The Darkest Hour (4)
Something… something feels off.
Wasn't the Great Depression supposed to start with Black Thursday and Black Tuesday?
Stock prices are rising again, and the chaos is settling down.
The shock of those who threw themselves into the Hudson River flowed away just like the river itself—smoothly, naturally, from upstream to downstream.
Did I mess up the dates again?
Or… did something I did change history?
Either way, the crash is probably still coming soon. There's no way this ends with "Miracle Hoover saves the economy and the United States prospers for another 20 years", right?
If that actually happens, I'll just kneel and worship God—Hoover's divine power. At times like this, I'm grateful to be a secure government employee. What a blessing.
But that same divine Hoover power feels like it's about to kill me right now.
[US MILK Audit Investigation Begins!]
[Democrats demand former Veterans' Association chairman John Thomas Taylor appear before Congress!]
[The ever-growing chain of corruption in US MILK—how far does it go?]
[Emergency measures for normalization of US MILK management!]
["Milk prices like gold"—US MILK, the breeding ground of dairy cartel, to be completely dismantled!]
[Emergency relief budget for farmers! Full-scale stimulus policy!]
Mr. Miller had been arrested.
Even more frustrating was that I couldn't even go see him.
"You mustn't go right now."
"But—"
"If you meet him now, it'll only make things worse. Are you trying to advertise to the entire world that there's a connection between you and US MILK? Hold yourself back. The best thing you can do is hire a lawyer and send one."
"…Understood."
The press was on Hoover's side, and so were the citizens.
Mass protests? That wasn't even something to hope for.
"It's just a milk delivery job."
"When the economy improves, they'll find work again."
US MILK was split into pieces and sold off to private companies.
The Hoover administration explained it as "an unavoidable measure necessary for economic recovery."
Thinking about it, the apostles of free-market ideology within the Republican Party had disliked US MILK since the Harding era.
They firmly believed it was a populist mistake—a tax-funded monstrosity used by Senator Curtis to secure votes.
To them, this was a crusade. A holy war to correct a vile, red-tinged error.
In that sense, it was only natural that US MILK became their first target.
Even the Veterans' Association issued a statement: "We will comply with this decision in the greater interest."
The blade of investigation could turn toward them at any moment. The leadership wanted a quiet resolution—not justice.
More importantly, fewer people lost their jobs than expected.
Out of millions of veterans, only some belonged to the Association.
It had already been ten years since the war—many had moved on with their lives.
Those who failed to find work and ended up at US MILK were only a fraction.
And among them, only some were actually laid off after privatization.
After all, US MILK's core was distribution, and the private companies buying its pieces had little reason to fire experienced delivery workers.
"Getting fired overnight like this—how is this fair?!"
"Fair? You people lounging around like civil servants were the unfair ones!"
"That Doherty guy stuffed himself full—if you think about it, you're accomplices too! Must've been nice living off other people's money!"
Whenever the newly unemployed tried to complain, they were immediately branded as communists or criminals—forcing them into silence.
The public, too, was still pretending everything was fine. For now.
As always, those doing "low-class" jobs—miners, farmers, milk deliverymen—were seen as no better than the masses by those sipping milk tea at home and reading newspapers. The United States that once gunned down striking workers hadn't changed.
But events were accelerating rapidly.
"Dividing and selling US MILK is clear evidence of collusion between politics and business! The Democratic Party must stand against this tyranny and save citizens from the threat of chalk-milk!"
"Waaahhh!! Huey Long!! Huey Long!!"
"As Governor of Louisiana, I declare that the state government will purchase the US MILK Louisiana division! The Democratic Party will never stand by while robber barons threaten the people's tables! I will inherit Harding's legacy!"
A governor openly defied the sale, proposing that the state government, not private corporations, take over its portion of US MILK.
The political landscape was descending into chaos.
Weren't you Democrats just condemned for colluding with corrupt milk distributors? And now you're claiming Harding's legacy? What even is going on anymore?
"I speak on behalf of Detroit's industrialists to oppose the Smoot–Hawley Act and request its repeal or delay."
"I also represent Manhattan's financial sector in warning of the dangers of this law. It will trigger a full-scale tariff war with Europe!"
"The academic community also submits a joint petition. This law is neither liberal nor consistent with market economics."
A rare sight: Henry Ford and J.P. Morgan Jr. speaking in unison against Washington D.C.
These were men who had remained calm even during market crashes.
If they were the type to panic easily, they would have collapsed long ago during the Great War or earlier recessions.
Yet even they had rushed to Washington in alarm at the looming Smoot–Hawley Act.
"Protectionism? Whose idea was this?"
"It's a bill with strong public support. Raising tariffs will strengthen domestic industry. Why would you—who stand to benefit—oppose it?"
"That's absurd. We are not an importing nation—we are an exporting nation! An exporting nation building tariff walls against importers? We're not buying their goods—we're selling ours!"
"If this bill passes, I will seriously consider relocating part of Detroit's factories to Europe."
Even after Henry Ford played his strongest card, the administration remained unmoved.
More precisely, everyone except Hoover remained unmoved.
"Listen."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Personally, I also believe this law is wrong."
"Then—"
"You may not realize it, but I am cornered. There's a knife at my throat, and I don't have the luxury to accommodate you! Chairman Ford! Weren't you the one funding Curtis in the first place? You should've kept your pet under control!"
"Are you accusing me of using politicians to undermine you?"
"Not exactly. But the dog you raised has become a vicious beast and is now biting my leg."
Instead of elaborating on his own weaknesses—his past under Wilson, his relatively weak standing within the Republican Party, or the looming threat of Curtis—Hoover simply frowned irritably and got to the point.
"As Commander-in-Chief of this nation, I have a request for you, the pillars of this country."
"Go on."
"This crisis is temporary. What matters most is preventing public panic. For the time being, I ask that you refrain from actions that could destabilize the market—such as layoffs, unpaid leave, or wage cuts."
This time, Ford frowned.
"You're asking to interfere in corporate management?"
"These are exceptional circumstances."
"I don't fire my workers lightly. They're my family. But Mr. President, you have no authority to order that."
"I am not interfering in your management. However, companies that seek government support must naturally cooperate with government policy. Surely you wouldn't call it interference if we prioritize those who cooperate?"
That, too, couldn't be opposed.
Those who had come to block the bill returned empty-handed—only now burdened with chains handed to them by the government.
And then winter came.
And the American people witnessed a world they had never seen before.
***
[Shantytowns filling Central Park!]
[Behold Hooverville, created by the man who promised to save the economy!]
[Hoovervilles spreading along rivers! Fears of disease surge!]
"Got any spare change?"
"Nope. All I've got are Hoover Flags."
"Damn it. Can't even get a drink."
"What do we do without gas for the car?"
"Guess we'll have to make a Hoover Wagon like everyone else. Let's rip out that damn gas-guzzling engine later."
"Mr. Babe Ruth, isn't an $80,000 salary excessive? Even the President only earns $75,000 a year."
"What does my salary have to do with Hoover? For the record, my performance is better than his."
The glorious 1920s had ended, and the dark 1930s had begun.
People gradually lost trust in the government, and with each new absurdity, they sarcastically named it after the esteemed President Hoover—proving that American wit and satire were very much alive.
"Citizens, once the bill passes, the economy will recover quickly. Please rest assured—"
"Do you really think Hoover can fix this?"
"Who knows."
Of course, only those who still had some means of survival could afford to joke like this.
Unemployment began to skyrocket, and Congress echoed daily with shouting and chaos.
***
A quiet park at night.
For the first time in a while, I stepped out in a coat and hat pulled low to meet a certain visitor.
"Long time no see, Colonel Kim."
"I've been hearing your name everywhere lately. I even have one of your flags—"
"I am not related to that idiot president in any way."
The head of the Bureau of Investigation—the predecessor to the FBI—Edgar Hoover waved it off, clearly sick of hearing the joke.
Can't even take a joke. What a boring man.
We each lit a cigarette.
"How's the Army?"
"And why is the Director of the Bureau asking me that?"
"I'm not crazy enough to investigate the Army. That's why I'm asking."
"Nothing much. General Pershing went to the Veterans' Association, gave them a good scolding, and those who had taken money quietly stepped down."
"That doesn't sound right. Did you know the upper ranks of the Veterans' Association admire Mussolini as a role model?"
What kind of nonsense is that?
Seeing my disbelief, Hoover quickly added—
"But with General Pershing involved, they won't be dreaming of a second 'March on Rome.' Now, forget the Association—tell me about the Army."
Something about his questions felt off.
I noticed the anxiety creeping across his face.
"The Army… nothing unusual. What exactly are you getting at?"
"The higher-ups are reviewing the military. After stirring up the Veterans' Association, they're starting to get nervous."
"Tell them at least the senior officers are nothing to worry about."
Many had left the Army—but that was back when the outside world was booming.
In times like these, when no one could see what lay ahead, being a government employee was bliss. Ah, the sweetness of taxpayer money.
"When is your next assignment?"
"When the time comes, I'll go. Reassignments are routine for soldiers."
"If I were you, I'd request an overseas posting. Somewhere far—China, Panama. Or take a long leave and travel Europe."
Instead of answering, I just stared at him.
"You're… Senator Curtis's son-in-law, aren't you?"
"So what?"
"Some people are very uneasy about the fact that you're commanding troops near Washington, D.C."
"Ha! This pathetic, broke battalion is considered a threat?"
Me, Yujin Kim, leading a bunch of underfunded, undisciplined soldiers who only think about going home—marching triumphantly on Washington? Have they finally gone insane with paranoia?
"This isn't a joke. The Hoover administration is on edge. The President, the cabinet, pro-Hoover lawmakers, anti-Hoover lawmakers, and the Curtis faction—everything is fractured. They're already clashing over responsibility and future policy—"
"What a spectacular mess."
"The Army Chief of Staff is going to be replaced. Someone you know well… Major General Douglas MacArthur will be recalled from the Philippines."
Why him? Out of all people, why MacArthur?
"Because now more than ever, they need a soldier who understands politics."
"So they want a war hero with political instincts—MacArthur is their best card. Makes sense."
"Exactly."
Even compared to the original timeline, it felt like they were deliberately choosing someone capable of rolling tanks over protesters if necessary.
"Lie low for a while. I've given you my warning—don't blame me later."
"You know something? When I get pissed, I don't have brakes."
"Coming from the man who caught a president, that's terrifying. Damn it."
We didn't linger.
Without another word, we split in opposite directions.
The White House in the distance looked especially ominous tonight.
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