Chapter 196 |
< World War II - The Confrontation >
May 16, 1941
Warsaw, the capital of Poland – POW Camp
Enrique Líster stared at his subordinates with dull eyes.
When he had first decided to surrender, many had cried and wailed, apologizing to their families or burdened by guilt.
There were also those who, while relieved, were seriously worried about their future.
And now, absurdly, they all wore rather comfortable expressions.
In fact, they looked even better now than when most of his subordinates, crushed by the enemy's Armored unit, had hidden in the forests north of Pinsk, their faces etched with fatigue.
The German Army guards managing the prisoners were blunt, but there was almost none of the harsh treatment one might expect.
It was at least a world apart from the treatment of prisoners he had experienced in the Spanish Civil War, or that which was practiced in the Soviet Army.
“Are there any Ukrainians? Let’s liberate our homeland from Soviet oppression! The Ukrainian Liberation Army needs comrades!”
Seeing the Ukrainian Liberation Army being recruited in real-time in the POW camp, Líster let out a hollow laugh.
When some of the men who had been watching his expression began to follow them, the feeling was hard to put into words.
Líster felt a throbbing pain from the deep burn scar on his arm.
An uncomfortable, intense emotion surged within him, and not knowing its identity made it all the more unpleasant.
At first, his subordinates, noticing his mood, were full of worry, but after a few days of this life, they simply stopped caring.
In the end, that was the extent of it.
The only thing connecting him to them, men of different ethnicities and different hometowns, was the relationship of a general and his subordinates.
In their situation as prisoners, it was nothing more than a meaningless, worthless relationship.
Líster was seized by a sense of skepticism.
Why did he surrender to the German Army, the very target of his revenge?
To save the lives of his subordinates?
If that was the case, his men would have surrendered on their own if he had just killed himself.
And as a result, his subordinates didn't express any great gratitude for the decision he had made.
On the contrary, there were even those who saw him as an object of resentment, for making a choice that might lead to their families' deaths.
If they truly didn't want their families to die, they could have just killed themselves, but it was probably easier and more comfortable to resent him instead.
What value did his choice even have?
Just as Líster's mood was about to sink to rock bottom, his adjutant, Nikolayevich, spoke to him.
“General, are you alright?”
Although he was honestly grateful to be treated as a general even in this situation, Líster responded curtly.
“Don't worry about it.”
The auditory hallucinations that had always tormented him on the battlefield were completely gone now that he was a prisoner, sitting around doing nothing.
He didn't want to think about the reason why, or what it meant.
“Lieutenant General Enrique Líster.”
At the call of his name, Líster's head snapped up.
It was the chain-smoking general who had interviewed him shortly after he became a prisoner.
“The General’s request has been granted.”
At the interpreter's words, Líster's eyes narrowed.
A request? What request.
But that thought didn't last long.
He had made a request.
At first, he had said he wanted to meet Walter Model.
That general’s reply had been concise.
‘General Model is currently in the middle of an operation.’
So, he had asked to meet the person who had first come to mind, though he thought it would never be accepted.
Líster shot up from his seat.
“G-General.”
His adjutant, Penenko Nikolayevich, looked worried.
Suddenly, he thought that if he had known he was such a good friend, he should have tried talking to him more beforehand.
It was a meaningless thought now.
The German soldiers on guard duty opened the barbed-wire fence, and Líster slowly walked out.
“Follow me.”
Líster followed behind the general and the interpreter.
German Military Police armed with guns flanked him on both sides.
Dietrich Schacht.
The lieutenant who introduced the indirect fire of anti-aircraft guns during the Battle of Brunete, the last chance the Republican faction had to mount a proper counterattack, inflicting serious damage on his 11th Division.
The ruin of his nation.
A man who came from the Condor Legion, said to be composed of the most zealous Nazis, yet was one of the key players in the collapse of the Nazi regime itself.
A hypocrite.
A man of power who, with the authority granted to him as Vice-Chancellor appointed by the Emperor, controlled Germany and raised it to the center of Europe.
A reactionary.
At the same time, a man who eventually laid down the position and power granted by the Emperor, revived democracy in Germany, and became an elected minister.
A mass of contradictions.
And a man hailed by the world as the Guardian of Freedom for his speeches that polished Germany's image and stood against the threat of fascists and communism.
An Enemy of the People.
A storm of thoughts raged as he walked, and just as Líster found it impossible to sort them out, the auditory hallucinations began.
‘¡No pasarán!’
‘Our courage may be trampled, but it will not be today.
’
‘Hold fast, the justice of Spain and its people are on our side!’
‘It’s not… we’re not over yet.’
Just as Líster's mind was becoming hazy from the noise, tinnitus, and auditory hallucinations filling his head, they arrived in front of a barracks.
“Mumble, mumble…”
The general said something, and the interpreter relayed it, but he couldn't hear well because of the noise and tinnitus.
Just as Líster was feeling fed up with the constant ringing in his ears, the general, who had called his name a few times, threw open the entrance to the barracks.
And the moment he saw the man in a suit sitting inside, all the noise ceased, as if swept away by the wind.
As silence fell, the man in the suit opened his mouth in fluent Spanish.
"I'm not sure if I should say it's our first meeting, or that it's been a long time."
Líster, as if possessed, approached him.
“A pleasure to meet you, General Enrique Líster. My name is Dietrich Schacht.”
-
Enrique Líster.
The man who was the Republican faction's greatest commander in the Spanish Civil War, who had struck fear into the Spanish Nationalists and even the Condor Legion, somehow staggered over and plopped down in the chair opposite me.
I was trying to be polite, but he just ignored me. How rude.
Behind him, General Tresckow mouthed, ‘Will it be alright?’, and I nodded in response.
General Tresckow took the interpreter, who was debating whether to awkwardly intervene, and went outside.
General Líster was staring at me with great intensity.
How should I put this? I don't think even Claudia has ever looked at me like that.
“Um, if anyone saw us, they might think we were lovers who had broken up and met again…”
“Dietrich Schacht.”
Jeez, honestly, that scared me.
His voice was cracked and hoarse, like a wail from the depths of hell.
“Ahem, ahem, it was a joke, General.”
Damn it, I suddenly feel like I've become Clemens.
I quickly poured him some of the prepared tea.
“How about you wet your throat first? I was under the impression that we provided the prisoners with enough to drink…”
He stared at the tea I poured, then, surprisingly, drank it obediently.
I watched him with complicated feelings.
Honestly, the reason I agreed to his request for a meeting was overwhelmingly out of curiosity rather than my sense of responsibility as the Minister of Defense.
I have little experience in actual combat in the military.
I’ve been in a few operations, but the only battlefield where shells rained down and I had to worry about my own life was in Spain as part of the Condor Legion.
And Enrique Líster was an enemy who, every time we met in battle, made me feel the threat to my life.
And—
He was the commander who had taken more of my men's lives than anyone else.
Líster's eyes, which had been swirling like a vortex, seemed to slowly calm as he drank the tea.
Finally, he opened his mouth.
“It’s been four years since the Battle of Brunete.”
I blinked.
“That's amazing.
I was just a mere lieutenant back then, I didn't think you'd remember.”
“When you've had the experience of your subordinates' tanks exploding one after another thanks to a mere lieutenant, you remember it whether you want to or not.”
…Ah.
I see.
So he knew that I was the one who suggested the adoption of indirect fire for the 88mm Anti-aircraft gun.
Enrique Líster looked at me for a moment, then finally spoke.
“May a mere wretch of a POW from a ruined nation dare to ask a question of the great German Minister of Defense?”
“You don't seem to see me as very great, and you're not from a ruined nation.”
Líster shut his mouth.
“Spain still exists, General.”
“The rebel army that destroyed the legitimate government elected by the people’s vote is Spain-”
“That too was a path Spain chose, and is not the Spain that exists as a result of that choice also your nation?”
Líster narrowed his eyes, glared at me, and then spoke.
“Then is Nazi Germany also your nation?”
“It is my nation's past.”
I was thirsty too, so I drank my share of the tea.
The warm tea went down my throat, easing my tension a little.
Líster remained silent for a moment, then spoke again.
“The hero who drove out Hitler and brought democratization to Germany. The Guardian of Freedom who could have become a dictator at any time, but chose to lay down his power and return it to the people.”
Even though the words were quite flattering, his gaze was close to contempt and disgust.
“So what about your past, fighting in the Condor Legion, supporting a dictator's rebel army against the legitimately elected Spanish Government?”
Líster’s question felt like it struck a chord in my chest.
Back then, I was hell-bent on achieving military merit to return to Berlin, and in the end, I succeeded.
But in the process, as a Fascist volunteer soldier, I had substantially contributed to the Nazi regime and the Franco regime, playing a part in bringing down the Spanish Republican faction.
“It is a shameful thing, but it was necessary for me.”
Líster stared at me intently.
“Necessary, you say? My nation lost the war thanks to you Germans. You must have seen for yourself the countless deaths that resulted, so I don't need to spell it out.”
“There's a slight contradiction in what you're saying. I won't deny the Condor Legion bears responsibility, but I doubt the Spanish Civil War would have ended in a Republican victory even without the Condor Legion.”
Líster couldn't say anything.
His argument is a bit strange.
Was it Germany that destroyed the Spanish Republic?
“Franco of the Nationalists is certainly a cruel dictator and a butcher. But the Republican faction also scuttled their dream of a diplomatic victory by committing their own massacres, and they failed to achieve internal solidarity, sparking a civil war within the Civil War.”
I looked Líster straight in the eye and added.
“I want to ask, General.
Was the Republican faction justice? Was the Nationalist faction evil? Was the Spanish Civil War a war that can be concluded so simply?”
“…Even if that were so, it is undeniable that we were at least the legitimate government elected by the Spanish people's vote. And it was Germany that helped overthrow that government.”
Líster glared at me and added.
“And now that Germany, after expanding its territory by relying on the Nazis, has overthrown the Nazis once their usefulness was over and now purports to be the guardian of Europe's freedom while hiding its past sins? Are you not ashamed to be at the forefront of that hypocrisy?”
I looked at Líster and gave a slight smile.
“Personally, I'm a little ashamed.”
Líster narrowed his eyes and looked at me, as if trying to gauge my intentions.
“But as a German politician, I am not ashamed. The evil deeds committed by Nazi Germany are clearly evil deeds.
It's undeniable that what they did was ultimately done by Germany. But, so what?”
I stared at Líster and asked.
“Since we had already committed evil deeds, did we have to pay the price to take responsibility and simply watch as our nation committed even greater evils and headed for ruin?”
I wet my throat again.
The lukewarm tea trickled down my throat.
“The position Germany has reached now is one we achieved by struggling to avoid the worst. It may not be the best option, but we have tried to get closer to it.
I don't think that effort deserves to be disparaged. At the very least, we stopped the evil we could stop and did our best to grasp a better future.”
I looked at Líster, whose face had hardened.
“What about you, General? Did you do your best? At the point when you realized something was wrong, did you exhaust every means available to correct it? Did you try to fix it, even if it meant risking your own life, the will of your comrades, and everything beyond that?”
His mouth did not open.
“I have fought for Germany, where the people precious to me will live. If I were to condemn the Soviet Union, which you now accuse me and Germany of, for invading Poland and Finland, killing countless lives, and ultimately driving its own people to their deaths, would you be able to rebut it?”
In the silence, I asked him the question I most wanted to ask.
“General, you fought for the Republican faction in Spain. What are you fighting for in the Soviet Union now?”
I felt a thirst and drank my tea.
The tea, now having lost all its aroma, was lukewarm and left only a bitter taste.
After a long silence, Líster opened his mouth.
“…Do you regret fighting in the Condor Legion?”
“I do not regret it.”
“Is your Germany good?”
“No nation can be good or evil in itself.
I am not the leader of Germany, but merely a politician entrusted with authority by the people. I just try to make sure the country where my loved ones live walks the best path possible.”
Silence fell, and I asked Líster.
“Is the Communism you pursued good?”
“…”
“Is the Soviet Union on the right path now?”
“…”
Líster’s mouth did not open.
I looked him straight in the eye and asked.
“General Líster.
Do you regret fighting on the side of the Soviet Union?”