Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: German Civil War - Iron and Blood, Golden Freedom (7)
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November 21, 1939
Southwestern Brandenburg, Northern Germany – 10th Army Defensive Line
[This is Erwin von Witzleben, Commander of the Reichswehr Northern Front Army! Wehrmacht, surrender! Do not be deceived by Nazi propaganda! The new government is not Germany's enemy! I repeat. This is Erwin von Witzleben, Commander of the Reichswehr Northern Front Army! Wehrmacht, surrender! Do not be deceived by Nazi propaganda! The new government is not Germany's enemy!]
“Hey, Captain Michael. Don’t you think we’re screwed?”
“I agree.”
Captains Clemens Fleck and Roger Michael, each leading a company in the 10th Army, were in a predicament.
They'd been ordered to retreat out of the blue and had just started packing when the enemy began broadcasting calls for surrender while launching an attack.
“Captain, what should we do?”
“Don’t ask me. What would a mere company commander know?”
Clemens felt a surge of frustration at his men, who were all looking to him.
As frontline company commanders, they knew nothing of the specific situation on the war front.
The reports on the war from the new government's broadcasts and the Nazi broadcasts were vastly different.
Emotionally, he was drawn to the new government—his friend was there, and their cause was just—but this was a matter of life and death, too great a decision to be made on faith alone.
“What are you going to do, Captain Fleck?”
Roger Michael, who had been Dietrich's classmate at the war college, was usually quite serious, but even his face was etched with anxiety.
“Ugh, Dietrich, you bastard!”
Dietrich, that damn bastard. If he had just told me clearly beforehand, I would've switched sides in a heartbeat—
—though, honestly, he wasn't so sure. He wouldn't have reported his friend, of course, but Dietrich must have had his reasons to be cautious.
He wanted to complain that their friendship meant so little, but looking back, Dietrich had asked him persistently, albeit indirectly, on several occasions.
And he was the one who, oblivious to his friend's intentions, had given vague, dismissive answers out of annoyance.
“Argh…”
Clemens scratched his head roughly. He never thought his motto—live life easy, live life light—would come back to bite him like this.
Just as he was stuck, unable to decide, the Wehrmacht's loudspeakers on their side of the line suddenly crackled to life, as if to make their own broadcast.
[To the proud soldiers of the German Wehrmacht. This is Lieutenant General Walter Model, Chief of Staff of the Southern Army Group.]
“Huh?”
Both Clemens and Michael snapped their heads up.
[As the Chief of Staff of the Southern Army Group, it is with shame that I must inform you of the disastrous state of the war. The enemy has seized control of all of Germany except for Berlin, Bohemia, and Silesia. They are currently surrounding the 14th Army stationed in Bohemia-Moravia and have launched an all-out offensive.]
At those words, a stir went through the soldiers, who, knowing little of the actual situation, had vaguely assumed they were in a stalemate based on Dr. Goebbels's propaganda.
Of course, Dr. Goebbels had boasted that they had the upper hand and the rebellion would soon be crushed, but few truly believed they were winning when they couldn't advance and their supplies were barely getting through.
But if the Chief of Staff was to be believed, then everything the new government's radio had been saying was true, and Dr. Goebbels had been lying.
As soldiers and officers alike stood frozen in shock, Walter Model's broadcast continued.
[The 4th Army, stationed in Stettin, has surrendered to the enemy and is now advancing on Berlin from the northeast. With our current strength, there is no possibility of rescuing the 14th Army, which is surrounded in Bohemia-Moravia.]
As Walter Model finished and fell silent for a moment, every Wehrmacht soldier in the 10th Army waited, holding their breath.
A moment later, Walter Model spoke again, his voice heavy with suppressed emotion.
[...We have lost the war. But this is not your fault. All responsibility lies with the leadership and with me, the Army Group Chief of Staff.]
While Model was speaking, the sounds of footsteps and a door bursting open could be heard clearly through the loudspeaker.
[Model, what is the meaning of this!]
Despite the voice of Brauchitsch, Commander of the Southern Army Group, Walter Model spoke again.
[You have all served loyally according to the Wehrmacht's code of conduct, even under the orders of an immoral government. As Chief of Staff of the Southern Army Group, I thank you for your dedication.]
[Walter Model!]
[As proud sons of Germany, you have already fulfilled your duties as soldiers magnificently. There is no need for shame, even in defeat. Now, you must judge for yourselves, based on what you have seen and felt. That is all.]
With that, the broadcast ended.
“…General Model.”
While Captain Roger Michael solemnly removed his cap and gazed at the loudspeaker, Clemens pulled out a knife and tore down the Wehrmacht flag that had been planted and fluttering on the defensive line.
The flag, colored with iron and blood, fell to the dirt floor, and Clemens turned to his men.
“So, uh, anyone here against surrendering?”
Seeing everyone shake their heads, Clemens scratched his own and said.
“Hey, hey, go find a white cloth, a blanket or something. If we're gonna surrender, we need a white flag!”
“Why do you sound so excited about surrendering…”
Captain Roger Michael muttered in disbelief, but he didn't try to stop Clemens.
-
“How could you do this! Betraying the Führer, betraying me?”
Despite Brauchitsch's accusation, Walter Model answered in a low but firm voice.
“Sir. I cannot let innocent and loyal soldiers bear the responsibility for a hopeless war created by a criminal regime.”
Hearing Model's words, Brauchitsch collapsed to the floor.
“I, I, I... I trusted you.”
Walter Model slowly closed his eyes, watching the pathetic, slumped figure of the man who was once his superior and mentor, whom he had deeply admired.
“After everything I've done for you, how could you abandon me like this!”
But to close his men's ears to the truth, to make them fight their own countrymen for a criminal regime—that would be abandoning them.
Instead of offering such an explanation, Walter Model simply bowed his head to Brauchitsch.
“I am sorry. I believed that they, at least, had the right to know the truth and make their own choice.”
But even at Model's words, Brauchitsch cried out in despair.
“The Führer suspected you, and I protected you!”
“…I know.”
“Now I'm finished, finished…”
The sight of his mentor, collapsed and blaming him, filled Walter Model with guilt, but he had no regrets.
“…I am sorry.”
As the other staff officers watched Brauchitsch despairing on the floor, having lost all composure, they began to whisper amongst themselves before leaving the headquarters one by one. Through it all, Walter Model remained standing, guarding the space before Brauchitsch.
How much time had passed?
The sound of military boots echoed through the headquarters building, and soon, Reichswehr soldiers poured into the broadcast room where Brauchitsch and Model were.
Walter Model kept his eyes fixed on his mentor, still slumped on the floor.
Thud, thud. The sound of slow footsteps echoed down the hall, and the man who entered the room was General Erwin von Witzleben.
“Colonel General Walter von Brauchitsch, Commander of the Southern Army Group.”
“Witzleben…”
Only after hearing his title and name did Brauchitsch look up at Witzleben, his face a mask of bewilderment.
“You are under arrest for collaborating with a criminal regime and colluding with the traitors who have plunged the fatherland into a crisis of war.”
Still sitting, Brauchitsch was seized by the arms, pulled to his feet, and dragged away by the soldiers.
Walter Model never took his eyes off Brauchitsch as he was taken.
“Lieutenant General Walter Model, Chief of Staff of the Southern Army Group.”
Erwin von Witzleben looked at Model, paused for a moment, and then continued.
“Vice-Chancellor Dietrich Schacht was very worried about you. The fact that a significant portion of the 10th Army surrendered without bloodshed is to your credit. How about we treat this as a surrender?”
Walter Model gave a bitter smile at Witzleben's words but shook his head.
“I appreciate the gesture. However…”
Walter Model glanced toward the hallway where Brauchitsch had been taken, then looked back at Witzleben and spoke.
“I am his Chief of Staff.”
“…I see.”
Witzleben let out a small sigh before speaking.
“Lieutenant General Walter Model. You are under arrest for collaborating with a criminal regime and colluding with the traitors who have plunged the fatherland into a crisis of war. …Treat him with respect.”
With the arrests of Southern Army Group Commander Walter von Brauchitsch and Chief of Staff Walter Model, the Wehrmacht's Southern Army Group effectively collapsed.
Walter von Reichenau's 10th Army lost more than half its forces to surrender and retreated to Berlin, and Wilhelm List's 14th Army declared its surrender the next day.
-
November 22, 1939
Frankfurt, Capital of the New Government
I'd come to the emperor's residence first thing in the morning and was just getting out of my car.
In the brief moment I waited for the attendant to open the door, the telegram in my hand—a single sheet of paper—felt impossibly heavy.
“Welcome, Vice-Chancellor. You said it was urgent. What is it?”
Looking at the emperor, Wilhelm III, who greeted me with a bright smile, I bit my lip slightly.
“…Your Majesty.”
At this, Wilhelm III raised an eyebrow in curiosity and corrected his posture from a casual, cross-legged slump.
“You must have heard the news that the Italian army has launched an all-out offensive in Tyrol.”
“I have.”
I took a deep breath before I spoke.
“Yesterday, their bombing destroyed more than 50% of the urban areas in the region's major cities, including Innsbruck, the capital of Tyrol. Casualties are still being tallied, but it will take time.”
Logically, I knew it would have been difficult for us to send more aid for the defense of Tyrol anyway, but I couldn't shake the feeling of self-reproach.
The records of the Italian army's incompetence I'd read about in the modern era and scoffed at. I was deluded by such things, and by the Austrian border guards who had routed them with an unexpectedly strong defense.
We had grossly underestimated Italy.
“The entire province of Tyrol is on the verge of being lost. And…”
The emperor watched me, gesturing for me to continue.
For the first time since the coup, I realized I was afraid.
What was I afraid of?
“His Highness, Prince Wilhelm… has been killed in action.”
Emperor Wilhelm III's eyes widened slightly. As he remained frozen, I continued my report.
“Their deputy commander, Giovanni Messe, recovered and returned the body. The Italian Foreign Minister, Count Ciano, expressed his regret, stating it was an accidental occurrence during combat.”
I handed him the telegram. A silence stretched between us, feeling far too long, before the emperor finally spoke.
“Count Blumenthal will be saddened.”
Meeting my gaze, the emperor seemed to have completely regained his composure. He spoke with a blank expression.
“A pity. But with a member of the imperial family killed by the Italians, we can use this to unify the will of the people. That's your area of expertise, so I trust you'll handle it well.”
I was speechless, staring at him blankly.
“Why, is there more to report?”
“…How will you proceed with the state funeral for His Highness?”
Only then did the emperor nod.
“We must. Hmm, since we're in the middle of a war, let's not make it overly grand. I'll have to call for Cecilie. She would play the part of the tragic, grieving mother the public expects perfectly.”
I realized I had unconsciously clenched my fists and forced them open.
“What will be done for the Prince's family?”
“Family? Ah, yes… them.”
The emperor, who had shown such humanity at the port where the great fleet built by the Kaiser's empire was lost, now seemed to feel nothing at the death of his own flesh and blood.
Was it my imagination, or did he seem to think that while it was a slight shame, it was politically advantageous?
“They aren't members of the imperial family. Well, perhaps we can spin this into a heartwarming tale of the imperial house taking in the family of a royal who sacrificed himself for Germany. Would that work?”
“…They will need to receive a pension as family of the imperial house, so I will request approval from the war cabinet.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Then, I will take my leave, Your Majesty.”
As I bowed respectfully, he gave a slight smile and said.
“I trust you to ably transform the imperial family's loss into a surge of national fighting spirit. Good work.”
I turned my back on him.
Public opinion within Austria is already leaning toward the new government, which is helping them fight the Italian invasion.
On top of that, Hitler, an Austrian, sold out Tyrol, while a German prince died fighting for Austria.
The emperor is right.
It's the perfect story to use as propaganda to win the support of Austrians still under Nazi control and to inspire the will to fight against Italy.
But if we do this, how are we any different from the Nazis?