I Became Stalin chapter 272

I became Stalin chapter 272

272

MacArthur eventually accepted a temporary “thaw” with the Soviet Union. Behind him, he hid a dagger to be pierced into the chest of the Soviet Union.

The US negotiating team departed for Geneva, where the United Nations headquarters is located, for talks with the Soviet Union. The task assigned to them was simple. Take your time as much as you can, talk around and be sarcastic.

If time permits, the United States could form a force that surpassed the Soviet Union at any time. Still, the economic gap between the US and the US was quite large, and even in proportion, US military investment surpassed that of the Soviet Union. How the Soviet Union, which spends less money, develops these new weapons so quickly, was only unfair to prickly American scientists.

However, the MacArthur government’s decision to do so did not mean that everything was easily resolved.

“No more wars! Give me peace!”

 . End the war now! Anti-war slogans dominated the streets.

When the MacArthur government itself put aside the Soviet threat and began to thaw, the justification itself that the war had to continue to prevent the threat of communism had lost its effect. People took to the streets when news broke that a negotiator had set out to negotiate a nuclear reduction with the Soviet Union.

“For whom do we fight! In the war of the rich, the poor die!”

“My son died in India. Why! Why! For what did my son die?”

The disabled soldiers who returned crippled by the booby traps set up by Indian guerrillas insisted on ending the war. The mothers wept as they saw their son, who was knocking on the door of the house and smiling bitterly, with his knees gone.

And I regretted voting for war.

“Is nuclear war alone terrible? No, all wars are terrible enough. Strictly speaking, we must end all wars in this world! In India, in the Middle East, in South America, China and Japan! I demand peace in the name of the American citizen!”

“Wow! Lenin! Lenin! Lenin!”

John Lenin, who suddenly emerged as a star in the United States, ran to wherever the protesters were, and burst the lion’s horn with his characteristic passionate voice.

“Hey, you bastard!”

“Ha! Your president MacArthur is also holding hands with our gangsters, so what does that have to do with it?”

“… Eight! They’re not even dogs.”

“Look, everyone. People curse when they have nothing to say.”

Seeing the people swearing at him, John Lenin shuddered with humor. As the protesters laughed hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah When Lenin waved for his supporters, the crowd once again went wild.

“Free! Equality! Peace!!!”

The main pillars of the anti-war protests were initially disabled soldiers and their parents and siblings. However, it gradually expanded and new people joined.

The first to move were the black civil rights activists.

“I don’t have freedom in this country because I’m black, so you want to go to the military to ‘deliver’ freedom to people on the other side of the world? Stop the dog whistle. Indians never spit on me for being nigger. But why do I have to shoot them?”

“Mr. Sugar! if so… Are you openly opposing the government’s conscription policy now?”

“Fuck of course!”

Sugar Ray Stalin, former stage name Sugar Ray Robinson, spoke to reporters after defending his world title.

“I used to play consolation games for the soldiers in Daejeon last year. But do you know? It was all white to see two black boxers fighting in the ring, laughing and clapping. I later found out that black soldiers were banned from entering. This is your brash America!”

“… Sugar, then… .”

“Call me Stalin, not Sugar! Man of Steel, isn’t it cool?”

After the war, black people were no longer naive, believing in the ideals of American society.

Those who claimed that they would grant equal rights if they served in the military and served the country had to shut their mouths in front of reality. The government deceived them and conducted biological experiments, and they were discriminated against even in the military, where they were supposed to be equal comrades.

“I can’t understand this government that is at war to get even a little bit more of that damn piece of land. America has so many things to fight for. Poverty, inequality, this terrible and fucking discrimination! All of you, stand up and stand up against the war!”

* * *

“Do you have an ID?”

“… I will just eat some rice.”

The sheriff frowned. These days things are… Confused, he fiddled with the holster’s pistol and warned.

“I don’t know if a bum like you these days is crawling all the way to this country with something to eat… Before you act, remember who is watching you.”

“… .”

The sheriff stared suspiciously at the vagrant, who refused to meet his blocking eyes. The sour and savory smell was definitely like opium or something like that. The soldiers who visited India these days were addicted to such drugs.

They came into this small town to do drugs, and they sold drugs to young kids who had a lot of goofy hair, and they turned them into addicts. Or robbery with a gun to steal money, or, in the best case, quietly robbing him on the street.

A vagrant with a shovel and a bayonet, dressed in a military uniform soaked in firewood and an old field sleeping bag, walked towards the village with a shimmering gait. Should I stop him now, the sheriff pondered, but decided to keep an eye on it a bit more.

“… Three pancakes, bacon and two eggs, please.”

“Do you have any money?”

“… .”

The only restaurant in a small country village had no signage. Like the vagrant, he was able to find the restaurant by following the savory smell.

The cook bluntly asked if he had any money, but as the vagrant rummaged through his supposedly military vest and pulled out a few crinkled bills, he spat and entered the kitchen.

The vagrant, John, was already used to this kind of treatment.

“Come on, let’s eat. eat that… Don’t smoke the stinky opium smell, and get rid of it.”

“… .”

Even in this country, the smell of opium has become something familiar. The chef grunted about opium and the youngsters these days, and loaded his heavy ass on a chair behind the counter.

Licking and eating pancakes, bacon and eggs, John blinked his bloodshot eyes and counted the bills. one… Dull…

The owner was relieved that the vagrant could still pay for the meal, and gave his own advice while frowned in disgust.

“Hey, I don’t know what’s so hard, but you better get a job and settle in quickly. Do you have one or two jobs at the fortress munitions factory?”

“… Do you know Jimmy Collins?”

“What? Collins?”

But he didn’t listen, and John just said what he had to say. The bums aren’t that old, but in my experience, these people only hear what they want to hear and only say what they want to say. So, as I said what I wanted to say, at some point, a conclusion was reached.

“Collins… The carpenter’s house? Jimmy? Jimmy?”

“… Yes, the carpenter would be right.”

“How do you know him?”

John’s friend, Jimmy, said he had helped his father’s carpentry work in his hometown. Jimmy was happy to talk about how he used to ride a horse from the farm next door on the weekends in a hilly area in Kentucky, and go fishing through the valley.

It was the opium and memories of their homeland that kept the soldiers from committing suicide in that dog-like India.

“… It was my comrade. In India.”

“That motherfucker… .”

bang! The cook was startled and dropped the book on the floor when a vagrant, who seemed quite docile even though he was doped with opium, slammed the table.

“No motherfucker can call my comrade a motherfucker!”

“Oh, I see. Hmmm… That… He’s dead! Damn, it’s been months already!”

“Yes… ?”

The vagrant took a few steps backwards, and then fell to the floor as if his legs had loosened up. The cook calmed his startled chest and fumbled to find the shotgun he had hidden under the counter.

“okay! You, like you, were addicted to opium and wandered around doing weird things for a while and then pulled a pistol to my head. Are you okay now?”

“no! no! It’s a lie! You are lying!”

With blood-red eyes and blood-red tears, the vagrant shouted wildly. But the chef could not be surprised this time.

Because he had a double-barreled shotgun in his hand that would kill grizzly and elk in one shot. Aimed at the rambunctious, loaded, and riotous bum, the bum shouted and suddenly froze silently.

“If you think I’m lying, let me find out for myself. Don’t mess around here.”

“… .”

“Now, I’m counting to three, so get out of my sight. Don’t ever appear in front of me again. No matter what Sheriff Tezzle says, I’ll put two 20-gauge lead bullets in your head.”

It was very strange. The vagrant was tall and big enough for a drug addict who was addicted to opium. The military-style attitude he had on his body made it look like he had been in the army for several years, but he froze as soon as he saw a loaded shotgun, no, as soon as he heard the sound of it being loaded.

The bum left the store door, clasping his chin hard and shaking his raised hands. The cook held his shotgun at the door for a long time after he was no longer visible, lest he would suddenly change.

“Jimmy, Jimmy, no… do not go… .”

The chef was not wrong. I was able to find the grave of an old comrade by asking over and over where the village cemetery was.

Comrades who were with them when they slaughtered the Japs who were charging while shouting Banzai on the white sandy beaches of the islands of the Pacific Ocean. In the deserts of the Middle East and the jungles of India, an old comrade beside him was now a cold corpse, lying in a shabby cemetery.

The tombstone didn’t say a word about how valiant he was, a strong comrade, and an outstanding Green Beret commando who even received a medal. Only the year he was born and died is written.

After sobbing for a while, a terrible squeak came from behind. John couldn’t do anything when he heard the sound.

When I heard that sound in India, the mine exploded, cutting off one of my comrades’ limbs. Blood spurted from the cut off like a fountain, and the comrades who laughed cheerfully let out a terrible scream until they died from exhaustion. How desperate it was to hear the screams gradually lose their strength.

“Hey, you… Did you mess around in the restaurant?”

“… He called my comrades a motherfucker.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s important that you did something against the good citizens of this town that I have jurisdiction over.”

“… We were good too.”

Irrespective of what the mumbled vagrant said, the sheriff pointed the loaded pistol at the cuffs of his waist.

“We were good soldiers too. In India, when the kid, the damn kid, asked him to clean his boots, Creek felt sorry for the skinny kid and paid him dollars to clean his boots. But bang! That dog-like little boy came in with a bomb. Then there was the squeaking sound.”

“What?”

“I can still hear Creek’s screams. What’s in my stomach spills and I try to put it inside, but it keeps pouring… Where have you all gone? Creek! Jimmy! Johnny! Alan! Shit! Oh God… Mother! Mother!”

The sight of a man who was close to 190 in height looking for his mother as he fell down with an ugly face was not comical or tragic. He himself was a veteran, but the sheriff had nothing to say.

‘What the hell made these guys like this… ?’

I became Stalin chapter 272

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