Chapter 34: Interwar Period – Widerstand (4)
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
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March 10, 1939
Train Station, Berlin, Germany
“Dietrich!”
“Clemens! It’s been a while.” He embraced Clemens warmly. It was good to see him.
They had served together in Spain. Clemens, his comrade, his adjutant, had taken over his company.
“How long has it been?”
“Let me see… I don’t know.” The Spanish Civil War was over.
The Republican side, dominated by Soviet communists, had purged political opponents and anarchists, even as their situation deteriorated, effectively starting a civil war within a civil war. Franco, taking advantage of their disarray, had seized control of Spain.
Spain must be a living hell. Even fascists were appalled by Franco’s brutality.
“Haha! Look at me! I’m a Hauptmann now! Captain Dietrich Schacht? You’re no longer my superior!”
“Congratulations.” While he had been busy with his studies at the War Academy and the resistance, Clemens had stayed in Spain, earning promotions through his achievements.
His own promotion to Major seemed distant. Promotion to field officer rank was notoriously slow in the German army. Even talented officers like Manstein and Model had taken over ten years to reach the rank of Major from Hauptmann.
“It’s good to be back home! I’m sick of Spain.”
“I can imagine.” The Spanish Civil War had ended earlier than in the original timeline. He wasn’t sure how much of an impact his actions had had. But seeing the timeline shift gave him hope.
The early end to the Spanish Civil War, and the unexpected results of his encounter with Willy Brandt…
“Hello, Captain Flek? I’m Claudia Jung. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Claudia, who had been watching them from a distance, approached them with a smile.
…His alliance with her and the social democrats was also a consequence of his actions.
“A beautiful woman! It’s a pleasure! Clemens Flek, at your service! A truly stunning woman. Are you seeing anyone?”
Really, on first introduction?
“Hey, what about Rafaela?” Clemens flinched, then his face crumpled. They had broken up.
“That… that witch! After all I did for her!” He wailed. This was awkward. Clemens’s letters had been filled with boasts about Rafaela, then had abruptly stopped.
“But there’s another lovely lady right here. Blondes over brunettes, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Huh? Oh…” He was incorrigible.
Clemens was so persistent that even Claudia was flustered. He couldn’t stand it any longer.
“How do you know Dietrich? Are you… Gah!”
“She’s his girlfriend!” Clemens seemed more shocked by his words than by the blow to the back of his head.
Claudia, giggling, nodded at Clemens, who stared at them in disbelief, then cried out, “No way! This… this eunuch has a girlfriend, and I’m single?!”
—
March 14, 1939
New Reich Chancellery, Berlin, Germany
Emil Hácha, the new president of Czechoslovakia following Edvard Beneš’s resignation after the Munich Agreement, had arrived in Berlin at Hitler’s summons.
It was a gross display of disrespect to summon a head of state in such a manner, but Czechoslovakia, betrayed by its supposed allies, Britain and France, and stripped of its Sudetenland defenses, was completely vulnerable to German pressure.
The stark, brutal architecture of Berlin, adorned with swastikas, stood in stark contrast to the beauty of Prague, filling Hácha with dread.
“I must stay focused. The fate of my nation rests on my shoulders…” His trembling hand reached for his heart medication. The stress was taking its toll on his already fragile health.
Unlike the grand military parade staged for Chamberlain during the Munich Agreement, there was no ceremony for him. He was simply led, without explanation, to an imposing building, the New Reich Chancellery, a recent construction by Albert Speer.
He frowned at the unusual placement of the entrance, on the side of the building, but followed his escort inside.
He was immediately overwhelmed. “Heil Hitler!”
The imposing marble hall stretched for hundreds of meters, filled with SS troops with arms raised in salute. Their shouts echoed like thunder.
“Gasp…”
“What’s the matter, Mr. President? Come in. The Führer is waiting.”
“Y…yes.” The elderly Hácha, intimidated by the hundreds of SS troops, shuffled forward. It was as if the scene reflected the power imbalance between Germany and Czechoslovakia. Despair washed over him.
He walked the length of the 400-meter hall, designed solely for intimidation, and arrived at the Führer’s office, drenched in sweat.
“Heil Hitler! My Führer, the President of Czechoslovakia has arrived.”
Adolf Hitler, seated at his massive desk, gestured for him to approach. Göring’s smirk and Goebbels’ impassive face made no impression on him.
Humiliated, yet mesmerized, he stumbled towards Hitler’s desk.
“Mr. President, you must make a decision for your country.”
“W…what decision?” Hácha stammered, and Hitler smiled.
“You lack the strength to defend yourselves. And yet, you continue to oppress the Slovak people. We, Germany, will liberate them, just as we liberated the Sudeten Germans.”
“W…what are you…?”
Hitler continued, ignoring Hácha’s protests, “We will grant Slovakia its freedom, and return Carpatho-Ruthenia, which rightfully belongs to Hungary, to its rightful owner. Then, we will establish Bohemia and Moravia as a protectorate of the Reich.”
“That’s… preposterous! Cough…!” Hácha clutched his chest and collapsed, trembling.
“Hmm, I knew he had a weak heart…” Goebbels’ tone was flat.
“The doctor’s idea worked perfectly.” Hitler waved dismissively, and the waiting doctors and SS medics rushed to Hácha’s side, administering stimulants and slapping him awake.
“Cough… gasp…” No one offered any sympathy.
“Can you still function as president? I’ll make it easy for you. Sign here, Mr. President.” Hácha, pale and trembling, took the document and read it.
The German guarantee of independence, offered after the annexation of the Sudetenland, had turned into a decree dividing the remaining Czech territory into three parts.
“This… this outrage! I would rather die than sign such a humiliating agreement…”
“Mr. President. Prague is a beautiful city, isn’t it?” It was Göring, interrupting Hácha’s defiant words.
“You’ve heard of Guernica, in Spain. Our Luftwaffe pilots, who served in Guernica, have just returned…” The horrors of the Guernica bombing, widely publicized in the press, were well known to Hácha.
Göring grinned, “It would be a shame if… something similar happened to a beautiful city like Prague.”
“Gasp…” Hácha wept, trembling uncontrollably. At Hitler’s signal, the SS officers forced his hand onto the document, and he fainted.
“Make sure he doesn’t die. It’ll be troublesome if he dies.”
Czechoslovakia, a central European nation born from the ashes of World War I, vanished from the map, betrayed and abandoned by the very powers that had created it.
—
Beck had urged Brauchitsch to resign along with the entire General Staff to prevent the annexation of Czechoslovakia, but Brauchitsch, indebted to Hitler, refused to act. Hitler annexed the remainder of Czechoslovakia. Slovakia, ostensibly liberated, became a German puppet state, and Carpatho-Ruthenia, having initially resisted annexation, was forcibly absorbed by Hungary.
Britain, which had hailed Chamberlain for securing “peace in our time,” was shocked and horrified when Hitler broke his promise within six months. While Britain and France remained in a state of bewildered denial, Hitler seized the Memel Territory from Lithuania on March 22nd.
On March 30th, outraged, Britain and France finally issued a guarantee of Polish independence.
The high-ranking officers and officials who had distanced themselves from the resistance after the Munich Agreement, now faced with the imminent threat of war, began scrambling to stop Hitler.
Their last chance to stop the Nazis before the outbreak of war had arrived.
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—
April 1, 1939
Parade Ground, OKW Building, Berlin, Germany
The entire Condor Legion, having returned from Spain, was assembled on the parade ground for a celebratory ceremony.
There was General der Flieger Hugo Sperrle, who had been the Luftwaffe commander during his time there, General Wilhelm Ritter von Thoma, the army commander, and Generalmajor Wolfram von Richthofen, who had been rapidly promoted. And Generalmajor Walter Model, his mentor, who had sent him to Berlin and secured Brauchitsch’s protection.
There was Oberstleutnant Edmund Beckers, his former battalion commander, Clemens, his irritating but dear friend, Oberleutnant Egon Ross, Oberleutnant Karl-Heinz Beckermann, and Hauptfeldwebel Kocher. Their ranks had changed, but they were all here, his comrades from Spain, basking in the applause of the crowd and the pomp of the ceremony.
If only this celebration was for a just victory, a tribute from a government they could be proud of…
“As Führer of Germany and the Reich, I am delighted to welcome back to German soil the brave soldiers of the Condor Legion, who fought against the communists in Spain, defending freedom and justice!” Even the Nazis, the most oppressive force in this era, spoke of freedom and justice.
“Your dedication is a testament to the eternal friendship between Germany and Spain, and your blood and sweat embody the very essence of German justice!” The admiring gazes of the German public were ironic.
“But there are those who envy Germany’s rightful place. Those who dare to deny Germany its rights, despite our long patience!” He knew it was nonsense, but Hitler’s dynamic delivery was captivating.
He wondered if he could learn that technique.
“But those weaklings should know that they cannot stop the rise of Germany! Germany, soaring on wings of steel, will crush them without mercy, and I have no doubt that you will be at the forefront of this glorious struggle!”
“Sieg Heil!”
“Heil Hitler!”
“Deutschland über Alles!”
Amidst the enthusiastic cheers, Hitler descended from the podium and began awarding the Spanish Cross. Many of his comrades, veterans of the early stages of the war, received high-ranking medals, adorned with swords.
Sperrle, Thoma, Richthofen, Galland, Mölders, and Model. They all looked pleased. Finally, it was his turn.
“Dietrich… Schacht… Hauptmann.” Hitler smiled, lingering on his name and rank.
“I heard you made a significant contribution at Brunete, as a mere Oberleutnant. Haha… you’re the only company-grade officer to receive this. A promising young officer.” Hitler pinned the silver Spanish Cross, adorned with swords and a swastika, onto his uniform.
“Thank you!” He saluted. Hitler paused, studying his face, then spoke, “Your father… he was a great asset to me, to Germany. Unfortunately, not recently.”
So, that was it. He felt a chill run down his spine. “…Your loyalty lies with Germany, doesn’t it? Dietrich. Schacht. Hauptmann.”
“As a soldier of the Wehrmacht, my loyalty lies with Germany.”
Hitler chuckled and patted his shoulder, then turned away. But then, without moving, he turned his head slightly and asked, “And to me?” Hitler’s gaze was cold.
“…You are the leader of Germany, my Führer.”
“Haha. Hahaha…” Hitler laughed, seemingly satisfied, and moved on to the next recipient. He was drenched in sweat, but he had managed to deflect the question.
Most of the officers were staring at him. He offered an awkward smile. He didn’t want this attention.
Hitler, as if nothing had happened, was cheerfully awarding medals.
Yes, my Führer, you are the leader of Germany. …For now.
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