Shadow of the Old Continent (6)
"I'm not going! No way!"
"Uh… really?"
"I said I'm not going! Why the hell would I go to a den of commies? If you want to invest, go by yourself!"
I'm… I'm on vacation, damn it!
And there's another problem. Moscow. Moscow.
The fortress of evil that would dominate the latter half of the 20th century. The stronghold beyond the Iron Curtain. The heart of communism.
You want me to stamp "Visited Moscow" onto my record?
Fine, forget me—but what about my kids?
I don't know much about everything, but I do know about McCarthyism. When that storm hits, do you think having a "visited Moscow" record will help? Even if visiting Russia might benefit the kids, I'm not about to risk their future.
Ezel, flustered by my outburst, wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.
"Is it really okay to ignore a request from the War Department?"
"Look at this. It says they'd appreciate it if I visited, right?! That means I don't have to go. I can't go. End of story."
"Well… actually, it's not just the War Department. The State Department is also hoping you'll visit the Soviet Union."
"Don't feed me that crap, you scammer."
The Hoover administration, moving me? Give me a break.
The United States hadn't even established formal diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union yet. The same Hoover administration that wanted to beat the Bonus Army to death for being "reds" is suddenly sending someone to Moscow? Yeah right.
But the name Ezel mentioned next was completely unexpected.
"This isn't from them."
"Then who?"
"The man who'll be entering the White House next year."
…What?
Obviously not Hoover.
Then—
"FDR?"
"Exactly."
"Wait, what? Why is FDR involved? And since when is your family—Henry Ford of all people—connected to the Democrats?"
Something wasn't adding up. What the hell happened while I was busy running around dealing with that damn Bonus Army?
Ezel slowly began laying out the pieces, like Sherlock Holmes proudly presenting his deductions.
"After the Bonus Army incident, Hoover's finished. Everyone knows the next president will be a Democrat."
"True."
"Roosevelt, Al Smith, and John Nance Garner were the main contenders."
"I know that too."
He placed three glasses on the table and tapped them.
"Garner was the weakest, but he had enough influence to decide between Roosevelt and Smith. And Garner was backed by William Randolph Hearst."
"Hearst? The newspaper king?"
"Why are you so surprised? How do you think The Sun built a nationwide distribution network so quickly?"
…Wait, this all connects?
At that point, the whole picture started forming in my head.
Ford and Hearst were cooperating through The Sun.
Garner cut a deal with Roosevelt and became the vice-presidential candidate.
Ford must've struck some kind of deal with the soon-to-be president.
And Roosevelt—true to his reputation—was already interested in establishing relations with the Soviet Union.
"So what do I get?"
"Huh?"
"Don't give me that. If I'm going to Moscow, you better cough up my share. Don't try to dress it up as a 'request' while using me for free."
"Well… we're planning significant investments in the Soviet Union. How about a share of that?"
"Get lost."
That's all going to get seized anyway. Once the Cold War kicks off, do you really think Stalin's going to wave and say, 'Please enjoy your dividends, American imperialists'?
Give me something real.
"What about strong support from the next president? You were pretty nervous about being tied to Hoover, weren't you? So—"
"Sorry, but I don't need a middleman between me and that guy."
Heh… heh heh…!
I've already had drinks with Roosevelt, gone to the sauna with him—everything. And you're trying to scam me with that?
Watching Ezel's face crumble like a rotten pumpkin, a realization suddenly hit me.
Wait a second…
If I just said no, Ezel could've shrugged and dropped it. So why is he trying so hard?
"…You bastard. You already sold me out, didn't you?"
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"You bragged that you could convince me to go to Moscow, didn't you? And got yourself a little reward on the side?"
"Yujin, do I look like someone who'd sell out a friend? How could you even think that?!"
"I would."
"Right? Of course I wou—ugh!"
Just one punch to the gut. That'll do.
God, I really have terrible luck with people. Why is there not a single normal person around me? As the last shred of sanity in the U.S. Army, the burden on my shoulders is immense.
"So what did you get that you're this desperate to send me to Moscow? Actually, never mind—you probably won't tell me that. Let me ask something else. Why me?"
"There's no one else with connections to the Soviets. Or rather, the ones who do have connections are all communists, so their intel isn't trustworthy."
And what about me? I don't have connections with communists either!
Maybe he saw laser beams shooting out of my eyes, because Ezel coughed awkwardly and looked away.
"…There was someone interested in you."
"Who? Stalin?"
Please no. If I get tangled up with another insane dictator, I'm going to need a third life.
Fortunately, the name that came out of his mouth was both unexpected—and somehow obvious.
"No. Tukhachevsky."
"…Well, that at least makes some sense."
"He's one of our biggest clients. How else are they going to build tanks? They'll have to outsource it to us."
Ezel… Ezel… that guy's going to get purged too. Why do you keep betting on doomed people…
"So what do I get?"
"Huh?"
"If I'm going to Moscow, I need my cut, you idiot."
"So you're going?"
As if.
"I'll talk it over with Dorothy and decide."
"You whipped husband."
"It's called loving your wife, you bastard. You already ruined my vacation like this and you still have the nerve to talk? If I don't like the deal, I'm not going to Moscow. Cut my belly open if you want."
I meant it. If there's nothing in it for me, why would I drag myself all the way there?
Ezel groaned for a while, thinking hard, then cautiously spoke up.
"Money—"
"Not that."
"Then what? You know you can't ask for something completely outrageous, right?"
"Your aviation division. Hand it over."
Ford was still manufacturing aircraft, but that business had been going downhill for a long time.
I didn't care about the factories. The Henry Ford I knew would never hand over his precious facilities so easily. But the design teams and key personnel? Those I wanted.
"You know that division is basically dying, right?"
"Exactly why I'm asking for it. If it were doing well, you wouldn't give it to me anyway."
"…Fine. We'll negotiate a reasonable price and transfer it. The old man was planning to shut down the aviation business soon anyway."
Not profitable? Then you just aren't trying hard enough.
There was a reason I'd been laying groundwork with Arnold. Pick up a couple more companies ruined by the Depression, produce a decent civilian aircraft model, sell it to Pan Am—and I wouldn't starve. Just hold out long enough, and then comes World War II.
Now I could go to Moscow with a smile.
***
Our family vacation plans underwent a major revision.
While Dorothy took the kids on a tour through Austria, Switzerland, and Italy, I would be heading with Ezel to the worker-peasant paradise—the glorious Soviet Union. Wow. So happy.
I stopped by the U.S. embassy for a brief briefing.
"Due to recent developments in the Far East, we've come to a consensus that contact with the Soviet Union needs to be accelerated."
"The Far East?"
Why bring that up here?
"Historically, the Soviet Union has strongly supported the Chinese government while also exerting influence over various communist factions within China. Now that Japan has seized Manchuria by force… it's unfortunate to say, but our country isn't doing anything about it."
Well… we don't exactly have the money.
China mattered—a lot. If Japan tried to swallow that massive market whole, it would be worth knocking their teeth out over.
But Manchuria? That was… complicated. With the country on the verge of bankruptcy, was it really worth going to war with Japan over it?
"So you want to use the Soviet Union to check Japan?"
"Something like that. Lieutenant Colonel Kim, all you need to do is go, exchange pleasantries, and give us your personal impressions."
"That's it?"
"If we assign a civilian grand espionage tasks, it'll only expose their inexperience. Don't do anything. Just think of it as writing a travel journal."
Right. Orders are orders.
Not long after, we arrived in Moscow.
"Welcome, comrades!!"
There wasn't any grand welcoming crowd. Of course—there were no formal diplomatic relations between the U.S. and the Soviet Union yet.
Our guide still tried to explain things enthusiastically.
"More and more Americans are coming to the Soviet Union these days!"
"Is that so?"
"Yes! The United States is collapsing under the contradictions of capitalism, isn't it? Many workers and farmers wish to start new lives in the Soviet Union!"
"…Hmm."
"Our Union strives for equality in all things! Even women tired of discrimination in the United States are flocking to Moscow. What do you think, comrade? Are you interested in socialism—"
"No."
Wait… people are moving to the Soviet Union because of gender discrimination? To Russia?
Even a hundred years later, people joke that a Russian man without vodka and domestic violence isn't a real Russian. This feels like watching people defect north in search of "freedom."
Ezel went off to inspect factory facilities, while I rode in a Model T toward the grand Kremlin.
And there, waiting inside, was the demon king of hell.
"Pleasure to meet you. I am Stalin."
"Yujin Kim."
No proper introduction? Manners must've been sold off somewhere along the way.
Then again, I'd heard it was Tukhachevsky who really wanted to meet me. The fact that the head of state was meeting a mere lieutenant colonel at all probably meant he'd already gone out of his way.
After that, I was introduced to several Soviet officials—but strangely, there were more diplomats than military personnel.
What's going on?
"Our Red Army's finest, General Tukhachevsky, has been eagerly anticipating your visit. However, unfortunately, we would appreciate it if you could discuss… a slightly different topic with us."
"I've spent my entire life as a soldier, so I'm not very knowledgeable outside military matters. I'm worried I might say something inappropriate."
"Oh, that won't be a problem. It's something you're very familiar with."
He calmly lit his pipe and spoke.
"Yevgeny Kim. Let us discuss the future of the Korean people together."
…That felt like getting hit in the back of the head.
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