The Calm Before the Storm (2)
1905.
Japan succeeded in reducing the Korean Empire to little more than a vassal state.
1906.
Japan planted the Residency-General in Hanseong, the very heart of the Korean Empire. Ito Hirobumi arrived as its first Resident-General.
1907.
When Japan learned that the Empire had dispatched a special envoy to the International Conference at The Hague, its answer was to tear away the last remaining authority the Korean Empire possessed — its right to command its own military.
"...I would sooner die than obey an order like this. What is there to regret about dying, when I failed to protect my country as a soldier? Even if I had to die ten thousand times over, I would regret nothing. Long live the Korean Empire!"
- Bang!
When Major Park Seung-hwan of the Korean imperial army took his own life rather than accept the dissolution of his troops, and the soldiers who fought to the last at Namdaemun were annihilated to a man, the Korean Peninsula transformed into a raging hellfire that the Residency-General could no longer contain.
And then came 1908 and 1909.
Japan discovered that the righteous armies fanning the flames across the peninsula had, at some point, spread their fire into Manchuria and the Russian Far East.
"What now? Smuggling?"
"W-well, our Imperial Army just replaced its rifles, didn't it? We sold off the outdated models to civilian merchants in Osaka—"
"And those bastards sold them to the Chosenjin righteous armies? Are these sons of bitches even citizens of the same Empire as me? Goddammit!"
"You want us to catch smugglers? In Manchuria? This place is gigantic!"
"Chikushou! I didn't say catch them all, you idiot! Just stop them from getting into the hands of the Chosenjin!"
"Do you have any idea how big Manchuria is? 6.76 trillion square meters! 6.76 TRILLION! How in God's name are we supposed to stop smuggling across that?!"
Meanwhile, the invisible hand of the market kept right on working, busily shuttling rifles and ammunition into the hands of the righteous armies.
The result.
- Bang!
"KYAAAAK!!"
"You damned Chosenjin bastards! Stop hiding and come out, damn you!"
"Ohh~ why don't you come suck my dick, you Jap pig."
- BOOM!
"It's a raid! A raid! All units, take up arrrms!!"
"KYAAAAK! The Chosenjin! The Chosenjin are blowing up the railroad!!"
"What are you babbling about? The blast is going to blow you up too."
"Eh? Watarashimo?"
- BOOOOM!
Demolition. Arson. Assassination. Guerrilla warfare.
Hong Beom-do's Sanpodae annihilated Japanese reconnaissance units and blew police stations sky-high.
An Jung-geun's Korean Righteous Army sent the South Manchuria Railway's security detail flying into the heavens — along with the railroad itself.
Since the entire peninsula had gone up in flames, there had not been a single day when the Residency-General wasn't writing death notices to the families of soldiers or constables.
"We're fucked."
"What... what do we do now, sir?"
"Don't ask me, you idiot. Ask those morons in Tokyo."
Ito Hirobumi was reacting with raw irritation.
He kept muttering chikushou under his breath and fidgeting with the scar that was puckering his cheek more than usual today.
"Idiots. All of them. They want to annex Korea in the middle of this? Are they honestly hoping to watch the Chosenjin throw grenades at the Emperor's carriage?"
"Your Excellency, but if not now, who knows when such an opportunity will come again—"
"Opportunities, my ass. What are we, Britain? Free to do whatever the hell we please?"
Those idiots in Tokyo — they win one war against Russia and suddenly it's 'Haven't we gotten rather strong? Let's declare that everything from here to there is our sphere of influence and throw our weight around!' Strutting about like roosters.
How much desperate resolve, how much grinding effort had it taken for Japan to claw its way to where it stood now?
Since when had this country become one that no longer needed to mind the eyes of the Western powers?
If the United States — the very nation that had forced Japan open — hadn't suddenly blown itself apart in a civil war, Japan might well have ended up a colony of the West itself.
And the Russo-Japanese War? Japan only survived because Russia happened to be broke at just the wrong moment, and in its traditional pastime of 'round up all the Jews, kill them, and confiscate their wealth for the treasury' — the pogroms — infuriated Jewish financiers in America poured money into Japanese war bonds. Without that, Japan would have gone bankrupt and been picked clean down to nothing but its fundoshi.
"I despise those fools in Tokyo so very, very much."
"......"
"But a thing's a thing. What can you do."
"Truly, Your Excellency is a paragon of loyalty and righteousness!"
"Summon the Russian minister. Tell him we require diplomatic negotiations to protect the Japanese residents of Manchuria and Primorye and their property from the bandit hordes infesting the region."
"That is what we shall declare publicly — the tatemae. And what shall we convey as the honne?"
"We'll make them properly hand over Korea. Tell him that if the Russians are granted treatment on par with Japanese when using the South Manchuria Railway, they'll agree."
"Where shall the meeting be held?"
"Map."
"Hai!"
Taking the map, Ito stroked his chin in thought for a moment before pointing to a single spot.
"It ought to be something symbolic... Very well. Harbin — where the South Manchuria Railway meets the Chinese Eastern Railway."
Hm?
What was I doing at that historic turning point where 1908 crossed over into 1909, you ask?
What else.
Working.
"Are you two Zhang Zuolin and Lee Tae-oh?"
"We are, Your Excellency."
"Good. I've heard the full account from General Zhao and Prefect Shen. Devote yourselves to selfless service from here on out."
So had arrived Xu Shichang in Fengtian, bearing the grandiose official title of 'Viceroy of the Three Northeast Provinces and General of Shengjing.'
Fifty-three years old this year, his first impression was less that of a 'General' than of a thoroughly dried-out bureaucrat.
In a nation of four hundred million, tens of thousands of men who passed the prefectural and provincial examinations in succession would gather for the palace examination, where only the three hundred most exceptional would be chosen.
From those three hundred, the quickest minds were winnowed out and assigned as scholars to the Hanlin Academy, the institution of royal education.
Xu Shichang was a scholar of exactly that Hanlin Academy.
Quite possibly the sharpest mind in the entire Qing government at this moment.
Right. If you're going to clean up the shattered Northeast, of course you'd send this level of administrative master.
"From now on, I would prefer reports in writing."
"In writing, Your Excellency?"
"Forgive me, but I do not have two bodies. Written reports are more convenient. Anything else you wish to say?"
The only problem was, the man was a bit of a prick?
Still, I couldn't exactly blame Xu Shichang, who was responsible not only for Fengtian but for Jilin and Heilongjiang as well.
"Ptui. Il-mannered bastard. Looking down on people has its limits."
"But didn't Zhao Erxun and Shen Jinjian hand over everything they promised?"
I glanced back at the cargo wagon rolling along with its creaking axles.
One, two, three, four...
Those five postal boxes were treasure chests packed full of silver, every last one of them.
"Shit. If he'd worked us to the bone and still stiffed us on this, Fengtian City would've run red with blood today."
"True enough. But you're a full Colonel now, sir. A General soon enough."
Chin propped on his hand beside me as he held the reins, the corner of Zhang Zuolin's mouth kept twitching upward.
You're pleased, so why the act?
"...I suppose that does sound nice."
What a tsundere.
"Well, look who's talking, Major."
"Haha, I never imagined I'd receive my very first pair of epaulettes here of all places."
"Huh? If not here, then where?"
"That's a fair question."
"Bastard. What a wet blanket."
He thought over something for a moment, chin still in hand, then chuckled.
"One way or another, here we are. By the old reckoning, wouldn't that make me the Flying General? Damn, I feel invincible!"
After this latest defection of Du Lisan's, Zhang Zuolin had finally obtained full authority over a brigade-sized force.
Administration, personnel, logistics, operations — all of it.
An armed formation numbering roughly six thousand men, now quite literally in his grasp.
With our battalion currently at about a thousand, that was a sixfold expansion.
The silver taels loaded into this wagon, in a sense, were funds meant to get the enlarged force on its feet.
One silver lining: we'd finally be drawing regular pay from the central government.
No more agonizing over how to feed the boys! Woohoo!
"So what exactly are we now, anyway? Whose are we?"
"The Fengtian Local Brigade, sir."
"This isn't a taffy stick that gets renamed every time someone chews on it. Yanking the name around like that, damn it all."
The Qing military currently came in two flavors.
One was the traditional Green Standard Army.
Think of the classic Qing soldier you picture — queue in the hair, changpao on the body.
The other was the New Army, built on the Western military system.
And the New Army further split into provincial territorial forces and central forces.
We had belonged to the Green Standard, and were now reorganized under the New Army as a provincial territorial unit. Our affiliation had changed.
The Fengtian New Army, 1st Local Brigade.
The peculiar Eastern — or rather, Qing-specific — formations like the Central Army and the battalion-command unit had vanished, replaced by a chain of command any modern person would recognize: platoon, company, battalion, regiment, brigade, division.
Zhang Zuolin scratched his head and grumbled.
"Damn it all. This is all still new to me, so how the hell do you spit it all out like you've known it your whole life?"
"Haha, I suppose I'm still young. Quick brain and all that."
"So you're calling me old, is that it?"
Oh. Busted.
Whoosh.
"Why you little— dodge, will you?"
"I saw it coming, sir. Saw it coming."
Your movements are way too big. Too slow.
By the time I'd weaved my way through all of Zhang Zuolin's swinging fists, the wagon had already pulled up in front of the unit.
"Damn. You grow up one size and suddenly you're crawling all over me."
"Huh, me?"
"Yes, you. Who else would it be, punk?"
He clamped a cigarette between his lips and leapt down from the wagon.
"By tomorrow, I want a full plan — how we're going to run this unit from now on, what we're going to need, everything organized and written up."
"...By tomorrow?"
"That's right. Tomorrow. Are you defying a direct order, Major?"
"Wow. Wow, so that's how it is? After everything I've done for you, you're going to lord this over me now?"
"And whose fault is that, poking a damn bandit with a filthy temper?"
Leaving me gaping at him in sheer disbelief, Zhang Zuolin — in spirits so fine he was humming a tune — swaggered off toward the camp with a rolling gait.
"Ugh. That petty, vindictive old mackerel."
"Staff Officer, sir! You've returned?!"
"Oh, Jeom-san. And next to you—"
"...You've re-turned, sir."
Ma Jeom-san and Du Lisan came bounding out from the guard post, as if they'd been waiting for a while.
Jeom-san hopped up onto the wagon and took the reins off my hands, while Du Lisan hesitated a moment before clambering into the cargo bed.
That's right, hurry up and adapt, you pike-headed fool.
"Yah, let's go. ...We saw Commander Zhang walk in just now. Was there some trouble?"
I turned my head toward Jeom-san, whose bright eyes were searching my face.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Let's all work hard."
"I'm sorry? Y-yes, sir...?"
"Hey, both of you, Second Lieutenants."
"...Yes?"
"Let's work hard."
"Ah... yes, sir...?"
The two of them tilted their heads, clearly wondering what on earth I meant. But that was that, and this was this.
Sorry about this, boys. I can't be the only one who dies, can I?
"Alright, that's enough for now. Let's take a breather and pick it up after."
- THUNK!!
The moment the words left my mouth, two heads dropped face-first onto the desk.
People, I'm telling you, that's how your IQ drops.
After filing away the last of the paperwork and giving it a once-over, I decided to step outside for a bit of fresh air.
Whew.
The early-winter wind of Manchuria was far colder and far fiercer than anything I remembered from the peninsula.
I jammed my hands into the pockets of my army coat and drew in a deep breath.
The faint scent of grass off the lean steppe, and the crisp, clean smell of a sky unpolluted by any such thing as smog, its stars sharp as needles.
Hours of desk-bound fiddling with documents — and the stuffiness that came with it — washed away on that rushing cold air.
The rough outline was coming together.
A supply company, an engineer company, a signals company, and so on.
How exactly to cram illiterate men into slots demanding specialized technical knowledge, and where to procure the equipment — those questions could wait. For now, I just had to fill in the blanks.
While I was at it, it wouldn't be a bad idea to run a battalion-strength formation — staff department included — as a brigade-level independent unit.
God, what would I have done without future knowledge?
Just as I stood there flushing the stale air from my lungs and filling them with the fresh stuff—
"Major, sir?"
"Commander of the guard? What is it?"
The guard commander, out of breath as though he'd sprinted the whole way, nodded and spoke up.
"A rather well-dressed gentleman came looking for him at the guard post, sir, and he kept dropping your name, so I thought I should—"
"What was his appearance?"
"He wore a flat cap and had grown out a mustache, but I don't believe he's a Manchurian like us. His speech was, well, a bit halting."
"Hm. Is that so? ...And his name?"
"That's the thing — he flatly refuses to give it."
"...Really? Well then. I suppose I should at least go have a look at his face."
"I beg your pardon? He seems to be a complete stranger — there's no need to trouble yourself, sir. Just turn him away."
"I already came out for some air anyway. Consider it a stroll."
"Yes, sir."
About ten minutes of walking behind the guard commander brought the guardhouse into view in the distance — and there, sitting quietly beside the sentries, trussed up but perfectly composed, was a certain man.
"You actually bound him?"
"Ah, yes. Just in case, sir..."
Fair enough — this was Manchuria, after all. Pat down any wanderer here and you'd find a pistol at his hip without fail.
As I drew near, one of the guards sprang out and snapped to attention.
"Major, sir! You came in person!?"
"Is this the man?"
"Yes, sir! It is!"
"...Officer?"
At the sound of my voice, the head that had hung low beneath its flat cap rose like a submarine surfacing from the water.
"It is you, young officer!"
"No — no, teacher. What are you doing here?"
I jerked my head toward the guard commander.
"......"
"C-cut him loose! What are you imbeciles doing? Untie him at once!"
"Ah — yes, sir!!"
"Heheh, much obliged."
As the rope fell away from his hands, the man in the flat cap — no, not a man in a flat cap. Dr. An Jung-geun — chuckled warmly.
"Forgive me for calling so late at night. But I was desperate enough to clutch at a straw—"
"None of that! Come inside, sir."
"Thank you. Truly, thank you!"
Leaving An Jung-geun behind, I gathered the guard commander and the sentries around me.
"Guard commander?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
I flipped open my wallet and tossed each of them a silver coin.
"Nothing unusual happened on watch tonight. Understand?"
"...Ah! Of course, sir. We didn't see a thing."
I clapped each man on the shoulder a couple of times by way of encouragement, then turned toward An Jung-geun, who was waiting.
"Shall we go in."