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West Point was an isolated place.
Aside from summer break, Christmas, or occasional external sporting events, there were almost no opportunities to leave.
It was no wonder that people who already loved sports began to lose their minds here.
The isolation was so extreme that even Winston Churchill, who had attended a strict British boarding school, was said to have remarked that “West Point is a monastery.” Whether that was true or not, it certainly felt believable.
After seeing the same faces day after day for a year, young men naturally began to shed even their sense of shame.
“I want sex so badly!”
“Shut up, idiot.
Do not shout that.”
Lock up young men full of energy in their teens and twenties, and this is exactly what happens.
In a secluded corner of the vast campus, James Van Fleet’s ridiculous shout earned him a scolding, while Omar Bradley silently smoked his cigarette.
“I am running out of cigarettes.”
“The guys who went out will bring some.
Eugene, when is the next shipment?”
“The instructors are watching more closely these days.
Even the dumbest ones have started noticing the increase in cigarette butts since last year.”
Was this West Point or Alcatraz?
Even I was starting to question it.
“Ike has it easy.
He can go outside.
When do we get that chance?”
“He is practically the leader over there.
If you are jealous, you should have become a baseball god.”
“Lucky bastard.
He plays one game, looks into the crowd, and women go crazy.
Then he picks the prettiest–”
“James, your head is full of nonsense.
What happened to duty and honor?”
“Let those who go outside worry about that.
We will be stuck here another year before we get that chance.”
Bradley grumbled.
“Just wait.
The age of baseball will come.
One day, this West Point baseball team will stand above those football players.
And the names Omar Bradley and Eugene Kim will be remembered forever.”
Sorry, that will not happen.
No matter how big baseball gets, it will not surpass football, especially here.
Seeing my expression, Bradley frowned.
“What?
When that day comes, you should quit the army and become a professional coach.”
“Sure.
When people stop shooting at asians, I will consider it.”
“Always so bitter.”
Try living as one and see.
Sometimes I felt disgusted enough to push myself even harder to succeed.
“An officer is coming.
Move.”
We scattered immediately, following what this “great institution” had taught us.
In its own way, it was a good life.
The problem began that evening.
“Ike?
What happened to your leg?”
Dwight David Eisenhower returned from an away game, leaning on crutches.
“They say I tore a ligament.
Damn it.”
“It is not that serious.
A glorious injury.”
“Stop talking nonsense and get treatment.”
“Of course.
What I really need is cigarette therapy.”
He unwrapped the bandage on his leg, revealing a hidden pack of cigarettes instead of a splint.
“You… you…”
“You are insane!
You are the best!”
The others immediately began hiding cigarettes on their bodies.
“I like Ike!
Is this the end of Kim’s shop and the rise of Ike’s business?”
“Pay up, you bastards.”
We smoked together, thinking that was the end of it.
But it was not.
“Did you hear?”
“What now?”
At lunch the next day, Anastacio spoke quietly.
“Ike fell during riding practice.”
“What?”
“His knee was worse than expected.
It caused an accident.”
Something felt wrong.
Was this part of the original history?
What if something had changed?
What if Eisenhower left the academy because of this?
The thought unsettled me deeply.
“Why do you look so worried?”
“Just… a bad feeling.”
Food would not go down.
If it had been someone else, I might not care.
But not him.
“Where is he?”
“In the infirmary.”
I made up my mind.
“Do not do anything stupid,” Anastacio warned.
“This is not stupidity.
It is camaraderie.”
“Are you insane?
If Sergeant Richard catches you, you are finished.”
That night, I decided to sneak out.
Under the cover of darkness, I slipped out and made my way to the infirmary.
“Senior Martin.”
“Kim?
Are you crazy?”
“I just need fifteen minutes.”
He hesitated, then unlocked the door.
“Fifteen minutes.
If anyone comes, I will knock over a chair.
Run immediately.”
Inside, Eisenhower stared in shock.
“Are you insane?”
“You looked lonely.”
“Sergeant Richard will…”
I threw him a pack of cigarettes.
“My comrade, I will not forget your sacrifice.”
“Then give me a light.”
Idiot.
We smoked in silence for a while.
Then he spoke.
“They told me to quit football.”
I said nothing.
“If I continue, I might lose my leg.”
“…I see.”
“I never even wanted to be a soldier.
I just came here to play football.”
I could not respond easily.
“Tell me.
If you could never do what you wanted again, what would you do?”
“Our situations are different.”
He shook his head.
“To me, they feel the same.”
I thought carefully.
“I originally wanted to go to Annapolis.
I thought fighting Japan would happen at sea.”
“Me too.
But I came here because of my age.”
“I just chose the option that was possible.”
“So I should just find something else?”
“That is your decision.”
At that moment, a loud noise came from outside.
“Someone is coming.”
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
You are not meant to live off football.
You are meant to stay in the army and become a five-star general.”
I jumped out the window before hearing his reply.
A few days later, he returned to class, smiling again.
But when West Point lost 6–0 to Annapolis, his expression darkened once more.