Chapter 11: The Spanish Civil War – The Battle of Brunete (3)
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
For the latest updates, visit: ProNovels.com
Join our Discord for release updates: https://discord.gg/Eh2ayfR4FB
July 7, 1937
Brunete Front, West of Madrid, Central Spain
“Shit! Shit!”
“Aaaaagh!”
The Republican 11th Division was experiencing a living hell in their ambitiously planned offensive.
Charging through the unbearable heat was agonizing enough, but they were being mowed down by enemy machine guns without proper cover.
“Agh! Miguel! Another one, another one! Where are those anti-tank guns firing from?”
The tanks, their reliable shield and spearhead in breaking through enemy lines, were now mostly burning hulks.
The pride of the Republican army, their Soviet tanks, which had easily outmatched the Nationalist’s German and Italian tanks and shattered their flimsy defenses, were being blown to pieces!
“What the hell is this? What is going on?”
Lieutenant Colonel Mallo grabbed his adjutant by the collar and shook him violently, but the adjutant had no answers.
“M…maybe… a new weapon…”
The Nationalists usually relied on anti-tank rifles, and although they had some German anti-tank guns, their effective range was at most 300 meters.
At that range, on a clear day like this, especially in open terrain, the guns would be visible, and the tanks could return fire.
But whatever those Germans had brought, it was destroying their tanks before they even got close!
It couldn’t be field artillery. Field guns were effective against infantry, but they couldn’t destroy tanks unless by a direct hit, which was unlikely.
Having lost ten tanks in less than an hour in his initial reckless charge with only his tanks, Mallo had to endure Colonel Líster’s furious reprimand.
“If you want to keep that rank, you better achieve some results this time, in coordination with the infantry!”
He launched another attack with a sense of desperation, but the renowned 11th Division, the elite of the Republican army, was literally being decimated.
The battlefield was mostly open ground, with a few hills and low mounds.
The planners of the Brunete offensive had chosen this terrain, confident in the Republican’s superior armored forces, but the reality of the battlefield proved them disastrously wrong.
The Republican forces, attacking across open terrain against the Condor Legion, which possessed the most powerful artillery among the Nationalist forces, were easy targets for concentrated fire.
The 8.8cm Flak series, that peculiar anti-aircraft gun destined to gain fame as the best anti-tank gun of World War II, was a versatile weapon capable of destroying even the formidable T-34 medium tank, a tank that wouldn’t appear until the Eastern Front, with high-explosive rounds, let alone armor-piercing rounds, if aimed correctly.
The Soviet light tanks, which seemed powerful enough in the context of the Spanish Civil War, couldn’t withstand the concentrated fire.
“Retreat…”
“Colonel…”
“Retreat… The attack has failed…”
Lieutenant Colonel Mallo’s face was blank, as if his soul had left his body.
—
“Man, I’m exhausted. Anyone have any water?”
“Here.”
“Oh, thanks, Company Commander.”
He handed Clemens his almost-empty canteen and surveyed the front lines.
They had successfully repelled the enemy attack and suffered relatively few casualties considering the intensity of the fighting.
He consciously avoided thinking about the names or faces of the “casualties.”
He had to accept that dwelling on such things would break him before the enemy did.
Morale was decent, but his men were exhausted.
It was the kind of weather that made just breathing a chore. He longed for air conditioning.
A glass of iced coffee in an air-conditioned room…
He had to stop.
“Let’s get the men some rest. Rotate one squad per platoon every two hours.”
“Alright, Company Commander.”
After giving Clemens his instructions, he sat down between the trenches and stared blankly at the battlefield.
Blood splattered everywhere, bodies strewn about, tanks reduced to scrap metal…
It was clear that the enemy had suffered far heavier losses.
The indirect fire from the 88 anti-aircraft guns had proven devastatingly effective against the lightly armored tanks of this era, exceeding even his expectations.
The enemy’s decision to attack across open ground with tanks alone had played a significant role. A large number of their tanks were destroyed at the start of the battle, and by the time they brought in the infantry, their momentum had already been broken.
Furthermore, the enemy artillery couldn’t provide proper support, wary of their own counter-battery fire.
It was a grueling battle fought under a scorching sun, but they had managed to keep their men hydrated and fighting…
Colonel Walther Model’s influence was significant. Just having him as Chief of Staff had made a huge difference.
He wondered if the Republicans had suffered such heavy losses in the original timeline.
It was impossible to know. But he was certain that he had exacerbated their losses.
It was unlikely that a single battle would drastically change the course of the war, but it was both encouraging and concerning that he had made a significant difference.
He knew the major events of this period, but the more he interfered, the more things would change.
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!”
He turned around at the sudden sound of salutes and saw Colonel Model approaching.
He gave a Wehrmacht salute instead of the Nazi salute, and Model reciprocated without a second thought.
“Carry on, carry on. Just bringing some water and checking on the situation.”
“Water!”
“Hold your positions. It’ll be distributed.”
His parched men perked up at the mention of water, but Clemens managed to restrain them.
“The enemy will need some time to regroup, so you can relax for a bit.”
“We’ve already implemented squad rotations for rest.”
Model smiled, and he smiled back.
The men looked at Model with respect. Clemens and the other Lieutenants also seemed to view him differently.
Those on the front lines had directly experienced how the battle had changed with Model’s arrival as Chief of Staff.
“It’s reassuring to have you behind us, Colonel. This is the first time we’ve received such timely artillery support and supplies.”
“We must use the resources we have. I’m grateful to you all. Your staunch defense gives our reserves some breathing room.”
Model continued to assess the situation, walking along the defense line while talking to him.
His presence on the front lines seemed to boost the men’s morale, unlike the General, who was never seen, or the previous Chief of Staff, whose existence they had barely registered.
He was walking the front lines himself, analyzing the situation, and addressing any problems as quickly as possible.
“The indirect fire with the 88 was truly remarkable. The enemy’s armored units suffered significant losses. You deserve a great deal of credit.”
“Thank you, Colonel!”
He had only provided the idea. It wouldn’t have been possible to implement it in this battle without Colonel Model’s uncanny ability to create the firing tables at an incredible speed. Still, it felt good to be praised by a renowned general.
“So, shall I propose renaming it the Schacht-Schacht gun?”
“Cough…”
Wasn’t that joke a one-time thing?
Regardless, Model pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to him.
“Colonel, this is…?”
It was an operational plan… wasn’t it?
A map with unit deployments and planned routes of advance. It was definitely an operational plan.
“It’s a draft outlining the unit deployments and plans, including the reinforcements arriving tomorrow. Familiarize yourself with it, consider when a counteroffensive would be most effective, identify any potential problems, and submit your analysis.”
Why would he give this to a mere company commander…?
Model seemed to read his question and chuckled, giving him a hard slap on the shoulder.
Ouch! That hurt! What strength!
“An officer should be a constant thinker, not just a dandy fool. I’ll see you later. I look forward to your analysis, Lieutenant.”
Enjoying the translation? Stay updated with the latest chapters at ProNovels.com.
Model left after delivering his message.
…It felt like he had just received an assignment from a professor.
An assignment in the middle of a battle was absurd, but he had no choice.
He had to impress Colonel Model and secure that General Staff recommendation!
—
July 10, 1937
Republican Headquarters, Madrid, Capital of Spain
Voices were raised in the Republican headquarters.
“They couldn’t break through?! We poured everything we had into this offensive, men, tanks, air support…”
“I told you it was a reckless attack.”
“Weren’t you the one who said it was a golden opportunity?”
The Republican high command, mostly political appointees, had been skeptical when Líster’s 11th Division captured Brunete in just half a day.
It was a surprisingly swift victory, even for an offensive planned with the utmost ambition, mobilizing all available forces except for the minimum required to defend Madrid.
The high command hesitated, wanting to assess the situation. That delay gave the Condor Legion time to establish its defenses.
As a result, Colonel Juan Modesto’s main force, spearheaded by Líster’s 11th Division, was now suffering heavy casualties against the Condor Legion, despite their initial success in capturing Brunete.
Colonel Jurado, leading the supporting attack, was also relentlessly assaulting Carabanchel. However, Colonel Santos of the Nationalist forces was stubbornly holding the line despite being outnumbered.
“Damn it! Isn’t the Nationalist air force supposed to be tied up in the north?! We gave them complete air superiority, why can’t they break through?!”
Having sent all their air support to hasten the capture of Carabanchel, the main force, which had been making good progress, was now stalled. General José Miaja, the commander in charge of this operation, pounded his chest in frustration.
“General, Colonel Jurado has collapsed from heatstroke and requests a replacement.”
“Why would a Colonel collapse from heatstroke?!”
Even officers weren’t immune to heatstroke, but the high command, comfortably discussing strategy in an air-conditioned room, wouldn’t understand.
“Ugh…”
General Miaja glanced at his Colonels, but they all avoided his gaze. Who would want to go out there in this heat, into that mess?
“Colonel Casado, I’m entrusting this to you.”
“…Yes, sir.”
Colonel Casado, though reluctant, had no choice but to obey.
“Don’t wander around unnecessarily and get sick. As a commander, you should stay in the command post. Heatstroke, honestly…”
The armchair general’s remark elicited sighs not only from Colonel Casado but also from the few field commanders present. But General Miaja had already moved on to his next victim.
“So, can we secure the Extremadura road? We’ve given you so many tanks, surely you can break through.”
Colonel Juan Modesto, the commander in charge of the main offensive, was sweating profusely, even in the cool air-conditioned room.
“The Germans seem to have introduced new weaponry, making the breakthrough more difficult than anticipated.”
“New weaponry?”
Modesto had no choice but to explain as General Miaja frowned, “Anti-tank field guns… or, field guns using anti-tank rounds.”
The high command exchanged puzzled looks. There was no other way to explain it.
The effective range of anti-tank guns was at most 300 meters. But they were destroying tanks from 2 kilometers out. What else could it be?
If they knew that their devastating anti-tank weapon was the same anti-aircraft gun they were familiar with, they would be shocked. But they couldn’t comprehend this unprecedented situation.
If he reported the actual tank losses, everyone would be horrified. What should he do?
When Líster, after capturing Brunete, had unexpectedly requested permission to change his attack route, he had dismissed it as absurd without even reporting it to higher command.
And now, it had resulted in this disastrous situation. He deeply regretted his decision.
No, why should he take the blame? Even Líster wouldn’t have anticipated this.
He swallowed hard. If he took the fall for this, his promotion to General would be impossible.
If they lost the war, the government that would promote him to General would cease to exist. But no one in the room was thinking about that yet.
They controlled Madrid and Valencia, the largest cities in Spain, and were receiving support from the West and the Soviet Union.
In contrast, Italy and Germany, supporting the Nationalists, were weaker compared to the Western powers or the Soviet Union.
It was generally believed that Italy, although one of the three major powers along with France and Britain, was not on par with the latter two. The Italian army’s poor performance at Guadalajara had further emboldened the Republicans.
Germany, whose military had been decimated by the Treaty of Versailles after their defeat in World War I and had only recently begun rearmament, was even less of a concern.
“Ahem, it seems Colonel Líster became overconfident after easily capturing Brunete and was caught off guard. Despite their new weapon, we should be able to break through with our tanks if we concentrate our air power.”
“Hmm… Is artillery insufficient?”
By World War II, combined arms warfare involving infantry, armor, artillery, and air power would be the norm, not an option, but the Spanish Republican government didn’t have such luxury.
They had too many fronts to cover and never enough of their precious air power.
“The flower of modern warfare is the air raid, isn’t it? Haha… If you provide the support, we’ll commit the 15th and 34th Divisions as well and achieve a breakthrough!”
Colonel Casado, responsible for Carabanchel, grimaced, but Modesto ignored him.
He knew that Carabanchel was struggling even with air support, but he desperately needed it himself.
His artillery, which had initiated the operation with a concentrated barrage that obliterated the Brunete garrison, had suffered considerable losses in the subsequent counter-battery fire from the Condor Legion.
Having drastically downplayed Líster’s reported losses, he had to recover somehow.
Even if the units listed in the offensive plan were now mere shadows of their former selves, decimated by continuous fighting.
“What are your thoughts, Colonel Casado?”
“If we lose air support while already struggling to break through, the situation will become even more difficult…”
Colonel Casado’s answer to General Miaja’s question was vague. He couldn’t be more specific.
If he insisted on retaining air support, they would demand results.
How could he make any definitive statements when he had just been placed in command and hadn’t even fully grasped the situation yet?
At the very least, by not vehemently objecting, he could shift some of the blame, given that he had taken command mid-operation, by pretending to support the other front.
“We desperately need air support!”
“Alright. We’ll send all available air support your way.”
“Thank you, General!”
It was humiliating to require air support even with all the tanks and artillery they had been given, but the losses incurred so far had already severely damaged his standing.
It was do or die now. He had to win.
No matter how many men died or tanks were lost, as long as there were tangible results, he could justify his actions.
He reasoned that no matter how effective the German anti-tank guns were, their artillery wouldn’t be able to operate freely without air superiority.
“Any other matters to discuss?”
“The front lines are reporting severe water shortages.”
“Tsk, are we the only ones short on water? It’s summer, of course they’re thirsty.”
The officer who said that had already emptied half his glass of water in the cool, air-conditioned meeting room.
“We’re already struggling to supply ammunition and fuel with all the tanks and troops deployed! Don’t bother us with trivial matters! The success of this offensive is paramount!”
The meeting ended.
For the latest updates, visit ProNovels.com. Join our Discord for release updates: https://discord.gg/Eh2ayfR4FB.
