Chapter 218 |
< World War II - The Awakening of a Giant (4) >
October 16, 1941
Berlin, Capital of Germany – Dietrich Schacht's Mansion
When I bent down and opened my arms, Claudia naturally fell into my embrace, wrapping her arms around my neck.
As I stood up, holding her, and started up the stairs, Claudia asked in a small whisper.
“Am I not heavy?”
I've heard that question several times already.
Hmm, what should I say?
After a moment's thought, I replied with a grin.
I burst out laughing at Claudia's pouting glare.
“It would have been nice if you'd just said I was light.”
“I'm a bit tactless-”
Slap-
“Ouch.”
After some light banter, I carried her up the stairs, laid her on the bed, and took off her shoes. She looked up at me with a soft expression.
I quietly bent down and placed my ear against her now clearly showing belly.
Hmm, it's not moving.
“I guess the baby doesn't like a dad who says Mommy is heavy.”
“Gasp.”
When I made an exaggeratedly crestfallen face, Claudia burst out laughing.
I watched her for a moment before lying down beside her and speaking.
“Thank you.”
“Hmm, all of a sudden?”
“It's just, you seem to be going through a lot of hardship.”
Claudia chuckled and then spoke.
“I'm glad you recognize it.
Honestly, before I experienced it myself, I didn't know it would be this hard. My body feels so drained and tired…”
“Then why don't you reduce your workload?”
“I don't want to.
…Not yet. It feels like it will be too difficult to work soon, so I have to do it now while I still can.”
I lifted a lock of her hair, placed a light kiss on it, and said, “You’re like this already. What will I do when it gets even harder for you?”
Claudia said nothing, just looked at me with a smile.
“…Bringing a single life into this world is such a difficult thing.”
“It is.”
A life brought into the world with such difficulty.
Yet on the battlefield, they vanish so in vain.
“Worrying again? The most troubled Mr. Dietrich in all of Germany.”
“Ah.”
From the Civil War to World War II, Germany had accumulated 1.
5 million casualties. Of those, 700,000 were deaths.
Despite this enormous sacrifice, there was still no noticeable surge of anti-war sentiment within Germany.
Volunteer recruitment was not insignificant either; nearly 200,000 volunteers would soon complete their training and be deployed to the front.
If anything, the situation was closer to one where war correspondents were actively suppressing the potential for intoxication from the successive victories and glory by reporting on the conditions at the front.
It was gratifying that this atmosphere was being created by the press without our specific intervention, but for me, it was chilling that the anti-war sentiment that had briefly arisen before we plunged into the war had faded into irrelevance.
If we had hidden such a cost, incited the people by emphasizing the greatness of the nation and victory, and called on them to act as patriots, they might have stood on the battlefield without even realizing they were gambling their own lives and the fatherland's post-war strength.
So, the current situation is a precarious balance maintained only because although Germany has fought and won successive wars, it has never achieved victory in a stable, easy situation.
“I need to end this war quickly, but it’s not easy.”
I thought that by now, even the Soviet Union would be shaken, but things are quieter than expected.
Germany is currently the center of the Allied Powers and has avoided excessive mobilization, so the blow to our national strength is not severe, but for that very reason, the limit of the military capability we can project is clear.
The dilemma of wanting to end the war quickly but not being able to ruin the public livelihood to achieve it.
Even as military equipment rolls out of the factories, the number of soldiers who can stand on the battlefield dwindles day by day.
And in that situation, news arrived from across the Atlantic Ocean.
“America said they’re sending a special envoy.”
“From America?”
“Yes.”
America, a nation with the capability to break this deadlock but whose actions were unpredictable, was finally making a move.
“Hmm, I hope they’ll be helpful.”
“Well…”
But in the end, they too will act in their own national interest. There's no way America is some romantic world's police.
Unlike in the original history's World War II, there is no "axis of evil" sweeping across Europe. The Allied Forces already have superiority over the Soviet Union; they just haven't been able to deliver the decisive blow.
The situation is no longer one where America can save the nations of Europe and become their big brother, and I am deeply skeptical that they would lavishly help with Lend-Lease under these circumstances.
With Germany having already seized the initiative in Europe, how will America, with its interest in Free Russia, act?
Either way, the conclusion is simple.
“We have to make the most of America to—”
“—reduce the people's sacrifices.”
Claudia and I spoke at the same time, then stopped, smiling as we gazed at each other.
Yes, no matter how they approach this, we just have to make the choice that reduces the sacrifices in this war.
It’s a simple story.
As long as we don’t forget that, we won't lose our way.
-
October 17, 1941
Moscow, Capital of the Soviet Union
The short, intense rainy season was over.
The mud created by the rain had not yet disappeared, but once it dried, the Rasputitsa would be completely finished.
Under normal circumstances, anyone living in the regions affected by the Rasputitsa would long for this period to end, but the Soviet high command felt the end of the Rasputitsa like a ticking time bomb.
Yuri Andropov, Chairman of the NKVD (People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs), walked through the Kremlin Palace.
A palace that traced its history back to the Grand Duchy of Moscow, a place that had been with Russia throughout its history.
Ivan the Terrible had once stood on this land. There was a time when his terror made the people tremble.
During the eras of Peter the Great and Catherine the Great, the capital was moved to Saint Petersburg, but the coronation of the Tsar always took place here.
This place was once the product of those who wielded oppression simply for being born of noble blood, but now it had become a place symbolizing Soviet rule.
Along with the countless drops of blood spilled in the process.
“Welcome, Comrade Chairman!”
Andropov stopped before the General Secretary's room.
“Comrade General Secretary, it is NKVD Chairman, Comrade Andropov.”
A moment later, the General Secretary's voice called for him to enter.
Andropov slowly stepped into the General Secretary's office.
“Comrade General Secretary.”
“Welcome, Comrade. I have called you because I require your advice.”
Stalin, Ioseb Jugashvili, greeted him with an utterly haggard complexion.
He was trying his best to maintain his dignity as the General Secretary, but anyone who met him could see that he was losing his former authority.
And yet, his eyes, which suspected everything, glittered as he remained wary of even the close aides he favored.
Andropov maintained his usual impassive face and gave a respectful bow.
Making a mockery of his own words about seeking advice, Stalin stared at Andropov's face as if to pierce through it, before finally turning his gaze to fixate on the Chief of the General Staff, Antonov.
“So, you’re asking for all of the remaining forces of Marshal Voroshilov and Budyonny?”
“That is correct, Comrade General Secretary.
It is a request from Lieutenant General, Comrade Ivan Konev.”
Stalin furrowed his brow, lost in thought.
The two-million-strong army, which had fought a desperate urban warfare campaign in Minsk only to have its retreat cut off by Walter Model, was now isolated in the Rasputitsa mud.
At this point, their combat power was almost negligible.
But the one million soldiers remaining under Marshal Voroshilov and Budyonny were the General Secretary's last insurance.
If he mobilized them to help Ivan Konev and they were defeated by the German Army, it would truly be the end.
But to turn his back on Ivan Konev… the General Secretary himself was the one who had pushed for the offensive, pressuring the military who opposed it.
When the fall of Minsk had not been achieved by the time the Rasputitsa arrived, it was also the General Secretary who had ignored Zhukov's order to retreat and insisted on maintaining the front line.
The offensive the General Secretary had initiated to overcome a political crisis had ironically pushed him into a situation where he could neither advance nor retreat.
And Andropov, who had guided the situation to this point, watched the General Secretary with a perfectly calm expression.
Stalin was a man of genius political instinct.
If Andropov held even the slightest regret or resentment towards him, the General Secretary would not have felt he could be trusted.
However, Andropov held no such feelings for the General Secretary.
Though he had been sent to the Gulag for showing too much promise at too young an age, Andropov considered even that to be his own shortcoming.
On the contrary, Andropov had observed the General Secretary's Great Purge and his methods of controlling the country with great interest, and in some respects, he even held them in high regard.
The feelings Andropov had for the General Secretary were a fitting respect for the man who had greatly advanced the Soviet Union, and a sense of pity for a figure whose limits were so clear.
“C-Comrade Zhukov, is it not possible to pull forces from other fronts?”
“The distance makes it impossible, Comrade General Secretary. The best option was to move them into a defensive posture in preparation for the offensive's failure.”
Zhukov had already sent the armored units he had pulled back in advance by railroad. His front army had also stained the Dnieper River with the blood of a million sacrifices.
The Rasputitsa that had poured down immediately after had also bogged them down, so trying to pull that army to Kursk and send it by rail now would be far too slow; the German defense line would be reinforced much faster.
Therefore, even if Zhukov's forces were brought over, the most they could do would be to establish a defense line in the unlikely event that the rescue of Konev's army failed.
But to send his own guards units into a deathtrap and entrust the rear area to Zhukov's army? The loyalty of Zhukov and the military was too suspect to make such a choice.
As long as Mannerheim's Finnish Army and de Gaulle's French Army remained intact, he could not pull troops from the north either.
The French and Finnish armies combined numbered a million men.
Having been dealt a heavy blow by their surprise attack, the Soviet Army felt a great burden even with them just holding their positions.
Pacing anxiously, Stalin turned his gaze to Andropov.
“What are your thoughts, Comrade Chairman?”
Andropov collected his thoughts.
As always, he would present only the most objective facts.
“Dispatching all of Marshal Voroshilov and Budyonny's forces for a breakthrough might allow us to rescue the isolated army, but the German Army will surely be planning to block this with all their might, Comrade General Secretary.”
It did not matter which choice the General Secretary made.
“If we abandon the breakthrough of the defense line, we can achieve the preservation of the two marshals' forces, and it might be possible to rescue them via a river crossing of the West Dvina River, but this will entail significant sacrifices and the abandonment of heavy equipment.”
Stalin was trapped.
The General Secretary had always evaded responsibility by purging others to justify himself, but paradoxically, at the end of that repetition, everyone was gripped by the fear that they could be purged at any moment.
The war was started by the General Secretary, and it was the General Secretary's choice that had plunged the Union into a fatal crisis.
Now, the General Secretary's power was no longer absolute.
And the moment that happened, those willing to raise their hands against a General Secretary who had ruled by fear alone were overflowing.
Merkulov, whom the General Secretary had considered a check against Andropov, was already trembling in fear of Stalin, who had purged Yezhov and Beria, and had joined hands with Andropov.
“…Marshal Voroshilov and Budyonny’s units are the final reserves. We cannot allow them to be expended in vain.”
If any more troops were conscripted, the Soviet Union was in a state where it would collapse from within.
“…Have the isolated troops evacuate as much as possible via the West Dvina River.”
“Yes, sir, Comrade General Secretary!”
With this, Konev would ultimately have to take responsibility. The General Secretary's power would be shaken once more, but unable to trust anyone but Voroshilov and Budyonny, the General Secretary ultimately abandoned Konev.
One by one, the people the General Secretary could trust were disappearing. By the choices of a General Secretary who believed he was acting to protect himself.
“Shut up, you damn traitor…”
Having made his decision, the General Secretary stared into the air, muttering with bloodshot eyes. Antonov broke out in a cold sweat, turning a blind eye to the scene.
Andropov watched the scene in silence.
It was a grave defeat that had cost them a significant portion of their main force, and a battle that dealt an irrecoverable political blow to the General Secretary.
But from the perspective of the Union, which had been staggering under the burden of maintaining an oversized army, the result was that it had inflicted heavy damage on the Allied Forces and actually provided a moment to breathe.
Poland was already at its limit.
France and Finland had too few troops to launch an active offensive, and for some reason, Germany was hesitant to issue an additional mobilization order.
Zhukov was terrified by the greater-than-predicted defeat, but based on the current actions and situation of the Allied Forces, Andropov predicted they had no intention of launching an all-out offensive with the goal of destroying the Soviet Union.
The only variable was the newly prominent Free Russian Army under Andrey Vlasov. That was why Andropov had persuaded Zhukov to leave Stalin in place for now.
In this, the Soviet Union's greatest crisis, the problem was no longer whether the General Secretary could be cast out. It was how much of the price the Soviet Union had to pay could be blamed on Stalin, and when to cast him out.
Georgy Zhukov was politically ambitious, but he was arrogant, unpopular, and had no practical knowledge outside of military affairs.
Therefore, he was convenient for the politically weak Andropov to assist and control.
…And it would be easy to dispose of him if necessary.
Instead, the personnel Andropov was interested in was the foreigner, Enrique Líster.
A man who, despite not being a Soviet native, showed a near-obsessive passion for the Union and its people, for the sole reason that he could not let communism fail.
Andropov recognized a man of his own kind, albeit with a different direction.
This war was a war against the Allied Forces, but it was not just that.
This war was the last chance to wash away the internal contradictions and corruption that the Soviet Union embraced.
Andropov’s eyes, behind his glasses, gleamed fiercely.
This is a Union of People built on countless drops of blood.
Whatever means he had to use, whatever he had to exploit.
The Soviet Union must be protected.
If only to give meaning to all the blood that had been shed.