Meeting the Brown Bear
"I'll get straight to the point. You will join the war immediately as auxiliaries to the Russian army."
As the hulking Russian officer, his beard a dense black thicket, delivered the ultimatum with the icy suggestion of Well, well... refuse my offer, and I suppose there will be consequences?, the officers of the Shengjing Central Patrol Guerrilla Battalion froze in open horror.
BANG!
A fist slammed without warning into the table, and the whole thing shuddered.
"Commander! There's no time! Whatever the Russians want, we do it, right now!"
"Exactly. It's not as if they're asking us to help for nothing—they're offering their own weapons and ammunition, aren't they?"
"But Russia's been losing this war and Japan's been winning it so far. What if Russia loses outright?"
"Does that even make sense?! How could yellows beat whites? Either way, the Russians will mince those Japanese dogs in the end!"
It was not the ranting of a KKK hood in a giant white hood. It was not the voice of a white supremacist either.
It was the voice of people born yellow, shouting it themselves.
Strange, you say?
Well, how could the values of a people beaten down for a hundred years possibly align with those of a cosmopolitan 21st-century modern man?
"Commander! Your decision!"
Zhang Zuolin's eyes swept across the waists of the men cowering and barking in front of him, faster than anyone could notice.
If he were to blurt out something like Ha! I'm disappointed in you all!, those holstered pistols hanging in a neat row at their hips would come out blazing in an instant.
Zhang Zuolin had absolutely no desire to borrow his men's guns and shoot himself. So instead, he looked away.
"......"
"......"
Amid the uproar, two men locked eyes in silence.
"More pathetic than I expected. I had no idea they'd scare this easily."
"No point wasting concern on these people."
"Might I suggest reporting to Commander Kuropatkin that we simply bring this city to heel and use it as a defensive line?"
The Russian delegation, luggage unloaded at their quarters, undid the stifling buttons of their uniforms and raised their victory vodka high.
"To the Empire!"
"To the Empire!"
Knock, knock, knock.
"Who is it?"
The Russian officer, wiping the vodka that had caught at the tips of his beard, walked slowly to the door and gripped the handle. Could these Chinese monkeys be planning a backstab? As he turned it, his free hand quietly closed around the pistol at his lower back.
Click.
"Good evening, sir."
"......What is this brat?"
A boy in a military uniform that fit him nowhere near properly bowed his head with impeccable courtesy.
"I truly apologize, but the central government in Beijing has ordered us to maintain strict, solemn, and serious neutrality."
"Are you joking with me right now?"
At my words, the Russian officer answered while rubbing at the tips of his beard. "The central government? Strict neutrality? Since when have you people ever obeyed orders from Beijing? And even if you did, what good would that do out here in this barbarian land of Manchuria?"
"We are soldiers. If a soldier won't obey his nation's word, whose will he obey?"
The Russian's face twisted grotesquely.
Hmm... let me guess what he's thinking.
You people... soldiers? You people?
Oh. Um. Yeah.
Fair point. I'll concede that one cleanly.
Us? Not soldiers.
Ah—correction. They're not soldiers.
Me being a genuine soldier, I'm exempt.
"You spout nonsense with remarkable variety. Are you here to provoke me?"
"Are you saying we're not soldiers, then?"
"Obviously not. I'm curious what definition of 'soldier' is lodged in the heads of you Chinese."
He lit a cigarette with visible distaste, and I smiled pleasantly.
"I don't understand you. What's so funny?"
"Oh, plenty. You said you'd hire us as auxiliary troops, yet you won't even look at us as soldiers."
I knew their shabby little scheme inside and out. It bored me to death.
"Commander Kuropatkin doesn't consider us very important, does he?"
"......There's no reason to tell you that."
"Russia has been in Manchuria for decades now. So you'd have some kind of intelligence network, and surely by now you've already gathered information on a city as important as Fengtian—and on our battalion garrisoned there?"
"So what?"
I leaned slightly toward him.
"Then wouldn't Commander Kuropatkin and his senior officers be thinking something like this?
They're nothing but a bandit gang playing soldier in borrowed uniforms—at best, usable as scouts. And the Russian army already knows the terrain well, and with those mighty Cossack cavalry, a few mounted bandits joining up means nothing. Wouldn't they only sour the morale of the army?"
"You whelp. There are limits to how far a pup may overstep."
The Russian drew his pistol and pressed it to the space between my brows. The metallic clack of the hammer being drawn sucked itself into my ear.
"Anyone can see you're nothing but an errand boy that bald commander sent. And that baldy isn't stupid enough to turn Russia into an enemy over a new hole in an errand boy's head."
"I'm the staff officer of this battalion, actually. Hardly a mere errand runner."
"A staff officer? A child like you?"
"Don't I look considerably brighter than most boys my age—or than the other officers, for that matter?"
"......"
"Rest assured. We have absolutely, absolutely no intention of stabbing the Russian army in the back."
The pistol pressing coldly against my brow returned to its holster, and the Russian sank back into his chair, loosening his collar with a stifled air.
"Hah. And how am I supposed to believe that?"
"Just look at us. We're common folk clutching worn-out old rifles in the name of protecting our homes. Do you really think we'd be mad enough to attack the mighty Russian army?"
"Hm."
Our existence was like a chicken rib—too worthless to hire as auxiliaries, yet too itchy at the back of the neck to simply leave alone. In other words, the more one thought about it rationally, the best option for the Russian army was for us to tremble in our boots, cry Spare us!, and do absolutely nothing.
And the worst—
"Would be if you joined the Japanese."
"I told you. We're common folk. We're far too cowardly to gamble our lives over petty gains."
"Mmm."
"How might I convince you of our sincerity? Allow us to prove we are nothing like those wicked bandits."
"Prove it? How?"
"We have supplies set aside to see us through this winter. How about we share them with you?"
"Hm. Additional supplies. What kind?"
"Haha, don't be alarmed. Winter clothing."
He had been smirking arrogantly, clearly satisfied with my groveling posture—but at my answer he let out a sigh of sheer disbelief.
"......Winter clothing? For us Russians?"
"D-does that displease you? Then how about some dried rice cakes—"
"Rice cakes? Hahaha!"
The Russian, laughing as though I were a fool, soon clicked his tongue and muttered.
"Tch. Well, I suppose that's the standard out here. We're grateful for the offer, but we'll pass on the supplies. You keep them for yourselves. And forget that demand for auxiliary troops ever happened—we'll consider it void. But know this: if you step outside this city and pass beyond the zones we've designated, we will fire and kill you on the spot."
"Thank you! Thank you, Your Excellency!"
I bowed my head again and again in anshow of abject gratitude.
And with that, the brown bear was sent away.
Scenes like "Damn it, Lee Tae-oh, I believed in you!" or "You're the hero of our village!"—absolutely none of that happened.
Because this whole affair ran in colossal contradiction to the officers' own public opinion. In a way, they'd been placed on my table and taken off again without even realizing it. The moment I stood up and announced, Ahem, ahem. Did you all see? I, Lee Tae-oh, saved this town!, every last one of those officers would have put a bullet in my belly apiece.
"W-well, those Russians weren't so tough after all."
"Clearly they took one look at our iron discipline and lost their nerve. They have no wish to fight the Japanese to their faces and us at their backs."
"Crisis resolved, then—time for some strong liquor!"
"Honestly, Commander!"
Hm. Not that I wanted to sit here watching that miserable circus, mind you.
"You lot look like you've had your souls sucked out. Fine—as a reward, the whole battalion gets leave until tomorrow. Go out and drink yourselves stupid."
"Now that's a true Commander!"
"Then get out—all of you, to the taverns, you traitorous dogs."
"Yes, sir!"
As the men, faces already flushing at the thought of liquor, shuffled out grinning, Zhang Zuolin crooked a finger at me.
"Yes? You called?"
"Come here."
He raised his hand and ruffled my hair this way and that.
"Aya-yaya-yaya."
"Honestly, I didn't expect much, but you did well, you brat. You pulled off a masterpiece."
"I told you, didn't I? I speak Chinese, English, Korean, and—even if just a little—French—"
"Well then. I suppose I'll have to start calling you the Little Zhuge Liang."
Zhang Zuolin withdrew his hand and settled back into his chair.
"So now we just wait for the Japs?"
"That's right."
"The Russians wouldn't even glance at our supplies? What about the Japs—think they'll bite?"
"They were prepared with the Japanese in mind from the start. Russia was never the target."
"Good. Just don't run off with the money."
"...Not even a little?"
"What? You little traitor, you. ...Take only a reasonable cut. A reasonable cut."
Zhang Zuolin snorted with laughter, lit his long pipe, and after a moment's thought said, "All right. Pocket a bit more of that petty cash—but in exchange, there's one more job for you."
"A job? What is it?"
"Teach Xueliang."
"Xueliang? You don't mean young master Zhang Xueliang? But I don't even know the Four Books and Five Classics."
"Forget that drivel. What use are Confucius's verses in this world?"
How cynical of him.
"Teach him the foreigners' language and script—and that sly cunning of yours. That's the lesson."
"'Sly cunning'? I'll have you know all of it rests on elevated reasoning and sound rational grounds—"
"So will you do it?"
"If you command it, I'll work diligently."
Plenty of time to kill before the Japanese arrive.
October 1904.
"Men! Fix bayonets! Today we will kill every last one of those Russkies!"
"UOOOOH!!"
"Those damned Japanese monkeys—we have to draw them in deeper. Forget everything but the rail lines; give the rest away if we must. Draw them in as far as they'll come. Winter is coming."
"Yes, sir."
The Russian army and the Japanese army. Before anyone noticed, the combined death toll of the two forces had already climbed past one hundred thousand.
And then—
"General Commander Oyama, non-combat losses... are exceeding our projections."
"Beriberi? After all that attention to what they were eating?"
General Oyama Iwao, supreme commander of the expeditionary force, wanted to tear his hair out.
Beriberi. A terrifying disease marked by loss of sensation, edema, difficulty breathing.
Just as scurvy comes from a lack of vitamin C, beriberi comes from a lack of vitamin B—
—but the era still needed more time before that scientific, medical fact would be discovered.
"Damn it all! I gave them everything! Three square meals of white rice, every day! I let them eat two bowls at a time!"
"G-General! Please, compose yourself."
"Do you know how much care went into the rice milling back home—"
Rice naturally contains vitamin B—but excessive polishing strips away the germ, and the vitamin B goes with it—
—and the era still needed more time before that scientific, nutritional fact would be discovered either.
"Nothing for it, then. Chase the Russkies—attack, and attack again!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sir! If we do that, the casualties—"
"They're dropping from beriberi instead of bullets anyway—what's this talk of casualties?! If we don't end this war within the year, the whole army will be bedridden with it! Unless you'd like to commit seppuku with a war on your conscience, issue the attack order now!"
"Hai!"
And so the Japanese army shook the Russians loose with ever greater ferocity—pushing them out of Liaoyang at last, and reaching the southern edge of Fengtian!
The fact that the Russian army, loath to suffer pointless losses, had withdrawn along the easily resupplied rail lines? Entirely irrelevant.
The problem was—
"S-so cold. When did it get this cold?"
"Goddamn it. Minus five degrees? In November? You're joking!?"
"S-Sergeant Tanaka, my hands—f-frozen—can't—f-fire—"
An air mass rolling out of the Sea of Okhotsk and Siberia crept steadily down into Manchuria.
The Japanese, who had spent their lives in the warm, humid islands of Japan, began collapsing left and right with hypothermia, meeting 'sub-zero' temperatures for the first time in their lives.
"U-um, General Commander, sir."
"What. Now. What."
"Casualties have... surpassed one hundred thousand."
"A hundred thousand? A hundred thousand???"
The Japanese army sat down hard.
"Should we start heading over soon?"
"Where?"
"To see the Japs."
"Me too! Can't I come along?"
"I know perfectly well you just want to skip your studies."
I whistled and gazed out the window.
The snow was really coming down in sheets.