Gunfire echoed through the hallways of former Terminal Two of Madrid Airport.
Paul and his men stormed the building, unleashing gunfire everywhere — flocks of Spaniards fell where they stood.
Glass shattered; papers soaked in crimson liquid lay all around them.
After the large group advanced further, leaving behind a trail of death, they arrived before a massive door riddled with bullets, countless dead Spanish soldiers lying before it.
The Germans raised their rifles instinctively, yet Paul lifted his hand, motioning for them to lower their weapons.
He stepped forward, slowly opening the door before raising his hands.
A bullet grazed past his wide eyes before a loud shout filled the room:"STOP! Lower your weapons!"
"Student, are your men blind? Can't they differentiate between the uniform of a German Major and a Spanish dog?" Paul said, one eyebrow raised.
Student came walking toward him, then patted his shoulder. "Good work."
Paul grabbed Student's shoulder too and whispered, barely audible, "How many did you lose?"
Student looked away for a moment before turning back to Paul, his jaw tightening for a second. "Half."
Paul sighed, mustering the soldiers gathered behind Student. "That means we're at about three hundred."
Student nodded after a short pause.
"We have to secure the landing zone for wave four. It's already half an hour since we landed," Paul said, glancing at his watch.
"Indeed," Student replied. "What about communications?"
"I've already seized the control tower. I believe it has some long-wave communication devices," Paul answered.
"Great," Student nodded. "Give High Command the go. The rest will establish perimeters around the zones, set up defenses and barricades. We have to seize their anti-air defenses too," he added, raising his voice so the men around them could hear.
Paul left the room, flocks of soldiers running past him, organizing themselves.
An unknown office, Central Madrid
"SIR!" The large wooden doors flung open, and a young Spanish soldier ran into the lavish office.
The man sitting in the leather chair behind the desk turned around slowly, putting away his cigar.
For a moment, only the heavy breathing of the young, impatient soldier filled the room.
"What is it?" the older man asked.
"General, they have… they have…" he stumbled.
"Come on, spit it out," the older man said, clad in a decorative military uniform.
"The Nationalists and the Germans have begun their assault," the young man finally managed to mutter.
"So? We are prepared," the General answered impatiently. "If that's all, then—"
"No!" the young man cut him off. "The Germans managed to break through the east! They are concentrating their assault on the eastern side of our defenses!"
For the first time, the older General straightened, adjusting his posture.
"Fuck!" he shouted. "Tell Major General Maria to move part of our anti-air guns toward the east. That should suffice — at least for some time."
He picked up his cigar again, about to continue smoking, when he squinted his eyes. "What is it? Is there more?"
The soldier didn't move, sweat pouring down his forehead. "The Germans… we've received reports… they've conducted an aerial operation assaulting Madrid Airport on a large scale. They've landed paratroopers and managed to take over most of the airport."
The General dropped his cigar — this time not on the ashtray. His mouth hung open.
His fist slammed down on the table so hard that stacks of papers flew onto the floor before the intimidated soldier's feet."YOU'RE SAYING...THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!" he shouted, enraged.
"What are those fools doing?!" He stood up, pacing back and forth. "I want Major Gómez to eradicate them!"
"Sir, Major Gómez is being assaulted by advancing German tank units right now," the soldier said timidly.
"WHAT?" The General spat out. "Scrape together everything we have. Call out the reserves if you have to!"
"Yes, sir," the young man replied after a short pause, already leaving the room.
"And send every plane we have!" the General shouted after him.
…Into their death, the young soldier thought, yet didn't dare to speak the words aloud.
Madrid Airport — one and a half hours after Wave One
Air sirens wailed once again — this time, Spanish planes appeared in the sky.
Flocks of bombers dived in, trying to drop their payloads, yet the heavy anti-air fire, combined with their weak engines, made it a fruitless endeavor.
Dozens of Spanish planes were engulfed in flames the moment they came within reach of the now German-controlled anti-air guns.
Paul screamed for his men to duck when he saw a large fireball hurtling toward them.
He wasn't a second too late when the plane exploded behind them, missing them by only a margin. Others weren't so lucky.
Although the air defense was strong — especially against the Spanish — it wasn't invincible.
Bomb after bomb fell. Sometimes they managed to shoot one down, only for the pilot to perform a kamikaze maneuver.
Fire engulfed the anti-air guns; countless men screamed. A splinter had hit Paul, who was now bleeding from his forehead.
He raised himself slowly, pushing away some rubble and looking around — until his eyes lit up.
He grabbed the radio lying on the ground, which had miraculously survived the bombing. "Do you hear me?!" he shouted.
"Yes, Major," a voice crackled through the radio.
"Ask them WHERE THE HELL OUR AIR SUPPORT IS!" Paul yelled into the receiver before cutting the line.
The soldiers who had managed to establish communication with High Command looked at each other before contacting Sperrle.
More explosions erupted all around Paul, who had underestimated the strength of the Spanish air force.
Then he saw another plane coming directly toward their position, bullet holes already appearing in the distance.
"Is this it?" Paul whispered, clenching his jaw.
The plane's line of fire was only meters away when the loud hum of propellers came from behind him.
The Spanish aircraft erupted into a fireball, crashing down onto the runway.
A Messerschmitt fighter roared above them, shaking its wings.
Flocks of fighters poured in, shooting down any remaining Spanish planes.
Paul stood frozen for a moment, having escaped death by a hair's breadth, before he composed himself again.
"Secure the landing zones!" he shouted toward the crouched German soldiers behind him, who quickly got up and ran toward their assigned sectors.
Paul's timing was perfect — because right after the soldiers established the perimeter, the next wave descended from the sky.
"The rest of our men," Paul said to himself, looking up at the masses of parachutes opening overhead.
The truth was, the Condor Legion simply didn't have the logistical capacity to transport the whole battalion in one go, that's why they had to move separately, in two waves.
More and more soldiers landed, noticeably reinforcing their ranks.
A middle-aged man touched down a few meters away from Paul, stripped himself of his parachute, and began walking toward him.
"This is…" Paul noticed that the man's uniform stood out from the rest of the soldiers.
"Lang!" Paul shouted, striding toward him.
"Heinrich," Lang smiled as they met.
The two embraced for a brief moment before parting.
"That's a surprise," Paul said. "I thought you'd be leading the ground assault together with Oberst von Thoma."
"That was the plan," Lang replied, laughing despite the seriousness of the situation. "But when I heard this operation was your idea, and that you'd be conducting it, I couldn't resist."
"I…" Paul began, not quite knowing where to start.
"You don't have to tell me anything," Lang said, still smiling. "We should probably focus on the current situation, right, Major?"
"You're right," Paul nodded. "Now that we're more or less at full strength, we have to reinforce our defenses and begin repairs. I trust you brought the engineering corps with you?" he asked expectantly.
"Of course," Lang answered, surveying the destruction all around them. "They'll have plenty to do."
"Just like all of us," Paul replied, pulling Lang back from his thoughts. "I'm sure the Spanish will launch a ground assault soon. They'll try to storm the area from the North and West gates — those are the only real entry points." He gestured into the distance.
"Oberst Student has already established defensive positions. You and your men should reinforce his ranks. We must concentrate all our firepower on those two points," Paul continued.
"What about the air?" Lang asked.
"I don't believe the Spanish have much more to offer," Paul said. "We've seized dozens of planes here on the ground and shot down even more in the sky. There'll only be a minimal investment of manpower in that regard."
"Good. I'll organize the men now. Let's talk after the battle, Heinrich."
Lang patted Paul on the shoulder before walking away.
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