July 11, 1937
Central Spain, the Brunete region west of Madrid The rain of bombs that both sides had poured down like mad, aided by the already high temperature and dry weather, had started a forest fire. A truly massive one.
The trees on the hills surrounding the open-ground battlefield and the mountains behind it were all blazing fiercely.
If this wasn't warti, they might have tried to fight the forest fire, but neither side was in a position to do so, nor was it a fire that could be contained by a small number of troops.
It wasn't as if there were helicopters in this era to drop fire retardant from the air.
Thankfully, the main battlefield was open ground, so I didn't have to worry about the forest fire spreading this far, but the problem was…
“F…uck… it's hot… It's fucking hot…”
“Phew, I'm hot too…”
On top of the already muggy weather, the heat from the forest fire was added, creating a hellish heat.
So hot that neither the Republican faction nor the Nationalist faction could even think of an offensive.
Never mind an offensive, even the supplies, which had been going reasonably well, were being disrupted by the forest fire.
“Dietrich, can we please distribute so water?”
Despite Klens's plea, I shook my head.
Problems with supplies naturally led to a water shortage.
Drinking now would quench our thirst and offer a mont of relief, but we couldn't use up all our water when we didn't know when the next delivery would arrive.
Juan Yagüe of the Nationalist faction, now a Colonel, was a commander highly praised by the Condor Legion, so he paid close attention to supplies, which were then distributed under the managent of the Condor Legion's competent Chief of Staff, Colonel Model.
So, one could say that supplies and water supply were being handled with the utmost care, but with a forest fire raging like mad, it was impossible for there to be no disruption to supplies..
We had spare water for ergencies, but with non-combat losses from heatstroke already occurring, not even combat losses, I wanted to avoid a situation where our water depleted, no matter what.
I could only hope that, at the very least, the Republican faction's situation was the sa as ours, or worse.
While we were suffering in the heat from the forest fire, locked in a standoff, in the sky, untouched by the hellscape on the ground, fighter aircraft were trading blows.
“What a spectacle.
A true spectacle.”
It was truly a spectacle, enough for
to mutter unconsciously.
With the ground entirely ablaze and smoke rising to the heavens, the sight of steel hawks high above, dancing as if trying to catch each other's tails, checking and engaging in combat.
If soone had captured it in a photo, the moniker 'Hell's Battlefield' would have been a perfect fit, but we had no such thing as a cara.
The Republican faction, as if trying to break the stalemate, deployed their air force in droves, which we had only seen at the start of the attack.
However, the forest fire prevented them from actually launching the offensive, and all the while, the Nationalist faction's military was steadily assembling.
Losing the elent of surprise and having an offensive halted due to the natural environnt… where have I seen this before? Although, this ti, our roles are reversed.
The Republican commanders, apparently in a hurry, kept probing with their air force, which could still attack during the lull, but the sky was no longer the environnt they rembered.
The I-16, a new Soviet-made monoplane, had held clear superiority against the outdated biplanes of the Condor Legion and the Italian Army, but it was clearly outmatched by the new model fighter, the Bf 109, which would be a key player in the Luftwaffe Myth of the early World War II.
The Republican faction, which had seized air superiority from the start of the war by overwhelming the outdated biplanes with their new Soviet-made aircraft, was now, for the first ti, being pushed back in the sky, even after committing the bulk of their air force!
“Ooooh…!”
Amidst it all, I saw an enemy bomber, having lost a wing, plumting while spewing smoke.
In this crazy heat, they can't even drink water as they please, so I guess it's a relief the troopers have so entertainnt.
Our side wasn't committing the reckless act of deploying bombers when air superiority wasn't yet firmly secured, but the Republican faction, perhaps out of impatience, kept sending in bombers intermittently despite losing the fighter-to-fighter engagents, only serving to increase the Luftwaffe's aerial kill count.
Thanks to this, we could leisurely watch the aerial combat, with only our air defense artilleryn on standby, instead of having to frantically fire the 88s.
The anti-aircraft guns of this era weren't capable of such precise fire that they could distinguish between enemy and friendly aircraft, so if we fired carelessly trying to provide support, it could lead to a major disaster.
With so ti on my hands, I looked over the howork Colonel Model had left: the operation plan docunt.
No matter how I looked at it, this was clearly a draft, and a very crudely written one at that.
Only the unit positions, objective for the advance, and operation ti were roughly set. Good grief, calling this an operation plan docunt.
The Nationalist faction's shoddy operations were nothing new, but even so, wasn't this a bit much?
Or perhaps he really did give it to us literally as howork.
He couldn't have given a top-secret military operation plan docunt to a re company commander in advance, so I figured it must an he wanted us to mull over the draft.
When I checked, sure enough, he had given one not only to
but to every company commander.
“Ughhh…”
As a common man who was discharged as a Sergeant in Korea, I don't suddenly have the capability to draw up so grand offensive plan…
But the feeling that Colonel Model was openly testing each unit commander was too obvious for
to do a shoddy job.
No, Walther Model is a figure famous for being as kind as a father to his soldiers, but harsh on his staff and officers.
If I submitted a half-assed plan just because we're at the front line, forget just getting ripped apart, I might fall out of his favor.
“Phew- working hard, Company Commander.”
While I was feeling desperate, Klens's teasing was a complete distraction.
This bastard. He makes sure to call
'Company Commander' when he's with the troopers, but his attitude hardly changes.
“Hey, don't be like that, give
so advice. Get to work, Adjutant.”
“Not at all, First Lieutenant. What would a new Second Lieutenant like
know?”
“.
.Well, well.”
So he's just going to play dumb. It's not an ergency, and I'm not about to pull rank on my batchmate.
But deep down, if I were to be admitted to the War Academy, I wanted to go with Klens..
“Klens, don't be like that. Colonel Model is on the General Staff and belongs to the General Staff Headquarters in Berlin, right? If we make a good impression, maybe he'll give us an admission recomndation to the War Academy.
Haven't you considered the General Staff? If your advice helps, do you really think I'd wipe my mouth and steal credit from my own batchmate?”
“Uh, um. To be honest, it's not that I haven't thought about it.
But seeing the Chief of Staff and you in action, I thought, 'So this is the kind of person who makes it to the General Staff,' and I figured it wasn't for .”
“Is that so…”
True, even I have a hard ti picturing 'Chief of Staff Fleck' or 'General Fleck.
' No matter how you look at it, this friend is more of a field officer type than a staff officer or a general.
“If I get into the War Academy, I'll have to go to Berlin, and I felt a bit weird about leaving you behind, so I thought I'd ask.”
“Who was it again that said becoming a part of the General Staff wasn't an easy feat?”
I let out a cynical laugh at Klens's snickering comnt. Ah, right.
I was the one who said that.
“Well, thanks for your concern.
…But shouldn't you say that after you've actually been accepted, Company Commander?”
“…How obnoxious.”
While I'm contemplating the expulsion of the Nazis, I'm not in a position to be worrying about Klens, but it's true that he weighs on my mind.
Though his words sound like that, it's his own way of being considerate, I suppose.
Honestly, I was grateful.
While I've been dropped into this crazy situation of being a soldier in Nazi Germany's military in World War II with the mind of a 21st-century Korean, it's largely thanks to this guy that I'm still relatively sane.
Without Captain Kaufmann, a good superior who treated
kindly, and without Klens, who reminds
of my military batchmates from Korea…
What kind of person would I have beco by now? I don't know, but I'm sure it wouldn't have been for the better.
“Uh, Company Commander. That's a bit intense.
Why so sudden?”
I looked at Klens making a fuss under my gaze and let out a chuckle.
If you knew I had the goal of bringing about the expulsion of the Nazis, what would you say?
Would you be flustered and ask if I've gone mad? Would you denounce
as a traitor? …Or maybe, would you still trust ?
I don't know.
Either way, I have to prevent batchmates like him and other Germans from suffering senseless deaths because of Hitler's madness.
Whatever the cost.
-
July 18, 1937
Central Spain, the Republican 11th Division Command Post west of Madrid at Brunete Colonel Enrique Líster, hailed as a war hero of the Republican faction, sat in a chair, his face gaunt and dark under the eyes from several sleepless nights.
“This is a disaster…”
Líster heaved a deep sigh.
The ambitious offensive to drive out the Nationalist faction threatening Madrid had ended in complete failure, despite having ground up the entirety of the Republican faction's capabilities.
In the initial offensive, Líster had to lose ten tanks due to the mistake of Lieutenant Colonel Malo, who was blinded by the prospect of military rit.
Even with proper infantry support afterward, the already demoralized armored unit had to retreat after suffering enormous sacrifices.
He had judged that breaking through the defense line established by the Condor Legion was impossible and requested a halt to the attack along with a massive loss report, but the High Command, for whatever reason, demanded the offensive continue with air support.
However, the state of affairs in the sky, where the Republican faction believed they had superiority over the Nationalist faction, had already been overturned.
The Soviet-made fighter aircraft, which had seed invincible, were no match for the new German-made fighter aircraft they were encountering for the first ti.
The superiors' judgnt was that the enemy's new weapon, which appeared to be an anti-tank artillery piece, would be helpless against bombing, but that's only true when bombing is even possible.
Shaking off the enemy fighters was difficult to begin with, and the bombers that managed to break through after the sacrifice of friendly fighters were routinely shot down by the enemy's concentrated anti-aircraft fire.
Artillery conducting counter-battery fire, anti-tank artillery, even anti-aircraft guns. Just how much artillery did those German bastards bring?
On top of that, they lost the window for attack because of the forest fire, and after confirming that enemy reinforcents had arrived, Líster again requested to call off the attack, but ultimately, he received an order to attack unconditionally.
The result was disastrous. The military force that charged into the sa open ground without proper air support now had to attack while being bombed by the Nationalist faction's air force, and they were literally ground down.
The German Air Force perford a stunt never seen before, dive-bombing vertically from high altitude, and this bombing shattered precious tanks with a threatening accuracy that was on a whole other level.
And on top of that, the enemy's anti-tank artillery.
The Soviet-made tanks, the Republican faction's most precious asset, were destroyed in countless numbers.
His 11th Division was undoubtedly an elite unit, but the continued offensive, suffering countless sacrifices in the heatwave without even enough water to drink, had dropped their morale to rock bottom.
No matter how many ssengers he sent to his superiors begging for at least sufficient water, the water was always woefully insufficient.
Líster stared at the loss report with bloodshot eyes.
40% casualties among his troopers, and half of the one hundred tanks were destroyed or had withdrawn for repairs.
There were as many soldiers lost to heatstroke from the water shortage as there were to combat loss.
He couldn't believe it and didn't want to, but reality was harsh. His elite unit, said to be the best division in the Republican faction, had been practically annihilated.
Now, the enemy was preparing a counterattack with reinforcents from the Northern Basque Front.
Further offensives were out of the question; even maintaining the front line was difficult.
To save his remaining subordinates, Líster requested retreat permission from his superiors.
And that reply was more tragic than disastrous.
[Regrettably, your request cannot be accepted. As your unit has preserved its strength the most, establish a defense line at Brunete and defend the strongpoint to the death.
]
He was certain he had reported the 40% loss of personnel without any reduction. And yet, his unit had preserved its strength the most?
What in the world was the state of the other units? We, who claid to fight for the people, what did we hope to gain by sacrificing so many of the people?
Should he have disobeyed the order to attack? Given the mood, he figured it would have only resulted in his own dismissal.
The Republican faction had wagered too much on this offensive, and the easy fall of Brunete had instead beco a poison.
But if he had committed insubordination, at least he wouldn't have been the one to send his subordinates into a deathtrap with his own orders.
Líster stared at the telegram for a long while before his gaze shifted to the pistol on his desk.
Will the Republican faction ever get another chance to take the offensive?
To suppress a corrupt Spain and the madness of the Nationalists and raise the flag of the people and communism, they had already lost far too much.
Líster slowly raised the pistol and pressed it to his head.
“Colonel! It's an enemy attack!”
And in that mont, his eyes t those of the adjutant who had rushed in.
“C-C-Colonel!”
Líster felt his tension snap and laughed emptily.
“Those damned German bastards won't even let
die on my own terms.”
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