World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Kim Soon-sik found a corner to sit down and took a sip of water from his canteen. The water was cold and had a rusty taste. He looked out of the trench—on the smoke-filled battlefield, only fourteen of the twenty tanks were still moving; the rest were either destroyed or disabled. Further away, the third wave of attack was gathering, another dense mass of gray figures.

How long would this battle last? He didn't know. He only knew that every minute he lived brought him one step closer to death.

As he numbly gnawed on his dry bread, a strange sensation crept up the back of his neck.

It wasn't the sound of artillery fire, nor the sound of gunfire. It was... a sound. It came from deep within the German lines, faint yet strangely familiar.

A voice. A short, rough voice with a certain rhythm.

Japanese.

Kim Soon-sik suddenly looked up, gazing towards the direction of the German third line of defense. The distance was about four hundred yards; he couldn't see clearly through the smoke, but the sounds were definitely drifting towards him.

"Yonghao," he nudged his fellow villager beside him, "listen."

Park Young-ho listened intently, his expression changing: "That's... Japanese?"

Li Chengcan heard it too. He climbed to a slightly higher position and squinted to observe. "There are reserves moving behind the German lines. Judging from the outline of those helmets... they don't seem to be Germans."

Indeed. The standard German M1916 helmet had prominent ear flaps and a distinct outline. But the helmets worn by those moving behind the lines were slightly different—more rounded, with shorter ear flaps. And they were generally shorter, and their gait…

"Bowlegs," Li Chengcan uttered three words.

This word pierced everyone's heart like an icicle.

People in Caoxian are very familiar with this. The characteristics of soldiers from Japan: short and stocky, bowlegs (caused by years of kneeling with their toes pointing inward and marching training), and a slightly swaying gait. These are the identifying symbols etched into their very bones by years of colonial rule.

"Impossible," muttered a soldier from Cao County, "How could the people of Japan help the Germans?"

"What's impossible?" Li Chengcan sneered. "If the British can buy from us, why can't the Germans buy from them? It's all business."

Kim Soon-sik's hands began to tremble. Not from fear, but from another, more primal emotion surging within him. He remembered his father—the man who was beaten to death on the streets of Seoul for not bowing to the Japanese police. He remembered his sister—employed as a maid by a Japanese businessman, only to be returned three months later as a battered and bruised corpse. He remembered the annual "imperial tax" the village had to pay, the Japanese he was forced to learn at school, and the contemptuous looks in the eyes of the Japanese police when they stormed into his home to search for "rebellious books."

Hatred. Hatred buried for twenty-six years, suppressed by fear, was now ignited by familiar language and figures on the unfamiliar French battlefield.

"Quiet!" Lieutenant Sato noticed the commotion. "Prepare for attack!"

But no one listened to him. All the soldiers from Cao County stood up and looked behind the German lines. The figures became clearer and clearer—about a company size, around two hundred men, moving into the reserve positions of the third trench. They were talking, and occasionally laughter could be heard, as relaxed as if they were in a drill.

Then, they saw the Cao County soldiers in the trenches.

Three hundred yards apart, separated by the smoke of gunpowder, both sides recognized each other.

A Japanese officer—judging from his shoulder insignia, he was a captain—stood on the breastwork and raised his binoculars to look in their direction. He saw Lieutenant Sato's Japanese uniform, the machine guns of the supervising squad, and the densely packed Cao County soldiers in their gray "work clothes."

He lowered his binoculars, a scornful smile spreading across his face. Kim Soon-sik knew that smile all too well—the smile on the faces of the military police at Incheon Port, the faces of the patrolmen on the streets of Seoul, and the faces of all the rulers of the Sakura Kingdom.

The captain turned around and said something to the soldiers behind him. Then, he drew his saber.

In the sunlight, the saber reflected a cold glint. It was the command sword of a Japanese officer, its scabbard jet black and its hilt wrapped with white ribbon.

The captain took a deep breath and raised his knife forward—

"assault--!"

The pure, Kanto-accented Japanese resounded like thunder across the battlefield.

"Sweep them to death—!"

The two hundred Japanese soldiers behind him roared in unison, brandishing their bayonets as they leaped out of the trenches and launched a counter-charge.

In that instant, time stood still.

Lieutenant Sato was stunned. He clearly didn't know that there were Japanese troops in the German camp.

The British commander, watching this scene through binoculars from his rear observation post, was stunned. "What the hell…Japanese?"

But the soldiers from Cao County reacted the fastest.

Kim Soon-sik didn't even think. When the words "Sweep them to death!" entered his ears, and when that familiar charging posture came into view, all the humiliation, fear, and hatred accumulated over twenty-six years erupted like a volcano.

"ah--!"

He let out a beastly howl, not in Japanese, not in Chinese, but in pure, primitive Caoxian dialect. He picked up his rifle and, without even waiting for orders, was the first to leap out of the trench.

"You sons of bitches from Japan—!"

Park Young-ho jumped out right after him, his eyes bloodshot.

Then came the third, the fourth… the tenth… the hundredth. Throughout the entire second trench, every Cao County soldier who could still stand seemed to be pulled by the same string, all rushing out. There was no organization, no orders, not even a glance from the supervising officers.

The Japanese machine gunner in the command post was dumbfounded. Lieutenant Sato roared, "Stop! No unauthorized charges! Stop!"

But no one paid him any attention. The soldiers from Cao County charged at the two hundred Japanese soldiers like madmen, shouting insults in Korean as they charged:

"Son of a bitch!"

"Give me back my father's life!"

"Seoul's debts need to be paid!"

The Japanese soldiers opposite were also stunned. They had imagined that these "inferior race" soldiers from Cao County would either flee or kneel down in surrender when they saw the Imperial Army charging. They had never imagined that these "slaves" would dare to charge back with bayonets.

But there is no room for hesitation on the battlefield.

Two streams of people collided violently in a no-man's land between two trenches, riddled with shell craters and corpses.

Kim Soon-sik aimed at the captain wielding his saber. He remembered that contemptuous face. Thirty yards, twenty yards, ten yards—

The captain also saw him, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes before turning into a ferocious glint. He gripped his sword with both hands, assuming a standard kendo slashing stance.

"Those lowly people from Cao County dare to—"

Before he could finish speaking...

Kim Soon-sik did not thrust with his bayonet. In the last three yards, he suddenly ducked and slid to avoid the saber's slash, while simultaneously sweeping his rifle horizontally, slamming it hard into the side of the captain's knee.

"Snap!"

The sound of bones cracking. The captain screamed and fell to one knee. Kim Soon-sik had already sprang to his feet, turned his rifle around, and with the butt of the rifle—with all his might—slammed it into the captain's face.

One blow, two blows, three blows. His nose collapsed, teeth flew, and his eyes burst. Kim Soon-sik kept smashing until his face became a bloody mess, until the military knife slipped from his hand and fell into the mud.

"Soon-sik!" Park Young-ho grabbed him. "He's dead!"