Chapter 98
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: Leavenworth's Magician (2)
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Curtis Junior left, and I sank into thought alone.
Franklin Roosevelt.
The one they called FDR.
The politician who wheeled around in a chair and held the presidency longer than anyone in America.
No matter how spotty my grasp of history, even I knew about the New Deal and the Marshall Plan.
But in this timeline, could he really become president?
This political landscape was impossible to read.
It just didn't line up with the history I knew.
Take Herbert Hoover, for example.
In my memory, he was the guy who got slammed by the Great Depression, tanked hard, and ended up lumped with Harding and Bush as the Republican Party's trio of utter failures.
Yet in this second life, I'd seen Hoover working under Wilson, and just earlier, there'd been talk of him challenging for the top spot alongside Roosevelt. And he'd even popped up as a candidate in this Republican primary. What the hell?
Anyway, unlike the original history, Wilson had rocketed off toward idealism like he was headed for the moon and exploded spectacularly like the Naro rocket.
So wouldn't that have affected the people working under him, like Hoover and Roosevelt? Could those guys really become president?
I had no idea.
But if this Roosevelt was the FDR I knew, he was a long-term investment I couldn't ignore.
How could I overlook someone who'd hold power for over a decade? I'd put on a fantasy ass-kissing show if I had to—just lock him down.
Right now, though, Roosevelt wasn't the priority. Something else was.
If I got too wrapped up in outside military politics and neglected my core duties, what kind of idiot move would that be? I wasn't about to sell my soul to politics like the Japanese army.
Cleaning up Leavenworth was a nightmare in itself.
"We'll focus on the Amiens case, using the limited information to understand the commander's decision-making process."
"What about Cambrai?"
"Cambrai's a wildly unique case, even for me. We'll revisit it later."
This was embarrassing as hell.
No matter how thick my skin, I wasn't a politician. With my lingering Confucian instincts, telling these veterans—who had decades more experience—"Just listen to my badass exploits and learn"—was pure torture.
But where was I?
America, land of macho worship and badasses.
"Imagine you're the commander of the German 208th Division, General Grodek. A second-rate nation's army you usually mock. Black troops, no less. And the commander? Some kid not even thirty! Could you have halted the offensive?"
"Hmm..."
"Even rationally, facing nearly 30,000 enemy troops, wouldn't you consider pausing to regroup?"
"True. A rational commander would. But!"
Bang!
I slammed the podium and raised my voice.
"Even if orders from above were to advance, could you have stopped?"
"......"
"Knowing the operation's success—or the nation's fate—hung on the offensive, could you pick 'regroup' as the right answer?"
"If it's orders from above, well..."
"It feels off to you too, right? That's why the 208th couldn't withstand the massive expectations and pressure—they charged into Amiens."
With just chalk, sketching the Amiens map was child's play. I'd done it a million times with my eyes closed.
I drew the map swiftly with one hand while my mouth kept going.
"Considering the 93rd Division had zero combat experience, the Germans likely sniffed something off during the initial feint."
"But not enough to stop the advance."
"Exactly. Why? Were there no talented German officers who sensed something fishy in that encounter battle?"
I didn't wait for answers.
"They knew, but couldn't tell their superiors. Why? Same reason as before. Suggesting to ignore higher-ups invites backlash."
That was the crux.
Not just armies—all organizations snag when frontline instincts and judgments don't reach the top.
In that sense, I was proud of how I'd run the 93rd Division.
Win big, or our military careers end—shared stakes.
Troops brimming with fight, even the dedicated aide chewing out the division commander.
Perfect trust in subordinates, who responded by acting boldly on individual judgment, unbound by legal chains.
Of course, that worked because I knew their capabilities cold.
Ike's 369th Regiment wouldn't perform like Drum's scrap-heap version.
"So senior commanders must keep channels open for frontline voices to flow freely."
"Won't that lead to discipline breakdown?"
"Did the Germans, with their iron discipline, win?"
After wrapping up the frantic lecture and slumping into my office chair—
"The cavalry boys want a word."
"Oh, come on, why now."
"You think Captain Chaffee's the only one itching to crack open your skull? There's a truckload here at Leavenworth who want a peek."
Honestly, I'm curious too.
MacNair said it with a twitch of his lip, like he wanted to crack my head open right then.
Scary guy.
Mom, I'm working with bad people...
No excuse to refuse, so I dragged myself over. Booming voices and a barrage of handshakes followed.
"Captain Kim! Hurry! Let's get this rolling!"
"They say the horse era's over, but our zeal to rampage enemy lines endures! New era, new ways!"
"Start with Cambrai. From popping the cork on the Hindenburg Line—"
Chaffee wasn't some freak outlier.
The whole cavalry was full of these guys.
Thinking about it, Chaffee had switched from infantry. Compared to purebred cavalry, he was almost... tame.
"Personal impressions first? We need battle lessons on breaking defensive lines!"
"Every U.S. cavalry officer will hear Hindenburg Line breakthrough tales as lullabies from West Point barracks! Gotta pass 'em down before they fade!"
"Funny guy. Outside! Duel! Winner decides!"
"Duel? Think I'm scared? Draw steel!"
Was I meeting U.S. officers or Mexican bandit chiefs?
Suddenly missed Patton.
After the cavalry crew wore me out, Drum summoned me.
No. I'm dying. Eugene Kim's lives are at zero.
"Captain Kim."
"Yes, sir."
Drum, in high spirits lately, sipped coffee's faint aroma as he spoke.
"The squid pups want to debate you on Pacific strategy. Got time?"
"Squids?"
"Ah, yeah. Your last special lecture spread like wildfire."
Drum, prepared, unfurled a Pacific map from his desk corner.
"You know it best, but Asia-Pacific ops and contingency plans? Mostly squids' domain. Honestly, we just guard Philippines and Hawaii, right?"
The problem's we can't hold 'em. Especially Philippines.
Whining for colonial prestige led to that mess.
Potbellies first thought it'd boost China trade. Nope—just a money pit. Balances never match.
Grabbing colonies is pride; ditching war-won ones? Pride killer. Wilson didn't promise independence for show.
"No need for U.S. Army to dance to squid whims, but those poor bastards are begging for your wisdom. What can we do?"
I'd bet Ike's balls and Omar's too—no way Navy begged. Their egos think they're Royal Navy tier.
As dignified Army man, best to tease: "Beg prettier. Who you thinking of?" But Drum's look screamed he wanted me cooperating.
Plus, Franklin Roosevelt chat.
Guy's Navy diehard.
Schmoozing Navy here could sweeten FDR meets.
"Understood. Not much to say to those guys, but... seems the commandant has a soft spot for their pathetic pleas."
"Hah! That's my Captain Kim. Not many in Army could team with those booze-hound pests. Takes my caliber."
So make me Army head. Ambition's transparent.
"Let 'em know I'm in. Do I trek to their lair?"
"Hmm. We'll discuss."
Figuring max gain, squeezing every drop. Excellent. Shear those squids good.
"One more thing."
"Yes."
"Army Air Service wants your take too."
Ex-comms aviation slaves, now promoted to Army Aviation.
They're in our fold, no biggie... but work's piling up. Am I a sponge? Squeeze me, no drip.
"Personally, air superiority will be Army's key issue ahead."
"High praise."
Unexpected.
"Commanders and staffs get limited info. Air superiority and proper recon? Decides one-eyed vs. blind."
"Spot on, sir."
"Air boys keep forgetting their place, though. Anyway, care for a chat?"
Fine. If ordered, obey.
Busy is happy. This workload means no transfer.
"Just give dates; I'll prep."
"Ha! Thanks! I'll use you big someday!"
Leaving Drum's empty promise, I returned to my cozy quarters.
What a storm of a day.
Dorothy, who should greet me warmly, took my coat and whispered.
"Your brother's here."
"My brother? Yushin or Yuin?"
"Yushin."
"Why're you here? Company's okay?"
"Well, circumstances."
And there was Yushin—who should be in San Francisco—rising from my precious sofa.
What? Needs more work? Finally got work ethic?
"Came unannounced? Sorry."
"Happens. Pretty urgent?"
"Hyung, you know I always rely on you, right?"
"...You smoke opium or what?"
"Fuck. Nice talk."
There we go—normal. His sudden sweetness spooked me.
Human genes crave twisting siblings' heads. Biblical truth.
Suspicious he'd gone Arthurian, I led him to my study—lately swarmed by visitors.
"Spit it. What mess?"
"Huh?"
"Company tanking? Killed someone? Need father-in-law or chairman? Or black hitman—"
"Nothing like that, idiot. Act like a brother."
Gulping, steadying himself—he'd fucked up big.
"Whew..."
"Out with it."
"You trust me, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. Trust lil' bro. So cut the crap and talk. Busy man."
After more hemming, he dropped the bomb.
"Truth is, I met someone I wanna marry—"
"Good boy! Finally tying knot! Man needs family, kids. Damn right! Father chewed me out for shotgun wedding while ignoring you two. Whew, great job."
Scrap the girl hunt. Brother found his own—eases gay worries.
"So, hyung, help me out—"
"Why beat around? Knocked her up? Family mismatch?"
"Family's a bit... not our level."
Hah. Peak 1920s drama.
What's wrong with her family?
"Remember: Choosing lifelong partner. If she's highborn, I'll grovel 'Hand over precious daughter.' If her side's issue, you shield as husband. Got it?"
"Th-thanks."
"So which? Prep the mat? Import from Joseon?"
"Neither—"
"Then what!"
"The... girl... she's... Japanese..."
"You fucker! No brains?!"
My hectopascal kick beat words, slamming his chest.
Never a dull moment in my life.
Quiet ones pull the scariest stunts.