Chapter 197 |
< World War II - The Choice (1) >
May 20, 1941
Warsaw, the capital of Poland - The Negotiation Venue
“A pleasure to meet you. I am Władysław Sikorski, Inspector General of the Armed Forces of Poland.”
“A pleasure. I am Vyacheslav Molotov, People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs.”
The Polish Inspector General of the Armed Forces Sikorski’s tone was stiff, his face anything but pleased to be here.
However, the Soviet Union’s People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs, Vyacheslav Molotov, shamelessly flashed a grin and shook Sikorski’s hand.
The Abwehr reported that he was about to be purged by Stalin, but did he make a comeback because former Chief of the General Staff Vasilevsky took the fall for him?
You’re a lucky man, Molotov.
Molotov narrowed his eyes for a moment and studied me.
What, why? Are you displeased that the one who screwed you over so badly is such a green young brat?
I put on the most artificial smile I could manage.
Who’s my role model?
Manstein, of course.
“My, it is an honor to meet the People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs, a man of power who represents the great Soviet Union and has always been on the move!”
Didn't you make that bad joke about the bombing of Finland being a bread delivery, only to be ridiculed for Molotov’s bread basket and then get demoted by Stalin for a while?
As expected, even the seasoned diplomat Molotov’s lips twitched before he accepted my handshake.
“The real power in Germany, renowned as the Guardian of Freedom… Ah, my mistake. You’re a Minister now, aren’t you? It is a pleasure to meet the Minister who oversees two whole departments.”
Tsk. As expected of a seasoned diplomat, he’s no pushover.
After Molotov and I exchanged handshakes with booming laughs, everyone took their seats.
Then, both sides exchanged their prisoner lists.
Molotov, displaying the basic sense of a diplomat, had prepared several copies of the list, and upon examining it, I secretly let out a sigh of relief.
The list clearly included not only the German Army and its officers but also Polish officers, doctors, teachers, and other intellectuals.
The Katyn Massacre didn’t happen!
Whether it was a butterfly effect from Beria’s purge or something else, the massacre of Poles by the NKVD had not occurred.
Witnessing with my own eyes such a significant, positive change in history was incredibly encouraging.
Of course, I couldn't show it in front of these people who had no idea…
But that sentiment was fleeting. Sikorski, who had been carefully examining the list with a prudent expression, spoke up.
“Among the prisoners, are there no officers from the Border Protection Corps, including Brigadier General Józef Olszyna-Wilczyński? There are no officers who engaged you in the early days of the war.”
At Sikorski’s question, Molotov replied with a grin.
“I wouldn’t know. We have no such prisoners.”
“…Is that so.”
Sikorski narrowed his eyes, but Molotov merely offered a sly smile.
Damn it, fuck. That’s the exact same reaction the Soviet Union had about the victims of the Katyn Massacre in the original history.
“That’s quite amazing. I’ve heard all about the fierce fighting of the Polish Border Protection Corps, but they surely would have been annihilated.
Are you asking us to believe that they all fought to the death, and that the Soviet Union didn't even confirm the rank and identity of the fallen soldiers?”
A sharp reaction escaped me before I could stop it. Molotov looked slightly surprised, but that was all.
“I cannot know what I do not know.”
Sons of bitches…
Even knowing this is still better than the original history, I can't help but feel annoyed.
“I don’t understand. It’s one thing for soldiers captured in battle, but why on earth are civilian intellectuals and engineers being held in your country?”
I instinctively touched my forehead at the question from Polish Foreign Minister Józef Beck.
Because I knew the Soviet Union of the original history, I didn't find it strange, but thinking about it now, the act itself is insane.
We recaptured all of the Soviet-occupied territories in Poland.
The fact that they still have civilian prisoners means they were taken to a Gulag within Soviet territory.
“Please don’t misunderstand.
We were merely trying to ‘manage’ those who caused ‘counter-revolutionary’ problems in the occupied territory.”
Molotov was truly shameless, and Beck ground his teeth.
I, too, felt a chilling sensation.
It seems the Border Protection Unit is already lost, but at least the Katyn Massacre has not yet happened.
But I can't say for sure what would have happened if we had been just a little slower in pushing them back.
“Leaving other matters for discussion, we demand the immediate liberation of the civilian prisoners.
This is a clear war crime.”
Molotov shook his head at Erich Kordt’s demand.
“That would be difficult. Can we truly say that those who caused trouble in the occupied territory are not a party to this war?”
He sure has a way with words, after dragging them off just to shatter Poland’s future.
“…First, we have provided the list of Soviet Army prisoners we have secured. We would like to exchange them at a 1:1 ratio for the Allied Forces prisoners your country has detained.”
Even in this situation, Sikorski maintained his composure.
Honestly, I respect him for it.
“That would be a bit difficult. The prisoners your country has captured are of questionable loyalty to the Union, but the ones we have captured include many skilled personnel like officers and intellectuals, don’t they?”
“Those are people you shouldn't be holding in the first place!”
Beck finally exploded at Molotov’s shamelessness, but Molotov simply shrugged as if he couldn't care less.
“It is only natural to manage dangerous elements in occupied territories. Seeing the incident the Allied Forces caused in Ukraine, it doesn’t seem we were wrong in our thinking.”
“…So what do you propose?”
At Kordt’s question, Molotov spoke again.
“Wouldn’t a 2:1 ratio be more appropriate?”
“What kind of nonsense is that—”
“Please don’t get too excited.
That is simply our hope. Let’s take our time and negotiate.
While the negotiations are underway, the soldiers on the front lines can get some rest, reducing the sacrifice of this war, can’t they?”
Ha, look at these shameless bastards.
There’s a temporary ceasefire for the prisoner exchange negotiations, and they plan to drag it out to buy time?
“…The moment you walk out of this negotiation venue, the ceasefire will end.”
At Sikorski’s words, which sounded as suppressed as possible, Molotov put on a regretful expression.
“That is truly regrettable.
I am somewhat worried about the health of the prisoners in the Gulag….”
When he went that far, I could no longer suppress my own blood boiling.
No matter how much more important this prisoner exchange is to us than to them, it doesn’t mean we should let them drag us around.
“Go ahead and try.”
The gazes of Molotov and everyone else focused on me.
“The moment you pull a stunt like that, I’ll make sure all your cities are turned to ashes.”
“…Haha, that’s a rather tasteless joke for a nation that claims to be a democracy.”
Molotov tried to laugh it off, but I glared at him and spat out the words.
“We possess more than enough air power to turn every one of your country’s cities into a sea of fire. The only reason your cities are still intact is because you’ve stayed behind the line, and we didn’t want to sacrifice your innocent civilians, not because we lack the power.”
You said the bombing was a bread delivery, didn't you?
I twisted my lips into a smirk at the stiff-faced Molotov and said.
“Relay this to your General Secretary, Minister.
Let’s not cross our line. We are confident we can deliver enough bread to make you burst.”
“What insolence…”
“The engagement will resume immediately. Let’s call it a day.
It’s not like you can do anything until you’ve exchanged opinions with the General Secretary anyway.”
As I rose from my seat, Erich Kordt followed, and then Sikorski and Beck.
We left the beet-faced, trembling Molotov behind and walked out of the conference hall.
“Minister, I understand your anger, but the Poles they are holding are vital to us.”
To a worried-looking Józef Beck, I replied with an awkward smile.
“Of course, the exchange will happen, even if we have to give a little more.
I was just bluffing a little to keep them from dragging us around.”
“…You were bluffing?”
No, why are you surprised, Erich Kordt?
When I turned my head, even Sikorski had a slightly surprised look on his face.
Damn it, for fuck's sake.
Am I going to be recorded in history as Dietrich Schacht the warmonger?
I’m not Richthofen!
-
May 26, 1941
Near Warsaw, the capital of Poland – A POW Camp
Whether Stalin was impressed by my threat, or he simply decided not to provoke us further once it became clear that his original goal of buying time was impossible, the prisoner exchange negotiations concluded quickly.
We were to get back 500,000 German and Polish prisoners they held, and in return, we would hand over 700,000 Soviet Army prisoners.
Excluding the 300,000, including General Andrey Vlasov and his followers, who refused to return.
If they go back, there's a high probability they'll be thrown into a Gulag or forced into a penal unit. Is this loyalty to the Union of People?
Or is it a sense of debt to their families?
“The general and those who wish to will be handed over to the Soviet Union in early June.”
General Enrique Líster slowly nodded at my words.
In the end, he chose to return to the Soviet Union.
A moment of silence passed between us, and to break the awkward discomfort, I spoke first.
“It seems we will fight again, each from our own stance.”
Another awkward silence fell.
After a long pause, Líster opened his mouth.
“You said you didn’t regret fighting in the Condor Legion.”
“That is correct, General.”
“Those countless massacres that the Condor Legion cooperated in, or aided and abetted, the victims of your bombings in Guernica and Brunete—do they hold no value to you?”
“That is clearly a sin committed by the Condor Legion. If you are asking whether I, as a member of the Condor Legion, feel a sense of guilt toward the victims and you, General, then I must say yes.
I also know it is not something that can be washed away by a mere individual's apology. That is a sin I must rightly bear.”
Líster is looking at me with sunken eyes.
“But even so, I have no regrets.”
“Even knowing it was wrong?”
“Yes, General. At the point I realized it was an unjust war, I could have defied orders or escaped the criminal regime and fled abroad.
If I had, I surely would have been able to escape committing such sins. The German people would not have been sacrificed in the civil war I started.
Perhaps my heart would have been more at ease.”
In the end, I did not make that choice.
“But in exchange, I would have had to powerlessly watch my fatherland commit even more atrocious evil. I would have had to live an empty life, turning a blind eye to the scene of that fatherland eventually driving even those precious to me to ruin.”
In the World War II of the original history, Germany caused tens of millions of deaths and had to pay a commensurate price.
The Black Orchestra, including Tresckow, would have been killed without achieving anything.
General officers like Walter Model would have dirtied their hands as war criminals under the pretext of fighting for their country, only to meet a catastrophe riddled with regret and despair.
Officers like Clemens might have been buried somewhere in the frozen lands of the Soviet Union, their names not even left in history.
The one most precious to me. Claudia, who possessed more brilliant talent and belief than anyone, would have had a slim chance of meeting the bright future she deserved.
“I chose the path of righting that wrong, even if it meant dirtying my own hands. I cannot deny the sins I have accumulated in the process, but if I were to go back to that time, I would choose the same path again.”
Líster slowly drank his tea.
After a moment of silence, he spoke.
“The communism I pursued is not good.”
His answer to my question, something I did not hear in our first meeting.
“But it is not evil in itself, either.”
The eyes that had wavered restlessly when I first asked are now calm.
“I cannot say that the current Soviet Union is walking the right path.”
These are the eyes of a man forged through long thought and anguish.
“But I, too, do not regret fighting on that side.”
I looked him in the eye.
The hatred and disgust that glistened in his eyes during our first encounter are now gone.
Instead, a firmly forged belief is in its place.
I hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“One day, the day will come when Spain has a government of the people, not that dictator.”
Líster just looked at me silently, not opening his mouth.
“When that day comes, I hope Spain can proudly hold Germany accountable for the sins it committed.”
After a long silence, Líster spoke.
“If such a day comes, I will stand with them.”
The teacup was empty.
I offered him a handshake.
“May you have no regrets in your choice, General.”
“…May you have no regrets in your choice, Minister.”
In the end, we can never be comrades.
A day where we face each other and talk like this will probably never come again.
Two lines that made a momentary intersection will never overlap again.
Still, we will both continue to press on, stretching toward our own paths without stopping.