Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: For the Nation (2)
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< World War II - For the Nation (2) >
February 7, 1940
Rome, the capital of Italy
“Damn it all. What the hell does the SIM (Servizio Informazioni Militare - Italian Military Intelligence Service) get paid for! Those damn German spies are prying into my own villa, right in our backyard!”
Mussolini slammed his fist on the desk in a fit of rage. The war, which he had started with grand ambitions of restoring the glory of the Roman Empire, was spiraling from bad to worse.
His ambitious goal of seizing all of Austria had been whittled down to Tyrol due to Hitler's fierce opposition, and the Italian army had failed to even fully occupy that.
For now, he was maintaining some level of public support by grandly proclaiming that they had retaken Italian soil and driven the enemy back into Austria, but Mussolini wasn't foolish enough to seriously believe this was due to the Italian army's prowess.
“I never should have taken in that bastard who went on about the great Aryan race, despite looking like a Mongolian himself...”
When Heinrich Himmler, the leader of the Nazi remnants, had escaped from Germany and boasted that he would rally the remaining Nazis to start a civil war, Mussolini had thought it was a sign that God was still on Italy's side.
But when Himmler tried to contact the old SD (the Nazi SS intelligence service) to get in touch with the Nazi remnants in Germany, he was instead traced by the Abwehr, and his location was exposed.
Italy initially denied the accusations, but the Fourth Reich naturally erupted in fury, fiercely condemning Italy. Public opinion not only in Britain and the United States but even in parts of France had turned against them.
“Perhaps I should just recognize Himmler as the Nazi government-in-exile and declare that we will overthrow those democrats and restore Nazi Germany. Would that garner some support within Germany?”
Since he was already taking the blame, Mussolini figured he might as well try to make use of the situation. But his son-in-law and Italian Foreign Minister, Galeazzo Ciano, reacted with horror.
“Absolutely not, Duce! That could give Britain or the United States a pretext to help Germany!”
“Then is there any other way? What were those Poles doing while we were buying time against that massive German army!”
Mussolini vented his frustration, but he was the one who had pushed for the invasion, trusting only in the fact that Germany was in the midst of a civil war, despite the Italian military's desperate pleas that they were not ready.
“Attack Tyrol, at least! We must seize something and call for a truce while Poland is tying up their main forces!”
“Duce, with all due respect, we suffered immense losses against the German army in the last battle. We haven't even finished replenishing the troops in each division and issuing them equipment. To attack them again across the Alps now would only bring about the ruin of Italy.”
Mussolini glared at his Chief of the General Staff, Marshal Pietro Badoglio, but the Marshal met his gaze unflinchingly.
In the end, it was Mussolini who looked away first.
As the Duce, he had wielded immense power, but a series of failures resulting from orders he had forced through against the military's opposition had brought him to a point where he was now wary of his own generals.
“Marshal Italo Balbo has withdrawn from the front, but he is proceeding with the reorganization of the air force. The new aircraft model we are developing should be able to stand up to Germany's air force, so let us take a long-term view. We will fortify our border with Germany and solidify our defenses.”
Mussolini was displeased with the current situation, where the military was beginning to ignore his orders and act on its own.
If Poland were to collapse while the Italian army sat idle, his position would undoubtedly become even more precarious.
“...Very well. I trust the military's judgment.”
But even Mussolini was losing his drive after the successive failures. Count Ciano watched his father-in-law and let out a deep sigh.
-
February 9, 1940
Government Chancellery, Berlin, Northern Germany
The idea I had provided to the Ordnance Department for a Panzerfaust—an “infantry-portable anti-tank projectile weapon using black powder”—ended up producing nothing but a useless monstrosity and wasting the budget.
I scowled at the report. I hadn't had high hopes, but it seemed the mere idea of something's existence wasn't enough to make it magically appear.
It looked like we'd only be able to make something based on the American bazooka once its prototype was developed.
It wasn't like I had the blueprints memorized and could draw them out. It would be better to just import bazookas from the US later.
“Wasn't the result you were hoping for? I can't make heads or tails of it.”
To Claudia, a complete novice in military affairs, it was all Greek.
But still...
One soldier kneels and supports it on his shoulder, two others hold it steady from the sides, and a fourth one fires it.
What was this, a combination weapon from a Japanese sentai show? In a real battle, it would be better to reinforce the gentle door-knocker.
I let out a deep sigh. Wasting our precious budget when we were already short on funds...
“No. I'm reflecting on my actions, Advisor.”
“What actions?”
It was too embarrassing to admit I'd tried to cheat my way to success with future knowledge, so I opted to change the subject.
“So the French Radical Party cabinet has resigned en masse. An early general election in France...”
“Yes, it has come to that. At least there won't be a war between us and France until after the election. You've worked very hard, Vice-Chancellor.”
“You've worked hard as well, Advisor.”
The precarious tightrope walk we had wagered on the opening of World War II had somehow succeeded.
Even though we had stationed Generals von Witzleben and Model at the Siegfried Line, frankly, our forty divisions were divisions in name only. They had the will to fight but lacked training. They would have suffered immense casualties against a full-scale French offensive.
Given the current situation in France, the French Social Party, which advocated for social integration and centrism, was likely to take power. However, foreign opinion viewed François de La Rocque's party as a far-right group masquerading as centrists.
But I was somewhat optimistic. The previous government had fallen after making the reckless move of trying to join the war as Poland's ally in Germany's defensive war. Would the new government attack us as soon as it took power?
That was a stretch, no matter how you looked at it. We had bought at least a few months, and in that time, we could at least finish off Poland.
And even if I was wrong, by then the forty divisions at the Siegfried Line would have become a proper fighting force under Generals von Witzleben and Model.
“I finally feel like the knife at my throat is gone.”
I had been running nonstop since starting the civil war on September 1, 1939, and it felt like I could finally catch my breath.
The catch was that we were still at war. What a turbulent world.
“It's thanks to everyone's hard work. But it's not time to relax just yet.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Well then, I'll be heading out first for today, Advisor.”
I replied to Claudia and rose from my seat. I had an appointment today.
“Don't come back too late, alright?”
“Haha.”
This kind of conversation really made us feel like a married couple. Which, of course, we were.
-
As I left my office, a bodyguard fell in step behind me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was still a little awkward, but as humans are creatures of adaptation, it no longer felt as uncomfortable as before.
The streets of Berlin, which still bore the scars of the street fighting outside the central district, had nearly recovered their former appearance after two months of reconstruction.
The somewhat monstrously large new Reich Chancellery was being preserved as it was, but the swastikas that had once filled the city were long gone.
The streets felt free, as if such atrocities and oppression had never existed, and even the black-red-gold flag we had readopted was not particularly prominent.
No one in our government spouted nonsense about needing to plaster the city with the national flag to foster patriotism.
But beneath the seemingly free surface of Germany, the scars left by the Nazis remained unhealed.
The trials of high-ranking Nazis and key collaborators were still ongoing due to the sheer number of defendants. The disbanded Hitler Youth were struggling to reintegrate into their families, and a special educational institution was re-educating them on Nazi atrocities and running resocialization programs, but progress was reportedly difficult.
The Jews, who had been stripped of all their property and even their citizenship, had been released by us and had their citizenship restored. But it wasn't as if we had the money to immediately return all their property to them.
Moreover, antisemitism, though intensified by the Nazis, had become ingrained in Germans over a long period and had not disappeared, only diluted.
The penniless Jews released from captivity were receiving minimal assistance from our government for their survival, but no further measures had been taken.
As a result, we were racking our brains over their treatment. Various discussions and debates were underway, but there was still no viable way to solve the problem of hundreds of thousands of refugees unable to integrate into society in the middle of a war.
The new Germany was just beginning; the problems to be solved were mountainous.
As I walked, lost in thought, a group of women passed by, their laughter piercing my reverie.
Women, who under the Nazis were relegated to the role of homemakers, were slowly but surely adapting to being factory workers while a significant number of men were mobilized.
This, at least, was a clear achievement of our government.
Although we had issued a general mobilization order, we weren't insane like the Nazis who mobilized 150 divisions. We exempted skilled workers needed to train female laborers and high-level personnel essential for maintaining society.
The MEFO-bill debt we had to repay was astronomical, but for now, the economy was somehow chugging along and life was bearable, even during wartime.
Of course, a large part of that was thanks to our friendly relations with a magical country that would sell us anything we needed—food, fuel, resources, trucks—unlike in the original history.
Still, our Germany was certainly better than Nazi Germany. I could hold my head high on that point.
“Hey. Vice-Chancellor. Long time no see?”
“Just Schacht is fine, as always, General von Richthofen.”
My thoughts now sorted, I looked at Richthofen, who had since become a squadron commander, and smiled with a rare sense of pleasure.
-
We clinked our glasses in a toast at the same Berlin bar where we had met before the Munich Agreement.
“Here's to Lieutenant Colonel Schacht, our esteemed Vice-Chancellor of the Chancellery, and to the Fourth Reich of Germany. Cheers!”
“Ha, ha... Cheers...”
It felt strangely surreal to hear such a toast from my former superior and mentor, even if we belonged to different branches now.
Still, it was nice to have a drink with him after so long. Honestly, the last time we drank together, I was planning to start a civil war; I'd wondered if a day like this would ever come again.
After the toast, Richthofen savored his drink and then spoke.
“Looks like we won't be having that drink in Prague, eh?”
Ah, right. I remembered we had promised our next drink would be in Prague. Now that we had liberated Czechoslovakia, we couldn't just waltz into their capital for a drink.
“Well, perhaps that day will come sooner than you think.”
Thinking about it now, the future still seemed bleak, but historically speaking, an era of war like this wouldn't last very long. A decade at most.
If we played our cards right, Czechoslovakia wouldn't fall into Stalin's hands and become communist. Once the current awkward nationalistic feelings subsided, a day would soon come when we could travel peacefully between our countries.
Our Germany could establish an order as the center of Europe much faster and more smoothly than the Germany of the original history.
“Hmm, planning to swallow up Czechoslovakia?”
“No, that's not it at all....”
Richthofen's warmonger-like idea startled me, but I knew he likely meant no harm by it.
“It's late to say this, but I'm sorry. I heard you went through a lot because of me.”
“Ah, what's done is done. We're even since I got to land a punch on you.”
“Ugh....”
When Richthofen had flown with the Luftwaffe to Frankfurt and surrendered during the civil war, his first words to me were:
‘Good to see you again, Vice-Chancellor Schacht! May I hit you just once?’
I had been so stunned by the arrival of the Luftwaffe, a force of thousands of aircraft, that I hadn't even been able to answer before he decked me.
“Haha, well, don't worry too much about it. It's not just that I got to punch you out... but thanks to you, I got a double promotion and made a name for myself, didn't I?”
“That's true. Belated congratulations on your meteoric rise.”
The Luftwaffe itself was the creation of Hermann Göring, the Nazis' number two. As a result, all the air force generals, except for Richthofen who had surrendered with his air fleet mid-war, had fought on the Nazi side to the end and were now on trial.
Of course, there were surely some generals among them who hadn't actively cooperated with the Nazis and would be reinstated after their trials, but for now, Richthofen was the only active general in the air force.
So, Wolfram von Richthofen was the sole general, the Chief of Staff, and the acting Commander-in-Chief of the Luftwaffe. He was already famous as the Red Baron's cousin, but now he was truly the biggest celebrity in the German air force.
“Haha, thanks.”
Richthofen looked at me with a rather cheerful expression and sipped his drink. I noticed his face was already turning red.
He really couldn't hold his liquor.
“You seem to have gotten even weaker since I last saw you?”
“What are you talking about! I'm still fine!”
Usually, anyone who says that is definitely drunk....
Richthofen downed half of the already strong brandy in one go, startling me, then turned to me with a flushed face and spoke.
“Schacht, was I of help to you?”
“Of course, General. You supported me from the time in Spain, and you protected me when my father was demoted. ...And I am deeply grateful that you surrendered the majority of the air force instead of attacking the new government during the civil war.”
This was sincere. Without the connection I had built with him in Spain, I would not have received the War College recommendation so quickly and been able to prepare for the civil war in Germany.
Despite that, I had given up on recruiting him because of his loyalty to the Führer and Göring. But in the end, he had chosen to surrender with a large part of the air force instead of attacking the new government and the German people.
There was no telling how much more blood would have been shed if he had remained loyal to the Nazis and attacked the new government, which had no proper air force of its own.
And in the process, he had even brought along Otto Skorzeny, the most dangerous man in Europe, whose whereabouts had been unknown.
“...I see.”
Richthofen drank half of the remaining brandy, then spoke with a completely flushed face.
“Then I suppose I'm a good person to you?”
A good person to me, huh.
From a modern perspective, looking only at the historical records, Wolfram von Richthofen didn't seem like a particularly good person.
He was just a warmonger befitting the axis of evil that was Nazi Germany, one who had rained incendiary bombs on civilians and spoken of his great pleasure at watching cities burn.
But the Wolfram von Richthofen I met in this era was a decent superior who was loyal to his country, faithful to his duties as a soldier, and cared for his men.
Of course, his warmongering tendencies and cruelty could not be justified, but considering his profession as a soldier, had he served a proper government, he would have been recorded in history as merely a competent patriot.
“...Yes, you are, General.”
“I'm glad to hear you say that.”
Richthofen drained the last of the brandy in his glass and spoke.
“Then let me ask you for one favor.”
I wondered what the usually boisterous Richthofen could possibly want to say with such gravity. He opened his mouth.
“Marshal Göring, no, Hermann Göring. Please make sure he can at least avoid the death penalty.”