Chapter 137
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 137
Chapter Title: The Fall of the Giant (7)
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Billy Mitchell's court-martial proceeded swiftly.
The trial began as the Mitchells entered the military courtroom under the watchful eyes of forty reporters and a crowd of five hundred spectators.
Public opinion overwhelmingly favored Mitchell, but when had that ever swayed a military tribunal?
"Why should we soldiers, simply because of our profession, be denied the freedom of speech guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States? Of course, soldiers must obey orders. But if we must obey even unjust ones, how are we proud sons of the United States any different from the Kaiser’s or the Tsar’s troops?"
"Even someone like Mitchell, hurling such blatant insults, gets acquitted? Then soldiers can curse their company commanders in front of their platoons, company commanders can mock their battalion commanders at battalion meetings, and battalion commanders can harass their regimental commanders. Is this an army or a mob?"
To make matters worse, the man in the White House had branded Mitchell a dangerous figure. There was no way an acquittal could result.
The fierce legal battle that lasted about two months naturally ended in a guilty verdict.
Mitchell's offense was "conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline," punishable by five years' suspension from duty and forfeiture of all pay and allowances.
Personally speaking, this struck harder than a dishonorable discharge.
And Coolidge, in approving the verdict, amended the president's order to reduce the pay forfeiture to a fifty percent pay cut for five years. Mitchell wasn't exactly moved by His Excellency's heartwarming mercy.
"It's too rotten. I'm done."
Unwilling to accept the verdict, Mitchell chose to resign.
On February 1, 1926, Billy Mitchell finally retired.
"Feels like Bolshevik bugs are buzzing around in the sky."
That pithy remark from Pershing, enjoying a leisurely retirement, best captured the fury of the Army's upper echelons.
But the anger of Mitchell's aviation allies didn't subside.
Henry Arnold, Mitchell's protégé and the new standard-bearer for the Air Service, relentlessly pushed for better treatment of the aviation branch—and he too was demoted.
A ferocious cold wind howled relentlessly through the Army, and I resolved to keep my mouth shut and behave for the time being.
In this brutal climate, sticking my neck out would just get it chopped off.
And so, we ushered in 1926 in a state of fear.
I did only what was assigned and barely breathed.
I absolutely, positively would not act up.
If I stirred trouble and suddenly saw headlines like "War Hero's Shadowy Figure – The Secret of Wilson's Fall," I'd have to test how warm the Hudson River really was with my own body.
My cross-country inspection mission continued, while the United States underwent seismic shifts day by day.
In Florida, famed for its warm sunshine and pleasant living, a massive real estate boom suddenly erupted and then fizzled out like a midsummer night's dream.
The Florida land frenzy, soaring since 1925, peaked in early 1926, only for a hurricane to make landfall that fall, sweeping away not just buildings and towns but the economy itself.
From this mad speculative fever, Americans naturally gained profound insights.
"Real estate booms don't just collapse that pathetically, do they?"
"We need sound investments, not speculation. That's bad."
Of course, nothing of the sort happened.
"If I get out before it pops, I can make a killing!"
"Florida's a dump anyway. What's there in that backwater? Invest in New York or Detroit suburbs—they'll never fail!"
"Blind real estate bets get your head smashed? The answer's 'stocks'!"
Instead, the frenzy evolved into a full-blown mania. Why...?
"How about we buy a villa in the suburbs before it's too late?"
When the missus said that, a good husband would naturally oblige, but I prepared a desperate counterargument.
"Last time you wanted a villa in Florida. What if I hadn't talked you out of it?"
"Why bring that up now? I heard the story and decided against it anyway."
"Same thing now. It's all a bubble, pure bubble."
"A bubble only if you buy to flip for quick cash. But wouldn't it be great to have a place to take the kids sometimes? Dragging them around your postings all the time—they don't even have a spot to call home."
Ugh, that hurt.
But why didn't the kids have a home base?
"We have Kansas. Kansas."
"How often can we go there in a year? You'd both go stir-crazy with nothing to do."
Fair enough—father-in-law had his district to manage, and I couldn't pass by Leavenworth without stopping if we went to Kansas.
"Fine. I'll look into a nice villa in Virginia."
As she rubbed my belly and started calling me again, I gave up the lengthy rebuttal and quietly decided to buy the villa. Third on the way, third. Exciting!
I didn't know about the baseball team, but the basketball dream was getting closer. A guy like me needs to spread his superior genes far and wide to secure Asian rights in America—no, that's too Zeus-like. Time for reflection.
Early 1927.
General Hines finished his term as Army Chief of Staff and took command of the Ninth Corps Area in California.
My tour as his aide ended simultaneously.
Normally, I'd have unleashed a furious barrage using every cutting-edge presentation trick to fight the disarmament, but I'd long since shelved any notion of flapping my gums for years.
My cross-country tour report was distilled essence—facts crammed in, personal opinions stripped out.
'Troop numbers critically deficient.'
'Equipment numbers critically deficient.'
'Lessons learned in blood from the last great war vanishing from the minds of most NCOs upon discharge.'
Of course, that didn't make the damage any less severe.
But cooling my head and thinking rationally, there was no need to charge at the forefront of the anti-disarmament faction.
After all... the Great Depression was coming soon anyway, right?
No matter how much you scream against cuts, you can't brazenly demand sustained military spending when the Crash hits. It was getting trimmed regardless—just a few years early.
Still, as reward for my efforts, I received the lieutenant colonel insignia I'd longed for.
Lieutenant Colonel Eugene Kim.
Kuhhehehe.
I wasn't even dreaming of colonel. Realistically, I'd climbed as high as possible until World War II erupted.
The Army promptly assigned me to the Army War College—unlike Leavenworth, no unwanted instructor duties this time. Instead, I enjoyed a peaceful, happy student life season two. Nice.
During this leisurely time, I rolled my growing cash around while constructively discussing investments in landing craft ventures with a few boat manufacturers.
After much deliberation, Dr. Yun joined us, and I promptly delegated full authority on aircraft production.
Correction: shortly after handing him aircraft production duties, Yun found replacement labor and fled to academia.
"What is all this?"
"Our businesses."
"I've never seen such a sprawling, rootless octopus of a company."
Ouch, don't hit where it hurts. No antipholamine yet. That stings.
We even brought in external consultants for governance improvements and group streamlining. Selling scabs to fund tanks and fighters looks shady, right?
And so, two years into tuning out the messy world of scheming adults and politics...
Politics took a keen interest in me.
— President Coolidge Declines Re-election Bid!
— Chaos in the GOP: Who's the Next Nominee?
— Who Can Stop Herbert Hoover's Path?
"I do not choose to run for president in 1928."
One sentence.
The taciturn president truly declared his non-candidacy by simply handing out scraps of paper with those words to reporters—no statement, no press conference.
The Republican Party descending into chaos from that day was par for the course.
"The President is displeased right now! Of course we must rally to draft him—why hold a primary?"
"Are you insane?! We still need a primary!"
"Where in the world is another president this great at saving the economy? This primary itself is an insult to him!"
Draft movements briefly reared their heads but soon fizzled.
"Cut it out."
"Excellency! What president doesn't seek a second term? You qualify!"
"No."
If even a peaceful retirement gets a "no," what can you do? He gave no reason, but... if he doesn't want it, that's that.
People quickly shifted from speculating why Coolidge bowed out to eyeing the new nominee.
What were the odds of Democrats taking the White House? Thus, the primary winner would own it!
"While skyscrapers rise daily in New York and Model Ts ferry the middle class to suburbs! Our nation's bedrock, the farmers, are abandoned by the country, enduring daily torment!!"
"Curtis! Curtis!"
"Curtis to the White House!!"
"Four more years of this prosperity! Herbert Hoover, architect of Harding-Coolidge prosperity, will make you all rich as president!"
"Hoover!! Hoover!!"
"Hoover'll make us rich!!"
Father-in-law was all-in, burning every political asset piled since Harding like kindling against Hoover.
"Hoover's four years won't be prosperity. They'll be hunger and privation!"
"We must prepare for crisis now! Where's eternal prosperity? The brightest now is when we ready for night!"
"Rural banks are bankrupt everywhere! Florida's economy is ruined! Castles built on hype and debt aren't solid!"
Head-on against Commerce Secretary Hoover, the economy expert? Tough win.
Judging that, father-in-law pivoted to crisis rhetoric. Not sure if it'd stick.
"If your father-in-law becomes president, promotion's a sure thing, eh?"
"Haha. Don't say that."
"Why not?"
"I'd rather he loses."
"Don't say that anywhere else. You'll get stoned."
As MacArthur clicked his tongue, I downed my glass mindlessly.
What to do.
Really, what to do.
Just once.
Think of it as the last time and wield [The Sun] ruthlessly just once?
But no joke—the primary's a chaotic stew, and him actually becoming nominee scares me more.
"What's troubling you so?"
"Father-in-law warns recession's coming soon. But people... hate bearers of bad news, right?"
Instead of madness like "Should I secretly manipulate media to kneecap father-in-law?", a sanitized version slipped out.
MacArthur smirked at that.
"Worried about that? As I always say, even if foolish masses reject truth, someone must force it on them."
"Huh."
"You don't leave a kid's cavity because he hates the dentist. Drag him, whip if needed."
Talking to this guy makes him sound fascist. Yet he believes he's a staunch democrat. Headache.
Watch father-in-law joyfully climb Golgotha?
Or bean Hoover's rival with a brick to the back of the head?
Did Coolidge foresee this and say that?
Without Coolidge's chilling warning, I'd have bolted to Ford without hesitation, but those words kept whispering "don't cross the line."
My deliberation didn't last long.