Chapter 149
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 149
Chapter Title: Milk, Blood, and the Blue Star (3)
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I was just endlessly burning through cigarettes while waiting for the Milk Expeditionary Force's list of demands to be drawn up.
A few days? No, maybe just a few hours left.
Wouldn't it be better to just bolt right now?
Would Dorothy and the kids be okay?
The burning desire to drop everything and get the hell out of here clashed with the nagging worry of whether I'd be able to sleep soundly in Europe after watching these people get slaughtered. I couldn't budge an inch.
Then, gunfire erupted in the distance.
"What the hell?"
"I'll check it out."
As Miller, who'd been fidgeting nervously beside me, started to dash off, a roar of engines pierced through the shots, followed by panicked yells.
"Don't shoot!!"
"Don't shoot! It's Black—! Don't shoot!!"
What the...?
And in that instant, a battered black Dodge touring car smashed through the barricade, its hulking frame emerging proudly despite the ugly dents everywhere.
No way my eyes were playing tricks—this was a car I could never mistake.
Why the hell was it charging straight here right now?
Screeeeech!!
With a spine-chilling skid, the driver's door of the Black Lotus flew open, revealing a silhouette that was all too familiar.
"What the hell are you doing here, you bastard!"
"...Dorothy?"
She was decked out head to toe in leather, boots and all, like she'd just slit a deer's throat somewhere. Slung over her right shoulder was the Winchester rifle I'd stashed under our bed back home.
She scanned me and Miller with a quick once-over, then marched right up and yanked the cigarette from my mouth.
"Huuuuh—"
She took a massive drag.
"Kuh! Kek! Kehak!"
"You don't even smoke normally—"
"You think I wouldn't want to light up after seeing the mess you two are in?"
"Sorry."
"I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Kim. It's my fault, so please calm down—"
"You get it? Good."
"......"
Miller, who'd bravely stepped up, sank like a stone in three seconds flat under her demonic aura, like she was ready to march straight to hell and cleave Diablo's skull in two.
Weakling. What a disappointment, Miller. Time to show this magnificent patriarch side of mine.
"Come on, even so, this is dangerous—how could you—"
"You wanna yell right now?"
"Sorry! My bad!"
I dropped to my knees and begged without missing a beat.
Miller, don't give me that look. This is... tactical momentum-building. Definitely not because Dorothy's gripping that rifle tight.
"So? Why are you here?"
"Then why are you—"
"If you're being held hostage, I'll blow their heads off and drag you home on the roof. If you're just stupidly protesting with them, I'll blow your head off."
"Uh, well, neither. What about the kids? Where are they?"
"Don't change the subject. Left 'em next door for a bit. You know they were bawling like the world ended while packing for the trip? Asking where Daddy went."
Sorry... I'm so sorry...
Miller and I rubbed our hands raw explaining ourselves, while Dorothy stood there arms crossed, listening silently.
"So just deliver that document?"
"Yeah. Then we're out. Don't worry, for real. I just ducked the cops' bullets and hid here. Once this gets handed off, it's done. Heading straight home."
"Feels like I'm raising five kids on my own and dying here. Miller, please ask those protesters to hurry it up."
"Got it!"
Miller bolted for the big shack like he was thrilled to escape this hell, leaving Dorothy and me alone.
"You hurt anywhere?"
"Nah."
"Good. Kids' eyes are all puffy, so you soothe them till we leave for Europe. Got it?"
"You bet."
"All talk. Sigh. Even if I love your crazy side..."
I could guess the rest. My bad, please spare me.
Good call rushing Miller—he came running back clutching a scrap of paper. Time to blow this joint.
"Ready to go?"
"Yeah. Let's hustle. Can't stand worrying about the kids."
And right then.
An ominous engine rumble vibrated from beyond the horizon.
This vibration, this engine roar—too damn familiar.
"M1917."
"Huh?"
"Too late."
It had begun.
"Chief of Staff MacArthur."
"Yes."
"The President has made his decision."
Secretary of War Patrick J. Hurley solemnly relayed the order from the White House.
"After thorough review from all angles, the White House has concluded that those thugs calling themselves the Milk Expeditionary Force are a clear gathering of rebels attempting a communist revolution."
"Indeed. We've already submitted the Army Intelligence report, but to add: the mob has occupied empty government buildings, staged sit-ins everywhere, ignored police dispersal orders, and even murdered on-duty officers."
Damn bastards.
MacArthur had already declared partial activation of War Plan White under White House orders and begun preparations to counter the domestic communist uprising.
Not a single high-ranking official in Washington D.C. doubted that this was the final showdown for the fate of the United States.
Russia.
And Germany.
Even the most authoritarian, oppressive nations had crumbled helplessly before Bolshevik agitation.
Then how vulnerable was the United States, always hamstrung by one arm tied behind its back to guarantee civil liberties?
Commies were like cockroaches. Spot one, and hundreds were already swarming underground. One commie pack shows up in D.C.—how many rebel hordes lurked across this vast nation?
National Guard and Army units nationwide were gearing up to crush communist uprisings centered on major cities. Plans to neutralize the Navy and Marines—who always spearheaded commie advances in those fallen nations' collapses—awaited only the command.
"But the President believes those aiming to communize this land are just a few agitators, and most are good citizens swept up in the frenzy."
"The moment they fall for the agitation, they're the enemy."
"That's a soldier's view. Until their plot is out in the open, we must treat them as American citizens."
Hurley and MacArthur agreed they must defend this nation on the brink by any means necessary—but differed on the timing of those "means."
"First, neutralize the protesters flooding the streets. Use force if needed."
"Understood."
"And round up everyone in that godforsaken Hooverville."
"Round up?"
The Secretary hesitated, then clenched his fist decisively.
"Drive the protesters back into Hooverville. Then seize complete control and fingerprint every resident, rioter, and protester there. Identifying participants is priority one."
As War Secretary, he exercised a tiny discretion.
Hoover's original order was to identify protesters then shove them back into the shantytown.
But that'd miss the real agitators hunkered inside. The President's misjudging this.
So he judged.
"And after?"
"Release them. The rest is for the courts."
"Secretary, after grabbing them, just fingerprint and release? Does that even make sense?"
"The Republican primaries are coming. Botch this riot response, get stabbed in the back? The moment that commie Curtis becomes President, the red tide wins another way!"
He unleashed a machine-gun barrage of words.
"I've said it before—why keep Eugene Kim in command of a frontline tank unit?"
"Doubting an Army elite just because he's Curtis's son-in-law? No such thing as guilt by association in U.S. law."
"The most dangerous man in America is him."
"And that 'most dangerous' man is being held by protesters."
Hurley's eyes bulged at MacArthur's gritted-teeth groan.
"What?"
"Exactly that. The mob grabbed Lt. Col. Kim off the street."
"Him? Why rule out him joining willingly?"
"You joking? If he wanted to overthrow the regime with commies, why not seize the tank battalion when he had it? Ditching that golden opportunity to join now makes no sense."
Even Hurley, no fan of Eugene Kim, had to shut up at MacArthur's airtight logic.
No room for "he got swept up" nonsense in elite minds.
"Fine... Start suppression ops. President's orders."
"Understood."
Thus, the day of reckoning dawned.
Standing before dozens of tanks, Patton swept his sharp gaze over the elite unit Eugene Kim had forged and he'd personally polished.
No more agonizing.
Poor naive junior. That pitiful kid, still green to the world, just didn't get the commie psyche that worshipped destruction and chaos.
Obvious as day. Those filthy rioter scum surely preyed on Kim's soft heart, then dragged him kicking and screaming with guns to their stinking Hooverville.
Smash the commies wrecking constitutional order, rescue a former superior kidnapped, defend law and order against blood and anarchy.
The fateful hour to exalt the Army's honor had arrived.
"My men, true warriors!"
"KILL! KILL!! KILL!!!"
"Our senior's, once worthy of respect, who defended Europe's freedom—they're dying now! Before they commit unforgivable sins under red agitation, if words fail, smash their skulls so they can't sin more—that's our duty as juniors!!"
"KILL! KILL!! KILL!!!"
"Never hesitate to thrash our old comrades! What honor or shame do thugs holding an American officer hostage have left?!"
"Only we can save this nation! We fall, America falls—our parents and families become red playthings in a savage world! No hesitation, not one step back!!"
"SIR, YES SIR!"
"Tanks, advance!!"
July 27, 1931.
1:50 PM.
Major George Patton Jr.'s M1917 tank battalion rolled out from base, advancing on the protesters.
Behind them marched the 12th Infantry Regiment with vigor, followed by ranks of prepared troops striking in unison to rout the mob and safeguard freedom.
To end it all.