Chapter 78
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: Finale (3)
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December, with little time left in 1918.
I arrived in London.
They were giving me a medal in recognition of my exploits at the Battle of Cambrai... Honestly, it was a hassle. Why drag me all the way here just to hand it over?
I'd already received the Légion d'Honneur in France, and the Americans had showered me with various medals too. Better than nothing, sure, but these guys already had their battle records.
Unit management didn't really require much anyway, and my subordinates handled most tasks efficiently on their own. So at least it was nice to get some fresh air after so long.
But surprisingly, when I arrived in London guided by some captain-level fellow, what awaited me was a massive crowd.
At first, I thought it was a mistake, but what threw me even more was the sea of Stars and Stripes flags fluttering alongside the Union Jacks everywhere.
No way... Could it be?!
Were these barbaric, pretend-gentlemen pirate islanders waiting to shower me with handshakes?
Was my time in the spotlight finally here?
"What day is it today?"
"Uh, well... Oh, right!"
Of course not.
Turned out, today was the day our White House master, President Woodrow Wilson, was visiting London.
Figures.
I quickly boxed up that brief flicker of excitement and shoved it into a corner of my heart.
But no sooner had I shelved my hopes than trouble erupted.
Maybe because the car I was in was a roofless model.
The crowd, engines revving like they were ready to cheer any second, spotted me.
The unmistakably flashy U.S. Army uniform.
And the even flashier, sparkling one-star insignia.
And this skin tone no one could mistake for anyone else's.
"Eugene Kim?"
"That Eugene Kim from Cambrai?"
"Everyone, we're just passing through—"
"It's Eugene Kim!!"
"General Kim! Over here!!"
"Last Samurai! Thank you for beating the Kaiser!"
"Kyaaah!!"
Wilson's arrival was still a ways off, so the London police control wasn't all that tight.
The thin line separating road from sidewalk crumbled with a crash, and my car was instantly swallowed by the mob.
"Haji! Hold on tight!"
"Keeeaak!!"
"Kim! It's Kim!!"
"'Times' reporter here! Any connection to President Wilson's visit today?"
"Related to Anglo-American friendship promotion?"
"Hand! Shake my hand!!"
"Step back! This is official duty! Everyone calm down—argh!"
"General Kim! My son came back alive from Cambrai thanks to you! Please! Thank you!"
It wasn't easy to regain control.
Like dominoes toppling from one side to the other, the crowd that had been endlessly waiting for Wilson surged like ants at the news of Eugene Kim's appearance.
And I found myself renaming what they called the land of gentlemen.
'No wonder they call it hooligan country. Fucking hell.'
This must be that bubbling island-nation energy.
Londoners, far more spirited than any Parisians, soon yanked me out of the car after smacking around my guide and poor Haji, then tossed me into the air like a celebration ragdoll.
I spent two hours without properly touching the ground, ending up ragged and worn.
My bad.
I won't chase popularity again.
As I fervently prayed to the heavens for this second chance,
Peeep! Peeep!
Whistle blasts rang out, and London's famed mounted police charged in, clubbing the half-hooligan crowd back to sense.
"The cops are cheering us on!"
"Run!!!"
"Are you alive, sir?!"
"Ah... yeah. Still kicking."
"You nearly became the first general shredded into 17 pieces by allied citizens' hands. We'll clear a path—let's get you out!"
"It's Wilson! President Wilson's here!"
"Woooaaah!!"
"Form up! Don't get buried!"
"Oh... no..."
Even the mounted police trying to rescue me got swept away by the massive wave of people.
Hell wasn't over yet.
The medal ceremony that day was postponed.
"Haji. You alive?"
"Better if I'd just died."
"Same."
New uniform, new insignia to replace the one ripped off by some brute's hands.
Only after all that chaos could I finally receive the damn medal.
From now on, anyone calling Britain the land of gentlemen gets my tooth in place of my torn insignia. Watch me.
Anyway, at the end of this harrowing physical ordeal waited fresh mental torment.
"Please, come in."
"Haji, you—"
"I'll wait in the car."
Deep breath.
Deep breath.
"Entering."
"Yes, sir."
The door opened, and a man rose from a plush sofa, extending his hand to me.
"Even more pleased to see you in London, Brigadier General Kim."
"Yes, sir."
I was shaking.
When in my military career had I ever met a head of state one-on-one?
A private audience with President Woodrow Wilson.
This had to be it. He'd steal back some of the cheers meant for him. Now he'd coldly say, "Back to lieutenant," then ship me off to the Philippines—
"I don't know much about military matters, but I've heard my ears ringing about how you've elevated the United States' honor and prestige. Thank you again."
"Just doing my duty as a soldier of the United States."
Stick to FM. Field manual protocol.
Parrot "yes sir" and "understood" on rotation.
"I read that report you wrote before."
Damn.
"It got me curious. What do you think of my Fourteen Points peace principles?"
That? Kindling.
It floated higher in the air than I did getting tossed around.
Obsessive idealism never bore good fruit. Sure, idealism was a step toward the future, but not the right tale for bloodthirsty Frenchmen screaming revenge.
Regardless of my thoughts, my mouth was already in full social mode.
"Like Moses' Ten Commandments, I believe it'll be a great step for humanity to escape barbarism and live as civilized people."
"Haha. Really? I'm flattered by such high praise. As a Christian myself, I'm ashamed this catastrophe happened in the 20th century—"
He brimmed with pride over his new milestone.
But I knew.
About the child this Paris Peace Conference would birth: the Treaty of Versailles.
And Adolf Hitler, baptized in its wake.
Who said it?
Too harsh for reconciliation, too lenient to stop Germany's revival.
Of course, Wilson couldn't know. The guy wouldn't live that long.
But for me, seeing World War II's seed germinate right before my eyes didn't allow a happy smile.
World War II was necessary.
For America to become a superpower and usher in Pax Americana.
Or for Korean independence.
Or for my exploits and promotions.
But was it worth the hell of tens of millions dead?
As my mind churned, Wilson finished his monologue with a satisfied look.
"By the way, I need a little help from you."
"Help? As commander-in-chief, just order me."
"Too formal for an order. I'd prefer your personal agreement and cooperation."
What?
What issue would the White House boss need my "cooperation" on?
Still pushing war bonds? Shaman America deployment, Fu Manchu outfit, pigtail, Cossack dance for treasury ads?
Against my anxious expectations, it wasn't some Shaman America nonsense.
"I want to clip the Japanese Empire's claws this time."
"?!"
Jackpot.
A halo seemed to glow behind Wilson.
The real Jesus was here. Yeah, breaking Jap arms? I'd do anything.
"You mean—"
"Japan fought alongside us against Germany and helped a lot. As reward, they're getting Shandong Peninsula from German control."
I knew this.
Japan took it, sparking China's massive May Fourth Movement.
News to me that Wilson opposed Japanese expansion.
"To uphold Your Excellency's principle of national self-determination."
"Yes. Chinese have an ancient civilization, now free from German claws. Shouldn't peace-loving America help the poor Chinese?"
True idealist. Die by principle, live by principle.
Helping Wilson might smooth everything without the world war's bloodbath.
I couldn't help but swell with anticipation.
"So at the Paris conference, I plan to propose returning Shandong to China instead of Japan. I'll need General Kim's role then."
"Anything I can do."
"Thank you, haha."
Wilson smiled warmly.
"Won't the Japanese get mad hearing this?"
"Y... yes."
"I've heard you're a war hero across Asia. All yellow Orientals chant your name, Eugene Kim."
The vibe turned weird.
Wilson's halo vanished.
Replaced by a mere politician fit for White House.
"The Japanese embassy proposed: send General Kim to Japan. VIP treatment, as ally, comfort war-weary Japanese, awaken Asian pride."
This bastard?
What was this guy spouting in front of me?
"Admiral Togo, who beat the Russian Empire, praised you too. Can't betray Japan ties, so hope you'll aid U.S.-Japan relations."
So.
Backing chinks would piss off Japan.
Go praise Japan uber alles, pat them sweetly?
Did I mishear?
"Your Excellency."
"Speak, General."
"Deeply sorry, but I'm Korean."
"I know. Talked with Dr. Lee a few times."
"Koreans have history rivaling China's but groan under Japanese oppression. Like British ruling Ireland."
He frowned as I went on, but screw it.
They want me shooting my own core base?
"As Your Excellency said, by self-determination—"
"Ah, yes. I agree."
Wilson waved it off like he got it all.
"But timing's off. Koreans have much to learn from civilized Japan first."
"Your Excellency."
"Harsh to say, but... despite being Asian, you rose high. Only possible in free, opportunity-rich America."
I clenched my teeth, nodding.
"But to become general, need... political moves. I know you're close to Republicans. But no law says you can't befriend Democrats too?"
Handle this, and I'll fully back your generalship.
Irresistible offer, laced with threat.
This fucker threatens landmines on my path so politely.
"...What do I do?"
"Not much. Just humor them appropriately."
"As lifelong soldier, blunt talk hard, but may I be direct?"
"Of course. Go ahead."
Fuck. Missed Haji's ivory-grip pistol.
Endure. Endure.
"You know if I suck Japanese ass on tour, my Korean kin will want my head?"
"If they're that barbaric, it proves they're not civilized yet. Don't worry."
"Many supporters are Korean. Betraying them?"
"Worried about that? Haha. Congress will back you soon. Why fret?"
Got it.
Our president... is a real thick-skulled friend?
No wonder he suddenly praised China. Southern Democrat cheering yellow chingchong sovereignty? Believe pigs fly first.
Cold water over my head: Wilson's words boiled down to "China's our cash cow; no one touches our rice bowl."
Too low-class to pick on German Kaiser, but uppity Japs dipping spoons? No.
"Must I go to Japan now?"
"No rush. Next year or the year after fine. You need family time too."
Good, good.
Irrelevant then.
Thanks for lifting this weight, Professor Wilson.
May Woodrow Wilson taste all worldly bitterness ahead.
His idealism echoes empty; twisted Versailles bastard child remains.
Gladly nail his coffin shut.
Europeans need another world war.
No conscience qualms; resolve to profit on their blood solidified.
Before that, time to bill Democrat friends in blood.
Plenty ways to collect.