Chapter 17: Interwar Period – War College
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
For the latest updates, visit: ProNovels.com
Join our Discord for release updates: https://discord.gg/Eh2ayfR4FB
November 4, 1937
Berlin, Germany
He finally arrived in Berlin.
The historic capital of Germany, dating back to the Margraviate of Brandenburg. The city that would be reduced to rubble by the end of World War II.
The cityscape, typically German in its starkness, was adorned with crimson flags bearing the swastika. It was the oppressive, desolate landscape befitting an “evil empire,” as the West often called it.
People seemed livelier than he had expected, but SS troops were a common sight.
This was his stage now. One wrong move, and he was dead.
And he was facing a serious problem, even before dealing with the Nazis.
Damn it. He hadn’t sent a single letter home during his time in Spain!
Dietrich Schacht was a late child, born eight years after his sister, Cordula, in 1903. He had been doted on by his parents, and with a noble grandmother and a wealthy father, he had been a spoiled young man.
He had even quarreled with his father, Hjalmar Schacht, after graduating from Heidelberg University, and impulsively joined the army.
Hjalmar had wanted Dietrich to follow in his footsteps as an economist after completing his mandatory military service. But Dietrich, like many young Germans of the era, was enamored with Hitler and the allure of military uniforms, and aspired to become an officer.
After completing his officer training, he had been immediately deployed to Spain. He hadn’t seen or even corresponded with his father since.
He had sent a few letters to his mother and sister early on, but he hadn’t replied to their responses, and the correspondence had ceased.
It had seemed perfectly normal to Dietrich, and he hadn’t felt any sense of unease, influenced by those memories. But now, faced with the prospect of going home, he realized the implications.
He was essentially a prodigal son who had run away and practically disowned his family.
He felt a cold sweat. At least he had a decent relationship with his mother in his original life…
Beyond the issue of being a bad son, it wouldn’t be easy for a mere captain to connect with the high-ranking members of the anti-Hitler movement.
The core of their group, known to the SD (Sicherheitsdienst, the Nazi intelligence agency) as the “Black Orchestra,” was the so-called “von Kleist Circle,” composed of Germany’s elite.
He needed to maintain a good relationship with his father, his link to the group, but he seemed to have messed up from the start.
He swallowed nervously, staring at the luxurious house in the heart of Berlin.
This was his, Dietrich Schacht’s, home.
A three-story detached house in the middle of Berlin. In 21st-century Korea, this would be like owning a mansion in Gangnam. He should be ecstatic, but he couldn’t be.
“Dietrich…?”
A familiar yet unfamiliar voice called out from behind him. He turned and saw an elderly woman staring at him with a surprised expression.
She was Dietrich’s mother, Luise Sohba, and she looked more weary than in Dietrich’s memories.
Trying to recall his experience as Yoon Sung-il, he spoke as gently as possible,
“…Mother.”
Luise rushed forward and embraced him tightly, “You… you’re back… safe and sound…”
Her sobs made his heart sink. Damn it, Dietrich. This was something *you* should have done…
“…I’m sorry… I’m home.”
She held him for a long time, as if she had been deeply worried about her wayward son.
He thought of his own mother and did his best to listen to Luise and share his experiences.
He couldn’t even see his own mother, even if he wanted to. Damn you, Dietrich.
His sister, Cordula, was in England with her family.
Her son’s godfather was Montagu Norman, the Governor of the Bank of England. They were quite the influential family.
But that wasn’t important right now.
His father, Hjalmar Schacht, had been dismissed from his positions just the day before.
The timing couldn’t be worse.
He remained in Hitler’s cabinet as a minister without portfolio, but it was a symbolic position. Hjalmar Schacht’s power had been effectively stripped away.
While his father had managed to control Germany’s hyperinflation during the Great Depression, despite the massive reparations imposed by the Treaty of Versailles, the incompetent Göring would now begin transforming Germany into a giant war machine, according to the Nazis’ whims.
Under Göring, a drug addict who couldn’t even do his job properly, the German economy would become a tangled mess of conflicting Nazi interests, so hopelessly mismanaged that it would require another war to resolve.
Lost in thought, he was startled by a slam. Hjalmar Schacht, in Dietrich’s memories, was a calm, intellectual, and arrogant man.
Seeing him drunk and disheveled was both unfamiliar and strangely poignant.
Hjalmar Schacht had been instrumental in the Nazi Party’s rise. He had even organized fundraisers among his business acquaintances when the Nazis were a small, struggling party.
He must have believed that the Nazis and Hitler would benefit Germany. Seeing the current state of affairs, he could only imagine his father’s despair.
“…Dietrich?” Hjalmar’s eyes widened in recognition, then he bellowed, “You spoiled brat! You disappear for two years without a word and now you crawl back?!”
“Dear… he just got back…” His mother tried to intervene.
Ignoring her, Hjalmar strode towards him, “While your father was cleaning up after the Nazis, you joined the army, admiring them! So, how was the battlefield? Enjoy the stench of blood?!”
“…I was a volunteer in Spain. I’ve returned to Germany for the General Staff course. I apologize for my negligence.”
Hjalmar flinched at his apology, then gestured towards the door wearily, “…Get out… you disappointment…”
This wasn’t going well.
“I apologize again, Father, and Mother. I’ll be in Berlin, so I’ll visit often.”
Hjalmar didn’t reply, but his anger seemed to have subsided slightly.
“I’ll take my leave. Please take care.”
He felt a strange mix of emotions – sympathy for Yoon Sung-il, who was cleaning up Dietrich’s mess, and a sense of hurt at being treated coldly, even if it was directed at Dietrich.
November 10, 1937
Berlin War College, Berlin, Germany
Thanks to his mother’s generous “emergency funds,” he had been able to stay comfortably in a hotel for a few days, adjusting to life in Berlin.
He felt guilty, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Finally, the day arrived to enroll at the War College.
Wearing the Wehrmacht officer’s uniform for the first time, he felt like a character in a movie.
Except he was one of the villains.
The War College selected its students through a rigorous process of recommendations and evaluations, choosing only the most promising junior officers.
Nobility and rank were irrelevant. It was almost entirely merit-based, even seniority didn’t matter. As a result, the ranks of the students varied.
Lieutenants, Captains… He wouldn’t be at a disadvantage here, thanks to the Condor Legion’s strong recommendations. He was grateful for their support. He wondered how Model, Richthofen, Clemens, and his men were doing.
The assembled officers were filled with excitement and anticipation. Graduating from the War College and earning the General Staff insignia was a mark of distinction, recognition as one of the elite, a future general in the making.
Only 10-20% of them would make it, but still…
The General Staff course lasted three years. World War II would break out during that time, but students wouldn’t simply sit in classrooms. They would be assigned to units and gain practical experience on the battlefield.
It was a long-standing tradition, dating back to Scharnhorst’s establishment of the War College during the Napoleonic Wars.
Generals like Walther Model, Erich von Manstein, and Heinz Guderian had all completed their General Staff training while serving in World War I.
But that wasn’t what was making them nervous right now.
“Attention!”
The sound of heels clicking together was followed by a silence so profound that even breathing seemed to cease.
“Salute the Führer!”
“Heil Hitler!”
The man who received their salute, the man with the mustache that would be infamous throughout history, smiled at them.
“It’s a great honor to be here… uh… with 160… young officers who will lead the… the Greater German Army…”
Adolf Hitler. Not a figure from a history book, a documentary, or a movie, but the real Hitler.
“You will be loyal to me and to Germany, won’t you? Of course, you will. As soldiers, as sons of Greater Germany, you must be united in your loyalty.”
His tone wasn’t the ranting, raving madness they often associated with Hitler. It was calm, measured.
“You must love peace, but you must also be courageous. You must love peace, but you must also be strong soldiers. As Germans, you must not be weak. You must be strong.”
His calm, controlled speech gradually intensified. He seemed to be becoming increasingly enthralled by his own fervor.
“You must know the meaning of sacrifice! You must never surrender! Even if we all perish, Germany will never die!”
Lost in his own fanatical beliefs, he began to gesticulate wildly.
“Your bodies are mine, they are Germany’s! Your blood is German blood! The same spirit burns within us all!”
The elite officers of the German army, the best and brightest, were captivated, unable to tear their eyes away from him.
“The spirit of unity, this great force, fills Germany today! I know you will come together! I have no doubt that a united Germany awaits us!”
Even he, despite knowing it was mere totalitarian propaganda, felt a sense of awe, a strange power emanating from Hitler’s words.
“As Führer, I command you, the sons of the glorious Greater German Reich! Be loyal to me! Be loyal to Germany! Be loyal to National Socialism! And offer your bodies, your blood, and if necessary, your very souls, to fight for the Fatherland!!”
Hitler concluded his speech with a fist pump. The master of ceremonies, overwhelmed by his passionate delivery, was momentarily speechless. As if on cue, everyone raised their arms in the Nazi salute.
“I swear to God…”
Hitler, breathing heavily, looked down at them with a satisfied smile.
“…this sacred oath that I will render unconditional obedience to Adolf Hitler, Führer of the German Reich and people, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces…”
The young officers, caught in his gaze, continued the oath with looks of blind adoration and reverence.
“…and that I will at all times be prepared, as a brave soldier, to give my life for this oath.”
That was his enemy. The man who had dominated an era with his charismatic madness, one of history’s worst dictators.
For the latest updates, visit ProNovels.com. Join our Discord for release updates: https://discord.gg/Eh2ayfR4FB.
