Killing Pigeons (3)
My throat felt dry, so I lifted the teacup and drank. The tea had long gone cold.
Kim Kyu-sik and Nguyen Ai Quoc couldn't even touch theirs.
More accurately, they weren't in the state of mind to do so. Not right now.
"So… we were never even considered from the beginning."
"At a table where they discuss how to divide up the defeated nation's remaining assets, do you think anyone would accept the idea that even the victors should empty their own pockets?"
After a long moment of contemplation, Kim Kyu-sik suddenly lifted his head.
"Thank you for your words."
"Are you going back?"
"Yes. I must return. I will go to Paris."
So it comes to this.
But what came out of his mouth next was not what I expected.
"I am well aware of the harshness of this world. But those victorious nations still claim to be democracies, do they not? If we sincerely appeal, there will be citizens somewhere, unseen, who feel revulsion at the atrocities being committed."
"…That's true."
"A democratic nation reflects the will of its people. Even if the dignitaries in Paris ignore us, if our cry can win the support of even a single person, then I will gladly shout for Korea's independence at the top of my lungs in Paris."
A battle of public opinion.
For an independence activist of a fallen nation, that was all he could do right now.
I couldn't help but admire that unyielding, noble resolve.
"I understand."
"May I ask you one more thing?"
He asked, and I nodded.
"Will you then follow President Wilson's orders?"
"Are you asking a soldier to defy the orders of his nation's head?"
"That is fair. I have spoken out of turn."
"The most I could do was… request a delay in carrying out that order."
"A delay?"
"Yes. Perhaps one or two years. Who knows? Diplomacy is ever-changing—my planned visit to Japan might fall through at any time."
Or perhaps a change in administration might cancel it altogether.
At that, Kim Kyu-sik allowed a faint smile to form.
"So you weren't particularly pleased about it either."
"Didn't I say? Korean blood flows in my veins. Before I even entered the academy, there were truckloads of Japs whose teeth I knocked out."
"Haha! That is a relief amidst misfortune. To be honest, I feared you had no interest at all in the plight of Koreans."
I'm not that heartless.
I simply don't want to lose what I currently hold. And I believe that me joining the independence army now would help Koreans far less than me participating in the Pacific War later.
Of course, if they didn't know the future and only heard what I was saying now, most Koreans would probably think the same.
If I went around saying, "Just endure twenty years and Truman the Father, LeMay the Son, and Patman the Holy Spirit will descend, mushroom clouds will rise over the islands, and Korea will be liberated," I'd probably get shot as a traitor advocating autonomy. It's ridiculous.
"As I said earlier, diplomacy in this world is simply the act of suppressing and exploiting other nations for one's own national interests—just carried out in a slightly more refined manner."
"That is certainly true."
"The United States' core interests lie in the Pacific and China. If those core interests are threatened, the U.S. will eventually pick up a club."
He seemed to understand immediately, even before I could elaborate further.
"Then Japan as well?"
"The Japanese Empire, to use their own words, is currently… rising like the sun. Isn't it obvious where all that overflowing energy will be directed?"
"Manchuria. And beyond that, China."
"Not yet. It's still far off—close to ten years, at least twenty. But before I retire, I believe those two nations will inevitably clash with their very survival at stake."
"Then I will wait for that day to come."
Nguyen Ai Quoc, who had been quietly listening, finally reached for his teacup.
"Then may I ask one question as well?"
"Of course."
"The future of Vietnam—how do you think France will act?"
"The French sometimes fight not for profit, but for pride."
My medal proves that. A symbol of their pure desire to spite the Anglo-Americans.
"But France is clearly declining. Though they won this war, they could never have defeated Germany on their own."
"This time, at least."
"It may still feel far away, but someday France will have to choose: an honorable withdrawal, or a muddy struggle. And the France I know tends to choose the latter."
"Thank you. I have learned much."
I spoke in general terms, but he seemed to understand perfectly. In truth, this was all the advice I could offer.
As the two men began to rise, I quickly went into my room and tore out two checks from my checkbook.
"Please, take these."
"What is this—? The amount is far too large."
"Given my position, this is the most I can do to help. Paris is expensive—use it for your expenses."
"Thank you for your assistance, General."
And with that, the two independence activists departed.
When would I ever see them again in my life? The only comfort I could offer was money, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
A few days later, Kim Kyu-sik came to see me again.
"General! General! Have you heard the news?!"
"Yes. I saw it in the newspaper."
The March 1st Movement had begun.
****
Day by day, small columns in the newspapers carried reports about a civil disobedience movement unfolding on a distant peninsula on the other side of the world—and the brutal suppression that followed.
Independence activists, including Kim Kyu-sik, were busy day after day condemning these atrocities.
Now it was time for me to choose my course.
The March 1st Movement would lead to the establishment of the Provisional Government of Korea, and depending on how much I involved myself with it, my future plans would change significantly.
Soon enough I'd be leaving this post anyway, but for now, I was still a brigadier general in the United States Army. If I meddled clumsily in the independence movement, it would only cause problems. The safest approach would be to support it at the level Irish-Americans did—nothing more.
In that case, the first idea that came to mind was secretly supporting Ahn Changho. Laundering funds? That's easy—just borrow a few skilled accountants from Chairman Ford's excellent team.
But Ahn Changho was also one of the strongest tools I had for projecting influence within the Korean community in San Francisco. It felt like too much of a waste to hand him over to a fragile provisional government that might collapse at any moment.
In the end, if I wanted to take real action, returning to the mainland was urgent.
My base—San Francisco—must already be in turmoil over this. I couldn't stay in Europe forever. My father would be handling things well enough, but it was completely different from managing it myself.
Absolutely, absolutely not that I'm just trying to avoid work by thinking about other things.
Right now, my friends and I were drowning day after day in an endless stew of administrative work, and clearing it was my duty.
"Omar."
"Yeah?"
"Why am I looking up the price of French dairy cows?"
"One of our unit vehicles hit a civilian's cow."
"Really? Then can't we just buy them a new cow? This is annoying—can't I just pay for it out of my own pocket?"
"What kind of nonsense is that? The driver has to attend a court-martial, we have to process the loss of the destroyed vehicle, and we need to meet with the local mayor and—"
"Aaaaaaah!"
"Haji! Your superior is trying to run away! Catch him!"
The fundamental problem was that no one had expected the war to end.
Well—of course, I knew.
But I hadn't realized how important it was to announce the exact end date. More precisely, even while constantly cursing the U.S. Army as a pseudo–great power, I still had some lingering trust in it.
There had been no plan.
Not even a vague paper plan for demobilizing soldiers if the war ended in 1918.
Everyone had assumed the war would end the following year—even the Germans themselves. Who could have imagined the empire would turn to dust like Thanos snapping his fingers?
As a result, the American Expeditionary Forces' stay in Europe dragged on.
In truth, even if there had been a plan, we likely would have had to remain anyway because of the Spanish flu. Sending millions of troops back to America in that situation? I'd bet a dollar the transport ships would turn into ghost ships.
On top of that, news from Congressman Curtis gave me a headache.
—As you know, elections are coming up. Some congressmen seem to prefer that millions of voters likely to vote against them just stay in Europe. Anyway, get back safely.
With this kind of cesspool unfolding in the rear, the demobilization of 3.7 million troops was inevitably slow, and officers of a country that prided itself on small government were being worked to the bone.
"Our friends at the War Department estimate that about 150,000 men can return home each month."
"150,000?"
"That means it'll take eight months to send 1.2 million troops home."
"That's right. Even excluding occupation forces, it'll still take quite some time. We also need to select units for the victory parade in Paris."
A victory parade!
Everyone's eyes lit up.
Hmm, poor things. How pitiful, never having experienced a victory parade. Oh dear, oh dear.
Of course, the chances of the 93rd Division getting a second parade in Paris were… extremely low.
"Our 93rd Division will step aside."
"Hm."
"Are you sure about that, Brigadier General Kim?"
"We should exercise the virtue of yielding."
There was no longer any need for me to stand out—I thought it best to send my soldiers home as soon as possible.
And so, I was steadily achieving my personal goal of leaving while the applause still lasted.
Meanwhile, back in the homeland, debates raged daily over a far more important issue than demobilization:
"What should the postwar U.S. Army look like?"
Secretary of War Baker and Army Chief of Staff Peyton C. March proposed maintaining a force of 500,000 troops, built around one army and five corps. Under this plan, if war broke out again, the U.S. Army could quickly mobilize to a full strength of one million.
Congress, however, didn't like the idea at all.
Five hundred thousand? Hadn't they done just fine with 100,000 before the war?
But March was too much of a soldier to skillfully negotiate with Congress, Baker was gradually losing influence, and Wilson was fully focused on the Paris Peace Conference and the League of Nations, showing little interest in reorganizing the army.
Pershing? He chose neutrality, acting as a mediator. And stationed in Chaumont rather than Washington, there wasn't much he could do anyway.
And so, the lessons the U.S. Army had learned through bloodshed in World War I slowly began to fade into ashes.
As always—then and now—nothing matters in front of money.
To relearn those lessons, it would probably take another world war. Yes… that sounds like the U.S. Army I know.
That line of thought naturally led to the next question.
If the members of Congress, who didn't even want to maintain a 500,000-strong standing army because of costs, were making decisions—
what kind of plans did they have for the future of discharged soldiers?
My answer: none.
They probably weren't thinking about it at all.
And as for my men—my Black soldiers—there would be even less consideration.
But if I could create jobs for veterans, build a political support base, and make money at the same time?
That would be… incredibly sweet.
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