Chapter 2: The Spanish Civil War – The Battle of Jarama (1)
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
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February 9, 1937
Rivas-Vaciamadrid, near southeast of Madrid, Central Spain
Four days since the start of the offensive. Colonel Escamez’s forces, which included their company, had succeeded in capturing key towns in the south, including Rivas-Vaciamadrid, and Colonel Ricardo Rada’s forces had also smoothly secured the highlands west of the river in the north.
The problem was the central force, which should have been the core of the offensive. According to the plan, they should have crushed the unsuspecting Republican forces and successfully crossed the river.
Of course, no war ever goes exactly as planned.
“The 11th Division? Enrique Líster? He was from the Frunze Military Academy, wasn’t he? That damned Soviet stooge, that red bastard.”
“In any case, the left and right flanks have played their parts. If only the central force…”
Colonel Escamez and Colonel Rada, having fulfilled their roles, were in a relatively comfortable position. However, General Enrique Varela, the overall commander of this operation, looked very displeased.
And for good reason. While the left and right flanks were performing their duties, the central force, far from crossing the river, had been defeated by the Republican 11th Division’s armored units, led by Enrique Líster, allowing the enemy forces west of the river to retreat safely.
“I don’t know when those Reds got so good at using tanks.”
As Colonel Asensio, who led the central infantry, reluctantly spoke, Baron Fernando, with his impressive mustache, redirected the blame.
“We appreciate the support, but frankly, the T-26s they use are far superior to our Panzer I! This defeat is purely due to the difference in tank performance!”
Seriously, they’re the ones who couldn’t fight, and now they’re blaming us? He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple as he turned his gaze towards the man with the Lieutenant General insignia.
“They’re saying the central force’s advance is being hampered because the performance of the Panzer I is inferior to the Soviet T-26.”
Lieutenant General Wilhelm Ritter von Thoma, with his long, horse-like face, furrowed his brow upon hearing his words, and Colonel Wolfram von Richthofen of the Luftwaffe, standing next to him, whistled.
He wasn’t familiar with Lieutenant General von Thoma, the commander of the Condor Legion’s ground forces, but Wolfram von Richthofen was someone he knew well from his modern knowledge.
Curtis LeMay, the American bombing enthusiast and Stone Age aficionado known for sending Japan and Vietnam back to the Stone Age with indiscriminate bombings, regardless of civilian casualties, was probably one of the most infamous figures among World War II air force generals.
But this Wolfram von Richthofen was the Nazi version of LeMay, or perhaps even worse. He was known for openly expressing his wonderfully deranged sentiment of how much he enjoyed the sight of cities burning with incendiary bombs.
Well, frankly, as an army lieutenant, he had bigger fish to fry than worrying about an air force officer like Richthofen. The people present at this meeting were all big shots.
The reason he, a mere lieutenant, was here among all these generals and senior officers was because Lieutenant General Thoma’s adjutant, who was originally in charge of interpretation, had the misfortune of being hit by shrapnel and sent to the rear.
As a hasty replacement, he, being in Rivas-Vaciamadrid where the operational meeting was taking place, and fluent in both German and Spanish, was drafted.
So, I have to interpret while they shift the blame for why the offensive failed? Oh, for f*ck’s sake. God, why are you doing this to me?
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“The Panzer I tanks we provided are prototypes. Consider that the Condor Legion’s primary support is focused on air and artillery. In any case, tanks are weapons for infantry support, and minor performance differences do not determine the success or failure of an operation.”
As he relayed a toned-down version of Lieutenant General Thoma’s statement, the expressions of the Nationalist generals crumpled. From the perspective of a modern person, who knew that World War II would be centered around armored units including tanks, this sounded like nonsense, but at least for now, it was true.
The Panzer I, equipped with two machine guns instead of the main cannon that one typically associates with tanks, couldn’t execute blitzkrieg tactics, and even the T-26 they feared only barely qualified as having a main gun; it was still an early model light tank.
His modern interest in Germany, especially World War II, and the extensive knowledge he possessed might actually help him survive in this damned world.
Thanks to Mikhail Tukhachevsky, who was excessively ahead of his time, the Soviet army was already mimicking blitzkrieg tactics, and the Republican armored units, operating with their tanks and doctrines, were doing the same.
The units of Colonel Asensio and Baron Fernando, who led the central force, had been routed by the sudden onslaught of armored forces…
Even the T-34, the Soviet masterpiece tank that would be the mainstay of World War II, was easily destroyed without infantry support. Yet, they were already operating the thinly armored T-26 in groups, acting like a proper armored force.
Of course, that would make them easy prey for flanking attacks by infantry or artillery. For example, the Pak 36 anti-tank guns and Flak 18 anti-aircraft guns that the Condor Legion had in abundance.
The Condor Legion’s ground forces were small, but Hitler, having just begun rearmament, had equipped them rather well for real-world testing of various weapons.
However, it wasn’t a place for a mere lieutenant acting as a substitute interpreter to interfere, and the other side also had an interpreter officer.
As a matter of military operational protocol, both sides had brought interpreter officers, so he couldn’t just insert his own opinions while translating, especially since the other side was listening. It would be impossible to deal with the consequences.
Even if he left them alone, the lessons learned from the Spanish Civil War would naturally accumulate. He had no intention of being a nosy lieutenant and getting chewed out. Not yet, anyway.
“Tsk, are the Italians here yet?”
“Those leisurely fellows will probably take a month to prepare. We can’t count on their help in this offensive.”
In any case, the ambitious offensive to cut off the connection between Madrid, the historical capital of Spain, and Valencia, the Republican stronghold, had been spectacularly thwarted, and while the heavy rain prevented further offensives, reinforcements would be continuously arriving at the Republican strongholds across the river.
Even he, a mere lieutenant, sensed that this offensive was already doomed, but unfortunately, the Nationalist command seemed to think otherwise. After a largely unproductive meeting, the conclusion was this:
“In any case, the rice is almost cooked. There will be some sacrifices, but as soon as the rain stops, we will resume the offensive as planned after crossing the river. We’ll make up for any deviations from the plan with wave attacks. Madrid must be liberated from the Reds!”
“Death to the Reds!”
It was disheartening. If war broke out in Korea, ordinary soldiers like me would have been sent to die meaningless deaths in such foolish operations.
A lieutenant wasn’t much different, but at least here, as the adjutant of a detached unit, he could avoid pointless attrition. That was a small comfort.
—
Heavy rain was still pouring outside. Naturally, air support was impossible in this weather, so the Condor Legion didn’t have much to do.
After the meeting, as he followed Lieutenant General von Thoma and Colonel Richthofen, a Spanish officer with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel approached and spoke familiarly.
“Isn’t it frustrating? They are cautious when they should be swift and decisive, and bold when they should give up.”
The Lieutenant Colonel stared directly at him. Was he talking to me…? N-no, right? He was about to translate when Richthofen responded.
“Ah, Lieutenant Colonel Yagüe. I was just thinking the same thing. It would have been great if you had participated in the last offensive.”
Lieutenant Colonel Yagüe was someone Dietrich knew. Juan Yagüe. Among the Nationalist Spanish officers, including Emilio Mola, he was practically the only one known for his bold offensives and transitions to defense, earning him respect from the Condor Legion, which was a rare feat among Spanish commanders.
German officers were notoriously arrogant and often looked down on the Spanish army, which had many incompetent political officers. If he was known for his competence even among the Condor Legion, his abilities must have been genuine.
Richthofen and Yagüe seemed to have a friendly relationship, exchanging trivial banter. He wished they’d appreciate the hardship of having to translate every single word of their idle chatter.
“Well then, I’ll be going. Good work today, Lieutenant Colonel. And Lieutenant. You may return to your unit when the Lieutenant Colonel is finished.”
“Yes, sir! Heil-”
Lieutenant General von Thoma, seemingly disinterested, waved his hand dismissively and walked away, taking the umbrella offered by his adjutant.
The Nazi salute wasn’t yet the standard salute across the Wehrmacht, but merely a recommendation, and conservative Wehrmacht generals didn’t welcome it.
The pride of the German Army generals, veterans who had endured the horrors of World War I and the disarmament imposed by the Treaty of Versailles, was high enough to dismiss a leader who had risen from the ranks.
This is something to keep in mind.
He hadn’t yet decided exactly what to do, but fighting as a soldier under that madman Hitler and burning to death with Germany seemed insane, no matter how he thought about it.
Of course, unlike the army, the Luftwaffe, a group created by Göring, a Nazi official and air force general, had naturally standardized the Nazi salute.
Many of the army personnel dispatched to the Condor Legion were young soldiers who hadn’t had the opportunity to distinguish themselves, and among them were a considerable number of so-called “pro-Nazi” figures sent to gain experience and build their careers. They, like the air force, proudly shouted “Heil Hitler!”
Once von Thoma left, Richthofen conversed with Yagüe, mixing in some slightly awkward and stilted Spanish, and Yagüe seemed quite pleased, engaging in small talk.
It was a bit surprising that Richthofen knew even a little Spanish, but he said he had picked it up locally.
Mid-conversation, a man with an umbrella approached, folded it, and asked in Spanish with a distinct American accent, “Nice to meet you, are you Lieutenant Colonel Juan Yagüe? My name is John T. Whitaker; I’m an American journalist. Could you spare me a moment?”
Richthofen, apparently understanding the words “Americana” and “journalist,” immediately frowned and closed his mouth. From the perspective of the regular army under a dictator, in other words, the German Wehrmacht, the presence of a civilian in a military operational zone was absurd.
However, the Nationalist leadership had no intention of hiding their actions, and the Republicans were also seeking diplomatic victories through public opinion warfare via foreign journalists and reporters, so such people were everywhere in Spain.
Even in this era, reporters were willing to go through fire and water for a chance to make their name, and the Spanish Civil War, with its chaotic front lines and poorly defined operational and civilian zones, made security management difficult.
“I have a question regarding the operation conducted in Badajoz last August. There are rumors that civilians, accounting for 10% of the city’s population, were killed under your orders, Lieutenant Colonel Yagüe. Excuse me, but is that true?”
Honestly, in Korea, the image of journalists wasn’t very good, often associated with the derogatory term “giregi” (trash journalist). But perhaps because this person was in the middle of a living hell of a civil war, his question was a direct strike.
Well, he didn’t know if it was true journalistic integrity or just a need for a sensational story.
He reflexively tried to translate for Richthofen, but Richthofen, noticing, raised his hand to stop him. Come to think of it, the presence of German troops in Spain was a semi-secret. I almost screwed up.
Lieutenant Colonel Yagüe… surprisingly smiled pleasantly and answered kindly, “Ah, of course, we killed them.”
For a moment, both he and Whitaker lost control of their expressions, but Lieutenant Colonel Yagüe continued unfazed. “Oh, I don’t know what answer you were expecting, but was I supposed to abandon the front lines I had advanced, take 4,000 Red prisoners, and return to base? Or should I have just left them and advanced, only to be surrounded in Badajoz, which would have become a Red city again behind our lines?”
Whitaker couldn’t hide his stiff expression, but he professionally recorded Yagüe’s words as the Lieutenant Colonel, still smiling pleasantly, continued.
“This is war, Yankee. The Reds killed and raped innocent priests and nuns, and in Toledo, they captured the son of the honorable Colonel Moscardó and held him hostage, threatening him to betray his country. They are merely paying the price.”
Having said that, Yagüe smiled like a friendly neighborhood uncle and added, “And I’m very proud to be a patriot at the forefront of this.”
Whitaker, with a rigid face, recorded Yagüe’s words verbatim and thanked him for the interview with a bland expression. He glanced briefly at them, but perhaps realizing from their demeanor that they wouldn’t grant an interview, he left immediately.
Shortly after Whitaker’s departure, a messenger came looking for Yagüe, presumably summoned by the high command. After Yagüe was taken away, Richthofen finally released him, saying he had done a good job.
He walked back to his unit under his umbrella, the Spanish streets turned into a muddy quagmire instead of the well-drained streets of Seoul, where rainwater flowed smoothly between the well-maintained tiles.
Frankly, even from his modern perspective, what Lieutenant Colonel Yagüe said wasn’t entirely wrong. It was already a civil war, and if war couldn’t be avoided, sacrifices were necessary.
But to massacre innocent civilians and then brag about it so proudly…?
It was only because crazier people like Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan appeared, and the champions of democracy were already exhausted dealing with them, that Spain wasn’t wiped off the map like Nazi Germany. Otherwise, it would have been erased. These people, during and after the civil war, didn’t even bother hiding their massacres, brazenly carrying them out under the guise of purging “political prisoners” and whatnot.
He was once again struck by the barbaric nature of this seemingly modern era. Sigh, I want to go back to Korea!
On his way, he made eye contact with a girl peeking through her curtains. Startled, she quickly closed them.
After this heavy rain stops and before the offensive resumes, the “Reds” in this village will likely be “dealt with” just like Yagüe did in Badajoz.
He was gradually accepting the reality that he was a German facing the horrific World War II.
Miracles like, Ta-da! I woke up back in Korea! probably wouldn’t happen.
So, he had to figure out how to escape this dreadful situation, being on this unwanted train to hell.
And the obvious conclusion was that under this insane Nazi regime, nothing would work.
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