Warsaw

In the cramped quarters of an old building, a little boy sat perched on a table, his legs dangling. He wore suspenders that seemed slightly too big for him. His parents were busy at work, dividing a modest meal of potatoes and cabbage leaves into portions. The boy's gaze was fixed on a half sausage hanging from the window sill, his mouth watering at the sight. Just a few days ago, when German bombers had flown over Warsaw, the city had implemented a food rationing system. With supplies dwindling, many citizens found themselves hungry, unable to secure enough food, though the government maintained a hopeful stance that the war would turn in their favor. Yet, many informed Poles were skeptical of the government's assurances and had started fleeing southeast, taking their belongings and loved ones with them.

"I heard the Germans have reached Lodz?" the boy's mother asked absentmindedly as she stirred the pot. The situation in Warsaw had deteriorated rapidly. People were packing up, ready to leave the city that was inching ever closer to becoming a frontline.

"That was a few days ago. Our army is just a bunch of waste," the father replied bitterly, taking a bite of his potato. "They couldn't hold back the Germans for even a day."

The mother looked up, startled. "Why? Has the frontline fallen again?"

"I work at the telephone exchange; I hear things," the father murmured, setting down his spoon with a sigh. "The latest news is that the Germans are probably just a dozen kilometers outside Warsaw now."

The mother's face fell, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "Oh my God. The Germans are that close? No wonder we've been seeing more of their planes lately."

Suddenly, a loud "Boom!" shook the room, dust falling from the ceiling as the building trembled. The boy, startled, stared wide-eyed at the dachshund that had been startled by the explosion, while the chandelier above swayed ominously. The war, once a distant threat, had now arrived at their doorstep, shattering the peace of their lives.

"Stay under the table, son. I'll go see what's happening," the father said, quickly wiping his mouth and standing. He dusted himself off, pushed open the door, and walked out, descending the stairs to the street below.

Outside, he discovered a scene of devastation. A nearby three-story building had collapsed, and two pedestrians lay motionless beside it. In the center of the wreckage, a small plume of smoke rose from a crater. A few people had already gathered, looking on in shock.

He rushed over to help and found a middle-aged woman and an elderly man in a woolen coat on the ground, both apparently hit by shrapnel. "Why wasn't the air raid siren sounded?" a bystander exclaimed in horror, his companion equally confused.

"This was from a 203 mm caliber howitzer," a man with military experience interjected, pointing to the crater. "This isn't an aerial bomb; it's artillery fire."

"That's impossible... How can artillery fire be this close?" a young man asked, his face pale with fear.

"The German army... they've reached the suburbs?" another guessed.

"If I were you, I'd go home, pack your things, and take your children out of Warsaw. It's no longer safe here," the veteran advised loudly, urging the bystanders to leave quickly.

As Polish soldiers arrived on the scene to investigate the source of the explosion, the crowd was dispersed. One officer, noting the veteran's knowledge, pulled him aside. "Sir, you seem to know your artillery. Can you tell us what you know?"

"This is a Polish 203 mm howitzer, heavy and not easily moved. I used one like it on the Pod border during my service," the man explained.

"So, you're suggesting this was friendly fire?" the officer asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid it was captured by the Germans. These cannons are usually stationed on the border and not meant to be moved easily. They must have brought it within range to strike here as a warning," the veteran clarified, dashing the young officer's hopes.

Back at the command center, General Betan was furious. "Incompetence! Our 210,000 troops outmatched by a million Germans, and not a single stand made!" he shouted, slamming down the phone. His adjutant hurriedly reported that the explosion had been confirmed as an artillery attack, not an aerial one, which only fueled Betan's rage.

"How did they get so close without us knowing? When was the last contact with the Pomerania Legion?" he demanded.

"They were last reported fighting fiercely, retreating towards northern Poland," the adjutant replied.

Betan raged about the betrayal by Britain and France, foreseeing the dire consequences of their inaction. "They won't even offer an explanation to a dying country," he spat, dismissing his secretary's suggestion to retreat to the southern region, where German forces were already advancing.

"Sir, should we just sit here and wait to die?" the secretary asked, fear evident in his voice.

"What choice do we have? My defense ministers and generals have fled. I don't even know how many troops we can muster," Betan lamented.

At that moment, an officer entered. It was the commander of the Warsaw Defense Corps, Nasar, who had been preparing the city's defenses. He took full responsibility for organizing the city's defense, despite the general's skepticism about their chances of victory.

Nasar returned to his command post to assess his resources. Despite the grim news of another German bombardment, he was somewhat heartened to learn that Warsaw still had about 20,000 reserve soldiers ready to be mobilized, along with the police and other defensive forces, totaling around 80,000 defenders. Additionally, the Pomeranian Legion had reestablished contact, though they were encircled 30 kilometers from the city.

As the situation grew increasingly desperate, Nasar and Betan worked together to rally the troops. "Gather all soldiers and fortify Warsaw. We must not let the Germans advance further. Victory will be ours!" Betan declared, though Nasar harbored no illusions about the grim reality they faced. All he could do was fulfill his duty as a soldier and defend his homeland to the last.

"General! General! The Germans attacked again! German tanks appeared in the eastern block, and the troops there are nearly overwhelmed!" an officer reported loudly as he burst into the command post. Another officer, dust-covered and with a gauze bandage over one eye that barely concealed the blood seeping through, followed him in and exclaimed, "Commander! News from the northern Pomerania army! They've begun an eastern breakout and can no longer support our efforts! Those **** cowards! At a time like this, they only think of themselves! Bastards!"

"I'm not deaf! I can hear the gunfire! Get me the commander of the 11th Army! I will personally oversee the defense in the town! The commander of the Rhodes Legion will never flee!" declared Xhosa, the commander of the Rhodes Legion, standing up resolutely from his base station.

"The 11th Army has collapsed! The Commander has already surrendered with his troops! Our defensive line now has a massive gap!" one of the officers reported, his head bowed in shame.

"We still have about one infantry division here, and there are 10,000 defeated soldiers who retreated into the city of Lodz a few days ago. The 13th Army has about 20,000 troops and 20 75mm cannons. These forces are now under our temporary command," the officer continued.

"After all, we still have loyal soldiers in Poland," Kosatsky remarked, glancing at several civilian officers and the two reporting officers in the headquarters. "You must hold this position! As long as we can block the German advance, Britain and France will strike from behind. They are on our side! Don't give up!"

"Yes, Commander!" the officers responded.

"Sir, based on previous encounters with the German army, the troops in field positions will soon be overwhelmed by enemy tanks and artillery. We should prepare for street fighting!" suggested one officer.

Kosatsky thought for a moment and then decided, "Then let's abandon areas that are not critical! Focus our defenses around residential areas and near the churches! We will confront the Germans there!"

"Yes, Sir!" The officers saluted and withdrew, leaving the command post in a momentary silence.

Kosatsky stared at the combat map on the wall, acutely aware that his final moments might be approaching. As Poland's strongest frontline corps, the Łódź Corps once had many tanks and aircraft at its disposal – but now, those assets were either destroyed or captured by the Germans. Surrounded by German forces from the north in a tight encirclement, escape was no longer an option.

Hours later, Kosatsky patrolled his army's defensive lines and saw German troops capturing positions less than 200 meters away. He watched as a dozen German grenadiers swiftly crossed the street under cover of machine gun fire, then hoisted a large red flag with a black 4D insignia on a nearby building. The sight of the flag, a stark symbol of the enemy, felt like a steel knife twisting in Kosatsky's heart.

After a brief respite, the relentless sound of machine gun fire resumed as German soldiers launched a fierce assault on the Polish defenders holed up in the church area. The Polish troops, using a derailed tram as a makeshift anti-tank barrier, fought back stubbornly, defending every inch of ground. The battle raged through the streets and buildings until evening, turning the once-thriving town into a near ruin.

With limited troops at his disposal and the battle extending into the night, Kosatsky found himself without a reserve force to deploy. The German assaults continued unabated, their forces bolstered by assault guns and tanks, followed by waves of infantry. Despite the overwhelming odds, the elite troops of the Polish Łódź Legion held their ground against the formidable German onslaught. By early the next morning, most of the town remained in Polish hands, though it was now completely surrounded, with the last route to the rear firmly under German control.

The fighting persisted until ten o'clock in the morning when the church was finally destroyed. Kosatsky was pulled from the rubble by his officers and taken to a nearby manor, now abandoned and filled only with broken furniture.

"Sir! We must protect you and break through to Warsaw! You cannot die here, sir! If you die, Poland is truly finished!" an officer pleaded with Kosatsky, his face bloodied and tears in his eyes.

"Most of our forces are now out of contact. The direct command forces we can muster amount to only about a thousand men, lacking heavy weapons and cavalry. Breaking through will be difficult," Kosatsky analyzed grimly.

"Who said I'm leaving? I will not die running. This town will be my grave!" Kosatsky declared defiantly. "Let the Germans and the entire world know that a Polish general would rather die than surrender!"

"You can die for Poland! I can also die for my country!" he proclaimed, his eyes resolute. From a humble soldier to the commander of the legion, Kosatsky had lived a life of service. Even in defeat, he harbored no regrets.

A soldier, covered in dust, crawled into the compound where Kosatsky was hiding, stirring up smoke in the already murky room. The soldiers inside managed a weary smile at his arrival.

"Sir," the soldier saluted, seemingly detached from the chaos of war. "The acting commander of the 11th Army is dead. Resistance in the residential areas is collapsing. They are turning their focus here."

"Understood. Return to your posts," Kosatsky responded, waving dismissively with a heavy sigh. "Order the troops to hold on to the last minute! Poland depends on us! May the flag of Poland never fall!"

"Yes, sir!" the officers saluted sharply before turning to leave the dust-filled living room. The air was thick with the smell of decay, punctuated by the cries and moans of wounded soldiers in the next room and the distant rumble of German artillery.

Kosatsky watched his officers leave, then silently drew his pistol, weighing it in his hand. As he pondered his next move, a large-caliber howitzer shell struck the yard, sending dark smoke billowing and shaking the entire building. A chunk of masonry dislodged, striking the table covered with the city defense map.

The German offensive intensified, with dive bombers joining the assault. The Polish defenders were swiftly overwhelmed by the combined might of tanks, machine guns, and artillery. As the defensive circle tightened, Kosatsky faced his final moments. Lacking the resolve to end his own life, he sat, listening to the cries outside, as death drew ever closer.

"You! And you! Go help over there! Tell Mawar to hold on! I have no reinforcements for him!" he shouted, trying to coordinate the defense.

"What about Jacques? Why hasn't anyone reported back? Contact him, quickly!" another voice called out in a tremor, barely audible over the din.

Suddenly, a direct hit from a large-caliber shell struck the building where Kosatsky was holed up. The structure, already weakened, collapsed under the impact. Darkness enveloped Kosatsky, and he knew no more.

The commander of the elite Polish Łódź Corps, Kosatsky, perished under the rubble of a small two-story building in a town east of Łódź. Half an hour later, the town that had resisted for two days ceased its struggle. German soldiers climbed to the church, now just a pile of ruins, and hoisted the red 4D banner, marking the sacrifice of their comrades.

From Germany to Warsaw, no force remained to halt the German advance. Field Marshal Rommel could now redirect his forces. News arrived that the Head of State, Akado Rudolph, was inspecting the northern army, just as the enemy capital fell. Seizing the moment, Rommel decided to press the attack across Poland, determined to reclaim as much territory as possible.