Chapter 17:

November 4, 1937

Northern Germany, Berlin I finally arrived in Berlin.

To the historic capital of Germany, descended from the Principality of Brandenburg, and a place that would be nothing but ruins by the end of World War II.

As if to prove its German sensibility, the rough urban area was covered everywhere with dark red flags bearing the Hakenkreuz.

It was an oppressive and bleak scene, befitting what the West often called the Empire of Evil.

The people seemed more energetic than I expected, but it was common to see members of the SS (Schutzstaffel) roaming the streets.

From now on, this is my stage.

One wrong move and it's all over.

And I—

Oh, damn it. I hadn't sent a single letter home during the entire Spanish Civil War!

This body, Dietrich Schacht, was a late-born child, born eight years after his parents had his older sister, Cordula, in 1903.

Being a late-born son, he was showered with a bit too much love from his parents, and with a grandmother from a high noble family and a wealthy father, that bastard Dietrich was an immature playboy.

He even went so far as to enlist in the Army right after graduating from the prestigious Heidelberg University, following a huge fight with his father, Hjalmar Schacht.

His father, Hjalmar, wanted Dietrich to become a businessman after completing his mandatory military service, but Dietrich, like many young German men of this era, was captivated by Hitler and the smart uniform, and wanted to be commissioned as an officer.

After that, he was dispatched to Spain as soon as he completed the officer training course, and during that time, he had never even exchanged letters with his father, let alone met him.

His mother and sister had sent him a few letters early in his deployment, but Dietrich didn't even bother to reply, so they soon stopped.

Perhaps because this was natural for Dietrich Schacht, I, influenced by his memories, felt no sense of incongruity… It was only when I returned to Germany and had to go home that I realized it.

So, my current situation is that of a prodigal son who basically ran away from home and was all but disowned.

A cold sweat breaks out.

Back in Korea, I at least had a decent relationship with my mother…

Putting aside the problem of being a scoundrel, it wouldn't be easy for a mere Captain to connect with the anti-Hitler Group, which is full of high-ranking people.

The core of what the SS Intelligence Service (SD) calls the ‘Black Orchestra (Schwarze Kapelle)’ is Germany's upper-class society, known as the ‘von Kleist Group’.

Therefore, I absolutely must maintain a good relationship with my father, Hjalmar Schacht, who can be my point of contact with them, but it seems I've screwed up from the start.

I swallowed dryly and looked at the opulent detached house in the middle of Berlin.

So, this is my house, no, Dietrich Schacht's house.

A three-story detached house, not even a Townhouse, in the middle of Berlin.

In 21st century Korea, that would be like having a luxury detached house in central Seoul. You couldn't find a bigger Tycoon… It's sad that I can't just be happy about it.

“Dietrich…?”

As I hesitated at the door, I heard a voice from behind me that was both unfamiliar and familiar.

I turned around to see an elderly German woman standing there with a surprised look on her face.

A German woman who looked more tired than in Dietrich's memory.

I tried my best to call out to her as gently as possible, drawing on my memories as Yoon Sung-il.

“…Mother.”

The woman, Dietrich's mother Luise Sowa, immediately rushed over and hugged me tightly.

“You, you really,sob… you came back safely…”

Luise—Mother's sobs calmed my heart.

Ah, Dietrich, you damn bastard.

This is something you should have done, not me…

“…I'm sorry… I'm home.”

Mother, Luise, must have been worried sick about even a scoundrel like him, as she held on to me for a long time and wouldn't let go.

I thought of my own mother as Yoon Sung-il and did my best to listen to her and tell her many things.

Damn it, I can't even meet my real mother even if I want to.

That damn Dietrich.

My sister, Cordula, is in Britain with her family.

Come to think of it, didn't my sister's son have Montagu Norman, the Governor of the Bank of England, as his godfather…

This is quite an amazing family.

But that wasn't what was important.

My father, Hjalmar Schacht, had been dismissed from his posts as Minister of Economy and Plenipotentiary for the War Economy just yesterday.

The timing couldn't be worse.

Although he remained in Hitler's Cabinet as a Minister without portfolio, that was merely a nominal position.

It was safe to say that most of Father Hjalmar Schacht's power had been stripped away.

Instead of my father, who had reined in Germany's hyperinflation while paying the massive reparations of the Treaty of Versailles when The Great Depression hit and shook the world economy, that clueless bastard Göring would start turning all of Germany into one giant munitions factory to suit the Nazi's taste.

Under the incompetent drug addict Göring, various Nazi interests would get entangled, things would fall apart, and the economy would become so terrible that it could only be fixed by winning a war.

As I was dealing with my mother and lost in thought, there was a loud bang from the door.

In Dietrich's memory, Hjalmar Schacht was an intelligent, calm, and yet arrogant person.

To see him come home completely drunk and disheveled was both unfamiliar and somehow poignant.

Hjalmar Schacht was a figure who had contributed greatly to the Nazi Party from its early days, such as by gathering the businessmen he associated with to fundraise for the party when Hitler and the Nazis were just a minor party struggling for funds.

He must have done it believing that the Nazis and Hitler would be of great help to Germany, but to see things come to this… It wasn't hard to imagine how devastated he must feel.

“…Dietrich?”

Father Hjalmar saw me, his eyes widened, and then he shouted.

“You, you immature brat! After almost two years of no contact, you finally crawl back home!”

“D-Dear. To the boy who's been away for so long…”

Ignoring my mother's attempt to stop him, Hjalmar strode forward and shouted.

“While your father was cleaning up after those Nazi bastards, you went off to the army admiring them! So, how did you like the blood-soaked battlefield?!”

“…I was in Spain as a volunteer soldier and have just returned to Germany for the General Staff Course. I am sorry for being so neglectful.”

When I obediently apologized, Hjalmar flinched for a moment, but then pointed to the door with a weary look and said.

“…Get the hell out.

You worthless brat…”

Well, this is not my day.

“I apologize once again, Father, and Mother.

I'll be in Berlin now, so I will visit often.”

Father Hjalmar didn't answer, but I could tell his anger had subsided slightly.

“Then I shall take my leave. Please stay healthy.”

What is this feeling, a mix of Yoon Sung-il's sentiment of having to clean up the mess Dietrich made, and the hurt of being treated coldly by one's parents?

---

November 10, 1937

Northern Germany, Berlin, Berlin War Academy Thanks to my mother, Luise Sowa, who caught me as I was leaving and slipped me a huge sum of money as an emergency fund, I was able to spend a few comfortable days at a hotel and adjust to Berlin.

I feel sorry all over again.

No, it's not even my fault… Hah.

And finally, the day of admission to the War Academy arrived.

Wearing the Wehrmacht's Company-grade officer's uniform for the first time… it really feels like I've become a character in a movie.

The problem is that I'm in the position of the movie villains who only have cool uniforms.

The officers admitted to the War Academy are selected through fierce competition after being recommended and screened from among the most promising company-grade officers.

As a result, things like nobility or rank order meant nothing; they were chosen almost purely on skill, and even one's enlistment class was meaningless.

So the ranks of those admitted were all different.

Second Lieutenants, First Lieutenants, Captains, what a variety.

In any case, thanks to the strong backing from the Condor Legion, I won't be outranked here.

I'm grateful all over again.

I wonder if the Condor Legion, Colonel Model, Lieutenant Colonel Richthofen, Klemens, and the company members are doing well.

The officers gathered here were all unabashedly showing their excitement and anticipation, because graduating from the War Academy and wearing the General Staff shoulder insignia was proof of being recognized as the best of the elite in the German Army, as future general material.

Though out of all the people gathered here, at most only 10-20% would ultimately graduate the War Academy and become General Staff officers…

In any case, the General Staff Course takes place over three years.

In terms of duration, World War II will break out in the middle of it, and the officers undergoing the General Staff Course don't just sit quietly in school and receive training during a war.

The students of the War Academy are assigned to units and complete their curriculum by fighting in actual combat on the battlefield.

It's a time-honored tradition that dates back to when Scharnhorst first established the War Academy during the Napoleonic Wars.

Generals like Walther Model, Erich von Manstein, and Heinz Guderian were all figures who completed the General Staff Course while participating in various battles during World War I.

But more than that.

We were tense because of the man standing before the podium.

“Everyone, attention!”

Other than the sound of everyone snapping to attention, a silence fell as if even breathing had stopped.

“To the Führer, salute!”

“Heil Hitler!!”

The man who received our salute. The man with the mustache who would remain in human history in this era, and in the future.

Perhaps forever. He looked around at us and smiled.

“Ah… the young officers who will be responsible for the future of the Greater German Army… er… I am greatly honored to be here where 160 of you have gathered.”

Adolf Hitler.

Not the one from history books, documentaries, or movie roles, but the real Hitler was here.

“You will be loyal to me and to Germany, will you not? Of course, I believe you will.

As soldiers, as sons of Greater Germany, you must unite and be loyal to Germany.”

It wasn't the frenzied speech we usually associate with Hitler; a calm and refined tone flowed out.

“You must love peace, but you must be brave. Love peace, but at the same time, become strong soldiers.

As Germans, you must not be weak; you must become strong.”

From the calm, refined words, heat began to build.

As he spoke, he seemed to become increasingly intoxicated by his own zeal.

“You must know what sacrifice is, and you must also know how to never yield! Someday, we will all disappear, but Germany will never disappear!”

Finally, intoxicated with himself, with his fanatical belief, he began to speak, waving his hands fervently.

“Your bodies are mine, our Germany's body, and your blood is Germany's blood! The same soul burns within me and all of you!”

The renowned officers, the best of the Wehrmacht's elite, gathered here after fierce competition, couldn't even blink as they kept their eyes fixed on him.

“The will to become one, that great formation fills Germany today! I know you will all grow closer to each other, and I do not doubt that a united Germany lies before you and me!”

Even I.

was feeling an unknown intensity from his speech, which was nothing more than totalitarian propaganda, and was being overwhelmed.

“As the Führer, I command you, the proud sons of Greater Germany! Be loyal to me! Be loyal to Germany! Be loyal to National Socialism! And fight for the Fatherland, offering your bodies, your blood, and if necessary, even your souls!!”

Hitler finished his speech with a shout, swinging his fist wide.

As the moderator, overwhelmed by the sweating, panting man, was at a loss for words, everyone, as if on cue, naturally raised their hands, gave him a Nazi salute, and opened their mouths.

“I swear this sacred Oath to God—”

Hitler, while catching his breath, looked down at us with a satisfied smile.

“that I shall render unconditional obedience to Adolf Hitler, the Leader of Germany and its people, Supreme Commander of the Wehrmacht—“

The young officers, captivated by his gaze, sent him looks of blind respect and awe as they continued the pledge.

“and that as a brave soldier I shall be ready at any time to stake my life for this Oath.”

That, is my enemy.

Humanity's worst dictator, who dominated an era with his mad charisma.