Chapter 239

< World War II - The Spring of War (1) >

February 19, 1942

Berlin, the Capital of Germany – Dietrich Schacht's Mansion

It was early morning, and I was just about to leave for work after getting ready…

“My cute little granddaughter…”

…A doting grandfather was here.

Naturally, Lucia, who was only two weeks old, showed no reaction to my father and was just sleeping soundly.

As if that didn't matter to him, my father was gazing at Lucia, oblivious to the time.

“Father, it's about time to go.”

“Ahem. Yes, let's be on our way.”

Only after Claudia called him did my father stand up, a look of reluctance on his face.

So, this was the man they called ‘Hjalmar Schacht’.

Perhaps because my sister Cordula's family lives in Britain and he can't see them often, he visits at all hours and acts like this.

Of course, even objectively speaking, Lucia is cute and lovely.

Her face, which was so wrinkled when she was born that it horrified me, had now filled out. Anyone could see she was Claudia's daughter.

A miniature, cute Claudia with chubby baby cheeks. How could I not love—

“Dietrich, you stop staring too.

We'll be late.”

“Ah, s-sorry.”

I was a little hurt that Claudia's gaze seemed to be so blatantly calling us a pair of doting fools…

“Please take good care of Lucia, Berta.”

“Have a good day, Madam.”

After entrusting Lucia to the nanny, we started to leave, and my father spoke up.

“By the way, are you alright to work already? Shouldn’t you rest a little more?”

The look and tone on my father’s face as he looked at Claudia were exceedingly gentle.

Not only had I never seen such an expression, but even the memories of Dietrich Schacht from his scoundrel days contained no such thing!

“I've rested enough, so you don't have to worry. Besides, I want to help him now.”

One week of caring for Lucia with only fragmented sleep after childbirth, then another week of recuperating while combining formula and breastfeeding and watching to see if Lucia would adapt well to the nanny.

For her to say that when she was returning to work after just two weeks made me feel incredibly grateful, and also sorry.

My father must have had the same thought, because he looked at me and clicked his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk, you worthless fellow.”

I had nothing to say to that…

“Ahaha, I was getting bored from resting so long, Father.”

“Tsk, tsk, she's a wife far too good for a rascal like you.”

Yes, yes, you're absolutely right…

Still—

I smiled at Claudia and held out my hand.

“Shall we go, Vice-Chancellor?”

Claudia smiled back and took my hand.

It had been so long since we’d gone to work together. All my fatigue vanished, and I felt like I could do anything.

-

“Good morning. It's been a while, Vice-Chancellor.”

“It has been a while, Mr. Berger.

It's a lovely morning.”

My aide and driver, Mr.

Berger, exchanged greetings with Claudia, and we got in the car.

Since I live separately from my father, this must be the first time Speaker of the Reichstag Schacht, Minister Schacht, and Vice-Chancellor Schacht have all ridden in the same car.

Mr. Berger glanced at my father with a tense expression.

I understood; my father's stern, solemn, and serious face was intimidating.

But right now, I could only see him as a doting grandfather…

As the car started moving, my father spoke.

“Have you seen the news from Yugoslavia?”

“Ah, yes. It seems Petar II, who began his personal rule after Regent Paul retired, is causing some trouble.”

In an era mixed with the madness of imperialism and nationalism, the regent who intended to hand over power to the king after somehow patching up Yugoslavia’s internal ethnic conflicts, rather than expanding the nation's territory to heighten his own glory, had been impressive.

But unfortunately, the young and vigorous king of the House of Karađorđević didn't seem to have understood the regent's will at all.

“Declaring anti-communism as a king and an ally of Germany isn't bad, but…”

As my father said, that part wasn't bad, but of all places, Yugoslavia has a remarkable figure named Tito, who is second to none among communist leaders.

With the Soviet Union faltering right now, communizing the perfectly fine Kingdom of Yugoslavia would be difficult even for the legendary powerhouse Tito, but…

“The problem is that he's spouting nonsense about a 'strong Yugoslavia' while unilaterally declaring the abolition of the Croatian Autonomous Province and oppressing ethnic minorities.”

Although Serbs are the center of Yugoslavia, Yugoslavia is a country where all sorts of ethnic groups like Croatians, Slovenians, Macedonians, Hungarians, and Romanians live, and even religion is all over the place.

But in that powder keg of the Balkans, he's apparently carrying out oppression accompanied by bloody suppression, using the Serbian royalist militia, the Chetniks, at the forefront.

I didn't expect a king whose predecessor was assassinated by nationalists to be favorable towards ethnic minorities, but this was excessively radical and extreme.

“Just when I thought it had quieted down for a while, those damn Balkans are causing trouble again.”

As my father clicked his tongue, Claudia said with a bitter smile.

“Perhaps he started to move because the Allied Forces' victory in Europe seems certain, so he thought there would be no more variables.”

Petar II's ascension to the throne was last year, but seeing as he's only started causing trouble this year, maybe Claudia is right.

Yugoslavia's neighboring countries are almost all tied to its constituent ethnic groups in some way, and they are nations that did not enter the World War.

For now, it's difficult to recklessly interfere in the domestic affairs of Yugoslavia, a pro-German neutral country, in the middle of a war with the Soviet Union. I just hope he doesn't cause any bigger trouble…

“…I hope nothing comes of it.”

Even though history has completely changed, the thought of the Yugoslavian Civil War comes to mind, and I'm anxious that it might not be just an unfounded worry.

-

February 25, 1942

Moscow, Capital of the Soviet Union – STAVKA (The High Command of the Armed Forces of the Soviet Union)

Chief of the General Staff Alexei Antonov, Army Group South Commander Georgy Zhukov, and Western Front Commander Kliment Voroshilov were looking at Stalin with tense faces.

Stalin was puffing smoke from his pipe, looking over various reports and maps.

Ever since the Empire of Japan's surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, General Secretary Stalin had coldly and quickly abandoned the Empire of Japan and regained his former self, as if his wavering appearance until then had been a lie.

The General Secretary's actions, moving most decisively at the worst possible moment as if he had regained his former intelligence, were, in the eyes of the Soviet high command, a source of terror.

It was impossible to understand.

With the Empire of Japan's surprise invasion of America, the General Secretary was pushed further into a corner.

For now, America was quiet and Germany hadn't said much, but in the unlikely event Japan was defeated, America, which had already declared its support for Free Russia and joined the Allied Powers, would not leave the Soviet Union alone.

Everyone in the Soviet Union thought so, and in reality, the General Secretary's power was precarious, yet he moved the massive machine that was the Soviet Union with more motivation than ever.

He was a figure so full of vitality that no one dared to underestimate him as being on the verge of collapse.

It was like a flame flaring up brilliantly just before it goes out.

“The Panzer V Panther, the Panzer VI Tiger.

…This is the intel Comrade Andropov acquired on the new German tanks.”

Everyone in the room swallowed dryly, and Stalin continued to speak in a completely nonchalant tone.

“Looking at the specs, it seems they'll be difficult to counter not only with the T-34 but even the KV-1. Has our tank development not yet yielded any results?”

“My apologies, Comrade General Secretary.

The engineers are trying, but mounting an 85mm main gun is proving difficult, given the already unstable reliability of the T-34.”

Stalin remained silent for a moment.

In the original history, the Soviet Union's problems with a shortage of radios, precision, and reliability could be solved by America's Lend-Lease, but for the current Soviet Union, that was impossible.

Between last year's Rasputitsa and the arrival of winter, the Soviet Union had accepted the sacrifice, dismantled and moved most of its factories to the Ural Mountains, and squeezed out all its capacity to mass-produce tanks.

At a point where more than half of Ukraine was already lost, this was a decisive battle prepared by wringing out all of the Soviet Union's national power, based on the judgment that there would be no hope if the rest of Ukraine was also taken.

But just before that decisive battle, tanks had appeared that the current Soviet Union could not possibly match technologically.

Finally, the silent Stalin opened his mouth.

“Can we be victorious against them?”

No one could answer hastily.

Stalin put the pipe back in his mouth and puffed.

Despite the desperate situation, the General Secretary appeared calmer and more cool-headed than anyone.

He didn't seem like the same person who had been having hysterics and seeing hallucinations just a short while ago.

“First, we do what we can.

The decisive battlefield… it will be here.”

Stalin said, pointing to the center of the map, and Antonov replied.

“Yes. The General Staff also agrees, Comrade General Secretary.”

Georgy Zhukov realized something then.

“C-Comrade General Secretary.”

“Speak, Comrade General.”

“…Captain Yakov Dzhugashvili is serving in an artillery unit on that front.”

Yakov Dzhugashvili, the eldest son of Stalin, Ioseb Jugashvili.

But Stalin seemed completely unfazed.

“So?”

“I was wondering if we should withdraw him to the rear or another area…”

“Why should we? The people of the Union, our sons, are fighting for their lives on the front lines. Is there any reason that 'captain' should receive special treatment?”

“M-My apologies, Comrade General Secretary.”

Even at the news that his eldest son was in the most intense battle zone, Stalin seemed not only unshaken but completely unimpressed.

Georgy Zhukov watched the General Secretary with anxious eyes.

Andropov had definitely said the General Secretary was cornered, but was that really the case?

For the Great Marshal of Steel, who had eliminated anyone who posed even a slight threat to him through the Great Purge, to show such a cool-headed demeanor—wasn't it because he had an ace up his sleeve?

He knew best that the Soviet Army was cornered in this war. Even though he was also well aware that the Communist Party was shaken internally, Zhukov felt fear before the General Secretary's incomprehensible demeanor.

Was he perhaps making a mistake? Zhukov recalled the countless general officers who had been purged and shuddered involuntarily.

-

February 28, 1942

East Belarus, Mogilev – Allied Forces Garrison

As winter was coming to an end.

Lieutenant Colonel Clemens Fleck, who had returned from his leave, wrestled earnestly with his desk work, but before long, he began to go berserk.

“Aaaargh! I can't take this anymore!”

His adjutant, Vinrich Behr, let out a deep sigh at his superior's disgraceful conduct and shook his head.

For a man with the Pour le Mérite medal around his neck and not only the Iron Cross on his chest but also a medal from the Polish Army for his merits in Minsk, it was an extremely regrettable sight.

“Why the hell do I have to be reading an armored warfare manual-!”

“Because it's easier for a cavalryman to become a tanker than for an infantryman to become a cavalryman.

Lieutenant. Colonel.

Sir.”

Clemens, in the middle of his screaming fit, shot to his feet at the familiar voice.

“Roger!”

“Did you have a good leave, Lieutenant. Colonel.

Sir?”

Major Roger Michael, who had gained experience as a staff officer for Army Group Centre and had just been appointed as Chief of Staff to General Hans-Valentin Hube, smiled with a particular emphasis on the words.

“Whoa, are you jealous right now?”

“Not at all, Lieutenant.

Colonel. Sir.”

“How did that bastard Dietrich manage not to get jealous?”

“…You don't really feel jealous of someone who's just too damn good. Besides, he quit being a soldier, didn't he?”

But man-to-man, the fact that you have a higher rank than me really pisses me off.

Seeing that unspoken message, Clemens scratched his head.

“I'd rather have a cushy job in the rear than get promoted quickly…”

“That's why it pisses me off even more, you bastard!”

Roger finally exploded and grabbed both of Clemens's shoulders, and Clemens immediately flinched.

“Ow, that hurts!”

“Huh, what? Are you hurt?”

“No, it's not that…”

“What is it, show me. Are you hiding an injury you got on leave? You want to get chewed out by General Hube together?”

“Why are you stripping a man, you pervert!”

“Let go before I kill you.”

After finally overpowering Clemens and unbuttoning his military uniform shirt, Roger's expression became incredibly unimpressed.

The collarbone was covered in hickeys—

…and a clear bite mark.

“…Hey.”

“Ye-yes?”

“Were you mauled by a wild beast or something?”

“Haha, hahaha…”

“Did you like it?”

“Uhm, it was kinda thrilling.”

Roger looked at Vinrich Behr, who was standing behind them with a horrified expression, gave him a pitying look, and gestured for him to leave. Behr disappeared immediately without a word.

“Sheesh, I was a fool for worrying.”

“You've seen plenty, but is this your first time seeing something like this?”

“It's my first time seeing a guy who enjoyed getting devoured.”

Clemens awkwardly scratched the back of his head and spoke again.

“So, why did I have to spend months staring at an armored warfare manual? I'm a field man, and I hate sitting at a desk studying.”

“What's wrong with a little studying during a lull? You hate slogging through anything, whether it's in the field or at a desk. Anyway, congratulations, Clemens.”

“Huh? For what?”

“Starting tomorrow, you'll be a regimental commander.”

“Eh?”

“You've made it big.”

Clemens was flustered, faltered, and backed away.

“Th-this is…”

“This is?”

“This is Manstein's trap!”

“What is this crazy bastard talking about? …But you're half right.

We have to reorganize the formations because of the overall deployment of additional tanks. And he was the one who recommended you as the commander for a new armored unit.”

“I don't need it!”

“Even if you don't need the tanks, the high command is interested in you. Thinking about it now, maybe the reason your unit was reorganized into a mechanized unit was because it's easier for cavalry to adapt to armor than for basic infantry.”

Clemens flopped down on the spot.

“No way, this is absurd.

Sob, what kind of insane battlefield are they trying to send me to now? I'm fine with just being basic infantry…”

Roger looked down at Clemens with a complicated expression and said.

“Don't worry too much.

I'm going with you. Starting tomorrow, I'm your staff officer.”

“Sob, where are we going? Karina is here, too. What kind of hellhole are they sending me to now…”

Roger let out a low sigh and answered.

“Kursk. You'll be playing a key role in the decisive battle against the enemy's main armored force.

Exciting, isn't it?”