Sun Tzu's Art of War #2: Shadows Over the Pacific
In a hypothetical scenario where the United States Navy—ever fixated on the Pacific—briefed the emperor of the American colonial empire, they submitted a report on Korea. The gist was simple:
"Our canal is in danger."
"The canal that's not even finished yet?"
"In our judgment, if Korea's Supreme Leader decides to go to war—whether we build military bases in the Philippines or oil depots in Hawaii—he'll smash the Panama Canal first."
"...What's your evidence?"
"The Russo-Japanese War. Or should I say, the Korean War."
The Navy Secretary launched into a passionate tirade on why the naval budget needed to double.
"First, take a look at this."
"Some say Korea's torpedoes destroying the Russian fleet was the turning point of victory, but strictly speaking, that's wrong."
"In the Navy's assessment, it wasn't decisive, nor was it the starting point."
His finger drifted to Korea's "astonishing rail network."
"This was the starting point and the decisive factor. The Korean War ended here. Before fighting Russia, he pondered, 'How can I beat Russia easily?' And for that, he built the railroads."
"So that's the starting point?"
"Exactly. The Baltic Fleet's destruction came much later."
"Therefore, if Korea attacks us—or even just decides to—we're certain they'll target the canal first."
"Even with our navy stationed in Hawaii?"
"Yes. Even if we sail the Pacific Fleet to Hanyang and turn it into a sea of fire with bombardment, they'll go for the canal. They ignored Russia's millions-strong army and seized the Ural Mountains first."
"Makes sense."
"With the Panama Canal intact, even if every battleship in Hawaii sinks, we still win in the end. But without it? We can't guarantee victory. That's the problem."
America was overwhelmingly stronger than Korea. By its own reckoning, at least ten times stronger. But being strong didn't guarantee victory. A blocked canal changed everything. The Pacific Fleet or whatever—cut off from reinforcements and supply lines, it'd be a typhoon in a teacup. A Pacific Fleet trapped in a teacup. All it could do was meekly defend Hawaii.
"That's why we insist on not just the Atlantic and Pacific Fleets, but also coastal squadrons stationed in South America and Panama."
It was sound logic. Emperor Theodore Roosevelt nodded.
But convincing Congress left one question.
"We're building oil depots in Hawaii precisely because we can't project power straight to Korea. Can they really reach Panama?"
"They can."
"...We can't reach Korea directly, but they can reach us? All the way to Panama? You're certain?"
"Yes, we're certain."
"Why?"
The attending Navy Undersecretary pulled blueprints of the "secret weapon" from his pocket.
"From what we've gathered, attach one under a battleship, and it's a mobile oil depot that follows along—no separate storage needed."
"If they hang that massive secret base under their battleships, we'll face a ghost fleet across the Pacific. The entire ocean becomes their operational range."
"...You're right. I hadn't thought of that."
It was a real headache. Until now, they had no battleships and hadn't projected naval power, so the risk hadn't crossed anyone's mind.
But if they built battleships? It went beyond just increasing the naval budget.
"We believe they've been planning this for years, just like their railroads. The Pacific is vast, after all."
The naval officer quietly recited the worst-case scenario: Panama Canal coastal squadrons unable to deploy, the canal bombed; occupied Philippines and Hawaii; the Pacific Fleet's desperate escape; Drake Passage blockaded by submarines; stealth transports surfacing in New York via the Arctic Ocean...
"Please understand that we view a western landing as the 'most optimistic' case."
"No, it's fine. That could happen. So they'd land on the East Coast?"
America's industrial might was concentrated on the East Coast. If the enemy landed in the West and fought army-on-army, America wouldn't lose. The problem was, Korea knew that too.
"If we reroute the Atlantic Fleet via the Indian Ocean to the Pacific, yes. They do."
"For an enemy certain to blow the Panama Canal, to break our will to fight, they'd know they have to seize New York and Washington D.C. for negotiations to even be possible."
The emperor's mustache twitched. Then he flipped his earlier statement.
"But isn't this overly optimistic from Korea's perspective? Blow the canal first, then cross the Arctic to land on the East Coast? While we just sit there?"
Most war scenarios assumed the enemy held the advantage in the opening moves. They started from defense against attack. So the emperor's words actually signaled how deeply he distrusted Korea—how hard it was for him to assume optimism toward them.
Everyone in the room caught it. There were far more implausible threats and enemies, yet he was nitpicking something that seemed far more realistic. It was like admitting its plausibility. He hadn't dismissed Mexico attacking America as absurdly unrealistic, which amplified the impact.
But they could reassure the emperor. Their goal was securing the budget, not preventive war against Korea.
"One thing's certain: to Korea, we're a terribly boring enemy. Strong, with strong will to fight, and above all, no merit in battling us."
The emperor paused. Thinking about it, yeah. Korea was their top beef export market right now. He couldn't imagine those Koreans choosing the Pacific over steak. Look at how they were buying American battleships...
Korea showed zero intent to fight America. It was just Americans indulging in idle what-ifs. The obvious goal? Budget.
The emperor eyed his secretaries.
"Fair enough. We're the ones playing these boring games, assuming Korea as enemy. A puny place like Korea wouldn't dream of seeing mighty America as foe, right?"
Common sense, considering the power gap. Everyone chuckled. The emperor's laugh felt a bit forced inside.
At that moment, in Taiwan:
"Ever heard of triangular trade?"
"Pardon?"
"If not, that's truly frightening. Even without me telling you not to exploit my black comrades, you're basically Leopold, you bastards."
The Supreme Leader couldn't hide his shock at blacks working the sugar plantations. He'd come to inspect the site after hearing production was surging in the modest sugar operations he'd started in Taiwan lately, intending to praise them!
But what was this? Coolies? Aside from speaking English, they were identical!
No way some bizarre logic like coolie = illegal immigrant = debtor = black was at play, right?
"Your Excellency, exploitation? Look closer."
Hm. Arms intact, legs intact, development normal, teeth a bit off... Normal enough. And above all...
"They're eating better than expected?"
"Plump and healthy, right?"
No, that's not what I meant. He sent the black and his escort comrade packing, then eyed the manager again.
"We know all about it. You think we'd treat them like those guys do?"
Hm?! True, Taiwan was nominally his land, but divided by zones for now. The best sugar areas were British private ventures, rubber Japanese, and his vast holdings mostly hilly—pretty useless on their own. Compared to the Brits' plantations next door, his were humble.
Of course, he wouldn't leave it like that. He planned to have incoming coolies plant coffee on those hills. It was meh now, but coffee would boom soon. He knew. He came from the future.
But blacks? Maybe market it as Ethiopian? Or Americano/African-no since they're from Africa and America?
"We treat black comrades or white the same—as comrades. Just like our Chinese and Russian comrades: fed the same, housed the same."
"That's surprisingly impressive."
Living among Brits who saw blacks as half-apes or missing links, yet following his unspoken order to treat them as people? This guy's a top-tier comrade.
"Of course, pay was in-kind. Barter: rice, booze, cloth."
"Hence the Roman-style garb everywhere."
Cloth overflowed anyway. Black slaves too—he could've sworn this was ancient Rome. Salt flats along the coast sealed it. Blacks in Rome? Historically accurate. Cloth clothes? Salt pans? All checks out. Brits too—this was straight-up Neo-Rome.
Wait, salt flats? The Supreme Leader's gaze shifted from the flats to the blacks working them. And stopped.
"No, no, comrade. Not forced. We just opened the path to salt from the pans."
"I know, I know. As if you'd do that."
Denying it so guiltily? Even Brits don't go that far, comrade. Probably...!
Korea's coasts were full of salt flats regardless. No slave islands, though—he'd banned pans on islands. Islands were bird and fish paradises, seed research labs—not Chun-sik's heaven, but Chun-sik hell.
"One curiosity."
"Yes!"
"What do they eat? Just rice?"
"We don't provide sides, but they seem content enough. Forage their own."
"Booze?"
"Rum, what else? Brits make it. Fermenting worthless sugar molasses—pig feed—into drinkable stuff..."
Hold on. This could make a fine tale. Stamped "Made in Japan," but lately Americans were getting cheeky. These blacks too—with construction delays, Panama Canal wasn't paying workers (er, him) on time. Giving weird coupons instead of cash, forcing overpriced goods and booze!
Reverse discounts, not even real coupons!! Fine at home, but not to him.
People were still dying in Panama. He'd smashed the mosquitoes, but the project's brutality meant deaths anyway. Pressure on timelines had comrades wailing on-site.
Did he not know? He was enduring it for the cash—and they stiffed it?
The sugar-migrated blacks too—he wouldn't let it slide. Not because they owed him money, of course.