Chapter 93
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 93
Chapter Title: House of Cards (2)
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"How's the Philippines?"
"Is the booze not to your taste or something?"
What the hell is this guy on about?
"It's not bad, the Philippines. There aren't many spots where a junior officer like you can get a real assignment."
"But—"
"I'll ask something I've been dying to know but couldn't bring myself to. Why'd you ditch armor?"
"......"
"You're the first guy in the world to standardize tanks, figure out how to use 'em, and actually deploy them in combat. Every military academy on the planet's gonna have 'Eugene Kim' in their textbooks from here on out. Rockenbach, Patton, Chaffee—they all think you're the gospel of armored warfare. If you're managing your career right, shouldn't you stick to armor?"
No, but...
I can't kill Japs with tanks.
I wrestled with whether to say it out loud for a good minute, but finally figured this sharp senior might have some workaround. So I spilled it.
"I'm Korean-American."
"I know."
"And putting aside blood ties and grudges, the only country that'll sink its teeth into America's interests in the Asia-Pacific down the line is Japan."
"So?"
"In a place full of oceans and islands, wouldn't infantry be the better branch for me to land a posting...?"
MacArthur didn't answer. He just knocked back his drink.
Thwack!
He yanked the pipe from his mouth and smacked me right on the forehead with it.
"Ow!"
"You an idiot?"
"Pardon?"
"If that's what you wanted, you should've become a seal or joined the Marines. Why the hell'd you come to the Army?"
Damn. Hitting me with straight facts like that? Low blow!
You think I didn't want to go there? What was I supposed to do about Annapolis not taking colored folks?
"You wanna get in on a war with Japan? Fine, let's say. The Army's battlefield'd max out at defending the Philippines. Which means you'd have to serve there even more."
What nonsense.
This guy's dead set on shipping me off to the Philippines.
Spotting my pout, MacArthur puffed on his pipe again and spoke up.
"If you don't like that, go see General Pershing like a good boy."
"Do you have some grudge against me?"
"I'm frustrated, that's why. Frustrated. Thought you were smart, junior, but you're acting like a damn fool. You don't know the first thing about politics."
Me, not know politics? I'm the kingmaker who's already cozy with the next president.
But to this lofty MacArthur up on his cloud, I must've looked pretty pathetic. Why else would he tell me to go to Pershing?
The Army's factions right now boil down to two big camps.
One boss is obviously Pershing. The so-called Chaumont clique. What the hell's a Chaumont clique? Not some minty McCall faction.
True to the name, they're the buddies Pershing built "beautiful camaraderie" with... Yeah, right. If that were it, they'd be called the Paris Baguette faction or something. Nah, it's mostly the guys who sat at Chaumont Expeditionary Force HQ. A bunch of drumheads.
Even among frontline commanders, plenty were left shaking their heads at Chaumont's half-assed competence.
They might've all started out equal when they shipped off, but after witnessing the Meuse-Argonne bloodbath up close, a good number of those officers had their epiphany. Or got the boot.
On the other side, you've got March, the current Army Chief of Staff.
March teamed up with ex-War Secretary Baker to fight tooth and nail for a 500,000-strong postwar Army, but no congressman wanted to foot the bill. And when Pershing from Chaumont got sidelined on that big decision, things between them hit rock bottom.
And MacArthur here? He's basically in March's camp.
March served under MacArthur's dad, Arthur, back in the day, and they both hated the Chaumont crew. MacArthur was so paranoid about them stripping uniforms that no way he'd join Pershing's side now.
Sure, this pride-on-steroids guy wouldn't play faction games unless he was the boss, but March dangled some fresh, irresistible bait.
"Weren't you on the Chief of Staff's line, senior?"
"I need help now, and Pershing's the one who can deliver. And I'm not into that petty faction bullshit anyway."
What March offered:
'You're the real deal to reform West Point. What do you say? Go back as a colonel without your stars... or take the superintendent spot?'
Anyone would've bitten. MacArthur called "all in," and now here he was, happily pounding drinks. All because of the outdated curriculum and boot camp bullshit those old-timers called "fine traditions."
"Listen up, Kim. This MacArthur's following in his Medal of Honor dad's footsteps, serving the country. My backers are everywhere. And my career? It's golden. Those Chaumont morons can sideline me, but they can't strip my uniform."
"Yeah... sure."
"But you're different, junior. You need varied experience, career management, gateways to climb higher. Infantry school and Command and General Staff College are Chaumont turf. Better get cozy with them."
I didn't breathe a word about my web of political connections. No clue how this guy'd react if he knew.
Thanks to that, MacArthur thought I was barely hanging on thanks to a handful of patrons. Not just him—almost everyone except a tiny few.
"Pershing won't see you in a bad light. Sure, he's getting on, eyes dimming, but he's not burning with ambition to run the Army through factions. More likely some sycophants are using his name to line their pockets."
"Yeah... makes sense."
Of course. Why would Pershing, whose name floats for president, play faction games for glory?
Andrew Jackson, Ulysses Grant, Pershing. Bet the White House haunts their dreams.
"So my advice? Go straight at it. Meet Pershing, make your case boldly. He'll use you right. Don't skulk around scheming."
"Thanks for the wisdom."
"If it goes south, just head to the Philippines quietly. Stars or no, a captain going overseas ain't bad."
Pershing, huh.
MacArthur said charge ahead, but that doesn't suit a thoughtful, cautious type like me.
Maybe borrow a little from Marshall's bag of tricks?
A while later, the War Department.
I got to see Marshall again after a year.
Now sporting major's eagles, he looked seriously pissed.
"You doing alright?"
"Me? Always good."
"Me? Not at all. Goddamn it."
Even the great Marshall was worn out as Pershing's aide.
"General Pershing's in a foul mood lately."
"Because of the faction fights?"
"Nah. Politics. Thought the Republicans would nominate him for president, no sweat. Then they pull some slick pretty boy out of nowhere. He's pissed about that."
Why's Harding popping up again?
Butterfly effect? My karma coming full circle?
Suddenly, the whole country's gone politics-mad.
Am I too meddlesome?
This damn brain of schemes and plots never rests. Hitting me with a heavy sage mode. Can't live like this.
"Anyway, I begged him not to touch politics, but he said no plans while secretly hoping. Some backchannel feelers from the Dems about running? He shut that down fast."
"Good thing."
"Since Versailles, he's soured on the Democrats. I see it up close. He's got worries."
Democrats gonna Democrat. Props for sensing they might twist even a war hero like Pershing.
But Pershing crazy enough to join 'em? Any soldier with a brain sees "World War II" lurking in that treaty's shadow.
"Anyway, I paved the way for you. Just play it cool. Cool. No temper."
"Remember when you offered me 1st Division ops officer?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You said you couldn't take it 'cause you grabbed General Pershing by the collar—"
"Watch your mouth! Me grab the commander-in-chief?!"
Rumor? Weird. I heard later Marshall collared Pershing, yelling not to pin Chaumont's mess on him.
"I just... he was getting up, panicked, grabbed his forearm. Not the collar."
"Whoa. Good thing. Really."
You bastard. Forearm, not collar. 'Dynamite' Marshall lives up to the name. Temper like art. Art is an explosion, huh.
Cool? Calm? Bullshit. Fooled again. Biographies lie to kids. Grabbing Pershing's arm to chew him out? Not cool. Even Patton wouldn't.
Anyway, after a 10-minute crash course on precautions and not screwing up, I finally got my audience with General Pershing.
"General, Major Marshall. Brought Captain Kim."
"Come in."
Pershing looked a bit plumper, but his presence was unchanged.
"Doing well? Should be glowing, but you look thinner."
"Ha. Everyone's griping about no work with the cuts. I got plenty, so lucky me."
"Right. Lots of demob talk. Don't want any."
We reminisced over tea.
"Alright, get to it. Bright young thing like you didn't come just to swap France stories."
"Can I speak for him?"
Marshall, looking miffed, leaned in. Pershing nodded.
"Captain Kim, ex-division commander, still unassigned."
"Why? March pulling the race card again?"
"No. To rise high, he needs Command and General Staff College, but there's trouble. Drum, incoming commandant—"
"I get it."
Pershing nodded again.
"Drum's not bad. Just a little misunderstanding. I'll smooth it. Kim, head to Leavenworth pronto."
That it? Really done?
Marshall and I just stared, stunned.
"Drum and Kim'll lead the Army someday. France grudges? From serving country. Booze it out, men."
Uh... yeah.
Like a teacher making two fighting kids shake and hug.
"Major Marshall. Next schedule?"
"Uh, yes. In 30—"
"Good. Prep. Kim, see you soon. More time then."
"Yes, sir! Thank you!"
Uh... really that easy?
Every army's the same: what works and what doesn't is arbitrary. Solved just like that?
And a few days later.
I got orders to Leavenworth's Command and General Staff College.
One hitch.
"So now I report to Leavenworth as a student?"
"Student?"
The personnel guy handing orders looked like I'd said Lincoln rose as a vampire at Easter.
"Not as a student... as an instructor."
"Pardon?"
"Obviously. Why would an ex-division commander enroll? We got that much sense. Haha."
Why switch it up now?
I wanted to enroll for real!