Chapter 96
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: House of Cards (5)
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“In 1592, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the warlord who commanded the finest army in Japanese history, invaded the neighboring Korean kingdom of Joseon. The Joseon forces were little more than hollow shells—aside from their coastal defense navy and a handful of northern troops meant to repel raids by nomadic horsemen from the north.”
“The Japanese army failed to secure their strategic goal: capturing the Joseon king. Local irregulars rose up in massive numbers and struck at their supply lines.”
“What sort of scale are we talking about with these irregulars?”
“Local nobles pooled resources to form militias, and defeated regular army units joined them. Take General Gwak, known as the Redcoat General, for example. Before the war, he was just a typical landowner—”
“The Japanese didn’t understand the local culture and failed to achieve their objectives, getting sucked into a protracted war. They ended up defeated, just like the British in the American Revolutionary War. Unlike Europe, which shares broad commonalities like Greco-Roman mythology and Christianity, East Asian nations have stark differences in national identity—”
How many hours had I been talking?
My throat ached, but I kept chugging water and rambling on. The response wasn’t bad at all, though.
“Captain Kim. So, how do you think Japan’s samurai culture would specifically impact warfare?”
“Culture doesn’t show its face outright, but it shapes every mindset. Let me give you an example. After a battle, if someone surrenders against overwhelming odds, a Japanese soldier is unlikely to look kindly on them.”
“Why not?”
“A knight surrendering is natural, but a samurai’s virtue is to rip open his own belly. They’d scorn him for valuing his life too much.”
What did I really know, anyway? Not much.
This was all a massive patchwork job.
A mishmash of my superficial knowledge from those ‘faraway neighbors’ history shows, bits of experiential guesswork, topped off with the reckless fanaticism the Japanese showed in World War II.
And I steered clear of that massive tank debate.
I even laid the groundwork for jumping into the Pacific theater later.
Bonus: it covered my weak spot of no Philippine service record.
This was the solution, alright.
Hmm. My cerebral cortex hasn’t rusted yet.
But even this shaky knowledge seemed like a real culture shock to these future leaders of the U.S. Army. Of course it did. It’s not easy to accept that what you took for granted might not be so obvious after all.
Think of it as a vaccine jab—better to take it quick and early. The bizarre antics Japan’s army would pull were tough even for me, reading about them in history books.
“That concludes today’s special lecture. Thank you.”
And just like that, the crisis passed.
When you’re backed into a corner, nothing beats changing the subject.
As I tidied up after the lecture, the classroom door opened. In walked a man with a grim expression.
It was Colonel Drum.
“Great lecture, Captain Kim. I enjoyed it.”
“Thank you, sir. First time teaching, so I was nervous. Hope it helped.”
“Of course. If it weren’t for you, no one would’ve even thought that our perspectives differ. Only you could’ve come up with that.”
He wasn’t the type to drop by just for compliments on a lecture.
“But I do have some concerns.”
“About what, sir?”
Naming Japan as a hypothetical enemy wouldn’t cause issues. Did they think I hadn’t considered that?
The military always needs an enemy.
In Asia—hell, bluntly put—the only real threats to China trade or the Philippines were Japan.
Britain? Just imagining a scrap with them made me crave diapers.
The Lion still had its teeth, mane, and paws that could send three corns flying with one swipe if provoked. No thanks to that fantasy.
Besides, whether Britain or Japan, the Army only sketched tactical-level defenses for key points, not full operational plans. Straight talk: grand strategy was the Navy’s job, and they figured they’d hash out plans during mobilization once war broke out. That was the Army consensus.
So what was he worried about?
“By your logic, our officers need broader cultural understanding... And wouldn’t you know, West Point’s pushing the same line.”
“Is that so?”
Only one person at West Point would push that.
“Yeah. Let’s be frank. MacArthur’s out there ‘reforming’ and trampling West Point’s history and traditions. Even General Pershing’s quite displeased.”
Damn it.
Was this the U.S. Army or the Imperial Japanese Army?
This endless factional infighting was mind-boggling. Was this for real? The U.S. Army was legendary.
“But if you give this lecture, even if unintentional, it looks like you’re siding with MacArthur. As your superior, I’m worried.”
Control your face before you speak, you bastard.
Harding got trashed as a puppet or figurehead, but he kept that charming smile that made hearts flutter. At least fake a poker face.
Maybe I’d lost my touch hanging with political heavyweights too long. Yeah, comparing soldier boys to presidential candidates was unfair.
“Remember this: the Army needs unity under General Pershing more than ever. With that in mind—”
“Colonel Drum. Let’s be straight, man to man. How many more years do you think Pershing has left?”
My words wiped the forced smile from his face, revealing cold steel underneath.
“I can’t let that pass as a joke.”
“Pershing’s getting on, seen plenty of battlefields. He’ll retire soon... So who’s next in line?”
“You—”
“No interest? Marshall’s glued to the general’s side right now.”
Man, his face was an open book.
Sucker. A prime mark, ripe for fleecing.
Folks who fancy themselves smart are usually like this. Or rather, the allure of becoming the next Army chief made poker faces impossible.
“Marshall’s got a long way. Career-wise—”
“Pershing’s inner circle will splinter when he retires. Career won’t matter then. It’s whether Pershing anoints you successor.”
I locked eyes with Drum.
His mouth tried playing it cool, disinterested, but his eyes screamed Kantō earthquake.
“It won’t be a simple career contest. It’ll be who leaves the strongest impression on the general.”
“Impression.”
“Yes. Emotionally, Marshall has the edge from sharing the same pot. You’ll need something eye-catching to win.”
He’s biting. He’s biting.
Sorry, but you couldn’t beat Marshall dead or alive, desk jockey.
Even if Pershing was turning curmudgeonly, he knew Marshall would buck him fiercely for what he believed right—unlike Drum, who jingled in front and schemed factions behind. Anyone could see who had the edge. As an old-school soldier, Pershing might weigh character even more.
Drum was dead wrong.
In poker, you fleece the sucker before the sharks do. Letting others take him stings worse than lost sleep.
“So why bring this to me?”
“Separate it from West Point. Isn’t MacArthur’s ‘reform’ really Leavenworth’s chance to create something from nothing?”
“Learn it when becoming senior officers. Makes sense. Makes sense.”
The fantasy of checking MacArthur while racking up merits had Drum hooked. Guy was out of it.
“Good advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Thank you. When you rise high, Colonel, don’t forget Eugene Kim.”
“Haha. Of course. I spotted your talent from Cambrai, didn’t I? Haha.”
The bastard who tried stealing my tank battalion—my inner Patton roared. Hold it in. He’s an idiot who doesn’t know who he’s making enemies of.
“Oh, right. On the tank business, I’ll handle it discreetly. McNair tipped me off. Just coast like now till Chaffee transfers.”
“Understood.”
“Haha. Good. Keep it up. Just like now.”
Idiot.
If told to pick a fight with MacArthur uniform-to-uniform, I’d bolt to the Philippines. The man was a walking disaster.
If told to tangle with Marshall, I’d discharge myself. Future Secretary of State? Yeah, I’d see my future in some coastal artillery battery.
MacArthur was better in that sense—he’d lose interest after winning. Marshall? He’d uproot every root meticulously.
But this clown was picking fights with both?
I prayed for Drum’s soul as I left the building.
Felt like a hit-and-run, but nah. Even without my nudge, he’d clash with them eventually. My fault was near zero.
“Hey, Captain Kim.”
Come to papa, Chaffee.
“Nailed the lecture, but why the long face?”
Should’ve shot back, Drum pissed me off, but I held it.
Time to sell Eugene Kim’s smooth charm. Trash-talk together, and I’d be Patton Mk. II.
“Drum that weasel rile you up again?”
“Harsh words, sir.”
“He did, huh. Wanna smoke one?”
“Sure.”
We gazed at the fresh sky, plopped on the grass, puffing smoke like factory stacks.
“Army sucks, right?”
“Nah.”
“It does. People won’t listen to good advice because of ego, position, politics—whatever. That’s the Army.”
Boom. Nailed it.
“McNair filled me in. I fully agree with you.”
“Glad you approve.”
“Anyone can see it’s budget-hungry tantrum. Swapped ideas with you, and now Drum’s commandant. Why stick in this hellhole Leavenworth for glory? Too dirty—I’m transferring out.”
Wait. Was he really sticking around for me?
“That’s mobility substituting firepower. Train in maneuvering—join where you fit, bail where you don’t! Practice that, Captain Kim! Hahaha! I’m out! Don’t get stuck under Drum!”
Damn. Jealous as hell.
I had to survive here minimum a year. How to last?
And off Chaffee went to happiness land.
Did it never cross your mind you dragged me into this mess?
With Chaffee gone, Leavenworth settled into tolerable peace. At least my mind and body found it.
New commandant Brigadier General Drum kept sneaking peeks at his shiny stars, perpetually puffed up. But his talent as staffer and admin shone; he poured effort into making this shantytown school livable.
“Listen. New notice came—replacing all ovens with electric ones.”
“Electric ovens?”
“Coal ones were a pain. New commandant’s got skills? Soldiers usually ignore officer housing.”
“Yeah.”
By Drum’s order, empty lots sprouted new quarters and BOQ, electric civilization’s blessings rained down—wives smiled, husbands found peace.
Makes sense. Too used to 21st-century comforts—our D.C. house was always snapping up new gadgets.
But Leavenworth meant coal ovens again; Dorothy must’ve been frustrated. If she couldn’t drive solo to her folks, cleanup was all on me.
“Not much work lately? Calls dropped since you got here.”
“Told them I’m focusing on my job awhile. Gotta spend time with Henry too.”
Don’t want him saying in interviews later, Dad was always out working, hard to see his face. No thanks to heartless dad blinded by ambition, neglecting family.
A family gathered happily at dinner—what bigger blessing?
“Know what Henry wants lately?”
“...No idea. What do you want, Henry?”
“Sibling!!”
Henry shot his hand up, bellowing. My asparagus hit the floor.
Leavenworth was tougher than D.C.