The Hundred Days Offensive (1)
1918
Keijō, Empire of Japan.
Since the forced annexation, Japan had consistently maintained oppressive policies toward its new colony.
Thorough exploitation, exemplified by the land survey project and the Company Ordinance.
Naturally, for Koreans—who viewed the Japanese as invaders—such humiliation was unbearable.
Humiliation soon gave way to resistance, and this led to a vicious cycle in which the Government-General of Korea poured 30 to 40 percent of its budget into military police forces.
Many within Japan's upper ranks were aware that such colonial policies would be difficult to sustain in the long term, but most had no choice but to remain silent.
The Government-General of Korea was a supreme authority directly under the Emperor, beyond even the Cabinet's control.
And with interference from various factions—the Cabinet, the Army, the Navy—the outcome was inevitable.
Into such a Korea, a strange story began to spread.
[The United States Army crushes the German Imperial Army!]
[A representative of the U.S. Army—an Asian!]
[The flag of Asia stands tall in Europe!]
It began with the press.
Korea's native press had long since been eradicated.
After the Daehan Maeil Sinbo was absorbed into the Government-General and reduced to its mouthpiece, there was no longer any media that could serve as the eyes and voice of the Korean people.
These articles originated from Busan Ilbo and Joseon Sibo, newspapers targeting Japanese residents in Korea.
[From a lowly Asian to a general of the United States!]
[From Cambrai to Amiens—the great yellow man who defends France!]
[A fateful meeting at West Point—Admiral Tōgō, guardian of the seas, and Kim, guardian of the land!]
[Will Kim Yujin become the Taikō of the United States?]
[An honorary white who seizes the world! Under the banner of the Empire—]
"What on earth are these articles?!"
Hasegawa Yoshimichi, the second Governor-General of Korea, slammed his fists repeatedly on the newspapers before him in a fury.
"The Koreans are already talking about it everywhere! They're treating it as their own source of pride!"
"Your Excellency, please calm yourself."
"After all, the Koreans are also part of the Empire. This could—"
"That kind of justification isn't the issue right now! The Koreans are already treating this as their own story!"
Though these newspapers were intended for Japanese residents, it was only natural for the educated class to subscribe to them.
From educated Koreans fluent in Japanese to the lowest day laborers, everyone was talking about the story of that great young general who had risen to the rank of a U.S. general at such a young age.
"General Kim Yujin was originally from Jirisan and had mastered teleportation and mystical arts, making even Westerners powerless against him."
"It is said that the Emperor foresaw Korea's fall and sent this heaven-born general abroad in advance to train independence forces."
"Across the Pacific, he commands one hundred thousand iron cavalry, and if General Kim slays the German Emperor, the European powers will reward him by appointing him Prime Minister of Korea and restoring the nation."
What kind of delusional fantasies were these Koreans spinning to come up with such absurd ideas?
Clinging to desperate hope, they created their own fantasies—and began resisting the Government-General's policies even more.
From any rational standpoint, it made no sense. The United States and Japan were allies fighting a common enemy—so how could the U.S. and European powers possibly grant Korea independence?
And yet, the reality was that a significant number of Koreans were rallying behind such nonsense.
"Even if we crack down on the newspapers now—"
"It's already too late. I know that."
"Moreover, newspapers in the homeland are also issuing special editions, all busy reporting on this Kim Yujin. Even if delayed, the Koreans would have moved one way or another."
"…Ha. This is maddening. Why did that fool Tōgō have to meet this man and make things worse?"
Twenty-five.
Brigadier General.
Hero of Cambrai.
Defender of Amiens.
Ridiculous. Was this man the reincarnation of Minamoto no Yoshitsune or something?
Judging not only from newspaper articles but also from reports coming through embassies and military attachés, even he found himself almost believing such a theory. It was perhaps only natural that both Koreans and Japanese citizens were swept up in excitement.
A samurai appearing like a comet in this age of iron and gunpowder.
"Anyway! Make absolutely sure that the Koreans do not stir up trouble for the time being! If anything happens, not only am I finished—you all are finished as well!"
For Hasegawa, a soldier who knew nothing of politics, this kind of intimidation was all he could do.
***
At the same time, Tokyo.
"That was one hell of an article, wasn't it?"
"Indeed. Take a look at the next one—'Kim Yujin's ancestral home is Kaneishi, Tsushima—samurai blood shining in America'—that's the headline."
The men chuckling were all senior officers of the Imperial Japanese Navy, who prided themselves as the pillars supporting the Empire.
"What a splendid scheme."
"Just imagining those Army bastards seething with frustration, unable to vent their anger anywhere—I sleep better at night and eat better too!"
"They only cling so desperately to the Governor-General position in Korea because they're full of ambition."
"The reason they're obsessed with Korea is obvious. They want to run wild into Manchuria like mad dogs the moment their leash is off."
The Siberian Intervention.
The intelligence brought back by a spy planted within the Army had turned the Navy upside down.
Former Governor-General of Korea and a central figure in the Army, Terauchi—unable to even grasp his place—had become Prime Minister and was now preparing for a major war, seeking only the Army's interests without even informing the great Navy of such a critical national matter. It was unforgivable.
"If the Government-General of Korea that he polished so carefully turns into a mess, Terauchi will be quite pleased, won't he?"
"But… just because they learned about this one young man, will the Koreans really rise up in revolt?"
"Who knows? But the thing that makes water overflow is always the last drop. Let's just keep pouring until it spills over. It doesn't matter if it's absurd rumors or anything else—"
"Admiral Tōgō is entering!"
At the soldier's shout, everyone present immediately stood at attention.
Though long retired, who would dare act insolently before the hero of the Battle of Tsushima?
"Were you discussing this young man?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"He was a man of conviction. I knew someday he would cause quite a stir. Hahaha."
Though I didn't expect it to be this soon.
Tōgō laughed as if amused.
"What is your view of this Korean, Kim Yujin? If he is someone who may stand in the way of the Empire—"
"Stand in the way? Are you suggesting assassinating a U.S. general? Have you lost your mind? Do you intend to ruin the nation?!"
"N-no, that's not what I meant—"
"Enough nonsense. As fellow Asians, all we need to do is wish each other good fortune. He is U.S. Army, we are the Imperial Army. He is Army, we are Navy. There is no reason for our paths to cross."
Tōgō spoke slowly, as if calming those whose ambition for glory had made them slightly unhinged.
"What problem could arise unless the United States and the Empire went to war? Later, send him a congratulatory message in my name."
"Understood!"
***
The German Army's final offensive—what history would call the Second Battle of the Marne—ended in a crushing defeat for Germany.
It was not merely that the offensive had stalled.
Through intelligence, the Allies had already anticipated where the Germans would strike and what their objective would be, and the German assault collapsed in vain.
And anyone looking at the map would think the same thing:
"The German forces in the Marne salient… couldn't we just cut them off entirely?"
Foch, Pétain, Haig, and Pershing—all four men—reached the same conclusion any soldier would.
At last, the Allied counteroffensive began.
And at the very center of that counterattack was, as always, the finest prodigy of the United States Army.
"Our advance is slower than a turtle."
"The enemy's counterattacks are too fierce."
"Is this our limit?"
Douglas MacArthur, now a brigadier general and one of the Army's finest elites—decorated with a bundle of newly established Silver Star medals—was struggling with a situation that refused to go his way.
Once the Germans took a position, it became a fortress so hellish it would make even Satan weep.
Aircraft tearing through the air without rest, poison gas raining down the moment one tried to relax, shells erupting everywhere, and soldiers desperately firing machine guns and mortars, refusing to yield even a single hill.
How could the Germans fight so fiercely in a war of aggression?
Even the U.S. Army—fighting under the banner of freedom and democracy—had many who faltered in this brutal war. Yet the Germans, as if born to seize and destroy, rampaged like lions that had lost their cubs, even in a war with no hope of victory.
The 26th Division had already been worn down, and the 42nd Division had been newly deployed—yet even that division struggled to recover from its losses.
Worse still, soldiers sent to hospitals after enduring this hell often died there instead, succumbing to disease.
The influenza that had plagued American troops since the spring of 1917 had not subsided—instead, it had gained a new weapon.
Pulmonary edema.
Once the lungs began to fill with fluid, there was no remedy.
All one could do was lie in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the moment of death—drowning until the very end.
Now having risen from Chief of Staff to commander of the 84th Brigade, even he found the scale of attrition far exceeding his expectations.
But he had no intention of giving up.
How could he waste such a golden opportunity?
If they failed to crush the Germans here, it was obvious that even more soldiers would be lost in the trenches.
"My dear brigadier, wouldn't it be better to pull back a little? Some of our units aren't even receiving artillery support. The artillery is still reorganizing—"
"This is precisely the moment to seize victory. If we retreat out of fear of losing one man, ten more will die trying to retake that cursed hill."
"Then what about at least taking a breather? That single hill has changed hands eleven times already! At this rate, it's nothing but a battle of grinding men to death!"
"In my judgment, the enemy is more exhausted than we are. We must not lose the momentum of the offensive!"
Frustrating.
Of course, he knew it well—by conventional reasoning, pulling back here might be the correct decision.
But his instincts—an inexplicable intuition—were telling him that this was the turning point of the war.
He needed that man.
"Damn it."
"Sir, are you heading out right away?"
"I'll return to the unit imme—no, I'll make a quick stop first and then head straight to the front. If I bring some snacks, the men will like it."
"Sir, you just got exposed to gas not long ago, and you're going again?"
"Remember this. The bullet that can kill MacArthur has not yet been made."
His aide sighed, but he remained confident.
The war would soon end.
Some fools had yet to realize it—but he, and a few other wise men, already had.
Now, it was simply a matter of who would achieve greater glory.
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