Death

"We... have we... won?" Andre asked, his hand shaking slightly on the artillery launcher. His head was still turned toward the sight, his eyes not leaving his target. "Won!" a voice shouted triumphantly in the headphones. A German armored soldier in a nearby tank had lifted his hatch and was now half out of the tank, waving his hat jubilantly, celebrating their hard-fought victory.

"Should be... won," Ryan murmured, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out an iron box, tipped out two chocolate candies, and tossed them into his mouth, his words muffled by the sweets.

Minutes later, nearby friendly troops arrived and began establishing a defensive line in a village not far away. These German armored soldiers, still on the ground, finally believed they had survived the brutal battlefield.

"You all wait here, take a break," Ren said, looking at Bruce, who was nearly exhausted, and Andre, who was trembling beside him. He managed a weak smile and added, "I'll go to tank 124, see if they need help." He pushed open his captain's hatch, climbed out of the turret of the tank, and was just about to descend when he spotted a Polish soldier lying on the muddy ground, blood dried around his nostrils. The soldier's eyes were open, staring blankly at the gray sky above. His chest had been pierced by machine gun fire, and a rifle lay beside him, no grenades in sight. He posed no threat to the massive tank, yet he had been struck down and lay there, lifeless as a mound of dirt.

Ryan silently observed the body for a few seconds, then jumped down from the tank. His leather boots, slightly muddy, stepped over the body, and he staggered slightly. He never looked down at the face of the fallen soldier, instead walking straight to his vehicle to inspect a deep dent marked by a recent shell hit. The shell had struck but, thanks to the angled armor design, it had been deflected away, sparing their tank from penetration. Everyone inside had been shaken but remained unharmed.

The Leopard tank, touted as a victory weapon by the head of state, had lived up to its name, Ren thought as he trudged through the muddy terrain toward tank 124, bustling with activity in the distance.

"Gentlemen!" Akado announced proudly to the group of capitalists and businessmen gathered around him, "Today is September 28, and the war has entered its 15th day. We have swept across western Poland in these 15 days, wiping out 450,000 Polish field troops, capturing 700,000, and occupying the entire western region of Poland."

The room erupted in applause, everyone looking at Akado with admiration, their minds filled with visions of Germany's promising future. Akado raised his hands, signaling for quiet. As the applause died down, he continued, "In the vast territories of Poland lie ores, farmlands, populations, factories—these are the fruits of victory for everyone present!"

This was clearly a signal of the head of state's intent to distribute the spoils of war, prompting even more enthusiastic applause from the crowd. These assets would be used to compensate debts owed by the government to companies and individuals. Real gold and silver from various parts of Poland would flow into the German treasury, fueling the continued operation of the German war machine.

"Gentlemen, to more equitably distribute the strategic resources and the benefits of victory, Schacht and I have designed a war bond system," Akado continued with a smile. "For details, you may consult my economic advisor, my wife, Messer Des. If you wish to purchase or use Mifford vouchers to exchange for these war bonds, you can contact Minister Schacht."

This idea, Akado reflected, had come from novels he had read about alternate histories where war bonds were used to gather private wealth to support nationalistic wars of expansion. While he had always thought this method overly optimistic, recent economic slowdowns due to material shortages had prompted him to reconsider. Schacht had been enthusiastic about the proposal, believing that using Mifford vouchers to exchange for war bonds would pose a much smaller risk than asking people to buy national or war bonds outright.

As the applause continued, chants of "Long live the head of state!" echoed through the hall.

When Ren reached tank 124, he found the company commander, Carter, directing several tank soldiers in extracting a wounded man from the tank hatch.

"Pull him out! Be careful!" Carter instructed, bending over from his position on the roof of tank 124. Nearby, two infantry medics waited, and at their feet, a bloodied soldier with bandaged hands leaned silently against the tank wheels, smoking a cigarette.

Ryan saw the wounded man being pulled from the tank. He had at least two bullet wounds, the blood staining his black uniform and dripping down to the ground. Ren knew the soldier was beyond help.

"The Polish tank's shell hit just below the artillery," Marcus mentioned to Ren, without turning to face him. "The shell bounced off and went right through the thin steel plate above the tank's body, sending shards of metal into the head of the mechanic."

"The mechanic is the one they're lifting out now," Ren nodded toward the tank crew, then asked, "What about the captain?"

"The captain's still inside. He took at least twenty hits to the lower body; it was a painful death. The gunner's gone too, riddled with holes, died instantly with no pain. The loader's the one sitting over there by the wheel," Marcus sighed, adding, "They're really unlucky."

Ryan glanced at Marcus. "You know, sometimes luck is also a key element of survival."

"Yes," Marcus agreed, lighting a cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Compared to the Soviet political prisoners we've killed, we're lucky to be alive." He looked at Ren, his eyes filled with a mix of grief and resignation. "Ren, when I die, I don't want it to be as ugly as this."

"Everyone looks ugly in death," Ren replied with a wry smile.

Meanwhile, in one of Berlin's most luxurious hotels, a lavish birthday party was being held. The hotel's golden dome was adorned with a magnificent chandelier, surrounded by angelic paintings that reflected the flickering light. A dinner here cost 1500 marks, the equivalent of a third of a Leopard tank, highlighting the divide between the wealthy and the poor.

Despite the workers outside the hotel gnawing on 7-mark hamburgers, those inside believed in the rising German economy. The lobby had been reserved for the birthday of one of Germany's most noble citizens, and no one questioned the extravagance or remembered the German soldiers bleeding hundreds of kilometers away.

However, Akado did remember those who had shed blood for him, even if he couldn't voice his thoughts here. One hundred children from a Berlin elementary school were arranged in five rows on the stage, their innocent faces illuminated by the grand lighting, singing praises to the head of state.

"The great head of state leads us to Germany, marching forward with courage and bravery towards the future. You are a gift from God, and your appearance is our new hope..." The children's voices filled the room, a poignant contrast to the harsh realities of war.

Elsewhere, a staff officer informed his commander, "The Poles tried to gather here... yes, the Air Force has detected this intention." He relayed the news that SS troops had been violently attacked, resulting in four deaths and a destroyed tank.

"Destroyed?" the commander asked, surprised. "If I recall, we've only lost five tanks since the war started—three to mines and two to mechanical failures."

"Since we've strengthened the SS armored forces, we can't keep chasing after those tank soldiers," the staff officer remarked, hinting at the need to demonstrate their capabilities.

"Is the assembly area within our range?" the commander inquired, pointing to a map.

"Let's also see what this thing can really do," he decided.

Outside their command vehicle, soldiers drove wedges into the front and rear sides of the vehicle's tires to stabilize its position. Hydraulic jacks slowly lowered, firmly supporting the structure of the special trucks. The iron plate that had been hanging above the windshield was lowered, and the windows were securely covered. The canvas at the back of the vehicle was pulled back by soldiers, revealing two rows of special devices resembling rails.

"Let those old artillery soldiers see how we use up their half-hour's worth of ammunition in 25 seconds," the commander boasted proudly.

"After two minutes, cover the target area!" he ordered, ready to demonstrate the devastating power at their disposal.