Chapter 74
The Sword of the United States (4)
At last, the dreadful defensive line of Meuse–Argonne began to collapse, one section after another.
Like a massive dam being punctured, the cracks started small—but soon split wide open, leading to catastrophic destruction.
As the defensive line leading to Sedan crumbled amid thunderous gunfire, the remaining German forces were reduced to pebbles and gravel—buried beneath the tidal wave of a million American troops.
Then momentum surged.
The Americans, who had suffered for so long, pursued the enemy with venom in their eyes.
Sedan.
The land of longing.
And when it finally came into sight, it was perhaps inevitable that cracks would form within the Allied ranks.
“Sedan is a land of humiliation for us. Naturally, it is we, the French army, who must reclaim it to wash away that shame.”
The Allied Supreme Commander, Foch, declared it firmly—leaving no room for compromise.
Decades earlier, during the Franco-Prussian War, France’s emperor, Napoleon III, had been miserably forced to surrender at the fortress of Sedan.
Just as the Qing had risen after forcing King Injo’s surrender at Namhansanseong, Germany too had captured Napoleon III and declared the birth of the German Empire.
It was understandable that the French, eyes bloodshot, were determined to plant the first flag in Sedan.
“Regrettably, we cannot yield Sedan—for the honor of the United States.”
The Americans had spilled endless blood in this cursed Meuse–Argonne while Britain and France turned the Hindenburg Line into ruins.
They needed undeniable achievements.
How much blood had been shed—irrelevant.
How many enemies had been held back—empty words.
Only land mattered.
How far they had advanced. How much territory they had secured.
And how valuable that territory was in contributing to victory.
By that measure, Sedan—capable of nearly paralyzing railway transport across German-occupied regions—was not something they could ever concede.
There was also a practical reason.
“You want us to yield it to the French?”
“If French troops advance from the rear, it’ll cause a disaster on these narrow roads.”
Marshall, whose abilities had already been proven, spoke bluntly.
Armies were massive in scale.
Trying to push not just divisions or corps, but entire armies into these narrow, muddy, unpaved roads could result in catastrophic chaos.
“From this point on, there is no longer any boundary between sectors.”
In the end, Pershing—torn between justification and practicality—chose to abandon restraint rather than lose honor.
“Use any means necessary. Day or night. Do not, under any circumstances, let those French frogs take Sedan.”
The entire American army surged forward like a runaway force.
***
From horse number one to horse number eight.
The curtain was about to rise on a once-in-a-lifetime race of 1.2 million men.
“Division commander.”
“Oh please. Don’t tell me there’s more work.”
“This is an order from headquarters.”
“Let me see.”
I read through the short order, then folded it roughly and stuffed it into my pocket.
“Alright, gentlemen. I know you’re all exhausted from overtime work, but listen up.”
“Yes, sir!”
“It seems your hard work has been recognized by higher command.”
As I began, my adorable little meerkats all looked at me with sparkling eyes—‘Maybe?’ ‘A promotion?’ ‘A medal?’—their gazes full of expectation.
Sorry, boys. I gave you too much hope.
“The 93rd Division will halt its advance and transition into corps reserve.”
“…What?”
“C-could you repeat that?”
Looks like they couldn’t process the sudden shift in situation.
“We’re being told not to go to Sedan. We’re to rest.”
“This is unacceptable!”
“We’ve fought and bled so much! Shouldn’t we be the ones to plant the Stars and Stripes in Sedan?!”
“Ignore the order, sir! Give us the command to advance immediately!”
Angry reactions and curses erupted everywhere. Like characters in a violent film, they had turned rough and aggressive—the horrors of war twisting their very nature.
“Alright, calm down. Chief of Staff Bradley.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d like your opinion.”
Bradley didn’t hesitate for even a second.
“I believe higher command has made a very timely decision.”
“You heard him?”
The staff, unable to understand what was going on, kept glancing back and forth between me and Omar.
“We’ve been engaged in desperate combat on the front line for quite some time. We need to consider the fatigue of the troops.”
“But—”
I raised a hand to stop the staff officer mid-protest.
“Who here knows how much food and ammunition our frontline troops are carrying right now?”
“……”
“What about fuel? Fatigue? The wounded?”
There was no answer.
Good. The anger and suspicion—thinking they were being excluded just because they were a Black unit—was fading, and they were returning to reality.
“Maintain the line and assess required supplies. Prepare for resupply. Especially ambulances—clear the roads so medical units can reach the front first.”
“Understood!”
“Dismissed.”
Since my presence would only make them uncomfortable, I left immediately.
Haji and Omar followed right behind me like shadows.
“Yujin.”
“What.”
“What do you really think?”
You bastard. Reading my mind so easily.
“Obviously we got sidelined because we’re Black. Damn it.”
“That’s not the answer you wanted, so I gave a safer one.”
“Thanks a lot. Really saved me.”
Haji looked like he was going through his second mental breakdown, but still did his duty—quickly offering a lighter.
As expected of a seasoned adjutant. Even in the rough midnight wind, he lit it flawlessly.
“Yeah, we got sidelined. Damn… this feels great.”
“If that’s the case, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to file a request with higher command again.”
“No. This is perfect. Cough! Cough!”
I tried to blow out the smoke coolly, but the damn wind sent it straight back into my nose. Damn it—this seriously ruins the dignity of a great war hero.
“Haah… anyway. Even if we rush to Sedan, we’ll just face more enemies. It’s not like Sedan is sitting there waiting for us with open arms.”
“That’s true.”
“So for now, we act like gentlemen—‘we understand the situation’—and step aside. The higher-ups will at least feel some shame.”
No need to send the soldiers to their deaths while being cursed by everyone.
We’ve already done enough. Not going to Sedan won’t erase our achievements. It’s not like they’ll suddenly say, ‘The war’s over, you’re back to being a lieutenant!’
If that happens, I swear I’ll switch careers and become a full-fledged communist revolutionary.
Although my war was practically over, I couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy.
“They said to ignore sector boundaries and just push forward, right?”
“Hm? Yeah, that was the order.”
“This is just asking for an accident.”
There had been a similar incident in the Korean War of the original timeline.
The U.S. 1st Cavalry Division, the ROK 1st Division, and the 7th Division all got tangled up competing for the honor of first entering Pyongyang—creating a complete mess.
And now, there was no guarantee something similar wouldn’t happen again.
“Haji. Get the car ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Haji quickly disappeared, Omar—now with no one to worry about watching—grabbed me.
“Hey! Where are you going, leaving the guys behind?!”
“They’ll be fine getting some proper rest. I’m just going to visit a neighboring unit for a bit!”
“Hey!! You bastard! I call you my friend and this is what you do?! Heyyy!!”
Sorry.
But this is a mother’s heart—wanting you to get more experience holding command while the division commander is away.
Leaving behind the fuming Omar, I quickly climbed into the back seat of the vehicle Haji had already boarded.
Last time, he ignored me?
This time, I ditched him.
Ah, feels great.
****
With orders to ignore night offensives and sector boundaries and charge straight toward Sedan, one-way runaway trains bound for Sedan thundered forward.
And the closest unit to Sedan—was none other than the 42nd Division.
—Launch the attack on Sedan immediately.
“Apologies, but could you grant us a few hours’ delay?”
Despite pressure from the 42nd Division commander Menohar, MacArthur immediately refused.
“The troops are utterly exhausted. They’ve moved so hastily that many threw away their rations just to lighten their load.”
—Damn it. But orders are—
“Even if we launch a night offensive, it’s difficult to predict whether we can successfully repel the enemy—or how many casualties we’ll take. Please allow us some time to begin the assault at dawn.”
—Fine. The 84th Brigade will capture Sedan at first light.
“Thank you.”
After hanging up, MacArthur immediately began preparing.
“Where are you going?”
“Sedan.”
“Have you inhaled too much gas? Do you now need gas instead of oxygen to feel satisfied?”
Despite the jab, MacArthur only smirked.
“Has there ever been a time when I, MacArthur, faced the enemy and didn’t personally conduct reconnaissance?”
“That was before you got gassed twice.”
“All the more reason to go now. I won’t tolerate rumors that the great MacArthur is cowering in his tent because of gas.”
Brushing off all attempts to stop him, he finished his usual “preparations” and was about to quietly head toward Sedan.
At that moment—
“General. Urgent report.”
“Speak.”
“Unidentified forces are moving in front of our lines.”
“At this hour?”
He paused for a moment.
A German night raid?
Having conducted many himself, he judged that given the current state of his troops, it was entirely possible the enemy would attempt one.
“I’ll go scout it out myself.”
“General?”
“Sedan or there—it’s all the same, isn’t it? You couldn’t even determine their size?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then I have to go. Ready the troops, and deploy artillery just in case.”
Issuing new orders, he immediately headed toward the reported location.
Faint, pale shapes approaching from afar.
Just by looking at them, they were shambling along without any discipline—completely disorganized. The Germans must have been so battered that they had no strength left.
And then—
“Halt! Move and we fire!”
“?!”
A booming voice—in English.
Before MacArthur could react, several soldiers rushed forward, pointing rifles and submachine guns at him.
“On your knees! Now!”
“Men, I am Brigadier General MacArthur, commander of the 84th Brigade.”
The 1st Division?
Why are 1st Division troops in front of us?
Damn those sector boundaries!
Only then did he understand the situation.
These idiots had pushed straight into the 42nd Division’s area without proper coordination.
“A brigadier general? You?”
“Y-you fools! The 42nd Division is right over there! I’m its commander!”
“If you’re a brigadier general, then I’m Pershing, you bastard.”
“Alright, let’s hear your story in front of our intelligence officers, ‘General.’”
From head to toe—
Hat, scarf, sweater, riding pants, boots—
There was nothing about MacArthur’s appearance that clearly marked him as American.
Suspicious. Extremely suspicious.
The soldiers slammed him to the ground, bound him expertly, and began searching his body.
“He’s carrying U.S. operational maps.”
“Good. We’ve captured a spy. Those Jerry bastards are persistent to the very end. Return to base immediately!”
“Y-you damned idiots…!”
And so, the elite warriors of the 1st Division proudly returned to base—having captured a “spy” of the evil Empire.