How to Fight the Darkness (4)
The birth of a superhero to save Kansas would, of course, take time.
Even saying this makes me feel a bit guilty… but imagine coming back from Europe only to be handed a workload like some kind of souvenir and then ending up blasted into a beehive by a shotgun. What a ridiculous way to die that would be.
The comic publishing company was already in place. Even now, it was churning out all kinds of comics based on the card game universe, steadily targeting both a core fandom and younger audiences.
I hadn't yet resorted to vicious distribution tactics like bundling limited-edition cards with comic books. In the middle of the Great Depression, forcing consumption through promotions didn't seem particularly effective.
But what about milk?
Milk is a necessity. Just like rice for Koreans—it's as natural as breathing. Cutting back on it is almost unthinkable.
So if people are going to consume milk anyway, wouldn't it make sense to nudge them—just a little—toward buying Kansas's US MILK brand?
That kind of promotion might actually have meaning.
"I'll need some time first."
"Take all the time you need. Former Vice President Curtis has been helping a lot, but overcoming a disaster sent by the heavens is no easy task. Whatever it is, I'll be waiting for your help."
"And… there's another place that nationalized—well, state-ized—US MILK, isn't there?"
"That's right. Louisiana. Governor Huey Long pushed it through, and he switched to the Senate last year. The newly elected governor is basically his puppet."
"Could we cooperate with him?"
It would be a waste to abandon the US MILK brand.
Whether we could continue using that name or not would make a huge difference. And if Louisiana still had US MILK too…
"Long? That red bastard?"
MacArthur started to shake his head—then stopped.
"Is it really necessary?"
"I think it'll make a big difference depending on whether we cooperate or not."
"…Then we'll do it. If we can shake hands with the devil, dealing with a 'red' is nothing."
Oh? Looks like he's been studying politics. Never thought I'd hear that from him.
***
After hearing that ominous invitation into the armored branch from Douglas MacArthur, I couldn't sit still and immediately went to find George C. Marshall.
"Long time no see. Must be nice—taking year-long vacations."
"Vacation? I was doing national service! Speaking of which, your insignia looks shinier than ever today."
Marshall had been promoted to colonel right after the "Milk Expeditionary Force" incident was wrapped up.
Even though the U.S. Army had been gutted by disarmament, someone had to take responsibility. The Chief of Staff had practically flipped off the president, reports had been falsified, and chaos had followed.
Many officers were court-martialed and dismissed. Others quietly resigned before being dishonorably discharged.
And of course, in true "I don't like it, so I quit" fashion, quite a few veterans angrily submitted retirement papers over poor treatment.
The result?
Marshall survived it all and came out the winner—with a colonel's rank.
"Don't give me that. You ran off to Europe for over a year right after being cleared of charges."
"Ran off? If I'd stayed, things would've looked much worse."
"That's why I didn't chew you out."
Yes, sir. Thank you for your mercy.
"Actually… I'm due for promotion to brigadier general soon."
"…What? Brigadier general? Then the souvenir I brought is way too cheap—I should've gotten something fancier—"
"You think I told you this just to get a gift? I need something else."
"What is it?"
If Marshall needed something, it wouldn't be anything ordinary.
Most likely something connected to my family's businesses. Not politics—he wasn't that type. Maybe a new aircraft? Or landing craft? If so—
"What else? You."
…Excuse me?
What did you just say?
Wait… don't tell me this man had tastes similar to J. Edgar Hoover? I'd never heard any rumors about Marshall being into men—
"I've finally outranked you now, Colonel Yujin Kim."
Oh.
"So naturally, I should inspire some work ethic in the laziest officer in the entire U.S. Army."
…My mistake.
Right. No way this man was after that.
He just didn't like seeing me leave work on time.
A textbook tyrannical boss.
"Do you know how frustrating it is to watch someone who could do great work spend all his time slacking off and fooling around?"
"Slacking off? That's a misunderstanding. I've been burning with patriotic devotion every single day, working for the nation and its people."
"Don't lie, you con artist. Have I known you for a day or two?
There's been no news of anyone working with you jumping off rooftops, going on shooting sprees, or breaking down crying in bars. That alone proves you've been taking it easy."
What kind of insult is that? That makes me sound like some kind of natural disaster!
"Now you get it? When have you ever worked normally? Unless something gets blown up or turns into a huge mess, it doesn't count as 'Yujin Kim working.'"
"…That's… unfair…."
"If it bothers you, you should've worked quietly like Dwight D. Eisenhower."
Marshall seemed determined to thresh my soul today.
Like Gollum finally clutching the ring he'd long desired—
—or a slave master who had finally acquired the perfect slave.
"How's Ike doing?"
"You know him—solid through and through. Hardworking, sharp, and great with people."
Even after Douglas MacArthur left the Army in such a spectacular blaze, Dwight D. Eisenhower had stayed on as an aide under the new Chief of Staff… and from what I heard, he was working himself like a dog. The fact that George C. Marshall praised him this much basically meant Ike had hit the jackpot—of workload.
"…Why are you staring at me like that?"
"Isn't the biggest issue in the Army right now budget cuts? And yet here stands the man who defended tanks before Congress. I figured I'd take a good look."
Staring at me like that won't magically produce a budget. I'm not a millstone or a medicine boiler!
"So, how about stepping up again—"
"If I push myself any further, I'll become a full-blown political soldier. I already got criticized once."
"Is that so? Well, dealing with Congress isn't exactly pleasant. A pity."
Even though Calvin Coolidge had passed away while I was in Germany, his warnings still replayed in my head from time to time. That had been the most nerve-wracking moment of my life. Compared to him, Hoover was barely a third-rate thug.
So I changed the subject and started talking about Europe. As always, I passionately cursed Hitler and Stalin, veins bulging in my neck. Marshall listened quietly, his expression growing serious.
"The second world war you mentioned… it's drawing closer. Do you really think he'll start it?"
"There's one more."
"Who?"
"Japan."
"So Germany and Japan will burn the world to destroy the existing order and build a new one… That's chilling."
An awkward silence filled the room.
Because, of course, the conversation had circled back—again—to that damned budget issue. Like a musical repeat mark that never ends.
"I've told the Chief of Staff multiple times that motorization and mechanization will be the future. And he agrees."
"That's at least some relief."
"But the problem is research and development—"
"You don't need to worry about that."
I waved my hand.
R&D is important, sure.
"But Japan is doing it for us."
"…What are you talking about?"
"It's got nothing to do with me, of course—but there's this company in Japan… Joseon Mitsubishi or something like that. They're working hard on tank development. Heh… hehehehe!"
The researchers and engineers there? Mostly Westerners.
Not many Americans, but quite a few Europeans—and even some locally trained Asian engineers joining in.
The important part?
All the data gathered there was being neatly delivered to certain desks in San Francisco and Detroit.
"Win-win, right?"
"…You lunatic."
I don't know why I was getting insulted, but it seemed my fate was sealed—I was destined for the armored branch.
***
U.S. Army Experimental Mechanized Division Headquarters
I had finally arrived.
At this cursed place.
Being called "Colonel Yujin Kim" felt great, sure—but seeing my shiny infantry insignia replaced with that ugly armored branch badge was downright depressing.
General Rockenbach was gone, and now only Chaffee and I were left to carry this struggling branch. As for Patton… well, he's Patton. Not exactly someone you can rely on.
So the first thing I needed to do was find the bastard who designed this hideous insignia. He had to be a German spy. I'd hang him off the Golden Gate Bridge and shoot him myself. Then I'd march into the War Department—
"Junior!! You're finally here!!"
"Took you long enough, you slow bastard!! I was about to die waiting!!"
For God's sake… you two are well past forty. Act like it.
From afar, George S. Patton and Adna R. Chaffee Jr. charged toward me, grabbed my neck and legs, and hoisted me up.
Since when did you two switch careers to become Native Americans?!
"Damn it. I think I'm actually going insane."
"Haha. First thing you say after seeing us is that you're going insane?"
"Of course! Look at the mess you've created!"
Patton threw his arms wide, pointing dramatically at the vast plains.
"The cavalry! The infantry! Not a single one of them cares about the future of this poor, pitiful armored force! They're all just ghouls trying to rip out our guts!"
"…That's quite the way to put it."
"At least the 1st Cavalry Division is interested in mechanization, so we're working with them. Other than that? TOotal disaster."
These lunatics casually pulled out hip flasks and started chugging, the sharp scent of whiskey filling the air.
"Drinking in broad daylight?"
"Want some?"
"No! Now hurry up—where's that damn prototype tank?"
Dragging along the sulking duo, I barely made it to the maintenance yard—
"…What the hell is this?"
"The brilliant insight of General Drum."
"We're doomed. TOotally doomed."
Why…
Why does the tank have two turrets?
At this rate, why not just open a department store on top of it?
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