The Mage of Leavenworth (8)
November 2, 1920.
A new president was elected—one who would bring order and peace to the United States, which had fallen into chaos.
"Harding! Harding! Harding!"
"Republicans! Republicans! Republicans!"
A landslide victory.
With an overwhelming share of the vote approaching two-thirds, the Republican Party easily crushed the Democrats.
"America will now return to normal! To our comfortable home!"
Harding declared confidently, but—
the United States could no longer return to what it once was.
As the U.S. Congress refused to ratify the Treaty of Versailles, the country found itself in a bizarre state of still being technically at war with Germany, Austria, and others under international law.
With the Wilson administration suffering one of the worst collapses in history, nearly all legislation and political decisions were postponed until the Harding administration took office.
Among the key issues left to gather dust were countless ticking time bombs.
A new naval arms race breaking out simultaneously among the victorious nations—Britain, France, Japan, and the United States.
Separate peace treaties that still needed to be concluded with the defeated nations.
Compensation for the veterans who had fought and bled, and the treatment of newly loyal non-white citizens of the Union.
The continuing Yellow Peril discourse, the question of how much to reduce military spending after the Great War, and so on…
And yet, astonishingly—
"Well then, shall we deal the cards? Heh heh."
"They say if the drink tastes sweet, you get drunk faster. Looks like I'm in for a proper beating today. Ha ha!"
What kind of vision and philosophy might the supreme leader, who would guide the nation for the next four years, have in mind to resolve all these crises?
No idea.
Our president-elect was still completely absorbed in golf and poker.
That unwavering, self-paced attitude.
At this point, it was almost awe-inspiring. How could a man about to enter the White House greet a handful of colorful playing cards with such perfect emptiness of mind?
Perhaps I was misunderstanding the kind of man Harding was.
There was no way a president could be this thoughtless. More likely, he was hiding grand ambitions and patiently waiting for the right moment.
"This place is great and all, but it's dull without women!"
"Indeed, indeed."
"You've got to have a couple of beauties tucked under your arms, pouring you drinks—that's when the cards really stick. Ah, maybe it's because this feels like a funeral house. No flavor at all."
…Right.
Nope.
He really was just a thoughtless womanizer.
"Once you move into the White House, you won't be able to visit this place, Ubok, as often."
"True, what a shame! All sorts of pests will cling to me telling me not to drink anymore. Well then—I'll sneak over now and then, so just quietly open the door for me, will you?"
"There's a secret entrance to the building. I'll give you a pass for that route, so feel free to visit anytime."
"Ha ha ha! Thank you! Now I can govern the country in peace!"
Was this that so-called rule by non-action?
Do nothing, just breathe, and the invisible hand will take care of everything?
I don't know.
I might have just helped put one of the greatest idiots of all time into the presidency.
…No. No. Even without me, the American people would have chosen this man.
Not my fault.
***
Dorothy's belly was growing larger by the day.
"What's this now?"
"A gramophone."
"No, I know that. Why did you suddenly buy one?"
"They say listening to good music is good for prenatal education."
"You've been picking up strange ideas again…"
Some people click their tongues at me, saying I'm frivolous—but I don't care. If anything, the laissez-faire parenting style around here is far more of a culture shock to me.
Yushin is planning to get married next year.
Since Dorothy is pregnant, I'll probably have to attend the wedding alone. Would it be alright to take Henry with me? It doesn't feel right that my parents don't get to see their first grandson often.
As for my dealings with Oota—more precisely, with Ootawa in Japan—they're proceeding without much trouble.
Being a diplomat, Oota fully understood that the moment this arrangement leaked, it would all be over.
I have reported to my superiors, and they conveyed that they wish to avoid any unfortunate misunderstandings between you, Captain, and the Empire in the future.
Excellent. He understands exactly what I meant by the proposal.
Naturally, I serve as an officer of the U.S. Army, and whether as an officer or as a Korean-American, I have no intention of becoming "friendly" with Japan.
However, Oota—who is deeply interested in protecting the rights of Asians in San Francisco—will, strictly "in a personal capacity," attend Yushin's wedding. In that process, regardless of nationality or profession, a personal connection between him and me will "happen" to form. Not intentional—pure coincidence.
It's not even friendship—just acquaintances. Who could object to that?
Now, even if we clash openly on the surface, backchannel negotiations can proceed through Oota. Naturally, Oota can maximize his own value as the intermediary, and Japan can indulge in the pleasant illusion that Yujin Kim is actually on their side.
Me? It's now certain that I can infiltrate Japanese society, and personally, I'll be able to detect signals before the Japanese Empire tries to snap my neck.
They're not fools—rather than killing me outright, they'd likely start with, "Kim Yujin! You insolent—!" and try to talk first. In that sense, Oota is like a canary in my coal mine.
With the board fully set, I returned to my main work with peace of mind.
The work at Leavenworth is gradually being wrapped up.
As for tank doctrine development, I'm merely offering one "opinion" among many. It's up to those higher up to compile and decide on these individual suggestions.
Get to work, Marshall.
So, on the contrary, I was able to push my ideas forward without hesitation.
A conceptual design that could become the prototype of an MBT—assuming sufficient technological capability:
While impossible with current technology, tanks must eventually be able to handle both anti-tank and anti-infantry combat with a single main gun, while possessing adequate mobility and protection.
And then, the more realistic proposals—ones that had to be implemented immediately:
The roles of light tanks and medium tanks are fundamentally different. Tanks intended for infantry support and anti-infantry combat differ greatly in development requirements from those meant to suppress and destroy enemy tanks.
Those multi-turret lunatics. There are people desperate to turn tanks into department stores, but they absolutely must be shut down. Even if dirt fills my eyes, I refuse to see taxpayers' money wasted on monstrosities like twin-gun barrels.
And I had to fight like a dog with the artillery branch as well—those who insist that anti-tank warfare can be handled solely by artillery. Grr, bark bark! How dare those immobile bastards claim they can stand against tanks!
Most of my recent work consisted of refining this chaos into dignified, polished language and endlessly firing off reports.
Naval matters are important to me, but they are not part of my duties as an instructor at Leavenworth. That's why I can only now, after work, finally sit down and review naval materials. It's absolutely not because those bandits would throw a fit, shouting, "How dare you go play with those seal bastards instead of us!"
Looking over both Army and Navy materials together, the core issue in the Asia-Pacific theater is gradually coming into focus.
The Philippines.
How to deal with this ticking bomb will become the key issue going forward.
The Navy wants to advance westward step by step from Hawaii and crush Japan. It's the least bloody and most reliable approach.
As such, while I don't know the opinion of the entire Navy, I can sense that at least those planning operations are secretly thinking: wouldn't it be better to just abandon the Philippines?
But the Army?
There are far too many who proclaim that defending the Philippines is the sacred duty of the United States—a "civilized nation guiding the uncivilized toward civilization."
Take Leonard Wood, who was the leading candidate in this very election.
And our esteemed senior, Douglas MacArthur, would never even consider abandoning the Philippines, not in a million years.
And me? I have friends from the Philippines. If I were to argue for abandoning it, how could I face Vicente or Anastasio?
Human relationships are truly complicated. My head's about to split.
"What are we going to do about the guests coming tomorrow?"
"What's the point of serving those seal bastards a proper meal? Just give them dog food."
"Seals eat dog food!!"
"You keep saying weird things and Henry's picking them up. I swear, raising two children is driving me insane…"
I got scolded again.
Before my wife's wrath escalates, I'd better show that I'm diligently participating in our child's upbringing.
"Our good boy Henry. Listen carefully to what Daddy says."
"Okaaay."
"Never become a 'seal,' got it? Only ill-tempered, nasty drunkards join the Navy—agh! Ow!"
I got hit in the end.
And the next day, I finally received word that the visitor who was supposed to come had changed.
"My apologies, Captain Kim. Colonel William S. Pye, who was scheduled to accompany me, had an urgent matter, so I've come alone."
"That's unfortunate. As you know, this is not an official meeting but a private one, so please don't feel burdened—make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you for your consideration."
"Please, come in. You can give me your coat."
"Thank you, ma'am."
A man who, at first glance, looked like a strict, ill-tempered dorm supervisor from some Spartan boarding academy had arrived.
He wasn't in uniform, but if you grabbed any random passerby and asked what his profession was, eight out of ten would say he was a soldier. He practically reeked of experience.
If he had dared act rudely toward Dorothy, I would've buried him in the backyard—Army-Navy cooperation be damned—but thankfully, he wasn't that far gone.
He extended his hand for a handshake.
"I've been remiss in introducing myself. I am Colonel Ernest J. King, currently in charge of the Naval Postgraduate School."
"I'm Yujin Kim. A pleasure."
"Daaaad."
Henry came running over, clutching his toy soldier in one hand, and grabbed onto my pant leg.
"Who's this mister?"
"He's a Navy officer who came to study how to protect kids like you alongside your dad."
"Nice to meet you, little friend."
King twisted his stern-looking face muscles into something resembling a smile.
…But that just made him look even scarier, you bastard. What are you doing to my son?
Naturally, Henry—who saw that expression up close—was startled out of his wits, even dropping the toy he cherished so much.
"A seal?? Are you a seal??"
"Henry!"
"Mom! A seal came to our house!!"
Startled, Dorothy quickly covered Henry's mouth and scooped him up, carrying him into the room. I could feel her reproachful glare.
"…Your son is quite… straightforward."
"Ha. Haha. Hahahaha."
They say you shouldn't even drink cold water in front of a child—there's truth in old sayings after all.
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