Chapter 34

Opening (5)

U.S. Army Signal Corps, Aviation Section.

Major General George O. Squier began the meeting in an unusually upbeat mood.

Aviation had always been neglected.
The idea of an independent air force? Unthinkable. Officers who pushed for aviation independence had to endure endless disputes, legal complications, and bureaucratic hell.

America’s aviation industry? Practically nonexistent.
The giant companies that would one day dominate the skies didn’t even exist yet. While Europe’s aviation sector was rapidly advancing—fueled by the massive demands of war—the United States, despite being the birthplace of the Wright brothers, had nothing properly functioning in the field.

“The war has begun, and Congress will soon allocate additional funds to expand aviation personnel.”
“So… does that mean we get any actual freedom?”
“No.”
“…Figures.”

It had always been like this.
And it likely always would be.

But what could they do? Over in Europe, men were bleeding and dying, proving firsthand that the age of air power was coming.
Eventually, the aviation branch would grow—and someday, it would gain a voice.

“What do you think we need most right now?”
“Personnel. We urgently need more manpower.”
“No, aircraft come first. We can’t produce enough fighters or bombers domestically. We should train pilots and procure aircraft from Europe—”

The debate grew heated.

Then, unusually, Squier turned his attention to the junior officers tucked away in the corner.
Despite being in the presence of such high-ranking officials, they were whispering among themselves, nudging each other.

“Hmm. Perhaps it’s time we hear from the younger generation.”

He stood and walked toward them.

“Young men.”

“Lieutenant McNary!”
“Lieutenant Spaatz!”
“You seemed to be having quite an animated discussion.”
“No, sir!”
“Well, you’re the ones on the front lines. You must have your own thoughts. What do we need most right now?”

McNary and Spaatz exchanged glances.

For a brief moment, they communicated silently—then, as if resigned, they spoke in unison.

“What we need right now… is Yujin Kim.”

“…And so, we’d like to hear your opinion.”

Are all aviation people in this era completely insane?

Out of nowhere, a rickety World War I-era plane landed, kidnapped me, and now I was being given a briefing.

The only reason I didn’t consider this man a full-blown lunatic—but merely slightly insane with some social awareness left—was because his name was Henry H. Arnold.

Future General of the Air Force.
Father of the Air Force.
The very foundation of the force that would one day dominate the skies.

“I’ll skip the pleasantries. We need you in the Aviation Section.”

How the hell did that insane report of mine end up in Captain Arnold’s hands?

Weren’t the higher-ups supposed to have buried it somewhere?

At my question, Arnold smiled brightly.

“Do you remember Lieutenant Spaatz?”
“Yes. He was my roommate at West Point.”
“He made a copy! If something that good exists, of course it should be shared. Your vision of the future of aviation was… impressive.”

I’m not joining aviation.
Absolutely not.

If I go there, my father-in-law will show up with a double-barreled shotgun and say, “Son-in-law, if a plane crashes, you die. But if I shoot you, you’ll only lose your legs and live.”—and then actually fire.

And Dorothy would probably say, “Wow! Now that you don’t have legs, you won’t have to fly anymore!” and be happy about it.

No way.
Planes in this era are flying coffins. No parachutes, engines randomly failing mid-air—no matter what, I’m not getting on one.

After hearing my firm refusal, Captain Arnold nodded seriously.

“I see. Since you’re so adamant, we’ll have no choice but to assign you to rear duties.”

…Excuse me?

Did he even hear what I said? I’m not joining aviation at all.

“With all due respect, wouldn’t it be a problem if I’m not a pilot?”
“Of course. But your peers spoke very highly of your knowledge and insight. They say you’re exactly the kind of person who can build the backbone of this… rather combustible Aviation Section.”

Seriously.

When people describe aviation as “progressive,” they should cross that out and replace it with “completely unhinged.”

“…Did you think this was a suggestion?”
“…Yes?”
“Don’t worry. I just flew here because I was in a hurry. Your assignment orders have already been issued.”

He grinned and handed me a piece of paper.

What kind of ridiculous transfer order is this?

“I promised I wouldn’t keep you long. Just like you wanted—you won’t have to fly. Just give us some advice. Tell us what we need, what we should cut.”
“Who’s going to listen to a ‘yellow monkey’ like me?”
“Don’t worry. Since our founding, the War Department has never listened to us even once. We know better than anyone how frustrating it is to be ignored. We won’t ignore you. Trust me.”

I hesitated for a moment.

The transfer had already been issued. It seemed I’d been dragged into the future Air Force whether I liked it or not.

And honestly… I was getting tired of the red cap and running drills with recruits anyway.

“…Then… would it be possible for me to go to Europe?”
“…Hmm?”
“I really want to go.”

Arnold chuckled.

“Of course. Three months—that’s all we need. Just take a look around the Aviation Section, write a report, and we’ll adopt what’s useful and discard the rest. After all, you already nailed one insane prophecy—once you produce a second, the higher-ups will probably start investing heavily in aviation! Hahaha!”

This bastard.

So I’m just bait to secure funding?

…Well, whatever.

As long as I can get to the battlefield.

From the most unexpected place, my luck finally seemed to turn.

Of course, the first thing I’d do when I got there was kick the asses of that damn Spaatz and my former roommate.

Every empire in Europe stood on the brink of collapse.

In November 1916, Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria-Hungary—the symbolic pillar of the empire—died. With his passing, the fragile multiethnic empire began to shake at its very foundations.

His successor, Karl I, secretly initiated peace talks with France in March 1917—without informing Germany. When this was discovered, Germany was furious, realizing it could trust no one.

At the end of 1916, the German Kaiser dismissed Falkenhayn—the man behind the massive slaughter at Verdun—and appointed a new leader: Hindenburg.

January 1917.

Germany resumed unrestricted submarine warfare, accepting the risk of American intervention.

And immediately, Britain began to feel the noose tightening.

At the same time, in Britain, a series of political movements sought to impeach the wartime Prime Minister, Lloyd George.
Britain’s brave patriots had already been reduced to chunks of flesh in the trenches, and the only way to sustain the front now was to declare conscription.

In France, Marshal Joffre stepped down, and General Nivelle took command. Having defeated Falkenhayn at Verdun, he boldly declared he would end the war with a single, massive offensive.
But Hindenburg had already prepared a hellish defensive line—the one that would be known as the Hindenburg Line.

March 1917.

The Russian Revolution erupted.
One empire collapsed.

Yet the newly established Provisional Government chose to continue the war.
Germany responded by placing a bald man named Vladimir Lenin on a specially arranged train and sending him back to Russia.

April of the same year.

The Nivelle Offensive ended in catastrophic failure.

After the grand offensive collapsed, soldiers refused to return to the trenches, and massive strikes broke out in the rear.
The newly appointed commander, Pétain, was left with the impossible task of piecing the shattered French army back together.

And still, this mad war continued.

The people of Europe were already driven to the brink.
Either the last man would die, or the enemy would be annihilated entirely.
There was no such thing as compromise anymore.

And then—

The United States finally set foot in Europe.

Representatives of the U.S. Navy, visiting London, were met with a grim warning from the British:

“We are finished. If this continues past October, we will have to surrender.”

When Pershing arrived in Paris, he attended a briefing from the French Army.

Seeing the proud French—clutching at him, lamenting that they could do nothing more—left him suffocated.

And yet, at the same time, British and French delegations sent to Washington were displaying astonishing levels of incompetence.

Despite being allies, they came separately—and their demands were just as absurd.

“While we welcome America’s entry into the war… can the U.S. Army really fight properly at this stage? Just send us soldiers. We’ll incorporate them into the British Army and deploy them.”

“The U.S. Army certainly has the right to form independent units. But is it really necessary to build everything from scratch? It would be best for them to fight under the French Army.”

Of course, General Pershing, commander of the American Expeditionary Forces, had a firm stance:

“Hell no.”

He would never relinquish command.

Why should Americans bleed in someone else’s war under British command?

With that conviction, Pershing met for the first time with Field Marshal Douglas Haig, commander of the British Expeditionary Force.

“We express our gratitude for the United States’ decision.”
“To defend freedom and democracy from autocratic tyranny, the United States will fight to the very end.”

Once the formalities ended, the real discussion began.

Plans for the battlefield.
The chaotic situation.
A world teetering like a candle in the wind.

After a long exchange, Haig suddenly spoke.

“Come to think of it, there was a rather interesting book from your country.”

“A book?”
“Indeed.”

At his gesture, an aide placed a worn book on the table.

“I don’t know if it’s some kind of native shamanism of yours, but it’s quite remarkable. Written before the war, yet it predicts this madness almost as if possessed. Since your army’s capabilities are… well, we’ll leave that aside—perhaps you could send us this ‘prophet’ instead?”

“Hah. That’s not something I expected from someone so desperate for help.”

Pershing flipped through the book casually.

And at that moment—

Behind him, standing stiff like a wooden doll, Patton began fidgeting, creaking like a nutcracker.

Three seconds of thought.

Start.
End.

If Patton actually hesitated, he wouldn’t be Patton.

He made his decision—and boldly stepped forward, crossing the boundaries of what was permitted.

“Sir.”

“…Yes?”
“Sir, if I may have five minutes—”
“Are you saying that in the United States Army, even a mere aide can interrupt a conversation between commanding generals? How very uncivilized.”

Haig snapped irritably.

But Pershing didn’t even turn his head. He only looked at Patton.

“Sir, please—”
“Is it urgent? If so, you may step out quietly.”
“It’s not… about that. Just five minutes—”
“Very well. Field Marshal, I’ll step out for a moment.”
“Hah! Very well. Do take care of your health. Try not to soil yourself mid-command.”

Ignoring Haig’s sharp gaze, Pershing quietly left.

Three minutes later, he returned—wearing the satisfied expression of a man who had just relieved himself.

“That book you showed me.”

“Has it piqued your interest? If you’d like, we could even make him a royal court seer—just send us the author.”

“A royal court? That would give an American hives. Unfortunately, the author of this book is no shaman—he is one of the most brilliant young treasures of the United States Army.”

As he watched Haig’s rigid expression crack ever so slightly, Pershing continued:

“There is also a classified document he formally wrote… If it could be of even the slightest help to the British Empire, I would be most pleased. Would you be interested?”

If that “report”—which Pershing himself had not yet seen—turned out to be worthless, he was fully prepared to shoot this incompetent subordinate.

But until then, a good general trusts his men.

Glancing at the frozen Haig, Pershing lit a cigarette—
a smile of victory spreading across his face.

Request immediate transmission to London of the report authored by Lieutenant Yujin Kim.
— General Pershing, Commander of the American Expeditionary Forces Request positive consideration for temporarily assigning Yujin Kim of the U.S. Army to the British Army.
— Field Marshal Douglas Haig, Commander of the British Expeditionary Force Guaranteeing his personal safety in the name of the British Empire, we respectfully request that the author of “that report” be sent on the next transport.
— Prime Minister Lloyd George In response to your earnest request, once all procedures and duties within the United States are completed, Major Yujin Kim will be assigned to the American Expeditionary Forces at the earliest possible date.
— U.S. War Department