Shadow of the Old Continent (2)
By the time the sun began to set, we finally started grilling meat in earnest.
Humans really are meant to eat meat. Civilization itself was built just so we could tear into fresh cuts like this. Why do humans have canines? To suck blood? Of course not—it's to rip apart easily digestible meat.
The sizzling sound of fat dripping onto the blazing grill spread softly through the air. Behind me, the chatter of children and wives filled the background… and then I got grabbed by a slave driver.
"Are you alright?"
"My family has a bit of money, so it's not really—"
"Not that. This kind of… feels like you're showing off your faction, doesn't it?"
Seriously? Do we have to bring politics into something as simple as grilling meat with friends?
Well, I suppose we do. When you're at the core of the military, you have to watch even falling leaves, and you can't even drink cold water carelessly. But me? Since I got tangled up in that Milk Expeditionary Force business… it should be fine, right?
"Then we shouldn't have had that gathering at Wobok last time either."
"If you put it that way, you're not wrong."
"Besides, it's not just us—everyone's scrambling right now. There are plenty of people eyeing the next Chief of Staff position."
After MacArthur was suspended, the Vice Chief of Staff, George Van Horn Moseley, had been acting in the role temporarily before Fox Conner was officially appointed as the successor.
"General Conner is well respected. There shouldn't be any issues."
"Drum is the problem."
"No matter how crazy Drum is, he wouldn't draw a blade against his former superior. You're worrying too much."
"No, it's the opposite. Now that his former superior is Chief of Staff, won't Drum strut around and cause all sorts of chaos? Can General Conner really stop him?"
"…I can't deny that."
General Conner had served as the operations chief of the American Expeditionary Forces during the Great War, later becoming its chief of staff.
He was undoubtedly capable, but it was unfortunate that there had been a disaster named Hugh Drum as the First Army chief of staff, operating separately in the field.
And when it comes to factional politics, you need to be at Drum's level to puff your chest and declare yourself the leader of the Chaumont clique. What kind of faction play can a "yellow monkey" even pull off? It's ridiculous, especially coming from someone who set up Marshall Farm at Fort Benning.
Of course, I wasn't stupid enough to openly criticize General Conner in front of Marshall. But as someone who once effectively treated Drum and Marshall like subordinates, his reputation among frontline generals wasn't exactly stellar. Even MacArthur practically hated Conner, calling him the "culprit of the Meuse–Argonne." Personally, I didn't go that far.
"I'll be away for over a year. Shouldn't I at least see everyone before leaving?"
"Fair enough. You'll handle it your way. Any word on your next assignment?"
"They'll give me something when I return. It's not like I'll end up guarding my own house again."
I can't exactly prepare that in advance.
Marshall nodded and turned his attention back to the barbecue. Right—barbecue always wins.
***
Soviet Union, Moscow.
The Kremlin.
The man who would later become the Marshal of the Soviet Union and an all-powerful dictator, General Secretary Joseph Stalin, stood overlooking a mountain of documents, as always, absorbed in governing the world's only communist state.
At this moment, key figures from the Politburo and the military had gathered for a briefing.
"The expansion and military buildup of the Japanese Empire are becoming increasingly concerning."
"Go on."
"The Japanese army has successfully secured Manchuria and performed well in the recent fighting in Shanghai, even against numerically superior Chinese forces."
"Is that so? I heard they suffered quite a number of casualties. Can that really be called a success, for a so-called great power to lose so many soldiers against an opponent that can't even defend itself?"
At Stalin's question, the general delivering the report—one of the military's key figures, Mikhail Tukhachevsky—felt cold sweat run down his back.
Was he asking out of genuine curiosity? Trying to find fault? Taking a jab at the military as the head of the state? Or just in a bad mood, letting his sadistic streak show?
"In Manchuria, the Japanese achieved an easy victory by crushing the Fengtian clique—thrown into chaos by Zhang Zuolin's sudden death—using large-scale armored forces.
However, in Shanghai, they were unable to deploy those tanks effectively. Instead, they advanced into the city primarily with infantry. In mid- to long-range engagements, the Japanese had the advantage in discipline and training, but in urban environments—"
"There would have been close-quarters combat."
"Exactly. The Type 14 submachine guns widely used by Chinese troops are more than capable of killing enemies at close range. We've even copied them—it's the kind of 'Grease Gun' that could be made in a local workshop and still fire reliably. A true proletarian weapon."
"Indeed. Close-quarters combat in cities is where the rich and poor become equal. So they failed to capitalize on their advantages. Interesting."
Stalin himself had participated in the Soviet–Polish War and did not consider himself ignorant of military affairs.
In that sense, it was useful if the Japanese were teaching lessons through their own experience—but the fact that their tanks were now pressing up against his borders was far from comforting.
"We cannot sit idly by while these Japanese imperialists reveal their ambitions and oppress the people of Manchuria."
"But…"
"Of course, I'm not saying we will go to war."
The Far East was always troublesome.
Intervening was irritating, but not intervening was dangerous.
Especially now—because of Japan's invasion of Manchuria, the number of troops required to guard the Far Eastern border had increased overnight. It wasn't something to feel good about, even as a joke.
"What about our communist friends in China? No… never mind. That's not something we can rely on."
"If you are seeking a more moderate form of intervention… how about using the Koreans?"
"Comrade Park, you mean. Didn't he fail to take control of even the Provisional Government and get pushed out?"
"The Korean Provisional Government was led by figures backed by American imperialists. No matter who went, not just Comrade Park, it would've been difficult to seize control."
At his comrade Vyacheslav Molotov's words, Joseph Stalin nodded with a slightly displeased expression.
"But revolution is always a difficult path. Our support shouldn't have been any less than that of the American imperialists…"
"At the very least, it should stir up trouble in the Japanese homeland."
"Very well. Then let us send Comrade Park back to the Korean Peninsula."
Once Japan, Manchuria, China—and now Korea—were all mentioned, it was only natural that that man would come up as well.
"Come to think of it, Comrade Mikhail Tukhachevsky, you used to mention Yevgeny Kim quite often."
"Yes, that is correct, Comrade Stalin."
"Do you still hold him in such high regard?"
"At the very least, one cannot deny that he presented the direction of future warfare."
Stalin tapped lightly at the regions of Korea and Manchuria on the map.
"In my view, his reputation far exceeds his actual achievements. Amiens? At best, it was a divisional-level battle."
"It's not exactly common for a general to devour an entire division in a single day, is it?"
"Oh, I'm not dismissing him. It's just that the intentions of the imperialists are far too obvious."
A moment ago, Stalin had been pointing at Manchuria—now he gestured toward the United States on the opposite side of the world map.
"A second-rate power like the United States, and on top of that, an achievement accomplished by a black man. Since they cannot properly explain it, they simply attribute it all to the extraordinary ability of a single irregular individual."
"Your words are most correct, Comrade General Secretary. Ha ha."
"Thank you, Molotov. The Soviet Union has no need to fall for the hollow propaganda of imperialists. Future wars will be won by nations capable of producing steel and gunpowder endlessly over the course of years. Those that cannot will have to pay with the blood and flesh of their people in place of steel."
Therefore, above all else, what they needed was a massive heavy industrial complex.
There were no countries in this world that were friendly to the Soviet Union.
And so he pushed forward with his policies, without the slightest doubt.
"Submit to me the next developments of Japan and China as quickly as possible. Our industrial capacity cannot yet be called superior—even as a courtesy—so we must pay close attention to those monkeys."
"Understood."
Lighting his pipe, he looked at the map once more.
Even if Yevgeny Kim's military achievements were exaggerated, the global influence created by propaganda was certainly not an illusion.
If the United States were to intervene in the Far East, he would likely become their trump card—but paradoxically, he had been actively seeking to improve relations with the United States. In fact, the renowned industrialist Henry Ford had secretly visited the Soviet Union and promised large-scale investments.
But businessmen like Ford and soldiers could not be placed on the same level.
Faced with this unpredictable variable, how should the Soviet Union respond?
***
Spring, 1932.
At last, our family crossed the Atlantic.
Seeing Henry carefully looking after little Shirley was just adorable. Who would've thought that child, who once toddled around, would grow up enough to carry luggage so confidently?
This trip was originally meant to be purely for family sightseeing—but unfortunately, there was an impure element.
"Impure element? That's harsh."
"I'm already busy enough playing with the kids."
"That's why Uncle Edsel here is playing along too. Don't worry—once the deal with Rolls-Royce is settled, we'll go our separate ways on the return."
Traveling with Edsel Ford always made me uneasy now. What if a massive earthquake suddenly hit England too? I had to suppress the urge to shove this guy into the ocean for the sake of my children's safety. Endure. Just endure.
And so, we finally arrived in England.
Enough time had passed since the war that there were no longer massive welcoming crowds like before. Since I came in a personal capacity, there was naturally no special treatment either. It'd be a lie to say I wasn't disappointed—but what could I do?
Having come all the way to Europe, I definitely had to meet Generals Nolett and Lissle, who had backed me up during the tank debates, and since I was visiting, the city of Amiens had also requested my attendance at some event.
While handling those small matters, I planned to casually tour famous landmarks and strengthen the family bonds that had been lacking all this time. After all, when I'm old and useless, if Henry shows up carrying a pack frame for me, that'd be a disaster. I need to set a good example now and avoid that kind of ending.
But my modest expectations—and my excitement for exploring the British Isles—were completely shattered by the arrival of a single visitor.
"Excuse me. Are you Colonel Yujin Kim of the United States?"
"That's correct. I'm sorry, but I'm here on leave to spend time with my family, so interviews are a bit—"
Later. Let's do it later. I'll set aside time for an interview before I leave.
Judging by the accent, he smelled like strong beer anyway. Besides, I'm going to Germany too, right?
"Ah, I'm not a journalist."
After a brief handshake, he immediately handed me a business card.
"My name is Rudolf Heß. I serve as secretary and aide to the leader of a German political party, the National Socialist German Workers' Party."
"…Excuse me? The National—what?"
My brain stopped working.
Right. Germany had tons of minor parties. I must've misheard. Rudolf is a pretty common name, isn't it? Even Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer is probably German or something.
But regardless of my attempt at denial, the man before me, tense as if carrying out an important mission, handed me an envelope.
"I have been instructed to deliver a personal letter from our party leader. Should you visit Germany, we sincerely request that you grant us some of your time."
"Uh, I'm sorry, but, well… I've heard of your party, of course, but…"
I suddenly remembered that "Nazi" had originally been used as a derogatory term, so I carefully chose my words.
"I'm Asian. Wouldn't that be somewhat at odds with your party's beliefs? Wouldn't your leader feel… uncomfortable?"
"Not at all! Absolutely not. Our great leader, Adolf Hitler, strongly wishes to meet General Kim in person."
After that, Hess passionately continued explaining just how much the man he served wanted to meet me—
But I couldn't hear a thing.
A rope.
Where's a rope.
Damn it.
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