Chapter 144

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Translator: Ace

Chapter: 144

Chapter Title: The Darkest Hour (4)

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Something was off. Something was really off.

Wasn't the Great Depression supposed to be triggered by 'Black Thursday' and 'Black Tuesday'?

Stock prices were climbing back up, and the chaos was being brought under control.

The shock of people hurling themselves into the Hudson River to check the water temperature had been swept away as smoothly and naturally as the current flowing from upstream to downstream.

Maybe... had I gotten the dates wrong again?

Or had my meddling changed history?

Either way, the panic would hit soon enough. There was no way it'd end with some fairy-tale 'Miracle Hoover revives the economy, and the United States prospers for twenty more years.'

If it really did, I'd just kneel before God-Hoover's divine power and kowtow. Thank goodness I was an iron rice bowl civil servant right now. What a stroke of luck. What a blessing.

But that God-Hoover's power was hurting me like hell right now.

Mr. Miller had been arrested.

Even more disconcerting was that I couldn't even visit him.

"You can't go right now."

"But—"

"If you meet him now, it'll only make things worse for you. You trying to advertise to the whole world that there's a connection between you and US MILK? Don't be a fool. Hire a lawyer and send them—that's the best you can do."

"...Understood."

The press was on Hoover's side, and so were the citizens.

Mass protests? Not even worth hoping for.

"What do you expect from milk delivery guys?"

"Once the economy picks up, jobs will come back."

US MILK was carved up into pieces and sold off to private companies.

The Hoover administration explained it away as 'an unfortunate necessity for economic normalization.'

Come to think of it, the free-market evangelists embedded in the Republican Party had despised US MILK since the Harding days.

They'd always seen it as populist pandering gone wrong—a giveaway tax grab for Congressman Curtis's vote bank management.

This was a holy war. A crusade to undo that evil, nauseating red-tainted mistake.

So in that light, US MILK being their first target was all too predictable.

The American Legion issued a statement saying they would 'abide by the momentous decision.'

The blade of investigation could turn on the Legion anytime. The higher-ups wanted a tidy resolution at an acceptable line, not some crusade for justice.

Above all, the number of people actually losing jobs wasn't as huge as you'd think.

Only a fraction of the millions of veterans had joined the Legion.

It had been ten years since the war ended—plenty had moved on with their lives and distanced themselves from it.

Those who'd turned to US MILK out of joblessness were a minority to begin with, and only some of them got the axe in this privatization.

US MILK's core was distribution anyway, and the new private buyers had little reason to fire the existing delivery crews wholesale.

"Getting canned overnight like this—ain't that going too far?!"

"Too far? You lot lounging around like you were actual civil servants—that was the real outrage!"

"Doherty ballooned his gut on the take, and you're all accomplices! Nice living off other people's money, huh?!"

The few who did lose their jobs and grumbled got branded reds or crooks on the spot—had to shut their mouths.

Citizens were still pretending to be nonchalant. For now.

As always, miners, farmers, milkmen—these lowly laborers were just as scum to the elegant types sipping milk tea at home and reading the papers. America's class, gunning down strikers with machine guns, never disappoints.

But the situation was barreling forward breathlessly.

"The breakup and sale of US MILK is a clear sign of cronyism! Democrats must immediately stand against the ruling party's tyranny and save citizens from the milkpowder threat!"

"Waaaaah!!! Huey Long!! Huey Long!!"

"As Governor of Louisiana, I declare that the state government will acquire the Louisiana branch of US MILK! Democrats will not stand idly by while robber barons threaten the common man's table! I will carry on Harding's legacy!!"

One governor directly defied the US MILK sale, throwing down the gauntlet that his state would buy it instead of private firms.

The political scene grew more chaotic by the day. Democrats, didn't you get shredded for cozying up to corrupt milk distributors?

No one could make sense of Democrats claiming Harding's legacy while Republicans painted US MILK as a den of corruption. Seriously, what the hell was going on anymore?

"Representing Detroit's businessmen, I oppose the passage of the Smoot-Hawley Tariff and request its repeal or delay."

"Speaking for Manhattan's financial district, I warn of the dangers of this legislation. Smoot-Hawley will ignite a full-scale tariff war with European nations!"

"We economics professors submit this joint petition as well. This bill is neither liberal nor compatible with market economics."

A rare sight: Henry Ford and J.P. Morgan Jr. speaking out in unison against Washington D.C.

These were men who never lost their cool even amid stock crashes.

If they were this alarmed, they'd have crumbled ages ago during the Great War or the last downturn.

But even they raced to D.C. at the prospect of Smoot-Hawley being tabled.

"Protectionism? Where the hell did that idea come from?"

"It's a bill with public support. Higher tariffs will boost domestic industry competitiveness—why are you beneficiaries opposing it?"

"That's nonsense. We're not an import nation—we're exporters! Exporters! You think an export country builds ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tariff walls against importers? We're not buying their stuff—they're buying ours!"

"If this passes, I'll seriously consider relocating some Detroit factories to Europe."

Even as Henry Ford played his strongest card, the administration wouldn't budge.

To be precise, the administration minus Hoover wouldn't budge.

"Listen."

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Personally, I believe this bill is wrong."

"Then—"

"You wouldn't understand, but I'm backed into a corner right now. A knife's at my throat—no room to indulge you! Ford! Wasn't it you who bankrolled Curtis from the start? You should've kept your pet dog in check!"

"Are you saying I bribed politicians to undermine you?"

"No. But the dog you raised is biting my leg now."

Instead of unloading about his fatal flaw of working under Wilson, his shaky standing in the Republican Party, or Curtis's impending attacks, he irritably scowled and got to his point.

"As this nation's Commander-in-Chief, I have a request for you pillar-of-society businessmen."

"Speak."

"This crisis is temporary. Above all, we must keep citizens from panicking. I'd appreciate if you'd refrain from layoffs, unpaid leave, wage cuts—anything that could roil the markets—for the time being."

This time, Ford furrowed his brow.

"Are you... interfering in business operations?"

"It's a special situation. A special situation."

"I don't fire my workers recklessly. They're family. But Mr. President, you have no authority to order that."

"I'm not interfering in your operations. But companies seeking government support must naturally cooperate with government policies. Prioritizing cooperative firms isn't interference, is it?"

They couldn't argue with that.

These men who'd come to block the bill left empty-handed, laden only with the shackles the government had slapped on them.

And winter approached.

America's citizens beheld a new world unlike any before.

"Got any spare change, buddy?"

"Nah. All I got are Hoover flags."

"Damn. Can't even buy a drink."

"No gas for the car—what now?"

"Guess we'll pull a Hoover wagon like everyone else. Let's yank out that gas-guzzling engine later."

"Babe Ruth, isn't $80,000 a year too much? Even the President only gets $75,000."

"What the hell does my salary have to do with Hoover? For the record, my stats are better than his."

1930.

The Roaring Twenties ended, and the Dark Thirties dawned.

People gradually lost faith in the government, and with each new absurdity, they slapped "Hoover" on it—proving American citizens' wit and satire knew no bounds.

"My fellow Americans. Once the bill passes, prosperity will return swiftly. Rest assured—"

"Can Hoover really save the economy?"

"Who knows."

Of course, only those with some lifeline left could crack jokes like that.

Unemployment exploded, and Congress roared with shouts day after day.

A shadowy park at midnight.

I'd pulled on a coat and hat for the first guest in ages.

"Long time no see, Colonel Kim."

"Your name's echoing everywhere lately. Hell, I've even got your flag—"

"That idiot President and I aren't even related."

Edgar Hoover, head of the BOI—the FBI's predecessor—waved it off like he'd heard it a million times.

Couldn't take a joke, huh? Typical no-fun guy.

We lit up cigarettes first thing.

"How's the Army holding up?"

"Why's the Bureau chief asking me?"

"I'm not crazy enough to investigate the military. That's why."

"Nothing to report. Pershing chewed out the Legion brass, and the crooks who took bribes slunk away on their own."

"Doubt that. You know the Legion top brass idolize Mussolini?"

What the hell? He quickly added as I stared in disbelief.

"But with Pershing stepping in, they won't dream of a second March on Rome. Forget the Legion—tell me about the Army."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Something off about these questions.

I caught the anxiety flickering across Hoover's face.

"The Army... no unusual signs. What's this about?"

"Higher-ups are scrutinizing the military. Stirred up the Legion, now they're sweating the Army, huh."

"At least pass on that the top officers are solid."

Plenty had quit the Army, but that was back in boom times.

In this uncertain era, civil servants were always golden. Sweet taxpayer gravy.

"Colonel Kim, when's your next posting?"

"When the time comes. Army reassignments are as common as meals."

"I'd apply for overseas. As far as possible—China, Panama. Or take long leave for a European tour."

I stared at him silently instead of answering.

"You're... Congressman Curtis's son-in-law."

"So?"

"Some nervous types are twitchy about you wielding a baton near D.C."

"Ha! That broke-ass, undisciplined bunch only thinking about clocking out—you think they're a threat marching on Washington? Gone paranoid?"

Eugene Kim charging D.C. with those money-hungry, no-discipline slackers? Delusional much?

"No joke. The Hoover administration's in extreme nervous breakdown mode. President, cabinet, pro-Hoover congressmen, anti-Hoover ones, Curtis faction all separate. Already bickering over blame and policy—"

"Country's a real paradise."

"Army Chief of Staff's getting replaced too. Bringing in someone you know... Major General Douglas MacArthur from the Philippines."

Why? Out of everyone, why MacArthur?

"More than ever, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they need a military man who knows politics."

"A war hero with political savvy—MacArthur's the perfect card. Makes sense."

"Exactly."

Even compared to original history, this felt like scouting someone ruthless enough to roll tanks over protests.

"Watch your back for now. I've warned you—don't blame me."

"You know? When I get pissed, I got no brakes."

"President's got his hands full with a guy like that—terrifying. Damn it."

We didn't chat long and split in opposite directions before anyone noticed.

The White House in the distance looked downright creepy tonight.