Chapter 82
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Killing the Dove (4)
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The Paris Peace Conference proceeded just as everyone had anticipated.
Wilson wouldn't tolerate France exacting any "excessive revenge" for the sake of his idealism.
Of course, as mentioned before, this was also tied to various national interests, but Clemenceau of France had griped, "Talking to Wilson feels like conversing with Jesus Christ himself," which set the tone for the conference atmosphere plainly enough.
Wilson had plenty of enemies across the Atlantic as well.
He had boarded an Atlantic passenger liner without sufficient consultation with Congress.
Up until then, with the unprecedented scale of the Great War raging, Wilson had managed to secure many concessions under the pretext of wartime necessity. At least, he believed the opposition within the Republican and Democratic parties had no choice but to yield.
In reality, the Republicans' vision was entirely different from Wilson's.
"Germany must pay in blood. Disarm them, impose crippling reparations, and make them cough up territory as well!"
"One Great War is enough. There shouldn't be a second."
"Exactly. Who cares if those Europeans spill blood in another war? The League of Nations? Creating something like that will just drag us into Europe's conflicts again under the guise of peace!"
Despite enjoying public support, the Republicans had lost the presidency to Wilson because their presidential candidates, Theodore Roosevelt and Taft, had split the vote.
And Wilson and the Democrats had essentially coasted through eight years using the war as an excuse.
Now, sick of playing opposition, they moved swiftly while Wilson was across the ocean.
"Everyone! Support the Republican Party! In this peace conference, our Republicans will fight for Ireland's rights!"
"Word is Wilson won't demand territory from Germany at this conference! Esteemed Italian-American citizens! Our Republican Party firmly asserts that our ally Italy deserves more territory as compensation!"
"Republicans! Republicans!!"
And at the peak of it all was a form of sabotage aimed at the Paris Peace Conference.
"Remember this. If Wilson gets lost in his ideals and starts fooling around, just exclude him and negotiate separately."
"Understood."
"This is the Republican Party's stance. Pass it secretly to Britain and France. And make it clear that we'll soon be the ruling party."
A single Republican in the U.S. congressional delegation? Wilson must have lost his mind from being wartime president too long. Since when did we have a Kaiser in the White House?
While the Republicans' blades were aimed at the White House,
Wilson, oblivious to it all, dashed from meeting room to meeting room, praying solely for peace.
Late March 1919.
Finally, the 93rd Division's withdrawal was decided.
The night before departure, we rented out an entire large bar, downed local French wines, and spent one last pleasurable night in France cracking jokes.
People who'd heard about our withdrawal joined from all over to share this final night—Douglas MacArthur, George Marshall, Colonel William Barclay Parsons from Cambrai, and so on. It was like an all-star lineup of my connections. My condolences to Patton, who'd already headed home.
Of course, there'd be plenty to do back home, but just the fact of going back was enough to get everyone excited.
"Now that the Great War's over, they'll probably start disarmament."
"But with our service records, they won't make us take off the uniform, right? Haha!"
"Eugene. How do you feel about going back to lieutenant soon? Heh heh heh."
"Ugh, you bastards. Thinking about wearing those lieutenant bars again makes everything go dark. But now that this damn World War I is over, it's time to live like humans."
Silence.
Suddenly, everyone around me shut their mouths.
The band's music continued, but no one spoke.
Shit. Did I screw up while drunk?
"What do you mean... World War I?"
"Fuck! That harbinger's mouth has prophesied again!"
"Someone kill that bastard quick! Shove him into the Atlantic! Offer him to Neptune as a sacrifice!"
"Wait, wait. My bad, my bad! Whoa, whoa. Calm down, everyone, calm down."
"Don't bullshit us! If we were gonna fall for that crap, you shouldn't have written that damn report!"
As the commotion spread, even people sipping drinks from around the place joined in, whispering things like "World War I?" and "Then what's World War II?"
Irrecoverable. Even if Jesus came back to life, he couldn't fix this.
No choice. Time to ditch it all and revert to full Cassandra mode.
I casually sipped my wine and brazenly said,
"Why do you think there won't be a second one?"
"He's crazy after all. Whew."
"I'd like to hear your reasoning, though."
Marshall approached, showing not a hint of intoxication. He's getting scarier by the day. I might really get tossed into the sea in front of the harbor.
"National self-determination. Sounds great. The Turkish Empire oppressing Arabs, the Austrian Empire holding sway over countless Balkan subject peoples—they'll all shatter into pieces."
I paused for a moment.
"So, how many pieces will the German Empire, which drenched Europe in blood and ashes, get carved into?"
"Revived, you say? Germany?"
Before I knew it, MacArthur was nodding beside me with keen interest.
"Richelieu sliced Germany into hundreds of pieces, and Prussia pieced them back together in 1871. In roughly forty years, they declared war on the world. If we don't carve up that beast this time and leave it intact... it'll probably set the world ablaze again in about thirty years?"
"I'd love to introduce you to a good psychiatrist, but... who knows. Maybe Cassandra's prophesying again. In that case, shouldn't we stop letting Wilson run wild right now?"
"Why?"
I chuckled.
I can't tell if he's pretending not to know or actually doesn't.
"How much has the United States' position risen from this war? In the next one, Europeans will slaughter each other desperately again, and in the end, they'll pitifully cling to America's hand."
"Well..."
"At that point, the United States will become the world's hegemon."
Pax Americana.
The superpower reshaping the world order.
Of course, another superpower called the Soviet Union would rise from the ashes, but the world has this thing called hostile coexistence.
I added that this was just my personal opinion and asked them not to spread it around to avoid noise.
Of course, I didn't believe for a second it wouldn't spread.
"Eugene Kim! Eugene Kim!"
"General Kim! Thank you!"
"France will never forget the 93rd Division!"
Amid thunderous cheers, we arrived at Saint-Nazaire, boarded the prepared troopships, and after a journey of several weeks, finally returned to America.
Unlike the outbound trip, the Atlantic was calm.
No more U-boats lurking to target convoys in the depths, no need to huddle in fear day after day while forming fleets.
This peace we'd reclaimed.
Upon return, processes prepared hastily by the higher-ups commenced to get us home.
It'd be nice if soldiers just stepping on U.S. soil meant "Here's your travel money—head home. Good job~," like reserve training, but reality wasn't so kind.
If anything, this was just the beginning.
Nearly 30,000 troops of the 93rd Division disembarked in orderly fashion, boarded pre-arranged military trains, marched again after arriving at stations, and checked into "Dirty Camp."
"Lice! Fleas! We absolutely will not bring Europe's filthy bugs onto U.S. soil!"
"369th Regiment, all hands forward to the shower rooms—charge!"
"Every scrap of fabric gets washed! Starting with your uniforms, socks, underwear, the handkerchiefs you got from girls you charmed! That curly girl's panties! Everything! Anything made of cloth—soak it now! I swear, if I find even one popping out from behind your gear, I'll stuff it down your throats!"
Exhausting. Fucking exhausting.
Why do I have to work more now that the war's over?
"Sergeant John Miller. Why is women's underwear coming out of your field gear?"
"Sorry, sir! I forgot aaaah!!"
"Wanna die?"
"No, sir!!"
"Come back from the land of happiness and already let your guard down? Dying to hang from the Black Lotus' bonnet?"
"Spare me, sir!!"
Directing this hardcore disinfection was giving me a splitting headache when the chief medical officer came by, smiling brightly.
"Division commander?"
"Any more procedures needed?"
"Well, some troops haven't been disinfected yet."
"Then we have to do it. Can't leave a single one out, right?"
"Thank you. Guys, the commander's contaminated. Grab him."
"Huh? Wh-what??"
This won't do. Me, an infected Terran? How clean am I, really!
I too was mercilessly dragged off by the medics and ended up in the same boat. Guwaaaak!!
After achieving 100% disinfection at Dirty Camp, the 93rd Infantry Division troops moved out again toward New York.
"Waaaaaaaaah!!!"
"93rd Division! 93rd Division!!"
Once more, a triumphant parade.
"General Eugene Kim! Washington Post! Please, just one word—"
"Chicago Tribune here. Henry Ford is suing us. Has Mr. Ford ever made any anarchistic or communistic remarks in the past?"
"General Kim! Rumors say you've been appointed Imperial Japanese Army Chief of Staff—is that true? Please explain!"
"If Black people unite and arm themselves, won't they spark a communist revolution?"
"Do you intend to enter politics as the first Asian? Is your connection to Senator Curtis part of that plan?"
Damn. Gonna die, gonna die.
These flies really kamikaze their way in with the weirdest bullshit.
Hajime and Omar desperately tried to shake off these hyenas, but they wouldn't budge.
"Come on, everyone, calm down. If any reporters are interested in me, I'll do separate interviews or a press conference. But I can't join those disrupting the event right now."
"Ahem."
"This is a moment where we've bled for so long and are proudly declaring victory to New York citizens. Why not show more interest in these proud sons of the United States instead of me?"
"You mean the darkies are sons of the United States?"
"They were your sons when you sent them to Europe, weren't they? Now that they've come back alive, they're suddenly not?"
I couldn't hide my irritation and snapped back cynically; the reporter seemed at a loss for words.
Here, there, everywhere—claim them as sons when useful, ditch 'em in a heartbeat.
Just as the triumphant parade reached its peak.
Boooom!!!
"Kyaaaaak!"
"An explosion?!"
"What the hell was that noise! Steady all troops and secure the civilians first!"
Utter chaos.
The 93rd Division, already so desensitized to explosions from shellshock immunity, had to shove civilians into buildings and work with mounted police to restore order.
"Thank you for the help, General Kim."
"No problem. What the hell happened? An accident?"
"No. Terrorism."
The police chief, who'd come running breathless with a face pale as a ghost, said,
"A bomb went off at the J.P. Morgan building."