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Fencing, boxing, wrestling, calisthenics, gymnastics, horseback riding, swimming, American football, baseball, basketball, polo, hockey.
English, literature, poetry, politics, history, engineering, mathematics, second languages.
Even without military training, the sheer volume of education was overwhelming.
Back in my previous life, academy graduates used to call themselves “magazine heads.” Now I understood why.
Just like firing thirty rounds from a magazine, if you did not learn, test, and forget quickly, your brain would overload.
The quality of the classes was poor, and once I realized there was little value in them, everything felt like torture.
Classes.
Training.
Classes.
Idle chatter.
Physical training.
Exercise.
Classes.
West Point was far harsher than I had expected.
At least once a month, someone left due to injury or illness.
Some instructors clearly disliked my skin color and constantly tried to pick on me.
I had to be even more careful than others.
Upperclassmen tormenting underclassmen was considered normal.
No matter how unreasonable, we had to endure it.
And of course, there were always idiots eager to target a “yellow monkey” like me.
My basic response was simple.
I just laughed it off, thinking about how old I really was if I combined both lives.
But I could not just let everything slide.
These people could become my superiors or subordinates in the future.
The military, in any era, is a massive organization.
And in such places, relationships matter.
For these four years, I wanted the people around me to view me positively.
In short, I needed to build my image.
Right now, as I stood stiffly lost in thought, a far more urgent problem appeared.
“Hey, Ike.”
“Wake up.
We are late.”
Omar Bradley and James Van Fleet dragged Dwight David Eisenhower out of bed.
It was a perfect display of Greco-Roman wrestling.
“Five more minutes…”
“I can give you fifty years.”
“You there.
Why did you not wake your comrade?”
Despite Bradley’s attempt to explain, the scratching of a pen recorded our penalty.
“You will skip breakfast and perform thirty minutes of drill this afternoon.”
“No.”
“This is your fault.”
“Thank you for waiting for me, comrades.”
Eisenhower smiled brightly.
“Eugene.
Grab him.”
“Yes, General Bradley.”
“Wait, hitting me will not bring breakfast back.”
“Not hitting you will not bring it back either.”
Watching Eisenhower struggle to wake up every morning, I began to doubt he would ever become President.
“I am hungry.”
“Because of you.”
“Sorry.
I will wake up earlier.”
We ignored his apology.
This was the third time.
So I decided to save these starving fools.
“Here.
Eat this.”
“Bread?
Where did you get that?”
Instead of eating, they questioned me.
“If you are not eating, give it back.”
“Thank you, General Kim.”
Bradley complained, Eisenhower saluted, and Van Fleet immediately ate.
“Where did you get this?”
“The mess hall.”
Their expressions froze.
“You stole it?”
“If I had, we would all be in trouble.”
“Then how?”
They surrounded me.
“Local cooperation.”
“The kitchen staff?”
“The Black women working there.”
“What?”
“We built a relationship.”
It had taken effort.
“They give me leftovers.
What you are eating is extra.”
“…Good.
At least you did not steal.”
We walked in silence.
“Eugene.”
“What?”
Van Fleet whispered.
“They go outside, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then… outside goods?”
“Fatima cigarettes.
Fifty cents.”
We grinned and shook hands.
“Please take care of us.”
“Of course.”
Before Al Capone built his empire, I had already decided.
I would become West Point’s smuggling king.
Smoking was forbidden at West Point.
Which only made people want it more.
Cadets hid and smoked in secret.
Supply came from those with outside connections.
The current smuggling leader was a senior named Harris.
His mother stayed nearby, and he used visits to bring in goods.
But now, with my stable supply network, it was time to replace him.
“This week’s order…”
Money was not the point.
In a small community, hoarding everything would cause trouble.
“Senior.”
“I do not deal with monkeys.”
“I heard you are the best at navigation.”
I slipped a textbook forward.
Beneath it, cigarettes disappeared into his pocket.
“Helping juniors is honorable.”
“Thank you.”
A gift is the best way to show sincerity.
Even the worst cadet would not insult me after receiving something.
If Eisenhower won people over with passion, and Bradley with kindness,
I won them over with cigarettes.