Chapter 61
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Land of the Free
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Chaumont.
US Expeditionary Force Headquarters.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
I'd ridden my trusty steed Black Lotus—my trademark these days—back to Chaumont for the first time in ages.
The thick stack of documents Hodge was clutching was a record of our soldiers' heroic deeds, meticulously reviewed and compiled. I prayed for the souls of the frontline officers who'd been ground to dust putting it together.
The division's direct Rangers and tank battalion were practically wiped out.
The 371st Regiment was combat-ineffective.
And the rest of the regiments weren't in much better shape. They'd held on through sheer grit and guts.
The 93rd Division's troops had kept their promise magnificently.
They were patriots and warriors who'd fulfilled their duty.
Now it was my turn to keep mine.
But Chaumont's reaction seemed a far cry from my reasonable expectations.
"Could you repeat that one more time?"
"Think about it logically, Brigadier General Kim. You're saying every single one of these people deserves a medal? I've seen merit reports from countless other units, but none have sent in this many."
Listen to this bastard. No, wait. Hmm, maybe he's right.
No other units had fought a battle on this scale yet. Unlike the minor skirmishes elsewhere, we'd bled rivers to wash away the mud, so naturally our merits would dwarf theirs.
His tone and expression were starting to make my blood boil, but this was probably just me not knowing US Army customs or those unspoken rules. I'd skyrocketed up the ranks on pure luck, while this guy had decades more service under his belt despite the lower rank. Keep it cool. Smile. Smile. Chiiiise.
"No need to go this far—nobody's denying the 93rd Division's achievements."
"No, what I'm saying is it's not about the division's feats, but each individual soldier who fought bravely—"
"Haha! No worries. Of course, there are fools here in Chaumont who look down on you generals. The kind who assume inferiority without question just because your skin isn't white. But don't fret. At least I know you're a proud honorary white man of the United States! So relax and—"
"I'm sorry, but my division staff and I cross-verified this data multiple times before submitting. It's not about me—please recognize the hard work of these brave frontline soldiers."
Did I come off too stiff?
The staff around us started peeking out like meerkats.
Now I look like the bad guy. I'm not Patton. Yelling "Hey, they're fighting! Fighting!" would only make the mood worse.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Brigadier General Kim. You'll obviously be promoted to major general soon, and the officers you handpicked have all proven themselves brilliantly, so your path ahead is paved with gold. They'll all get promotions and move on to better postings."
"Promotions?"
"Of course. Rewarding merit and punishing failure is standard, isn't it?"
Something's been off in our conversation from the start. Hmm, this feels uncomfortable.
"So, has my replacement been decided?"
"Replacement?"
Something's building up inside me.
Back when I'd go to the West Sea beach, I'd be digging clams in the mudflats when the tide would sneak in, rising slowly until it reached my chest, stifling me.
That same suffocating pressure was swelling now.
"Haha. Hahaha."
"Hahahaha!"
People rushed around us.
No, really, I'm not fighting.
An older staff officer spoke to me gently.
"Brigadier General Kim. I'm lower in rank, but as a fellow US Army man with far more years of service, may I offer a little... tip?"
"I know I'm still green. Haha. Of course I'd listen."
"You've risen so fast, you might not know the social ropes yet. Soldiers are all the same."
"...?"
What mystic bullshit is this?
I tuned into my inner voice, my reason.
- KILL! KILL!! A club for bullshit!
- What happened to the pistol I gave you, junior?! Now's the time to bite tongues off!
No, why do I have a senpai in my head? Go away. Scary.
"General. If you sweep dust from the house with a broom, did you clean it, or did the broom?"
"......Ah."
"Soldiers go home afterward anyway. Officers who stick around the army long-term naturally take priority, right?"
Yeah. To these bastards, real soldiers must look like brooms.
I got smacked with one by Mom enough times to know—a good whack on the ass brings tears. They clearly missed out on home training. So many in the US Army without moms around?
Ignoring my thoughts, he chuckled and tapped my submitted papers.
"Plus, they're niggers. Sure, they racked up minor feats. I won't deny it. But it all happened because we white folks guided them right."
My inner Patton roared.
Forget this jerk—let's hear from inner MacArthur, always dispensing golden wisdom.
- Oh, junior. Smart guys like us can do as we please.
- Disobey orders to get famous. Eyes shut, charge in. You were good at that.
Damn you, Mac bastard. A golden spoon's fixes don't help!
"Not saying they're bad! Don't misunderstand. Unlike those Dixie southerners, I'm a Republican who knows discrimination is wrong. But separate from that, the world has hierarchies, right? Blacks aren't fully evolved yet, so they contribute with muscle, while we use our superior intellect to lead them! So—"
Ah.
Can't take it.
A grenade pin pinged in my skull.
Living in this fine 1900s, I'd built iron patience, yet here's another smiling face pulling my pin.
I kicked the desk in front of me with all my might.
"You fucking shitbags talking out your asses!"
"General! General! Calm down! Calm—!"
"Gun! Grab his gun!"
"Let go! Hodge! Let go of this hand now!"
"Don't shoot! You can't shoot!!"
"What is this outrage?!"
"You desk-jockey shitbags trying to steal the merits our boys bled for! Hey! Hey!!"
Crack!
I shook off Hodge holding me back and socked this prick dead-on. Lighter than a Jerry.
"My promotion?! If I wanted that shit, I wouldn't have started this!"
"What the—"
"I promised them! Rewards would follow! I'd open doors for their future! But you coffee-sipping pen-pushers—"
"MPs! MeeeePs!!"
"Brigadier Generaaal Kiiiim!"
Ah, that hits the spot. Damn. That's the good stuff.
Fine, since we're here.
You're getting paddled like a dog on the hottest day of summer.
Active-duty brigadier general assaults officer!
Chaumont was in an uproar, no need to say.
I beat the hell out of those bastards until the MPs arrived, but in a last mercy, they locked me in a small side room instead of the brig.
Yeah. Assault by an active brigadier is bad enough; brig for one looks pathetic.
Chaumont was a mess now.
I'd sensed it taking the 93rd command, but I had more enemies than expected. No, I'd made more. And most were nobodies from who-knows-where.
People I'd count on: MacArthur, Marshall, Patton—all scattered on duties.
Marshall's 1st Division forward-deployed like the 93rd.
Patton running tank school, full of rewarding training days.
MacArthur... got gassed at the front recently and shipped back. Why's a colonel up there? Guy's unkillable.
With my key allies out, only Pershing was reliable here.
But Pershing's style: "I get it, but rules are rules." No mercy. Being on good terms doesn't mean he'd go easy.
This way, I'd return empty-handed. No candy for the boys.
Furious troops would hijack a bus yelling "To Chaumont!" and I'd weep, "They're not Germans! My men!"
Tough call.
Media play again? Nah. Black discrimination won't fix with headlines. Long game.
So, what now—
Knock knock.
"Who is it?"
"Visitor. May I open the door?"
"Ah, yes."
Who?
Pershing? Then kneel, beg, play pitiful—might work.
"Long time no see. Lieutenant Kim. No, lieutenant then, brigadier now."
"Yes. Long time... sir."
I snapped to perfect attention, sharpest salute.
What.
Why's bro here.
For real. This is unreal. I braced for Pershing's tirade.
Before me: Secretary of War Newton D. Baker.
"Here on inspection. Didn't hear?"
"My apologies... no."
"Wanted to visit the 93rd. Meet the youngest division commander."
How miss a secretary's visit? Even classmates would've said—
Ah, right.
I'd burned all bridges hawking the 93rd MLM-style!
Idiot... me...
"Heard a ton about you before coming. How wild a mustang have you been?"
"......No excuse."
"Tell me. Can't sway HQ decisions, but I'll listen."
I briefed fast: 93rd's brave feats, Chaumont's reaction.
"Hmm... First, I'm proud. Joining the AEF was my wisest call. Will brag in memoirs."
"Yes, sir."
"But your rocket rise worries me. Star world is politics first, right? Black awards aren't just merits. Shakes society."
Same story again.
Even the Secretary saying it deflated me.
As I told my chicks, only blood, lead, fear sways these hook-noses?
"Secretary. Not soft talk like 'they fought hard, give medals.'"
"Oh?"
"It's trust. Once lost, irreplaceable. Race doesn't matter. Precedent of spilled blood unrewarded is the risk."
Politician Baker stroked his beard, silent.
Politicians flip-flop—no biggie. Nobody trusts them anyway.
But a nation's word is different.
Original history's US botched it with Bonus Army legends.
Avoid if possible.
"I'll consider. Discuss details in D.C."
Luckily, direct line to the top.
Now my move.
Soon after, urgently summoned to French 36th Corps HQ.
"Something happen?"
"What do you mean suddenly?"
Major General Nolet always dropped bombshells. Master of heart attacks.
"AEF HQ memo. Pulling 93rd back to US order of battle."
"News to me."
What nonsense.
No way. No way?
"Maybe merits caused it, but—"
"......Seems so? See memo. 'Reassign to US front post-reorg.'"
"Yes."
"Your unit's all black."
"Obviously."
"No black replacements means no reorg?"
Wow, miracle logic. Past life Kitler hunter?
But it fit, heightening anxiety.
"I pushed for merits recognition. Seems that's the issue."
"What? That's standard commander duty."
I listed Chaumont events flatly, but Nolet's face screamed "What bullshit is this?"
"Stomach ache giving niggers medals, so shove 93rd to rear?"
"That it?"
"Obviously, fuck! Plain! Kim, you submitted that report up the chain to corps too, right? Yankees rating great 36th Corps feats as they please?! Insolent pricks!"
I sicced my Pokémon Hodge on him with the merit report; soon recalled.
His face gloomier than ever. Even a corps commander couldn't buck the high-ups.
"Brigadier General Kim. Regrettable, but farewell. 93rd out of 36th Corps to AEF."
"Unavoidable. Thanks for everything."
"But till then, I'm corps commander. Can pick your exit route."
He stabbed the map with his pointer, drew a line.
So—
"Here. Back to rotten Yankees."
Paris.
"Parade through Paris nice and sweaty, then home. Perfect."
"Pa... parade?"
"93rd's Amiens guardian. All set. Dress sharp. Hail medals like hailstones."
"Thank you, sir!"
"Least for Croix de Guerre winners. If Yankees still whine no medals, shows their pettiness."
He winked.
"True land of the free rewards blood spilled! Legion d'Honneur later. Wanna see island monkeys and Yankees squirm! Wahahahaha! Join great French Army? Foreign Legion, oh, my niece is stunning, maybe—"
No time for the rest.
Relief filled my head over joy.
At least brave troops wouldn't go empty-handed.
This was enough for now.
One step at a time.
Time's on my side.