Chapter 1: A Wehrmacht Reincarnation?
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
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Re-enlistment? In the Nazi Wehrmacht?!
For young men in South Korea who have completed their military service, discharge day is a mix of joy, bittersweet relief, and a looming sense of uncertainty about the future.
Yoon Seong-il, an ordinary South Korean youth, thought he would feel the same.
That is, until he realized that the very next day wouldn’t just be uncertain, but utterly dark.
—
“Lieutenant. Time to wake up.”
What is this…? A prank? First thing in the morning…? Opening his eyes, he saw not the familiar ceiling of his barracks… but a canvas tent…?
He distinctly remembered being discharged yesterday and falling asleep peacefully at home…
Feeling his mind go blank, he asked the white man staring blankly at him, “Who… are you?”
Why is my pronunciation so slurred? As if I’m a foreigner speaking Korean for the first time.
“Herr Leutnant? (Lieutenant?)”
Oh, for f*ck’s… sake. Now I see, it’s not Korean! It’s German! But why do I understand it so naturally? As he stood there bewildered, the white man in front of him looked even more confused and called out to him, or rather, what he presumed to be him, once more.
“Herr Leutnant Schacht?”
But he was too shocked by the man’s attire to speak. It was a military uniform. A military uniform. And… it certainly wasn’t a Republic of Korea Army uniform. Well, would there even be a white man wearing a South Korean uniform in the first place?
Is this… one of those hidden camera pranks? Unfortunately, he immediately knew that it wasn’t.
Because, of all things, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and the memories of the being presumed to be ‘him’ began to flood his mind.
Amidst the head-splitting sensation, he found himself speaking German fluently and asking the soldier, whose rank… was a Private, “Private, what’s the date today?”
The Private’s face, which had looked concerned, finally relaxed a bit as he replied, “February 4th, Lieutenant.”
“The year?”
“Sir? 1937.”
Oh, for f*cking… sake. Please tell me this is a bad joke… The soldier’s expression darkened again, but he could bet his right hand that his own expression was several times worse. Not the white hand currently in his sight, which clearly wasn’t his, but the hand of Yoon Seong-il, the Korean! The man who had just been discharged yesterday and was thinking about returning to university! The man who should have been enjoying his Wehrmacht obsession! The poor man who fell asleep savoring his freedom after discharge! Where was he, where was this place, and who was he?!
The world swam before his eyes, a dizzying yellow he hadn’t seen even when his demonic senior sergeant was yelling at him. He desperately pulled himself together and asked, “Who is the Führer?”
“Uh… w-well, the Führer of Greater Germany is, of course, Adolf Hitler, sir.”
He pinched his cheek.
…It hurts.
I want to stop thinking.
…I can’t!
Oh… God.
This… son of a b*tch.
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—
He had thought enlistment day was the worst day of his life.
But re-enlistment, which veterans jokingly called the one thing they wanted to avoid most in life, the day after discharge?
That alone was enough to drive him crazy, but to re-enlist in the German Wehrmacht?
Re-enlistment in the Nazi Germany of that madman Adolf Hitler the day after discharge?
God must be Satan, or he must have a serious grudge against him.
The only fortunate thing was that whatever shred of conscience this so-called God might have left, he hadn’t just been dropped into someone else’s body with no idea who it was.
It was confusing at first, but thankfully, this body’s memories were intact, allowing him to understand and speak German naturally.
This body even spoke English much more fluently than the original him, Yoon Seong-il, not to mention French, which was practically the lingua franca of this era, and even Spanish.
This body’s name was Dietrich Schacht. Born August 15, 1911. Even his birthday felt like God was mocking him, but in any case, he was a pure German youth with absolutely no connection to Korea, which would be in the midst of Japanese colonial rule.
His father was Hjalmar Schacht. His full name was Hjalmar Horace Greeley Schacht, but Horace Greeley was a pointless addition by his grandfather, who was obsessed with America, so he usually went by Hjalmar Schacht.
He was an American citizen, held a doctorate in economics, and, most importantly, was the Minister of Economics of the Nazi regime and President of the Reichsbank (National Bank).
So, this Dietrich was a golden spoon among golden spoons. The Korean equivalent would be his father being the governor of the Bank of Korea and the current Minister of Economics. Good heavens, I was just an ordinary citizen of South Korea.
So, those were the good points, and the bad points were…
Everything else.
—
February 5, 1937
Near South of Madrid, Spain
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler.”
He extended his right arm towards the sky and shouted, and the German man in his thirties responded casually. He was doing something that would get him arrested, at best, or beaten to death, at worst, anywhere in modern Germany, or even Europe…
“How are you feeling today, Lieutenant?”
“Thanks to your consideration, I’m fine, Captain!”
Just yesterday, unable to cope with the sudden change, he had feigned illness and stayed in bed, his mind in a haze.
He prayed it was all a dream, lying in bed and wishing only to fall asleep, finally succeeding late at night, but to his utter dismay, he didn’t wake up in his room or anything of the sort.
He had seriously contemplated putting a pistol to his head and pulling the trigger, but there was no guarantee that doing so would return him to Korea… and frankly, he was a bit scared to experiment with shooting himself in the head.
“Hmm, that’s good. Make sure you’re fit for duty today. It’s the day of the operation.”
“Yes, sir!”
Fortunately, his immediate superior, Captain Volkhard Kaufmann, wasn’t a strict by-the-book type but a kind man, and since the unit had been on standby, he let it slide.
Honestly, the fact that Dietrich’s father was the Minister of Economics probably played a part.
Thinking back on it now, it had been insane. It wasn’t just feigning illness; he had genuinely been mentally unwell, but to do such a thing in the German Wehrmacht, of all places…
Later on, this would be the crazy military where they’d be chopping heads off left and right, regardless of rank.
Thankfully, having Dietrich’s memories helped him understand what to do. They weren’t in Germany, but in Spain.
Spain was currently embroiled in a civil war between the Republicans and the Nationalists.
On one side were the Republicans, an alliance of communists, democrats, and anarchists.
At the beginning of the civil war, they were portrayed by the Western world as righteous fighters for the freedom of the people, but they also had a history of massacring Catholic priests and civilians who collaborated with the Nationalists.
The Republicans had won the election, but the Nationalists, composed of monarchists and fascists, refused to accept the results and launched a civil war.
This side consisted of hard-line soldiers who hated the communists and fascists, so it went without saying that they were burning Spain to the ground as they waged war.
And they were here, in the midst of this damned Spanish Civil War, supporting Francisco Franco, the leader of the Nationalists.
They were a volunteer force dispatched from Germany, officially known as the Condor Legion.
Though called a legion, it was actually a small unit, ostensibly discharged and sent as civilian volunteers to avoid raising eyebrows in Britain and France. They were an even smaller army unit within that.
The Condor Legion itself was mainly dispatched for the test operation of the Luftwaffe (German Air Force).
Of course, the volunteer unit status was a smokescreen. They were clearly part of the German Army, receiving the same rank structure and support from their homeland.
2nd Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Panzer Division of the Condor Legion.
It wasn’t even a regular German Army organization, just one panzer division, which was more of a regiment than a division, consisting of only five battalions. He honestly didn’t know why they bothered with the “1st” designation. But 2nd Company, 1st Battalion was their unit, Captain Kaufmann was the company commander, and he was the company adjutant.
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler.”
Soon, the other lieutenants, the platoon leaders, entered, and Captain Kaufmann returned their salutes… Nazi salutes, which would land them in hot water in modern Europe. Could he ever get used to this?
“Good morning, gentlemen. The objective of this operation is to secure key strongholds around two hills on either side of the Jarama River, east of Madrid. High command intends to occupy this area and cut off the road connecting central Madrid and the Reds’ capital, Valencia.”
Even as he listened to the operation briefing, he was furious. Me? An officer in the Nazi Wehrmacht?
He had been an ordinary man in the Republic of Korea, and of all the damn places to be dropped, he ended up in this sh*thole?
He hadn’t expected to become a hero in a fantasy world, embarking on adventures with a beautiful heroine, but even so, of all the places to be sent, why World War II?! Send me back to Korea, damn you, God!
“We will operate under the command of Colonel Ricardo Rada, who is in charge of the southern part of the battlefield. First, we will secure Rivas-Vaciamadrid, southeast of Madrid. Then, once the central force successfully crosses the river, we will move towards Pinar de Chamartin hill across the Jarama River. The plan is to use this as an artillery position, so as always, we will advance behind them and cover the units providing fire support. Any questions?”
“No, sir!”
“Good. The operation commences at 11:00. You are free to prepare until 10:00. Dismissed. Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler!”
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