Recovered

Boom! A cannonball landed not far from our position, sending a shower of wet mud into the air. A mere distance away, the city of Barcelona was engulfed in thick smoke, the site of one of the most pivotal battles of the Spanish Civil War. With Germany's support, the Spanish National Army had secured a firm grip over northern Spain and was now aggressively pushing eastward, aiming to sever the connection between the Spanish Republican Army and France.

The German armored divisions, experienced in field combat, had proven exceptionally effective. They swiftly captured Salamanca, a key city in central Spain, and annihilated two main columns of the Republican Army encircled near the city. This victory split the Republican-controlled territory in two. Building on this momentum, the National Army conquered the northern Spanish town of Leon a month later, securing a supply line to A Coruña. The largest armored engagement of the civil war soon followed in the Burgess region, where over 400 tanks from both sides clashed fiercely. The outcome was grim for the Republicans: the 2nd Armored Division of the German SS captured Burgess, the Republican Army lost over 100 tanks, and was forced into a general retreat.

During these operations, the Spanish National Army's air force, bolstered by German aid, downed 192 Republican aircraft while losing only 31 of their own—a ratio that astonished everyone involved. The superior performance of the Luftwaffe's ME-109 fighters, which secretly entered Spain, was particularly noteworthy. They achieved the remarkable feat of shooting down 77 enemy aircraft with the loss of only two. However, one ME-109 fighter crash-landed due to its small landing gear, resulting in the pilot sustaining three fractures and earning a wounded medal.

The unlucky pilot, Eberhard Heffert, had been flying an HE51 fighter. With the advent and success of the ME-109, the HE51 had been relegated to ground-attack roles, making its missions considerably more mundane. After completing a bombing run over the city of Vitoria, Heffert performed a stunt maneuver that went awry when his engine abruptly failed. His plane plummeted to the ground, marking him as the first German pilot casualty in the Spanish Civil War.

Back to the broader conflict, General Franco, the leader of the National Army, personally oversaw the capture of Zaragoza after a costly battle. The collapse of the front line forced the Republican Army in the north to abandon Huesca, a significant military hub, paving the way for potential victory. Capturing Barcelona would cut the transport time from Italy to Spain by nearly a third, highlighting the city's strategic importance. Consequently, both sides poured immense resources into the battle for this crucial northern city.

In a muddy trench near Barcelona, a German sniper eyed his new teammate's attire with skepticism. "What is that thing you're wearing? Looks ridiculous," he remarked.

"This," his teammate patted the odd vest he wore, "is a tactical vest recently issued to us. It was highly praised during domestic military exercises."

"Useless junk! Those recruits know nothing! How is our real combat experience reflected here?" the sniper grumbled while cleaning his rifle. "Instead of this nonsense, they should focus on upgrading our rifles to semi-automatic. Cycling the bolt after each shot is cumbersome and slow."

His comrade grinned, showing off his yellowed teeth. "Then you should submit those suggestions. Everyone's waiting to fix these issues," he said, adjusting his new tactical vest. "But honestly, this vest is more practical than the old Y-straps. It's a bit warm, but it's packed with pockets for all our bits and pieces. At least they're trying to make us comfortable, which is something."

"Don't get too excited. There's a flaw with the buttons; they're poorly sewn. We'll have to reinforce them ourselves," his teammate pointed out.

"Typical," the sniper scoffed, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. "Ever since they scrapped the attachment for the Mauser 98k rifles to save costs, what haven't they skimped on? If it works, it works."

Suddenly, a shout in Spanish from a National Army officer interrupted their conversation. "The enemy is attacking! Machine gunners, to your positions! Ready for combat!"

"Great, can't they wait until after lunch? Damn Republican Army!" the sniper muttered as he tossed aside the tactical vest, grabbed his rifle, and joined his teammate heading towards a camouflaged sniper position nearby.

The Republicans had grown wiser, no longer easy targets for German snipers. Instead, they engaged in a deadly game of cat and mouse, sending their own snipers to counter the Germans. The days of high kill counts were over; now, German snipers were lucky to eliminate a few Republican soldiers each day.

After a fruitless wait with no targets presenting themselves, the sniper and his comrade retreated back to their trench. They quickly realized the brutal reality of the war: a National Army machine gunner had been fatally shot by a Republican sniper, and his replacement was wounded, a bullet severing his finger and embedding in his shoulder, necessitating the amputation of his arm to save his life.

"My unit took heavy losses, 27 men hit, and two killed by shelling," reported a Spanish officer who coordinated with the German snipers. He handed a blood-stained rifle to the German sniper. "We need you to disrupt enemy snipers more actively. We managed to take out a Soviet sniper who was particularly careful, using a camouflaged cape. He got off seven shots before we neutralized him."

Examining the rifle, the German sniper noted, "This is a Mosin-Nagant, but it's been modified. The craftsmanship is improving—I have to acknowledge the Soviets' ability to adapt."

"We should take this rifle back for analysis," another German suggested, examining the weapon closely.

"What about the Soviet sniper's body? His gear could provide valuable intelligence, especially the camouflaged cape," the first sniper inquired.

"Unfortunately, the cape seems to be missing," the Spanish officer replied regretfully.

In just a few months, the battlefield had seen the introduction of an improved model of the Soviet I-16 fighter. Although still not a match for the German ME-109, it could now reach altitudes previously unattainable by open-cockpit planes, addressing a critical shortcoming. The presence of Soviet snipers wielding upgraded Mosin-Nagant rifles, now on par with the German Mauser 98k, and their rapidly professionalizing camouflage tactics, underscored a significant shift. The appearance of the Soviet T-26 tank further challenged the German armored units, highlighting the rapid advancements in Soviet military technology without German assistance.

As the sun set on the horizon, casting long shadows across the battlefield, German officials acknowledged the evolving prowess of their Soviet counterparts. The encounter in Spain had revealed unexpected strengths on both sides, setting the stage for a continued fierce rivalry. The Germans and Soviets, each concealing their full capabilities, were poised for future confrontations, having both made a formidable impression in this unexpected arena.

At a modestly sized checkpoint on the German border with Poland, two Wehrmacht soldiers stood guard, rifles in hand, scrutinizing the civilians lined up for transit. Alongside these civilians, more than a dozen SS guards meticulously examined their documents and searched through their belongings. Nearby, a truck was parked by the roadside where two SS officers stood, engaged in casual conversation, their laughter punctuating the air as they smoked.

"Captain Lucian, what day is it today?" one officer inquired, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"It's the seventh day," replied Captain Lucian, gesturing toward the crowded line. "We've been ordered to retrieve the lost items. It's part of a large-scale plan, so we must be vigilant."

"Have you heard about Cole? He was recently transferred to the Motorized Transport Division of the National Defense Forces for training," the other officer, a lieutenant, mentioned with a frown.

"The same Cole who just bought a new car?" Captain Lucian replied, his tone a mix of envy and resignation. "He disappeared for a few days, came back as tan as coal, and suddenly more generous. He's been handing out cigarettes to our old colleagues and flaunting his new car."

"I heard he went there," the lieutenant said, curling his lip slightly. "Got promoted and made a fortune. Now a major, and I heard he's been transferred back to the SS."

Lowering his voice, he added, "He's with the 2nd SS Division now, commanding dozens of tanks. Quite the powerful position."

Lucian exhaled a cloud of smoke bitterly. "Yes, once you're transferred back there, there's not much else to say." He crushed his cigarette underfoot. "The National Defense Forces are all equipped with tactical vests and new rifles. They look down on us like we're nothing; the SS is thriving too. Known from the start as the 'elite of the army,' their treatment is exceptional."

"Isn't it? We're stuck with outdated equipment. Last year, I was excited to receive a batch of MP38 submachine guns, only to find out they were discarded by the Defense Force," the lieutenant commiserated.

Suddenly, Captain Lucian's attention was drawn to a peasant woman with a basket nearby. "Hey! You there! Take your hand out of the basket! Slowly!" he commanded loudly.

At his signal, several German soldiers quickly surrounded her, their weapons at the ready, expressions fierce. The woman, terrified, raised her hands high. "My God! I haven't done anything! Please don't kill me!"

A German soldier inspected the basket, which was filled with potatoes, and reported back, "Sir! It's just potatoes."

The misunderstanding seemed clear, but the tension remained. The SS had been under significant pressure, with insufficient supplies compared to the well-provisioned National Defense Forces. Regular army units enjoyed three meals a day, while the SS, less favored, often made do with meager rations.

Captain Lucian approached the woman, checked her ID and pass thoroughly, and eventually, in the face of her palpable fear, gestured for her to be let go. "Let her continue in line. She's not from Germany. She crossed the border yesterday and took some potatoes."

As the line of people moved slowly forward, a man at the end, wearing a black bowler hat, seemed particularly anxious. He reached into his trench coat, feeling the iron box hidden inside. Tasked with smuggling this box, containing vital intelligence, across the border, he knew the risks were high.

Sensing something amiss, he quietly left the line and began to walk away, trying not to draw attention.

Captain Lucian, halfway back to his post with the lieutenant, suddenly paused and scanned the crowd. His gaze landed on the man in the black bowler hat walking away. "Stop! The one with the hat!" he shouted.

The soldiers quickly responded, pointing their guns at the man as he tried to escape towards a nearby field. "Stop!" they yelled.

"What are you waiting for? Shoot!" Lucian ordered, drawing his pistol.

A gunshot rang out, missing its target. The man in the bowler hat continued to run, but a second shot hit its mark, striking him in the shoulder. Blood spattered, and he fell forward awkwardly.

"Catch him! Hurry!" Lucian commanded, rushing over with the soldiers. "He might have accomplices! Keep the line in order, check everyone thoroughly, and don't slack off!"

The lieutenant, already with pistol in hand, echoed the orders, "Load your bullets! Check everyone carefully! Confirm their identities! If anyone tries anything, shoot immediately!"

The soldiers complied, reloading their weapons as the atmosphere tensed once again, with soft cries from frightened civilians in the background.

Reaching the injured man, Lucian and his men cautiously approached. "Sir! Show us your hands! Do it now, or we won't hesitate to shoot again!"

The man, in pain, showed his left hand, soaked in blood. As he reached out with his right, he revealed a small pistol.

Without giving him a chance to react, the soldiers opened fire. The man in the bowler hat was hit multiple times and fell silent, lifeless in a pool of blood.

Lucian approached the body, kicked it slightly, then searched the pockets, pulling out the small iron box. Shaking it, he heard the clink of metal inside. Smiling, he realized this success might just earn him a promotion.

The lieutenant offered him a cigarette. "What's in it?"

Lucian, lighting the cigarette, explained, "High-level intelligence, stolen by a spy. Recently, a woman from the National Defense Force Intelligence Section was caught and interrogated. It took all night, but she revealed she'd handled two top-secret documents."

He proudly showed the contents to the lieutenant—a short, cylindrical metal container.

"Is there another one?" the lieutenant asked, puzzled.

Lucian, suddenly anxious, dashed to the nearby guard box to make an urgent call to the SS Command, only to be reminded he was on a National Defense Forces line.

Meanwhile, in Berlin, Major General Gascol from the Defense Forces Headquarters Intelligence Section reported to Head of State Akado: "My Head, everything is proceeding as planned... Yes!... Yes!... The decoy was stopped at the border, the real item has safely reached Poland... Yes!... Long live the head of state!"