Meet the Japs
"Brigade, attention!"
The ranks of cadets aligned in perfect rows and columns.
"To the superintendent, salute!"
And a crisp right-angle salute followed.
Perfect.
With each individual's autonomy castrated away, bound together solely by calls and commands—
this was the very embodiment of the armed organization humanity had wrung from its wicked ingenuity: the military.
No matter how many curses we hurled inwardly at that principal who had gathered us all under this blazing sun just to drone on with another sermon, a soldier's duty, in the end, was to do as he was told.
Today, my true concern was how on earth I was going to survive this interminable lecture without dozing off.
"Additionally, let me make just one more request."
Don't push it, you chicken-brained bastard.
That's the third time you've said that.
"A state guest of our United States will be visiting, and they are scheduled to tour West Point."
We're screwed. Absolutely screwed.
A guest is coming here?
Just when I thought things might ease up a bit after beast barracks was over, now they're going to grind us down preparing to receive some VIP—didn't even need Blu-ray to see that coming.
Judging by the barely contained expressions around me, I wasn't the only fresh hatchling struggling to keep a straight face; from all sides came muffled sounds of "Kh-hm!" "Fu… khm!" "Ahem!"
Who in the world was so important that the superintendent himself was stepping forward to personally emphasize this?
In this era, a state guest usually meant royalty. The king himself… would be a bit much, but maybe a royal brother or someone of that sort, shaking hands with dignitaries in the name of fostering friendship between nations, touring here and there.
Suddenly, I was reminded of the time the ROK–U.S. Combined Forces commander visited the unit where I was serving. Back then, I felt like I wanted to kill myself about once every five minutes—
"You all are well aware of him. Our state guest is none other than the hero of the Battle of Tsushima, the legend of the Imperial Japanese Navy—Admiral Togo Heihachiro."
My drowsiness vanished in an instant.
Togo is coming.
This wasn't in my future knowledge! If I'd known, I would've enrolled next year at the very least.
Togo Heihachiro.
A true great commander of the Japanese military.
Honestly, when you roll the words "great Japanese commander" around in your mouth, it feels incredibly awkward.
Even thinking about it again, when someone says "great Japanese commander," the first name that comes to mind is the great independence activist General Mutaguchi Renya, followed by Tojo Hideki. And after a moment of self-reflection, if you seriously try to think of a real Japanese military genius, the first that pops up is the hero of Chilcheollyang, Won Gyun.
Anyway, if we're counting actual Japanese commanders instead of jokes like that, Togo Heihachiro unquestionably ranks at the top.
The man who sent the entire Russian Baltic Fleet to the Dragon King's palace, thereby leading Japan to victory in the Russo–Japanese War… a marshal?
My head grew complicated on its own.
Sure, I'd been muttering "kill the Japs" as casually as eating a meal, but that didn't mean I was ready to throw away my life as some independence activist for Joseon.
I know the future all too well. I know the Pacific War is coming, along with Tokyo-hot and a mushroom-cloud ending. Tagging along somewhere in that process and happily carving up Japs—that was a story for thirty years from now.
And yet, as if to test my thoughts and resolve—
a man who might as well symbolize the Empire of Japan was about to appear right before my eyes.
"Why have you been spacing out since earlier? You're not eating? Want me to eat it for you?"
"Get lost, James."
Even the way Van Fleet was eyeing my piece of bread irritates me right now. This lousy ration is mine. Mine, I tell you. My precious!
"He's been like that ever since he heard Admiral Togo was coming."
"Uh… is it really that serious?"
"Say one more boneheaded thing like that and you'll be checking the depth of the Hudson River. With your body."
"Why? What is it?"
The one who let out a sigh at that idiotic reaction wasn't me, but Bradley sitting beside him.
"James. Yujin is Korean.""Yeah. You think I didn't know that?""And Korea was annexed by which country?""Ah, I get it. If what I said offended you, sorry."
Even as he apologized, he continued talking.
"But still, I don't know. You know how it is, right? Soldiers just do whatever the guys upstairs tell them to do. That To-go guy wouldn't be any different. In the end, he's just a chess piece for the politicians. Why overthink it?""That's true."
Trying to explain to this guy just how far beyond common sense the Japanese military could be, or how utterly deranged the Empire of Japan was, would've made my jaw hurt.Come to think of it, even a hundred years later, wasn't the defining American trait—military included—
Since I didn't really respond and kept chewing my bread with a face like a rotting cucumber, Van Fleet's mood seemed to twist along with mine.
"Uh… what was it. If it really pisses you off, just shoot him.""What?"
"James. That's enough.""No! I'm trying to cheer him up in my own way."
God, my head hurts.It's not like I'm itching to put a bullet through Togo's skull in righteous vengeance. I'm just… unsettled. That's all.
"Hmm. James, if you give me a little help, I think I might feel better.""Yeah? What do you need?""This."
I grabbed a fistful of James's bread off his tray and shoved it straight into my mouth.
"Mmm. Now that I'm full, I do feel better. Thanks a lot.""Ah… my… my blood-earned meal…!""Relax. If I'm full, I won't feel like shooting Togo."
He's just too easy to mess with.
Maybe the reason I never made rank in World War II was because once you become one of the brass, you lose the freedom to curse as much as you like.
Offering an apology, in my imagination, to George Marshall—who had suddenly turned into a personality-trash villain—I stood up from my seat.
August 4, 1911.
Togo Heihachiro arrived in New York.
History is a fascinating thing—the passenger liner Togo sailed on was the Lusitania.
A few years later, during World War I, that very Lusitania would be sunk by a German U-boat, becoming one of the justifications for America's entry into the war.
World War I sent the Empire of Japan soaring, its prestige reaching its peak. And when that peak-born Empire of Japan made its fateful decision, it was the attack on Pearl Harbor. Thinking about that was enough to leave me speechless.
In truth, despite all the fuss I'd made in my head over the past few days, there wasn't really any point of contact between Togo and me.
A review ceremony was held for the visiting state guest at West Point, but naturally the stars of the review were the graduating seniors. They weren't going to parade freshly enrolled hatchlings like us out front, were they?
…That's what I thought. And then I fell into despair.
"Gentlemen. Our guest will be observing classes, but as always. As always. As always—do not pay special attention. Focus on your lessons."
He emphasized it three times.
I had no idea what was going on.
According to rumors I'd picked up, someone had said, "Rather than observing young men already prepared to become officers, wouldn't it be easier to grasp the essence of a West Point education by watching the fresh cadets who have just enrolled?"
If I ever found out who that bastard was, this time I was truly prepared to borrow Van Fleet's gun and plant a bullet of righteous lead squarely in his skull.
Not for a day or two, but for nearly a full week, Togo observed our classes nonstop. I'm going insane. I'm losing my mind!!!
When we were digging trenches with shovels.
When we were attending artillery lectures.
When we were riding horses in the grand new riding hall.
That damned Jap stood there every time, hands clasped behind his back, watching us.
No—maybe it was just my imagination, but it felt like he was watching me.
"Cadet Yujin Kim."
"Yes, sir."
And then one day.
Sergeant Mark, one of the instructors, quietly approached and whispered in my ear.
"The state guest wishes to speak with you. Follow me."
Fuck.
**
An open, secluded field.
Togo Heihachiro stood there.
After the minor formalities—salutes and courtesies for the distinguished guest—Togo spoke first.
"A pleasure to meet you, young man. This must be time as precious as gold—your break, I presume. Allow me to first thank you for sparing it."
His English was slightly stiff, but fluent.
"Not at all, sir. It is a great honor for me as well to meet Admiral Togo."
"It's just that, from the beginning, you caught my attention. Since setting foot in America, I've scarcely seen any Asians at all. So to find one here at West Point was quite remarkable. And a Japanese-American, at that?"
"That is correct."
"Hm… I would like to have an honest conversation with this young man. Would you excuse us for a moment?"
At Togo's request, the instructor hesitated briefly, then quietly stepped away.
"May we speak freely?"
As soon as the watching eyes were gone, he was already looking perfectly at ease—what was that question for?
"As you wish."
When I answered in Japanese, he blinked once, then took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.
"Hoh. So you can speak Japanese as well."
"Well, I've ended up as a Japanese-American, haven't I? It would be disappointing if I couldn't."
"Indeed. To be honest, my mistake. If you had been Japanese, it would have been splashed all over the newspapers back home. I assumed you were Chinese and called for you. It was only when you gave your name and rank that I realized you were a Joseon-jing."
He chuckled to himself, but I couldn't laugh.
"I am an American."
"Is that so? An American, of course."
"..."
"So then—don't you have anything you'd like to ask a lackey of invasion?"
"The United States and the Empire of Japan maintain a neighborly relationship of mutual benefit. The term 'lackey of invasion' seems somewhat misleading."
"…You sound more like you should be a politician than a soldier."
"My skin color tells me there are no positions waiting for me in Washington, D.C."
"Kh—khahahahaha!!"
He burst into roaring laughter, clapping his hands repeatedly.
"Ha. You're quite amusing. Yes—if you're a talented and ambitious young man standing alone in the world, then the military is certainly the finest choice."
"Thank you for your generous view of me."
"Have you ever considered coming to Japan? I'm quite serious."
The man who had altered the tides of history sharpened his gaze.
"The whites will never yield their places to the colored races. If there is one thing I learned studying in Britain, it is this: a 'yellow monkey,' no matter what he does, can never escape being a yellow monkey. Even after our Japan defeated Russia, we cannot escape that prejudice.
No matter how exceptional you may be—your skin! That skin alone makes you no different from a man bound in chains. Now is the time for the peoples of Asia to unite as one. How long must we endure exploitation?"
He clenched both fists as he spoke with fervor.
Prosperity for Asia.
A world for Asians.
This was even before the catchphrase "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" had come into being, and yet these people already spoke of "the Asian race" as naturally as breathing.
For others, perhaps hearing the "admiral who brought white men to their knees" speak like this might have stirred something in their hearts.
But I know the future.
The hellscape that lies ahead.
"Thank you sincerely for offering such an opportunity. However, I am a soldier of the United States."
"That is unfortunate. But learning through failure—that is the privilege of youth."
He looked at me as though I were the pitiful one.
But I found the admiral before me far more pitiable.
A mushroom cloud would one day rise over the nation he had staked his life to build.
Togo extended his hand for a handshake.
I reached out and took it.
A crushing grip.
As expected of a sailor—his strength was no joke.
It was, in its own way, a truly valuable encounter.
"Yujin's back!"
"So? What did Togo say?"
"Hurry up, hurry up!"
The moment I returned to the dormitory, a pack of broad-shouldered men started chirping like baby birds waiting for their mother.
Even the underclassmen whose faces still looked half-baked—and some upperclassmen too—were poking their heads out, unable to hide their curiosity.
"He told me to come to Japan."
"Traitor! We've got a traitor!!"
"Get lost. Why would I go to Japan? I grew up in San Francisco."
"…Right. That makes sense."
"Yeah, you idiot. Stop treating me like a foreigner."
Leaving a blank-faced Van Fleet behind, Omar walked up and gave my shoulder a couple of light pats.
"Good to have you back. Smoke?"
"Let's go."
Before I knew it, Ike, Van Fleet, and the other fools had drifted over as well, forming a quiet circle around me as we made our way toward the little wooded path.
That silent consideration meant more than any words could have.
This was where I belonged.
Author's Note
Togo Heihachiro's visit to the United States and his tour of West Point were real historical events.