93rd Division, Ignition (2)
The beggar of Chaumont.
I never imagined my nickname would plummet from "Hero of Cambrai" to "Beggar of Chaumont."
But the 93rd Division has absolutely nothing.
In a situation like this, all I can do is desperately beg and scrape for whatever I can get.
As usual, when a pitiful yellow beggar like me comes pleading, people tend to treat me coldly.
But the moment I pull out my magical negotiation item—an ivory-decorated pistol borrowed from Patton—everyone suddenly becomes much kinder. Anyway, at least equipment and supplies are being secured bit by bit, so that's a relief.
Still, more urgent than materials is talent. My situation right now is like playing a Three Kingdoms game where your entire faction has no generals except the ruler himself.
Which is why I'm sitting here playing poker.
"Straight! It's over! With this—"
"Don't bet unless you're certain, didn't you know?"
When I revealed a hand filled with dazzling diamonds, my friend's face stiffened.
"No way, you lunatic—did you hide cards in your sleeve?! How does that even make sense?!"
"Ah, I can't hear the whining of a loser. Can't hear it."
"This is insane! How the hell did you—hey! You cheated, didn't you?! You got caught cheating back at the academy too!"
"If you don't like it, you should've caught me in the act. Don't be pathetic."
"Aaaaargh!!"
"Well, you're busted. As promised, I'll be taking this application form."
William Covel.
A brilliant classmate of mine who graduated at the top of our class.
And the man who's now supposed to come over as the chief engineer of the 93rd Division.
"This has to be a dream… Why am I—"
"Heh heh heh. Don't run your mouth, scrub. You're not about to go back on your word, are you?"
"I'm going! I'll go, you bastard! You demon! You want to ruin my career that badly?!"
"Ruin your career? You'll go down in history as a brilliant commander, skilled in both civil and military affairs, with real combat experience."
I tucked the application neatly into my pocket. Just look at him—his eyes are bloodshot like he wants to tear the paper apart right now. Scary.
"Hey, since you're coming anyway, I've got a favor—"
"What is it, you bastard!!"
"Artillery. Let's kidnap some artillery officers. Give me just three, and I'll tear up this paper."
"…Really?"
"Of course I'm lying. But seriously, we don't even have anyone to handle artillery. We don't even have field guns to begin with."
"To think I have to go to such a hopeless unit…"
Why is everyone looking at me like I'm some old sack-carrying bogeyman? What, you want to get thrown into the sack too?
When I slowly looked around with a gentle smile of "happiness," the onlookers quietly turned their heads away. Cowards. No courage to step into a glorious future with Yujin Kim.
At this rate, I'll have to put on an even more intense courtship dance for MacArthur.
If this unit is going to resemble anything close to a proper formation, we need an artillery regiment—a damn strong one. And when it comes to that, the only rope I can rely on is MacArthur.
Behind Covel, who was clutching his head in despair, I spotted Senior Benion faintly smiling at me.
Sorry, Covel. I played that game knowing all your cards.
If you're going to resent someone, resent Senior Benion—the one who sold you out because he didn't want to come.
***
"Welcome to France!!"
As I spread my arms in greeting, the two officers looked a bit overwhelmed.
"Pleasure to meet you. I am Colonel Yujin Kim, in charge of organizing the 93rd Division."
"I am Colonel William Hayward, commanding the 369th Regiment."
"I am Colonel Franklin Augustus Denison, commanding the 370th Regiment. It is an honor to meet the Hero of Cambrai."
Surprisingly, Denison was Black.
Yes—once again, Denison was Black.
I firmly grasped the hand of what was likely one of the very few Black field-grade officers of this era.
"I will be counting heavily on your support."
"I've heard there has been much discussion regarding the treatment of the 93rd Division—"
Colonel Hayward spoke in a low but firm voice, and I nodded.
"There are quite a few within the Expeditionary Forces command who are reluctant to use Black soldiers as combat troops. I won't deny that."
"We have come to shed blood for the United States. On behalf of all Black Americans, I want to make it clear—every Black soldier wishes to go to the battlefield."
"That is precisely why I am here."
At my firm words, their expressions brightened slightly.
"For now, I will make sure we form a fully equipped division—no matter what it takes."
"Is that even possible? I hesitate to say this, but… are there really that many officers willing to join this division?"
"Ah, I've already secured plenty of volunteers. No need to worry about that."
I didn't cheat.
There are plenty of volunteers.
They want fame and glory—and I can put all of that into their hands.
And the more white officers we have in this unit, the harder it becomes to single out and undervalue individual achievements. If any of them feel their merits are being judged unfairly, they'll run straight to Washington and raise hell.
"Please prepare training as soon as the troops arrive. I've already secured the supplies."
"…I see."
"And, well… never mind. For now, please proceed to Chaumont. Given the unique nature of this unit, we'll likely need to revise the training program quite a bit."
"We want to be treated normally!"
There was even a sense of desperation in Lieutenant Colonel Denison's voice.
Right. Words like "unique" or "different" must be the very ones that make people like him uneasy. I'm struggling with that issue myself.
How exactly am I supposed to squeeze combat results out of this unit?
With the miserable state of U.S. Army equipment, it's hard to implement anything I have in mind.
Machine guns, field artillery, trucks—nothing is satisfactory. Greek guns? Do they want to turn into ketchup before even reaching the trenches?
I did place an order for some B.A.R.s, but… who knows how much help they'll actually be. For now, I'll just do everything I can.
"Don't worry. I have no intention of discriminating. But I also don't believe the training back home was of much help."
"…Hmm."
"Those guys haven't even seen real combat, have they? Even now, headquarters in Chaumont is tearing its hair out over the fact that soldiers who crossed the ocean haven't fired a single shot."
"I've heard that Colonel Kim is exceptional at training recruits—"
"I'll personally take full command of the training. I'll push them so hard they'll want to die rather than continue."
At my words, both regimental commanders' faces turned pale. Maybe I should push a little further.
"They are already looked down upon. I'll remind them that they have nowhere left to fall. They have more reason to fight than any other American soldiers—and we will transform them into the strongest warriors!"
"…Very well. Seeing your determination, Colonel Kim, puts me somewhat at ease."
"Then please lead your troops ahead. I have other matters to attend to."
"Understood. We'll see you in Chaumont!"
After seeing them off, I immediately ran toward the idiots watching from afar.
Ah… I've been waiting for you. My beloveds.
"Yujin!"
"Whoa! Long time no—"
Thud!
First, a hearty punch of love straight to the gut.
Van Fleet, who had barely stepped off the ship before getting decked and rolling on the ground, twitched as his eyes spasmed.
"W-what the hell was that for…?"
"Why don't you take a moment to think about why you deserved that?"
That's for blabbing to Patton, you bastard.
Sure, it ended up working out in my favor, but I factored that in and let you off with just one gut punch. Otherwise, there'd be a nice little "Van Fleet Rock" sitting in the Atlantic by now.
Thud!
The sky suddenly filled my vision as I got hit in return, leaving me dazed.
Why? Why the hell did I just get hit?
What did I do wrong? Don't tell me he's jealous because I made colonel…
"You trained the tank battalion really well. As expected of you, Yujin."
"Ah, right? I put in quite a bit of effort—"
"So you turned them all into lunatics, you bastard?!"
No, that… that's Patton's fault.
I always act with reason and logic.
I tried to defend myself, but Ike—who had been tormented for years by the madness of Cambrai's maniacs—wasn't having it. Well, I do know their mental state got a bit… intense.
"Hey, why are you hitting our adorable Yujin? Thanks to him, I got out of that godforsaken mine. Thanks for calling me over."
As expected, Omar is the nicest one. The rest have all gone crooked.
While we joked around, Black soldiers continued disembarking from the transport ship under the command of the two regimental commanders.
Originally, these officers were supposed to become part of the 92nd Division, another Black unit—but I decided to take them all. At the very least, I need to form one complete division, don't I?
Due to various practical constraints, the newly formed 93rd Division ended up with white officers at the top and Black soldiers below. It couldn't be helped—there simply weren't any Black West Point graduates.
I can already imagine what people will say about this in the future… but it can't be helped. Those judgments will come much later, in history books. And rather than hearing, "They fought heroically but all died on the Hindenburg Line," I'd rather deal with accusations of discrimination and actually achieve results.
We crammed into vehicles and set off back toward Chaumont to prepare a proper welcome for them.
If this car crashes right now, how many future stars of the U.S. Army disappear in an instant? And I'm among them—what an honor.
"So, what exactly are we supposed to do?"
"Everything."
At my short answer, everyone's expressions turned sour.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"This feels like we're getting ripped off…"
"If this gets recognized later, you'll be seen as versatile, all-around talents. Just endure it."
"What about rank?"
"I'll make all of you majors."
"Loyalty! Loyalty!"
"Now that's friendship—and patriotism!"
They sure switch attitudes fast.
Well, now that they've come this far, they know there's no turning back.
Meanwhile, in the world of the higher-ups, all sorts of chaotic maneuvers were unfolding.
Since the 93rd Division was a National Guard unit, its freedom of movement was heavily restricted. The easiest solution would've been to use the 92nd Division, which was part of the Regular Army—but that division didn't even have soldiers yet.
To deal with this ridiculous situation, I had no choice but to beg the higher-ups again. I had also agreed to cooperate with Black organizations, and since every department considered Black troops a "problem," I figured they'd conveniently dump them all onto me.
"For now, I've secured a fair number of junior officers. The capable ones, I'll promote quickly."
"That makes sense."
"Ike."
"Yeah."
"Would you be willing to serve as chief of staff—"
"No."
Ike cut me off sharply.
"The battlefield. Field command. No exceptions! You said I'd be going to the front, and now you want to stick me behind a desk?"
"No, but—"
"Don't argue. Why not let me do it instead?"
"Ha! That's the Omar I know. Feeling generous—Major, here we come!"
Handing out ranks like they're freebies—this really is something. Is this what power feels like?
"Then what about me?"
Van Fleet had originally been a machine gun company commander.
"How about commanding a division-level machine gun battalion?"
"A battalion commander? That's a bit much… But isn't chief of staff and battalion command pushing it?"
"What are you talking about? There is no battalion."
Looks like he misunderstood something. I never said the battalion already existed.
"If you want to be a battalion commander, you'll have to organize and train it first. There's nothing right now."
"What? Then after we build it?"
"Then we move on to forming a regiment."
"…Damn it. Then what do we have right now?"
"You guys don't have time to slack off. You'll have to create everything from scratch. Engineers, signals, military police, logistics… we don't have anything."
As my friends—who had thought they were simply coming to lead Black troops into battle—finally realized the true state of the 93rd Division, the volcano reached its limit and erupted.
"Hey! You're asking us to die with you!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! The car's shaking! It's gonna flip!!"
"You dragged us into a death trap!"
"No, I meant we'd rise to success together—"
"Die! Just die!! I'm the idiot who trusted you and crossed the Atlantic! Just die already!!"
Sorry, guys.
If this fails, all our military careers are screwed anyway.
So let's just give it everything we've got. Heh.
***
"Shall I send the telegram like this?"
"Yes. Send it immediately—urgent priority."
"Understood, Colonel."
The man who received the note from Colonel MacArthur immediately went into the room to send the telegram.
[Press restriction lifted. Immediate publication requested.]
He packed tobacco into his pipe.
Public opinion going forward, the reaction of Black Americans, the backlash from white supremacists, the response from politicians—
"Let's see how the people move. Just wait until then."
The conclusion in his mind had already been reached.
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