Chapter 77

End (2)

4:30 a.m., November 4, 1918.

Sirens rang out across the United States, and countless newsboys rushed into the streets.

“Extra! Extra!”

“The war is over!!”

“Victory! We’ve won!!”

Startled awake by the sudden sirens—wondering if it was a bombing, if the enemy had invaded—citizens wept with joy at the unbelievable news.

Now that the war was over, they could return to the happiness of the past.

Prices had doubled compared to before the war. Eggs that once cost 30 cents a dozen were now 60 cents.

Either bring prices back down, or double wages.

Otherwise, the citizens were more than willing to show the “power of labor.”

But for now, it was time to celebrate victory.

Confetti, flowers, and streamers fluttered throughout the streets, and massive American flags adorned the triumph.

With everyone pouring out into the streets, offices were empty, and shops displayed signs reading: Closed to attend the Kaiser’s funeral.

And everywhere, citizens carried portraits and giant effigies of Kaiser Wilhelm II—the wicked leader of the Huns—and burned them in blazing flames.

“Die, Kaiser!”

“The enemy of democracy is dead! We are free now!”

Coffins for the Kaiser appeared all over, and people carried them while singing and dancing merrily.

“Kaiser portraits for sale!!”

“Kaiser busts for sale! Cheap, cheap! Smash them to your heart’s content!”

Amid this overwhelming frenzy of cheers and madness—

The capitalists leading the United States had begun a quiet conspiracy.

“Now then, there’s no need for us to fight among ourselves, is there?”

“Of course not. There’s business to be done.”

Henry Ford, who had risen as the eye of the storm in the business world, lit a cigar as he watched the lively celebration unfolding below.

“This victory in the war was, of course, achieved through the bravery of soldiers at the front—but we businessmen also did our utmost to support the war effort, did we not?”

“There’s a great deal of money to be collected from the Germans.”

“It’s been a difficult few years.”

In 1914, when the war suddenly broke out, the financial districts of London, Paris, and New York were thrown into chaos.

As the world’s most powerful nations entered wartime, international financial transactions and trade—Germany–Britain, Germany–France, Germany–America—were all completely cut off.

But a mere war could not stop these ruthless warriors of capitalism. Now that the troublesome war was over, they had to return to business.

Settle old debts, collect newly accumulated payments.

Who was responsible for goods ordered by Germans that couldn’t be delivered due to the naval blockade?

Who would compensate for the vast quantities of military supplies destroyed by German sabotage?

Patent fees were only a small part of this immensely complex and massive undertaking.

And Henry Ford was one of those who had made enormous profits from the war.

“Let’s bring in the British and the French as well.”

“That would certainly make things easier.”

London and Paris were in the same situation, after all.

If financiers in silk hats from all over the world gathered and balanced their ledgers, it would be much easier to calculate the final bill.

In any case, one thing was certain—

The invoice headed for Germany would be quite a hefty one.

“By the way, Wilson should calm down now, shouldn’t he?”

“Of course. You’d think he was a Kaiser, not the president of a democratic nation.”

“To suppress free enterprise like that—unforgivable. He’s a red, a red!”

“He’s going around talking about some League of Nations… ‘international,’ he says. Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing reds love?”

“He’s trying to sell this country out to communists. I’m certain of it.”

Every one of them ground their teeth in frustration.

Just like the universally hated Kaiser, President Wilson would also be receiving a rather thick “bill.”

***

“Well, well, look who it is. The man who never showed his face once during the entire war! Oh my, Brigadier General! Thank you for coming!”

“You’re talking pretty well, so I guess you didn’t get shot in the head.”

I dropped a gift basket beside Patton’s bed.

This guy’s insane, seriously.

A man who got shot in the leg insisted on stubbornly writing reports in the rear before even going to the hospital—when I heard that, I was dumbfounded.

Let me be clear: I am absolutely not a Patton-type. If there were two lunatics like him in this world, it wouldn’t be a place for humans—it’d be something like Fist of the North Star.

“Did you think I’d die?”

“Of course not. Even if the devil came to take your soul, you’d beat him up.”

“Exactly. My fate hasn’t allowed me to die yet. You rode in my car, didn’t you? You must’ve felt it—ah, Senior Patton’s overwhelming aura protecting it from bullets!”

Wow, I’m so grateful.

I won’t deny that the damned car he “lent” me carried his aura.

That bloodthirsty machine—which had once driven around dragging corpses during the Pancho Villa expedition—had now rampaged across France in this war, even earning itself a name.

Right. I should use this as an excuse to Dorothy.

I didn’t want to go to the front at all—the car, possessed by Patton’s resentment, mind-controlled me and sent me into battle—

I quickly shook off the nonsense and took out a large cake from the basket, lighting the candles.

“What’s this?”

“Who else but someone as kind, virtuous, and attentive as me would remember your birthday like this?”

“Ah, my birthday, is it? Ha! You managed to get a cake in the middle of a war.”

“The war’s over now. You’ve even got a star—wouldn’t it be disappointing if you couldn’t get a single cake?”

I glanced at the rank insignia he’d carelessly tossed aside—very much like him.

“You’ve even made colonel now.”

“Damn it. If it weren’t for this injury, I’d have taken a Jerry’s head and earned my star! Just you wait, junior! This won’t last long! Once ranks reset, I’ll work you like a dog. Beg and cry all you want—it won’t help! I’ll make you grovel for mercy!”

“When have I ever looked down on you? Have you ever seen a brigadier general respectfully calling someone ‘senior’ like this?”

“You’re looking down on me right now!”

“That’s because you’re lying there like a useless lump when a guest came to visit!”

Ah, this is annoying. Senior or not, I really want to punch him.

The moment he blew out the candles, I shoved a piece of cake into his mouth. Better keep him busy eating than talking.

“Mmm. Tastes good. Those frog-eaters really know how to make cake.”

“Good. I was about to smash it into your face.”

“What a terrible junior. Now then—time for a post-meal smoke.”

What is he, a dog? The second something goes into his mouth, he’s already insisting on going out. It’s hard to believe this man is over thirty. Maybe he’s not in his thirties—maybe he’s just a bratty toddler.

Ignoring the glares of countless doctors and nurses, we slipped out through the hospital’s back entrance.

The moment we stepped outside, Patton casually held out his hand.

“What is it?”

“Give me one.”

Right. He’s eaten—time for a post-meal smoke.

“Why not just smoke inside?”

“If I smoke inside, it stinks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“You should give me a light too.”

“I’d really like to kick you once—mind if I do?”

Deep breath. Deep breath.

I remained standing while Patton plopped down onto the bench, taking the cigarette I handed him.

As he drew in the nicotine, the excitement faded and calm returned.

As expected, nothing steadies the mind and body like the holy trinity—alcohol, caffeine, and nicotine.

He tapped his leg and spoke.

“That damn bullet went through my thigh and popped out right next to my magnificent ass. If it had flown just a bit to the side, these fine jewels of mine would’ve been shattered. Gives me chills.”

“You’ve already got two kids. Would it really matter if one got smashed?”

“What nonsense! There should be at least three more heirs bearing the Patton name! To be fruitful and multiply—that’s the Lord’s command.”

“……”

“……I was only worried about my balls, but far more soldiers gave up their lives instead of theirs. They all died bravely.”

Patton exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

“The Meuse-Argonne… it was a real hellhole. I don’t blame the Jerries for fighting bravely. They were just following orders, doing their duty.”

“That’s true.”

“But because of half-baked desk jockeys who didn’t even understand what war is, too many brave men died for nothing.”

“What’s the point of regretting it now?”

“We need to replace the people at the top.”

His eyes gleamed.

“So—when do you think the next war will start?”

“The next war? This one just ended.”

“Don’t lie to me, you birdbrain.”

The bastard smacked my precious backside. That spot’s reserved for Dorothy—what’s some outsider doing putting his filthy hands there?

“Out of everyone in this hospital, there isn’t a single person whose smile has faded since the armistice. Men, women, kids, old folks—everyone.”

“Of course. The war’s over.”

“Right. Except for you.”

The war-crazed lunatic was staring straight at me now.

Eyes filled with expectation and anticipation.

“So, when do you think it’ll begin?”

Damn him for being so sharp. I hate perceptive people like this.

I took one last drag and exhaled into the air.

“Thirty years.”

“Thirty?”

“Twenty at the earliest. Thirty at the latest.”

It was late 1918 now.

The Second Sino-Japanese War—1937.

The invasion of Poland—1939.

And Pearl Harbor—1941.

History would not call this era a “time of peace.”

It would call it the interwar period.

Patton’s face lit up.

“Twenty to thirty years, huh. Interesting.”

“Aren’t you going to ask why I think that?”

“Why would I ask that? What, you want me to say ‘Yujin Kim is amazing!’ later on?”

“Do you have to twist everything like that to feel satisfied?”

“Hahaha! Even if I heard it, what could I possibly change?”

“Nothing.”

When I said it flatly, he smirked.

“Then all I can do is prepare for the next war. That’s what I get paid for.”

Leaving me with an uneasy feeling to the very end, Patton dismissed me.

As he said, there was nothing I could change.

Instead of exhausting the world’s madness, the First World War had only layered more resentment and hatred upon every nation.

I couldn’t create an age of peace—

But there were endless ways to make sure I profited.

***

But before lining my own pockets, there was something I had to deal with first.

“As expected, troop morale is scraping the ground.”

“Even an inchworm would be braver than the soldiers right now.”

At Bradley and Hayward’s grim report, I could only stare at the paperwork. There was nothing I could do about that.

“At this rate, we’d probably lose even to kangaroos.”

“I’ll bet three dollars the kangaroo wins.”

“I’ll put down five.”

“Wait, kangaroos live in Austria, right?”

I could smell gambling in the air—but I had to hold back. If I joined in, that’d be the grand opening of the 93rd Division Casino. And James, shut up already. Enough with the Habsburg Kangaroo Knights nonsense.

Managing a unit in peacetime was troublesome in an entirely different way than during war.

Now the soldiers had lost all motivation and passion—their only goal was to return home safely.

And honestly, I couldn’t blame them. The war was over, and they still couldn’t go home—it must’ve been maddening. If my discharge got delayed, I’d probably grab a grenade and storm division headquarters myself.

But once this loosened state turned into a breakdown of discipline, it would become a disaster.

Especially considering the environment where people were just waiting to gossip about “undisciplined Black troops,” it was unfortunate—but the only option was strict management to keep them from straying.

“Are we allowing leave and passes?”

“As you instructed, we’re rotating them.”

“Training… forget it. What training in this winter? Instead, let’s keep them too busy to get into trouble.”

Fortification work.

Civil assistance.

At the very least, sun-drying equipment or cleaning drainage ditches.

Anyway, there were endless ways to keep idle soldiers busy. Hm… I feel like I’ve become quite the villain.

After much deliberation, instead of sending the 93rd Division into Germany as part of the occupation force, I chose to pull them back to the French rear.

Fortunately, there was little resistance. In fact, everyone else was so eager for the “glory” of occupying enemy territory that they were visibly relieved the 93rd Division stepped aside.

Of course, it was a bit disappointing that I wouldn’t be adding a shiny “German Occupation Medal” to my career—but my record was already impressive enough that I didn’t need to cling to such things.

At this point, it was time to show a little generosity.

And above all, staying there would delay my return home.

Dorothy was one thing—but given the rapidly shifting global situation ahead, it seemed wiser to return to the United States as soon as possible.

The Treaty of Versailles.

The principle of national self-determination.

I didn’t want to get entangled in the distant affairs of the Far East just yet—but it was obvious that Korea and Japan would take a strong interest in me.

“So, who’s going to catch the kangaroo?”

“We need a kangaroo to start the game.”

“Anastasio, sorry—but when you head back to the Philippines, drop these idiots off in Australia.”

Idiots.