Madrid 1939: The Revival of a Great Spain

I transmigrated to 1936, and Spain was burning.

I became an officer in the Foreign Legion under Franco. Everyone thought I was an executioner serving fascism.

They were wrong.

I knew how the Siege of Madrid would end. I knew the bombing of Guernica was coming, and I knew the schemes behind the smiles in Berlin and Rome.

More than that, I knew that beneath the victor’s throne lay the future of an entire nation.

So I put on the mask of loyalty and spun my web in the shadows of the intelligence service.

I traded Franco’s trust for power, used the Falange’s fervor to carve new channels, and forged my weapons from German and Italian steel.

They thought all I wanted was power.

They were right. I wanted power, not to be crowned, but to shatter the old crown that was destined to drag Spain into the abyss.

On the eve of the victory celebrations, I sat across from Franco on a balcony.

The dust on the map had yet to be wiped away, but my blueprint was already laid out:

Arm our factories with German machine tools, use Portugal’s tungsten mines to tip the balance across Europe, and build an unsinkable shipyard beneath the shadow of Gibraltar.

The old gods were cheering their victory. I was already digging their graves.

This is a war on two fronts:

In the sunlight, I am the sword of the Nationalists, striking at the Republican lines.

In the shadows, I am a traitor to my own ideals, using the dirtiest methods to forge a path that never existed in the “wrong” version of history: a path that will keep Spain from fading into silence, from being forgotten, and from becoming a ghost in the twentieth century.

When the storm of World War II finally sweeps across Europe, the world will discover that Spain, the first empire on which the sun never set, has returned to the world.