Chapter 112

 Grinning Army Maker (6)

Ugh, my head hurts.

If it were something like “Let’s plot to throw all our enemies into the Hudson River for the glory of our faction,” I’d be confident I could handle it.

But what the hell is this sticky, messy situation? I have zero experience with this kind of thing. Across both my lives, I’ve had absolutely nothing going on with women. Haha! No thanks!

I’m so confused I should probably sort out the timeline first.

1915 — Pershing lost his wife and three daughters. The fact that there was a 20-year age gap between him and his wife isn’t important, so let’s skip that.

1917 — Pershing got engaged to Nita Patton, Patton’s younger sister, who was 27 years younger than him.

1918 — In France, Pershing fell for some artist woman or whatever. She was 36 years younger. Naturally, his engagement to Miss Patton was broken off.

And now, in 1921, Pershing was developing a relationship with Louise Cromwell Brooks. General… seriously, is the only joy left in your life chasing women young enough to be your granddaughter?

Then who exactly is this Miss Brooks?

Turns out, she’s already quite famous in high society.

Born in 1890. Three years older than me, a divorcée with three children. Being divorced in this era is a massive disadvantage—but she has an absurd amount of money. Her stepfather is one of the top bankers in the United States.

She wasn’t some provincial socialite confined to New York. After her divorce in 1919, she entered Parisian high society and had countless affairs—naturally including married men. Honestly, it’s giving me a headache.

From what I learned later, she and Pershing had already been quietly seeing each other back when they were in Paris. Wait—wasn’t he involved with that artist woman too? What happened to her?

And now, Miss Brooks was passionately entangled with none other than my senior, MacArthur.

Ah, seriously… this is too much. My Confucian mindset can’t handle it.

“Junior Kim. It’s all a misunderstanding.”

When I met MacArthur again later at Uboek, he looked desperate.

I crossed my arms, leaning slightly on one leg, and silently listened to his “explanation” without responding.

To summarize his long-winded justification:

• Louise had already ended things with Pershing. Why would she like a man thirty years older than her?
• She recently rejected Pershing’s proposal, and they only appeared together in public as “friends” due to social expectations.
• I met Louise after her relationship with Pershing ended. They weren’t engaged or married, so there’s nothing improper about us.

“So… you were doing that at General Pershing’s residence?”

“No! That part really wasn’t my intention! Louise… ahem. I know explaining further would only make it worse. But believe me, Junior—do you really think I’d be foolish enough, tactically speaking, to play with fire in enemy territory?”

Hmm. Fair point. This sharp-eyed man wouldn’t deliberately smoke next to a gas station.

That doesn’t change the fact that he did, though.

But then MacArthur dropped another bomb.

“I’m engaged to Louise.”

“…What?”

Is my hearing going bad? Did all those artillery blasts in the trenches give me tinnitus?

“I’m engaged to Louise.”

“Are you insane? You’re getting engaged to a woman with three kids? What are you lacking in life?!”

“The moment I first saw her, I knew. She is the one I will spend the rest of my life with. From the day we met, we promised each other marriage.”

Look at this man—completely out of his mind.

A fiery Parisian femme fatale and a natural-born soldier who probably doesn’t even understand stocks… engaged? On the first day they met? Forget the divorce and everything else—these two are about as compatible as an anglerfish and a pachycephalosaurus.

I give up. Love really does drive people insane.

I… I don’t understand it. Yujin Kim does not understand this nonsense.

Do whatever you want, you lunatic. I’m going back to working on tanks. Yujin is just a baby. Babies shouldn’t have to deal with love and war…

The moment I gave up trying to rationalize this madness, my highly tuned survival instincts kicked back in, blaring alarms.

“Pack your bags.”

“Bags?”

“I said pack your bags for the Philippines! You messed with the Chief of Staff’s woman—you’re getting shipped off overseas, whether it’s the Philippines or Panama!”

“I told you, Louise isn’t Pershing’s woman!”

“Like anyone’s going to believe that, you idiot!”

“You dare call me an idiot—no matter who you are, Major Kim—”

“Enough! If you don’t want to be forced out, request a transfer immediately!”

Damn it. Now that I know, I’m in trouble too.

If I run to Pershing and tell him, that’s a problem. If I pretend I don’t know, that’s also a problem. Who knows how far the old man’s fury will spread after having his woman taken by a subordinate?

There’s no choice.

I have to run too.

Sooner or later, a massive mushroom cloud is going to rise over the War Department in D.C., and everyone caught in it will be finished.

If someone gets their woman stolen in their own house, there’s no way they’ll stay rational. Schemes and strategies won’t matter. When someone’s gone mad, the only smart move is to run.

I should start writing my transfer request to the Philippines right now.

***

“Captain Kim—no, Major now, right?!”

“Kim! Over here!!”

The War Department, Washington D.C.

I had come to request Marshall to send me anywhere—anywhere outside U.S. borders—but I was ambushed.

By bandits.

No, seriously—when did these two become so close?

Faced with the bizarre duo of Chaffee and Patton attacking together, I had no choice but to be dragged away like a beauty kidnapped by King Kong.

Could you maybe just pretend you didn’t see me? I’ll even write you a song—“Chaffee and Patton are the best~ rolling tanks over sand dunes~”

“Come, sit here! Take this!”

I didn’t even bother hoping for tea. I was handed a hip flask full of alcohol and immediately took a swig. There’s no way I can deal with these two sober.

“What is it you need?”

“What do you mean, what! Now that the entire nation is cheering for tanks, this is our chance to protect them from those damn infantry bastards!”

“A swift offensive is the essence of a soldier. This is our opportunity!”

Please lower the volume. My ears hurt.

Captured by these bandits, I calmly explained that I also didn’t want the tank corps to be disbanded and that I was doing everything I could.

“To be honest, I thought you were going to back out.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, even if you had, I wouldn’t have blamed you. With Pershing acting like that, we’d be the crazy ones to oppose him! Hahaha!”

“This may be rude to say, but the General’s gotten old—he’s fallen behind on modern developments! How can he look at what we accomplished and still dismiss tanks?!”

Chaffee and Patton, now practically soulmates, took turns praising tanks and cursing the Army.

“So, do you have any good ideas?”

“Nothing I’d call an idea. I’m just a major—what can I really do?”

“Hm…”

“Though… there is something of a complication.”

“What is it?”

“Congress has summoned me.”

“Congress??”

That’s right.

At last, the perfect conditions for making my escape had been prepared.

After days of blazing debates over the new National Defense Act, Congress finally accepted that further investigation was needed.

More precisely, they needed new testimony—something that would let them take a step back.

And after repeated discussions, they decided to summon me as a witness—the one who first proposed the concept of tanks and proved their effectiveness in actual combat.

The stakes just kept getting bigger. This was getting dizzying.

Stepping into the spotlight had never been my hobby, but if I stayed in D.C., I’d either end up as a spectator—or a sparring partner—in the storm of rage Pershing was about to unleash.

Might as well go out with a bang, light the grand finale, and then fly off to the Philippines.

I had originally prepared something to bring this exhausting tank debate to an end, but unexpectedly, Congress calling me in gave this “secret weapon” a new purpose.

The moment I reveal this in Congress… it should be quite the spectacle.

“Congress, huh… things are taking a strange turn.”

“Junior! Make sure you speak loudly and clearly to those congressmen!”

“Don’t worry. I was planning to.”

The finale’s already loaded.

Only after enduring a barrage of repeated instructions did I finally get released—and at last, I was able to meet the esteemed Marshall.

“Are you overdoing it? I heard you’re scheduled to appear before Congress.”

“Just prepare my next assignment. Somewhere far away. The Philippines sounds perfect.”

Pershing, newly appointed Chief of Staff, had delegated most routine duties to his subordinates.

As a result, Marshall’s workload had skyrocketed.

Of course, countless people coveted that position. The Marshalls had even moved into the residence next to Pershing’s official quarters. It was impossible to measure how much power he now wielded.

But looking at the mountain of paperwork piled on his desk, ambition gave way to fear—when would someone in that position ever get to leave work? Honestly, I’d refuse that job even if offered.

“The Philippines?”

Marshall frowned immediately.

“What about your child?”

“What choice do I have? I’ll go alone.”

“It’s common for soldiers, but… what made you suddenly change your mind? Just recently, you were trying to stay stateside.”

“Well, since I’m appearing before Congress anyway, I figured I’d burn myself out protecting the tank program. Besides, having at least one overseas deployment would look good on my record. A few years away might even help reset things.”

Of course, Marshall had no idea what was happening beneath the surface.

But he must have sensed that the situation had shifted—from “abolish the tank corps” to a dead-even fight.

“Is this because of what I said before? When I told you to focus on tanks, I didn’t mean you should damage your career.”

“I know. But… there’s also my sponsor to consider. And honestly, it’s been weighing on me.”

“…Very well. I’ll look into a good posting for you. Just—don’t do anything strange in Congress. I’m asking you. Absolutely not! Understood?!”

If Marshall said he’d handle it, that was as good as done.

That meant my exit plan was secure.

“Are you listening to me?!”

“You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of troublemaker.”

“Troublemaker?! You’re a walking disaster!”

Not much faith in me, huh.

Have a little trust, will you?

***

Some time later.

I stood before hundreds of United States congressmen, taking an oath.

I was nervous.

This was my first time appearing in the U.S. Capitol. Being the center of attention for hundreds of politicians—each with who knows how many schemes coiled inside them—was always a burden.

And this issue was entangled with all sorts of complicated interests.

“Major Yujin Kim. You are here today to testify regarding tanks of the United States.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“We also understand that you were heavily involved in the development and production of the M1917 tank supplied to the U.S. Army.”

“That is correct.”

“Have you ever received money or favors from the Ford Company, which produced these tanks?”

“Hey, shut up!”

“The Democrats are spouting nonsense again!”

“You think we’re here to ask that?!”

“As if you didn’t take your share too!”

…Yeah. Total chaos.

This is more like it. Now it finally feels like the Congress I know.

“After I first proposed the concept of tanks, Ford approached me to bring that concept into reality. From then on, we cooperated to develop the world’s first operational tank. That is all.”

“So you’re saying you were properly compensated?”

“Hey!! Cut the barking already!”

“What does that even have to do with this matter?!”

Amid the shouting erupting from all directions, I calmly nodded.

“That’s correct. I received a great deal from Ford.”

“You admit that?!”

“Of course. Ford provided the world’s first standardized tank, and with it, we were able to save the lives of American sons—my precious subordinates. As an officer paid with the taxpayers’ money of the United States, I believe I received the greatest compensation possible.”

Time to fence with my tongue.

Go ahead, Congressman—by your logic, you’ve just declared yourself the kind of trash who values money over soldiers’ lives.