Chapter 139
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 139
Chapter Title: The Fall of the Giant (9)
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Franklin Roosevelt, abbreviated as FDR.
He was a very distant relative of Theodore Roosevelt—known as Teddy—who had been president before Wilson, and they belonged to different parties to boot.
And most importantly, the man who would become the only four-term president in U.S. history.
Coolidge had told him not to cross the line, right?
Surely, just meeting a politician wouldn't count as crossing it for a U.S. citizen. It's not like I know the future or anything~
"I expressed interest a few years ago. Never thought it'd take this long to actually meet."
"My duties keep me running around so much, it was hard to make time. Ha ha. Sorry about that."
"No need to apologize—you're out there serving the country. Mind if I call you Gene?"
"Pardon? Oh, sure, that's fine."
What was with this guy?
Before I knew it, I'd mumbled my okay, and Roosevelt leaned back comfortably in his wheelchair, lighting up a cigarette.
"Time to talk something constructive, don't you think?"
"Uh... I don't really have much constructive to discuss with a big Democrat like yourse—"
"Gene. I said relax. The sharpest calculator in the U.S. military showing up to my invitation says it all. Why pretend otherwise?"
He jabbed his cigarette toward my chest and grinned with shameless cheer.
"As you know, the Democratic era is shimmering on the horizon."
"Hey, I'm the son-in-law of a presidential candidate."
"Ha ha ha. Good one. That's exactly why this meeting happened. Those idiot Republicans. If they'd pushed Curtis, they could've blamed any economic crisis on him.
But they shot themselves in the foot. The day the downturn hits is the day they pay the price—and the Democrats soar. Think I've shown my full hand?"
No one becomes a four-termer by accident.
This guy, lounging in the warm hot springs, had D.C.'s future all figured out.
"Spot on."
"Wasn't my eyes or ears that got injured. You've been dodging me until now, so finally meeting means you can't keep having fun chats with Republicans through Senator Curtis anymore."
No, I really wasn't avoiding you! This is so unfair. He doesn't believe a word I say!
Fine. Think what you want. I'm done.
"Not entirely true, but... let's say it is?"
"His platform lines up more with me than those Republican hardliners. He can't leave the party, but how about you start your political career with the Democrats, Gene?"
"I've got zero interest in politics."
"Sure, let's say that."
Argh, annoying! This guy has zero faith in people.
What did I do to deserve love calls from every direction? Why won't the heavens leave a genius like me alone?
"Let me say it again. Yeah, I've been busy with all sorts of things, but it's all to prepare for the war to come."
"...Now that's worth hearing more about."
"Not just me—plenty of people are saying the Versailles Treaty won't stop the next war. I believe war is inevitable, and I don't want to see America's sons thrown into the meat grinder without prep like in the last Great War."
Roosevelt pondered for a moment, then turned it back on me.
"So, when do you think that war hits?"
"Shortest: ten years. Longest: within twenty."
"Hm. War Department bigwigs seem to disagree."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's a topic I'm interested in myself, from all angles.
Some folks on Manhattan have already bet the economy tanks soon. History says it's about due."
Yeah, it's coming.
But "recession" or "depression" doesn't cover it. It's a bottomless hell.
"I asked around too. Lots say a downturn brings aggressive leaders hungry for war. You don't factor that in?"
Plenty start wars thinking "we'll pay it back later" during hard times.
Especially our top imaginary enemies, Britain and Japan—masters at grudge matches.
But when it's not just recession, but the Great Depression? No one's eating porridge, let alone fighting.
Military guys yelling about unprecedented economic doom won't convince anyone.
Only one safe answer left.
"Wars happening right now? Not my call. Higher-ups will handle it better than one colonel."
"So... when you're Army Chief of Staff, Gene."
Ugh! Mom, this guy's impossible!
"Army Chief of Staff?"
"Who else?"
"Plenty of talents out there besides me. MacArthur, Marshall, Eisenhower, Bradley, Van Fleet..."
"But they don't all agree with you. Don't view power so negatively. It's the ability to make your will reality. If you're worried about soldiers' lives, shouldn't you aim for the top?"
Listening to him made it sound like if I didn't seize the Army, I didn't care about troops.
How many could drag you in and out of their pace like this?
"So, by then, it'll be Democrat heaven."
"Naturally."
"And you need me then?"
"No. I need you, Gene—not the Democrats. They've still got racists foaming at the mouth over skin color."
Harsh words.
"Hard to say right now."
"Understood. Weigh your options for the best choice."
We chatted lightly after and parted.
Felt like every ounce of strength drained out.
Even after Eugene Kim left, Roosevelt stayed, nursing his drink alone.
'Interesting.'
He had his type pegged.
If he read him right, the no-interest-in-politics line was sincere.
Does what he deems necessary. That's it.
Rare breed, but around. Ironclad faith in their predictions, hustling to make them real.
Bad spin: dogmatic. "I'm right, you're wrong"—that's dogmatism in two words.
But the problem? He's the author of that "Armageddon Report." Roosevelt didn't love dogmatists, but slapping the label on a guy who'd nailed an impossible prophecy felt off.
No desire to be a Trojan ignoring Cassandra and getting wrecked.
'Time will tell.'
Answer: hold off.
What good is big-picture dreaming when hot springs are your whole day?
Time to miss Washington D.C.
Sit at that ultimate casino, bet it all, and win America.
Right then, Roosevelt realized his massive blunder.
"Ah."
Should've asked for that legendary card.
Too focused on politics, forgot it.
What a painful mistake.
June 1928.
The Republican convention to pick next year's nominee convened.
"Damn it."
Curtis muttered under his breath.
He'd pulled every string.
Every political asset built up, tangible or not, cashed in for primary support.
A power player in Harding's four years, he'd sown "favors" everywhere since. Some joined his desperate pleas as D.C. fixture; others bet against Hoover just because.
But his massive anti-Hoover coalition crumbled like a routed army.
The bigger his force grew, Wall Street and industrialists shoveled dollars into Hoover's pockets.
Media broadcast "Soviet puppet Curtis devouring the GOP vs. anti-commie crusader Hoover" on radio; editorials daily featured economists droning "defeatism tanks the economy—faith in America is prosperity's path," slamming him indirectly.
Damn Henry Ford.
Couldn't fathom that guy's freakout. Calling him a Red? Ford himself was building a Soviet car plant! If Curtis was a Red, what was Ford? A spy?
Infuriating. Farm Relief Act passes, farmers pay off those tractor installments Ford hawked. Wait, no installments—Ford loses nothing, rivals suffer. Selfish prick.
Finally, results announced.
"With 719 votes, Herbert Hoover is hereby declared the 1928 Republican presidential nominee!!!"
"Hoover! Hoover! Hoover!!"
"Thank you, thank you."
Hoover beamed ear-to-ear, basking in glory, glancing at Curtis.
'Damn bastard.'
Curtis had harped endlessly that "Hoover will ruin the economy," driving him near neurotic. America's top economist wrecking it? Low and absurd smear.
But he listened to advisors.
'We need Curtis.'
'Too many scars. Unavoidable for primary win, but we alienated farms and minorities. Nominate him VP.'
'VP's just window dressing. Ignore him in the White House.'
Yeah. Business card, nothing more.
He bellowed to delegates.
"Republicans must unite! I lead to bright future, but cautious, thoughtful Senator Curtis earned much support!!"
"Hoover! Hoover!"
"I publicly request: Senator Curtis, be my running mate! Show the world we've united for new four years, past behind us!"
"Curtis! Curtis! Curtis!"
Thundering cheers.
The massive mood pressured Curtis.
Refuse, lose election? Traitor forever. GOP troll for history books. Career over.
Curtis casually scanned the hall, raised hand to quiet, said flatly.
"Thanks, Hoover. Overwhelmed by the offer."
His brightest smile ever.
"Fuck off."
Now I knew why the son-in-law couldn't quit the crazy.
How do you hold back from fun like this?