Chapter 241

< World War II - The Spring of War (3) >

March 4, 1942

Eastern India, Burma (modern Myanmar) - Rangoon Port

“How could we suffer such a disastrous defeat….”

Admiral Nagumo Chuichi muttered in despair.

The Southern Fleet had met a惨惨 result: the annihilation of the Naval Air Service it had sortied.

With the Anglo-German Allied Fleet, including the high-speed battleships Bismarck and Scharnhorst, in hot pursuit from the front, and the British Mobile Fleet launching a surprise attack from behind, there was no time to leisurely wait for the carrier aircraft to return.

Even after abandoning the entire air group, all that remained in Admiral Nagumo’s hands were a few destroyers, the aircraft carriers Ryujo and Junyo, and his own flagship, the Haruna.

With their escape route cut off, the retreat to Burma, which was occupied by the Imperial Japanese Army, instead of the Malay Peninsula where the Southern Fleet Headquarters was located, was disastrous.

The auxiliary ships and aircraft carriers, and even his flagship Haruna, were in a tattered state. Nagumo himself had nearly died.

“A-Admiral….”

They had to notify Burma in advance, regardless.

Upon seeing the army lined up at the port, as if to mock the miserably defeated and fleeing navy, the staff officers let out a groan.

“Keep your heads up! Adversity builds character! I will never, ever let them beat me like this again!”

Nagumo earnestly spurred on his subordinates as he disembarked from the ship and came face to face with the commander of the Burma garrison, Mutaguchi Renya.

Mutaguchi, who had been yawning, saw the admiral and gave a light bow.

“Welcome, Admiral Nagumo.”

“…General Mutaguchi.”

The army general who had vehemently opposed the invasion of India, only to suddenly change his tune and insist on it as soon as he was assigned to Burma.

Nagumo’s gaze was not friendly, but Mutaguchi spoke with a beaming smile.

“You’ve been through a great hardship.

We’ve prepared lodging so you can rest your weary mind and body from the defeat….”

Seeing the army staff officers next to Mutaguchi letting out subtle smirks, Nagumo flared up and shouted.

“Victory and defeat are a common occurrence in war! We will reorganize and leave soon, so your useless consideration is not needed!”

There was no way the defeat of their own nation’s navy could be a good thing for the army, yet to them, the navy's tragedy was nothing more than a source of ridicule.

However, at Nagumo’s furious shout, Mutaguchi’s eyes widened.

He then let out a dry cough, smirked, and held out a telegram.

“I’m afraid that might be a bit difficult for you.”

“What is this…?”

Nagumo took the telegram Mutaguchi offered. After reading it for a moment, he collapsed on the spot.

The telegram from the Naval General Headquarters stated that Nagumo was dismissed as Commander of the Southern Fleet, that Admiral Koga Mineichi would be his successor, and that Nagumo was to return to the home country.

Nagumo's vow that he would never be beaten like this again would be kept.

Because he would never get the chance.

Nagumo muttered absently, his face drained of all spirit.

“I-It was only because I didn't have enough ships. The intelligence was leaked… it must be because those incompetent fools in the Intelligence Department failed to identify the British fleet’s presence.”

Watching Nagumo’s despair, Mutaguchi Renya, who had been carousing at a brothel until late the previous night, let out a long yawn, then composed his expression and replied.

“A shortage of weapons cannot be the cause of defeat, Admiral.

The failure to execute an operation properly is due to a lack of spiritual strength.”

At the words of Mutaguchi, who was pontificating with a sublime and heroic face, Nagumo fainted on the spot.

-

March 5, 1942

The German Capital, Berlin – Ministry of Defense Building

I was on the recently connected direct telephone line between the London War Office and the Berlin Ministry of Defense.

An international phone call in this era.

So this is the taste of power.

“Thank you, Prime Minister Churchill.

Thanks to your country's intelligence, we were able to achieve a great victory this time.”

-Haha.

I’ll consider the debts from the past repaid with this, Minister.

For the first time in a while, Churchill’s voice was genuinely pleasant.

-Britain and Germany have stood together as valuable allies and friends from the beginning of this war. The British Empire trusts that Germany will not forget this fact, even after the Soviet Union collapses.

“Hahaha….”

He’s really laying it on thick this time.

Still, he has a point. The Anglo-German Allied Fleet, which had been at a disadvantage against the Japanese Southern Fleet, could now be said to have the upper hand.

The enemy aircraft carrier Shoho was sunk by the gunfire of the battlecruiser Renown. The enemy flagship, the battlecruiser Haruna, suffered moderate damage while covering the retreat from attacks by our carrier aircraft.

The enemy heavy cruisers Atago and Takao were both sunk while retreating during a gunnery duel with the Duke of York. The aircraft carrier Hosho was also sunk by carrier aircraft.

Thanks to the Graf Zeppelin’s carrier aircraft, led by Rudel, attacking the enemy carriers in a belated pursuit, even the Ryujo and Junyo, which had managed to withdraw, suffered light or moderate damage.

And the enemy carrier aircraft that had targeted the Graf Zeppelin were, and this is no joke, annihilated.

I have no idea what kind of monsters are on the Graf Zeppelin’s fighter squadrons, but even considering they struck first while the enemy formation was in disarray, they apparently carried out a one-sided massacre.

The enemy carrier aircraft that fled were either shot down or crashed into the sea from fuel starvation after their carriers abandoned them and ran….

Our primary target, the Graf Zeppelin, only suffered light damage from a single dive-bombing hit, so I can’t deny that Britain’s contribution was huge.

Morally and for our own future gains, I was already planning on lending a hand to finish off Japan after the war with the Soviet Union was over, but…

“Of course.

We have never forgotten that Germany and Britain are invaluable allies to one another in this war.”

Churchill would have a fit if he knew what we were planning after the war, but there’s no need to tell him that just yet.

-Haha. Those are most reassuring words, Minister.

This old man has kept a busy Minister for too long, so I shall hang up now. I wish your nation good fortune on the Eastern Front.

“We also wish your nation the fortunes of war.”

I hung up the phone and let out a quiet sigh.

To be honest, that was really dangerous.

I had thought of launching a surprise attack to divert Japan’s attention from the Philippines to India, but I never imagined that Japan, who are not elementary school students, would think of retaliating with the exact same tactic used at Pearl Harbor and which we had just used against them.

It's debatable whether we would have been caught as defenseless as they were at Pearl Harbor, and others tell me there’s no need to feel guilty for not predicting that one thing, but…

I guess it just means you can’t let your guard down until the very end.

I stood up from my seat.

“Shall we go, Mr. Berger?”

“Yes, Minister.”

I’m still being very careful not to let Claudia overexert herself, but even with her doing just half of her original work, I have an incomparable amount of leeway compared to before.

The problem is that I get glares for being "overprotective" of my wife, as the concept of maternity leave is not yet properly established in Germany, which is rather annoying.

In any case, it’s a huge relief that I now have the capacity to meet with the commanders on the front lines before the most important decisive battle.

The Army High Command considers Kursk, a crucial railway hub connecting Moscow and Ukraine, to be the biggest battleground, and the Soviet Army probably thinks the same, but—

There is another place that I am just as concerned about.

The Smolensk front, where Vlasov’s Free Russian Army and Patton’s American volunteer corps are located.

I would find it very unwelcome if that side started running wild right when we are about to engage in the decisive battle with the Soviet Union.

So I requested that the best personnel I could think of be assigned there, and Manstein, while looking surprised, gleefully approved.

But the man himself must be dissatisfied at being pulled from Kursk, the main battleground, right?

I let out another sigh.

“…Well then, shall we go get an earful?”

In a German Army where commanders were prone to running wild, the only general officer who could keep pace with them without going wild himself was Walter Model.

-

March 7, 1942

Near the Soviet Capital of Moscow, Stalin's Villa

In the Russian winter, which maintained sub-zero temperatures even into March, a fire crackled and burned in Stalin's dacha (a Russian-style villa).

Reflected in the firelight, the shadow of a man that blanketed the room appeared large and intimidating.

But soon, the shadow hunched over and let out a cough, as if to say its intimidating size and appearance were nothing but a bluff.

“Cough, cough….”

Stalin, Ioseb Jugashvili, coughed weakly and drank some water.

His physician cautiously gave him an injection in the arm and handed him his prescribed medicine.

Stalin silently took the pills he was offered, looked at them for a moment, then tossed them into his mouth and swallowed them with water.

In front of others, he presented the image of an endlessly dignified and healthy General Secretary, but his health was sending serious warning signals.

The image of Stalin that the Soviet high command saw and feared was nothing more than an illusion, a facade temporarily maintained and suppressed by medication.

Stalin turned his blurry eyes to look at his physician.

The tight-lipped physician, who had looked after Stalin for a long time, was giving him a look that was half-worry, half-resignation.

The Stalin of the past, the General Secretary of the Great Purge era, would not have tolerated even such a look.

But upon seeing the countless, black silhouettes standing behind his physician, backlit by the fire, Stalin quietly turned his head away.

No words were exchanged between them.

His physician was not a man of many words, and he only opened his mouth to state his medical opinion.

That was how he had avoided being purged for so long and was able to look after Stalin’s health. And Stalin, in turn, took no personal interest in his physician.

As long as he was skilled and tight-lipped, it was all the same. Stalin had thought it so unimportant that he had erased even the man's name from his memory.

But today, the physician spoke up cautiously.

“…Comrade General Secretary.”

“What is it.”

“…How would you feel about ending the war now?”

It was an presumptuous thing for a mere physician to say.

The physician, well aware of this, spoke very carefully, but there was no anger in Stalin’s eyes as he turned to look at him.

“Why do you say that?”

What came back was a question.

The physician was silent for a moment before speaking.

“I heard your eldest son is also at the front.”

From the moment the General Secretary began to rely on medication to get by, the physician had been with him constantly, as he might collapse from the side effects at any moment.

He had even been present at meetings that were considered military secrets, and so the physician knew much about the war situation and secrets that were beyond his station.

Stalin did not answer.

In the meetings, at least, Stalin had shown no agitation, maintaining an attitude that he did not care if his eldest son was in danger.

But the physician knew that was not the truth.

The "General Secretary of Steel," said to be without blood or tears, was in fact a very timid and sensitive man.

He loved his family, and he suffered from great loneliness.

If he were truly a man with no interest in his eldest son, he would not have had huge fights or felt hurt over his son’s problems.

“I am the General Secretary.”

Stalin’s weak reply was simple, but it contained the answer to everything.

Because he is the General Secretary, he must set an example.

After starting a war that sent countless people to their deaths, it would be obvious how it would look if he were to pull his own son from the most intense battleground to the rear area just to save him.

If his son were to meet an unfortunate fate, Ioseb Jugashvili the father could grieve, but he could not allow ‘Stalin’ the General Secretary, already on shaky ground, to collapse.

“…Comrade General Secretary.

That is why I ask, how about ending the war.”

Stalin gave a bitter smile.

His physician was not a political thinker. Physicians like that had long ago harbored presumptuous ambitions and been purged.

So there was likely no malice in what he was saying.

Or perhaps.

“Comrade, do you, by any chance, have someone you care for at the front right now?”

The physician fell silent.

Stalin, who had been sitting, slowly rose and sat in another chair.

The countless silhouettes that had been standing behind the physician were now illuminated by the firelight that Stalin’s body had previously obscured, revealing their forms.

Pale, expressionless human faces.

Trotsky, Yezhov, Bukharin, Tukhachevsky, and countless others—his enemies who he had purged or who had met their ruin at his hands.

They, too, were people someone cared for, and those who cared for them had either been put to death by Stalin or were even now dying in the Gulag.

Stalin looked at their forms with his hazy eyes and said nothing.

The physician, unable to bear the long silence, finally spoke.

“Comrade General Secretary, for you to continue with your wartime duties is also a serious problem for your health.”

Stalin did not open his mouth.

“Comrade General Secretary. …Could it be that you.”

The only thing left in Ioseb Jugashvili’s life is the name ‘Stalin,’ the very embodiment of Soviet power.

“…Are wishing for death?”

Stalin watched as the pale faces, starting with Trotsky, began to smile at him.

He smiled back.