Interwar Period – The String of Relationships

December 11, 1937 – Berlin Branch, Frankfurter Zeitung, Northern Germany

"Good morning. Welcome to the Berlin branch of the Frankfurter Zeitung, Captain Schacht."

"Good morning, Reporter Jung."

I greeted Claudia, who welcomed me with a bright smile, and followed her into the building.

The headquarters was larger than I expected—bustling, energetic.

In 21st-century Korea, print newspapers were mostly reserved for the older generation; everyone else consumed news on smartphones or the internet. But here, in this era, newspapers still held power and prestige.

Even though I’d intellectually understood that, it was something else entirely to see it in person—this enormous, lively institution alive with activity.

"Thank you for accepting the invitation. Oh, did you read the newspaper I gave you yesterday?"

"Yeah. Well… it was interesting."

Claudia had looked visibly shocked when I’d admitted I had never read the Frankfurter Zeitung. She had handed me a copy yesterday, and I had skimmed through it before bed—mostly out of boredom.

In my time, time passed effortlessly while scrolling the web or playing games. But this was different.

"Honestly, I was really shocked. Former Minister Schacht is one of our core subscribers, and to hear his own son had never even glanced at our paper—well, it made me wonder if we were doing something wrong."

Even though I had an interest in German history, I’d never taken a deep dive into the German press. I hadn’t realized that Frankfurter Zeitung was one of the most authoritative dailies in Germany—liberal, pro-business, and conservative in the classical sense. The kind of paper perfectly suited to someone like Hjalmar Schacht, a symbol of success in a free-market economy.

I do recall seeing it around my father’s house. I just never picked it up.

"Well… I’ve been in Spain for a while. Haha."

In truth, Dietrich wasn’t the type to read newspapers, and Yun Seong-il—me—had grown up in a world of glowing screens, not print.

"Should I be strong enough to advance to Spain next?"

"Haha."

Despite the light tone, her words weren’t just playful. The articles and editorials in this paper were impressively balanced—objective and broad in perspective, not sensationalist like many Korean news outlets I’d known.

It stood in stark contrast to the Nazi propaganda tabloid Der Stürmer.

Their editorials frequently offered neutral commentary on international events while subtly critiquing the Nazi regime. Not so harsh as to attract direct retaliation, but clear enough to signal they wouldn’t toe the Nazi line.

The fact that such a paper still functioned under Nazi Germany was surprising—almost unsettling.

"So, Lieutenant Havenstein—no, Mr. Havenstein—how is he doing?"

"It would be better if you heard from the person you're about to meet."

Claudia smiled as she responded, then knocked on a nearby door.

"Chief, this is Jung. I’ve brought Captain Schacht."

"Ah, thank you."

As I entered, a middle-aged man approached and extended his hand.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Schacht. I’m Lutz Havenstein, head of the Berlin branch of the Frankfurter Zeitung."

"Ah, pleased to meet you, Branch Manager Havenstein. I’m Captain Dietrich Schacht of the Army."

Havenstein… could it be?

"Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?"

"…Yes, please."

"Sugar?"

"Just one cube, thank you."

Without thinking, I accepted the coffee handed to me by the branch manager himself—he’d prepared it so naturally.

"Excuse me, but… is Julius your nephew?"

"Ah, yes. Julius is my sister’s son."

"Oh, I see. How is he?"

Given his trauma, I wondered if Julius was still struggling to function in daily life.

"He’s doing just fine in Frankfurt. Thank you for asking."

"…That’s good to hear."

"When he stayed in Berlin for a while, he often spoke about you. He was deeply grateful to you, Captain. When he heard you were in Berlin, he wanted to see you again."

To be honest, I had simply tried to be a decent company commander. But hearing this—it felt good. Like something worthwhile had come out of those bleak days.

"Thank you, Captain. If it weren’t for you, the boy might still be blaming himself for being a coward."

"...No, thank you. I'm glad to know."

Branch Manager Lutz Havenstein offered a surprisingly generous promise in return. Any time I wished to submit an article or editorial, I could have it reviewed—and, if approved, prioritized for publication.

This was no ordinary courtesy. Journalists typically published based on editorial direction and institutional leanings. But here, I had direct access.

Granted, the name “Hjalmar Schacht” carried influence. Having a father of such stature certainly opened doors. But even so, this was a relationship that could prove invaluable someday.

"This way, Captain Schacht."

"Ah, thank you."

Claudia guided me to meet the editor-in-chief—and there, unexpectedly, I ran into someone I never imagined.

"Captain Schacht, welcome. I’m Theodore Heuss, the editor-in-chief."

"Nice to meet you, Editor-in-Chief Heuss. …Wait—Mr. Heuss? The Senator? Oh! Apologies!"

Heuss, older than the branch manager, waved off my flustered reaction.

"Ah, so some of the young people still remember me. No worries. I’m just a journalist now."

He had once been a Reichstag member during the Weimar Republic but lost his seat after the Enabling Act of March 24, 1933, handed Hitler absolute power.

To think he was working here… I shook his hand, still a bit dazed.

"...It’s an honor, Editor Heuss."

"Haha, pleasure’s mine. I’ve heard about you from Havenstein. If there’s ever anything you need, just let us know."

Of course, I knew this wasn’t some backroom newspaper. Theodore Heuss was no ordinary former politician.

After the war, he would unite Germany’s liberal figures and become the first president of West Germany. His presence here added a profound weight to this newspaper's credibility.

There was still much I had to learn about these people, but clearly, it wasn’t just military aristocrats who opposed Hitler.

In fact, if one truly wanted to prevent the war and resist Hitler, one had to look forward—not just wait for plots like the von Kleist circle.

Even Stauffenberg’s Operation Valkyrie, despite its heroism, was seen as treason at the time. Even if they had succeeded in assassinating Hitler, it was likely the coup would’ve failed.

No matter their crimes, Hitler and the Nazis were still viewed by the masses as national saviors.

A coup without public backing is doomed to fail. Even with my modern knowledge, it was clear that fighting the Nazi regime as an individual was nearly impossible.

Perhaps being in the military had made me too focused on combat, rather than the broader strategy. But maybe, just maybe, that could now begin to change.

"How was it? Do you regret spending your time here today?"

I laughed at Claudia’s question as she walked me to the exit.

To be honest, I’d initially dismissed her—she looked like a textbook Aryan beauty, perfect for Nazi propaganda.

Who would’ve thought that my service in the Condor Legion, possibly just self-serving, would lead to a relationship like this?

"Not at all. Thank you for today."

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she smiled and extended her hand.

"Well, I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other. All the best, Captain Schacht."

"Likewise, Reporter Jung."

It was a handshake—possibly the first of many—with someone who might become a comrade on the hard road ahead.

January 9, 1938 – Wehrmacht Wedding Hall, Berlin, Northern Germany

"Congratulations, Minister!"

"Hahaha, thank you. Thank you."

Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg—Hitler’s Minister of War—was all smiles. After losing his wife in 1932, he had raised five children alone. Today, he was marrying Erna Grun, his longtime secretary.

She was 26. He was 59. An unusual match—but in this era, no one batted an eye.

"Haha, Erna. Smile more."

"You're embarrassing me..."

Two Nazi officials approached the happy couple.

"Congratulations, Minister. Today is a wonderful day for Greater Germany."

"Mein Führer! Your presence honors us!"

Hitler, smiling, turned to the young bride.

"Oh, what a beautiful bride. I wish you both happiness."

He kissed her hand politely and moved on—completely unaware of what would soon unfold.

"General Göring, thank you for coming."

"Congratulations, Minister Blomberg. I’m glad we’ve moved past our disagreements."

"Hahaha, thank you."

"May the two of you enjoy a long and happy life."

Göring’s tone was odd—overly polite, yet unsettling. Blomberg, caught up in joy, didn’t notice.

Outside the hall, Himmler approached Göring with an oily smile.

"Everything’s ready?"

"Hahaha... see for yourself."

Göring opened the envelope Himmler handed him—and froze.

"Ugh... disgusting. The Field Marshal of Germany…"

The envelope contained criminal records: the bride’s mother had been arrested for prostitution. Worse, enclosed were pornographic photos featuring Erna herself.

"Such a shameless woman… acting like the purest bride in Germany."

"And what about the Minister of War who married her?"

They both tutted as if in pity—but their smirks betrayed the truth.

"And Fritsch?"

"All prepared, senior."

"Hahahaha! Excellent! These obstacles will soon be gone. What a delightful day for the Reich!"

Having just offered his warm congratulations, Göring now smiled wickedly in the shadows.

A few days later, the German Army was rocked by scandal.