Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Battle of Brunete (3)
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< The Battle of Brunete - Spanish Civil War (3) >
July 7, 1937
Brunete Sector, West of Madrid, Central Spain
“Fuck, fuuuck...!”
“Aaaaargh!”
The Republican 11th Division was tasting hell in the offensive they had so ambitiously prepared.
It was agonizing enough to charge in the blistering heat, but to be cut down by enemy machine guns without proper cover was another matter entirely.
“Aargh, Miguel! Another one, another one’s hit! What kind of anti-tank gun fires from this distance?!”
The tanks that had always reliably covered them and spearheaded breakthroughs were now, in large part, burning coffins.
The pride of the Republican army, Soviet-made tanks that had easily bested German and Italian models and shattered makeshift defensive lines, were now being blown to pieces!
“What the hell is it? What the hell is going on?!”
Lieutenant Colonel Malo screamed, grabbing his adjutant by the collar and shaking him, but the adjutant had no answers.
“M-Maybe it’s a new weapon....”
The Nationalists had, at best, used anti-tank rifles. The German anti-tank guns that occasionally appeared had an effective range of about 300 meters, even on a good day.
At that range, on a clear day in a flat plain like this, they would be visible to the naked eye, and the tanks could return fire.
But whatever the Germans had brought, it was blowing up their tanks long before they could even get into range!
It couldn’t be artillery. Artillery had devastating power against infantry, but it couldn't destroy a tank unless it was an incredibly lucky direct hit.
After leading a tank-only charge that lost ten tanks in less than an hour, the Lieutenant Colonel had been forced to retreat in haste and bear the full brunt of Colonel Líster’s fury.
‘You son of a bitch, if you want to keep those stripes, you’d better get results this time, and you’d better coordinate with the infantry!’
And so, he had launched another desperate offensive, but the 11th Division, renowned as the Republican elite, was being systematically ground to dust.
The battlefield consisted of low hills and small, scattered mountains, but was otherwise mostly open terrain.
The planners of the Brunete Offensive had chosen this battlefield, confident in the Republicans' armored superiority, but the course of the battle proved their judgment to be catastrophically wrong.
Charging across open ground against the Condor Legion, which possessed the Nationalists' most powerful artillery, the Republican army became perfect targets for concentrated fire in the clear line of sight.
The bizarre anti-aircraft gun that would earn its fame as the best anti-tank weapon of World War II, the 8.8cm Flak series, was a ridiculously versatile cannon that, with a good hit, could knock out even a T-34—a masterpiece medium tank from the German-Soviet war—with a high-explosive shell, not even an armor-piercing one.
The Soviet light tanks, which had seemed more than adequate for the Spanish Civil War, stood no chance against such a barrage.
“Order a... a retreat.”
“Sir....”
“Order a retreat. The attack has failed....”
As he spoke, Lieutenant Colonel Malo's face was blank, as if his soul had left him.
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“God, I’m dying. Anyone got water?”
“Here.”
“Oh, thanks, Captain.”
I handed what little was left of my canteen to Clemens and surveyed the front line.
The enemy had been successfully repelled, and our losses were relatively light considering the intensity of the battle.
I consciously avoided recalling the names or faces of those who were ‘lost.’
I had to accept that dwelling on such things would break my mind first.
Morale was decent, but the company was exhausted.
Honestly, the weather made it hard to even breathe. I yearned for an air conditioner.
An iced coffee while basking in the cool air... ahhh...
Hah, forget it.
“Let the men get some sleep. Have the platoons rotate one squad at a time. Two hours each.”
“Got it, Captain.”
After giving the order to Clemens, I sat down on the edge of a trench and stared blankly at the battlefield.
Blood spattered everywhere, bodies strewn about, tanks reduced to scrap metal...
Even at a glance, the enemy’s losses were far more severe than ours.
The indirect fire from the 88mm anti-aircraft guns had been even more devastating against the thinly armored interwar light tanks than I had expected.
The enemy’s decision to attack with only armor across open ground, a perfect field of fire, played a large role. By the time they belatedly brought in infantry, their momentum was already broken after losing so many tanks at the start of the engagement.
Moreover, their artillery, wary of our own, could no longer shell us so openly.
It was an exhausting situation, fighting in the scorching heat, but ensuring the men could at least wet their throats was crucial...
Colonel Walter Model’s influence was surely significant. A new chief of staff, and the difference was palpable.
Did the Republicans in the original history suffer losses this severe?
It was impossible to know. But it was certain that their losses were now greater than before.
While it was unlikely that one battle would cause a major shift, making my first meaningful change was both encouraging and concerning.
Right now, I knew all the major events, but the more I acted, the more things would change.
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!”
The sound of salutes made me turn around to see Colonel Model approaching.
Instead of the Nazi salute, I gave the Wehrmacht salute, which Colonel Model returned as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Ah, carry on. I'm just here to bring some water and check on the situation.”
“Whoa, water!”
“Hey, hold your positions. They’ll distribute it properly.”
The men, parched with thirst, nearly lost their minds at the mention of water, but thankfully Clemens intervened in time.
“The enemy will need time to regroup, so you can let them relax a little.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve already ordered the squads to rest in shifts.”
Colonel Model smiled faintly at my words, and I smiled back.
The way the soldiers looked at him was close to reverence. I noticed a change in how Clemens and the other lieutenants saw him, too.
Those in the field were the first to feel how the tide of battle had changed since he became chief of staff.
“It's reassuring to have you behind us, Colonel. This is the first time we've received such timely artillery support and supplies.”
“One must use the resources one has. I should be thanking you, gentlemen. Because your defense line is solid, we have reserves to spare.”
Colonel Model walked along the defensive line as we spoke, observing every detail with his own eyes.
His habit of personally inspecting the front lines, a rarity for a General Staff officer, seemed to boost the soldiers’ morale.
Unlike the Lieutenant General who never showed his face or the previous chief of staff whose presence was barely known, he walked the front, analyzed the situation, and resolved any issues as quickly as possible.
“The indirect fire from the 88s was truly brilliant. The enemy’s armored forces have suffered severe losses. You deserve great credit for it.”
“Thank you, Colonel!”
I had only offered the idea; without Colonel Model’s monstrous speed in creating the firing tables, we wouldn’t have been able to use them in this battle. Still, being praised by a commander so lauded by history felt pretty good.
“So, should I recommend we rename it the 'Schacht-Schacht gun'?”
“*Cough...*”
Wait, that joke wasn’t a one-off?
Ignoring my reaction, Model pulled a piece of paper from his coat and handed it to me.
“Colonel, what’s this...?”
What is this? An operational plan...?
It was undoubtedly an operational plan, a map showing the deployment of each unit and their planned routes of advance.
“This is a draft of the unit deployments and plans, including the reinforcements arriving tomorrow. Study it, figure out when would be best to launch a counterattack, identify any problems with the plan, and submit your analysis.”
Why give this to a mere company commander...?
As if reading the question on my face, Model chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder with a loud thwack.
Oof, that hurt like hell! Such strength...!
“An officer shouldn't be a fool who only cares for appearances, but one who constantly thinks. I'll see you later. I'm expecting great things, Lieutenant.”
Colonel Model left as abruptly as he had come.
...My God, I feel like a professor just gave me an assignment.
Getting homework in the middle of a battle was utterly dreadful, but I had no choice.
I would satisfy Colonel Model and get that General Staff recommendation, no matter what!
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July 10, 1937
Madrid, Capital of Spain, Central Spain - Republican Headquarters
Raised voices echoed through the Republican high command.
“You're telling me you can't break through?! We've poured everything we have into this—troops, tanks, even the air force...”
“I told you it was too reckless an attack.”
“Weren’t you the one who said this was the perfect opportunity?”
The Republican high command, composed mostly of political officers, had been skeptical at first when Líster's 11th Division captured Brunete in less than half a day.
Even though it was an ambitious attack that had mobilized every available unit save for a skeleton force to defend Madrid, it had been too successful.
Their hesitation to verify the situation had given the Condor Legion the time it needed to establish a defensive line.
As a result, the main attack force under Colonel Juan Modesto, with Líster’s 11th Division as its spearhead, was now bleeding heavily against the Condor Legion, making their swift capture of Brunete meaningless.
The secondary attack under Colonel Jurado also hammered away at Carabanchel, but the Nationalist Colonel Santés held the line, defending stubbornly despite being outnumbered.
“Damn it all! Aren’t the Nationalist air forces all in the north? We gave them clear skies and full air support, so why can't they push through?!”
As a result of sending all their air power to support the push on Carabanchel, it was the main offensive, which had been advancing well, that had stalled. General José Miaja, the commander in charge of the operation, pounded his chest in frustration.
“G-General. Colonel Jurado has heatstroke and is unable to command. He requests a replacement.”
“A colonel getting heatstroke? How is that possible?!”
Heatstroke didn’t discriminate by rank, but the high command, enjoying the cool breeze of an air conditioner—still a luxury item in this era—couldn’t possibly understand.
“Hnngh....”
As General Miaja scanned the faces of the other colonels, they all averted their eyes. Who would want to go out into that heat and that battlefront?
“Colonel Casado, I’m counting on you.”
“...Yes, sir.”
The appointed Colonel Casado was extremely reluctant, but an order from a superior was an order.
“Try not to get sick wandering around outside. A commander should stay in his command post. Heatstroke, honestly....”
The political general’s remark drew sighs not only from Colonel Casado but also from the few officers with field experience. General Miaja, however, had already turned his attention to the next victim.
“So, can you secure the Extremadura road? We've given you so many tanks, don't tell me you still can't break through.”
The next in line, the commander of the main offensive, Colonel Juan Modesto, began to sweat profusely despite the cool air.
“The Germans seem to have introduced a new weapon, making the breakthrough more difficult than anticipated.”
“A new weapon?”
As General Miaja’s expression soured, Colonel Modesto could only speak with a lack of confidence.
“An anti-tank artillery piece... or perhaps they're using anti-tank shells for their artillery.”
The faces of the entire high command contorted into expressions of ‘What the hell is that?’ but there was no other way to explain it.
The effective range of an anti-tank gun was, at best, 300 meters. How else could one describe something that started blowing up tanks from two kilometers away?
If they knew this incredible anti-tank weapon was the same anti-aircraft gun they had all seen before, they would have collapsed, but for them, it was an unprecedented situation they couldn’t possibly comprehend.
‘Damn it. If I submit an accurate report of our tank losses, they’ll all be horrified. What should I do?’
When Líster, after capturing Brunete, had inexplicably requested a flanking maneuver, he had dismissed it as nonsense and hadn’t even bothered reporting it up the chain of command.
To think it would lead to such a disastrous result. Colonel Modesto was filled with regret.
‘No, why is this my fault? Even Líster couldn't have imagined the enemy had something like this prepared.’
He swallowed hard. In any case, if he took the blame for this, his promotion to general was gone forever.
If they lost the war, the government that would promote him wouldn’t exist anyway, but for now, no one in this room was thinking that far ahead.
After all, they held Madrid and Valencia, Spain’s largest cities, and were fighting with the support of the West and the Soviet Union.
In contrast, Italy and Germany, who supported the Nationalists, were considered inferior to the Western powers and the Soviets.
Although Italy was considered one of the three great powers alongside France and Britain, the general consensus was that it couldn't compare to them. The shameful performance of the Italian army at the Battle of Guadalajara had put the Republicans at ease.
And Germany, its army half-dismantled by the Treaty of Versailles after its defeat in the Great War and only recently beginning to rearm, was hardly worth mentioning.
“Ahem, it seems Colonel Líster got careless after his easy victory at Brunete and suffered a major blow. The enemy may have a new weapon, but if we concentrate our air force, we can break through with our tanks in the lead.”
“Hmph... Can’t you manage with just artillery?”
In World War II, combined arms—infantry, armor, artillery, and air power—was a necessity, not an option. But the Spanish Republican government’s situation was not so flexible.
The demands on their precious air force were immense, and it was always in short supply.
“The flower of modern warfare is the airstrike, is it not? Haha... If you provide support, I will commit the 15th and 34th Divisions as well to achieve a breakthrough at a single point!”
Colonel Casado, now in charge of Carabanchel, scowled but Modesto ignored him.
He was aware of the situation at Carabanchel, which was failing to break through even with air support, but Modesto desperately needed that support himself.
The artillery that had opened the operation with a concentrated barrage, annihilating the Brunete garrison, had suffered considerable losses from counter-battery fire after thoughtlessly shelling the Condor Legion.
Having submitted a heavily redacted version of Líster’s loss report, Modesto had no choice but to make up for it somehow.
Even if the units that existed on the papers of his offensive plan were, in reality, mangled and crippled.
“Hmph... Colonel Casado, what do you think?”
“If the air force is withdrawn while we are still unable to break through despite receiving bombing support, the situation will become more difficult, but....”
Colonel Casado’s answer to General Miaja’s question was vague. But he couldn’t say anything more specific.
If he insisted on keeping the air support, he would be expected to produce results with it.
How could a colonel who had just been put in charge of a unit in this very meeting, without even having assessed its condition, make any definitive statements?
By not protesting too strongly, he could at least appear to be helping another front while having a plausible excuse for any future failures, given he took over mid-battle.
“We absolutely need the air support!”
“Very well. I will send the entire air force to your sector.”
“Thank you, General!”
It was humiliating to have to beg for air support after receiving so many tanks and artillery pieces, but the losses incurred so far would already be a severe blow to Colonel Modesto’s standing.
‘At this point, it’s all or nothing. If I win, that’s all that matters!’
No matter how many soldiers died or tanks were lost, a tangible victory would give him something to say.
He calculated that no matter how good the new German anti-tank gun was, without control of the skies, their artillery wouldn't be able to fire at will.
“Well then, is there anything else to discuss?”
“We’re receiving continued reports of water shortages at the front.”
“Tsk, are we the only ones short on water? It's natural to be a little thirsty in the summer.”
The officer who shouted this had already half-drained his glass of water in the cool, air-conditioned conference room.
“We’re already stretched thin supplying ammunition and fuel for the armored units and the massive number of troops! Don't bother us with such trivial matters! The success of this offensive is what's important!”
The meeting ended there.
< The Battle of Brunete - Spanish Civil War (3) > End