House of Cards (5)
"In 1592, Toyotomi Hideyoshi—the warlord who possessed the greatest army in Japanese history—invaded the neighboring Korean Peninsula, the Kingdom of Joseon. At the time, Joseon's military had largely decayed into a hollow shell, aside from its coastal navy and some northern forces tasked with defending against nomadic raids."
"—The Japanese army failed to secure their strategic objective, which was the capture of the Joseon king. Meanwhile, their supply lines were attacked by large-scale uprisings of local irregular forces."
"What level of forces are we talking about when you say 'irregulars'?"
"Local nobles distributed resources and rallied militias, and remnants of defeated regular troops also joined them. In particular… General Gwak, known as the 'Redcoat General,' had been nothing more than a landowner before the war—"
"The Japanese forces failed to understand the local culture and, having missed their strategic objectives, were dragged into a prolonged war of attrition—ultimately suffering defeat much like the British during the War of Independence. Unlike Europe, which shares broad common ground through Greco-Roman mythology and Christianity, East Asian nations differ greatly in their identities…"
How many hours had I been talking?
My throat was sore from constantly drinking water and speaking, but the reaction wasn't bad—better than expected, actually.
"Captain Kim. Then how do you think that samurai culture of Japan would specifically affect warfare?"
"Culture doesn't stand out visibly, but it influences every way of thinking. For example—after a battle, if soldiers surrender due to overwhelming odds, the Japanese are unlikely to view those who surrendered favorably."
"Why is that?"
"For a knight, surrender may be natural—but for a samurai, disemboweling oneself is considered virtuous. They would likely look down on those who surrendered to save their lives."
How much did I really know? Not much.
This was all a patchwork.
Bits of shallow knowledge, fragments of secondhand experience, and on top of that, I layered in what I knew of the Japanese military's recklessness and fanaticism from World War II.
It kept me out of that massive tank debate.
It gave me a reason to be involved in the Pacific theater later.
And it even patched up the weakness of not having served in the Philippines.
Yes. This was the solution.
My brain hadn't rusted after all.
Even with this half-baked knowledge, it seemed to land as a serious cultural shock to the men who would one day lead the U.S. Army.
Of course it would. Things I took for granted might not be obvious at all to them.
Still, better to think of it as a vaccination—best to take the shot now. Even I, who only read about the Japanese military's future behavior in history books, can barely wrap my head around it.
"That concludes today's special lecture. Thank you."
And just like that, the crisis was over.
As expected—when things get dicey, changing the topic is the best strategy.
***
As I was cleaning up after the lecture, the classroom door opened, and someone walked in with a stiff expression.
Lieutenant Colonel Drum.
"That was an excellent lecture, Captain Kim."
"Thank you. It was my first lecture, so I was quite nervous. I'm not sure if it was helpful."
"Of course it was. If not for you, no one would have even considered that differences in perspective exist in the first place. That was something only you could have done."
He definitely wasn't the type to come all the way here just to offer praise.
"But I do have some concerns."
"What concerns, sir?"
Calling Japan a hypothetical adversary wouldn't be an issue. I wasn't careless enough to overlook that.
The military always designates a potential enemy.
In Asia—more bluntly speaking—the only power capable of posing a real threat to American trade with China and to the Philippines is Japan.
Britain? Just imagining going up against Britain makes me want to wear a diaper.
The lion still has its teeth, its mane, and claws that could knock out three of your teeth in one swipe. I don't even want to think about it.
For now, both Britain and Japan are only considered at the level of tactical defense planning—protecting key positions. The Army's general consensus is that grand strategy belongs to the Navy, and detailed planning can be done once war actually breaks out and mobilization begins.
So what exactly was he worried about?
"According to your logic, Army officers would need a broader understanding of different cultures and customs… and coincidentally, similar arguments are being made at West Point."
"Is that so?"
There was only one person at West Point who would push that kind of idea.
"Yes. Let's be honest. Right now, Brigadier General Douglas MacArthur is trampling over West Point's traditions in the name of reform. General John J. Pershing is very displeased about it."
What the hell.
Is this the U.S. Army or the Imperial Japanese Army?
This endless factional infighting was making my head spin. Was this for real? The U.S. Army really is something else.
"But if you give a lecture like this, even if it's not your intention, it makes it seem as though you're siding with MacArthur. As your superior, that concerns me greatly."
At least fix your expression before saying that, you bastard.
Harding might be a figurehead president, but he always maintains that charming smile that wins people over. You should at least manage a proper poker face.
Maybe I've been dealing with major political figures for too long and lost my sense of scale. Comparing these military types to presidential candidates might be a bit unfair.
"Remember this. Now more than ever, the Army must unite and move as one under General Pershing. In that sense—"
"Lieutenant Colonel Drum. Let's be honest, man to man. How many more years do you think General Pershing has left?"
At my words, the fake smile on his face disappeared, replaced by a cold expression.
"That's not something I can take as a joke."
"General Pershing is elderly and has spent years on the battlefield. He'll retire soon enough. And then… who will be next?"
"How dare you!"
"You're really not interested? George C. Marshall is already glued to the General's side."
Oh wow. I can read that expression perfectly.
What a mark. A perfect mark to fleece.
People who pride themselves on being clever are usually like this. No—rather, the vision of becoming the next head of the U.S. Army is simply too tempting for him to hide his reaction.
"Marshall is still far off. In terms of career—"
"When Pershing nears retirement, those gathered around him will naturally split. At that point, career won't matter most. What matters is whether you are recognized as his successor."
I met Drum's eyes.
No matter how much he tried to act calm and uninterested, his eyes were practically shaking like an earthquake.
"It won't just be a contest of careers. It will be a contest of achievements—who left the strongest impression on the General."
"Achievements…"
"Yes. If we're talking about proximity, Marshall already has the advantage. So you'll need something that stands out—something unmistakable."
He's taking the bait. He's taking it.
Sorry, but even if you died and came back to life, you'd never beat Marshall.
Even if Pershing is becoming more rigid with age, he's not someone who would mistake a man like Marshall—who can stand his ground for what he believes in—for someone like Drum, who flatters his superiors while playing factional games behind the scenes.
Drum was making a huge mistake.
At a poker table, you have to fleece the sucker before someone else does. If someone else takes him first, you'll lose sleep over it.
"So… why are you telling me all this?"
"Let's separate this from West Point. Don't you think MacArthur's so-called 'reforms' should instead be realized here at Leavenworth—where we're creating something from nothing?"
"So you're saying officers can learn that when they become senior. That… makes sense. It does."
Caught between undermining MacArthur and building his own achievements at the same time, Drum looked completely intoxicated by the idea.
This man really has no sense.
"Thank you for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."
Drum chuckled.
"Thank you. When you rise high someday, Lieutenant Colonel, please don't forget Yujin Kim."
"Haha. Of course. Haven't I been keeping an eye on your potential since Cambrai, Captain Kim? Hahaha."
Hearing that from the bastard who tried to take my tank battalion made the Patton inside me roar. Hold it in. Just hold it in. That idiot doesn't even realize who he's making an enemy of.
"Ah, right. As for the tank issue, I'll handle it appropriately. I've already heard from Major Mcnary. Just stall things as they are until Chaffee transfers out."
"Understood."
"Haha. Good. Just keep doing what you've been doing. Just like now."
Idiot.
If someone told me to go head-to-head with Douglas MacArthur for my career, I'd just pack up and go to the Philippines. That man is a walking disaster.
If someone told me to compete against George C. Marshall, I'd just submit my resignation. Go up against a future Secretary of State? I can already see myself getting stuck in some coastal artillery post for the rest of my life.
If anything, MacArthur is the easier opponent—once he wins, he loses interest. Marshall, on the other hand, is the type who'll dig you out root and all.
But this guy's trying to fight both of them?
I stepped outside the building, silently praying for Drum's future.
It felt a bit like I had used someone else to kill with a borrowed knife—but that must just be my imagination. Even if I hadn't nudged things along, he would've clashed with both of them eventually. So my responsibility approaches zero.
"Hey, Captain Kim."
Ah, Chaffee. Right on time.
"You gave such a good lecture—why the long face?"
I wanted to say, because Drum pissed me off, but I held it in.
I need to maintain Yujin Kim's refined charm. If I start swearing along with him, I'll just turn into Patton Mk.II.
"Did that pathetic Drum bastard get on your nerves again?"
"Your language is quite harsh."
"So he did, huh? Heh heh. Want one?"
"Sure."
We sat down on the grass, looking up at the clear blue sky, puffing smoke like factory chimneys.
"The Army sucks, doesn't it?"
"No, it doesn't."
"It totally sucks. Wouldn't it be nice if people just listened when someone's right? But even when they know it's right, they ignore it because of their authority, their position, or politics—that's the Army for you."
That hit the mark.
"I heard the gist of it from Major Mcnary. And I fully agree with your opinion."
"I'm glad you found it agreeable."
"Anyone can tell—it's just a bunch of people throwing tantrums because they want a bigger budget. Now that I've talked things over with you, and with that bastard Drum about to become commandant, why would I stay in this hellhole of Leavenworth any longer? I'm transferring out."
Wait. Was he really staying here just because of me?
"This is what we call replacing firepower with maneuver. Captain Kim, you should also learn when to engage and when to disengage—maneuver warfare! Hahaha! I'm out! You can keep grinding under Drum!"
Damn it. I'm jealous as hell.
I've got at least a year to survive here—what do I even have to do to make it through?
And just like that, Chaffee departed for the land of happiness.
Seriously—doesn't it even cross your mind that you being here is what dragged me into all this in the first place?
With Chaffee gone, a certain level of peace returned to Leavenworth. At least, my own peace of mind was restored.
The newly appointed commandant, Brigadier General Drum, kept glancing proudly at the shiny star on his shoulder, clearly in high spirits. Still, as a staff officer and administrator, he was quite competent, doing his best to turn this ramshackle institution into something resembling a proper place.
"Listen, we got a new notice—apparently they're replacing all the ovens with electric ones."
"Electric ovens?"
"It's been such a hassle using those old coal ovens. Seems like the new commandant is pretty capable? Most officers don't really care about housing like this."
"True."
By Brigadier General Drum's orders, new quarters and BOQs were built on empty land, and the blessings of electric civilization descended upon them—wives smiled, and men found peace.
Well… maybe I've just grown too used to 21st-century life. Back in Washington, D.C., we used to buy every new electrical appliance that came out.
But after being reassigned to Leavenworth and going back to coal ovens, Dorothy must've been feeling pretty frustrated. If she hadn't been able to drive herself back to her parents' house, I'd have been the one dealing with the aftermath.
"Seems like you don't have much going on lately? Since we came here, people don't contact you much anymore."
"I told them I'd focus on my main job for a while. And I need to spend time with Henry too."
Imagine him growing up and saying in an interview, "My dad was always working—I barely saw him."
No thanks. I refuse to be labeled as the cold, ambitious father who neglected his family.
Just sitting together as a family at the dinner table—that alone is a blessing.
"Do you know what Henry wants these days?"
"…No idea. Henry, what do you want?"
"A sibling!!"
Henry shot his hand up and shouted proudly.
Startled, I dropped the asparagus I was eating.
Leavenworth might be tough, but this… this is even harder than Washington, D.C.
READ MORE CHAPTERS HERE : https://beastnovels.com/