Chapter 148
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 148
Chapter Title: Milk, Blood, and the Blue Star (2)
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A small villa near New York.
In this suburban villa community where Manhattan analysts had eagerly snapped up properties, there weren't many houses where the owner was still alive.
And now, out of nowhere, several cars screeched to a halt, and people brandishing pistols poured into one of the villas.
Bang! Rat-tat-tat!
"Nobody move!"
"Get down! It's the BOI!!"
"Eek! P-Please, just spare me!"
"Don't shoot! We're unarmed!"
Edgar Hoover, who had been watching the arrest operation from afar, lit his pipe.
'What the hell is happening to this country.'
When young folks with barely dried blood on their heads were just stepping into society, the economy suddenly collapsed, and the world filled up with beggars.
In a world like this, there probably weren't many young men without some twisted patriotism or grand ambition to change the nation.
And quite a few of them turned to the wrong paths.
Like Marxism-Leninism.
"We've arrested five, and we're pursuing the two who fled."
"Catch them by tonight, no matter what. Are they all American citizens?"
"Three of the five are U.S. citizens, and two are Japanese nationals."
"Then skip the separate judicial process and just deport them. No mercy."
"Understood."
He had no time to waste mingling with these small fries, but right now, it seemed better to step away from D.C. for a bit.
This wasn't his moment yet. He needed to wait until his value rose higher.
Suddenly, he thought of someone who should be in D.C. around now.
Eugene Kim.
That sly political monster wouldn't miss this golden opportunity. He'd probably been scheming ever since Curtis's presidential bid fell apart.
To begin with, countless members of this Milk Expeditionary Force had been touched by Eugene Kim's influence, and he could wield strong sway over Army Chief of Staff Douglas MacArthur, who was handling the government's response.
A situation where he could deeply influence both the protesters and the suppression forces just 'happened'?
'Ridiculous.'
Hoover had rolled around in the field enough by now and clashed a few times with D.C.'s monsters.
And each time, he'd realized how much he'd underestimated Eugene Kim, sending shivers down his spine.
How long had he been preparing?
Would he use the protesters as sacrifices to swallow this country whole?
Or bundle the Hoover administration and MacArthur together and drag them to hell?
Unable to make a clear judgment, Edgar Hoover chose a tactical retreat.
He'd had enough of foolishly charging in blind once already.
By the time he returned to D.C., it would all probably be over.
Among the virtues of an American politician, the top one was naturally the tough fighter's temperament to crush strikes.
Former President Coolidge had risen to fame by smashing a police strike, and Harding had threatened aerial bombing during a coal miners' strike.
In a country where businessmen banded together to hire private militias for 'battles' all the time, violent suppression was as routine as eating—so while he'd thought it unlikely, here it was.
"Cough, cough—"
"General, are you alright?"
"It's been over ten years since I did that general thing. These guys..."
I was screwed.
Looks like I'd been properly screwed.
Tear gas that squeezed out tears and snot filled the air everywhere, and the horrific chatter of machine guns echoed from afar, fully triggering the veterans' trauma.
The police, perhaps with some last shred of conscience or thought for the aftermath, didn't openly rake the crowd with machine guns... but in the end, amid the massive chaos and panic, three protesters lost their lives.
And in this hellish environment that felt like returning to the trenches, some veterans couldn't hold back their trauma, charged at the police, and sparked bloodshed.
Excluding the injured, three protesters dead.
And two police dead.
With people dead, it could never end peacefully.
That was the situation with the Milk Expeditionary Force.
And for me personally...
"General Kim?"
"Is General Kim joining us?"
"No, nothing like that."
Our ever-loyal 93rd Division veterans had immediately surrounded me and pulled me out of the protest site as soon as gunfire erupted.
Now I was right in the middle of Hooverville, their camp, with the police and military tightly encircling the Milk Expeditionary Force.
I'd just come to give some encouraging words to the 93rd Division guys and head off on my trip, but why the hell was I stuck in the eye of the storm? Damn it.
Hmm. No, wait. Thinking about it, hadn't I already plunged right into the heart of the protest?
If I racked up some merit before leaving, I could probably get off with a light shoe-polishing reprimand or a written warning. Without that, some weirdos might pick a fight, claim I was in cahoots with the Milk Army, and I'd take a beating too. Yeah, right. True to form, Eugene Kim, incarnation of self-preservation and personal gain.
...Screw it. This wretched life. Has my life ever not been tangled up, from past life to this one, day by day?
If I could look at these hollow-eyed, ragged veterans blinking vacantly and say, "Heh heh, well then, keep up the good fight. I'm off to tour Europe with the kids," I would've done it ages ago.
I might've ignored it if I hadn't seen, but now that I had, I couldn't just walk away.
"You all know better than I do that just being here is already a major violation of military law."
"...Yes. That's why we haven't dared ask for your help."
"I'll give you some time—write up your demands and hand them to me. I'll submit them for now."
"Thank you! Really, thank you!"
"But there's a precondition. Any subversive elements talking revolution or overthrowing the regime mixed in with the protesters?"
They straightened up and waved their hands firmly.
"Absolutely not. We're not Reds! Why would we, who fought for Europe's freedom, join the Reds destroying America's freedom?"
"I'll trust you. One more thing: disarm."
"Disarm, sir?"
The reluctant looks on their faces weren't because they wanted to shoot.
This damn United States. To these men, giving up the right to bear arms was as unnatural as stopping breathing.
"Let's be frank. You planning to shoot your way through the encircling police and military and go lop off Hoover's head?"
"No, of course not—"
"If you can't shoot, it's better for public opinion not to carry them. If the police fire, don't resist—just run. If you fight back, Hoover wins. But if the image is of helpless veterans massacred, you win in the end."
"...Understood. We'll collect and store personal firearms separately."
My guidance ended there.
Just following that should give them a huge advantage in turning this into an off-site struggle compared to original history.
Absolutely, absolutely no more excessive intervention. No way. If I got too deep, I'd be stripped of my uniform.
At that moment, someone who absolutely shouldn't be here caught my eye.
"Mr. Miller?"
"General Kim? Why are you here, sir?"
"That's what I want to ask you. When did you get out?"
"I was released after the interrogation... Didn't my article run in The Sun? I even did an interview."
"Not at all."
Either it got cut midway, Hoover pressured them, or both—high probability.
The reason Hoover's fortress held firm despite over 30,000 people protesting in Washington D.C.
Simple answer: the press was thoroughly on Hoover's side.
The capitalists wielding pens didn't want chaos.
Sure, Hoover was making a mess, but at least him staying in power was safer than rioters winning.
"Things feel uneasy, so hurry and prepare those demands."
"Got it. We'll gather internal opinions and get them ready right away."
That was all the emergency aid I could provide.
Patton was the type to roll tanks out the instant he got orders, but I had a bit of influence in that chain of command—worth betting on.
Unlike original history, I'd spent months chattering nonstop by Chief of Staff MacArthur and his aide Eisenhower.
They're not rioters. Not Reds. If they really meant business, D.C. would be burning already, but nothing's happened. Crushing them by force would be too damaging, blah blah blah.
Of course, my arguments lost steam as intel from the bureau piled up.
The Milk Army smuggling machine guns into Hooverville secretly, shady gunmen and gangsters from D.C. and New York joining them one after another...
If I'd been a full colonel, I'd grab someone by the collar and demand sources for that crap, but unverified Grade-A rumors from who-knows-where were stacking up on MacArthur's desk labeled 'intelligence.'
I couldn't flatly deny it either—after all, the Milk Army had sprung up instead of the original Bonus Army. How would I know if they were really prepping an armed revolt?
Still, MacArthur jumping the gun seemed unlikely.
I didn't trust the gutsy MacArthur from history books. I trusted the Douglas MacArthur I'd seen for over ten years—prideful, vain, but with judgment second to none—and the Ike by his side.
Unless some Goebbels showed up spewing nonsense to cloud his mind, no one could fool his eyes.
My humble wish was just not to see tanks crushing unarmed civilians.
It had been quite a while since Intelligence Officer Colonel Conrad H. Lanza started drinking coffee like water.
As he rubbed his bleary eyes and reviewed the just-finished report, the door creaked open, and an uninvited guest entered.
"Who—oh, it's you."
"Figured you'd need a lot of coffee, so I brought some."
Since taking the Inspector General position, Drum had grown used to the outwardly welcoming but inwardly suspicious stares, and he set the coffee cup on the desk.
"Mind if I read the report first?"
"Go ahead. Here to nitpick? MacArthur after my head?"
"As if. Our esteemed Chief of Staff treats me like I'm invisible."
Drum's response carried barely concealed anger.
Snubbing him for not being West Point?
Or just no interest in small fry like him?
No one ignored Hugh Drum, a leader of the Showmon faction and respected even by Pershing.
He'd vied fiercely with MacArthur and Marshall for future Chief of Staff, and though MacArthur peaked absurdly early, Drum's name always came up in next-gen talks.
He was always the winner.
He'd beaten the disruptive MacArthur at West Point and shipped him to the Philippines; while Marshall lounged in China, he'd crushed Billy Mitchell and his followers, solidifying Army authority.
With a titan like him as Inspector General, MacArthur had to watch his step... or so he'd thought.
'Ah, you're the Inspector General?'
'Yes, Chief of Staff. Now, forget the past and look to the future—'
'The past? What past? Were you ever in my unit? I never forget faces. Anyway, fetch Major Kim for me. Got something to discuss.'
'Major Eugene Kim? In the chain of command, he doesn't report directly to—'
'No one speaks my language, so what choice? Hurry and get Major Kim.'
Perfect dismissal.
Mentioning Eugene Kim, his old lackey, and needling him—it was viciously petty. How could a Chief of Staff be so low?
"Breaking news!"
"What is it?"
"Major Kim has joined the protesters!"
"What nonsense is that? Double-check!"
"Confirmed! The protesters have Major Kim—"
See that.
Eugene Kim, that crafty eel, wouldn't make the blunder of mingling with Red traitors.
So something must have gone wrong...
"Colonel Lanza."
"Hm? As you see, I'm busy."
"This report and the news we just heard—mind if I brief the Chief first?"
"Suits me fine. I'll investigate more and see him after."
He burned to shove that arrogant bastard into the toilet, and heaven was handing him the chance on a silver platter.
Words could make or break, after all.
Drum wondered if his one-year-older 'esteemed' Chief could remain a gentleman after hearing this.
Filling his face with gloom and shock, Drum slowly opened the Chief's door.
"Major Kim has been detained by the Red rioters."
Hearing the coffee cup shatter eased his mind.
I was unpacking when my gums acted up, so I went to the dentist.
'You'll need that wisdom tooth pulled.'
'?? My old dentist said if it's fine, you can live with it???'
'It's acting up, that's why you're here.'
'......Please spare me.'
'It's lying there so pretty at 90 degrees; can't save it.'
So soon I'll head out to exterminate Hoover-tooth. Whee, exciting!