The Mage of Leavenworth (9)
As always, I entered the soul-sucking study—but this time, it felt like my soul, not the guest's, was about to be drained.
Ernest King.
What kind of name is "King," anyway? If he'd at least shown up wearing a jaguar mask, I might've respected him.
"..."
"...Would you like a cup of tea?"
"If you have brandy, mix some in."
"Of course."
Damn it… my precious liquor.
But I had committed a sin, so I obediently poured a generous amount of brandy into the tea. For health and beauty, after all, tea with brandy is the way to go. I admit it.
In reality, it was less tea with brandy and more brandy with a hint of tea leaves—but King seemed to like it even more that way.
"Thank you. The aroma is quite nice."
"Hard to come by alcohol these days, isn't it?"
"I won't dwell on what happened earlier. Children learn by watching adults, after all."
This guy's taking subtle shots at me.
"I'm not exactly careful with my words at home either, so if my children heard that a man from the Army had come, I can't guarantee something like that wouldn't happen. So please, don't worry about it."
"Thank you for your understanding."
"On that note, your son seemed quite bright. How about sending him to Annapolis when he grows up? He looks like he could serve as a fine bridge between the Army and Navy."
Get lost.
There's no way I'm sending Henry into that den of Satan.
Annapolis—crawling with racists and purists—and you expect me to send my precious son there? Over my dead body.
Well… unless the kid chose it himself… but if that ever happened, I'd change my last name to Meyer—no, Kimura. Though that's never happening.
"Haha. In a nation of freedom like the United States, how could I decide my son's future on my own? Though of course, it would be only natural for him to look at his father and aspire to become a proud U.S. Army officer."
"The environment one grows up in is certainly important. In that sense, I hope your son gains a broad perspective through diverse experiences."
Wow. Look at this guy. That hit hard.
The way he calmly lands blows straight to the solar plexus—it's practically an art form. Feels like I'm taking two damage every cooldown cycle.
I have a feeling this man won't forget this. He'll probably bring it up every time we meet, like, "I shall pursue you endlessly!" Truly a vicious seal. At least I won't have to deal with Navy types often.
"Let's get to work."
"Let's. Another glass of brandy, if you would?"
He's not even pretending to ask for tea anymore.
After pouring him another drink, I took one myself. My chest felt tight—I needed it. Now I can breathe again.
"Needless to say, today I am meeting you, Captain Kim—known as a hero of the Army—purely out of my personal curiosity."
"I'm aware. I'd appreciate it if you left out the 'hero' part."
"If an Asian has achieved such feats, he deserves to be called a hero. As you said earlier, the United States is a land of freedom—and those who achieve the American Dream deserve proper praise."
Once we moved into professional territory, King showed an unexpectedly favorable attitude toward me.
"And I've heard your understanding of Asia is exceptional."
"I know a bit more than most."
"Confidence suits you. Then—shall we have a 'personal' discussion, just the two of us?"
I spread out a world map, and without a word, the two of us each lit a cigarette.
"Orange—no, that's tedious. Let's just say Japan."
"Should I be grateful you're not calling them Japs?"
"Personally, 'Japs' rolls off the tongue better."
"Then go ahead and say Japs."
"Good."
We began placing markers on the map.
Stacks of pieces gathering over key U.S. positions.
The Philippines.
And Hawaii.
"No matter what they do, the Japs cannot project military power as far as Hawaii."
"..."
"Do you have a different opinion? Have the Japs secretly developed the technology to cross four thousand miles in a straight line and burn Pearl Harbor without my knowledge?"
Wow, this guy's impatient.
Anyone listening would think I was talking about transforming robot fighters. Relax, Colonel King—it's the Japanese Empire, not some rising-sun sci-fi monstrosity.
I hesitated for a moment about whether to mention a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor—then decided to just throw it out there. I wasn't going to give him a date or anything.
"For now, of course, it's impossible. But we're not preparing for a war next year—we're considering some unknown point in the future, aren't we?"
"Indeed."
"I'm no expert on naval matters. But in Europe, I witnessed firsthand how humanity finally made the sky a battlefield."
King seemed to catch on. The faint smirk on his lips vanished, replaced with a serious expression.
"Aircraft?"
"Why not? Think about how people would've laughed ten years ago at terms like 'air superiority' or 'strategic bombing.'"
"The Navy has already concluded that aircraft will be useful in future naval warfare. But striking Hawaii… that feels more like fantasy."
"On the contrary."
I pushed an orange marker across the vast Pacific, toward Hawaii.
"Just like us, the smartest Japanese naval officers are studying how to defeat the United States."
"That's obvious."
"And the conclusion they'll reach is just as obvious. Their only hope lies in launching a surprise attack to burn Pearl Harbor and turn the U.S. Pacific Fleet into fish food."
"I understand your point. It's not that aircraft can already do that—"
"The Japanese will invest years and enormous resources into developing aircraft capable of burning Pearl Harbor. Because that alone will be their key to victory."
Instead of replying, King fell into deep thought.
He sipped his drink for a while before finally speaking—just as his cigarette burned down to the end.
"If I were a Japanese naval officer, I'd insist—no matter what—that we secure aircraft capable of striking Pearl Harbor, and aircraft carriers capable of launching them from the open sea. There's logic to that."
Good enough.
I didn't need anything more. Just planting the idea of aerial bombardment was already a win.
"If the Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor suffers severe damage—"
"The path to the Philippines opens."
"And the Indochinese Peninsula and the southern resource zones—areas the Japs must seize at all costs. Hong Kong, Singapore, French Vietnam, the Dutch East Indies."
"In the Western Pacific, the Japanese Navy gains complete freedom."
"And that means the Japanese Army can land wherever it wants."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The markers moved rapidly.
No matter how much the British Empire fortified their positions, they couldn't defend such small territories forever.
Defensive lines exist to be broken.
Even the Maginot Line—France's grand monument of hope and pride—was bypassed. Fortifications are meant to inflict greater casualties on the enemy, not to hold out forever.
What meaning would a coastal fortress have after losing control of the sea?
Without hesitation, we began removing the British-colored pieces from the map.
"To the south, the oil fields of Indonesia. To the west, British Burma. That would be the maximum extent of Japan's reach."
"If the Pacific Fleet is hit, how long would it take to send a fleet to the Philippines?"
"Two years. At least two full years."
"Then it can't be defended."
How are you supposed to hold out in that jungle for two years?
Even guerrilla warfare requires supplies. But how would you maintain supply in an isolated Philippines? You'd be lucky not to die of malaria.
"…Isn't that the Army's job?"
"You're joking, right?"
"Let's call it a joke. Even if General Robert E. Lee were resurrected, he couldn't hold the Philippines. I may not know much about land warfare—about you ground-pounders—but I'm certain of that. Damn it."
This bastard just deliberately called us ground-pounders, didn't he.
Even according to Army plans, holding the Philippines would be limited to about six months at best. The moment internal documents start talking about "heroic resistance inspiring national morale," you already know how it ends.
Neither of us brought up the idiotic idea of stationing the fleet in the Philippines. If we're assuming Pearl Harbor gets burned, then stationing the fleet there would just mean getting hit even harder.
King may not realize it, but our thought experiment was unfolding almost exactly like the Pacific War that would come in 1941.
For an Army officer, the Pacific theater would mean fighting in the Philippines, China, or coordinating amphibious landings on various islands with the Marines… but the Philippines? That's hell. All I can see is a future of gnawing on scorpions in the jungle before surrendering.
"There's been talk for decades about building a major naval base in the Philippines, fortifying it."
"Is that so."
"I'd like to hear your opinion. If a fleet were stationed here in the Philippines, could it deter the Japs?"
"It could—until the Japs are ready to burn that entire fleet to the ground."
"So, it couldn't. Then let's move the timeline forward a bit. Assume those damned aircraft don't exist."
In that case, the Pacific Fleet wouldn't be struck.
But the United States would still be reacting to an attack, and pushing into Southeast Asia—already turned into a Japanese stronghold?
"This is still madness."
According to King's estimates, even in the best case, it would take a year and a half to send a relief fleet to the Philippines.
Nothing really changes. While new ships are built and reinforcements from the Atlantic are assembled for a decisive fleet battle, the Philippines would still fall.
"Our Chief of Naval Operations wants to build a massive naval base on Guam. If Guam is used as a forward base, the Philippines could be relieved much faster."
"Hmmm."
"Your Army doesn't seem too fond of the idea."
Yeah, I've seen that plan.
But what are we supposed to do when battleship guns outrange coastal artillery? It's just a base that gets pounded into submission and captured.
"But if Guam, built up like that, is taken—wouldn't Hawaii then be at risk as well?"
"That's right. The biggest weakness is that it might end up benefiting the Japs instead."
We'd run out of alcohol.
I decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.
"Are you interested in politics?"
"No."
A short answer, but firm.
"Ah, I don't mean entering politics. We're the ones who carry out the orders of politicians representing the will of the people, aren't we?"
"That's true. But is Washington making more strange noises again?"
"As you know, President-elect Warren G. Harding is aiming for 'normalcy.' Massive disarmament is on the horizon."
Even the Army is about to be reduced to around 100,000 men.
A level of cuts incomparable to anything like the IMF—an enormous downsizing. In fact, since Harding's election, quite a few colleagues have already begun submitting resignation papers.
"So among all these new expenditures—naval bases, fleets—how many do you think will actually be approved?"
"Britain and Japan are both ramping up their naval strength. If we alone try to save money and fall behind, the threat of war will only increase. In the end, it'll cost us more."
That's the correct answer—
and yet, in the end, it's the wrong one.
Because the Washington Naval Treaty is just around the corner.
But then again… what should I do?
Liberating Korea and seeing Tokyo burn—those would be great things.
But would that actually help my own future? I'm starting to have doubts.
Worst-case scenario: I get assigned as the commander responsible for defending the Philippines—and end up a prisoner of the Japanese Army.
"So, you're skeptical about holding the Philippines?"
"Based on everything we've discussed… I can't help but question whether it's even possible."
"Then will you file a report?"
"Are you insane?"
"…True enough. I value my head as well."
The moment you say out loud that the Philippines should be abandoned, you're branded a traitor on the spot.
It feels exactly like saying, "We can't defend Dokdo, so we should give it up."
Of course, the Philippines and Dokdo differ completely in meaning, value, and strategy—but the outcome is the same: the moment you say it, your head gets chopped off.
For a while, the two of us simply stared at the map, now in complete disarray, covered with scattered markers.
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