Milk, Blood, and the Blue Star (4)
Bang! Bang-bang-bang!!
"Don't shoot! We're unarmed!"
"Everyone back to the shantytown! Get inside immediately!"
"Don't hesitate! Push them back! Defend the United States! Protect the nation from the Reds!!"
"They're after the President's life! Do not fear—do not hesitate!"
"Fix bayonets! Charge!!"
"Waaaaaaah!!"
July 27, 2:30 PM.
The suppression operation of the United States Army began.
Thick black smoke rising here and there was swallowed by the white haze of tear gas filling the city, while screams, wails, pleas, and sobbing drowned out even the heavy rumble of tanks.
"Why must you be on-site, Chief of Staff? Please return immediately. You are not a field commander!"
"Yes, I am not a field commander. But the United States is in danger."
Despite the desperate plea of his aide, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Douglas MacArthur did not so much as blink.
"Do you think crushing this Red conspiracy will bring eternal glory? Not at all."
"…Sir?"
"One day, political enemies will use this very incident to attack me. And when that happens, do you expect MacArthur to hide behind his subordinates like a coward? Never."
He continued calmly.
"The glory of today—and the curses of tomorrow—I will have them all fall upon MacArthur alone. For that, I must be here."
For a brief moment, Eisenhower considered deploying the ultimate anti-MacArthur tactic he had learned from Yujin—driving a punch straight into his gut—but he couldn't bring himself to break the man's stubborn resolve.
Back then, Yujin had been of equal rank when he knocked MacArthur out cold. But for a mere major to strike a sky-high general… the consequences were far too terrifying.
"And one more thing."
"Yes, sir."
"You said those rioters are holding Yujin."
"I still find it hard to believe. Shouldn't we verify further?"
"If it's not detention, then it's collaboration. Are you claiming Yujin has joined the Reds?"
"I think that binary thinking is the mistake."
MacArthur didn't answer that directly.
"Regardless, if they are cornered, they may very well put a gun to Lieutenant Colonel Kim's head."
"…If, as you say, they are truly holding him hostage… then yes."
"If that situation arises, who among the suppression forces could take responsibility and make the decision? Patton?"
"…Not him."
This time, Eisenhower answered without hesitation.
"Exactly. Only MacArthur can make that call."
If—if—
The rioters were pushed to the worst possible decision.
If they held a United States Army officer hostage and threatened public authority—
No one here would be able to make a rational judgment.
That was why he had to be here.
Even if he would be resented.
Even if he had to hear the screams and grief of Kim's wife and children at Arlington National Cemetery—
He had to make the right decision for the nation.
"I still can't accept this. Something feels off. If you give me a little time, I'll go and confirm the situation myself."
"Now that the operation has begun, I doubt it matters… but go ahead."
Eisenhower saluted and immediately headed toward the police lines in the distance.
MacArthur tried to pack tobacco into his pipe, but his hand slipped, dropping the pouch to the ground.
It fell upside down, spilling all the tobacco, and the fierce wind scattered it in an instant.
"Heaven won't even grant MacArthur a single puff of tobacco."
For some reason, the omen weighed heavily on him.
***
The horrific sounds from beyond the bridge.
The protesters, who had been preparing to march across toward the White House, were suddenly exposed to one-sided violence from the suppression forces. Terrified out of their wits, they fled back into Hooverville.
"Mom! Mom!! Mooooom!!"
"Doctor! Is there a doctor?!"
"Someone's been shot! They've been shot!"
"The soldiers are trying to kill us all!"
Extreme fear, chaos, and tear gas carried by strong winds turned Hooverville into a living hell in an instant.
And amid this pandemonium, someone must have kicked a spark—
One of the ramshackle shacks, patched together with rotten boards, suddenly burst into flames.
"Fire!! FIRE!!"
"The soldiers are inside!!"
"They're burning the houses! Run!!"
"They're going to kill us all! Jump into the river!!"
This was beyond saving.
At this point, it might even be better for the soldiers to storm Hooverville quickly and detain those who had completely lost control.
But in this chaos, would the soldiers themselves remain unscathed? In this place where you could barely see a step ahead, how many would be trampled under boots or fall to stray bullets?
The petition in my hand.
If I had gotten it just one hour earlier… would anything have changed?
Something surged inside me.
Why had I come here?
Was it to witness this hellscape—where today's soldiers oppressed yesterday's soldiers—with my own eyes?
"…Fuck."
At this moment, the White House felt more detestable than ever.
Those bastards. Sitting comfortably in D.C., drinking and posturing—spouting nonsense about coups—had turned me into nothing more than a bystander to catastrophe, watching Hooverville burn.
To hell with all of it.
Hoover or whoever—I'll rip their heads off.
If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have taken leave. If I had led tanks into Hooverville myself, I could have ended this with far less bloodshed.
I won't hesitate anymore.
If wearing this uniform means standing here, watching this mess and pretending justice is being served—then I'd rather take it off. Better to stand here in nothing but my underwear than keep wearing it.
Yes.
I wanted to rise.
That's why, even in this cursed life, I put the uniform back on.
But then…
Why did I want to rise in the first place?
Did I want to smash Japanese heads? No. That was just the fastest way to rise—a means, not the reason.
Why did I want to rise?
"Dorothy."
"What?"
"When we first met, you told me to aim higher. You kept pushing me."
"I did."
"I thought… if I climbed all the way to the top, I'd finally have the power to stand against injustice."
Whether it was a damn racial barrier, absurd contradictions, or the irrational orders of a superior—anything.
"But the more I gained, the more I had to worry about. Just a little longer, just a little more patience, and I could almost see the top. What else could I do? I had to endure. I couldn't give up after coming this far."
"..."
"That was the mistake."
And this—this mess—was the result of that endurance.
I had even started to think that my own actions might threaten the democracy of this country.
But when state power threatens its citizens, is it the virtue of a good soldier to stand at the front and fire upon them?
"I'll just do what I want. Sorry."
"Forget it. Do you know why I suggested we go to Europe? You've looked like you were dying lately."
…Seriously?
"I'm seeing you smile properly for the first time in a while. Do whatever you want."
Approval from the Minister of Internal Affairs secured. Nothing to fear now.
"Miller, could you hang a white flag on this car?"
"A white flag? In this situation—wait, I'm wearing a white T-shirt underneath."
A Black man wearing a white T-shirt? By modern Freudian logic, is that a subconscious desire to become white?
…Good. Nonsense is flowing again. I'm finally back to being Yujin Kim.
Miller took off his shirt and hung the white T-shirt on the car. As if she'd been waiting, Dorothy slipped into the driver's seat.
"Dorothy?"
"Honestly, waiting around in Europe or Japan for you to come back from your crazy antics was suffocating. I'm done waiting. Get in the passenger seat."
"What about the kids?"
"Are you going to die?"
"…No."
She answered only with a tilt of her chin. Miller quickly crammed himself into the back seat.
These people… the Suicide Squad wasn't somewhere far away—it was right in front of me.
They say even the sight of fools can be entertaining. Looking at this group huddled inside a bullet-riddled car, I felt strangely exhilarated.
"Fine. Screw it. Let's go."
"Where?"
"The bridge. The tanks will come that way."
Even in this chaos, Dorothy skillfully drove toward the bridge, and the absurdity of heading out to greet tanks with my wife made my shoulders shake with laughter.
Right. This "yellow monkey" had been a war hero, even a would-be president slayer. I'd had my fun. I'd done enough.
Now, I just needed to be a father my kids wouldn't be ashamed of.
"I love Washington D.C.~ The sun shines over D.C.~ Our great leader President Hoover rolls us over with tanks~~"
"What the hell is that pig-slaughtering song? You're distracting me."
"That's harsh."
"Focus."
My brilliant plan to debut I Love Washington D.C. seventy years early collapsed as the Black Lotus reached the bridge.
It was time.
"Stay here."
"…Okay."
I worried Dorothy might follow, but thankfully, she didn't.
The sound of M1917 engines, the grinding of tracks—now very close.
After a moment—
Breaking through the haze, my friends—my precious tanks—appeared, carrying my own battalion, advancing to crush innocent veterans.
"Battalion commander?"
"Lieutenant Colonel Kim?!"
The stunned voices of soldiers poking their heads out of hatches rang out.
At the front, I could see George S. Patton, standing tall with his cavalry saber drawn, surveying the field.
Before he could speak, I gathered every ounce of strength and shouted:
"STOP ALL TANKS, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!!!"
Ahh… that felt good.
Years of pent-up frustration cleared out all at once. Finally, I could breathe again.
Are you watching, Calvin Coolidge?
You told me not to cross the line, didn't you? Well, your successor crossed it first. If you have complaints, please direct them to the White House in Washington, D.C.
Though honestly… which will happen first? Coolidge filing a complaint, or Hoover losing his head?
I'd put five dollars on the latter.
"Junior?!"
"Stop the tanks! They're my men! They're not Reds!!"
Patton's face turned ashen.
Good. Good. That's it. Now that you understand, stop this madness—
"I never thought this of you! To think you'd side with Reds!!"
You lunatic!!
"Driver! Move the tank closer! I'll split that Red leader in half with my saber!"
"Colonel! It's me, Miller! The one whose wedding you officiated! Please stop the operation!!"
"I don't know you!!! The man I officiated for was a warrior of freedom—not some Red traitor!!!"
Even Miller jumping out and pleading did nothing. Against a soldier who embodied the uniform down to his bones, words had no effect.
Urged on by Patton, the tank resumed its slow advance.
Before I could think, my body moved first—I sprinted toward the tank. At that speed, I could climb it.
"Major Patton!"
"Junior, what's going on?"
As I reached him, the fanatic shouting about blood and Reds was gone—only a man with sharp, calculating eyes remained.
"They're not Reds. They've disarmed. They're all veterans and their families."
"And?"
"I secured their demands in writing. They were willing to negotiate."
"Until I receive new orders, I must continue as instructed."
Yeah. That's Patton.
"The Chief of Staff is nearby. Go explain the situation and get new orders."
"General MacArthur?"
"Yes. With this wind and the fires in Hooverville, it's obvious. Bringing in tanks to force order might actually reduce casualties. So before more of our old comrades die by my hand—go get those new orders. Now!"
I didn't wait for a reply.
I jumped off the tank and ran.
It wasn't over yet.
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