Chapter 27. Prelude (2)
Pancho Villa's expedition was a major benchmark to test the might of the U.S. Army.
Congress was already in turmoil over the new "National Defense Act," and hardliners like Theodore Roosevelt, who were clamoring for intervention in Europe, were arming themselves and drilling militias. America, as expected—a badass country where guns littered the streets.
And this expedition aimed to test America's full military power by mobilizing even the state militias, separate from the federal army.
Of course, it had nothing to do with a mere second lieutenant like me yet.
After bidding farewell to Patton, I returned to the office to find fresh news awaiting me: assignment to the Pancho Villa expedition force.
The purpose was field-testing the prototype tank, among other things. Basically, a cushy assignment.
Anyway, it was a golden opportunity for me, so after spending one last night with Dorothy, I stuffed the essentials into my bag at dawn and headed out immediately.
"Welcome to San Francisco!!"
As I stepped off the train, Patton, waiting at the station, spread his arms wide in an exuberant welcome.
"This is my hometown."
"Is it? Hahaha! Who cares! The important thing is that I am welcoming you!"
Embarrassing as it was, he grinned shamelessly.
"Our time has finally come! Blood of men! Sweat! Gunpowder! All of it awaits us! And now, we'll add steel to the mix!"
Patton was visibly thrilled. How the hell could he spout such cringeworthy lines without hesitation? Senior, please let me stretch my limbs. I'm itching to blow those taco heads sky-high right now.
I wanted to watch the tank being unloaded, but I couldn't just stand there seeing my porky senior hopping around in frustration.
"Uh... Senior?"
"What's up, Lieutenant Kim! You're excited for this expedition too, huh!"
"No, no—the tank unloading will take quite a while—"
"Yeah? Hmm, true enough. Then let's report in first. Right now! Can you ride a horse?"
"I learned at West Point—"
"Then let's go! Kahahaha!!"
Oh, no.
I couldn't keep up with that energy at all.
No matter how I thought about it, this assignment doomed me to get dragged around by this volcano of a man.
BAM!!
"General! The chickadee has arrived!"
Even as Patton burst through the door with utmost courtesy, the man in the office didn't flinch, slowly raising his head.
"You must be the one tangled up with the new weapon under development at Ford."
"Yes, sir. Second Lieutenant Eugene Kim."
"Young. No, very young."
As I saluted, he stood, approached, and extended his hand.
"John J. Pershing. Pleased to meet you."
"Yes, sir!"
'Black Jack' Pershing.
The legend of World War I.
The embodiment of the U.S. Army, future Marshal.
A lowly second lieutenant greeting him was an honor, but considering the U.S. Army's current sorry state—where even officers were thin on the ground—it was everyday fare.
"Did you come alone?"
"No, sir. The tank is being unloaded at the station right now."
"......"
His kindly smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a terrifying glare. That look screamed Morse code: 'Then why aren't you supervising the unloading and came here alone?'
I subtly rolled my eyes toward Senior Patton, and luckily, he caught on.
"I insisted we report in first, General!"
"Is reporting more urgent than unloading?"
"The meeting of the great 'Black Jack' and the Army's dark horse! Isn't that the most urgent matter of all?!"
This time, Pershing's laser-beam eyes fired at Patton's face.
I could translate that too. Something like... 'Cut the bullshit and speak straight.'
"Ahem, ahem! The unloading is handled by Ford's dispatched engineers and sappers, so Lieutenant Kim's role is limited. I judged that getting a report from the on-site lead on the new weapon's performance and specs would better aid future scheduling."
"...I'll let it slide this time."
"Phew."
What? There was that much deep meaning behind it?
As expected of a future four-star general. No way he's just a brainless musclehead. Even if he seems hot-tempered, there must be profound strategy writhing inside.
"Sorry. I reined him in a bit."
His whisper made me sigh inwardly.
"Sit down. As Patton said, let's hear the briefing first."
"Yes, sir."
As Patton and I moved to sit, he stroked his mustache, staring piercingly at Patton.
This time, even I couldn't decipher it. Some profound exchange between the current genius general and the future one—
"...I'll prepare drinks. What would you like, General?"
"Water for me."
"W-water for me too."
Water. Suffocating.
I wanna go home.
I was graciously served water by the mighty Patton himself and gave a compressed briefing on the prototype tank's performance and purpose from Ford.
"This expedition's goals already include testing various new weapons: aircraft, wireless comms, armored cars, and that 'tank' you brought."
The sound of his fingers tapping the table filled the room.
"Patton."
"Yes, sir."
"What do you make of that tank contraption?"
"I think it'll be the star of future battlefields."
Wait, you didn't say that in Detroit, you lying musclehead con artist.
Whether I was stunned or not, Patton laid out his opinion.
"Terrain adaptation, mid-to-close range fire support, survivability. Frontline troops will pray for tanks by their side when attacking from now on."
"High praise, unlike you."
"I'm still negative on logistics and maintenance demands. But that iron horse holds hope for the future."
"Hmm..."
As Pershing pondered, Patton spoke gravely.
"That's why that iron horse is the cavalry of tomorrow. Lend me a mixed tank-cavalry unit, and I'll bring back that damn taco bandit's head on a pike."
"D.C.'s orders are capture. Alive, not a corpse. And you're my aide, not a commander."
"As long as that bastard doesn't get shredded by tank fire, I'll capture him alive! So please, give me troops!!"
Somehow, like watering water or boozing booze, my precious darlings' habitat was naturally set to cavalry.
No way, no how. Over my dead body—cavalry is out!
"General, may I offer an opinion?"
"Of course. The expert's view is always welcome."
"Have you seen the tank in person? A rolling hunk of steel. It's already a massive piece of cover by itself."
Patton frowned, catching my drift.
Yeah, no. Senior or not, no handing them to cavalry. That tank is mine. My tank! My precious!
"Above all, tank guns smash enemy pillboxes and such structures, while the tracks neutralize obstacles. The core design philosophy packs everything frontline troops desperately need—a full gift set."
"No! You're wasting that amazing mobility pairing it with infantry grunts? Lieutenant Kim, that's nonsense!"
"Of course, organic use depending on battlefield conditions is key. But rather than designing it slow from the start, we invested in mobility as a contingency."
If tanks go to cavalry, I can't use them in World War I.
Forget future genius bullshit—survive first.
I wanna ride tanks attached to infantry!
"I've heard both views. We'll decide after staff discussion."
"Yes, sir."
"Lieutenant Patton. Escort Lieutenant Kim to barracks and handle his admin needs."
"Got it!"
"That's all."
We rose, and General Pershing returned to his pile of papers.
This Tang Dynasty army setup just left me more impressed the more I saw it.
The next day.
The verdict came quick.
"Split them in half?"
"Yes. With four prototypes here, two to cavalry, two to infantry."
Solomon's perfect judgment.
Patton smacked his lips in disappointment.
"You gotta run 'em in packs. Scattering one or two does jack shit! Imagine dozens, hundreds flooring it toward one tactical goal. An unstoppable steel whip! Mexicans or Germans, they'd all get shredded!"
"There's merit to that. However—"
"However?"
"Tank tech hasn't reached that point yet. We'll know after this combat test."
Patton had to concede.
We hadn't even unwrapped their real role in battle yet.
...Except me.
Hell on earth.
The expedition's real enemies weren't Pancho Villa and his ragtag bandits.
Our primary foe was taco-land itself, and secondary were the senile old farts rejecting new tech.
Pershing suffered a self-igniting lunatic ranting, "That post should've been mine!" while frontline troops roasted under the intensifying sun, and gear crumbled on Mexico's shit roads.
True to the testing purpose, the force embraced trucks as a wondrous novelty.
Starting with 27 Model T trucks, reinforcements swelled their numbers to hundreds.
Fuel demands skyrocketed, supply officers foamed at the mouth, mechanics dropped like flies, and even Ford engineers pitched in on truck maintenance from lack of manpower.
With all those trucks, surely we'd ride like 21st-century ROK Army boys on happy truck marches?
No such luck.
Because of their damn pride.
"March to battle by truck, sir?"
"Heavens. If trucks clog up, the advance stalls. That cursed iron blocks the road—we can't advance. Reconsider."
"A soldier's virtue is marching! How can we ride trucks? It's insulting our unit!"
I repeated it endlessly, but the boomer power of the era's Army defied imagination.
"Shut up and load 'em."
"Fine for hauling supplies. But not troops. Why ride when legs work fine? I grant it's good for evacuating wounded, but—"
"Just load 'em! If we miss Villa marching on foot, you take responsibility?!"
But as we pushed deeper into Mexico, the boomers grew bolder while roads worsened, diminishing truck utility.
Trucks bogged down.
Tanks bogged down.
No recovery vehicles, so blood and tears flowed. Field repairs were lucky; overhauls meant scrap #1.
How the hell do you fight a war like this?
No, how did real history's America win World War I like this?
Pershing was truly remarkable. Wouldn't be surprised if command meetings gave him high blood pressure.
"Fuck! This is bullshit!!"
Even Patton snapped.
Yeah, watching those frustrating idiots from Pershing's side would piss off anyone with his temper.
"I volunteered for the frontlines!! How long do I have to fill the general's cup with water?! Why not use a goddamn orderly instead of me...!"
Oh. That was it?
My bad for not realizing.
As time dragged, Patton's madness deepened, and Pershing finally tossed him a unit like doggy chew.
"Lieutenant Kim!!"
"Yes, Senior."
"The time to seize glory has come!"
"Our glory?"
"Yeah! If I hog all the merits, you'd feel left out! I insisted they send you with me, and got approval!!"
Wait... what?
Good, sure, but what glory in this dump?
Why was my assignment like this from the start? To avoid risks of command. One wrong move, troops monkey-go-home, and my eval's toast.
I'd shelved merit-chasing long ago. Working with Pershing, just showing face diligently was enough. Focus on tank duties to showcase skills—that was Plan A.
But now.
"Come on! Only glory lies ahead for this Patton!"
"Yessir..."
Yeah.
I was wrong for sticking by this weirdo.
Industry legend Patton—I knew him, yet couldn't escape. My karma.