Meeting a Hero
There is a maxim engraved into the marrow of every officer cadet in the Republic of Korea—Army, Navy, or Air Force alike.
A soldier's duty is devotion to his nation.
"To devote oneself to one's country is the fundamental duty of a soldier."
Written by a man locked away in Lushun Prison, with a hand that had lost its fingers—who in this world would dare raise an objection to those eight characters?
Though his body vanished forever beneath the executioner's blade, the words he left behind, and the spirit lodged within them, lived on just as they were—made flesh.
And now that hero stood breathing before me, speaking to me.
"Very well. Then I shall simply call you 'this officer' as well?"
"Yes, yes! Anything at all is fine!!"
"Haha! Splendid—what a hearty voice. Here, someone give this young friend another cup of barley tea."
"Thank you!!"
I was snapping to rigid attention, repeating orders back like clockwork, without even meaning to.
What was this?
Seriously, now. Could it be that the Boramae—Air Force Academy—spinal fluid injected into my spine back then was still in working order?
The moment I froze up stiff, An Jung-geun nudged Mr. Woo with his elbow.
"Hey, what are you doing? I told you to pour the young man a cup."
"Hey there, Ahn. Don't go ordering your friends around, you rascal."
"That's right. Humble—didn't I tell you to be humble?"
"Tsk tsk. To think I'd trust men like these with anything of consequence."
In the end, An Jung-geun rose and poured the barley tea into my cup himself.
Somehow, it made me feel guilty.
"So. Is there something you wished to ask of me?"
Plenty. A great plenty.
But the things I actually wanted to ask could never leave my mouth.
Dodging my pounding heart and the urge surging up with it, I chose my words with care.
"Th-this settlement—how did it come to be built?"
"Simple enough. It is a gathering of those who fled their homes, unable to withstand the squeeze of the Japanese devils."
"I see."
"We have no desire whatsoever to clash with the Qing forces—you, Officer, included. We merely linger for a time on masterless land, having no fields of our own left to till. So—could you not find it in yourself to understand?"
Strictly speaking, by the letter of principle, he ought to drive these Koreans who had crossed the border back south of the Yalu, stern and unbending.
Of course, I had no such intention. In Manchuria-Western, how easy is it to bury the man with the sheriff's badge and say, "Huh? Never saw anyone like that, nope~?"
By the same token, how easy it is to swipe a few villages off the map—"There were villages here? There aren't anymore. Looks like the war swallowed 'em, y'know?"
Besides, given that Doctor An Jung-geun was with them, those two—Mr. Jo and Mr. Woo—had to be remarkable independence fighters in their own right.
My chest swelled with grandeur.
But An Jung-geun, knowing nothing of my heart, made his request politely once more.
"Could you, just this once, pretend you did not see? Once we come out of this winter, we intend to move to the land of Rosiya—Russia, that is. The year is nearly spent, and so I beg this of you."
"···Might you have a map?"
"A map?"
When An Jung-geun looked to Mr. Jo and Mr. Woo, the two of them produced from somewhere a map—worn with age, but with its scale beyond doubt—and laid it out where all could see.
I rose to my feet and pressed my finger to several points on it.
"On the road to Russia, avoid this place."
"What is there?"
"South Manchuria Railway guards—no, never mind that. Japanese troops are stationed there, spread out at platoon strength, dug in with machine guns. Since you are Koreans, your best course is to avoid crossing them entirely. Just steer clear."
The year was 1907.
Doctor An Jung-geun's assassination of Ito Hirobumi would come in 1909.
Please—let everyone here remain safe for those two years.
Mr. Jo laughed heartily. "Haha, it seems this officer dislikes the Japanese devils as well?"
"What soldier anywhere in this world is fond of invaders?"
"True enough! Hahaha!"
"And do not worry about this village either. I will report nothing to my superiors. 'Reconnaissance complete. Nothing unusual to report.' The end."
"Truly?"
The three of them, An Jung-geun included, laughed with easy delight.
"We find ourselves deeply in your debt, Officer."
"···Is there nothing else you need?"
"We are quite fine. This officer has already given us great help—what more could we ask for? I, An-such-and-such, am but a man of humble birth, yet even I know shame."
Hmm. Still—wasn't there something more I could provide for Doctor An Jung-geun?
How much was in my wallet again?
···Ah, damn. I'd left my wallet on the saddle.
As I rummaged about to see whether I had even a single silver coin in my pocket, An Jung-geun deliberated for a moment, then spoke.
"···In truth, there is one thing I would ask of you."
"Domma."
"No, it's all right, Mr. Jo. Mr. An, I'm quite all right—please, tell me."
"Thank you! Though the war ended quite some time ago, merchants still do not come and go here. Grain we manage—we have cleared land for ourselves, and it is a plentiful thing—but the other necessities of life run short."
I see.
As the head of a household responsible for an organization's survival, An Jung-geun had set aside his pride for a moment.
I'm the strange one. What were the odds, really, of a Qing officer responding with kindness to Koreans who had crossed the Yalu?
An's request—if I brought it to Elder Zhang Ziyun, it was surely something that could be arranged.
"I know a merchant. I will pass word along to him."
"Thank the heavens. It seems God has sent this officer to us, does it not?"
The three of them, An Jung-geun included, extended their hands to me with beaming faces.
"Thank you."
"···No. I am the more grateful one."
"Haha, and what is it we have done?"
You've done far too much—sadly, I can't tell you just yet.
Gripping their hands one final time, I said:
"Yes, yes. We will live well. Haha!"
After Lee Tae-oh departed.
"Not a spy, I take it?"
"If he were a spy, he'd have attacked when he had the village surrounded earlier. Militarily speaking, that is the soundest course."
"A fair point."
An Jung-geun, Jo Do-seon, and Woo Deok-sun.
The three men of twenty-eight years—the founders and officers of the Korean Righteous Army—smoked side by side and talked.
"Hoo. Qing troops, of all things. Should we move our base that much sooner?"
"No. I don't believe that will be necessary."
"You trust this officer? He seemed honest enough, I'll grant—but even so, I cannot lay my suspicion down."
"Do-seon has it right. Look here, Eungchil—you never know. Worst case, our entire Righteous Army could be rounded up in a single net."
The Qing officer surnamed Lee had been inexplicably kind to them—but who was to say a black serpent did not lie coiled within that kindness?
And even supposing the man were truly a milk-pure, wholly good soul without a single serpent in him—if his location were exposed yet again, would they be safe then?
"For what it's worth, there is a way to verify this officer's character."
"And that is?"
An Jung-geun reached out and pointed once more at one of the spots Lee Tae-oh had touched.
"You said the Japanese devils were well armed, yes? If the place this officer named is empty of them, we slip away quietly. And if they are there—then let us grant them the honor of donating what they hold to the Korean Righteous Army as military supplies."
"Excellent! We shall accomplish one deed before we go to Russia."
"The reconnaissance we do thoroughly; the attack we launch a few days before our departure for Russia."
And so Jo Do-seon and Woo Deok-sun bent over the map, deep in the scheming of stratagems, while An Jung-geun sank briefly into thought.
If anything should happen, please contact me at once. You need only ask for the staff officer of the Fengtian 5th Battalion.
"Somehow, I feel we are fated to meet again."
When he recalled the Qing officer who had departed with those words, delivered like a final, earnest admonition, An Jung-geun felt a most strange and restless feeling.
"Hey, Eungchil. What are you doing? Are the two of us the only ones racking our brains here?"
"Slave drivers, the both of you. Fine—I'm going. Let's move."
"···Sir? Staff Major!?"
Ma Jeom-san, riding alongside me, waved his hand in front of my face.
"Hm? Ah—were you calling? I was lost in thought for just a moment."
"A 'moment'? You've been ignoring me for quite some time, sir."
"How long?"
"About a meal's worth of time?"
Twenty minutes?
"I did have a great deal to think about."
"So what was that village, sir? Honestly?"
Ma Jeom-san clicked his tongue in exasperation.
"What kind of civilians are those? Anyone with eyes can see it's a self-defense militia at the very least, and an army at the very most. Those are not civilians."
"Well, now."
"Ah! Come to think of it, I heard the Japanese devils disbanded the Korean army recently—could those men possibly be—"
"Stop there."
Stop. Beyond that lies the abyss!
"We saw nothing today."
"Yes?"
"And even if we did see something, everyone we met today was Jilin people. Correct?"
"···No—what are you saying, sir? They were Koreans, weren't they?"
You—you oblivious rascal.
I'm going to develop arrhythmia at this rate.
Ah. Need a cigarette. Nicotine—the cheap, fast-acting vasodilator.
"Fine, let's say they were Koreans. So then—if I write in my report that there is 'a strange Korean village' out here, what do you suppose happens next?"
"Uh, well—"
"They'll order them driven back south of the Yalu, won't they?"
"Y-yes, I suppose so?"
"And if we tell those people to go back below the Yalu—do you think they'll bow and grovel, or grab rifles and shoot us?"
"···Now that I think of it, I believe they were Jilin people."
"Right?"
"Yes, sir. I'm from Jilin myself, and their accents were exactly like ours, I tell you."
"Exactly. They were Jilin people."
"That's right. Jilin people."
The two of us took out the map and drew a long hatch line across the section corresponding to the village where An Jung-geun dwelt.
"Where to now, sir?"
"Where to? We head back, of course."
"Already?"
"Haven't we seen everything worth seeing? We've seen plenty of smashed-up ruins, and we've seen former Russian Cossack cavalry turned bandits swinging their crescent blades—yes, seen it all."
Ma Jeom-san clicked his tongue. "···Damn it all. I'm already frightened, sir."
"Of what?"
"Who knows how much of our ledgers that man Zhang Jinghui has already gone through? Dammit, we stayed up night after night sorting those books with you, Staff Major."
Ah, right.
The one who had me run ragged like this was Zhang Jinghui.
What he did was surely intended as a screw-job aimed at me—but unfortunately for him, it became my chance to meet a hero in the flesh.
My thanks. A bit of healing for the first time in ages, out from among the human butchers.
So you can be useful sometimes, can't you?
"Once we return, won't he have gnawed through everything like a pack of rats?"
"Doubt it. Won't amount to much."
"Sir? What do you mean by that?"
"I'm no fool—did you think I'd simply leave that lying about unguarded?"
One glance was enough to see he wanted me gone for a little while so he could skim off the top. If I'd left it sitting there, I'd have to be a blithering idiot.
"Silver's been fetching a fine price lately, you know. With the panic on, they're paying handsomely for it."
"Come in."
"Y-yes, sir!"
Zhang Jinghui opened the bank door and stepped through with a stride that he himself considered eminently dignified—and that to any observer looked cramped and fainthearted.
"Please wait a moment."
"V-very well."
Following the attendant's direction, Zhang Jinghui sat briefly on the waiting bench, then took out the scrap of paper he had brought and clutched it in his hand.
Bankauszüge — Deutsche Bank
'You damned bastard. You shoved me into this hell-on-earth?'
For the first time in his life, Zhang Jinghui had set foot beyond the land of Manchuria, past Shanhaiguan, onto the Shandong Peninsula's Kiautschou Bay—teeming with blue-eyed Westerners—and like a country mouse he was busy darting his eyes this way and that.
The German teller at the counter rested his chin on his hand and regarded Zhang Jinghui with open disdain.
"What business brings you here?"
"I—I've come to withdraw money."
Withdraw, my foot.
Anyone could tell this was a fellow come with a coinpurse for opium money.
"If you say so. And your name would be?"
"Ah, ahem, ahem! I am called Zhang Jinghui, holding a military post in Fengtian, Manchuria—"
"···What? Mantschuria? General Zhang?"
The German teller, who until that very moment had listened to everything Zhang Jinghui said with listless boredom, snapped his eyes wide open and fired off at him like a burst of gunfire.
"Are you truly that General Zhang of Manchuria?"
"General? Ah—a soldier? Yes, yes, that's right."
"Good heavens. Forgive these shabby accommodations. This way, please."
In an instant the Germans turned courtesy itself and led Zhang Jinghui through doors of splendor he had never once laid eyes on in his life.
"Please rest comfortably. What refreshment may we bring you?"
"Refreshment?"
"There is coffee, and should you desire the pride of our Kiautschou Bay—Tsingtao beer—we can prepare that as well."
"I don't know this 'coffee,' and beer—is beer not liquor?"
"···It is."
"Then bring me liquor."
"Very well, General."
Before long a Chinese servant came in with a chilled beer and a plate of snacks—peanuts and the like—and across from the seat that had sat empty settled a German with a most dashing mustache.
"A pleasure, General! Hearing only tales of your lofty fame all this while, and now at last to meet you in person—my feelings are truly boundless."
"I-is that so? I thought my martial name carried no farther than Manchuria."
"What are you saying?! There is not a soul at our Deutsche Bank in Kiautschou Bay who does not know the General's name!"
"Ahem. My thanks."
"Dear me, where are my manners—I have not introduced myself. I am Hans, head of the Chinese accounts section here at this Deutsche Bank. I was one teller among countless, until I met the General, and so rose to this seat!"
Hans began, smiling genially.
"Truly, we thank you. Had Captain Theodor Li not visited headquarters at the General's direction and handed over the gold, the silver, and the precious metals, this year's panic out of America would have been a bitter trial indeed for us!
Those American nouveau riche are always the problem, I say. Cornering markets was not enough—now stock manipulation? Are they not mad? Because of those hick New World yokels, the whole world is in an uproar, I tell you."
What? Theodor Li? Panic out of America? Handed over precious metals? Stocks? Manipulation?
What is this man saying.
Are we even speaking the same Chinese?
"My apologies—the introduction ran tediously long. So then—may I ask what business brings General Zhang here in person today, in place of Captain Theodor, who usually calls on us?"
"Theodor?"
"Yes—the General's adjutant, is he not?"
"···Just withdraw my money."
The sooner he drew his money and went home, the better.
He felt he would go mad if he lingered any longer in this preposterous other world.
Zhang Jinghui thrust the scrap of paper boldly at Hans.
Bankauszüge — Deutsche Bank
"···And this is what, exactly?"
"Enough pleasantries. Give me my money."
"Hah."
Hans snorted, then planted both arms on his hips.
"You're a batshit lunatic, aren't you? Well, I smelled it the moment you said you'd never heard of Captain Theodor, you son of a bitch."
"I—what? I am Zhang Jinghui of Manchuria, I tell you!"
"You're full of shit, is what. No wonder it never made sense that the commander of China's northern army came here all by his lonesome. The man who sends his adjutant along religiously—why on earth would he come here himself?
Listen up, you queue-wearing bald bastard—get the hell out. Now."
"N-no, but here—this is proof—"
"Proof my ass. You're clutching a bank statement and yammering about proof. Can you not read, you?"
It being the truth, Zhang Jinghui's mouth was sealed shut.
"Unbelievable. Oi! Call the concession guard from outside! Throw this con artist out on the spot!"
In an instant German military police in Pickelhaubes stormed in, dragged the fraud out by the collar, and dumped him onto the street.
"Hahh. Every two-bit merchant scum fancies he can impersonate high officials these days. If you're going to impersonate someone, at least do it properly—General Zhang, not knowing Captain Theodor? Does that even parse?"
And who, after all, was Captain Theodor Li?
A natural-born economist who, in barely a bit over two years, had multiplied his principal several times over—and who, just as the American stock-manipulation panic erupted and liquidity ran dry, liquidated every precious metal he held for an enormous profit—and Hans's own proudest client, the one he had courted with every fiber of his being!
Thinking of it again brought tears to his eyes.
He and the Captain differed only in skin color; in all else they were brothers of shared blood.
Had there been no German as good as Hans himself, nine times out of ten the money of Captain Theodor and General Zhang would have flowed into the banks of those dim-witted, lazy Frenchmen over yonder, and by now scattered to the four winds.
If Captain Theodor deserved some ninety percent of the credit for building General Zhang's colossal account, then surely this Hans, too, had earned his full ten percent.
"Is Theodor really such a remarkable man?"
"Gott! To lose Captain Theodor Li would be to lose life itself!"
Which was precisely why—please, couldn't you just renew the maturity when it comes due this January of 1914?
Such was Hans's wish.