Milk, Blood, and the Blue Star (6)
Intelligence Officer Conrad Lanza briefly wondered if he should wash out his ears.
With every word that damned MacArthur's voice on the radio enunciated—clear, deliberate, one syllable at a time—it felt as though the entire world was collapsing in an earthquake.
"Sir?"
"Sir, what is going on?"
"That's what I want to ask! You were the ones who compiled the reports and handed them to me! Then how—!"
Lanza felt wronged.
I'm an administrator.
All I did was compile the information and type up the report.
Yes. It was the fault of the field staff. Their fault. After going through the Great War and all, he couldn't very well be forced out without even earning a star. So—
The moment his thoughts reached that point, Lanza shot up from his chair as if kicking it away and pointed furiously.
"You bastards! Did you deceive me?!"
"Sir?"
"The reds—was it the reds who ordered this?! Did Moscow instruct you to have the United States Army crush those poor veterans with its own hands?!"
"You're the one who flew into a rage every time we said the evidence of communist ties was unclear or needed reinvestigation!"
"You're already preparing to dodge responsibility? You're the one who only accepted reports that suited your tastes!"
"Y-you—!"
Just as it seemed they might draw their pistols at any moment, the sound of heavy boots echoed outside the door.
Bang!
"Colonel Conrad Lanza, Intelligence Officer."
"You've come at the right time! These—these reds were playing me! They must have been acting under orders from Moscow!"
"That doesn't sound like something a mere colonel should be saying to a major general."
Drum clenched his fists tightly, barely suppressing a grin.
Saved!
Things hadn't unfolded the way he'd expected, but one thing was certain—MacArthur had to take off his uniform.
The head of the Army had just raised both middle fingers straight at the President. There was no way MacArthur could remain in the military after that. If someone could pull something like this and still wear the uniform, that wouldn't be a soldier—it'd be a warlord.
But separately from that, MacArthur would gain enormous public support, while the Hoover administration would be left half-dead, counting the days until its burial.
In that case, the obvious move was to help MacArthur and tear into Hoover.
He had been placed in the position of Inspector General precisely to keep MacArthur in check—but what did that matter now? If he sided with Hoover at this point, he'd only be buried alongside him.
"What are you waiting for?! Arrest them all!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Lanza! Colonel Lanza ordered it!"
"He told us to fabricate communist evidence where there was none!"
"Don't be ridiculous! You—you clouded my judgment!"
Now that the outsider MacArthur had blown himself up like this, the U.S. Army would belong to the Chaumont faction for at least the next decade.
Marshall, once considered a rival for leadership, was still just a lieutenant colonel—busy gathering young officers at the Infantry School to build his own faction. It would take at least ten years before that bore fruit.
"Sir, what should we do next—"
"Next? Chief MacArthur… well, not Chief anymore. Arrest Mr. MacArthur. And Major Eisenhower, his adjutant—and Lieutenant Colonel Yujin Kim as well!"
"Yes, sir!"
In a crisis like this, who would dare cut his throat? Hoover? That coward who trembled at the thought of a mere lieutenant colonel staging a coup?
Given his role as Inspector General, he'd bear some responsibility, so he couldn't seize the Chief of Staff position immediately—but the next Chief would, of course—
"Khihihihihihit!!"
Idiots.
Idiots who don't even understand that the one who survives is the strongest!
Yes.
My era has arrived.
Left alone in the intelligence office, Drum laughed like a madman for quite some time.
***
Damn, look at how fast this bastard Drum moves. For someone who prides himself on being an elite officer, his mobility is impressive.
After MacArthur dropped a nuclear-level bombshell on Washington, D.C., it took quite a while for Ike and me to snap out of our stunned state.
At first, even I couldn't fully grasp what had just happened.
What kind of mental shift makes someone floor the accelerator like that without any hesitation? How was he planning to continue his military career after this? …Ah, right. He isn't.
But when I thought it through carefully, the move MacArthur had made was, in fact, a miracle play capable of resolving everything.
Even in the original timeline, the suppression of the Bonus Army had remained a dark stain that haunted MacArthur forever. If his military career was ruined anyway, wouldn't it be far better to at least secure the image of a final, conscientious soldier standing against a corrupt Hoover?
With things having escalated to this level, there was no need for me to say anything.
The political piranhas would tear into Hoover's flesh with delight. My father-in-law would probably grab his share as well.
Ike and I were caught by our dear Inspector General's relentless grasp right at that moment.
I was promptly taken in and led into a dim interrogation room, where I came face to face with Drum.
"Where were you planning to go?"
"The Chief of Staff told me to enjoy my leave, so I was thinking of heading off on a nice trip to Europe."
"I'd like to let you go, but… procedures are procedures."
…What?
This isn't the Drum I know.
Is acting out of character some new trend these days? The Drum I know should be grinning like a lunatic, shouting something like, 'Khehehe! My era has arrived! All of you in the U.S. Army, I shall rule you!' Hurry up and bring back the real Drum!
Still, something felt off. Drum was clearly someone planted by the White House to keep MacArthur in check.
"Why do you think General Douglas MacArthur didn't make greater use of you? Weren't the two of you rather close?"
"…Excuse me?"
"When I heard he became Chief of Staff, I naturally assumed you'd soon be promoted to colonel. It wouldn't be unusual at all for someone both trusted and capable to secure a staff position."
Ah, that? Am I insane? Why would I stay when I knew full well it was going to go up in flames because of the Bonus Army?
In a situation where I didn't even know how I might get entangled, I even got a warning from Calvin Coolidge, and for once—even by my own standards—I played it very safe.
But from the outside, that must look like—
"Go on, tell me. We have a friendship built back in Leavenworth, don't we?"
This bastard… does he think there's some kind of issue between me and Douglas MacArthur?
A whole scenario unfolds in my head.
I ask for a promotion to colonel, MacArthur—back when Hoover was paranoid about me staging a coup—gets cautious and sidelines me into some cushy, irrelevant post, and I end up bitter over being treated like leftovers.
Of course, in reality, I volunteered for that quiet post myself… though, well, I did have a bit of ambition.
Still, I should test the waters a bit more.
"Hehehe. For a future leader of the United States Army like General Drum to remember our friendship—it's truly an honor."
"Hahaha! Thanks to you, I was able to ease General Pershing's concerns and earn his trust. I never forget those who help me."
He's talking about pushing MacArthur out of the West Point superintendent position, isn't he?
But instead of bragging about it, he's speaking so carefully… yeah, I'm sure now. This guy is planning to cut ties with Herbert Hoover and latch onto MacArthur's side. His instinct for reading the wind is truly something else.
"I've always believed that someone like General Drum—who can embrace many people—is exactly what the Army leadership needs."
"Hah! You're quick, as always. Then let's be honest like before. What do you think the Chief's next move will be? He's already shown the Army's spirit—so surely the next step is set?"
"I'm not entirely sure, but naturally… politics would come next."
"Exactly! That bastard Hoover is finished. If he joins hands with your father-in-law, the entire power structure of the Republican Party will be overturned."
Assessment complete.
Drum, huh… Drum.
It would feel refreshing to surgically remove this cancerous man, but his influence and political maneuvering are so strong that the patient—the U.S. Army—might just die on the operating table.
And now he's openly declaring he'll attach himself to MacArthur's faction. On top of that, there's no obvious replacement for him.
Then the answer is simple. Feed him just enough illusion until Marshall grows.
After all, if even Franklin D. Roosevelt could toy with MacArthur in the original timeline, there's no way he'd struggle with someone like Drum. Watching Drum beat the drums of his own glory only to be discarded later—that'll be a beautiful picture.
"Khihihihihit!"
"Khehehehe!!"
Why is it that heaven won't leave me alone when I just want to quit politics and live as a strict, serious soldier?
Lord, please allow me to be a righteous backstabber again today.
Well, it can't be helped. The situation demands it.
***
[Hoover Administration in Its Greatest Crisis!]
[Why Were Veterans Branded as Reds?]
[Democrats Deliver Final Ultimatum to the Administration!]
[Senator Charles Curtis: "Justice Has Collapsed."]
I was flipping through newspapers while waiting for a guest at Uvoke.
"So, do you feel better now?"
"Anyone hearing that would think I caused another incident. Honestly, I'm innocent—I'm just a poor victim swept up in a typhoon."
This is all MacArthur's and Patton's fault. Not mine.
Despite my pitiful protest, my father-in-law just smirked and raised his glass.
"Hoover is a vegetable now. All he has left is to rest comfortably in the White House hotel until it's time to step down."
"What about resignation or impeachment—"
"You still don't understand politics very well. Why would the Democrats impeach him?"
…He had a point.
There really was no reason for them to.
"So the worse Hoover performs, the more votes the Democrats gain?"
"Exactly."
"Then wouldn't it be better for him to just run away? There's no need for him to stubbornly remain in the White House."
"Hoover could run. But his subordinates can't. More precisely, they're using him as a meat shield."
A scapegoat. That's what it was.
Just looking at the newspapers made it obvious.
All the blame and criticism was focused solely on Hoover.
Strangely, there was almost no attack on his staff or officials under him—especially not in the headlines.
"That shows how much the capitalists who control the media dislike me. They want only Hoover to take the hit—they don't want his entire faction wiped out."
"They must really hate you. Maybe you should've bent a little?"
"Hmph. Hearing my son-in-law say that is almost funny."
That look… I know it well. It's exactly how my parents used to look at me when I broke a neighbor's window playing baseball.
I'm not a troublemaker… I'm innocent… If anything, shouldn't you apologize for handing your troublemaker daughter over to me?
"That's why today's meeting is so important."
"Another presidential bid?"
The opponent is Franklin D. Roosevelt—a four-term monster.
With all due respect, father-in-law… wouldn't it be better to give up and live out a happy political life as a big figure in D.C.?
"Well then. Our guest has arrived."
"Welcome, Chief!"
"Not Chief anymore. Call me Mr. MacArthur. Or Doug works too."
Dressed in civilian clothes, Douglas MacArthur entered the room with a hollow laugh.
Now it was time to place a custom-made general's star upon Washington, D.C.
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