Chapter 113
Grinning Army Maker (7)
“Tanks are the pride of the United States!”
“We are the first nation to invent them—and the first to standardize them!”
“Your patriotism is lacking! I created this new weapon solely out of a desire to serve the United States—!”
“I’m telling you, our tanks are insanely good! Seriously, seriously! Do I have to swear on my mother for you to believe me?!”
Ah… my throat hurts.
After talking nonstop for hours, it feels like it’s burning.
Standing there and speaking for so long, I felt like I was going to collapse—but at least these congressmen weren’t shooting at me like the Germans did, so that was something.
Congress was absolute chaos. A full-blown marketplace.
“Tanks are our pride and dignity! Abandoning them is absolutely unacceptable!”
The ones riding the patriotism wave.
“How can members of Congress be swayed so easily by the trashy sensationalism of low-grade newspapers? Why did tanks suddenly become the pride of the United States in the first place?!”
The skeptics.
“If businesses thrive, the nation thrives! Now that we’ve become a leading nation in tank development, shouldn’t we at least preserve our domestic tank industry? Who’s going to buy tanks we don’t even use ourselves?!”
The ones who’d taken their share of bribes.
“With the money invested in tanks, we could accomplish far more! That same budget could equip our soldiers with much better rifles!”
The ones who’d taken bribes from the other side.
“Is it true that the Reds are coveting our tanks? Henry Ford has shown left-leaning tendencies before—could this be part of a Soviet plot?”
The anti-communist parrots.
Yeah… this is what you’d call total pandemonium.
But thanks to the suffering of my throat and legs, I managed to grasp the core undercurrent running through Congress.
If things had deviated from the predictions my father-in-law and I made, this could’ve ended in complete disaster—but fortunately, the atmosphere was exactly as expected.
Back when no one cared about tanks, they were just a trivial matter that could be discarded without a second thought.
But once the public began to see tanks as something valuable, politicians turned them into a tool—a stage upon which to display their beliefs and ideologies.
After hours of desperate arguing, aside from the hardcore opposition screaming “Get rid of tanks!”, the moderate opposition had converged on a single stance:
“Fine. If tanks really are a source of national pride, then we should protect them—to some extent. If that’s truly the case.”
That—right there—was exactly what I wanted.
Forget budgets, positions, efficiency, reforms—all that complicated nonsense.
Neither the supporters nor the opposition had any real insight into military strategy. They just wanted to look intelligent.
And for these congressmen, who were desperate to appear smart, I had prepared a “weapon” from across the Atlantic.
“Next, I would like to submit evidence to the honorable members of Congress.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Some members have expressed concern about citizens placing excessive pride in what may simply be a weapon. I believe this concern is thoughtful and valid, so I sought expert opinions—and I would like to present their responses.”
The opposition immediately showed discomfort at the unexpected development.
But those who had benefited from Ford, those whose districts housed tank factories, and those eager to convert this patriotic wave into votes welcomed it enthusiastically.
“Let’s hear it first!”
“If it’s not convincing, we can simply disregard it!”
“Order, order! Major Kim, what are these materials?”
“Two letters.”
I slowly began reading the first.
“To the honorable members of Congress of our allied nation, the United States. My name is Henry Beauvoir Lisle.”
“Who’s that?”
The murmuring began. Perfect.
“I served as commander of the British 29th Infantry Division at Cambrai in 1917, and I personally witnessed the performance of your nation’s tank battalion…”
“Wait! That’s a personal letter! It’s invalid!”
“How is the opinion of a foreign general a ‘personal letter’?!”
“Since when do we listen to foreign officers? This is an infringement of sovereignty! We don’t need to hear from the British!”
“Just listen first before arguing!!”
Lisle’s letter was straightforward.
The difficulties faced by British tanks at Cambrai.
The remarkable performance of the U.S. 326th Light Tank Battalion.
How bravely they fought—and how many British soldiers they saved.
He stripped away personal emotion and laid out only the facts, explaining in clear, concise terms what American tanks had accomplished in the Great War—so that even civilians could understand.
Thank you. Truly, thank you.
It couldn’t have been easy for a foreign general to send such a letter, but when I asked for help, he responded without hesitation. I’ll repay this debt someday.
The next letter was read without interruption.
“The following is a letter from General Charles Nollet of France.”
General Nollet—who had hosted a medal ceremony for our 93rd Infantry Division after Amiens—sent a letter that was unmistakably French: overflowing with emotion, lavish praise, exaggeration, disdain, and bewilderment all mixed together.
“—Therefore, tanks will never disappear from future warfare. Our great French Army is already producing tanks that rival those of the United States, and we are actively researching future armored warfare. Should your nation abandon tanks, France would gladly acquire such facilities at an appropriate price—”
“Those damn baguette bastards are eyeing our tanks now! This is your fault! Yours!”
“If we get overtaken by those frogs, we’ll lose the European market! It’ll damage the prestige of the United States!”
“And you call yourselves congressmen, swayed so easily by a single individual’s opinion?!”
“No—you’re the one who took bribes and tried to sell out our national pride!”
With two foreign experts effectively saying, “American tanks are excellent—we admire them,” the moderate opposition’s position completely collapsed.
Now they had only two options: scramble for a new argument in an unseemly panic—or nod along and pretend to be wise and reasonable.
“With such clear evidence, it does seem that this new weapon—American tanks—had a significant impact on the war.”
“Ahem. Had this been presented earlier, the discussion wouldn’t have dragged on so long.”
“My apologies. This is my first time standing before such distinguished members of Congress, so I was somewhat nervous…”
After a few exchanges of hollow politeness, most of them chose a dignified retreat.
“Even if forming large, corps-level tank units is unrealistic from a budgetary standpoint, at the very least, I believe the United States Army should continue to demonstrate investment in this new weapon.”
“Any congressman worthy of leading this nation must naturally encourage the legitimate activities of entrepreneurs! If we have a product with clear superiority over other nations, we should actively promote it!”
“If we bundle tanks together with other weapons, it would become the greatest gift we could offer pro-American nations!”
At some point, every single congressman had possessed themselves with the spirit of a “defense expert,” passionately arguing as if they had been born clutching the Stars and Stripes—each one declaring how best to serve the national interest.
Leaving that spectacle behind, I stepped out of the Capitol, clutching my pounding heart.
I won.
***
The new National Defense Act passed both houses without delay after a few adjustments.
The Tank Corps could not avoid dissolution, and its fragments being absorbed under infantry units went exactly as planned. I never expected to preserve a corps-level structure in the first place.
Instead, the Army established an “Experimental Mechanized Division”—a kind of doctrinal unit—and within the War Department, a research division dedicated to armored warfare was created.
In truth, that division was the spiritual successor to the Tank Corps and would become the core brain behind the future mechanization and armoring of the U.S. military.
The scope of what the Experimental Mechanized Division would handle was vast.
Tanks were only one part—there were trucks, heavy equipment, and even early-stage concepts like infantry fighting vehicles and armored cars, whose demand was only just beginning to emerge.
The moment a profitable opportunity appeared, military contractors swarmed in like flies, lobbying with everything they had. In the end, even in this harsh era of military downsizing, it led to a slight increase in the defense budget.
Those companies that invested in The Sun must be raising their glasses in celebration by now.
“I’ve got myself a new job! Thank you so much!”
Chaffee grinned from ear to ear, eagerly stepping up to take the lead in launching the Experimental Mechanized Division. A lifelong dream fulfilled—no wonder he was thrilled.
Patton, too, was desperate to join—but nope.
Unfortunately for him, he was destined to remain in the cavalry for a few more years. First, he’d have to graduate from Leavenworth.
The reason Chaffee and Patton’s fates diverged was simple:
- Any officer who served as an instructor at Leavenworth between 1919 and 1921 would be considered to have completed the course.
MacNair and I benefited from this new rule, but for Patton—too bad. Follow the proper procedure. Haha!
“Junior.”
“Still bitter about it?”
“No… not that. But… are you okay?”
I wasn’t dumb enough to miss the concern hidden beneath Patton’s blunt tone.
I couldn’t exactly say, I’m completely screwed, could I?
“Who’s going to complain when we managed to squeeze more budget out of them?”
“That’s true. I heard you applied for overseas deployment—take care. By the time you return, I’ll probably be in the armored branch. Don’t fall behind and regret it! Hahaha!”
Right.
Saying something like, I’m fleeing overseas because I accidentally witnessed a top-ranking officer’s love interest passionately entangled with my friend and now fear bloody retaliation, would be… a bit much.
Especially when that top-ranking officer once ditched his own fiancée—who also happens to be said friend’s sister—for another woman.
“Take care. Wherever you end up.”
“What could possibly go wrong? Don’t worry.”
We parted with promises to meet again, and I went to see Marshall.
“Yujin Kim.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve… once again… caused quite the incident. General Pershing himself has assigned your next mission. Did you, by any chance, do something to offend him?”
…What?
Marshall’s reaction wasn’t what I expected at all.
“You requested the Philippines, didn’t you? Denied. There’s a task that only you can handle.”
“And what would that be? This sounds unsettling.”
“To promote goodwill with foreign nations, Major Kim—you are to spread our nation’s advanced military technology, namely armored warfare, and strengthen relations with the target country.”
Dressed up nicely, but in plain terms—
He wants me to be a salesman.
Go sell tanks.
…Maybe this isn’t retaliation after all. Honestly, I am the most suitable person for it. At this point, no one in the world has more recognition, understanding, and sales capability when it comes to tanks than Yujin Kim.
The tank we’d be selling, of course, was the M1917—the one that rolled across the battlefields of the Great War. Potential buyers would likely be the newly formed nations after the Treaty of Versailles.
Czechoslovakia? Poland? Europe wouldn’t be bad.
“You’ll be going to Japan.”
“…What?”
“Japan. We’ve received another enthusiastic request from them. Go relax there for a few years.”
Japan. Japan. Japan. Japan. Japan…
The word echoed in my head.
No… no. This isn’t a disaster.
Two years ago, when I sliced Wilson to pieces politically, going to Japan would’ve been like stepping into the jaws of hell.
But now?
Dr. Lee is under my influence, leading the Provisional Government in Shanghai, and the U.S. and Japan are in a delicate situation—outwardly snarling, inwardly cooperating.
Going to Japan now isn’t dangerous at all. If anything, leaving Dr. Lee alone feels riskier—might as well drop by and tighten the leash a bit.
“The request came from the Navy—or rather… from much higher up.”
“Higher up…?”
“In Washington, the great powers are currently gathered to discuss naval disarmament. But the Japanese—no one can quite read their intentions.”
Marshall’s sharp gaze locked onto me.
“I’ve heard you have a connection with Tōgō Heihachirō. You’re to go and determine their true intentions.”