Prelude (3)
Two tanks.
Ten infantrymen riding in three "armored cars."
And another ten cavalrymen.
Patton took command of the cavalry, and once the infantry assigned to the tank I was dragging around got mixed in, a truly dreadful… no, dazzlingly luxurious mixed unit was born.
The struggle between the General Staff and frontline units over who would "own" future assets had already reached its peak.
Patton and I were just the beginning. Tanks, armored cars, trucks, aircraft—everything—had turned into a golden apple the moment someone asked, "So which branch does that belong to?" and everyone's eyes started spinning.
This bizarre hybrid unit of mine and Patton's was also the result of two miraculous lines of logic colliding:
"Armored car = car = means of transportation = basically a steel horse, right?"
and
"Tank = moving pillbox = obviously belongs to the infantry."
Of course, I wasn't really in a position to complain since I'd helped spark this in the first place—but now that I actually had to command this monstrous chimera, I felt like I was choking.
"Ugh, it's hot as hell. Lieutenant, let's take a break."
The soldiers were sprawled out openly. Anyone looking would think they were construction workers on a lunch break, not soldiers.
We'd taken a bunch of complete strangers, lumped them together, and suddenly two lieutenants from different units were their commanders—no wonder all that came out of their mouths was nonsense.
Yeah. This feels like my U.S. Army.
"Alright! Men!"
As Patton shouted loudly, the guys who had just been blinking blankly finally began to turn their heads.
To begin with, we weren't even their official commanders—just temporarily "borrowing" them—so discipline was a complete mess. It was obvious what they were thinking: Why should we bust our asses just so you can rack up achievements?
"From this moment on, you men will become, together with me, Patton, the righteous hammer that protects innocent civilians—"
"Can't we take a nap first and move out later?"
"Yeah, yeah. Let's get a quick siesta in before we go."
Did they come to Mexico and pick up siesta culture too?
Caught between Patton, whose enthusiasm was overheating, and soldiers who had none at all, I stepped in to mediate.
"Alright, alright. Let's calm down. The bandits will probably be napping during the day too, so wouldn't it be easier to hit them then? So just a little more—"
"Since when does some yellow monkey get to butt in while people are talking?"
This bastard just cut everything off and went full throttle.
Damn it.
Hearing "yellow monkey" thrown at me out of nowhere made my blood pressure spike so hard I couldn't even respond.
The very thing Chairman Ford and my father-in-law had worried about—it happened the moment I got my first chance at something resembling command. Even though I'd anticipated it, actually facing it left me speechless.
But there was someone here who acted faster than words.
"You bastard!!"
BAM!
Patton launched himself forward, delivering a kick and immediately began pummeling the soldier's head. It all happened in the blink of an eye.
"You piece of shit pulling insubordination like this! How dare you call an officer—someone above you—a 'yellow monkey'!"
"Argh! Agh!!"
"You got a brother or sister?"
"I—I have a sister—"
"While Lieutenant Kim became the first in U.S. history to graduate from West Point and be commissioned as an officer, has there ever been a single 'first' in your pathetic life? You weren't even the first to be born out of your mother's womb, and you dare talk about 'yellow monkeys'?!"
The beating didn't stop. Neither did the rapid-fire verbal abuse.
"When you die, it's just a casualty report and done—but if Lieutenant Kim dies, there'll be a big obituary in The New York Times! You worthless idiot! Just because you lucked into white skin doesn't mean you get to strut around like that!"
"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"You. I'm watching you today. If we go out and you don't kill even a single one of those taco bastards, I'll have you court-martialed. Got it?!"
"Yes, sir!!"
"You lot! Did your balls shrivel up?! Aren't you going to respond?! Do you understand or not?!"
"Understood!"
In an instant, Patton beat one man senseless and seized control of the entire unit. Even I couldn't help but feel intimidated by his sheer force.
While I stood there stunned, he brushed off his uniform and approached me, whispering in my ear.
"Lieutenant Kim."
"Yes, sir."
"You may have a gentle personality, but conversation is something you have with people. With ignorant grunts like these, how long do you think it'll take before they recognize you as their superior?"
It was a brutal, merciless argument.
Gentle personality? Ike and Omar would laugh themselves to death hearing that. But to Patton, this must have seemed gentle enough.
He clenched his fist with a cracking sound.
"Shut up and beat them. Intimidate them, knock the spirit right out of them. If you want to act like a commander, without that damn white skin, it'll be much easier for you to use your fists before your words."
"…You didn't have to demonstrate it personally."
"What are you talking about? If I wasn't going to do at least this much, there'd be no point bringing you along."
He spat on the ground.
"I need that tank, and I need you. Don't waste time pretending to be modest—it just pisses me off. Let's get ready to move out. Go deal with those guys however you want—play nice or act like an asshole. But if you can't take control of the unit, I'll kill you myself."
"Understood."
This overwhelming, hyper-masculine presence…
I could almost understand how that mad dog with a broken personality would one day become a four-star general.
As always, the mess a senior makes is something the junior has to clean up.
"Uh… sorry about that. I spoke out of line."
The soldier who had been beaten stepped forward awkwardly and saluted.
What should I do here? Patton had told me to intimidate them, but… I don't know.
I decided to follow Pershing rather than Patton.
"Are you badly hurt?"
"N-no, sir."
I extended my hand. After hesitating for a moment, the soldier took it, and we shook briefly.
"That senior officer has a bit of a temper. We'll be trusting each other with our lives, even if it's just for a short time, so let's keep things smooth."
"Yes, sir. I—I'm Private Brian."
"Good. As you can see, I'm Yujin Kim. My job is dragging around that hunk of metal."
I chatted lightly, shifting the soldiers' attention away from my damn skin and toward the impressive machine.
"So that's the new weapon? It sure moves fast—"
"Once you see it breathing fire, you'll be pissing yourselves while praising it. You guys are incredibly lucky. You'll go down in history as the first soldiers in the U.S. Army to fight alongside tanks."
Seeing its imposing form, the soldiers all started chattering excitedly, like: "The guys riding that thing aren't dying anytime soon."
Looks like things were roughly under control. It was time to move out.
After ordering a final inspection, I headed toward the small hut where Patton was waiting.
The strongest U.S. Army!
Suppressing Mexican bandits and displaying its might!!
Those who invade the United States shall pay the price!
I casually tossed the newspaper—plastered with chilling headlines—onto the floor.
"The strongest U.S. Army," my ass.It's even more cringeworthy than "Invincible Lotte." I'd bet good money that a U.S. narcotics task force raiding Mexican or Colombian cartels would be far more competent than the 1916 U.S. Army.
Completely indifferent to my inner despair, Patton—about to see his first action—was grinning from ear to ear now that no soldiers were watching.
"How are the men?"
"I've got things more or less under control."
"Good. That's a relief. I've told you many times—you tend to think too much with your head."
Is that why you act like some kind of berserker?
"The battlefield is ever-changing. Bastards who just stand around with their hands behind their backs, twirling pens, will never earn the soldiers' trust. Especially in your case—if those idiots start thinking too much, they'll go, 'Huh? Why's a yellow monkey above me?' I guarantee it."
"Heh… wouldn't they accept it if I prove myself through ability?"
"If they had the brains to accept that, why would they be in the army? They'd be doing something else out in the world!"
That's not something a soldier should be saying, you lunatic.
The thing that drove me the most insane about working with this man was that he clearly could think and speak like a normal person—yet deliberately chose to act like a deranged middle-school edgelord.
Was he a psychopath pretending to be sane? Or a sane man pretending to be insane?The fact that I couldn't tell was eating away at me.
And yet, every now and then, wisdom like that of a sage would slip in between his streams of lunatic nonsense. Which meant I couldn't just tune him out entirely. Truly… an incredible man.
"This, gentlemen, is what you call an aerial photograph!!"
As if my thoughts didn't matter in the slightest, Patton spoke proudly, like he had taken it himself.
"Right here! We've obtained the astonishing information that those damn bandits have holed up here."
Our target was some tiny rural village.
We couldn't confirm whether Pancho Villa himself was there, but at the very least, even this primitive aerial photo showed armed Mexicans moving around the village.
More precisely, when the plane flew over, bullets started flying up from all over the place—which confirmed that there were Mexicans down there who didn't exactly like the U.S. Army.
"Yes, yes. We've already verified it through locals. Could you translate again?"
"Understood. According to them, the Villista bastards have settled in the village and are causing all kinds of trouble."
As if they had been waiting for our advance, three young men from that village volunteered to guide us.
"They're harassing the women, drinking up all the alcohol in the village, and constantly threatening people with guns. The villagers are desperately waiting for the U.S. Army to come and save them."
Of course, I could speak Spanish. I'd spent four years stuck together with Anastasio, after all.But the subtle differences between Mexican Spanish and Filipino Spanish meant that the moment I opened my mouth, my Southeast Asian accent would probably shock these Mexican guys. And frankly, even I had to focus a bit to fully understand them—so bringing a translator along was easier.
More importantly… these guys were suspicious as hell.
"Figures. Just like proper bandits—looting, murder, arson, rape. It's all in their nature."
Patton nodded as if it were obvious.
But I wasn't so sure.
Pancho Villa.I don't know much about Mexican history, but even someone like me—who knows almost nothing about Mexico—has heard that name. A 20th-century Robin Hood figure who brought down a government… would someone like that really allow behavior that destroys all public support?
Of course, it's entirely possible that his underlings are the real scum.But still… waiting for the 'liberating' U.S. Army?
From that point on, it started to smell like a scam.Mexicans waiting for Americans? That's like Koreans welcoming the Japanese army.
"Shouldn't we conduct a more thorough investigation?"
"Junior Kim. I do value your meticulousness and sincerity."
Patton shook his head.
"But you see, intelligence ultimately comes down to whether you choose to believe it or not. If these men are truly innocent Mexicans seeking our help, and we respond with intimidation and interrogation, who will help us next time?"
"That's true, but—"
"I won't deny it feels off. But! Even if it's a trap, we just crush it with force. No matter how much those taco bastards use their heads, they'll just end up getting themselves killed."
That was so like Patton.
"If there's a trap, that just means the enemy is waiting for us. If we approach carefully enough, what remains is tactical skill, superior firepower, and individual fighting spirit. A half-baked ambush will just turn into their own graveyard!"
BANG!
Unable to contain himself, Patton slammed his fist down on the table.
"Whether they're telling the truth or not, we have to search that place anyway. So we go! As the commander, I've made my decision. Prepare to move."
"Understood."
I saluted, and Patton returned it.
It was time to move.
"Alright, let's go!! Time to kill some tacos!!!""Move out! We're moving!"
Patton, riding in an armored car, clung to a mounted machine gun while shouting at the top of his lungs.And I, mounted on horseback, stayed tight beside the tank.
No matter how you looked at it, it felt like the two of us had our roles swapped—but regardless, this ragtag, patchwork unit somehow set off toward the village where the enemy awaited.
With absolutely no idea what lay ahead.
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