Chapter 7
Chapter 7
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Spanish Civil War - Collateral Damage (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
< Spanish Civil War - Collateral Damage (2) >
April 25, 1937
Vitoria, Basque Country, Northern Spain
The Nationalists' northern offensive was proceeding smoothly. The first target was the Basque Country, located in the eastern part of north-central Spain.
The Basque people were inherently conservative and their disposition was fundamentally different from the left-wing progressive Republican government, especially the anarchists who constituted a large portion of it.
However, the Basques had strong regional separatist tendencies and disliked the Nationalists, who advocated for a single, powerful Spain. Consequently, they sided with the Republicans after being promised expanded autonomy.
The Nationalist government, led by Franco, took note of this. They launched their offensive while promising peaceful treatment upon surrender, and it worked.
The Basque army, already at odds with the Republican government's ideology and largely neglected, suffered from low morale. Many fell for the Nationalists' promises, leading to a steady retreat.
Meanwhile, the Condor Legion supported the ground advance while also diligently carrying out 'accidental bombings' at Franco's request.
Given that Franco himself was the one requesting them, he likely never intended to keep his promise of peaceful treatment.
In this offensive, Lieutenant Colonel Richthofen, leading the Luftwaffe, rained incendiary bombs on the cities of Otxandio and Durango, which had virtually no air defenses. Unsurprisingly, civilian casualties mounted.
He was far more enamored with incendiary bombs than I remembered from my time. He used them in every operation, even personally flying a bomber to drop them, despite his rank not requiring it.
He'd probably get along famously with Arthur Harris of the Dresden bombing or Curtis LeMay of the Tokyo firebombing. None of them would ever have to meet the people on the ground, screaming as they clutched their burned families.
Aside from that, I learned a great deal about air force operations by following him around and submitted several reports to my superiors.
I tried my best to suppress my modern sensibilities while writing them, so I hope the higher-ups are pleased.
But surprisingly, Richthofen the bombing enthusiast and I got along quite well. So well, in fact, that I wondered if it was appropriate for someone with memories from the future.
Thanks to my general knowledge of World War II air force doctrine, I never ran out of topics to discuss with him.
Richthofen's ideas about establishing ground-to-air radio communication for combined arms operations using dive bombers, in particular, were central to the German Luftwaffe's doctrine in World War II.
When I added my thoughts on necessary adjustments and potential problems for this doctrine, which was still not fully battle-tested, he was very satisfied. Over the month we spent together, during which he also helped me with my Spanish, we grew quite close.
"First Lieutenant, are you sure you don't want to transfer to the Luftwaffe?"
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Colonel, but no."
"Don't be so quick to refuse. Think it over. The Luftwaffe has quite a few former army men, so you'd fit right in. You don't have to be a pilot. We have paratrooper divisions, and for someone like you with such a deep understanding of air doctrine, I'd give you a strong recommendation. Promotions are faster than in the bloated army, too."
How many times had I refused his half-joking, half-serious offer to transfer? He must have taken a real liking to me, but unfortunately, I had to get to Berlin no matter what. I was doing everything I could to get into the War Academy.
Besides, the Luftwaffe, under the influence of its chief Hermann Göring, was the most Nazified of the three branches of the Wehrmacht. For me, who planned to oust the Nazis, it was an unacceptable proposition.
Even at the end of the war, after being stripped of all authority due to Bormann's scheming, and even after Hitler's death and having his drug addiction treated by the Allies during the war crime trials, Göring remained unfailingly loyal to Hitler.
He was Hitler's official successor and the second-in-command of the Nazi Party. In other words, he was not someone who could be swayed.
While we were engaged in our little back-and-forth, a messenger arrived with a telegram. Anyone watching would think I was Lieutenant Colonel Richthofen's aide.
In fact, since I was already his interpreter, I was pretty much being used as one anyway.
"Lieutenant Colonel, a request from General Mola. The Republicans are trying to retreat through Guernica, but their withdrawal is being hampered by a flood of refugees. He wants us to destroy the bridge to cut off their escape route."
"Oh, time to fly."
Richthofen said with a grin. Guernica, Guernica. I’d heard that name somewhere before.
After a moment's thought, I remembered. Guernica, the city where the Luftwaffe committed a massacre. The place made famous by Picasso's painting depicting the tragedy.
"Are you flying yourself again, Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Of course! An airman who doesn't fly is a dead airman. Haha!"
"...Didn't you just say I could join the air force without being a pilot?"
"Ahem. That was just an expression, First Lieutenant."
We'd become close enough to trade jokes. Honestly, I was incredibly nervous, but...
Adolf Galland, one of the most resolute figures in the Luftwaffe during the late stages of World War II, had a history of openly defying the army's 'special orders'—commands to participate in racial extermination—on the grounds that he was in the air force and thus not subject to army command.
And that same Adolf Galland, a gentleman who refused to commit war crimes or even finish off downed enemies, was said to have missed Richthofen—who had retired due to health issues—late in the war, when Galland clashed with Göring, who had become a hopeless drug addict.
This meant that while Richthofen was a problematic individual who enjoyed burning civilians, he was likely not the type to interfere with his subordinates' beliefs or snitch on them to his superiors.
"The objective is to destroy the bridge, so I suppose there's no need for incendiary or anti-personnel bombs this time, Lieutenant Colonel."
Richthofen paused for a moment, then answered with a broad smile.
"Oh? What's this, First Lieutenant? Should I take this to mean you're starting to seriously consider a transfer?"
"That's not it, but..."
"We'll be using a variety of aerial bombs on this sortie, just as before, First Lieutenant. Our mission isn't just to fight; it's to determine the effectiveness of our weapons on the battlefield and report back to the homeland."
Did he consider 'effectiveness' to include how efficiently one could slaughter civilians, or was the Luftwaffe High Command actually requesting such data?
"But Lieutenant Colonel, as the message stated, there are so many refugees that they're impeding the enemy's retreat. Using anti-personnel bombs on such a battlefield could cause serious... not just to the retreating enemy units, but to the civilians."
"Damage, yes. But is that a problem, First Lieutenant? The moment enemy troops entered that city, Guernica became a combat zone. You haven't done any bombing, so you wouldn't know, but precision bombing is still technically difficult."
Before the development of heavy bombers capable of blatant carpet bombing in World War II, the issue of bombing accuracy was well-known. It's also why dive bombing, despite being difficult and dangerous, became the prevailing method, as it offered at least some degree of precision.
"There's no guarantee we can destroy the bridge with precision, so it's important to drop as many bombs as possible over a wide area. Even if we don't hit the bridge, the enemy will take damage, which is good. And did you say refugees? If they're fleeing the Nationalists, they must be Reds. Señor Franco will be pleased."
"......"
His remarks were as ruthless as ever, but when he framed it as a technical issue rather than a moral one, I had nothing more to say.
"I understand what you're trying to say. That Prussian sense of chivalry is admirable. But if you're truly loyal to your country, you must also consider the best path to victory."
Fortunately, Richthofen seemed to interpret my concern as old-fashioned military honor. He clapped me on the shoulder without any sign of displeasure and gave the order to sortie.
I knew a massacre was about to happen, but I couldn't stop it. Knowing the future meant nothing when, at my current rank, I was powerless to do anything.
I have to climb higher. As quickly as possible.
-
The tragedy of Guernica was plastered all over the front pages of the newspapers.
[Peaceful Pyrenean Town Turned to Ruins of Death!]
[German Fascists Burn Freedom and Justice]
In the end, Richthofen and the Luftwaffe had utterly devastated Guernica.
The previous "collateral damage"—at most, bombing a religious ceremony after "mistaking it for Republican troops," resulting in 250 civilian casualties—could be passed off as a mistake during a military operation.
But Guernica was different. At the official request of General Emilio Mola, the commander-in-chief of the northern offensive, the city, packed with refugees and residents, was designated an official military target and bombed for four long hours.
The German air doctrine—building airfields near the front lines and bombing in rotations—which was the most advanced of the interwar period, proved its might by turning a small city into complete ruins and killing at least a thousand people.
And because it was proven so well, the Condor Legion's hushed-up involvement in the Spanish Civil War could no longer be concealed. Everyone now knew it was the German air force that had burned Guernica.
French public opinion, already sympathetic to the Republicans, became a complete mess, but for now, they couldn't do anything because Britain was hamstrung by lobbying from Spanish capitalists who feared the Reds.
France had been willing to risk war with Germany several times during the interwar period, but they would ultimately be dragged along by Britain until the Munich Agreement and the invasion of Poland.
The fact that the bombing of Guernica was being reported to the world as a German atrocity was interpreted in a typically fascist manner by Franco's Nationalist government and the Nazi high command.
Italy had lost face after suffering a crushing defeat at Guadalajara despite committing a large force, whereas Germany had proven the superiority of the Luftwaffe with only a small volunteer unit.
Lieutenant Colonel Richthofen was summoned to Burgos, the Nationalists' temporary capital, to receive a medal from Franco. Thanks to that, I, who had been serving as an interpreter and army advisor (read: substitute aide), had the day off.
"What a mess..."
I was on my day off, eating at a village restaurant and reading the newspaper, when someone responded to the German I'd muttered to myself.
"What's a mess?"
Was he about my age? He looked to be in his early to mid-twenties.
"Who are you?"
"Ah, my apologies. My name is Willy Brandt. I'm a correspondent from Norway."
The man spoke with an affable smile, showing me his passport, but the moment I heard his name, something clicked.
"Willy Brandt?"
"Yes, that's my name for now. Is there a problem...?"
Brandt glanced at me cautiously, but he didn't seem to think I knew his real identity.
Of course, at this point, neither the fact that Willy Brandt was an alias nor the man himself were widely known. But I knew!
He was a leading figure among the German Social Democrats who had fled the country, active during World War II.
And what made him even more famous was the event after the war when, as Chancellor of the future Federal Republic of Germany, he knelt before the Warsaw Ghetto Memorial.
He was the one who initiated the denazification of Germany in a post-war social climate not much different from 21st-century Japan, and in a way, he was the man who laid the groundwork for modern Germany's status as a leader of the European Union.
"Ah, no. I'm Dietrich Schacht, a volunteer soldier."
"Schacht, you say..."
This was an interesting situation. Although he was posing as a Norwegian journalist, this man was one of the key members of the German Social Democrats.
He would naturally dislike, and certainly know of, my father, Hjalmar Schacht, a staunch supporter of the free market economy and a representative of the wealthy elite.
Just from hearing my surname, he seemed to have guessed who my father was.
And I, in turn, knew that he wasn't just a Norwegian journalist, but a German and a key figure in the Social Democratic anti-Nazi movement.
For such a person to be brazenly walking around in Nationalist-occupied territory... Then again, hadn't he once infiltrated Berlin disguised as a Norwegian student?
"You seem to be a volunteer from Germany. Would you mind a brief interview?"
"Haha, I'm just an ordinary volunteer. I'm not in a position to be interviewed."
As someone who was reasonably favorable toward social democracy and knew that he would become a great figure in modern Germany, meeting Willy Brandt was quite a heart-pounding experience...
Still, the professional ethics of journalists weren't something I could blindly trust enough to speak freely. That was true even in the 21st century, let alone now.
"It's not a formal interview, so you don't have to take it so seriously. I just wanted to ask what you, as a German, think about the recent air raid on Guernica."
This guy says it's not formal, then throws a question like that?
What guarantee was there that some careless comment of mine wouldn't end up as a sensational headline, attributed to the son of the Nazi German Minister of Economics?
"Hmm. Before I answer, may I ask you something, Herr Brandt?"
"Ah, of course. What is it?"
He had such an affable smile. Come to think of it, great German chancellor or not, this man's private life was a mess. And there's no guarantee that someone with a messy private life has a good personality, right?
"As a Social Democrat, do you truly believe the current Republicans are the representatives of the Spanish people? And not just puppets of the Soviet Union, Herr Frahm?"
I let my mischievous streak get the better of me. Willy Brandt's face went pale as he tried to jump to his feet, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.
"H-how did you?"
"Shh. You didn't naively think the Gestapo wouldn't be here, did you?"
Frahm was Willy Brandt's real name. I couldn't remember his full name, but I remembered the surname because his political opponents, mocking his illegitimate birth during a German election, had used slogans like 'Absolutely not Frahm.'
Whether it was because he was still young or because he was caught in such an impossible situation, Willy Brandt was completely shaken by my Gestapo bluff.
The fact that I wasn't just some German grunt, but the son of a high-ranking Nazi official, was probably clouding his judgment even further.
"I-I'm not, what on earth..."
"Haha, relax. You are Herr Willy Brandt, a Norwegian journalist. For now, only I know, so don't you worry."
I tried to mimic the affable smile Brandt had worn just moments before, but his face only grew paler.
Tsk, it backfired.
The truth is, I was somewhat sympathetic to social democracy, and aside from his messy private life, I actually had a rather favorable impression of Willy Brandt...
In the end, I sighed and began to speak.
"It's a mess. A total mess. If things continue like this, Germany and the whole world will go up in flames, Herr Brandt. Spain is finished anyway. The so-called 'free world' has no intention of helping the Republicans achieve the diplomatic victory they're hoping for."
Willy Brandt, as if now convinced I was a member of the Gestapo, just stared at me blankly, saying nothing.
Since making a good impression was out of the question, I decided to drive the point home.
"The politicians in democratic countries care more about lobbying from Spanish tycoons than about how many people die. Especially when it comes to the Republicans, who are falling more and more under Soviet influence. On top of that, your German citizenship will be revoked next year. You'd better start thinking about securing Norwegian citizenship in advance."
Willy Brandt's expression became more and more incredulous, but this wasn't the kind of information he could leak to the press, not even as a rumor. Especially not an exile who had fled Nazi Germany.
"Soon, Austria will be annexed by Germany, and problems will arise over the Sudetenland, the German region of Czechoslovakia. So, stop wasting your time here in this godforsaken place and go gather your Social Democrats."
Right now, he must be thinking I'm insane. In fact, he was looking at me like I was a madman.
I paid him no mind and went back to my meal. Amidst a brief silence filled only with the sound of my chewing, Willy Brandt stood up as if possessed and left.
Will he do as I said? I'm not sure, but he'll definitely get out of Spain.
If nothing else, the moment some unknown person—Gestapo or not—identified him, a target of Nazi purges, here in Spain, he could no longer stay.
Still, he would go on to lead the exiled German Social Democrats. And I, who had just recited a history he could not possibly know, might seem like a lunatic now, but when those events actually came to pass, I would be firmly imprinted in his mind.
It was a half-impulsive act, but it helped me clarify my thoughts.
It wasn't just about my rank as a first lieutenant. As long as Nazi Germany existed, World War II was inevitable.
It would unfold in the most tragic and brutal way, ending with the most devastating consequences for those who started it.
Rank meant nothing when even Wehrmacht field marshals were dismissed for falling out of Hitler's favor or purged for allegedly betraying the Führer and Germany.
Therefore, to prevent Germany's ruin as a war criminal and to change the future—to survive as a human being in this age of madness—I must act now.
< Spanish Civil War - Collateral Damage (2) > End
© Carcassonne