Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Re-enlisted, and in the Wehrmacht?!
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< Re-enlisted? And into the Nazi German army, of all things?! >
For young men who have completed their military service in the Republic of Korea, discharge day is a time of joy, a touch of bittersweet nostalgia, and a daunting look into an uncertain future.
As an ordinary young Korean man named Yun Seong-il, I thought it would be the same for me.
That was, until I realized the very next day wouldn't just be daunting—it would be pitch-black.
-
“Second Lieutenant. Time to wake up.”
What the hell is this... a prank? First thing in the morning... I opened my eyes to the familiar ceiling of my barracks... except it wasn't. A field tent... perhaps?
I was sure I had been discharged yesterday and had fallen asleep comfortably in my own home...
My mind went blank. I turned to the white man staring blankly at me and asked.
“Who... are you?”
What the—why is my pronunciation so slurred? It's as if I'm a foreigner trying to speak Korean for the first time.
“Herr Leutnant?”
Oh, for fuck's... sake. Now I see. This isn't Korean! It's German! How am I understanding it so naturally?
As I panicked, the white man before me looked even more uncertain before calling my name again. Or rather, what I assumed was my name.
“Herr Leutnant Schacht?”
But I was in no state to speak, reeling from another shock—the man's uniform. It was a military uniform. And... no matter how I looked at it, it wasn't a Republic of Korea Army uniform. I mean, would you ever see a white man in a ROK Army uniform in the first place?
Is this... what is this? A surprise? A hidden camera show? Unfortunately, I knew immediately that it was nothing of the sort.
Because, of all things, a wave of dizziness washed over me, and memories belonging to the person I was supposed to be began flooding my mind.
My head felt like it was about to split open. In German that came as naturally as breathing, I asked the soldier a question. His rank... a private.
“Private, what's today's date?”
Looking slightly relieved, the private's expression eased as he answered.
“It is February 4th, Herr Leutnant.”
“And the year?”
“Sir? It's 1937.”
Oh, for fuck's sake. Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke... The soldier's expression was souring again, but I'd bet my right hand that mine was a hundred times worse.
Not the hand of this white man that was clearly not my own, but the hand of Yun Seong-il, the Korean!
The guy who was discharged just yesterday, planning to go back to college! The guy who was supposed to be nerding out over German history! Where did that poor soul go, who fell asleep savoring his freedom? Where am I, and who am I?!
My vision was swimming, the world turning yellow in a way it never did, not even when my most sadistic sergeant screamed himself hoarse at me. I fought to steady my reeling mind and asked another question.
“Who is the Führer?”
“Uh... w-well, of course, the Führer of Greater Germany is Adolf Hitler.”
I pinched my cheek.
...It hurt.
I want to stop thinking.
...But I can't.
Oh... God.
You... fucking son of a bitch.
-
I always thought my enlistment day was the worst day of my life.
But to be re-enlisted—the one thing every veteran jokes about avoiding at all costs—the day after being discharged?
That alone was enough to make me lose my mind, but to be re-enlisted into the German Wehrmacht?
Re-enlisted in that madman Adolf Hitler's Nazi Germany, the day after my discharge?
God must be Satan, or he must have a serious grudge against me...
The only silver lining was that, perhaps as a final scrap of conscience from whatever bastard god threw me here, I wasn't completely in the dark about whose body I'd been dropped into.
I was confused at first, but thankfully, this body's memories were intact, which was why I could understand and speak German so naturally.
This guy even spoke English far more fluently than my original self, Yun Seong-il, and was skilled in French—practically the lingua franca of the era—and even Spanish.
This body's name was Dietrich Schacht. Born August 15, 1911.
Even his birthday felt like God was picking a fight with me, but in any case, he was a pure-blooded German youth with no connection whatsoever to a Korea deep in the throes of Japanese occupation.
His father was Hjalmar Schacht. His full name was Hjalmar Horace Greeley Schacht, but the 'Horace Greeley' was a useless addition from his American-obsessed grandfather, so he usually just went by Hjalmar Schacht.
He held American citizenship, had a doctorate in economics, and—cutting to the chase—was the Nazi regime's Minister of Economics and President of the Reichsbank.
In other words, this Dietrich fellow was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth. In Korean terms, his father was both the Governor of the Bank of Korea and the current Minister of Economy and Finance.
My God, I was just an ordinary citizen of the Republic of Korea.
So, that was the good news. The bad news was...
Everything else.
-
February 5, 1937
Near South Madrid, Spain
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler.”
I stretched my right arm toward the sky and shouted the salute, and a German man in his thirties returned it casually.
To think I was doing something that, in modern Germany—no, anywhere in Europe—would get you arrested if you were lucky, and beaten to death if you weren't...
“How are you feeling today, Second Lieutenant?”
“Much better, thanks to your consideration, Captain!”
Just yesterday, unable to cope with the sudden change in my circumstances, my mind had been in such a daze that I'd had to feign illness and stay in bed.
I lay there praying it was all a dream, hoping only to fall asleep, which I finally managed late at night. But when I woke up, to my goddamn dismay, I wasn't in my room.
I seriously considered putting a pistol to my head and pulling the trigger, but there was no guarantee that would send me back to Korea... and frankly, testing that theory out is a little terrifying.
“Hm, good to hear. Make sure you're fit for duty today. The operation begins.”
“Yes, sir!”
Fortunately, my direct superior, Captain Volkhardt Kaufmann, was a kind man and not a by-the-book type. Plus, the unit was on standby, so he let it slide.
Though, to be honest, the fact that Dietrich's father was the Minister of Economics probably had something to do with it.
Thinking back, it was insane. It wasn't just an act—I really was losing my mind—but to pull something like that in the German Wehrmacht, of all places.
This is the same crazy army that, later on, would chop off the heads of field marshals and everyone else without a second thought.
Thankfully, I had Dietrich's memories, so I knew what I had to do. We weren't in Germany right now, but in Spain.
Spain was currently embroiled in a civil war, divided between the Republicans and the Nationalists.
One side was the Republicans, a coalition of communists, democrats, and anarchists.
At the start of the war, they were painted by the Western world as righteous heroes fighting for the freedom of their people, but they had a history of massacring Catholic priests and any civilians who cooperated with the Nationalists.
The Republicans had won the election, but the Nationalists—composed of royalists and fascists—refused to accept the results and started the civil war.
That side was a gathering of hardline soldiers and fascists who despised the 'reds' with a passion, so it goes without saying that they were currently setting all of Spain ablaze.
And we were here, in the middle of this goddamn Spanish Civil War, to help the leader of the Nationalists, Francisco Franco.
We were a volunteer unit dispatched from Germany, officially known as the Condor Legion.
Though called a legion, we were a small force sent as civilian volunteers—discharged on paper to appease Britain and France. Our army contingent was even smaller.
The Condor Legion was, for all intents and purposes, a test run for the Luftwaffe.
Of course, the whole 'volunteer' thing was just a smokescreen. We were clearly part of the German Army, maintaining our rank structure and receiving support from home.
We were the 2nd Company of the 1st Battalion, 1st Panzer Division of the Condor Legion.
It wasn't even a standard German military formation. We were just one panzer division, and more of a regiment than a proper division at that, with only five battalions in total. I honestly had no idea why they bothered calling it the 1st, but our unit was the 1st Battalion, 2nd Company. Captain Kaufmann was the company commander, and I was his adjutant.
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler.”
Soon after, the other platoon leaders—all second lieutenants like me—entered, and Captain Kaufmann returned our salutes... the Nazi salute that would get you instantly arrested in modern Europe. Would I ever get used to this?
“Good morning, gentlemen. The objective of this operation is to secure the key positions centered on the two hills across the Jarama River, east of Madrid. High command intends to capture that area to cut the road connecting central Madrid with the Reds' capital in Valencia.”
Even as I listened to the briefing, I was furious. Me, a soldier in the Nazi Wehrmacht?
I was just an ordinary man from the Republic of Korea. How did I end up in a shithole like this?
I wasn't expecting to become a hero in some fantasy world with a beautiful heroine, but of all the places to drop me, it had to be on the eve of World War II? Send me back to Korea, you bastard god!
“We will be operating under Colonel Ricardo Rada, who is in charge of the southern part of the battlefield. First, we secure Rivas-Vaciamadrid, southeast of Madrid. Then, once the central force has successfully crossed the river, we will advance toward our objective, Pingarrón Hill. The plan is to use it as an artillery position once captured, so as always, we will advance behind them and protect the artillery support units. Any questions?”
“None, sir!”
“Good. The operation commences at 11:00. You are free to maintain your equipment until 10:00. Dismissed. Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler!”
So naturally, as if I had done it my whole life, I raised my arm and shouted "Heil Hitler." As I walked out in a daze, wondering if this was really me, one of the second lieutenants clapped me on the shoulder.
According to Dietrich's memories, it was Clemens Fleck, the 1st Platoon leader... a friend from my enlistment class and my closest colleague.
“Hey, Dietrich. You feeling better?”
“Clemens... Yeah.”
It was a strange sensation, being looked at with concern by a German who felt both completely foreign and yet intimately familiar.
The demonic Nazi army. They didn't look at all like the exterminators of Jews and mass murderers from the history books.
“You still look pale. Don't push yourself too hard. Let's grab a drink when we're off duty.”
“Yeah, thanks for worrying about me.”
The situation was unbelievably shitty, but my short conversation with Clemens felt similar to bantering with my old army buddies back in Korea.
For now, the mission came first. Back in Korea, I was just a regular soldier who finished his service as a sergeant, but here, I was an officer—the enemy of the enlisted man...
-
Once it began, the operation proceeded smoothly. The Republican forces, seemingly caught completely off guard by our offensive, were being pushed back in a one-sided slaughter, while the Nationalists advanced steadily.
Hitler had been extremely cautious about intervening in the Spanish Civil War, worried it might provoke Britain and France.
That was why the Condor Legion, despite being a 'volunteer' force, was mostly tasked with air support and training rear-echelon troops, while the dispatched army units limited themselves to tank and artillery support.
It was all just a poorly veiled pretense that everyone would eventually see through anyway. To be honest, I didn't know much about the Spanish Civil War.
In reincarnation stories, the protagonist goes to another world or the past and uses their amazing memory and vast knowledge to their advantage, but my mind was a complete blank.
I was interested in World War II and Germany, but it was too late to regret not looking into the Spanish Civil War, where the German army had fought.
All I knew was that Franco's Nationalists won, that they killed an unbelievable number of people—even after the war ended—and that they became an international pariah for it, despite not joining the Axis powers.
While my head was full of cool German weapons like the Tiger and the Bf-109, what flew over me were slow, outdated biplanes, and leading the charge of the ecstatic Spaniards was a tiny Panzer I. It was so small I wondered if it even counted as a tank, chugging along with two machine guns instead of the main cannon one would expect.
Even the uniform I was wearing wasn't the cool, propaganda-poster Wehrmacht officer's uniform, but a shabby Spanish officer's uniform. There was no glamour or romance to be found here.
Not that I would have had the luxury of enjoying any romance even if I had been wearing a Wehrmacht uniform.
Since our role was to escort the artillery, we rarely saw direct combat, mostly just trailing behind the Nationalist forces for the entire operation.
As the company adjutant, I was even less busy, since I was just following Captain Kaufmann around instead of commanding a platoon myself.
The sight of the troops—some 20,000 strong—advancing on all fronts was a spectacle, but what caught my eye more were the bodies left scattered everywhere.
I didn't retch pathetically at the first sight of a corpse. For Dietrich, who had been with the Condor Legion for several months, it was already a familiar sight. But for my modern consciousness, my spirit felt like it was drying up with every body I saw.
Just how many soldiers were dying? Neither the Nationalists nor our German forces were recovering the bodies. We were in the middle of an operation, advancing at high speed, so there was no time, but beyond that, it seemed they didn't even feel the need to.
A soldier's job is, ultimately, to kill the enemy. I knew that intellectually and had served in the Korean military.
But among those who were just dragged into the army to serve their time and get out, how many truly thought that way?
A He-51, a biplane that was already a relic of a bygone era by World War II, flew overhead with a low drone.
It was a strange sensation, Dietrich's knowledge that this was the Luftwaffe's main fighter coexisting with Yun Seong-il's memory that the Luftwaffe's main fighter was the Bf-109.
Who was I, anyway? Dietrich or Yun Seong-il? A second lieutenant in the Nazi Wehrmacht? Or a recently discharged university student from the Republic of Korea?
A desperate hope still lingered that this was all Yun Seong-il's dream and that it would end when I woke up. The despair I felt when I opened my eyes and didn't see my bedroom ceiling was immense.
Honestly, I had no idea what to do. The Republic of Korea, the country that should have been my home, didn't even exist; Korea was under the rule of the Japanese Government-General. And it was on the other side of the continent, in the Far East. Meanwhile, World War II was looming.
A war where tens of millions would die. Tens of millions! The corpses littering the roads here in Spain were already enough to make me feel the grim reality of war, and now I was supposed to go through World War II?
And right now, Dietrich Schacht might be the son of a high-ranking Nazi official with a silver spoon, but if I remembered correctly, Hjalmar Schacht would soon clash with Göring and be kicked out.
Even if he stayed in favor, what were the odds of surviving to the end of that hellish war as a member of the Wehrmacht?
And even if I survived all that hardship, I'd probably just be tried as a war criminal at Nuremberg for the crime of fighting under that madman Hitler.
No matter how I looked at it, things couldn't get any shittier. What sin did I commit to deserve this fate?
“Hm, Second Lieutenant Schacht. Are you alright? You look quite pale...”
My expression must have been truly awful, because Captain Kaufmann spoke to me.
From what I could see of him now, and from Dietrich's memories, he was a better superior than any of the hostile officers or seniors I had met during my military service in Korea.
Not all Germans caught up in World War II could have been crazed racists and murderers.
People like him would probably get entangled in war crimes because they were ordered to, or because they became desensitized. Or they would die before that could happen.
“I'm fine, Captain. I will ensure there are no disruptions to the operation.”
“Hm. We're a rear-echelon unit, so we're unlikely to see direct combat, but be careful.”
Captain Kaufmann said nothing more and started walking forward again.
Into a battlefield where fighter planes endlessly crisscrossed the sky and the sounds of gunfire and cannons echoed from afar.
Is this shitty situation really not a dream, but reality...?
The hope that maybe, if I died, I would wake up from this dream and return to Korea hadn't completely vanished, but if I actually died for real, would I be able to rest in peace from the sheer injustice of it all?
First, I have to live. I have to survive. I can't die, if only out of sheer spite.
< Re-enlisted? And into the Nazi German army, of all things?! > End
ⓒ Karkason