Chapter 33. Opening (4)
Americans don't want war.
That had always been the basic premise up until now.
There was no justification for intervening in Europe's war.
Only imperialists eyeing European interests clamored for war, but they'd just sit in New York or Washington counting their money anyway. In the end, it was always the little guys dying miserably over there.
But as time went on, Germany was growing increasingly hostile toward America.
They sank perfectly fine passenger liners, sent spies to manipulate public opinion—nothing they did looked good.
And then, on July 30, 1916.
A massive explosion and flames engulfed the entirety of Black Tom Island, sending anti-German sentiment skyrocketing once more.
The island itself was a gigantic munitions depot, a staging base where the vast supplies produced by the United States gathered before crossing the Atlantic.
"Goddamn Yankees! You claim neutrality, so why are you only selling to the Brits and French? How the hell is that neutral?"
"We'd love to sell to you too, but damn, the British have your seas blockaded, right? Once you push back the Royal Navy, we'll happily do business."
"You sons of bitches..."
Ever since the war began, the victim complex in the German Empire had been escalating, reaching the conclusion that 'Our U-boats are working overtime, so why haven't the British starved yet? It's all because of the goddamn Yankees.'
But did that mean they could resume unrestricted submarine warfare?
Bowing to Wilson's furious threats of intervention, U-boat attacks on merchant ships had to proceed in a very "gentlemanly" fashion.
And that's when Germany came up with a fantastically delusional idea.
"The munitions stockpiled in America are potential supplies for the Entente anyway—might as well blow them sky-high."
The result?
German saboteurs triggered a terrifying explosion, turning $20 million worth of supplies—$480 million in 2020 dollars—into ash.
Right next to Black Tom Island was Liberty Island, home to the famous Statue of Liberty.
The massive blast even struck the Statue of Liberty, manifesting in the real world the iconic "destroyed Statue of Liberty" scene from countless Hollywood movies and media depicting America's downfall—this time in its 1916 version.
It wasn't total destruction, just damage to the torch and robe, but the shock to American citizens of seeing their cracked, ugly Liberty Goddess was beyond imagination.
In the most perfect way, Germany was plucking the whiskers of a sleeping tiger, taunting, "You still not waking up? Even now??" and pulling all the aggro.
In sync with this horrific explosion, I—
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!
"You maggots! Get down properly! I said get down, you worthless worms!"
Yeah.
I was still spinning my wheels out West.
No, seriously... why...? I'm competent, smart, and polite to boot. So why...?
"Precisely because you're competent, you're here."
My expression soured even further.
Yeah, yeah, I get it.
Training the troops properly is the most crucial mission for the rapidly bulking-up US Army, right?
But at this rate, I'll end up as the eternal owl master frolicking with plebes forever. Do I even see sunlight? Is this some Washington conspiracy to keep promising front-liners like me sidelined? Am I doomed to die as Lieutenant Hartmann Kim, the eternal training machine?
My precious 1916 slipped away in this shitty training camp.
If it was gonna be like this, I'd have been better off stuck to Patton. At least then I'd get real combat experience or field tests with tanks.
To escape this hellish training post, I pulled every string I had.
But the outcome was brutal.
Hahaha. Son-in-law. Changing assignments? In my eyes, training elite US Army soldiers fits you perfectly. Ah, don't worry. Of course, for your advancement, I'll ensure you head to the front at the right time.
But right now doesn't seem like the opportune moment. Especially since sending you to the front now would piss off some foul-tempered investor. Take care.
— [Charles Curtis]
Hahaha. Lieutenant Kim. Changing assignments? In my eyes, training elite US Army soldiers fits you perfectly. Ah, don't worry. Of course, for your advancement, I'll ensure you head to the front at the right time.
But right now doesn't seem like the opportune moment. Especially since sending you to the front now would piss off some foul-tempered senator. Take care.
— [Senator]
Goddamn geezers.
Advertising their stitch-up so blatantly. They could've held hands, spun in a polka, and shouted "Hee-hee, you're not going anywhere!" and it would've been subtler.
Of course, the old men did explain properly afterward.
The War Department wanted me in D.C., but these bastards were desperately blocking my transfer to the General Staff.
"Frankly speaking, it's not good for you to go to the General Staff right now."
"What do you mean by that?"
"An Asian lieutenant promoted in just a year. The brass won't care much, but the staff officers won't like you one bit. Just stay put. The General Staff atmosphere isn't friendly to you at all."
What could I do when they put it like that?
Just stay put.
As a small mercy, I got to swing by Washington D.C., where Dorothy was waiting.
More precisely, after finishing field tests and entering full production, I went to Detroit to pick up some tanks for training, only for them to say, "Oh, training models? Those are in D.C. Pick 'em up there."
Of course, it was a considerate detour to see Dorothy's face, so I arrived in Washington in high spirits.
"I'm here."
"About time."
I couldn't leave my newlywed wife alone, nor drag a pregnant woman all the way to distant San Francisco, so Dorothy was staying at Senator Curtis's house in D.C.
Yeah.
Now... time to meet.
"Come here."
"Whew... hold on, let me take a deep breath—"
"Cut the crap and come quick."
The moment had arrived.
I slowly opened the door and approached the tiny crib.
"Ha."
Words failed me.
In the bed, a tiny wriggling life form slumbered peacefully.
I knelt right there, peering closer at this miraculous creature.
"Unbelievable."
"Yeah. You gallivanting from Mexico to the West, popping in briefly, and suddenly poof—a baby. No wonder you can't believe it."
The fire from my neglected wife, swollen for ten full months, burned hot. The karma of a soldier ran deep and heavy.
"Name?"
"Henry Dwight Kim. As you specified."
My mouth went dry.
My kid.
Even after two lifetimes, the birth of a life carrying my blood was a first, leaving my mind reeling.
"You."
"Yeah?"
"Don't wake the baby fiddling around."
"Yes, ma'am."
No doubt about it. Waking him would light my ass on fire.
And so, I sat there for ages, just watching the child.
Gazing at this baby Jesus squirming about made the whole world feel futile.
Why scramble for glory and riches, diving into Europe's hell? Was that nobler than staying here so this kid wouldn't grow up fatherless?
Looking at him now, he didn't scream "Oriental" at all. No discrimination here, right?
"Your face is all mushy now?"
"Huh?"
"Like you wanna chuck it all and just raise the kid here."
Dorothy's words snapped me back.
"Heh. Me?"
"I know. I feel it too, multiple times a day—why not just stay put in Washington, twirling a pen like a good boy."
Great minds think alike, huh.
"But you—could you be satisfied? When he's grown, would the comfort of being there outweigh the regret of missed chances?"
"...No need to prod like that."
Dorothy might be the perfect drill instructor.
The front lines were still ignoring me, but how long could they?
Now I knew.
That day would surely come.
Unhinged, Germany went berserk, and America's anger gauge finally hit critical.
Woodrow Wilson won on an anti-war, neutrality platform, but his second term brought endless German provocations.
Unrestricted submarine warfare resumed, sinking American merchant ships.
German Foreign Minister Zimmermann's message to Mexico—"Join us in attacking America"—was exposed via the telegraph lines Wilson had generously provided.
Around the same time, the March Revolution erupted in the Eastern giant, the Russian Empire.
The Russian army fell into a vegetative state, handing Germany a godsend opportunity.
They downplayed America's intervention risk, figuring even if she joined, a nation without a proper army could be handled by shifting Eastern Front troops. Wishful thinking burned bright.
The result?
As the fallen giant crumbled, another across the Atlantic finally awoke.
Wilson, who'd twisted and thrashed to avoid Europe's war, had to accept his duty: intervention in the Great War.
Yes.
On April 6, 1917, the United States formally declared war on Germany and entered the conflict.
The madness of war finally swept across the Atlantic to America.
"What the hell have you done, exactly?"
Now-Captain Marshall's voice rose a notch. No, why ask me?
"Goddamn it. I've been assigned to the American Expeditionary Forces. We'll finish prepping soon and ship out to France first."
"Congratulations. You've snagged a golden opportunity."
"Is that the point?! I strongly pushed for you to join the Expeditionary Forces too. Hell, I went straight to General William L. Sibert myself."
Unexpected. I didn't know Marshall rated me that highly.
"But it got shot down. Sibert listened carefully at first, even promised your transfer. Then days later, suddenly 'No dice.' So I'll ask again, Lieutenant. Did you piss off someone in Washington?"
Uh... not pissed off, exactly.
They just don't wanna waste my talent overseas.
"Nothing particular comes to mind."
"You know what?"
Marshall clamped his mouth shut. That was the calm before a shouting storm.
"We've eaten plenty of dust together. And that look on your face? It's your 'I've got something to hide' face."
"Well... I heard through the grapevine that a report I wrote way back is causing a slight issue..."
"Report? What's wrong with it? Don't tell me you wrote we should side with the Germans."
Under his grilling, I quietly slid a copy of that report to Marshall.
He perched casually, skimming it fast—his breathing grew ragged.
Oh shit.
Like a grenade pin pulled—
"You sneaky bastard! You fooled me! Writing this crap and keeping your mouth shut all this time!"
"No, wait—"
"If I'd seen this, even I'd say no! You're rotting in D.C. forever, twiddling your pen! You goddamn bastard! You filthy snake! How blind does Sibert think I am, pushing a lunatic like you into the field with this prophecy scribbled down? Forget it!"
Hey, but without something like this, how's a yellow monkey supposed to hit the front lines?
My humble defense withered under Marshall's jaw-cracking glare.
"Lieutenant Kim."
"Sir."
"Enjoy home. Say hi to the wife."
Marshall ditched me and left.
I... I am getting deployed, right?