Chapter 100
Chapter 100
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 100
Chapter Title: The Gathering Storm (6)
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May 7, 1940
Government Complex, Berlin, Northern Germany
The payback against La Rocque, who had been screwing us over from behind the flimsy shield of neutrality, was a brilliant success.
In America, Crown Prince Louis Ferdinand, who happened to be there, put in a good word thanks to his friendship with FDR. As for winning over the Anglo-German Cooperation Agency, I managed that by moving Montagu Norman, my nephew's godfather.
It took some lobbying funds, but considering the trouble France and La Rocque would face, it was an investment well worth the cost.
“I wonder how France will react.”
Britain had notified France that if they didn't cease their support for Italy within a fortnight, they would face economic sanctions and have their access to the Suez Canal revoked.
Even if the US and the Suez were blocked, they could still import oil through other countries, but international trade isn't something that can be resolved in an instant.
Even in the 21st century, it takes at least a month to sign a trade deal and actually receive the goods, let alone in this era.
France must have been increasing its military spending with the assumption they could trade through the US and the Suez. If that gets blocked, it will take time to open other trade routes, and even then, they'll be limited.
We ourselves are having to make do with our stockpiles until we can receive tungsten from the Republic of China via a long, roundabout route, now that our previous imports are blocked.
“Well, they’ll have no choice but to yield in the end, won’t they?”
Claudia, who was busy typing away, finally answered my question.
“I suppose so.”
To refuse would be to declare themselves an ally of Italy. And it would be foolish of them to think they could just buy from another country now that the US and Suez are blocked.
Of course, if La Rocque decides to go for broke and actually does that, we can just deal with him ‘the democratic way.’
“Unlike us, they have no countermeasures of their own.”
Germany, at least, had been preparing for international isolation and blockades since the last war.
Coal liquefaction technology for fuel supply was part of that effort, though we barely use it now that we have no trouble importing oil, as its efficiency is quite poor.
But France? They’ve never experienced the hardship of an oil shortage, whether from import issues or a blockade. Preparing for such a situation isn’t something that can be solved in a year or two, no matter how competent the government is.
La Rocque must be going mad with rage right about now. It would be nice if he were even more furious than we were.
Though, of course, that won't bring back the dead soldiers...
“I need a cannon. A big, beautiful, and powerful fucking cannon...”
I muttered, staring intently at the documents on my desk. To be humiliated by early-model French tanks, no matter how terrible the terrain and environment were... The Wehrmacht’s reputation would be tarnished.
“...Vice-Chancellor. Please, refrain from making such strange remarks.”
“Right.”
It’s embarrassing when your aide gives you that disgusted ‘what is wrong with him’ look...
The production line for the Pak 36, an anti-tank gun that couldn’t even take out tanks, had already been scrapped. It was only after demonstrating that the much-anticipated Pak 38 couldn't penetrate the armor of our upgraded Panzer IV that we could finally begin production of the 75mm Pak 40 anti-tank gun.
The problem was, when I proposed making it the main gun for the Panzer IV, the military brass threw a fit, saying it was too long for the chassis. Thanks to them, I had to draft a plan to create a self-propelled gun by mounting a heavy cannon on a Panzer IV chassis for destroying enemy defense lines or tanks.
But just as I finished giving the orders for the self-propelled gun's development, the Panzer IV's main gun problem seemed to be solving itself in a most unexpected way.
“Why is this out already?”
I stared at the photograph sent from Poland with a grim expression. It was a Soviet tank, the T-34. Even I, with my limited military knowledge, could recognize this all-too-famous tank at a glance.
Unlike German tanks with their short barrels—a result of the military's insistence that the gun couldn't be longer than the chassis—its long, beautiful, extended cannon was terrifying to behold.
It seemed to have just entered mass production, as there were only a few on the front lines, but even those few had apparently been enough to strike shock and terror into the Polish army. Perhaps I should be grateful they experienced the shock the Wehrmacht would have otherwise faced...
Currently, no German tank's main gun or anti-tank gun was effective against it; only the 88mm anti-aircraft gun or heavy artillery could do the job.
Thanks to this, Commander-in-Chief Sikorski had uncharacteristically sent an earnest telegram requesting a generous supply of 88mm anti-aircraft guns.
At least this would help me persuade them to replace the Panzer IV's main gun. Damn it. I'm not exactly thrilled about this.
“Alright, all done.”
“Ah, thank you.”
I glanced over the documents Claudia handed me. I had asked her to draft letters of thanks to the Crown Prince in America and my nephew’s godfather in Britain.
“Well, excellent as always.”
What she wrote was polite and appropriate, requiring no corrections from me.
It’s a real blessing to have an aide who can write something so satisfactory without me having to micromanage every detail.
If I had to work with a ‘no one can do it but me’ attitude while already buried in work, I'd probably wither away and die first.
“I’ll send these out, then. Oh, and this. It’s for you.”
Claudia smiled gently, took the documents back from me, and handed me a telegram instead.
“A telegram? Let’s see—huh?”
Reading the telegram was utterly bewildering.
[To the Esteemed Dietrich Schacht, Vice-Chancellor of the Fourth German Reich
Word of your wisdom and patriotism reaches even this distant land. Though it was several years ago, the memory of our meeting remains vivid in my mind.
As the leader of the Spanish State, and as an individual who holds you in high regard, I have long wished to establish a positive relationship with you and the Fourth German Reich.
However, the situations our two nations face make formal contact difficult. Therefore, should you permit it, I would like to dispatch an envoy to discuss a friendly relationship between our countries.
I pray for the prosperity of your nation and yourself, and I await a positive response.
- Caudillo of Spain, Francisco Paulino Hermenegildo Teódulo Franco y Bahamonde Salgado Pardo de Andrade]
“What the hell is this? What’s he playing at?”
Is Francisco Franco, the El Caudillo of Spain, trying to hold a secret meeting with me? An involuntary grimace spread across my face.
“I wonder what this is about.”
This feels dirty. Like hell the memory of meeting him is vivid. Is he talking about when I was interpreting for him on-site as he ordered Richthofen to bomb Guernica?
That was the only time we met, and as if that man would remember a mere interpreter-officer. He probably sent this to me because I’m a high-ranking official of the Fourth Reich with some diplomatic authority and a point of contact, since a formal approach would be awkward...
This blatant attempt to latch onto something and get on our good side is so transparent it’s infuriating.
“My, my husband is so popular it's becoming a problem. When did you become friends with the dictator of Spain?”
“No, whatever you're thinking, it's not that.”
I waved my hands dismissively at Claudia’s playful remark and sank into thought.
After cutting off our tungsten supply, forcing us to consider dealing with the Republic of China of all places, he has the gall to ask for a secret discussion now?
Did he see us isolating France through diplomacy and decide to switch sides?
“What a detestable man. But—”
“You’re going to meet him, aren't you?”
At Claudia’s words, I nodded as if it were obvious.
“Well, I’ll need the Chancellor’s permission, but I have to meet him.”
Come to think of it, didn’t Franco play both sides between the Axis and the Allies in the original history? He's a truly irritating man, but...
“My position is too important to refuse someone just because I don't like them.”
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May 9, 1940
Moscow, Capital of the Soviet Union
The Red Army’s newly appointed Chief of the General Staff, Georgy Zhukov, watched over the heart of the Soviet railway system, busy preparing to send supplies to the Polish front.
Dozens of T-34s were being readied for loading onto trains. Standing beside Zhukov, Deputy Chief of the General Staff, Lieutenant General Aleksandr Vasilevsky, spoke.
“We’re still not producing the numbers the General Secretary expects. It’s because we have to build an unfamiliar tank...”
“It can’t be helped in the beginning. Time will solve the issue of proficiency.”
The adoption of the T-34 had been decided quickly due to the General Secretary’s insistence, but preparations for mass production were severely lacking, thanks to Marshal Grigory Kulik’s constant interference.
Although Zhukov said time would solve it, he was not in a comfortable position. If he failed to produce results soon, he too could be ousted at any moment.
“Let’s go. We have to settle this once and for all.”
Vasilevsky gave a bitter smile and followed, hoping his superior wouldn't end up being purged.
The General Secretary, unable to contain his rage after being humiliated in both Finland and Poland despite deploying massive forces, was already mobilizing an additional three million troops.
Considering the Fourth German Reich was operating with two million troops to maintain its combat and economic strength, this was a staggering mobilization. The problem was, even with the troops, there were no proper officers and generals to command them.
Upon becoming Chief of the General Staff, Zhukov had devised a meticulous plan. Spearheaded by the T-34s, he had managed to push back a part of the Polish defense line and capture Grodno.
He had achieved a result, which gave him something to say, but the Soviets had lost 100,000 of the 1.5 million troops committed to the effort.
The Polish army, in contrast, had lost only 40,000 of their one million troops, and the enemy's core defensive line along the Bug River had not broken.
That was the reason for the current argument.
“I have told you many times, Comrade General Secretary. Manpower alone is not the answer! The Red Army’s current capabilities are in an indescribably dire state!”
Zhukov was speaking passionately, but Stalin simply wore a sullen expression and shot him a displeased look.
“If we continue like this, we will only be throwing clueless soldiers against the enemy’s defenses and boosting their morale!”
Zhukov was by no means a general who cherished human life, but he hated situations where he expended troops with nothing to show for it.
He needed achievements to build his reputation, rise through the ranks, and bring victory to his motherland.
“Comrade General Secretary, the officers of the Red Army right now don't even know how to command. In this state, no matter how brilliant a plan the high command devises, it is a complete waste of time. It’s an utterly useless endeavor!”
For someone speaking before the fearsome General Secretary, Zhukov’s words were remarkably bold. Beside them, NKVD Director Lavrentiy Beria’s eyes glittered, playing the part of a loyal dog awaiting his master’s command.
Stalin glanced at Beria, briefly contemplating whether to purge Zhukov, but even he was beginning to think something was wrong with the current situation.
The Great Purge had been necessary to shift the blame for the aftereffects of forced industrialization and to quell the threat of the damned Trotskyists.
But even Stalin could not help but realize its side effects now. Hadn't Voroshilov said as much before he was dismissed after the defeat in the Winter War?
“It’s already like this, and mobilizing more troops will only worsen the problem. Even a giant is meaningless if he cannot control his own limbs! Comrade General Secretary, you must approve the reinstatement of the officers and generals imprisoned in the Gulags, starting now.”
When Zhukov first brought this up, Stalin had been furious, everyone had been horrified, and they had all worried for Zhukov’s impending purge.
But this had been repeated several times now, and with the Red Army’s repeated humiliations, Stalin’s mind was slowly changing.
During Stalin’s Great Purge, countless officers and generals had been killed, but those whose crimes weren't deemed worthy of summary execution were merely tortured and were still alive, imprisoned in the Gulags.
Of course, most of the charges that led to summary execution were fabricated, and many in the Gulags had either already died or were in such a terrible state they could never return to the military.
“Hmm...”
Stalin pretended to deliberate, but in truth, his mind was already made up.
The Red Army’s continued disgrace and Zhukov’s persistence played a part, but what ultimately changed Stalin's mind was a report from Lavrentiy Beria.
An NKVD agent had succeeded in becoming the lover of Trotsky’s female secretary, a devout follower, and after more than half a year, was beginning to gain her firm trust.
With that cockroach Trotsky, who had survived countless assassination attempts and gone into hiding, soon to be dealt with, Stalin decided to be a little magnanimous.
“If those who were imprisoned in the Gulags cause problems, will you take responsibility for it as Chief of the General Staff?”
“Th-That is...”
But Stalin's decision to do so was separate from his nasty personality. Zhukov, who had been passionately persuading him, flinched when the General Secretary's words sounded like the groundwork for a purge.
Zhukov, who had ambition and political desires and whose personality was far from altruistic, did not want to take on unnecessary risks.
“No? I thought the Comrade Chief of the General Staff spoke with such mettle and resolve.”
But if he backed down now after the General Secretary had said so much, he would look even more foolish.
Zhukov thought of his old superior, Rokossovsky, still suffering in a Gulag, and shut his eyes tightly.
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary! They too must have reflected on their actions for a long time, so they will be loyal to you, Comrade General Secretary! If they cause any trouble, I will take responsibility and deal with them!”
“Hahaha, good. The Chief of the General Staff of the Red Army should have this much mettle!”
Zhukov let out a sigh of relief and nodded at Vasilevsky, who had also been tense and was now visibly relieved.
Vasilevsky handed a document to the General Secretary.
“Hm, what is this?”
“These are the personnel assignments for the units whose mobilization is currently being completed. I request your review, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin took the document from Vasilevsky and began to read it. Of course, reading it didn't mean he knew all the numerous military figures in the Red Army, but the meticulous Stalin reviewed it diligently.
“It will take time to confirm whether the officers and generals from the Gulags can recover and be deployed to the front line, so these assignments are based on recent evaluations, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin nodded at Zhukov’s words, then paused at a particularly unusual name among the Russian ones that all looked the same.
“Who is this comrade? A peculiar name...”
Zhukov looked at the name the General Secretary was pointing to and answered.
“That is General Enrique Líster from Spain, Comrade General Secretary. He’s a Frunze graduate. He fought for the Republican faction in the Spanish Civil War...”
Zhukov recalled his meeting with the man and added.
“He is likely the man in the Red Army who hates the Germans the most.”