Chapter 60
Chapter 60
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: The German Civil War - Eve of the Decisive Battle (4)
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November 14, 1939
Frankfurt, Central Germany – Dietrich Schacht’s Residence
For the first time in a while, I came home from work only to find myself in the middle of an argument.
“Claudia, are you really going to be like this?”
“Yes, I am. And Dietrich, do you really have to be this way?”
Ah, damn it. A marital spat before we're even married!
Feeling a wave of exhaustion, I wiped my face with my hand.
“I mean, what's so wrong with wanting to hire a cook and someone to help with the housework?”
Initially, in a sort of pre-honeymoon spirit, I had been preparing breakfast and doing the cleaning myself. But honestly, after becoming Vice-Chancellor, I've been too busy and exhausted.
I mean, come on, I was born with a silver spoon, wasn't I? A high-ranking official in the new government, no less. Do I really have to drag my tired body through such trivial chores?
“Just the other day, your daily routine was used in propaganda to portray you as a 'frugal high official of the new government, unlike the Nazis'! Do you want people saying you pretend to be modest in public while living lavishly behind the scenes?”
“That wasn't even my idea...”
Regardless of my protests, Claudia crossed her arms and shook her head.
“No means no. As a social democrat who advocates for reforming capitalist corruption and ensuring public welfare, I cannot tolerate my fiancé emulating some well-fed aristocrat from the British Conservative Party.”
“Ugh...”
Honestly, I was incredibly envious of Winston Churchill's affluent lifestyle and delicious meals. Damn it, the body is honest! What's so wrong with spending a little of the money I have?
“Ahem, to be fair, this mansion wasn't cheap, was it? We already live in a nice house. Do we really need to make life harder for ourselves?”
“That's a low blow...”
Claudia said, but she averted her gaze slightly. The house she used to live in back in Berlin was, to put it mildly, not a pleasant place to live.
Once you get a taste of comfort, discomfort becomes all the more apparent. It seems I'm not the only one whose body is honest!
“This isn't about us indulging in some grand luxury. Honestly, when I'm busy as hell, spending time and energy on housework is incredibly inefficient.”
“That's...”
Claudia seemed swayed by my words for a moment, but then she shook her head.
“No, it's still not okay! Hiring a chef for a hefty price just because you're tired—if that's not a luxury, what is?”
“I wouldn't spend money on that if I could eat the delicious meals my dear fiancée makes.”
She is undoubtedly a respectable and lovely fiancée, but I have no desire to be poisoned by her cooking.
Ah, honestly, I'm getting sick of the simple dishes I know how to make! She has a rather tolerant palate and eats whatever is served, but I remember the richness of modern gastronomy, and it's killing me.
“Ugh, I'll at least help with the cleaning.”
“I'm terribly sorry, my lady, but the best way you can help is by simply staying put.”
Even her innate talents as a journalist—her eloquence, her skill in writing speeches and articles—paled in comparison to her talent for making a mess.
“.....”
Claudia fell silent, her expression turning into a pout, but no matter how rose-tinted my glasses were, I hadn't the slightest intention of entrusting her with housework.
At least she makes a decent cup of coffee.
“Stingy.”
“Isn't that term usually reserved for people who hate spending money?”
Claudia sighed deeply at my playful remark and then spoke.
“Hah, fine. It's not like I'm the one doing the work, so I feel bad nagging you. But not now. Hire someone when we move to Berlin.”
“Berlin...”
Right. It had only been a little over two months since I'd gotten a house in Frankfurt and started living here, but I had already grown accustomed to my life with her.
Once the civil war ends, we'll be going back to Berlin. But honestly, I don't know if the Berlin I remember will still be there.
“Are you worried?”
“I'm scared of how little of the Berlin we remember will be left.”
No matter how much public opinion is on our side, I don't expect a bloodless entry into Berlin. Even at the moment World War II was driving Germany to ruin, there were not a few who remained loyal to the Nazis to the very end.
In the original history, Hitler and the Nazis fought with desperate ferocity, and when defeat was certain, Hitler didn't hesitate to order Germany's core infrastructure burned to the ground.
To console myself by thinking it would have been trampled by the Soviets anyway if WWII had broken out is just an excuse. What I've done is, in the end, accept that Germany must bleed to stop Hitler and the Nazis.
Claudia watched me quietly for a moment, then asked.
“So, do you regret what you've done?”
“No.”
I might feel guilt for the people who will be sacrificed as a result of my actions, but I will never regret it.
If I had fled Germany just to save myself, or cooperated with the Nazis' madness under the pretext of saving Germany from ruin, then I would have been consumed by guilt and regret.
Claudia reached out, took my hand, and intertwined her fingers with mine. The warmth of her soft hand seemed to ease my mind, if only a little.
“Ribbentrop was a Nazi puppet, but at the same time, he hadn't done anything to me that deserved death.”
“Ah...”
Even though the situation left no one else for the job, I truly never wanted her hands to be stained with blood. This is a guilt I'll carry for the rest of my life.
“But you don't need to feel sorry for me. I did it because I genuinely felt it was necessary. Not because you told me to, but because I believed we could only drive them out if I killed him.”
“Are you a mind reader or something?”
Claudia smiled faintly at my words, but her expression soon turned slightly bitter.
“I don't regret what I did, but his son hates me, cursing me as the rebel whore who killed his innocent father.”
Joachim von Ribbentrop's son, Rudolf von Ribbentrop, is just a teenager.
But he's been thoroughly packaged as a tragic patriot who lost his father to a wicked rebel assassin and joined the Wehrmacht, and is now being used as propaganda against us.
Even without him, there are certainly people who have fallen in the fighting caused by our coup, and their comrades and families will surely hate us.
“That's how things are in the end. We believe we're doing the right thing, but not everyone can think that way, and our thinking isn't perfect either.”
“I suppose so.”
No matter how good the intentions, the moment I start thinking that only I am right and my actions are perfect, I'm no different from Hitler.
“We have to do our best, and not turn away from the problems that still arise. Still, Claudia.”
Tomorrow is finally the day of the send-off ceremony. It's time to finish what I started when I first arrived in Germany from Spain.
“Yes?”
I looked into her deep blue eyes watching me, and said with a smile.
“Thank you for helping me get this far.”
Even if it was all to prevent the worst future I know, I can't say I'm without sin.
But having someone who understood me while I walked this path has been a greater comfort than I can say.
She smiled faintly at my words, drew closer, and said.
“We're accomplices, after all.”
Our kiss was both sweet and bitter.
-
November 14, 1939
Northern Germany, near Potsdam, a city southwest of Berlin – A Luftwaffe Airfield
“Company, attention!”
At the command of Major General Wolfram von Richthofen, all the Luftwaffe soldiers snapped to attention.
“To the Field Marshal, salute!”
“Heil Hitler!”
Receiving the unified salute of the Luftwaffe soldiers, Hermann Göring, Commander-in-Chief of the Air Force and Field Marshal, smiled with satisfaction.
“Ah, my dear soldiers of the Luftwaffe. I thank you for your hard work.”
The expressions on the faces of the Luftwaffe soldiers looking up at him were not particularly pleasant, but Göring paid it no mind.
“Soon, the decisive battle will be fought against the band of traitors who dared to raise their banners against the rightful leader of the German people and nation!”
Richthofen let out a faint sigh as he listened. Did his mentor, whom he had always respected, have any idea of the current mood within the Luftwaffe—no, within the entire Wehrmacht?
“As the glorious Field Marshal of the Reich's Air Force, I have no doubt that you, the loyal soldiers of the Luftwaffe who serve the Führer and the German nation, will stand at the vanguard and decisively annihilate the enemy!”
Richthofen glanced back and met the eyes of Adolf Galland, who was staring intently at him. He gave Galland a stiff smile before turning his gaze back to Göring.
“Not only you, my men, but also the patriots of the SS, who are unwaveringly loyal to the Führer and the nation, will crush the enemy! Victory is within our grasp! On the day we triumph and drive out those traitors, you will all be proudly recorded in German history as heroes who will shine for eternity!”
When the Luftwaffe soldiers showed little reaction to his rather grand speech, Göring pounded his pudgy chest with his fist and boasted.
“What's with the long faces? Do you think we're going to lose? Rest assured, my men! If a single one of those vile traitors sets foot in Berlin, you can call me Meier (Meier—the most common surname in Germany)!”
Only then did the Luftwaffe soldiers give a response that was hard to distinguish between a cheer and a jeer. Göring stepped down from the podium and patted the shoulder of his favored subordinate, Richthofen.
“The Führer has high expectations for the Luftwaffe. I'm counting on you.”
Richthofen hesitated for a moment, but instead of reporting his concerns about potential insubordination regarding sortie orders, he managed an awkward smile.
“Thank you, Field Marshal.”
After Göring left, looking pleased, Adolf Galland put a cigar in his mouth, lit it, and remarked.
“I suppose we'll be seeing Hermann Meier next time.”
-
November 14, 1939
Northern Germany, Potsdam, southwest of Berlin – Army Group South Headquarters
“Commander. I'm sorry, but I cannot accept the role of Chief of Staff for Army Group South.”
Brauchitsch, who had spoken to him several times on the phone, pressed a hand to his forehead at the words of Walter Model, who had grown much gaunter since he'd last seen him.
“Come now, Model. Weren't you the one who always wanted such an important role?”
Model remained tight-lipped in response to Brauchitsch's question.
“Model, do you know how hard I worked to prevent your arrest? Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get permission from the Führer, who doubted your loyalty, to appoint you as Chief of Staff?”
“I am grateful for that, Commander. But they are not simply rebels. They are the German people.”
When they first repelled the enemy's armored units racing toward Berlin, a significant portion of the Wehrmacht believed that fighting them was a battle to protect the fatherland, to uphold their oath of loyalty.
But after a prolonged standoff and a war of public opinion, the Wehrmacht soldiers, who had been listening to the new government's radio broadcasts—either secretly or through loudspeakers set up by the enemy across the lines—had long since lost that conviction.
“Model, it's only natural that you have your doubts. But are we not soldiers who have sworn an oath of loyalty to the Führer and the regime? Help me. This is my last chance, and I have too few men I can trust.”
Walter Model squeezed his eyes shut. He himself believed that a soldier should remain distant from politics, yet he had always stood with Brauchitsch, his senior and mentor.
He was the one who hadn't interfered in the affairs of his respected mentor when Brauchitsch began openly fawning over the Nazi regime, and he was the one who, when the rebellion broke out, reminded a hesitant Brauchitsch of his oath of loyalty and urged him to suppress it.
“Perhaps you should consider surrendering, sir.”
At Model's almost despairing words, Brauchitsch's face contorted.
“I've already rejected their demand to join the coup and gave the order to suppress it! If I surrender now, my military career is over!”
The question of whether he would turn his guns on his own people just to save his military career remained stuck in Model's throat, unable to escape.
“I didn't want to have to say this, but weren't you the one who pushed me, while I was hesitating between the Führer and the new government, to give the order to stop them!”
Could it be an excuse to say that back then, he didn't know they weren't just rebels but would become a government that had truly won the hearts of the German people? That he didn't know the Nazi regime had committed such atrocities against its own citizens?
Walter Model was seized by a sense of despair. For what had he been loyal? For what had he fought?
Amidst their individual turmoil, the clock, which had never stopped moving, finally struck twelve.
November 15, 1939, the day the new government was to hold its grand send-off ceremony, had arrived.
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