Chapter 122: The Wehrmacht's Expedition
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“Form up! Quick! Everyone, get in formation!” a German officer on the pier commanded his soldiers.
Opposite him, several hundred German soldiers in grey-green Wehrmacht uniforms struggled to their feet. They were burdened with tents and various other equipment, carrying their Mauser 98K rifles as they slowly began to line up.
“Eyes right! Soldiers! We are heading to Spain to send the most despicable communists to hell! You will be baptized by real fire there! I don’t have much to say!” The major, who had only one eye and wore a black eyepatch, looked somewhat ferocious.
As he spoke, he held up one hand and began to list his points. “First! Keep your bodies low! Whoever stays low, survives! Don’t stand up recklessly on the battlefield; that’s what idiots do! I hope you all come back alive!”
Then he held up a second finger. “Second, try not to exaggerate your achievements! Because I will believe them and give the harder missions to the units with outstanding records next time!”
He looked at the nervous soldiers and held up a third finger. “Third! Remember to make way for bullets and shells. Unless you’re in a bigger hurry than they are.”
The soldiers were all taken aback for a moment, and then they broke into laughter. The pre-departure tension was clearly swept away. The major nodded and continued, “The transport is an Italian destroyer! Be polite once you are on board! Don’t just vomit anywhere! Get a sickness bag from the designated cabin! Those who get seasick, get some fresh air on deck! The time ahead will not be easy for you! Do you remember?”
“Yes, sir!” all the soldiers replied with a laugh.
The major scanned the soldiers before him and gave his final order. “All troops, listen up! Board the ship! Move out!”
“How many transport ships is that for today?” an Italian officer asked his adjutant, watching the German soldiers board. “The Germans are really sparing no expense.”
“Sir! This is their fourth ship today. Two of our navy’s destroyers are helping them transport personnel. The other two are German ‘Hercules-class’ transport ships, loaded with their tanks and armored cars. I hear there are also quite a few light machine guns… and millions of rounds of ammunition.”
“I heard some planes have already been sent over, covered with military-green canvas and escorted by the SS all the way. No one was allowed near. It was all very mysterious,” the officer remarked admiringly. “And look at their uniforms, they’re so handsome.”
“There’s no point in being envious,” the adjutant sighed. “I heard that after Il Duce Mussolini returned from Germany, he holds them in the highest regard. He’s even deliberately modeled his residence after the Führer’s residence in Berlin.”
Akado had sent two divisions to Spain. One was the newly formed 8th Panzer Division, and the other was the newly formed 2nd SS Panzer Division. Both were equipped with a large number of armored cars and tanks. These two divisions were also responsible for testing Akado’s Blitzkrieg theory on the Spanish battlefield—and, of course, for testing these two newly formed panzer divisions in actual combat.
Over the past few days, more than 30 ME-109 fighters had already been shipped to Spain. The Germans hoped to use this new weapon to completely dominate the Spanish skies. With the guarantee of absolute air superiority, German tanks would serve as the assault force to completely tear open the Spanish Republican Army’s defensive lines.
However, the Republican Army was not to be trifled with. On the very day the German troops arrived in Spain, they launched a large-scale offensive, pushing the front line all the way to the doorstep of Franco’s Legion, near Granada.
Franco’s Legion had lost many areas in succession. The Republican Army, in coordination with their Soviet allies, had seized local air superiority and, taking advantage of Franco’s Legion’s lack of preparation, had gained the upper hand in the war.
On the quiet battlefield, beneath a carefully arranged piece of camouflage, the dark muzzle of a rifle was pointed at a Republican position not far away. Lying inside were two German snipers, their faces smeared with black charcoal.
They had been waiting here for over an hour. They had passed up two Republican soldiers who were peeking out, and they had not fired at a Republican corporal who was smoking in a corner. They were waiting for a big shot worthy of their efforts. For them, exposing their position should at least result in killing an officer of lieutenant rank or higher.
Finally, their chance came. A Republican officer in uniform finally climbed onto the parapet. He looked around with his binoculars for a while, then carefully slipped into the trench. But soon after, he moved to another position and exposed half his body.
The German sniper had no intention of wasting such an opportunity. With a “crack!” the rifle fired. The bullet instantly crossed the distance of more than a hundred meters and pierced the head of a Republican second lieutenant. Blood splattered, drenching the face of the soldier following behind him.
Without celebration or hesitation, the two German snipers crawled backward until they reached the edge of their trench. They then rolled into it, picked up their sniper rifles, and, staying low, moved through the trench for nearly two hundred meters until they found a company command post and slipped inside.
There, a sergeant was cooking a hot soup with potatoes and vegetables. It didn’t look very appetizing, but it was steaming hot. The two snipers leaned their rifles against the wall of the command post, each pulled over a wooden stool, and, without any pleasantries with the Spanish company commander who was cooking the soup, opened their mess kits and began to ladle the hot soup from the small pot.
“Any gains?” the Spanish company commander asked the two German soldiers in broken German. The two Germans grinned, their white teeth standing out against their blackened faces. One of the snipers said nothing, merely mashing the potatoes in his soup with his spoon; the other, while sipping his soup, pointed to the sky.
The Republican retaliatory artillery barrage began. A dozen shells landed on the position a few hundred meters away. From the sound, it was clear they were of a large caliber. The place where the two German snipers had been hiding was also hit by a shell, sending up a thick plume of smoke.
“Seventeen shells! Must have been a high-ranking officer, at least a company commander,” the Spanish soldier muttered to himself. He then pointed at the hot soup and started to walk out. “You two continue with your soup. I’m going to a battalion meeting and will be back soon.” Without waiting to see if the two Germans understood, he left his command post.
The two German snipers, having eaten some hot potatoes and cabbage, patted their stomachs in satisfaction. They stood up and picked up their sniper rifles from the wall again. The older sniper snorted. “Spaniards are only good for cooking soup. How many is that for us?”
“The third one today,” the younger sniper replied with a smile. “The Führer said they can only play football! I haven’t seen it myself, but I heard we beat them badly in the last match.”
“Let’s hurry. I hear a lot of those monsters trained in the Soviet Union have also arrived. We can’t fall too far behind them,” the older sniper said, ducking out of the company command post. The younger man nodded and followed him out.
“Sir! In three days, we have lost 179 front-line commanders. Yesterday alone, I was forced to appoint one battalion commander, four company commanders, and a full 52 platoon leaders,” a Republican major general reported helplessly to his superior. “This kind of piecemeal warfare is something we are very unaccustomed to.”
“Near Granada, our army’s offensive has been halted by the rebels,” another officer said, his face full of frustration. “There, we encountered stubborn resistance from a well-trained unit. They even launched local counter-attacks. We lost a dozen tanks, and about 400 soldiers were killed.”
“They are counter-attacking in the direction of Córdoba,” a staff officer said, pointing to the map. “Here, they have used about twenty new types of tanks. According to analysis by the intelligence department and comparison with pictures from the Soviet side, we can confirm that these are German Panzer II tanks, equipped with 20mm autocannons. Their firepower is very strong.”
“We’ve lost most of our positions in the outskirts of Córdoba. If we lose this city that we just recaptured, it will be a huge blow to our morale,” the major general who had spoken first said. “It seems the Germans have joined the war.”
“Just as there are many Soviet comrades in our army, they have also found helpers! The Germans have joined the rebels, which is not good news for us!”
“It is indeed not good news, gentlemen!” a staff officer said, walking into the conference room and placing an intelligence report on the table. “We just received news that a new type of fighter has appeared in the skies over Córdoba. This new plane is very fast. It shot down one of our reconnaissance planes, but the pilot successfully bailed out over our lines, so we were able to obtain this valuable intelligence.”
He paused, then continued, “The battle for Córdoba began an hour ago. The rebels, under the cover of German tanks, have entered the city. Our army is fighting back stubbornly within the city, but the situation is not optimistic. Because of the German help, our losses are considerable.”
“We cannot give up Córdoba! We must defend it to the last moment! If it falls, a gap will appear in our defensive line,” the major general said with a frown.
“Give the order! Mobilize all available forces! Arm the militia! Contact our Soviet allies! We need more tanks and fighter planes! Ask them to send personnel to fight in person, at least for the air force, to help us gain air superiority,” the highest-ranking officer present, a lieutenant general, said after a long period of thought, finally issuing the command. “All troops are to hold their positions and await reinforcements.”
