by Erich Topp
One year later I received my orders to transfer to the U-boat branch.
PARTICIPATION IN THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR
On December 27, 1936, the Karlsruhe raised steam and sailed for Spanish waters.
The turmoil in Spain was felt far and wide. For a long time, and for many different reasons, Europe's diplomats had striven to contain the conflagration to the source of the fire. All seafaring nations had dispatched parts of their fleets to Iberian waters. So we became part of a broader effort as we went south to rescue from the relentless civil war between Whites and Reds the lives and property of German nationals trapped in Spain and to safeguard German trade interests. These tasks meant being constantly alert and watchful, besides requiring much hard work.
Diary:
It is January, and the heavy swell of a forever stormy Bay of Biscay threatens to wear us out, as for days-sometimes weeks-we patrol the coast of northern Spain. Only rarely do we get a break and anchor on the roadsteads of La Coruna or Zarauz. On those occasions we tend to be beleaguered by smaller Spanish vessels whose crews demonstrate their unlimited sympathy for Germany by displaying the swastika flag or by hailing us with shouts of "Viva Alemania. "
As we see it, Spain stands in the forefront of a struggle for all of Europe. The main protagonist in this drama is the Army. It has taken over the functions of the government until law and order can be restored to the country. In the new Spain the Army will continue to act as the state's main source of support. As General Emilio Mola has put it, the Army is the model for the whole nation as the guarantor of honor, tradition, and love for the fatherland. The Army collaborates closely with the Falange Espanola, founded in 1933 by Antonio Primo de Rivera and akin to the fascist movement in Italy. It is estimated that some 100,000 Falangists have joined the fight at the front. Their supporters come primarily from Spain's working class. For a long time these Falangists have attracted the special hatred of the Reds. Thousands of them were held as hostages in prisons throughout the country. Only few escaped. Most, among them their leaders, perished in the bloody terror. Since those days the leadership of the Falange has vowed to support the military dictatorship unconditionally while retaining their desire to reshape the new Spain in the image of their movement once hostilities cease.
A second strong group are the Carlists, easily identified by their blue jackets and red caps. They consider themselves the guardians of Spain's Catholic traditions and insist on straight legitimacy in dynastic matters. They trace their origins to the year 1833, when King Ferdinand VII refused his brother the succession to the throne and instead picked his daughter Isabella. Today the Carlists make common cause with the Nationalists mainly because they resent the destruction of churches and monasteries by the Reds. Their main strength is in Navarre, home to the Basques, an old tribe of independence-loving freedom fighters. Navarre was once the base from which the Moors were driven south, and neither Charlemagne nor Napoleon could ever control it completely. Now some 70,000 of these Carlists have placed themselves at the disposal of General Mola. They demand an absolutist monarchy and Catholicism as the state religion. The rest of the Nationalists are sympathizers drawn from a variety of camps, such as the Renovaci6n Espanola, the aristocracy, conservatives, the liberal bourgeoisie, and the clergy.
Spain is beginning a new and most promising chapter in her rich and varied history. But in between the machine guns and snooping patrols armed with rifles and bayonets, Spain lives out, seemingly unbothered, her ancient cultural life with its traditional manners and customs.
Off Gibraltar
We finally leave northern Spain behind and proceed southward. It is a hot and sunny day, like most we have experienced in these latitudes. Far to port we can make out the coastline of Portugal. As we pass Cape St. Vincent and Cape Trafalgar we must think of the great British naval heroes John Jervis and Horatio Nelson, whose fame is forever linked to these places.
At dawn we find ourselves off Gibraltar. On our starboard quarter the sharp contours of Monkey Mountain stand out against the morning sky. Gibraltar: This has indeed been a crucial crossroads of history. In my imagination I see the ancient Phoenicians arrive here, cast a knowing glance around, and then take possession of this geostrategically vital place. Later, Carthaginians and Romans fight bitterly for its possession. Germanic tribes are next and then the Moors, drawing one another back and forth across the straits. Eventually the British come in and with a decisive hand take control of the rock, perfect its fortifications, and make it the center of their worldwide network of strongpoints.
Such historical contemplations can easily distract from the sheer natural attractiveness of this massive mountain fortress. Looking at Gibraltar across mirrorlike waters barely stirred by the early tide, and only faintly illuminated as it is under the light-embroidered clouds of the breaking day, one marvels at the beauty of the place and forgets entirely its military mission. I am also reminded of the year 1782 when troops from my native Hanover were instrumental in help ing defend Gibraltar against French and Spanish attackers. At the time, Britain and Hanover shared a common ruling dynasty. When a mutiny in the Royal Navy broke out, Britain's enemies saw their chance to retake the rock. Hanoverian troops thwarted such designs, and their British commander, General George Eliot, paid them the ultimate tribute: "They fought so bravely that you might have mistaken them for British soldiers."
Comment:
I already mentioned that besides Germany other nations, such as France, England, and Italy, dispatched naval units to Spain to protect their respective interests. In early May 1937 the pocket battleship Deutschland paid Gibraltar a visit. In her honor the entire British Mediterranean Fleet put on a parade off Algeciras, involving some 30,000 officers and sailors altogether. Among others, Admiral Dudley Pound, in overall command of the British Fleet, and Rear Admiral Bruce Fraser, whose task force would later in 1943 sink the Scharnhorst in the Arctic Ocean, paid their respect to the commander of the German pocket battleships, Rear Admiral Max von Fischel. A squad of Scottish Guards and Royal Marines joined a detachment from the Deutschland to commemorate the Hanoverians who had given their lives in 1782. After a roll of the drum, a horn player intoned the British signal honoring the dead. Then a band played both the German and British national anthems, as well as the Lied vom guten Karneraden (a popular German dirge). This happened two years before the outbreak of World War II.
Diary:
The entire Spanish people endures many sacrifices for its soldiers. Nationalist Spain is marked by its commitment to the war. Everyone places himself at the service of the nation, well aware of the seriousness of the situation and the historic significance of the hour.
Jewelry and other items made from precious metals have long since been collected, golden wedding bands traded in for iron ones. Women and girls work hard in their communities for the men at the front. But even more essential than the material support is their solidarity with the fighting troops. The man in the trenches knows the loved ones back home feel just the way he does. He knows there is no rejoicing, no dancing at home as long as he is away.
The people shows itself worthy of its warriors. Young people, even if invited, refuse to visit the theater or the movies with the simple explanation that they have agreed to take upon themselves a sacrificio, a vow not to enjoy themselves until Madrid has fallen. Men and women voluntarily absorb these burdens; they watch out and pray for those at the front. Young women in the hospitals serve as nurses for wounded Spaniards and Moroccans. The soldier at the front knows he is respected, cared for, and loved by those back home. That gives him the strength to go on.
Victoria de Malaga
Long delayed by rainy weather, the major land, sea, and air offensive against Malaga got under way at last and led within days to a decisive victory for the Nationalist troops.
In El Ferrol we witness the immense release of joy and relief this victory brought to the entire country. The national colors, red-yellow-red, decorate the facade of every house. Detach
ments of the regular Falange and its youth organization, the Flechas, carry out a parade down the city's main street. After nightfall, uncounted lighted arches illuminate the Calle de General Franco. Until now, such celebrations had been out of the question for fear of aerial attacks, but today all caution is thrown to the wind. The narrow lanes are filled with joyous celebrants. Everyone is waiting for the great manifestacion. The first formations arrive with bands playing and flags flying. Hours pass before all the units have marched past the commander in chief of the Nationalist Spanish Navy and El Ferrol's city commandant. The people get carried away, run into the streets, and hug the soldiers. There is laughing, crying, and dancing everywhere as the crowds march alongside the troops. The night is turned into day; the jubilation goes on for days.
I also came into contact with the men who have been out there winning these battles for Spain, men who will take their place where the fighting is fiercest and who have yet to lose a single battle. They are the legionarios, the members of the Spanish Legion: daredevils all of them, haggard, deeply tanned by the sun and weather, men whose faces betray no emotion as they march down the streets and past the frenzied masses around them.
Never will I forget the look on these exhausted, weather-worn faces. There was much you could read in their facial expressions: contempt, hatred, fanaticism. The men had acquired these traits through years of harsh, unrelenting discipline in Morocco's desert sands, in the sun-baked rocky wilderness of North Africa. Their eyes betrayed the unscrupulousness and horror that only those encounter who are part of an everlasting struggle.
Some officers of the Legion are scions of the old Moorish aristocracy, their profiles almost classical in their lines. Not one of them has been wounded fewer than three times. They talk about their bloody duels with bayonets and knives in a manner so matter-of-fact and detached that it strikes the listener as almost eerie. Struggle is their life, and nobody dares resist when they attack singing their feared battle song, the CanciOn de la Legi6n. Never once did I hear one of the legionnaires join in the cheers all around them, to shout "Arriba Espana, " or something similar. All the more harsh and fanatical sounds their triple battle cry: "Arriba la Legion! Arriba la guerra! Arriba la nnuerte!"
War is their life. One day Spain will be deeply grateful and indebted to her last band of mercenaries.
Comment:
This is how we experienced the Spain whose side we had taken. Today we know the other side as well, its ordeal made manifest in Ernest Hemingway's book, For Whom the Bell Tolls. The split between the two Spains, straight through country and people, continued throughout Franco's regime.
What the diary fails to mention is that the Karlsruhe searched and seized the freighter Aragon, bound for a Red port. We towed her into El Ferrol. That was our only and utterly unbloody action in the war.
To add a different voice to this commentary on the Spanish Civil War, I would like to reprint an excerpt from a letter my Crew comrade Hermann Rasch wrote to me on June 13, 1937. He was then serving on the pocket battleship Scheer, which had just bombarded the city of Almeria in southern Spain in retaliation for a Republican air attack against the Deutschland:
Do you want an eye-witness report of our attack on Almeria? The newspapers state there were 19 casualties. Ridiculous! I personally saw how multi-storied buildings collapsed in smoke and dust, among them fully occupied military barracks. Nothing but bare walls were left, and that after only half a salvo! The effect of the 11-inch shells with contact detonators turned out to be more amazing than I had imagined. As assistant artillery officer I could observe everything at close range through a telescope. We fired almost 200 rounds. Only four salvoes fell short into the water, all the others were hits. There was nothing heroic about the whole affair even though the enemy returned our fire sporadically. But then we only had to think of the Deutschland to feel good about every house we blew up. I shall never forget the peaceful picture this city offered before we opened fire. Despite the distance you got the feeling that everyone was still asleep and in for a terrible awakening. The sun had barely risen so that towers and walls cast long shadows. Beyond Almeria rose the quiet, snow-covered peaks of the Sierra Nevada, on the other side the outline of our torpedoboats black against the bright red eastern sky. Later the entire bay was engulfed in a gray-brown cloud.
The bombardment proceeded without incident, very professional and with a sure hand. We were almost certain that enemy aircraft would attack us, but all remained calm. Hannes Perl [also of our Crew 341 chased off two enemy patrol boats with our 8.8-cm guns, sinking one and forcing the other to run aground.
Since then we have been practicing general quarters almost ad nauseam, except for three days' rest at Tangier. Tangier is a dirty provincial place, but since I encounter oriental enchantment here for the first time, I should not complain. If you have visited here you are probably familiar with the "Chat Noir" and other abominations. It is almost amazing to realize how many varieties of such nasty things these Southerners are capable of. Conditions on board are terrible since the commander in chief of the pocket battleships and his staff have embarked. As I had feared for some time, I now have to share my quarters with three other lieutenants. We are expected to return home around June 25 for twelve days of refit. After that we will engage in gunnery practice and joint exercises with other units (I hear the Karlsruhe will be one of them) before we sail once again for the Mediterranean on August 1.
Today we read this eyewitness account of the bombardment of Almeria with quite different sensibilities. We know how many civilians, among them women and children, perished in the attack. This act of revenge was an act of terror, for it was primarily directed against helpless civilians rather than military targets.
At the same time it seems appropriate in this context to correct the myth of Guernica-immortalized in Pablo Picasso's famous painting as the ultimate symbol of human suffering and genocide. The aircraft of the Condor Legion attacked the main military targets-the bridge, the streets, and a suburb that had become a part of the battlefield. But then, he who has seen the truth knows how many lies are spread in its name.
The excerpts from my journal-are they mere ciphers from a world now forever gone? The reflections they offer of the drama of life in those days are full of color and yet seem dreamlike when measured against political preoccupations of our times. But one cannot judge the past by the standards of the present lest the laws of history lose all meaning. Franz Kafka commented on this problem in December 1911: "Diaries are proof positive that in the past we lived under conditions which seem intolerable to us today, indeed, that we analyzed and recorded them."
In 1974 I visited my friend Thomas de Liniers in Madrid. We had first met in San Diego at the Senior Officers' Course for Amphibious Warfare. At the time Thomas was about to take command of all Spanish forces in Ceuta.
He took me to El Valle de los Caidos, the memorial erected to honor the victims of the Civil War. Located in a park in the breathtaking mountain scenery of the Guadarrama, the compound consists of a huge basilica hewn into the rock. An immense cross, some 500 feet high, is perched on top of a promontory. At its base stand statues of the four apostles sculpted from blackish limestone. Inside the dome, which itself has a height of 142 feet and is decorated with mosaics, there is another tall cross. It is made from unfinished tree trunks that Franco personally selected for this purpose. The cross and my conversation with Thomas brought home to me how closely kitsch and true emotion come together in this place. Thomas is the scion of an old family-in fact, a destroyer in the Spanish Navy is named the Liniers-and served as a young officer in the Civil War. Captured by the Reds, he was cruelly mistreated, somehow managed to survive the war, and eventually became a monarchist and democrat. But he made it very clear to me that "Spain will turn Red again only over my dead body."
He had taken up arms, not to fight against the Republic but because the Republicans wanted to stop being Catholic, as their leader Manuel Azana put it. I am sure Thomas did n
ot imply in this statement that the Republic had been destroying the cultural values of the Christian West, which Spain has always cherished as much as any country. Rather, he saw these values in danger when the Marxist-anarchist left lashed out brutally against priests and monasteries. He himself, having become commanding general of the Spanish Army, paid a visit to the tomb of the Apostle James in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela to put forth the nation's concerns in a prayer-as was prescribed by the Army regulations.
Many people refer to Franco's regime as having been fascist. That is incorrect, for fascism is marked by the following: (1) a dictator, recognized as the nation's leader; (2) a one-party system; (3) a totalitarian regime that controls all public and political activities; (4) no division of powers into different branches of government; and (5) the successful attempt by the all-powerful party to bring about a national consensus through persuasion and force.
Not one of these characteristics, in my view, applies to Franco's regime. Franco had no "totalitarian" party totally committed to his goals. Neither the Falangists nor the Carlists were led by him. Only the Falange met the criteria outlined above. But for them Franco was merely the "Generalissimo. " They accepted his temporary dictatorship as a measure necessitated by the war. For them he did not represent the leader of a people's movement, nor was the union of the Falangists and the Carlists more than a marriage of convenience. What we experienced as national enthusiasm was false and superficial. It was not typical of the situation, certainly not during the Civil War. Franco never "mobilized" the people in any real sense of the word. In fact, the conscripts deserted in droves, as the example of the Battle of Guadalajara demonstrates clearly.