Chapter 27

Prelude (2)

The Pancho Villa Expedition was a crucial test of the strength of the U.S. military.

In Congress, fierce debate was already underway over a new National Defense Act, while hardliners like Theodore Roosevelt were calling for militia training and arming themselves in preparation for intervention in Europe.
America, indeed—an “awesome” country where firearms practically litter the streets.

This expedition would even mobilize the National Guard units held by each state, separate from the federal army, as a way to test the nation’s full military capability.

Of course, for now, it had little to do with a mere second lieutenant like me.

After parting ways with Patton and returning to my office, I was greeted by fresh orders assigning me to the Pancho Villa Expedition.
The purpose: field-testing the prototype tank and handling various tasks—essentially dumping the work on me.

Still, for me, it was an incredible opportunity.
After spending one last night with Dorothy, I hastily packed my essentials at dawn and set off immediately.

“Welcome to San Francisco!!”

The moment I stepped off the train, Patton—who had been waiting at the station—spread his arms wide and greeted me enthusiastically.

“This is my hometown, you know.”
“Is it? Hahaha! What does it matter! The important thing is that I am welcoming you!”

Not the least bit embarrassed, he grinned shamelessly.

“At last, our time has come! The blood of men! Sweat! Gunpowder! All of it awaits us! And now—steel will join them!”

Patton was clearly exhilarated.
Seriously, how could he say such cringe-inducing lines so effortlessly?
Senior, please—my hands and feet are curling up.

I tried to watch the tanks being unloaded, but seeing my senior—old enough to know better—bouncing on his feet in excitement made it impossible to ignore him.

“Uh… sir?”
“What is it, Lieutenant Kim! You seem excited for this expedition too!”
“No, no—it looks like unloading the tanks will take quite some time—”

“Is that so? Hmm, yes, I suppose it will. Then let’s report in first! Right now! Can you ride a horse?”
“I learned at West Point—”
“Then let’s go immediately! Hahaha!!”

Ah, no.
There was no way I could match that energy.
No matter how I thought about it, this assignment meant being dragged along by this walking volcano.

Bang!!

“General! The chick has arrived!”

Despite bursting into the office with exaggerated politeness, Patton’s dramatic entrance didn’t faze the man inside. He simply raised his head slowly.

“So, you’re the one involved with Ford’s new weapon.”

“Yes, sir. Second Lieutenant Yujin Kim.”
“You’re young. No—too young.”

As I saluted, the man stood, approached, and extended his hand.

“John Joseph Pershing. A pleasure.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“Black Jack” Pershing.
A legend of World War I.
The embodiment of the U.S. Army—and a future General of the Armies.

For a lowly second lieutenant to greet him directly—it was overwhelming.
But then again, considering how understaffed the officer corps was, this probably wasn’t that unusual.

“Did you come alone?”
“No, sir. The tanks are currently being unloaded at the station.”

“….”

The gentle smile vanished instantly, replaced by a terrifying gaze.
That look clearly translated to: “Then why aren’t you supervising the unloading?”

I discreetly glanced toward Patton, and fortunately, he had enough sense to catch on.

“I suggested we report first, sir!”
“Did reporting take priority over unloading?”
“The meeting of the great ‘Black Jack’ and the U.S. Army’s dark horse! What could be more urgent than that!”

This time, Pershing’s laser-like stare shifted to Patton.

Translation: “Stop talking nonsense and explain properly.”

“Ahem! The unloading is being handled entirely by Ford engineers and Army engineers, so Lieutenant Kim’s role there is limited. I judged that it would be more beneficial for future operations to receive a direct briefing from the officer responsible for the weapon’s specifications and performance.”

“…I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Phew…”

So there was a deeper reasoning behind that?
As expected of a future four-star general. No way he was just a muscle-brained hothead… right?

“Sorry. I just improvised.”

…Never mind.

“Have a seat. As Patton suggested, let’s hear the briefing first.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Patton and I sat down, Pershing stroked his beard and stared at him again.
This time, I couldn’t interpret it at all. Some kind of unspoken exchange between present and future great commanders—

“…I’ll prepare drinks. What would you like, sir?”
“Water will do.”
“M-Me too, water is fine.”

This is suffocating.
I want to go home.

After being served water by none other than Patton himself, I compressed everything as much as possible and explained the performance and intended use of Ford’s prototype tank.

“As it happens, one of the goals of this expedition is to test various new weapons—aircraft, wireless communications, armored vehicles… and that ‘tank’ you brought.”

The tapping of his fingers echoed across the room.

“Patton.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your assessment of this ‘tank’?”

“I believe it will become the main force on future battlefields.”

…You didn’t say anything like that back in Detroit, you fraud.

Ignoring my disbelief, Patton continued.

“Adaptability to rough terrain, mid-range fire support, enhanced survivability. Frontline soldiers will soon pray for tanks to be beside them when they attack.”

“High praise, coming from you.”

“I still have concerns about logistics and maintenance. However… I see hope for the future in that iron horse.”

“….”

As Pershing pondered, Patton spoke again with a serious expression.

“That iron horse is the cavalry of the future. If you grant me a mixed unit of tanks and cavalry, I will bring you the head of that damned taco bandit leader.”

“The order from D.C. is capture—not a corpse. And you are not a commander—you are my aide.”

“As long as he doesn’t get shredded by a tank shell, I’ll bring him in alive! Please—grant me troops!”

Wait a second.
Things were very naturally heading toward assigning my precious tanks to the cavalry.

Absolutely not.

Even if hell froze over, I wasn’t letting that happen.

“General, may I offer my opinion?”

“Of course. I always welcome input from the officer in charge.”

“Have you seen the tank in person? It’s a moving mass of steel—a large piece of cover in itself.”

As if sensing where I was going, Patton frowned.

Nope. Not happening. Senior or not, I’m not handing it over to cavalry.
That tank is mine. My tank. My precious.

“Above all, the tank’s gun is ideal for destroying fortified positions like pillboxes, and its tracks are perfect for overcoming obstacles. Its entire design philosophy is a comprehensive package of exactly what frontline soldiers need most.”

“What?! You’re saying we should tie that incredible mobility to infantry? Lieutenant Kim, that’s absurd!”

“Of course, flexible operation depending on battlefield conditions will be necessary. But rather than assuming from the start that slowness is acceptable, it’s better to think we’ve accounted for mobility just in case.”

If tanks became a cavalry branch, I wouldn’t be able to use them properly in World War I.
Forget future doctrine—first, I needed to survive.
I wanted to ride a tank as part of the infantry!

“I’ve heard both of your opinions well. We’ll decide this after staff discussions.”

“Lieutenant Patton, guide Lieutenant Kim to the barracks and assist him with any necessary administrative matters.”
“Yes, sir!”
“That will be all.”

We stood up, and General Pershing returned to his desk, buried under piles of paperwork.
The more I saw of this circus they called an army, the more I was amazed.

The next day.
The decision came quickly.

“You’re splitting them in half?”
“Yes. That’s how it’s been decided. We have four prototype tanks—two will go to the cavalry, and two to the infantry.”

What a perfect Solomon’s judgment.
Even Patton clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“You can tell just by looking—they need to operate as a group. If you scatter them one or two at a time, they won’t make any impact! Imagine dozens, hundreds of tanks accelerating toward a single objective at once—a massive whip of steel that no one could stop! Whether Mexicans or Germans, they’d all be torn apart!”

“There’s certainly logic to that. However—”
“However?”

“I don’t think the technology has reached that level yet. Once we deploy them in actual combat, we’ll know for sure.”

Patton had no choice but to agree.
After all, no one had seen how they’d perform in real combat yet.

…Except me.

A battlefield of chaos.

The enemy of the expedition wasn’t Pancho Villa or some ragtag bandits.
Our number one enemy was this damn taco land itself, and number two was the senile brass who refused to accept new technology.

Pershing had to deal with some lunatic general constantly fuming, “That position should’ve been mine!”
Frontline soldiers were baking under the increasingly brutal sun, and equipment couldn’t withstand Mexico’s atrocious roads.

To match the goal of testing new technology, the expedition adopted the “revolutionary” concept of trucks.
It started with 27 1.5-ton trucks, and as more arrived from various locations, the number had grown into the hundreds.

Fuel consumption skyrocketed.
Supply officers began foaming at the mouth.
Maintenance crews started dropping like flies, and eventually even Ford’s engineers had to step in to help repair the trucks.

With so many trucks, you’d think soldiers would enjoy riding comfortably like a modern army.

That did not happen.

Because of… pride.

“You want us to advance on trucks?”
“If one breaks down, won’t it halt the entire advance? If that piece of junk blocks the road, we can’t move forward. Please reconsider.”
“A soldier’s virtue is marching! How can we ride in trucks? That’s an insult to our unit!”

No matter how many times I explained, the level of stubbornness in the U.S. Army at this time was beyond imagination.

“Just get on the damn truck.”
“They’re fine for transporting supplies, but not soldiers. Why should able-bodied men ride? Sure, they’re useful for evacuating the wounded, but—”
“Just get on! If we lose Villa because you insisted on marching, will you take responsibility?!”

But the deeper we moved into Mexico, the more emboldened the old guard became—because road conditions deteriorated so badly that the usefulness of trucks kept declining.

Trucks broke down.
Tanks broke down too.
There were no recovery vehicles, so it was a disaster. If it could be fixed in the field, that was lucky—otherwise, it might as well be written off as a total loss.

With this mess, how were we supposed to fight a war?
And yet… in the original timeline, the U.S. still entered World War I and won?
Pershing truly was an incredible man. Watching headquarters meetings alone was enough to give you hypertension.

“Damn it! I can’t take this anymore!!”

Eventually, even Patton snapped.

Of course he did. Watching those frustrating idiots up close alongside Pershing would drive anyone mad.

“I volunteered because I wanted to go to the battlefield!! How long do I have to keep filling the general’s water cup?! Why am I not even using an orderly—why me…!”

…Oh. So that was the problem.

My apologies for not realizing.

As time passed, Patton’s madness only intensified. Eventually, even Pershing gave in and tossed him a unit like a bone.

“Lieutenant Kim!!”
“Yes, sir.”
“At last, the time has come for us to seize glory!”
“Us?”
“Of course! Wouldn’t it be unfair if I alone earned distinction? I strongly requested that you be sent along with me—and got approval!!”

…Wait. What?

This was good—but also not good.
What kind of glory was I supposed to find in this hellhole?

There was a reason my assignment had turned out like this in the first place—because of the risks tied to command.
The moment I took charge and the soldiers started trembling and shouting “Monkey, go home!”, my career would be over.

So I had already abandoned any thoughts of earning distinction here.
Working under Pershing alone was enough—quietly building a good impression through diligence would suffice.
My plan had been to focus on tank-related work and showcase my abilities that way…

But—

“Come! Before Patton, only glory awaits!”
“…Yes, sir…”

Yeah.
This was my own fault for standing next to someone this sharp-edged.
I knew exactly who George Patton was—yet I failed to run.

And now… I was being dragged along for the ride.