want something big to jump on, but nothing screams it.
"Pharma, huh. A college senior of mine's interested. He's Korean too."
"Yeah? Yuin's college investment paying off quick. If interested, investing in him sounds good."
"Doubt it. He's got his own booming business."
"Ah. I know who. He got startup cash from us."
Both know him? Rare. Korean, college-educated, and in business? Impossible not to know.
"Our investee succeeding—feels like the farm's growing. Wanna meet him sometime?"
"No one'd refuse if you call."
"They'd meet, get disappointed knowing what a guy I am. Better not."
They click perfectly. Should've educated 'em more in physics to uphold family head dignity.
"So, what's his name?"
"Uh? Yoo Il-han—"
"Bring him here now, you idiots."
This is why I gotta stick in America. Sigh.