Chapter 94
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: House of Cards (3)
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What's this?? What's going on???
My pathetic final struggle—'I just wanted to get some education'—had made its way all the way up the chain of command.
"Captain Kim. This is not an official opinion at all, just my personal one, so I'll speak freely. Don't you feel sorry for the people who have to sit you down and give lectures?"
With words like that, what could I do?
"I've already spoken to General Pershing about this, so I promise you. There won't be any negative impact on your promotion review just because you lack education records."
"Thank you, sir."
It was settled, so no big deal.
But my ambition to suck honey at Fort Leavenworth, that quiet spot in Kansas, had gone up in smoke.
The only thing that could heal my weary body and soul was family. Missing Henry and Dorothy, I hurried home.
No matter that this era believed in 'raise kids tough' and corporal punishment was king—I didn't want to conform to that even at home.
"Daddy's beard hurts—"
This wasn't punishment. It was affection.
The result of my love ended in another smack on the butt, and after chatting with Dorothy, another day slipped away as I drifted off to sleep.
"Oh, right. I heard about a good investment from someone I know. Want to check it out?"
"Investment? Not sure I have anything going on."
"Everyone around me is talking about it. Annual return of 50%."
Dorothy shoved a pamphlet she'd saved toward me.
It was some scheme exploiting exchange rate differences between countries or whatever, guaranteeing 50% returns and promising to deposit it straight into your account.
"Last name's Von?"
"Huh? Not Von, Ponzi."
"Feels awfully familiar."
No questions asked, 50% returns.
Businessman named Ponzi.
Well, damn. This must be that infamous Ponzi scheme.
Takes me back. In my past life, my parents fell for something like this and bought lightning charcoal. Who knew the original was here. If it weren't for that jerk, I might've gone to Seoul National University. Sigh.
Meeting the historical originator of scammers like this stirs up emotions. Gotta kneecap this guy.
"If any close friends invested here, tell them to pull out right now."
"Why? Plenty of people are already seeing profits."
"It's a scam on sight. I have a nose for money like no one else—this is 100% fraud."
A captain who toppled the sitting president and aims to kingmake.
That captain's no slouch, tangled in Army faction fights shuttling between departments.
Fresh typhus milk delivered to the door, and cutting-edge financial scams that sneak up blind.
Impressive! America!
By the time Republican presidential candidate Harding won and Pershing declared he was done with politics because it was dirty.
The 1920 Democratic National Convention was essentially an execution ground deciding 'who gets the honorable death.'
I had no idea who the presidential nominee was, but for VP, a man called Franklin D. Roosevelt—FDR for short—was selected.
Socialists, Farmer-Labor, Prohibitionists? Who cares, ignore them.
"Democrats promised: America won't enter the war.
Democrats promised: Irishmen will escape long tyranny.
Democrats promised: Americans will enjoy American freedoms!
You all know these are lies!
We were deceived, scammed, and bled! Now they pay the price!
Republicans promise: America First! Back to normalcy! The warriors who fought for our freedom will protect our children from colored milk!"
"Republicans! Republicans!!"
All American women gained the right to vote for president for the first time, and Irish-Americans sharpened their knives over Wilson's betrayal.
Democrats floundered, unable to sort out the Versailles Treaty and League of Nations legacy even among themselves, and kept losing the raging 'milk debate.'
Harding tore into them like a fish in water. Honestly, any politician who couldn't win this must be a Soviet spy.
As the new wonder of civilization, 'radio,' spread nationwide fervor for the vote everywhere.
I left scheming, plotting Washington D.C. and set foot in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
"Welcome, Captain Kim."
After reporting in, the current commandant, Colonel Charles Henry Muir—a man with a truly fierce face—spoke up.
"Your exploits are impressive. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here at Fort Leavenworth."
"You're too kind, sir."
"The Great War's aftermath wrecked every curriculum. Officers meant for classes were shoved to the frontlines after half-assed hours. New and old knowledge clash without meshing, floating like ghosts."
Muir, as 28th Division commander, faced the German Spring Offensive, then as IV Corps commander, saw Saint-Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne.
Naturally, he wasn't thrilled with the school's current state.
"Sadly, I couldn't complete it all. I'm just a janitor tossed in to set up a new system for the next guy to run for a century."
"General..."
"I'll be heading to the War Department soon. Short time, but take care, Captain Kim."
"Understood."
As he finished greetings, a cocky-looking Jew from the front table—prime spot for number two—stood slowly and approached me.
"Well, if it isn't Cambrai's hero, Amiens' guardian, and savior of the niggers, Brigadier General Kim!"
"Captain Eugene Kim. Pleased to meet you, Brigadier General Drum."
"Brigadier? Don't say that. Though... you'll be one soon enough. Heh heh heh!"
Drum plopped noisily into the seat Muir had just vacated, like it was natural, and lit a cigar.
"Formalities over. Those with duties, head out. Let's chat relaxed."
"Yes, sir."
A few approached, exchanged words, and left. Few remained in the conference room.
"You always smoke those cheap cigars. Why?"
"Pipes or cigars, can't share with the troops."
You know frontline command? Visit the trenches for morale, crack open a pack, and have 'em chamber a round—they go wild.
Not my intent, but it came off mocking Drum for not being a Great War commander. Oops. Totally accidental.
"Hah. Too good to share with those niggers anyway."
"I meant Cambrai."
"...Ahem!"
This guy's reactions are gold.
"Heard good things from General Pershing. To restore Army discipline, we'll need your help. Let's build a great education environment together, as new commandant."
"Understood."
"I'll head out. Grab a meal later."
Drum strutted off, pretending zero anger, his lackeys chick-like trailing behind.
Why am I here? Sense slipping.
Came to taste this crap? Maybe MacArthur thought I'd joyfully request Philippines transfer seeing this.
Hell, better than this bullshit. Philippines might win.
"Don't mind him. He lives off superiority; gets prickly around betters."
Didn't expect a real bigshot here.
A familiar face from Soissons extended a hand, smiling.
"Remember my name?"
"Major McNair, right? Of course. Heard I owed the 93rd's artillery big time."
Lesley J. McNair.
Artillery master, organization specialist rivaling Marshall.
Marshall rose via logistics genius; this guy excelled in training and organization, earning wartime brigadier.
In original history, youngest star, Guinness-bound—but sadly, that went to my 20s promotion. Tough break.
"93rd was always of interest. Your... creative, brilliant ideas inspired me greatly."
What? Beef over temp officer stint at Saint-Nazaire?
Can't plant officers like potatoes in my turf. All legal recruitment, consent forms signed.
"With you here, Leavenworth'll buzz again."
"I'll live quietly, quiet as a mouse."
"Really? Didn't Pershing send you?"
"What do you—"
"Here he comes."
A feisty-looking guy chugged from his hip flask, stumbling over.
"You Eugene Kim?"
"Yes."
"Captain Chaffee Jr. Cavalry branch, but my heart's hooked on tanks."
The guy MacArthur mentioned.
Revolutionary in Army armor; postwar M24 light tank named 'Chaffee' posthumously.
"Heard you were coming, ditched next posting. Waited a year to stick here."
"Because of... me?"
"Yeah. Can't debate armor with Cambrai's hero? Where else?"
He squared up like a boxer.
"Look at that smug Drum bastard. Saw Meuse-Argonne hell firsthand, yet licks Drum—how's he face the dead?"
"Sorry, not following."
"Can I sit out?"
"No way. Even Major McNair's blood boiling, right?"
McNair scratched his head.
"Pershing's head's stone, fine. But Drum plans to rebuild curriculum and doctrine making tanks infantry pack mules. Rolling pillboxes. That's Drum's mindset. Damn fool."
All tank nuts this fiery? Cusses freer than Patton.
"Organized mass armor will rule future land wars! Confirmed at Meuse-Argonne. Gotta thrash Drum to stop tank-as-infantry-bitch future, and you plop here on Pershing's orders. In infantry branch!"
Ah. That's the story.
True or not, someone wants 'Eugene Kim, tank expert, says tanks support infantry!' Chaffee's sold it's my mission.
"Major McNair, your thoughts?"
"Artillery, not my lane. Hope constructive debate for Army's best. You'll influence it big."
Slippery sidestep.
That's how you earn stars. MacArthur was the odd one.
"Come on! Duel it out clean, man-to-man! Draw pistols!"
"No, let me check quarters first—"
"No tanks for you lazy shits! Everyone knows infantry eyes cavalry turf! Glory to U.S. Cavalry!!!"
Why no normals around me?
Just wanna go to Philippines.