Milk, Blood, and the Blue Star (2)
A small country house on the outskirts of New York.
In this suburban villa district—where analysts from Manhattan had gathered in clusters to purchase homes—not many houses still had owners who were alive.
And now, without warning, several cars rushed in, and men with pistols poured into one of the houses.
Bang! Bang-bang-bang!
"Don't move!"
"Get down! BOI!!"
"Eek! P-please, spare my life!"
"Don't shoot! We're unarmed!"
Watching the arrest operation from afar, Edgar Hoover lit his pipe.
'What in the world is happening to this country?'
Just as young people who still had barely dried blood on their heads were stepping out into society, the economy suddenly collapsed, and the world became filled with beggars.
In such a world, there would hardly be any young man who didn't harbor a twisted patriotism—or the bold ambition to change the country.
And among them, quite a few turned their eyes toward the wrong methods.
Like Marxism–Leninism.
"We've arrested five and are pursuing two who fled."
"Catch them all before today ends. Are they all American citizens?"
"Three of the five are U.S. citizens, and two are Japanese nationals."
"Then deport the two instead of going through separate judicial procedures. No leniency."
"Understood."
He had no time to deal with these small fry, but for now, it seemed better to stay away from D.C.
This was not his time yet. He needed to wait until his value rose higher.
Suddenly, he thought of someone who would be in D.C. around now.
Yujin Kim.
That insidious political monster would never let such an opportunity slip by. From the moment Congressman Curtis's presidential bid began to falter, he must have already been preparing all kinds of schemes.
To begin with, even this Milk Expeditionary Force was filled with people touched by Yujin Kim's influence, and he could exert strong control over General Douglas MacArthur, who was in charge of the government's response.
A situation where he could deeply influence both the protesters and the suppression forces just 'happened' to appear?
'That's nonsense.'
By now, Hoover had spent enough time in the field and had clashed several times with the monsters of D.C.
And each time, he had shuddered as he realized just how much he had underestimated Yujin Kim.
Since when had he been preparing?
Would he use the protesters as sacrifices to devour this country?
Or would he tie together the Hoover administration and MacArthur and drag them both into hell?
Unable to make a precise judgment, Edgar Hoover chose to take a step back.
It was enough to make a reckless move once without knowing the opponent's hand.
By the time he returned to D.C., everything would likely already be over.
***
If one had to name the foremost virtue of a politician in the United States, it would naturally be the toughness to crush strikes.
Former President Calvin Coolidge rose to fame by suppressing a police strike, and Warren G. Harding once threatened to deploy aerial bombardment during a coal miners' strike.
In a country where employers often band together to raise private militias and wage 'battles,' violent suppression was practically routine—so I had my suspicions, but still…
"Cough, cough—"
"General, are you alright?"
"It's already been over ten years since I held that rank. Honestly, these people…"
I'm screwed.
Yeah… I'm completely screwed.
Tear gas filled the air, squeezing out every last tear and drop of snot, and as the horrifying sound of machine guns echoed from afar, the trauma of the veterans was triggered in full.
The police, perhaps still mindful of their last shred of conscience or the aftermath, didn't openly spray machine guns directly at people…
…but in the end, amid immense chaos and panic, three protesters lost their lives.
And in this hellish environment that felt like returning to the trenches, some veterans, unable to endure their trauma, charged at the police—leading to bloodshed.
Three protesters dead, excluding the injured.
And two police officers dead.
Once people had died, there was no way this could end peacefully.
That was the situation of the Milk Expedition.
And as for me personally…
"General Kim?"
"Is General Kim joining us?"
"That's not it."
My extremely loyal soldiers of the 93rd Division, upon hearing gunfire at the protest site, immediately surrounded me and withdrew from the scene.
And now I was standing in the middle of their encampment—Hooverville—while the Milk Expeditionary Force was completely surrounded by police and military.
I just came to give the 93rd Division guys some words of encouragement before heading off on my trip… so why the hell am I suddenly in the eye of this storm?
Damn it.
…No, wait. Thinking about it, I was already right in the middle of this protest anyway.
I need to rack up at least some merit before I go back—then maybe I'll just get off with a verbal warning or a light reprimand. Otherwise, I might get picked on by the wrong people and end up being beaten as an accomplice of the Milk Expedition.
That's right. Truly the embodiment of self-preservation and self-interest—Yujin Kim.
…Whatever. This damn life. It's not like things going wrong for me is anything new, whether in this life or the last.
If I could've just looked at these ragged veterans blinking with hollow eyes and said, "Haha, then try a bit harder. I'll be off to Europe with my kids," I would've done it already.
If I hadn't seen it, maybe. But now that I had, I couldn't ignore it.
"The fact that my presence here is already a serious violation of military law—I trust you all understand that better than I do."
"…Yes. That's why we couldn't bring ourselves to ask for your help."
"I'll give you some time. Write down your demands and bring them to me. I'll try submitting them first."
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"And there's one condition. Are there any agitators among you talking about revolution or overthrowing the government?"
They immediately shook their heads, faces stiff.
"Absolutely not. We're not Reds! We fought to protect freedom in Europe—why would we join those Reds trying to destroy the freedom of the United States?"
"I'll trust you. And one more thing. Disarm yourselves."
"Disarm… you say."
The hesitation on their faces wasn't because they wanted to shoot.
It was because, in this damned United States, the very idea of giving up what they considered a right as natural as breathing simply didn't register.
"I'll be blunt. Are you planning to shoot all the police and soldiers surrounding you and go take Hoover's head?"
"That's not what we intend—"
"If you can't shoot, then it's better not to carry weapons. It will help in the battle for public opinion. Even if the police fire, don't resist—just run. If you fight back, Hoover wins. But if it turns into a scene of helpless veterans being massacred… then in the end, you win."
"…Understood. We'll collect all privately owned firearms and store them separately."
That's as far as my guidance goes.
If they just follow this much, they'll have a far greater advantage in the battle outside the system compared to the original timeline.
Absolutely—absolutely—I will not interfere any further. If I get properly entangled in this, I'll have to take off the uniform.
And at that moment, I spotted someone who absolutely should not have been here.
"Mr. Miller?"
"General Kim? What brings you here?"
That's what I want to ask. When did you get released?"
"I finished my interrogation and was let go… Didn't my article run in ? I even did an interview."
"Not at all."
Either it got cut midway, or Hoover applied pressure—or more likely, both.
Even with over thirty thousand people gathered in Washington, D.C. for protests, Hoover's ironclad grip remained intact.
The answer was simple: the press was firmly on Hoover's side.
The capitalists who wielded the pen had no desire for chaos.
Sure, Hoover was making a mess of things, but it was still more reassuring for them if he stayed in power than if rioters ended up winning.
"For now, please prepare your demands quickly. It's too unstable."
"Understood. We'll gather internal opinions and have it ready right away."
That should cover all the emergency measures I can take.
Patton is the type to roll in with tanks the moment he receives orders—but I have a bit of influence in that chain of command, so it's worth betting on.
Unlike the original timeline, I spent months chattering nonstop beside Chief of Staff MacArthur and his aide Eisenhower.
They're not rioters. They're not Reds. If they truly intended violence, D.C. would already be in flames—yet they haven't acted. If we suppress them by force, the damage will be enormous, and so on.
Of course, my arguments lost credibility the more intelligence reports came in.
Rumors that the Milk Expedition had secretly obtained several machine guns and hidden them in Hooverville. That suspicious gunmen and gangs from D.C. and New York were steadily joining the force…
If I were at least a colonel, I would've grabbed someone by the collar and demanded sources, but instead, all sorts of top-tier nonsense—of unknown origin—were being neatly stacked on MacArthur's desk under the label of "intelligence."
And I couldn't firmly refute them either.
After all, in place of the Bonus Army of the original timeline, we already had this Milk Army rising up. How was I supposed to know whether they were actually preparing an armed uprising?
Still, the chances of MacArthur going off the rails were slim.
I don't trust the reckless MacArthur recorded in history books. I trust the man I've watched for over ten years—a brilliant commander, prideful and vain, yes, but with judgment second to none—Douglas MacArthur. And beside him, Ike.
Unless someone like Joseph Goebbels showed up and filled his head with utter nonsense, there was no way to cloud his judgment.
All I wished for—such a modest wish—was not to see unarmed civilians crushed under tanks.
***
It had been quite some time since Colonel Conrad H. Lanza, the intelligence officer, had begun drinking coffee like water.
Blinking his dry eyes, he was reviewing a report he had just finished when the door creaked open and an uninvited guest entered.
"Who—ah, it's you."
"Thought you might need some coffee."
Since becoming Inspector General, Hugh Drum had grown accustomed to being outwardly welcomed but inwardly questioned—why is he here?
Placing the coffee cup on the desk, he spoke.
"Mind if I read the report first?"
"Go ahead. What, here to pick at something? MacArthur interested in my head?"
"Not at all. Our esteemed Chief of Staff practically treats me like I'm invisible."
Drum couldn't quite hide the anger in his voice.
Was it because he wasn't from West Point?
Or because someone like him wasn't even worth paying attention to?
No one had ever ignored Hugh Drum—a leading figure of the Chaumont faction and a man recognized even by Pershing.
He had competed fiercely with MacArthur—and with Marshall—for the future position of Chief of Staff. Though MacArthur had reached the top absurdly early, Drum's name was always mentioned when discussing the next Chief.
He had always been a victor.
He drove MacArthur—who had been causing chaos at West Point—out to the Philippines. While Marshall spent his time leisurely in China, Drum crushed Billy Mitchell and his followers, solidifying the authority of the Army.
With such a heavyweight sitting as Inspector General, of course MacArthur would have to watch himself… or so he had thought.
'Ah, you're the Inspector General?'
'Yes, Chief of Staff. Let us forget the past and look to the future—'
'The past? What past? Were we ever in the same unit? I don't forget people. More importantly, call in Lieutenant Colonel Kim. I have something to discuss with him.'
'Lieutenant Colonel Yujin Kim? According to the chain of command, he has no reason to report directly to you—'
'There's hardly anyone I can talk to properly. Just call him.'
A complete dismissal.
To casually bring up Yujin Kim—once practically his subordinate—just to needle him… it was an almost disgusting level of pettiness. How could a Chief of Staff be so small-minded?
"Urgent report!"
"What is it?"
"Lieutenant Colonel Kim has joined the protesters!"
"What kind of nonsense is that? Did you confirm it properly?"
"It's certain! The protesters have—"
Now that's interesting.
There's no way Yujin Kim—that cunning eel—would make the suicidal move of associating with communist rebels.
Which means something must have gone wrong.
"Colonel Lanza."
"Yes? As you can see, I'm quite busy."
"May I report this—and what we just heard—to the Chief of Staff first?"
"That would make things easier for me. I'll investigate further and then see him."
He had long wanted to shove that arrogant man into the mud.
And now, as if the heavens themselves were handing him the opportunity.
After all, wording makes all the difference.
He suddenly wondered whether their esteemed Chief of Staff—only a year older than himself—could remain composed after hearing this.
Filling his face with gloom and alarm, Drum slowly opened the door to the Chief's office and said:
"Lieutenant Colonel Kim has been detained by communist rioters."
The sound of a coffee cup shattering brought him a sense of peace.
***
While unpacking after moving, I had some gum issues and went to the dentist.
"You'll need to remove your wisdom tooth."
"?? My old dentist said I could keep it if there were no problems??"
"You came here because there is a problem."
"…Please, just spare me."
"It's lying perfectly sideways at a 90-degree angle, so I don't think we can save it."
So soon, I'll be heading out to eliminate Hoover—tooth.
Wow, exciting!
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