For the young men who have completed their military service in the Republic of Korea, their discharge day is one of joy and bittersweet feelings, and at the same time, a day when the future feels uncertain.
As Yoon Sung-il, an ordinary young man from the Republic of Korea, I thought it would be the same for me.
That is, until I realized the very next day wouldn't just be uncertain, but pitch-black.
-
“Second Lieutenant.
It's time to wake up.”
What is this… a prank? First thing in the morning… I opened my eyes to the familiar ceiling of my barracks… but this isn't it? A field tent… is it?
I was definitely discharged yesterday and fell asleep comfortably at home…
Feeling my mind go blank, I asked the white man who was staring blankly at me.
“Wh… who are you?”
What the, why is my pronunciation so slurred? As if I were a foreigner trying to speak Korean for the first time.
“Herr Leutnant? (Second Lieutenant?)”
Oh, for crying… out loud.
Now I see it isn't Korean! It's German! How the hell am I understanding it so naturally? As I panicked, the white man in front of me looked even more perplexed before calling me again. That is, he called out to what I assumed was me.
“Herr Leutnant Schacht?”
But I was in no state to speak, as I was in the middle of another shock from the man’s attire. It's a uniform.
A military uniform. And… no matter how you look at it, it's not a Republic of Korea Army uniform.
In the first place, would there be a white man wearing a Republic of Korea Army uniform?
Is this one of those things? A surprise? A hidden camera? But unfortunately, I could tell right away that it wasn't even that.
Because, of all things, I felt a wave of dizziness as the memories of the being presumed to be 'me' began to surface randomly.
Amidst the feeling of my head splitting, I asked the soldier in German that flowed out as naturally as breathing. His rank… a Private First Class.
“Private, what's today's date?”
The Private First Class, his face finally showing some relief, answered with a much more at-ease expression.
“It is February 4th, Second Lieutenant.”
“And the year?”
“Sir? It is 1937.”
Oh, damn it all.
Please tell me this is some sick joke… The soldier's expression was turning sour again, but I could bet my own wrist that my expression was several times more crappy. Not the white man's wrist in front of my eyes, which was clearly not mine, but the wrist of the Korean, Yoon Sung-il!
The man who was thinking about returning to university right after his discharge yesterday! The man who should have been enjoying his time as a Germanophile! Where did the poor man who fell asleep relishing his freedom after discharge go, and where am I and who am I!
My vision swam with a yellow haze I hadn't even seen when that fucking Vicious Senior had screamed for everyone below him and 'Above you' to fall in.
I struggled to regain my fading consciousness and asked.
“Who is The Führer?”
“Uh… o-of course, the Führer of Greater Germany is Adolf Hitler.”
I pinched my cheek.
…Ouch, that hurts.
I want to stop thinking.
…I can't, can I?
Oh… dear God.
You… fucking son of a bitch.
-
I thought my enlistment day was the crappiest day of my life.
But re-enlistment, the one thing that military veterans jokingly say they want to avoid most in life, happens the day after my discharge?
That alone is enough to drive me insane, but to re-enlist in the Wehrmacht?
Re-enlistment in Nazi Germany under that madman Adolf Hitler, the day after my discharge?
The being called God must either be Satan or have a serious grudge against me…
The only silver lining was that, whether it was the last shred of conscience this God-bastard had thrown away or what, it wasn't a situation where I was just dropped into someone else's body without knowing who the hell this guy was.
I was confused at first, but thankfully, this body's memories were intact, which was why I could understand and speak German naturally.
This guy even knew English far more fluently than the original me, Yoon Sung-il, and was also good at French, which was close to the lingua franca of this era, as well as Spanish.
This body's name is Dietrich Schacht.
Born August 15th, 1911. Even the birthday feels like God is picking a fight with me, but in any case, he's a pure German youth with no connection whatsoever to Korea, which is in the midst of the Japanese colonial era.
His father is Hjalmar Schacht. Full name Hjalmar Horace Greeley Schacht, but Horace Greeley was a name his America-obsessed grandfather tacked on for no reason, so he usually goes by Hjalmar Schacht.
He has American citizenship, a doctorate in economics, and, cutting to the chase, he's the Nazi Regime's Minister of Economy and President of the Reichsbank (National Bank).
In other words, this Dietrich guy was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth.
In Korean terms, his father is the governor of the Bank of Korea and the current Minister of Economy. For God's sake, I was just an ordinary citizen of the Republic of Korea.
So, that's the good part, and the bad part is…
Everything else.
-
February 5th, 1937
Near the south of Madrid, Spain
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler.”
As I stretched out my right arm toward the sky and shouted, a German man in his 30s gave a casual response. To think I'm doing something that, in modern Germany, or anywhere in Europe, would get you arrested if you're lucky and beaten to death if you're not…
“How are you feeling today, Second Lieutenant?”
“I am fine, thanks to your consideration! Captain!”
Just yesterday, I couldn't handle the sudden change in situation and had to spend the day in bed, feigning sickness with a muddled mind.
I lay in bed praying it was all a dream, only managing to fall asleep late at night, but to my damn rotten luck, there was no waking up in my room or anything of the sort.
I seriously considered putting a pistol to my head and pulling the trigger, but there's no guarantee I'd return to Korea if I did… and honestly, testing out shooting yourself in the head is a bit scary.
“Hmm, that's a relief. Make sure there are no disruptions to your duties today.
It's the day the operation begins.”
“Yes, sir!”
At least my direct superior officer, Captain Volkhardt Kaufmann, wasn't much of a by-the-book style leader but a kind man, and since the unit was on standby, he just let it slide.
To be honest, the fact that Dietrich's father is the Minister of Economy probably played a part.
Thinking about it now, it was a crazy thing to do.
It wasn't just faking sickness, I was genuinely mentally unwell, but to pull something like that in the Wehrmacht of all places.
Later on, this is the crazy military that lops off the heads of field marshals and everyone else.
Fortunately, since I had Dietrich's memories, I knew what I had to do. We are not in Germany right now, but in Spain.
Spain is currently torn apart, fighting a civil war between the Republican faction and the Nationalist faction.
On one side is the Republican faction, a coalition of communists, democrats, and anarchists.
At the beginning of the civil war, they were portrayed in the West as champions of justice fighting for the freedom of the people, but they, too, have a history of massacring Catholic priests or residents who cooperated with the Nationalist faction.
The Republican faction won the election, but the Nationalist faction, made up of the royalist faction and fascists, refused to accept it and started the civil war.
That side was a gathering of hardline soldiers and fascists who hated the commies, so it goes without saying that they were at war, setting all of Spain ablaze.
And we are here, in the middle of this damn Spanish Civil War, helping the leader of the Nationalist faction, Francisco Franco.
As a volunteer army dispatched from Germany, our official name is the Condor Legion.
They call it a legion, but to avoid provoking Britain and France, it's a small unit dispatched as civilian volunteers who were discharged on paper, and we were an even smaller army unit within it.
The Condor Legion itself was dispatched for the test operation of the Luftwaffe (German Air Force), after all.
Of course, the 'volunteer unit' part is just a smokescreen; we are clearly part of the German Army, and we receive support from our home country as well as having the same rank system.
The 2nd Company, under the 1st Battalion of the 1st Panzer Division of the Condor Legion.
It's not even a regular German military formation, just one armored division—and that's more like a regiment with five battalions—so I honestly don't know why they bothered to put a '1st' on it, but the 1st Battalion's 2nd Company was our unit, Captain Kaufmann was the company commander, and I am the company adjutant.
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler.”
Before long, platoon leaders who were also second lieutenants like me entered, and Captain Kaufmann accepted our salute… the Nazi salute that would get you arrested instantly in modern Europe.
Can I ever get used to this?
“Good morning, gentlemen. The objective of this operation is to secure key strongpoints centered on the two hills across the Jarama River, east of Madrid.
The superiors intend to capture that location to cut off the road connecting central Madrid and the capital of the commie bastards, Valencia.”
Even as I listen to the operation briefing, I'm pissed off.
Me, in the Wehrmacht of Nazi Germany?
I was definitely an ordinary man from the Republic of Korea, so why did I have to fall into a shitty place like this?
I'm not expecting to become a hero in a fantasy world with a beautiful heroine or anything, but of all the places to drop me, World War II?! Send me back to Korea, you damn god!
“We will be operating under Colonel Ricardo Rada, who is in charge of the southern part of the battlefield. First, secure Vaciamadrid, southeast of Madrid.
Then, once the central force succeeds in crossing the river, we will move towards the objective of Pingarrón Hill across the Jarama River. The plan is to use this location as an artillery position once it's captured, so as always, we will advance behind them and cover the artillery support units.
Any questions?”
“None, sir!”
“Good, the operation commences at 11:00. You are free to perform maintenance until 10:00.
Dismissed. Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler!”
So naturally. As if I had always done it, I raised my arm and shouted 'Heil Hitler'.
Was this really me? I wondered, walking out in a daze, when one of the second lieutenants tapped my shoulder.
According to Dietrich's memory, it was the 1st Platoon Leader, Klemens Fleck… my enlistment batchmate and closest colleague.
“Hey, Dietrich. You doing okay?”
“Klemens… Yeah.”
It's a strange feeling, to be looked at with a worried face by a German who feels both completely foreign and yet familiar.
The devil-like Nazi German Army.
He doesn't look at all like the image of an exterminator of the Jewish people and a mass murderer.
“Your face is still pale.
Don't push yourself too hard. Let's grab a drink when we're off-duty.”
“Yeah, thanks for your concern.”
The situation is unspeakably crappy, but the short conversation with Klemens felt similar to the ones I had with my batchmates back in Korea.
First, the operation. In Korea, I was just a regular soldier discharged as a Sergeant, but here, I'm an officer, the sworn enemy of the enlisted men…
-
Immediately after it began, the operation was proceeding smoothly.
The Republican Army, seemingly having not expected our offensive at all, was being pushed back one-sidedly, and the Nationalist faction's army continued its advance.
Hitler was extremely concerned that intervening in the Spanish Civil War might provoke Britain and France.
So the Condor Legion, despite being in the form of volunteers, was mostly tasked with air support or training rear area units, and the dispatched army units also stuck to tank and artillery bombardment support as much as possible.
It's just a poorly veiled secret that will eventually get out anyway.
To be honest, I don't know much about the Spanish Civil War.
In reincarnation stories, the protagonist who goes to another world or the past makes great use of their phenomenal memory and all sorts of knowledge, but my own head was completely empty.
I was very interested in World War II and Germany, but the regret that I should have looked into the Spanish Civil War, where the German military went, was useless.
All I know is that the Nationalist Party led by Franco wins this Spanish Civil War, that the Nationalist Party kills an incredible number of people, and that even after the war, they become an international pariah without even joining the Axis powers because of it.
Meanwhile, as an obsolete old biplane flew over my head, which only remembered cool German weapons like the Tiger tank or the Bf 109, a tiny Panzer I, so small I wondered if it could even be called a tank, rumbled forward in front of the excitedly advancing Spaniards, fitted with two machine guns instead of the main cannon one would expect from a tank.
Even the uniform I'm wearing isn't the cool Wehrmacht officer's uniform made famous by Nazi propaganda, but a shabby Spanish officer's uniform.
There's really no dream or romance here.
Though I doubt I would have had the leisure to enjoy any romantic fulfillment even if I were wearing a Wehrmacht officer's uniform right now.
In any case, we were the artillery corps' escort, so we had almost no direct engagement with the enemy, and we just followed the National Army's tail throughout the operation.
Among them, as the company adjutant following Captain Kaufmann, I wasn't even commanding a platoon directly, so I was even more idle.
The sight of the military force deployed for the operation, some 20,000 soldiers advancing here and there, was a grand spectacle, but the abandoned corpses scattered everywhere caught my eye more.
I didn't disgracefully feel nausea at the sight of a corpse for the first time.
It was already a familiar sight to Dietrich, who had been dispatched to the Condor Legion for several months. But my modern person's mind felt like it was drying up every time I saw the bodies.
Just how many soldiers are dying? Neither the National Army nor our German military collected the bodies. We were in the middle of an operation and a rapid advance, so there was no time, but before that, it seemed like they didn't even feel the need to.
A soldier is, in the end, a profession that kills the enemy. I knew that in my head and had even served in the military in Korea.
But in the South Korean Army, where you just get dragged into the military, serve your time, and get out, is there anyone who really thinks that way while serving?
I saw a Heinkel He 51 biplane, already a relic of a bygone era in World War II, flying overhead with a whirring sound.
It's a strange sensation, the knowledge from Dietrich, who knows it as the Luftwaffe's current main aircraft, and the memory of Yoon Sung-il, who immediately associates the Luftwaffe's main fighter with the Bf 109, all mixed together.
In the first place, am I Dietrich or Yoon Sung-il? A Second Lieutenant of the Nazi Wehrmacht? Or a fresh university student just discharged from the Republic of Korea?
I still have a desperate hope that this is Yoon Sung-il's dream and that it will end when I wake up. I was so despairing when I saw that the ceiling I woke up to wasn't my room's.
Honestly, I don't know what to do. The Republic of Korea, which should have been my country, doesn't even exist, and Korea is ruled by the Government-General of Chōsen.
And it's on the other side of the continent in the Far East. Meanwhile, what's approaching is World War II.
A war where tens of millions of people die. Tens of millions! I'm already getting a real sense of this crappy war just from seeing the corpses that are a common sight on the streets of Spain, and you want me to go through World War II?
Besides, right now Dietrich Schacht is born with a silver spoon and the son of a high-ranking Nazi official, but if I remember correctly, Hjalmar Schacht gets into a conflict with Göring and is kicked out not long after.
Even if he continues to do well, what are the chances of surviving to the end of that hellish World War II in the Wehrmacht?
Even if I survive this hellish hardship, I'll just be punished as a war criminal at Nuremberg for the sin of fighting under that madman Hitler.
No matter how I think about it, it couldn't be any more crappy.
What sin did I commit to end up in this state?
“Hmm, Second Lieutenant Schacht. Are you alright? You look rather pale…”
Captain Kaufmann spoke to me, probably because of how crappy my expression was.
From the way he appeared before my eyes and from Dietrich's memories, he was a better superior than the enemy-like officers or seniors I had met during my military service in Korea.
Is it possible that all Germans caught up in World War II were crazy racists and murderers?
People like him will also get entangled in war crimes because their superiors tell them to 'just do as you're told,' or as their senses grow numb.
Or they'll die before that happens.
“I'm fine, Captain.
I will ensure there are no disruptions to the operation.”
“Hmm, we are a rear area unit, so we won't have any direct engagements, but be careful.”
Captain Kaufmann just said that and started walking ahead again.
Into the battlefield where fighter aircraft flew endlessly in the sky, and the sound of gunshots and cannon fire could be heard in the distance.
This crappy situation isn't a dream, but reality…?
I had a sliver of hope that maybe if I died, I could wake up from the dream and return to Korea, but if I actually croaked, would I be too resentful to even pass on peacefully?!
First, let's live. Let's live and see.
I can't die, if only out of sheer anger.