Chapter 238

< World War II - Saving Field Marshal MacArthur (5) >

February 12, 1942

Near Berlin, the Capital of Germany – Luftwaffe Air Base

“Hey, Schacht. Are you all right?”

Air Force Chief of the General Staff Wolfram von Richthofen asked, his face a picture of concern.

“Yes, I’m fine. …Probably.”

I guess I must look pretty bad, seeing as everyone I meet keeps asking me that.

Just handling the work of the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Propaganda during wartime is enough to kill me, but whenever the Allied Powers have business, they naturally seek me out first as well.

I collapsed for a moment on the day Lucia was born, and with Claudia still on leave, my fatigue has only been piling up day by day.

I’m not kidding, it’s gotten to the point where I seriously wonder if I’m going to die from overwork.

I never imagined a baby would wake up so often, crying for food at all hours…

After two days of Lucia’s crying waking me up every time I was about to drift off, Claudia kicked me out into another room.

I was able to experience the truly bizarre feeling of being half-resentful and half-grateful.

Still, it’s a relief I can get at least some sleep in a different room…

“I think things will get a little better from now on.”

And for exactly one week.

Claudia, who had been breastfeeding, said she would buy baby formula and leave Lucia in the care of a servant.

It brings tears to my eyes that she said it was less because she was exhausted and more because she thought I was going to collapse again…

I had just proudly told her that I’d worked with the Social Democratic Party to pass the Labor Law Amendment and extend her maternity leave, only to suffer a crushing defeat in a single week.

I’m such an incompetent man…

Richthofen looked at me, mired in self-loathing, with a complicated expression before turning his head away.

“Well, if you say so, I’ll take your word for it.”

And above our heads, a new model of fighter aircraft roared past with the thunderous sound of its jet engine.

“Hmm, magnificent.”

“Indeed.”

There were no grand exclamations of amazement, but we both felt a sense of satisfaction.

It was overwhelmingly fast. So much so that it was hard to understand why the Nazis had only introduced it at the end of the war.

We approached the jet fighter, the Me 262 Schwalbe (Swallow), as it elegantly slid down the runway and landed successfully.

After a short wait, the pilot climbed out.

That pilot, Adolf Galland, who had insisted on testing it himself, had a wide smile blooming on his face.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it! It’s the best!”

He answered Richthofen’s question in a heartbeat.

Since we’d moved up its introduction by two years, I was slightly worried about its level of completion, but judging by Galland’s reaction, it seemed to be a success.

“How is it compared to your beloved Bf109?”

Galland grinned.

“I’d take this one over five Bf109s. It’s an ecstatic feeling, like an angel is pushing me from behind.”

Richthofen and I briefly looked at each other, then turned away.

“Excellent.

We’ll begin mass production immediately.”

“Ooooh-!”

It was a strange sight to see the Messerschmitt employees cheering and clapping while the employees from Heinkel next to them looked like they were at a funeral.

I actually felt a little sorry for Heinkel because I was the one who brought Boeing into the picture, so I had considered adopting the He 280, the jet fighter they had developed first.

In fact, as soon as Richthofen became Air Force Chief of the General Staff, I, as Vice-Chancellor, had requested the production of a jet fighter, and Heinkel was the first to show us something plausible.

However, Heinkel never managed to solve the defect issues with the early jet engine, while Messerschmitt collaborated with Junkers, the creator of the Stuka, and resolved it.

Besides, the Luftwaffe felt that the arrangement of Messerschmitt for fighters and Heinkel for bombers made for a better public image.

In the end, just as in the original history, the Schwalbe would become the first standard-issue jet fighter.

Heinkel is currently working on producing a proper strategic bomber with Boeing, so they’ll just have to be satisfied with that.

“Alright, this matter is settled. Schacht?”

“Go ahead.”

“About the Naval Air Service.”

“Not happening.”

“What?”

“I said you’re not getting it back.”

Richthofen stared at me blankly for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Hahaha, hahahahahaha!”

“…Weren’t you asking for it back?”

Richthofen’s continued, unrestrained laughter made me feel incredibly awkward.

“Ahem, ahem.

General, you’re embarrassing the Minister of Defense.”

When Galland finally managed to restrain him, Richthofen wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and spoke.

“Hah-hah, you surely don't think I’d give something just to take it back?”

“Ahem, now that you mention it, you’re not that kind of person, General.”

Come to think of it, this was Richthofen—the man who, in the Condor Legion, recognized and supported me, an army man in the air force, and who went out of his way to learn Spanish and befriend the Spanish generals when other Germans disdained them as incompetent.

He was just a warmongering, incendiary-bombing maniac. Aside from that, he was a magnanimous man.

That damn bomber-maniac image overshadowed everything else. Have I judged him too harshly…

“Well, it’d be a lie to say I don’t feel it’s a waste.”

Hearing Richthofen’s words, I grinned.

I knew of Adolf Galland and Werner Mölders since they were such big names, but I hadn’t memorized all the German aces of World War II.

Even so, the names Hartmann, Marseille, and Rudel felt familiar the moment I saw them. I might not know their specific deeds, but if I remembered them, it meant they were super aces.

I had laughed my head off when I saw the report suggesting they be sent to the Naval Air Service for being troublemakers before they had even gained experience.

Of course, I did hesitate on whether to just discharge Rudel, who was kicked out for being a Nazi follower in seriously bad shape despite already showing his talent.

But seeing him hit the jackpot like this, I wonder if it was the right choice or a mistake…

“But if you’re not asking for them back, then what is it?”

“Ah, this recent incident has inspired some of the more wild-eyed fellows to volunteer for the Naval Air Service.”

“Oh?”

“On the Eastern Front, it’s already getting harder to even find enemy aircraft, so there’s no decent place to score military merit.

That’s why there are guys who want to find a more intense battlefield or ride on the Graf Zeppelin, which is getting a ton of attention.”

Even if the air force pilots of this era were the kind of people who live with their lives on the line, this was something else.

Whether it was fighting spirit or ambition, to volunteer to go all the way to Asia and fight…

“Excellent. If you compile a list and send it over, I’ll review it and make the selections right away.”

I was just wondering how to bring up the fact that the Graf Zeppelin had no reserve air group, so it’s great that the Air Force is taking care of it themselves.

The Reichsmarine on the Asian Front had more than fulfilled its role.

I’d asked them to provoke Japan, even tossing them the Pearl Harbor attack code to use, and the report detailing all the creative ways they’d trolled Japan—methods I could have never imagined—nearly made me pass out from laughter.

Germans must lack a sense of humor because they invested all their senses into the art of provocation.

What a bunch of incredible warmongers…

Anyway, whether for good or ill, there isn't a single normal person here.

The timid and grudge-holding Nagumo took Admiral Marschall’s bait and was foaming at the mouth, completely ignoring the Philippines.

If the Southern Fleet, with its many aircraft carriers, had decided to blanket the Philippines, even Dönitz’s U-boats would have had their effectiveness limited. This was a relief.

Furthermore, America had also committed its surviving submarines from the Pacific Fleet to the Philippine theater. The waters around the Philippines had truly become a den of submarines.

As long as the Southern Fleet refused to cooperate and the submarine fleet could run rampant, the Philippines would become a quagmire, sucking in the Japanese Army.

We’ve done enough.

The rest is up to MacArthur to hold out until American support arrives.

Now, it’s time to finish Germany’s real problem: the Eastern Front.

Just as I was thinking that, Richthofen spoke up slyly.

“Hey, Schacht.”

“Yes, General Richthofen.”

“That ‘Freiheit’ self-propelled artillery, you named it, didn’t you?”

“Ugh, n-no, why do you ask?”

Damn it, do I have to hear about my embarrassing past from the Air Force too!

As I was thinking that, Richthofen grinned.

“I think it has a nice ring to it.”

“…Th…ank… you…”

“So, about that Heinkel bomber currently in development.

I was thinking I’d like to name it.”

“…What would you name it?”

“Guernica.”

“…”

“For a strategic bomber, isn't shock and awe the key! Guernica! Ha! Just hearing the name sounds like it would break the enemy’s morale, don’t you think?”

Ah, I think I’m going to collapse again.

“…Absolutely not.”

He wants to name a bomber after the city he burned down? Even Satan has standards, you insane bombing maniac!

“I thought it was a good name…”

As Richthofen smacked his lips in disappointment, Adolf Galland, who had been watching me with pity from behind, shook his head.

Ha… I really need to overhaul the training course after this war is over.

This German Army needs normal people…

-

February 14, 1942

Northern Philippines, Luzon Island – Coastal Theater

“Totsugeki!”

“Banzai! Gak!”

The Japanese soldiers who had just disembarked from their transport ships were riddled with machine-gun fire and plunged into the sea.

Harassed by the U-boat fleet, the Japanese forces had failed to execute a concentrated landing and were facing difficulties from the very start.

However, in the early stages of the war, the latent power of the Japanese Army, still high in morale and elite quality, was not to be underestimated.

Though they had landed in chaos, their guns and everything else soaked and heavy equipment lost after being tormented by submarines, the Japanese soldiers were not intimidated.

At the cry of a Japanese officer who drew his military sword, the entire Japanese force followed with a unified shout.

“Ore ni tsuzuke! Tenno Heika Banzai!”

“Dai Nippon Teikoku Banzai!”

“Banzaiiiii-!”

“Wh-what, what the-!”

Faced with the fury of an enemy charging as one, brandishing bayonets and swords in a hail of bullets while letting out incomprehensible roars, the Philippine and US forces, who had never witnessed such madness, were utterly bewildered.

“Shine!”

“Aaargh!”

“Uwaaargh!”

The flashing blades danced as they rushed in, cutting down their comrades. Limbs were severed and blood splattered in a scene of hand-to-hand combat long forgotten, delivering shock and terror in itself.

“They’re insane! The Japs are insane!”

“Retreat, retreat!!”

Eventually, the panicked US and Philippine troops had to flee, leaving their comrades to be mercilessly slaughtered.

The Philippine Defense Force began to be pushed back, slowly but surely.

But even so, the sacrifices made by the Japanese Army, which was suffering from a much more severe shortage of troops compared to the original history, were piling up like snowdrifts.

This was because the Japanese forces that had taken a long detour to land at Legazpi in the south, intended to pressure Manila from both the north and south in the original history, had been nearly annihilated by U-boats.

The Southern Expeditionary Army Group Headquarters’ plan for the capture of the Philippines had completely unraveled when its core element, the pincer attack on Manila, collapsed.

“The more time we buy, the more innocent residents of the Philippines can escape safely! Let’s push a little harder! We are the pride of Field Marshal MacArthur!”

“Yes, sir!”

And thanks to the efforts of General Jonathan Wainwright, who led from the front, inspiring his subordinates and actively commanding them, MacArthur’s operation plan to ‘conduct a delaying action while covering the evacuation of civilians’ was proceeding more smoothly than initially expected.

And in Manila, the capital of the Philippines.

The Field Marshal most revered by the Filipino people was giving a speech, wearing a splendid Philippine Army field marshal's cap and sunglasses, and holding a corncob pipe to project a populist image.

“The US War Department told us we had to abandon the beaches of Luzon! The General Staff, the Army, the Navy, even Washington itself! They ordered us to give up on the Philippines, on all of you! Only we, MacArthur’s Headquarters, refused!”

“MacArthur, MacArthur, MacArthur!”

“In the face of the despicable Japanese Empire’s offensive, our soldiers are united like brothers to defend your fatherland! At this very moment, they are neither the US Army nor the Philippine Army! They are brothers, MacArthur’s Army! They are your army!”

“Waaaaah!”

“No matter how overwhelming the odds, we will fight! From the beaches of Luzon to Manila Bay, every step the despicable Japanese Empire takes will be blocked by the blood and sweat of MacArthur’s Headquarters!”

“MacArthur! MacArthur!”

“From myself, MacArthur, to the generals, the officers on the front line, and finally to the soldiers holding their rifles, we will all fight on without forgetting our duty and honor! And so, we will defend the justice and freedom of the Philippines, and we will defend you!”

“Waaaaaaaaah!”

MacArthur smiled with satisfaction at the cheering crowd, then walked over to a person sitting behind him, helped him to his feet, and came forward with him to the microphone.

“Here with us today is a true friend of MacArthur, who has sent countless invaders from the Japanese Empire to the bottom of the sea.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the hero of the Philippines, Admiral Karl Dönitz, with a round of applause!”

“MacArthur! MacArthur!”

“Dönitz! Dönitz!”

Admiral Dönitz wore a rather uncomfortable expression, then forced a stiff smile.

-

After the event.

“I have no memory of agreeing to participate in such a show, Field Marshal.”

Receiving Dönitz's words through an interpreter, MacArthur replied with a faint smile.

“Is it not a good thing? You are now a hero of the Philippines and a friend of MacArthur. If you just play along, it will be good for all of us.”

Dönitz’s brow furrowed slightly. At a gesture from MacArthur, his Chief of Staff, Sutherland, brought over a briefcase and opened it.

The briefcase was filled with dollars. Dönitz’s face immediately soured.

“What is this?”

“This is a token of sincerity from President Manuel Quezon of the Philippines for the military merit you have shown, Admiral Dönitz. One hundred thousand dollars.”

“I told you, didn't I? It would be good for all of us.”

MacArthur said with a smirk.

Manuel Quezon and MacArthur were bosom buddies.

As for why MacArthur was delivering a reward from the President of the Philippines unofficially, and what that implied—Dönitz himself had a history of flattering and clinging to the Nazi Party.

He wasn't so naive as to not understand.

“The performance shown by Admiral Dönitz and the U-boat fleet in this operation was magnificent.

If you cooperate more organically with this MacArthur, and if you, an Admiral who will gain fame in your home country of Germany, support MacArthur, you will be able to receive a much larger ‘token of sincerity’ in the future.”

Dönitz stared silently at the briefcase, then spoke.

“That’s something I once dreamed of.”

“Is it not what everyone dreams of?”

Dönitz looked at the floor for a moment, then opened his mouth.

“Do you know how crewmen die when a submarine is damaged?”

MacArthur, an army man, naturally had no idea.

“No one knows.

They could die from oxygen deprivation at the bottom of the sea, or they could drown in the icy water as the vessel floods. In this operation, one of our U-boats went missing, along with my subordinates.

I don’t even know the reason—whether it was a destroyer or mechanical failure. That's how it ends for a submarine.”

As the interpretation was relayed, MacArthur's broad smile stiffened. Dönitz glanced at the briefcase held by Sutherland and twisted his lips into a sneer.

“My men are at the bottom of the sea, their bodies will never be found. The money in that briefcase can’t even buy a single U-boat, let alone bring back my men.”

Dönitz turned his back and walked away.

After a few steps, Dönitz stopped, looked back at the motionless MacArthur, and let out a small sigh before speaking.

“I know a man who is just as good at putting on a political show as you are. But that man spends his time trying to make soldiers who aren't even his own subordinates a little more comfortable and save as many of them as he can.

Your men are fighting, yet what are you, a general renowned for your brilliance, doing right now?”