How to Fight the Darkness (9)
A few days later.
I stood before Yushin like a man about to face the King of the Underworld.
"So… what you're saying is, we act as a guarantor between the government and shipbuilders and skim a bit of profit? I'm not sure I follow."
"I don't know the exact method either. But ships need to be built, no matter what."
"…Is that even a proper idea?"
Yuil just blinked in confusion, while Yushin let out one long sigh after another. With reactions like that, it really feels like I've committed some unforgivable sin.
"Let me get this straight. You're absolutely certain… that a war will break out within ten years?"
"Yeah."
"And that war will require a massive number of transport ships?"
"Exactly. Now you're finally getting it."
"So from a soldier's perspective, you're thinking we need ships—but it's hard to tap government funds, so you're trying to find a way to profit from it?"
"Yes! That's it! See? This is why having a younger brother like you is so reassuring!"
At last, someone understood my perfect plan. A fish cannot live without water—such was my joy.
Unfortunately, that "water" only deepened the wrinkles on his forehead.
"And the way to both build ships and make money is…?"
"I gave you the general direction. You figure out the rest."
"I'm going to kill you."
"W-wait! Calm down!"
Please, spare me. I was wrong.
Yushin sat back down, clutching his head and glaring at me.
"You're absolutely sure it'll happen?"
"Absolutely."
"Who's fighting who?"
"Germany will expand, and Japan will try to swallow Asia whole."
"Even if the United States doesn't join immediately, demand for transport ships will skyrocket. Which means we can sell them to civilians."
"Does that mean Joseon will also be caught up in the war?"
Yuil, who had been despairing over our idiocy, suddenly turned serious at the mention of war.
There was no point reciting the entire history of World War II here. I just explained within reasonable assumptions—after all, I'm not the only one anticipating it.
The key point, as Yushin said, was securing enough transport ships.
Of course, requisitioning ships during wartime is standard—but in the midst of the Great Depression, with global maritime trade shrinking, there's no natural demand for more ships. Forcing production would require extraordinary measures.
That's why I proposed that idea earlier.
"…There's no point in just the three of us thinking about this. We don't even know the cost of building cargo ships."
"That's true."
"And how exactly are we supposed to act as guarantors? Predicting the future and having the money to back it are completely different things. We'd need to partner with financial institutions."
After that, I got thoroughly scolded.
Reality hits hard.
Once the storm of lecturing subsided, Yushin gulped down some water and wrapped things up.
"Anyway, if we operate under the assumption that war is inevitable, there are plenty of ways to make money. For starters, we can bundle in those landing boats you've been developing."
"Really?"
"Of course. Trying to control a game this big ourselves is nonsense. This only moves if people like J. P. Morgan or John D. Rockefeller start walking in and out of D.C. Let's push things gradually—through the chamber of commerce, the governor, the lawmakers."
"R-right…"
Sorry, little brother. I still don't fully understand what you're saying.
But then again, when I talk about depth operations or firepower corridors, you don't understand either. Let's just respect each other's fields like good brothers.
Jokes aside, securing transport capacity is absolutely critical to the United States' ability to project power. Money is secondary.
Even if our investments failed and our family went bankrupt, I could just leave a time capsule for future generations:
"Before 1990, go all-in on the Japanese stock and real estate markets. Sell at the peak, then invest the remainder into a small soft-window company and some bald drug addict named Jobs' apple farm."
They'd probably turn into tycoons on their own.
Even without that, I could scrape together my military pension and insurance in old age and go all-in on McDonald's. That alone would be enough to buy snacks for my grandchildren forever.
Satisfied with the idea that transport ships would be prepared somehow, I stood up to leave.
Ring—!
"Wait a second. Let's go together. Hello, this is Yushin Kim."
The call lasted less than a minute, but Yushin's face gradually turned pale.
When he hung up, his expression was harder than ever.
"We'll have to continue this later. Looks like we need to go somewhere."
"Where?"
"Kansas."
***
"Dad!"
"Father-in-law!"
We rushed from California to Kansas, only to find former Congressman Curtis lying in bed, wearing glasses, leisurely reading a newspaper.
"Well now. I've caused quite a nuisance, bringing such busy people all the way here."
"You collapsed in the bathroom! This isn't a nuisance—you should be resting!"
"I know my body better than anyone. Don't worry. Since you're here, stay and have some hot stew. You liked it last time, didn't you?"
Unlike when I'd last seen him, my father-in-law looked terrible.
The four years under the Hoover administration had been nothing short of hell for Charles Curtis.
Isolated.
Under relentless pressure from the White House.
His proud achievements dismantled as hotbeds of corruption, bombarded from all sides with criticism and humiliation.
The Bonus Army incident had been barely contained—but that was it. Nothing had been fully resolved. And on top of it all, the unprecedented natural disaster known as the Dust Bowl had turned Kansas into ruins.
If it were me, I would have cursed the heavens a hundred times, shouting, "What am I supposed to do about this?" while flipping the sky the middle finger.
But my father-in-law—whether he had reached enlightenment or simply given up—just smiled faintly.
After watching the grandchildren play for a while, my father-in-law turned to me.
"Now that you're here, I can't just sit still. Care for a cigarette?"
"Dad! I told you to stay put!"
"You've got to let a bit of smoke settle in your stomach before a meal so it knows food's coming. You come all this way just to yell at your old man… Hmph. My son-in-law really has it rough, being stuck with such a fiery one—"
"Let's go, sir. Shall I help you?"
"No need. I've got a cane."
At my words, he stiffened slightly, grabbed the cane beside him, and slowly began to descend the stairs.
One step.
Then another.
Though slow, his steps were steady—without a single misstep, he made it all the way down and out of the house. My heart nearly dropped watching him.
"Since you've come all this way, at least keep this old man company for a bit."
"Of course. I'll stay the night. The kids would like that too."
As always when meeting him in Kansas, we found the old tree stump where we used to sit together and lit our cigarettes side by side.
"Congressman MacArthur is doing quite well now."
We sat in silence for a long while, staring up at the sky.
Then, as if tossing the words out casually, he spoke again.
"Is that so? I'm glad he's adapting well to a profession outside the military."
"He's polite, good with people, and very skilled at publicizing what he does. Perfect qualities for a district politician."
"Ah, that makes sense. He handled public relations during the Mexican expedition."
So that notorious talent for media play—the one that earned him countless curses from both superiors and subordinates in another history—was shining here. So this is what it means to find the right calling.
"Even if the administration changes, devastated farms don't just spring back to life. In that sense, having a congressman who energetically blows the trumpet over even the smallest matters—telling people that things are changing, that they're improving… at least it keeps the residents from falling into despair."
"Oh, come on. You've already done so much for your district. A little talk from Congressman MacArthur just makes everything look even better."
"You flatter too much."
"Flattery? Not at all. I've lived my whole life speaking nothing but the truth."
He let out a small, incredulous laugh and turned his head slightly. That reaction almost made me sulk—how could he mock his son-in-law's honest and upright heart like that?
"My work is done now."
"What nonsense are you saying so confidently? Just because you've retired from politics doesn't mean life is over. If you feel bored, why not stay with us for a while?"
"My place?"
"Yes. Spend time with your grandchildren, and if you're in D.C., you'd still have people to advise. It's not like you've lost your qualifications as a lawyer—only your seat."
"Hm."
They say people age rapidly after retirement.
Like most who suddenly find themselves with nothing to do, the best way to prepare for old age is to create new work and keep busy.
Even if he had stepped down and handed things over to MacArthur, it wasn't like the Republican Party had been buried altogether. If anything, losing someone expected to be a post-Hoover figure had left them stunned.
So if he just showed his face a bit, reassured them, and kept hopes alive for the next election, he'd be treated as a respected elder and regain some pride. A win-win situation.
"Well… that's not a bad idea."
"Not bad? It's a great idea. Your children are all coming to Kansas anyway. See everyone, then come to D.C. with us."
"I'll think about it after seeing how my condition is. I should also speak with Congressman MacArthur, who's taken on the burden in my place, and check in with the people in my district."
"And yet you were lying in bed earlier?"
"A politician needs to show an empty seat now and then. That way people realize, 'Ah, that bastard wasn't a tax leech after all—we actually needed him.'"
As expected, not a man of ordinary experience. No matter what I said, he countered it.
"And you, of all people, are a notorious politician who's always absent."
"I'm not a politician—I'm a soldier."
"It's all the same. When someone everyone expects to run keeps hesitating, people start to suffocate with anticipation. Chairman Ford and I nearly died from it."
"I really won't run."
"I know. I've given up. You'll do fine without becoming a politician, so I won't push you."
He slowly closed his eyes.
"For a moment, your words tempted me… but going to D.C. will be difficult after all."
"…What?"
"I've been waiting for someone to come here, to this house in Kansas. They were supposed to arrive soon, but there's been no word."
"…Couldn't you ask them to come to D.C. instead?"
The house wasn't going anywhere. If it needed managing, we could hire someone. If a guest came, we could simply have them shown in. What was so difficult?
But perhaps age had made him stubborn—he wouldn't budge.
"Hm. It seems they've arrived."
"Who could have come? There's no one here but us."
"My wife was supposed to come. I'll leave the rest to you, my son-in-law."
His wife? You mean my mother-in-law?
…Has his mind begun to fail? She passed away long ago—why bring her up now?
I crushed out my cigarette and turned back toward him.
"It's getting chilly. Let's head inside."
"..."
"Sir, you'll catch a chill sleeping out here. Let's go."
"..."
"We should have some hot stew and then get back to work. I brought an excellent new business idea this time, so let's discuss it—discuss it, I mean… Sir?"
He didn't stand.
I sank down onto the ground.
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