Spanish Civil War – Battle of Brunete (2)

July 6, 1937 – Salamanca, a major center of the Spanish Nationalist movement in the midwest of Spain

As soon as I returned, Colonel Model assigned me multiple tasks, helping me tighten the resolve that had loosened during the Luftwaffe dispatch. I was able to quickly readapt to my role as company commander.

A fairly accurate calibration had been completed after gathering extensive firing data from the 88 mm anti-aircraft gun alongside Colonel Model.

Rommel’s secret weapon and the Allies’ nightmare — the anti-aircraft gun, later regarded as the best anti-tank gun of WWII — was already being refined in the interwar years.

And terrifyingly, we were summoned to battle without delay.

"This morning, the Republicans launched an offensive toward Brunete. It was a complete surprise, and the front lines are collapsing rapidly. The defense forces have been mobilized, and General Valera is in command. We’ll be moving under Colonel Juan Yagüe’s command, and the location is here..."

The officers of the Condor Legion followed Leutnant General Thoma’s baton as he pointed to the map.

"This point. Move to the front of Estremadura Road. Block the Republican vanguard and the 11th Division that’s breaking through the front, and seal the gap. Estremadura Road is the primary supply route for the siege of Madrid, so holding it is critical. The Nationalist leadership says they’ll halt the northern offensive and send reinforcements. Until then, we must hold."

No one in the Condor Legion was unfamiliar with the 11th Division — the most elite Republican unit, led by their famed commander Enrique Líster.

"There are reports that the 11th Division is advancing with around 100 tanks, sir. Well done — we’ll have a chance to test the 88’s anti-tank performance."

Colonel Model, our chief of staff, added with a dry smile. No, I didn’t want to conduct an experiment like this...

"We’ve outlined the expected direction of front-line construction, but the situation on the ground may differ. Detailed orders will follow upon arrival. Our mission is to delay, so keep that in mind — we hold."

"The weather is extremely hot and dry, so instruct your men to bring as much water as possible. A thirsty army cannot fight."

With that final, meticulous instruction from the colonel, Leutnant General Thoma concluded the meeting.

"Then we leave in an hour. Dismissed!"

"Heil Hitler!"

It’s ironic — shouting "Heil Hitler!" while going into a battle with the ultimate goal to remove Hitler and the Nazis.

But regardless of ideals, I still have to fight on the battlefield — even as a chance to accrue achievements.

To get to Berlin quickly — and to earn a promotion.

Right now, those leading the plot against Hitler are royalists or senior officers, so it’s critical I rise in rank.

My father, Hjalmar Schacht, holds sway among German industrialists, giving him a greater influence than most high-ranking officers. But the Wehrmacht is fundamentally an exclusive, prideful group.

If I don’t secure a strong position within the military, even if we succeed in overthrowing the Nazi regime, we risk seeing the military assert unchecked power again — like in the days of the German Empire.

We moved swiftly, and I found myself grateful once again for Colonel Model’s foresight.

At the Battle of Guadalajara, I’d scoffed at warnings of dry heat — only to be met with sleet and fog. But in July, the highlands of central Spain were like an oven.

No matter how much water we drank, we were parched again within minutes.

And they started an offensive in this hellish heat? Are the Republicans out of their minds — or are they aiming for precisely this?

We received word that Brunete had already fallen before our arrival, but we were still within the Condor Legion’s designated operational area. We began constructing a defensive line to protect the vital Estremadura Road.

Watching the men sweat bullets while digging trenches and installing batteries, I worried that heatstroke was just around the corner.

But within half an hour of arrival, we were forced into action.

"God damn it!"

"Airstrike! Airstrike!"

More than twenty Republican aircraft were descending on us. At Clemens’ panicked cry, our crew scrambled while rotating the 88’s controls.

"Once you’ve got the angle, fire immediately! Break their formation however you can! We’ll shoot them down from the rear!"

"Yes, sir!"

Soon, one of the bombers was shredded by a direct hit from the 88, and shells bursting nearby sent the formation scattering.

"Good! Keep adjusting your angle and firing!"

Maybe it was a lucky shot, but it threw the enemy into disarray. As we continued firing, they scattered and dropped their payloads haphazardly. At least one more bomber was downed by a different unit’s fire.

Judging by their tactics, they’d probably had success bombing defenseless Nationalist troops — but we were a different beast. And...

"Dig those trenches faster! Artillery is coming next! Dig if you want to live!"

"Yes, sir!"

After the airstrike, artillery would follow, and then likely a ground assault. I grabbed a shovel and started digging furiously. If you want to survive, you dig.

As the Condor Legion frantically reinforced the front, Colonel Enrique Líster — commander of the elite 11th Division — received a report that two bombers had been lost and immediately requested a change in the attack route from Colonel Juan Modesto.

Neither side of the Spanish Civil War had sufficient anti-aircraft capabilities — not in equipment or in trained gunners. But losing two planes in one sortie wasn’t just bad luck.

It meant facing the Condor Legion — the most skilled air defense unit on the Nationalist side.

So Colonel Líster requested to bypass the Condor Legion's position and strike a different strategic target: Carabanchel, still under contested control.

"Damn it..."

Líster crumpled the telegram in frustration.

Republican leadership had refused the request. They insisted the attack continue as planned to secure the Estremadura Road — a vital lifeline for Madrid’s defense.

They’d sent him 100 tanks — now they demanded he "make something happen."

But they didn’t seem to grasp the situation.

Líster, a rare Spanish officer trained at the prestigious Soviet Frunze Academy, had a deep understanding of armored warfare. And yet, at Jarama, he’d suffered heavy losses engaging the Condor Legion directly.

He’d come to realize that successful armored breakthroughs required strong infantry support — just as Tukhachevsky had written.

But his superiors thought you could win just by throwing in tanks.

Requests for trucks to support the Soviet tanks had been casually dismissed.

Sure, it might work against lesser Nationalist forces — but to take on the Germans with only tanks was suicide.

And the trains weren’t going to fall from the sky to help.

Though Madrid had been defended, the Republicans were losing territory. The Nationalists were advancing.

Worse still, since the war began, Prime Minister Negrín had been shipping Spanish gold to the Soviets, and their financial resources were dwindling.

The USSR — calculating to the last coin — had already started scaling back support. If Líster’s core armored division was crippled, the Republican offensive capability would collapse.

Even if they held the line at Brunete, even if they reached the Estremadura Road after taking massive losses — could they hold it?

"...Order the artillery to begin firing. The operation continues."

But what if the general himself was wrong?

Líster had no choice but to follow orders — even as he risked sacrificing his carefully built career, and the elite men he’d trained from scratch.

Breaking through the Condor Legion with just tanks would be disastrous — so he ordered maximum infantry support.

The engineers, company commanders, and officers had all been digging frantically. Everyone expected an incoming bombardment — but none came.

"Crazy. Were they planning to powder us completely?"

"This is why Brunete fell before noon."

I exhaled in relief at Clemens’ muttered comment. If they'd bombarded us then rushed, it might’ve ended quickly — but thankfully, it didn’t.

At Jarama and Guadalajara, the Nationalists were always the aggressors, and the Republican counterattacks had lacked coordination.

This time, it was different. The Republicans had prepared this offensive from the start — and were throwing everything at it: airstrikes, artillery, tanks.

Even now, the earth trembled, and soil rained onto our helmets and shoulders. I prayed the trench wouldn’t collapse on us.

But I also worried about the equipment.

Fortunately, the shelling stopped after 10 minutes — or more accurately, it stopped once the Condor Legion’s counter-barrage began. The enemy shifted their focus elsewhere.

Good. Colonel Model’s artillery was quick. Artillery may be the god of war, but today, the gods were fighting each other.

We had no casualties — just dirtied uniforms. But two of our 88s and one anti-tank gun were destroyed.

"Apologies, but the tanks will be here soon. Ready yourselves. Have the squad leaders confirmed firing positions?"

"Yes, sir!"

The sun blazed, and sweat poured down. Whether from heat or nerves, I couldn’t tell.

But it was clear: the 11th Division’s main assault — Líster’s tanks — was heading our way.

The trains would come soon. A hundred of them, they said.

A terrifying sight — especially if you were the one facing them.

Crews frantically stabilized damaged anti-tank rifles and prepared indirect fire setups for the 88s.

Could we hold?

"Hah... Well, let’s perk up a bit! No water unless you've fired a round!"

"Hahaha..."

The men laughed and pulled out their canteens. I drank too. The water was lukewarm, but it was something.

"All right! The enemy’s coming, but we’re not weak enough to fall to a predictable assault! Once we’re through this, I’ll buy the beer! A bit late, but we’ll celebrate my promotion to company commander!"

"Yeah!"

"Wow, you’re too generous, sir!"

The crew’s mood lightened. Clemens cracked a smile. The tension eased, if only slightly.

"Don’t tell me anyone’s dumb enough to die just to save me money?"

"Hahaha!"

I didn’t want them dying for Franco — or for the Nazi regime.

Fortunately, Juan Yagüe was one of the Nationalists’ most capable commanders.

And behind us stood Walter Model — the strongest defender in WWII.

We can do this.

"Wait, what? You want me to advance slowly and match pace with the infantry?"

"Yes, Colonel!"

Leutnant Colonel José Malraux, commander of the 11th Division’s armored battalion, frowned at the messenger’s words.

"After that massive airstrike and shelling, the enemy’s lines are already a mess. Why the hell do I need to slow down for the infantry?"

"I... I don’t know, sir..."

The leutnant was of no use. Frankly, Republican leadership was notoriously disorganized.

"Tch. Idiots don’t even understand the value of tanks!"

Unlike them, Malraux had trained at Frunze. He understood armored breakthroughs.

Colonel Líster understood too. Thanks to air strikes and heavy shelling, the tanks had already helped seize Brunete.

Now, they just had to push a little further and secure Estremadura Road.

But higher-ups hesitated. Their indecision was infuriating.

The Republicans hadn’t had a major victory in a long time.

Usually, they were the ones barely surviving. This time, they were on the offensive — and if they succeeded, Malraux could finally join the elite colonels shaping the Republican Army.

"Don’t pass along that order. Start the advance!"

"What? But..."

"Stick to the original plan! We never received that order! Don’t you want to be promoted too? When will we get another chance like this?"

"Ah... understood!"

Malraux couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity.

Surely Líster had only issued the slow-advance order under pressure. He must have wanted to push too.

At least, that’s what Malraux believed. Or rather, wanted to believe.

He’d trained at Frunze too — why should Líster be above him?

They’d studied together. Yet only Líster was praised.

But if this offensive succeeded — if they seized Estremadura Road — he wouldn’t be second to Líster anymore.

He’d be the new Republican hero: José Malraux!

Heart pounding at the dream, Malraux ordered the armoured battalion forward.