Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Spanish Civil War (3)
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From December 1936, the Korean Army's assault on Madrid yielded significant gains.
The Korean troops had completely driven out the Republican soldiers from one of the fiercest battlegrounds, the Madrid University District.
The losses inflicted on the Republican forces were far from trivial.
Even when Soviet volunteers threw T-26 tanks into a counterattack, it was all for naught.
The Korean soldiers had concrete buildings—their invincible allies.
"Dumb Ivan bastards. Charging tanks into street fighting without any infantry-tank coordination. They're practically begging for tank barbecue."
We gleefully took out those Soviet tanks that mindlessly barreled forward relying solely on their armor.
When they rolled under buildings, we'd hurl Molotov cocktails or grenades for a satisfying boom.
If they blundered past our covered positions, we'd hit their sides with anti-tank guns—bang.
When they crawled into the cluttered ruins, we'd slice their tracks with piano wire traps.
That said, a tank was still a tank.
And the T-26 wasn't some pseudo-tank like the Nazi Panzer I—it was a proper modern machine with solid armor and firepower by 1936 standards.
That meant taking out a few Soviet tank crews often required sacrificing twice as many infantrymen.
"When we get back home, I'll make damn sure to push for tank development. This campaign has driven home just how tough it is for infantry without their own armor."
Colonel Park Jun, our operations staff officer, declared in a firm tone.
Well, yeah, better to have them than not.
The problem was that even if Korea managed to produce tanks, they couldn't compete with the Reds.
Those maniacs churned out tens of thousands during the Cold War.
Anyway, the spectacle of those Red tanks had turned everyone into tank enthusiasts.
We needed more reliable countermeasures against enemy armor.
Letting casualties pile up bit by bit wouldn't do my position any favors.
The surest fix was acquiring anti-tank weapons capable of neutralizing T-26s at range—but we didn't have any.
'Looks like that's the only option.'
I already knew the answer.
And that weapon doubled as an all-weather beast against aircraft.
'Acht-acht.'
The 88mm anti-aircraft gun.
The legendary war machine beloved by the Germans.
Colonel Ha Yu-jin, who handled liaison with the Germans, informed me that the Wehrmacht's current models were just the FlaK 18 and FlaK 36—and even those weren't enough to meet German demand.
I put in a request to the homeland for 88mms.
"I'm not asking for our own tanks to match the T-26s. But we need something that can definitely smash them, right? Even FlaK 18s would do—just get us some 88mms."
The Army back home responded with lukewarm indifference.
To sum up their attitude in one line:
'We're broke as hell already, so why demand expensive foreign gear? It's not even an anti-tank gun—it's anti-air!'
I had zero intention of backing down after one rejection.
'The time has come to borrow the power of the ruthless politico, Yi Seong-jun. Time for a taste of this.'
Like a battle-hardened veteran tactician, I struck at the Army Ministry's unguarded flank without mercy.
I fired off an anonymous tip straight to Korea's largest political party, the Great National Assembly.
A few days later, all hell broke loose back home.
"Our boys are fighting Red iron horses with nothing but Molotovs and grenades because they lack proper weapons! Is this really happening in the finest army in the East?"
"Uh, Representative, sir. Our Army does have anti-tank weapons..."
"Yeah? Weapons that just knock politely on their armor plating?"
To be fair, it wasn't quite that bad—but that's the vibe at the National Assembly hearing, or so I heard.
Sure, the Imperial Korean Assembly was basically a rubber stamp for the military, but that didn't mean they groveled with fake smiles.
On paper, the Assembly and Cabinet sat above the military, so when they had a pretext, the lawmakers would chew out even the top generals.
'Hey, we're not a military dictatorship—we're a constitutional democracy!' Gotta advertise that, right?
Anyway, once the Assembly hotshots started barking, the results were immediate.
The Army Ministry coughed up the budget like it was nothing.
With one catch.
We had to 'definitely' destroy enemy tanks with the 88mms.
Otherwise, they'd hold us 'accountable.'
Late January 1937, our forces received twelve German-made 88mm anti-aircraft guns.
Of course, putting them to immediate use wasn't so simple.
Mastering the 88mm required proper training.
Or so I thought—but life doesn't always go as planned.
"Our troops took out a T-26 with the 88mm?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. They spotted the enemy tanks firing their main guns from fixed positions every day and pre-aimed the 88mms accordingly."
Chief of Staff Colonel Gong Sang-jin reported the 88mm's success and recommended medals for the soldiers involved.
'Jackpot.'
For my own PR, I called in a war correspondent from home for an interview.
"So, the moment General—you with your 'foresight'—insisted on acquiring this weapon, our boys scored a kill with it."
"Er, well, yes."
"Impressive. You've taught me what the eye of a capable soldier looks like."
It pricked my conscience a bit, but a freebie kill was still a kill.
I was basically a pseudo-politician living off my image anyway.
A little 'unintentional' hype wouldn't hurt.
Like nitrogen crackers, right?
One hand clutching newspapers, the other victory reports, I crowed loudly back home.
Pyongyang had no choice but to shut up.
At the very least, they wouldn't meddle in whatever antics I got up to on Spanish soil.
The expeditionary force was practically my personal fiefdom now.
Just like back at the division, I started winning over the officers.
It began with one-on-one dinners.
At those meetings, I'd indirectly lament the 'reality of the homeland' and the military's incompetence, then dangle visions of the nation's future to hook them.
I never dumped too much at once.
I handled the officers with careful boundaries.
After a while, the atmosphere in the expeditionary force shifted subtly.
"His Excellency Yi Seong-jun is the sage of our era, the pioneer who'll solidify our nation's foundations."
"You have no idea how many grand plans His Excellency has. He's born to lead the great Korean people."
The young officers somehow got hold of my op-eds from the Joseon Daily, bound them into folders, and carried them around.
Uh, well. That's a tad much.
Anyway, among the junior officers, the cult of personality around me was strong.
The senior officers were different.
They saw me as a competent tactician or commander, at best.
So they viewed the outright 'devotion' with some discomfort.
This vibe only solidified when I donned my monocle and personally patrolled the front lines, leading by example.
"You know what His Excellency said while inspecting the front under fire?"
"No. What?"
"'My soldiers are my children. I can't leave them in harm's way.'"
If that sounds familiar, it's no illusion.
I'd straight-up plagiarized Walter Model.
I made a habit of touring 'dangerous' spots to generate 'buzzworthy' stories.
Supplying fan service was the duty of Army idol Yi Seong-jun.
Through these 'events,' I sold the troops in Spain and back home on just how charismatic a soldier 'Yi Seong-jun' was.
This guy's brain is sexy, he's got vision, and he's got heart too?
A superhuman all-rounder?
That was exactly the image I was gunning for.
As I piled up this absurd reputation in Spain and my star rose, the Army Ministry couldn't take it anymore.
They promoted me and shipped me back home.
"Two stars on your shoulder don't match a mere expeditionary command. Time to return."
The same Army Ministry that had booted me to Spain now sent me back to Pyongyang with gritted teeth—but it didn't matter.
I'd gained rank and milked my image for all it was worth.
My influence was several times stronger than before Spain.
The night before departing, I hosted a modest farewell dinner with the expeditionary officers.
"If you ever face tough times ahead, come to me. You're my people forever."
Blatant faction-building rhetoric—but no one saw it as a problem.
The seniors dismissed it as kind words; the juniors, as my devotees, took it at face value.
But these hints and the bonds I'd subtly forged would prove invaluable for 'swaying' them when the time came.
With farewells to the officers, I wrapped up my six months in the Spanish Civil War.