Chapter 65
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Hundred Days Offensive (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
1918.
Keijo, Empire of Japan.
Ever since the forced annexation, Japan had maintained a brutally oppressive policy toward its new colony.
Thoroughgoing exploitation epitomized by the Land Survey Project and corporate decrees.
For the Koreans of the time, who viewed the Japanese as devils, this humiliation was unbearable.
The humiliation manifested as resistance, leading the Governor-General of Korea to sink 30-40% of its budget into the gendarmerie and police in a vicious cycle.
Even Japan's upper echelons knew that such colonial policies couldn't be sustained long-term, but most kept their mouths shut.
The Governor-General of Korea was an almighty organ directly under the Emperor, unbound by the cabinet.
On top of that, with interventions from the cabinet, army, navy, and all sorts of factions, it was a foregone conclusion.
In such a Korea, bizarre rumors began to spread.
[United States Army Annihilates Imperial German Army!]
[US Army Representative: An Oriental!]
[Asia's Flag Stands Tall in Europe!]
It started with the newspapers.
Native Korean press had long since dried up.
Ever since the Daehan Maeil Shinbo was absorbed as the Governor-General's mouthpiece, no media existed on Korean soil to serve as the eyes and mouth of the Korean people.
These articles originated from the Busan Ilbo and Chōsen Shimpō, papers targeting Japanese residents in Korea.
[From Humble Oriental to US General!]
[From Cambrai to Amiens: The Great Yellow Guardian of France!]
[Fateful Encounter at West Point: Sea Guardian Togo and Land Guardian Kim's Destined Tale!]
[Will Kim Eugene Become America's Taikō?]
[Honorary White Man Seizes the World! Under the Flag of the Empire—]
"What the hell are these articles?!"
The second Governor-General of Korea, Hasegawa Yoshimichi, slammed the newspapers on his desk in a frenzy.
"The Koreans are all buzzing about it already! Treating him like their own pride and joy!"
"Your Excellency, please calm down."
"The Josénjing are part of the Empire anyway. That too—"
"That's not the point right now! The Koreans are already claiming this as their own story!"
No matter that these were papers for Japanese residents in Korea—among the literate class, subscribing was a given.
From ink-stained Korean scholars fluent in Japanese to the lowliest day laborers, everyone from teens up was chattering about the great young general who had risen to US Army generalship at such a tender age.
'General Kim Eugene hails from Jirisan; he's mastered earth-shrinking arts and sorcery, leaving even the big-noses helpless.'
'The Emperor foresaw Korea's fall and sent a heaven-sent general in the guise of a puppy to raise independence fighters.'
'Across the Pacific, he commands 100,000 ironclad troops; if General Kim beheads the German Kaiser, Europe's nations will honor him by appointing him Korea's Prime Minister and restoring the country.'
What kind of happy delusions were these Koreans spinning to come up with such absurd notions?
Clinging to vain hopes, they fabricated fantasies and grew ever more defiant toward the Governor-General's policies.
The US and the Empire were allies fighting a common foe—how they twisted logic to imagine Europe and America granting Korea independence was beyond comprehension, but the reality was that many Koreans were buying into the nonsense.
"Shutting down the papers now—"
"It's too late. I know."
"Besides, even the homeland papers are churning out extras, all hyping this Kim Eugene. It was just a matter of time before the Koreans stirred anyway."
"Hoo. It's enough to drive me mad. Why the hell did Togo have to meet this guy and blow it all up?"
Twenty-five years old.
Brigadier general.
Hero of Cambrai.
Guardian of Amiens.
It was laughable. Was this guy the reincarnation of Minamoto no Yoshitsune or something?
Reading reports from embassies and attachés, even he found himself half-believing the reincarnation tale—not that it excused the Koreans or homeland subjects going wild. A samurai appearing like a comet in this age of steel and gunpowder.
"Anyway! Double down to keep the Koreans from acting up for the time being! If anything blows up, I'm done for—but so are all of you!"
For a soldier like Hasegawa, who knew nothing of politics, this scolding was the best he could do.
The same moment, Tokyo.
"What a fantastic article spread."
"Heh heh. Here's a preview of the next: 'Kim Eugene's Roots in Tsushima Kaneyoshi Clan—Samurai Blood Shines in the New World.'"
These chuckling men were the Empire of Japan's Navy brass, self-proclaimed pillars of the nation.
"This is brilliant strategy."
"Thinking of the Army fools stewing without an outlet to vent makes sleep come easy and food go down smooth!"
"Why else cling so desperately to the Korea governorship? It's all because those traitorous bastards are full of rebellious hearts."
"Their reason for holding Korea is obvious. They want to charge into Manchuria like mad dogs off the leash anytime."
Siberian Intervention.
Intel from a spy in the Army had turned the Navy upside down.
Former Governor-General and Army linchpin Terutch, oblivious to his place, had become Prime Minister and was preparing for war—pursuing Army gains without informing the great Navy. Unforgivable.
"If the Korea Governor-General he slaved over turns to shit, Terutch will love that, right?"
"But... will the Koreans really riot over just this one kid?"
"Who knows. But it's the last drop that makes the cup overflow. Let's keep pouring till it spills—rumors, nonsense, whatever."
"Admiral Togo is entering!"
At the soldier's shout, everyone in the room snapped to attention.
Retired for ages, but who dared act cocky before Tsushima's hero?
"Talking about this fellow?"
"Yes, sir. Indeed."
"A gutsy one. I always figured he'd cause a big splash someday. Heh heh."
Though not this soon.
Togo chuckled in disbelief.
"What do you make of this Kim Eugene Josénjing? If he's blocking the Empire's path—"
"Blocking it? You gonna assassinate a US general? What's he done to wreck the country?!"
"N-no, that's not—"
"Cut the nonsense. We're just fellow Asians wishing each other luck. He's US Army, we're Imperial Army. He's land forces, we're Navy. No overlap."
Togo slowly soothed the overly ambitious hotheads.
"Unless America and the Empire go to war, what's the problem? Send a congratulatory wire in my name later."
"Understood!"
The German Army's final offensive—what history books would call the Second Battle of the Marne—ended in utter defeat for Germany.
It wasn't just a halt to the offensive.
Allied intelligence had pinpointed where the Germans were coming and what they aimed for; the assault crumbled pathetically.
And anyone looking at the map could think it.
'The Germans around the Marne salient... we can cut them all off, right?'
Foch, Pétain, Haig, and Pershing all arrived at the obvious soldierly notion, and the Allied counteroffensive began.
At its center, as always, was the US Army's premier prodigy.
"Our advance is slower than a turtle."
"The enemy's counterattack is too fierce."
"Is this the limit?"
Douglas MacArthur, the elite brigadier general newly awarded a slew of Silver Stars, racked his brains over the stalled front.
Once Germans took a patch of ground, it became a hellish fortress that'd make Satan weep.
Nonstop aircraft shredding the air, gas shells dropping at any lull, shell barrages erupting everywhere, soldiers clinging desperately to machine guns and mortars, fighting tooth and nail to hold the heights.
How could Germans fight so bravely in an invasion war?
Even US troops fighting for freedom and democracy were riddled with breakdowns in this hell, yet these born destroyers rampaged like bereaved lions in a hopeless war.
The 26th Division had burned out, so the fresh 42nd was in—but even they struggled with casualties.
And soldiers hauled from this nightmare to hospitals often caught new bugs there and died.
The Spanish flu tormenting US troops since spring '17 hadn't waned; it'd gained a new weapon.
Pulmonary edema.
Once fluid filled the lungs, no cure.
They just lay staring blankly at the ceiling, drowning to death.
Now promoted from staff to 84th Brigade commander, the attrition here far exceeded his estimates.
But surrender? Not on his mind.
This was a golden chance seized with blood.
Fail to crush the Germans' windpipe here, and more boys would die in the trenches.
"Look, Brigade Commander. How about pulling back a bit? Some units aren't even getting artillery support. The gunners are regrouping—"
"This is our moment to seize momentum. Hesitate over one sacrifice, and ten more die retaking that damned hill."
"Then at least a breather? That one hill's changed hands eleven times already! This is just a meat grinder!"
"My judgment: the enemy is more exhausted than us. We can't let up the pressure!"
Frustrating.
Of course he knew: common sense said pull back.
But his gut, that indefinable instinct, whispered this was the war's turning point.
He needed that guy, after all.
"Can't stomach it."
"Sir, heading out now?"
"Back to the unit... no, swing by HQ then straight to the front. Bring some snacks—they'll love it."
"Sir, you just got gassed not long ago, and you're going again?"
"Remember this: the bullet to kill this MacArthur hasn't been made yet."
His aide sighed, but he strode out confidently.
The war was nearly over.
Some monkeys hadn't realized yet, but he and other sharp ones had long known.
Now it was about who racked up more glory.