Miracle Diplomacy

The dynamics of the Spanish Civil War had now shifted decisively in favor of the Nationalists. January 1937. The army and air force units that had earned great distinction in the Spanish Civil War returned to Germany—leaving behind only about 3,500 troops. The Volunteer Air Force. And among them, the one who had racked up the most kills was an ace named Heinrich Ehrler.

I'd heard the name before. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He wasn't someone who stuck in my mind, overshadowed by the future top ace Erich Hartmann, but he had gotten a few lines in the newspapers. Back in the second loop, when I was rolling around the East with Manstein, it was a name I'd seen pop up now and then.

"Führer, Generals Manstein and Guderian have returned to Berlin."

"I'll go meet them myself."

I rose from my seat to greet Manstein and Guderian. Sure, we were now head of state and generals, but they'd once been my seniors, so I couldn't just summon them to the Presidential Residence. Instead, I decided to go to them personally.

"Führer."

"Führer."

As expected, the two who'd returned to Berlin were making the most of their brief leave. When I heard they were enjoying a dinner at Manstein's mansion, I decided to join them. As soon as I arrived at the mansion, they stood and gave the 3rd Reich salute.

"Hess. Thanks for the ride—head back, and we'll make our own way home later."

"Yes, my Führer."

I sent Hess away, kept just one aide for protocol, and dismissed the rest of the entourage. Then, grinning broadly, I approached Manstein and Guderian.

"Seniors. Long time no see."

"Führer, you've come."

"This feels awkward, Senior Manstein. Call me casually."

"We can't do that. We're no longer seniors and junior—we're head of state and soldier now, aren't we?"

"Bittersweet, huh. What about you, Senior Guderian? Any chance you'd call me casually?"

"How could I call the Führer casually? You're the power player who had Brauchitsch ship me and Manstein off to Spain without even showing your face..."

"Hey, Heinz. Watch your mouth. The Führer isn't our junior anymore."

It looked like the dinner had already progressed quite a bit. Half-empty wine bottles sat in front of Guderian, and his flushed face reeked of alcohol. I understood his gripe. It must have felt like letting the enemy slip away at Dunkirk. But the Spanish Civil War wasn't our main stage. Overexposing blitzkrieg tactics could let the French volunteers study countermeasures, which would be a headache. I wasn't even aiming for a six-week France. We couldn't afford to get stalled there.

"I understand, Senior Guderian."

"Oh, you do, Führer?"

"Of course. Let me make you a promise. Our main stage isn't Spain—it's all of Europe. So when the time comes to play on the main stage, I won't hold you back."

"This guy's had too much... Führer, thank you for coming out to greet us like this. The welcome ceremony's tomorrow—see you then."

Manstein said that and dragged Guderian away. The reunion with my seniors wasn't exactly fun, but it wasn't bad either.

A day passed after I returned to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Presidential Residence. A welcome parade was held for the heroes who'd survived the Spanish Civil War, and medals were pinned on countless soldiers' shoulders. Once all the events wrapped up, a letter arrived for me.

Bittersweet... Guderian might not get it, but Manstein had been my soulmate even in the second loop. I understood him, and he understood me. When he fell out with Hitler and left the front, it felt like the world was collapsing. The fact that those two geniuses I longed for now saw me only as their "superior" or "Führer"—nothing more, nothing less—left a bitter taste. But a clear vertical hierarchy was more efficient than some ambiguous equality. It was necessary. And Manstein knew that best... That's why he deliberately treated me as Führer, even if it felt awkward. He was the stereotype of a Prussian Junker: superiors and subordinates must be clear, battles efficient, armies obedient. That was his creed.

"Madly efficient... Madly faithful to his beliefs."

I belatedly realized the meaning behind Manstein's actions yesterday. He'd already resolved to serve his junior as superior. Guderian... still needed more resolve.

"Summon Defense Minister Brauchitsch."

I had Hess call Brauchitsch again. The reason was rewards for meritorious service. There were plenty of German generals who'd shone in Spain, and to give them proper honors, I needed to coordinate with the Defense Minister first.

"You summoned me, Führer?"

"Brauchitsch. We need to commend our Wehrmacht who excelled in the Spanish Civil War. Promote Generals Manstein and Guderian, and elevate Heinrich Ehrler to squadron leader. I've prepared a list—reward those on it appropriately."

"Führer, did you send volunteers to Spain just to promote generals you like?"

"Just one of many purposes. Our top priority was stopping Spain's communization right then—and we succeeded. And Brauchitsch—to avoid misunderstanding, Manstein and Guderian are phenomenal talents. They just haven't had the stage to prove it yet."

"I don't doubt you, Führer."

"Good. Handle it per the list. And by before 1938, get at least Manstein and Guderian into corps commands."

"Understood, my Führer."

That should do it. Guderian was the pioneer of blitzkrieg, Manstein a straight-up genius. Using them right was key to Germany's victory. Erwin Rommel was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠great commander too, but he was a bit of an outlier. He fought brilliantly, but he wasn't suited for directing millions in massive maneuvers on offense or defense. He was the type to lead a small corps personally from a tank, thrusting like a spearhead—so he still needed validation for the main Eastern Front. Anyway, a medal for Manstein, promotion for Guderian.

"And pull out all 3,500 troops still in Spain by mid-1937. Spain can manage with supplies now, no volunteers needed. Hand Ethiopia off to the British too."

With rewards sorted, we agreed to taper Ethiopia aid and withdraw all Spanish volunteers. Just redirect Ethiopia's aid to Nationalist Spain. Same game, different direction. We were just stirring the pot.

February 1937. As Germany withdrew from Spain, we launched a "special military operation." Nothing fancy—just marching into the Rhineland for a stroll. A bit late, considering we'd declared rearmament and ramped up in early 1936. We stationed 200,000 troops there and watched France's reaction.

As expected, France frothed at the mouth with protests. But Germany had its logic.

"What are you talking about? We've already secured the withdrawal from the Rhineland demilitarized zone per Versailles through a gentle agreement with the 'Legitimate French Government'."

That's right—the "Legitimate French Government," aka the "French Anti-Socialist Freedom Front." We cited our solo treaty easing Versailles with them. Plus, the "Freedom France" took on all France's Great War debts, leaving the Commune government speechless.

"The ones who racked up the debt are the legitimate government, right? Or you pay it."

"How are those Algerian hicks gonna pay?"

"We loaned them the funds."

"What?"

And the method was hilarious. Germany loaned bonds to Free France, they paid the debts, gaining legitimacy—then bundled French colonies together. Usurer lends to debtor to pay himself back. And once paid, no dunning. Not just Algeria—Indochina, Tunisia, Mauritania, all under Free France now. The Commune had won legitimate elections but trapped itself in communism, lacking logic to rule others. Meanwhile, we covertly armed Free France.

"Welcome, General Gamelin. These are ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠French rifles—perfect fit. Oh, pay in bonds. We'll loan you the funds."

"Diabolical. We'll take your help now, but when we reclaim the homeland, these rifles will be aimed at you."

"Looking forward to it."

We even sold them weapons on credit via bonds, funded by our loans—miraculous circulation. Anyway, Germany steadily sowed discord between the Commune and Free France, finished rearmament internally, and garrisoned the Rhineland. Slowly tightening the noose around Georges Sîrșon's neck.