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“Brigade, attention.”
The cadets stood in perfect formation.
“Salute to the Superintendent.”
A flawless salute followed.
Perfect.
An organization where individual will is stripped away, and unity is achieved through command and discipline alone.
That is the military.
No matter how much I cursed the superintendent in my head for making us stand under the blazing sun listening to his speech, a soldier’s duty is simple.
You obey.
The real problem was how to stay awake through the long speech.
“And one more thing.”
Do not lie.
That is already the third time you have said that.
“We will be receiving a distinguished guest at West Point.”
We are screwed.
A guest is coming here?
Just when Beast Barracks ended and things were getting easier, now we would be forced to prepare for a visit.
Judging by the forced coughs echoing around me, I was not the only one struggling to keep a straight face.
Who could be important enough for the superintendent to personally emphasize this?
Guests of this era were usually royalty.
Not the king himself, but someone close.
“And you are all familiar with him.
Our guest is Admiral Togo Heihachiro, the hero of Tsushima.”
Sleep vanished instantly.
Togo is coming.
I never expected this.
If I had known, I would have delayed my admission by a year.
Admiral Togo Heihachiro.
A true Japanese commander.
When I think of Japanese generals, most names are jokes.
But Togo was different.
The man who destroyed the Russian Baltic Fleet and secured victory in the Russo-Japanese War.
My thoughts became complicated.
I talked about killing Japs all the time, but I never intended to become a martyr for Korean independence.
I knew the future.
Pearl Harbor.
The Pacific War.
The mushroom clouds.
That was thirty years away.
And yet now, as if testing me, one of the symbols of the Japanese Empire stood before me.
“Why are you staring into space?
Are you not eating?”
“Get lost, James.”
Even James Van Fleet annoyed me now.
That bread is mine.
“He has been like that since hearing about Togo.”
“Is it that serious?”
“Say something stupid again and I will throw you into the Hudson River.”
James blinked.
Omar Bradley sighed.
“James.
Eugene is Korean.”
“Oh.”
“Which country annexed Korea?”
“…I understand.
Sorry.”
But he kept talking.
“Still, we are soldiers.
We follow orders.
That admiral is no different.”
I stayed silent.
Trying to explain Japan’s nature would be pointless.
Even a hundred years later, Americans remain ignorant of other cultures.
Seeing my expression, James grew uneasy.
“If you are that upset, just shoot him.”
“What?”
“Enough, James.”
My head hurt.
I was not even angry.
Just unsettled.
“If you want to help me, give me that.”
I grabbed his bread and ate it.
“That helps.”
“My food…”
“At least I will not shoot Togo now.”
He was easy to tease.
August 4, 1911.
Admiral Togo arrived in New York.
He came aboard the Lusitania.
Years later, that same ship would be sunk, becoming a cause for American entry into the war.
History is strange.
Despite all my thoughts, I had no real connection with Togo.
At least that is what I thought.
“Maintain normal class conditions.”
That phrase was repeated three times.
Something felt wrong.
Rumor said someone suggested that observing new cadets would better show West Point’s training.
If I find that person, I will borrow James’s rifle and shoot him.
For nearly a week, Togo observed our classes.
During digging drills.
During artillery lectures.
During riding practice.
Always watching.
It felt like he was watching me.
“Cadet Eugene Kim.”
“Yes.”
A sergeant approached me.
“The guest wishes to speak with you.”
Damn it.
An open field.
Admiral Togo stood there.
After formalities, he spoke first.
“Thank you for your time, young man.”
His English was fluent.
“It is an honor to meet you, Admiral.”
“I noticed you from the beginning.
An Asian at West Point is unusual.
And a Japanese American at that.”
“That is correct.”
“I would like to speak privately.”
The instructor stepped away.
“May I speak freely?”
“Of course.”
I replied in Japanese.
He blinked, then lit a cigarette.
“You speak Japanese.”
“I have to.”
“I assumed you were Chinese at first.
Only later did I learn you are Korean.”
“I am American.”
“Yes.
American.”
“Do you have anything to ask a servant of invasion?”
“The United States and Japan maintain friendly relations.
That term is inappropriate.”
“You should be a politician.”
“My skin says there are no jobs in Washington for me.”
He laughed loudly.
“You are interesting.
The military is a good path for someone like you.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you consider coming to Japan?”
His eyes sharpened.
“White people will never accept Asians.
Even Japan cannot escape prejudice.
Asia must unite.”
He spoke passionately.
Asian prosperity.
An Asia for Asians.
Others might be persuaded.
But I knew the future.
“No.
I am a soldier of the United States.”
“A pity.
But youth learns from failure.”
He looked at me with pity.
I pitied him instead.
He extended his hand.
I shook it.
Strong grip.
A meaningful meeting.
“Eugene is back.”
“What did he say?”
“Come on, tell us.”
Everyone gathered around me.
“Japan invited me.”
“Traitor.”
“Shut up.
I am from San Francisco.”
“…Right.”
Omar Bradley approached and tapped my shoulder.
“Good to see you back.
Smoke?”
“Let’s go.”
Dwight David Eisenhower and James Van Fleet followed quietly.
That silent support felt reassuring.
This was where I belonged.