Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Spanish Civil War (2)
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As of November 1936, the situation with the great powers' forces deployed in Spain was as follows.
Nationalists = Germany, Italy, Korea.
Republicans = Soviet Union.
Among them, Italy had mobilized the largest number of troops and equipment.
Of course, headcount didn't equate directly to combat power, but numbers carried their own weight.
Therefore, within the Nationalist camp, Italy—not Germany—held the strongest voice among the foreign powers.
Korea was negligible.
The expeditionary force numbered just 10,000, with a handful of destroyers in the navy and fewer than 50 aircraft.
Logistics weren't any better.
The Korean forces were borrowing ammo from the Germans and food from the Italians—that was the reality.
No wonder their presence was utterly insignificant.
"Salute to the Commander!"
"Forget it."
I held my inauguration ceremony at the headquarters set up in Casa de Campo, a resort area on the outskirts of Madrid.
Since it was a unified command spanning army, navy, and air force, there were naval and air force officers present as well.
I exchanged greetings with the key officers.
There were several whose names I needed to memorize, but the ones who stood out most were three in particular.
Expeditionary force chief of staff, Colonel Gong Sang-jin.
Class of '46 at the Army Academy.
One class below me.
He was big-built and outgoing, earning him the nickname "Iberia's Bear" among the staff officers.
Next was operations staff officer Colonel Park Jun.
Class of '48.
Slim and short, he seemed introverted at first glance, but surprisingly sociable.
He chatted privately with the officers, listened to their troubles, and was nicknamed "Mom."
Last was air force expedition commander Colonel Ha Yu-jin.
Army Academy class of '53, with connections in the army.
Originally from the army, he got along well with army officers and accommodated their positions in operational coordination, making him well-regarded on our side.
He was competent and hardworking to boot, hence "Busy Bee."
I spent a short adjustment period getting a handle on my subordinates' names and traits.
Naturally, I shelved any talk of offensives during that time.
'If I screw up, it's all on me—who'd want that?'
Madrid wouldn't fall until 1939 anyway.
When the Korean forces dawdled under my orders, Nationalist Colonel Juan Yagüe came demanding why we weren't pressing the attack.
Juan Yagüe, who commanded the African Army, was so capable that even the German officers—who typically sneered at Spanish officers—held him in high regard.
"Commander! Every moment we waste lets the reds in Madrid solidify their defenses. This is no time for delays!"
He wasn't wrong.
The Republic was regrouping bit by bit with every delay.
The international volunteers pouring in couldn't be ignored either.
But charging into a well-prepared enemy position would doom me.
I replied to Yagüe in a measured tone.
"Rushing the offensive and racking up casualties would pile on political pressure back home. That wouldn't serve either Korea or Spain well. As the top commander of the expeditionary force, I must consider the political situation—please understand."
Yagüe tried to change my mind, but persuasion only works on those ready to be convinced.
And I wasn't.
Yagüe left headquarters with a face full of disappointment.
The Madrid front seesawed back and forth, but no decisive blow landed.
During that time, I gathered my officers and ran tactical drills.
The gist of my tactical training was simple.
'Unified thinking.'
In other words, 'standardizing' thought processes—that was the core of my tactics.
It was an attempt to mimic the German Wehrmacht's highly successful 'mission-type command system.'
How did unifying thought connect to the German emphasis on commander autonomy? The principle was this:
The Germans knew that if 'Situation A' arose, all commanders would respond with 'Method B.'
So even commanders C and D, who had never met, could anticipate adjacent friendly units' movements and execute efficient coordinated operations.
What I demanded from the Korean commanders was similar.
The difference? Our forces were small, so we only needed coordination down to subunit level.
With relatively less information and workload for the officers to master, the 'Korean mission-type command system' training wrapped up in just three weeks.
I'd premised it on urban combat scenarios and drilled a few patterns repeatedly—no wonder it didn't take long.
Even the officers skeptical at first came around after syncing up a few times, realizing the efficiency.
"This method should definitely shorten the OODA loop."
"It's the German way."
"Have you had dealings with the Germans, sir?"
Me? With the Nazis?
Eh, close enough in my imagination.
I took chief of staff Colonel Gong Sang-jin and operations officer Colonel Park Jun up to Garabitas Hill, which overlooked Madrid.
Nationalist artillery was dug in there, shelling the city nonstop around the clock.
We looked down at Madrid belching smoke under the barrage and discussed attack routes.
As the saying goes, strike where the enemy is—right at Madrid University, where the Nationalists kept banging their heads.
The problem was the trenches.
The Republicans' layered trenches, foxholes, and fortified buildings were tough nuts that shrugged off ordinary assaults.
As evidenced by the Nationalists' repeated failures, breaching them was low-odds.
I wasn't without ideas for that.
"Just reinforce the firepower, right?"
"But with what?"
We could scrounge shells from the Germans, but artillery pieces weren't that easy to come by.
Of course, I had a plan.
"Drum barrels."
"Pardon?"
"Make improvised mortars from drum barrels."
"Will that work?"
"Think back to the Great War."
"Ah."
The idea of improvised mortars—stuffing a cylinder and firing—dated to World War I.
Chinese Communist engineer Gao Wanku adapted it by punching a hole in one end of a drum barrel, adding legs: the "Thunder Cannon."
It was devastatingly effective.
With its simple, cheap design, it let the Communists stand up to the Nationalists' overwhelming American gear.
No reason I couldn't do the same.
If firepower's short, improvise.
But I wasn't filling them with mortar rounds.
Gasoline—turn them into pseudo-napalm launchers.
Even the Great War stormtroopers had roasted trenches brown to punch through.
We scored surplus drum barrels from the Nationalists and Germans.
They were all U.S.-made oil drums.
'American shills talk non-intervention in Spain, but quietly supply Franco with oil and credit on the sly. Then call themselves guardians of democracy.'
Not that I minded.
I mass-produced improvised mortars from the allied drums.
Too plain to just call them "improvised mortars," so I named them.
"We'll call these Juche Mortars."
"Understood."
Our troops lugged the Juche Mortars toward Madrid University.
Time to give the Republicans a taste of Juche fire—er, nuclear fury.
On the night of December 11, 1936, the Korean forces attacked the Philosophy Faculty in the university city.
The buildings there were held doggedly by the 11th International Brigade under General Kléber.
The Nationalists figured it'd fail, but that was because their methods sucked.
Who charges head-on in urban fighting?
"Artillery, fire!"
As our guns and Nationalist artillery hammered away, the Republicans hunkered down as usual.
"Charge!"
At the signal, infantry advanced with fire-and-maneuver toward the trenches.
Republican machine guns chattered relentlessly.
"Roast 'em!"
Following their plans, our troops lobbed drum mortars into the trenches.
After several gasoline bombs burst around, one detonated inside.
"Aaaagh!"
Republican soldiers screamed as they bolted from the trenches.
Our troops cleared them relatively easily and pushed toward the Philosophy Faculty buildings.
The Republicans resisted fiercely, but couldn't stop our drum-mortar assault.
The sheer firepower in short bursts outmatched their units.
As the Republicans fell back into the buildings, we advanced the mortars.
Then we passed sentence on the trapped enemy.
"Fire!"
We direct-fired gasoline bombs into the buildings.
With pre-planned fire lanes and backups for misses, the flames squeezed the Republicans without error.
"Gaaah!"
In one minute, hundreds of firebombs turned the Philosophy Faculty into hell on earth.
We poured gasoline until the buildings seemed ready to melt.
Those who fled screaming got shot.
Those who stayed got roasted or suffocated.
Burn 'em out, choke 'em out, then send in infantry—the fight was over before it started.
"Sir! We've taken it."
As expected.
Days later, thrilled by the fall of the supposedly impregnable Philosophy Faculty, Francisco Franco himself visited, clapped my shoulder, and praised me.
Impressed by my arson tactics against the Republicans, he even pinned a medal on me.
Even the Army Ministry, itching to court-martial me, sent a congratulatory wire.
Not exactly a feel-good picture.
Getting awards for killing people.
I quietly lit a cigar.