Chapter 36

To Europe (2)

After a long voyage, I finally arrived in Europe.
At last, French soil—

“Welcome to London, you yellow monkey!”

…Wait, why London?

Before I could even process my confusion, those ugly British bastards grabbed me and shoved me straight into a dressing room, dressing me up like some Chinese eunuch.

“Now then, Shaman America! Hurry and deliver your prophecy!”
“Declare before that crowd that the British Empire will win!”
“O Oriental shaman! Would you like a crystal ball?”
“Wave your hand! Wave! Say ‘London! London!’ nice and loud!”
“Aaaagh! Get lost! All of you, get lost!!”

“—Major? Major, sir?”
“Y-yes!”
“We’re almost there! Please prepare to disembark!”

…Ah, shit. A dream.

Maybe the tea-scented delusions of those British bastards were so disturbing that I dozed off and ended up in the world they wanted.

July 11, 1917.

I finally set foot in Saint-Nazaire, France.

Europe.
The land of longing.
The land I had so desperately wanted to reach.

Unlike the Europe I had seen through a 21st-century monitor, the Europe of 1917 felt suffocating, wrapped in massive dark clouds.

A heavy atmosphere. A strange, stifling density, as if something ominous was about to happen.
All of it blanketed the city—no, all of France.

“Are you… Major Yujin Kim, sir?”
“That’s correct.”
“Orders from the Expeditionary Forces Headquarters—report to Paris immediately.”

Paris? That’s not where the headquarters is.

I nodded as he continued.

“July 14 is France’s Bastille Day. A battalion of U.S. troops will march to boost French morale. It seems you’ll be joining them.”

I had no idea how Europeans would react to me.

But as long as it wasn’t Fu Manchu… no, as long as it wasn’t Fu Manchu or some shaman nonsense, I’d be fine.

Filled with tension and unease, I headed to Paris—and soon encountered some very familiar faces.

“Well, well! Look who’s here—Major Yujin Kim.”
“Hahaha! Our Major is here! Incredible!!”

Waiting for me were Marshall and Patton.

Wait—why are those two together?

And sometime while I wasn’t looking, Patton’s insignia had become that of a flashy captain. Well, it was wartime—everyone was getting promoted left and right.

“We were just talking about you. There’s quite a lot to discuss.”
“You brought that red hat, right? I’d love to see Lieutenant—no, Major Kim whip those owls into shape.”
“I left it at home. You don’t expect me to train troops here too, do you?”
“You will.”

I had left the red hat at home.

I figured there was no reason to bring it all the way to Europe. I mean, why would I wear that? It’s not like I’m desperate for attention. I already get more than enough just for having yellow skin.

But surprisingly, while Patton might joke around, I had never seen Marshall lie.

Which meant… that was serious.

No way… were they seriously going to make me drill recruits here too?

“As you know, aside from the Marines, the only U.S. unit in France right now is basically the 1st Division.”
“It’s unbelievable. What the hell was Washington thinking, sending these idiots and calling them soldiers? Damn it—how does it make sense that they don’t even know how to shoot?”

It just kept getting worse.

Why don’t they know how to shoot? Easy.

Because there were no rifles in training camps. They carved wooden sticks and went bang bang for practice. No grenades either—so they threw potatoes.

How could they possibly be properly trained?

The reserve officer training I had done with Marshall before was practically elite by comparison. Those guys had actually paid a “participation fee” because they wanted to go to war, so at least they had real bullets to shoot.

As for soldiers trained purely on government budget… I didn’t even need to see it to know how bad it was.

“Damn it. I asked them what they learned in training, and they said drill. I asked about shooting, and they said they played with wooden sticks. No matter what… these guys represent America’s face. Isn’t this too much?”
“We’re even redoing their drill from scratch. They have to march in two days, but they can’t even keep step. This is supposed to be the elite U.S. Army marching down the Champs-Élysées.”

And unbelievably, this was already the best battalion they could scrape together.

There was even a hint of regret in Marshall’s voice.

“So! What we need right now is your remarkable ability!”
“…What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
“One day! Just one day. Get them marching in step!”
“Exactly. A man who became our superior overnight—Major Kim—should be able to handle that easily.”

Marshal, sir… a man destined to become a general and even Secretary someday shouldn’t be acting like that. You’re scaring me.

But what choice did I have?

“My junior, are you really going to keep wasting time? This is the moment the United States needs you!”
“…Understood. I’ll do it! Just one day, right?”
“That’s right! I promise I won’t bury you as a training officer!”
“Still, I should report in first—”
“Stop yapping! I’m the unit commander! You’ve shown your face to me—that counts as reporting!”
“At least I should pay my respects to General Pershing—”
“The real respect you can show him is making those useless bastards march properly. Besides, he’s practically bedridden thinking about showing those idiots to the citizens of Paris tomorrow.”

…Damn it. This rotten West Point system. The class hierarchy is absolute garbage.

I couldn’t withstand the pressure of a senior six years ahead of me. And Marshall nodding along beside him just made it worse.

Just you wait, you owls.

“Come on! Show us! Show us!!”

Stop rushing me. I told you, I didn’t bring the hat.

But our madman Patton rampaged through Paris and somehow managed to find a bright red baseball cap.

And the moment I put on that damned hat and sunglasses, the Hartman Kim I thought had completely disappeared inside me came back to life.

“Oh ho… so that’s how he drills them.”
“He seems even harsher than before.”
“I should learn this. Just look at how hard the troops are working—it’s like he was born to be a drill instructor.”
“Not exactly. You just throw him a deadline and push him to the limit. He’ll handle the rest himself.”
“But shouldn’t we assign him to staff? There’s not much to push him to the limit with—”
“Don’t worry. There’s more than enough work.”

I can hear all of that!

Damn it. I never imagined Marshall was thinking like that. No wonder the missions he kept giving me were getting more and more hardcore.

It reminded me of a game I played in my previous life. A game where if you somehow won, it would go, “Oh, you won that? Great—now team up with even worse players and beat even stronger opponents.”

That was exactly what Marshall looked like right now.

Anyway, I turned into a rabid dog and drilled them like my life depended on it. Patton, who had been watching, got interested and started joining in himself. Somehow, we managed to barely reach the minimum passing standard.

“Is it… finally over…?”
“Well done. As expected, someone who makes Major in just two years after commissioning is something else.”
“Please stop. This rank insignia comes with a long story.”
“Alright! Why stay here any longer? Let’s go grab a drink!”

After wrapping up the soldiers’ training and overseeing their final preparations, we naturally headed to a bar open to U.S. officers.

And that’s where I finally heard the exact reason I had been brought here.

“You did that… there?”

“That’s right! I bravely stepped forward and told the General—‘Sir, please spare me just five minutes. The future of the United States depends on this!’”

“From what I heard, the General told you that if you needed to piss, you could just quietly step out.”

“What?! You’re leaking classified information like that?!”

It was surprising that Field Marshal Haig had that book, but then again, this was the British Empire—an empire obsessed with war. They must have gotten their hands on it by any means necessary.

But something didn’t add up.
How did Patton know about it?

“Sir.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“Where exactly did you hear about that book—”

“Your classmate told me! I got injured while I was in Mexico and had to fall back to the rear. That’s when I happened to hear about it.”

“Who was it?”

“His name? What was it… he had this really old-fashioned, aristocratic vibe—”

“Van Fleet?”

“That’s it! That guy! He was grumbling a lot that in your book, you only wrote ‘VAN’ for his name. That’s when I heard all sorts of things.”

…Sigh.

At last, I found the culprit. That loose-lipped bastard.

“You know what’s even crazier?”

Marshall, who had been quietly swirling his drink, suddenly spoke.

“This guy apparently interrupted General Pershing—who was in the middle of talking with a field marshal—and just started rambling. Saying things like, ‘Yujin Kim wrote that book, but apparently he’s written an even more incredible report!’”

“I never said it like that. I said, ‘General, Second Lieutenant Yujin Kim, who carved through the Mexican desert with me and achieved remarkable feats for the United States, has written a report that will go down in history—’”

“That’s enough. All the vulgar parts are gone, and now it’s just piled high with weird embellishments. Anyway, this ridiculous guy hadn’t even seen your report but kept insisting.”

“Well, a hero recognizes another hero! If a man like Yujin Kim—whom I know well—wrote a report after leaving such a legend at West Point, then of course it must be extraordinary!”

…Honestly, only Patton could pull off something like that.

He didn’t even know what was in the report, yet the moment he heard I wrote one, he just went straight to General Pershing and blurted it out. Sure, it helped me—but I really want to crack open that guy’s skull and take a look at his brain.

“So the reason you made it safely to Europe is aaaall thanks to me! Hurry up and raise a toast!”

“Yes, yes. I am eternally grateful.”

“Haha! That’s more like it!”

Me—still without an assigned position.
Patton—serving directly under Pershing, eyes blazing as he organizes the U.S. forces.
Marshall—assigned as staff to the 1st Division, suffering through endless hardship.

I didn’t know what lay ahead, but at least having reliable people around me was reassuring.

“This is the reality of the U.S. Army.”

General Pershing spoke as if whispering, but to us, it sounded like thunder.

We drilled them again and again, and somehow managed to get through the march without disaster.

But that was it.

The elite French troops marched proudly, bayonets gleaming, their ranks perfectly aligned.

Meanwhile, the “elite” U.S. troops barely managed to keep formation, marching awkwardly in sloppy, unimpressive order.

The whole point of this parade was to show the French people that American forces had arrived—to inspire them.

But what unfolded before our eyes was something that would make even uninformed civilians think:
“These second-rate powers are the ones replacing Russia to help us?”

“It’s fine. You did what you could.”

The fact that even Patton was offering comfort… that alone confirmed how bad things really were. My chest tightened.

“General, Second Lieutenant Kim—who once restored the glory of the United States alongside me—has now returned as a Major. Before long, we’ll take the Kaiser’s head and present it to you, so please don’t worry!”

“That’s exactly why I am worried.”

“…Pardon?”

Honestly, it would’ve been better if he had just kept his mouth shut. Patton was definitely the type who made things worse when he talked.

“Major Kim.”
“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve written a rather… terrifying document.”

“I will correct it!!”

“Correct it? Nonsense. It reads as if you’ve seen the future. Use that insight and foresight well.”

As if frustrated, he lit a cigarette.

“I still don’t understand why those people in Washington didn’t show it to me earlier… though I know the circumstances. Originally, General Funston was supposed to command the Expeditionary Forces, but it suddenly changed to me, so there must have been confusion.”

“This battlefield will devour the blood and bodies of countless of our soldiers. Just as it has consumed the British and the French. That is precisely why we need a guiding light to lead us down the right path.”

Pershing tapped my shoulder.

“You can provide that light. Do your best.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Good. Then let’s have you shine that light right away. We’re about to have a rather heated meeting with those French frogs—you’ll accompany us. After that, I’ll send you roughly wherever you want.”

That’s not a guiding light—that’s just fire.

Are you telling me to burn brightly?

“…Understood.”

When ordered, you obey. I know that well.

At the very least, General Pershing wasn’t the type to toy with people over things like this.

That one fact alone was enough to bring me a small measure of comfort.