New marshal

The chirping of birds in the forest brought a sense of relaxation and joy, marking a quiet and peaceful morning along the ceasefire line between Germany and Poland. This line, though not formalized in any document, had been tacitly established by German and Soviet diplomats. Consequently, the German forces halted their advance here. The Polish defenders to the west had been annihilated, while fierce battles raged on the eastern front against the Soviet Union, rendering any conflict at this location unnecessary. The Germans were effectively on a holiday, and the Polish had no reason to provoke the Germans who had ceased their forward movement.

Three days after the German forces arrived, a Polish infantry battalion took up positions across from them. Outnumbered and outgunned, this battalion faced an entire SS armored division. It was clear to everyone that should the Germans resume their advance, the symbolic trenches the Poles had dug across the river would offer little resistance.

During these days, Rennes often sat beside his tank, watching the sunset. The afterglow painted the sky with hues reminiscent of a burning town, evoking memories of past campaigns against Polish tanks. Rennes' Leopard tank, marked distinctly with the number 113, had recently been repaired. An iron plate had been welded onto the slightly damaged front armor, making it stand out among its peers. This tank, celebrated for destroying 29 tanks on the Eastern Front, as well as accounting for 7 trucks and 14 artillery pieces from Poland, held the top spot on the German armored killer list. Rumor had it that upon hearing of Rennes' exploits, the head of state himself had smiled and decided to award the Iron Cross to this formidable tank captain personally.

As Rennes lounged against his tank's barrel, two SS soldiers patrolling the nearby road approached. They stopped under the tank, lighting cigarettes, and struck up a conversation with Rennes.

"When do we move again?" one of the soldiers asked, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. "We've been stationary for days now, and many infantry units have caught up. Are we only going to fight half of the Soviet Union?"

Rennes, looking relaxed, replied softly, "If the command doesn't order an attack, isn't it nice to rest like this?"

Andrea, the gunner, who was busy wiping the tank's periscope, couldn't help but chuckle. He preferred this laid-back version of Rennes to the cold-blooded warrior on the battlefield. At least for now, Rennes seemed content and untroubled.

"Hey! Look at that! The Poles are sending people across again," shouted Bowman from the turret. "Lots of refugees. It looks like the Poles in the east can't hold out much longer."

Poland was in chaos. War and famine had driven countless people from their homes. Desperate, they fled to areas still under Polish control, only to find life even more difficult. With nothing but the clothes on their backs, these refugees—men, women, and children—headed west, hoping for better conditions under German occupation.

The roads into German-controlled territory were crowded with slow-moving masses escaping the devastation in eastern Poland. Their cries echoed across the fields, a continuous, low sound like the groaning of a wounded beast.

The Germans had a straightforward approach to dealing with these refugees. Able-bodied youths and women were segregated and sent to the original border between Germany and Poland, where they were assigned to work on large farms or in light industrial factories. After three years, they could become full-time employees. Despite being on minimal rations, they were provided with food, clothing, and communal housing. Elderly people and children were given priority for shelter, a policy devised by Augustus and Akado to ensure a stable, easily managed workforce.

The head of state was pleased with this strategy, as it significantly boosted the German light industry. Those unable to work—mainly the elderly and very young—were sent to concentration camps to serve as laborers. Conditions there were harsh, and with limited national resources, many were destined to suffer greatly.

Recently, an increasing number of Polish people, mostly elderly and children, had been coming to the German control line, hoping to return to their hometowns. This influx kept the German defenders busy as they were tasked with screening these refugees to determine whether they should be sent to work on farms and in factories or placed in concentration camps.

Screening had become a coveted duty among the soldiers. Many refugees, having heard rumors of labor selection, traded everything they owned for a chance to find refuge in Germany. Some young girls, desperate to stay, spent nights with German soldiers in hopes of securing a place in a textile factory. Unfortunately, after being used, they were often sent to camps anyway.

Elderly men and women, too, tried to bribe the soldiers with whatever valuables they had, like engagement rings or dentures. But after taking their possessions, the soldiers typically sent them to work in the camps anyway.

On October 1st, Akado ordered the construction of additional concentration camps in the Polish occupation zone. Conditions in these camps were dire, especially for the elderly, many of whom were expected to starve. The camps for younger people, while slightly better, still required hard labor and the learning of German for any hope of release.

These camps were part of a larger plan to use every available labor force to produce materials for Germany. Unlike Hitler's policies, Akado's strategy involved dividing the Polish population and managing them in smaller, more controllable groups, incorporating some locals and Jews when beneficial. This approach, while still harsh, led to less resistance than outright genocide.

Through the Grand German Party, Akado promoted the idea that all people under German rule were part of a great German nation. This policy, though flawed and criticized by Western countries, led to a significant increase in Germany's gross national product—even during wartime.

As Rennes and Andrea observed the ongoing "transit review," where valuables were being collected from the refugees, Andrea tapped Rennes on the shoulder and asked, "Do you think we're right to wage this war? Can we actually win?"

Rennes, staring at an old man being shot for refusing to surrender his valuables, responded blankly, "I don't know if it's right or wrong, Andrea. I'm just following orders to fight for our leader and our country. Winning isn't my concern; I'm here to make sure we do."

Andrea laughed, jumped off the tank, and said, "It must be nice to see life as simply as you do."

In the grand and luminous hall, the military orchestra played its most heroic compositions, the entire space having been refurbished for a significant celebration. Today marked a momentous occasion for the German military as Admiral Walter von Brauchitsch, the Commander-in-Chief of the Wehrmacht, was to be promoted to the rank of Marshal by the head of state, Akado Rudolph. This event was not just a promotion; it was a symbol of revival and encouragement for all German soldiers. It had been nearly two decades since a German officer had been elevated to the rank of Marshal—a rank that had not been bestowed since the dark days following the defeat in 1919, a time that had suffocated the spirit of the German military with the humiliation of an undefeated army forced to bear the yoke of the victors.

The sentiment throughout the nation and among the ranks was one of suppressed fury and a collective yearning to redeem their honor. The duty and responsibility of every soldier were clear—they would rather die in battle than endure the disgrace of 1919 once more. The atmosphere began to shift in 1925 when secret plans to expand the National Defense Force brought forth a new generation of young generals, among whom Akado Rudolph shone the brightest. He was the visionary who urged the military to cast off the shadows of the past and to reclaim German dignity step by step. Under his leadership, Germany remilitarized the Rhineland, and through strategic diplomacy and military prowess, annexed Austria and Czechoslovakia without firing a single shot. These victories not only restored territorial pride but also significantly bolstered the German economy.

The resurgence continued as Germany, under Akado's guidance, redefined its military tactics. The Wehracht adopted blitzkrieg strategies that emphasized speed and surprise, utilizing mechanized infantry and tanks. The navy, aiming to surpass Britain's naval capabilities, shifted focus from battleships to versatile aircraft carrier tactics. The Luftwaffe, reborn from the ashes, quickly ascended to a world-class air force, demonstrating its newfound prowess during the Spanish Civil War by outmaneuvering the Soviet-supported Republican Air Force.

Yet, it was the recent campaign in Poland that truly epitomized the Wehrmacht's resurgence. The swift and decisive victory was not merely a military triumph but a vindication of national pride. On September 13, 1937, Germany launched a surprise attack on Poland, quickly overwhelming the Eastern European power. Within three days, German pilots had obliterated the Polish Air Force, gaining complete air superiority. The ground forces, supported from above, penetrated Polish defenses with unprecedented speed, advancing 50 kilometers on the first day alone. Despite some near mishaps—like Guderian nearly being struck by friendly fire and Rommel temporarily misplacing his unit amidst scattered Polish troops—the campaign was a resounding success. In just 20 days, Warsaw was surrounded and capitulated, and Poland was subdued with minimal German casualties—a stark contrast to the grim attrition of World War I.

This triumph was more than a military conquest; it was a restoration of the German spirit, proving that the Wehrmacht was still a formidable force capable of protecting and advancing the interests of the German people. Although unresolved tensions with France lingered, the revitalization of Germany's military prowess was undeniable, and Brauchitsch's promotion to Marshal was a testament to this resurgence.

On the day of the ceremony, the hall buzzed with anticipation and national pride. As Brauchitsch walked into the ceremonial hall, surrounded by applause and the flashing of cameras, he was acutely aware of the significance of the moment. Approaching Akado, he stood tall, saluting the head of state with a crisp, "Long live the great Akado Rudolph! Long live Great Germany! Congratulations to you today, Admiral of the Empire, Commander-in-Chief of the Wehrmacht, Walter von Brauchitsch."

Akado, with a smile and a nod of approval, responded, "After careful consideration and approval by the Imperial Parliament, I will officially promote you to the first Marshal of the Empire." The applause that followed was thunderous, blending seamlessly with the triumphant music, as if echoing the march of soldiers in formation.

During the lavish dinner that followed, the atmosphere was jubilant. Toasts were made, and congratulations poured in from all sides. The warmth of the celebration was palpable, filled with the clinking of glasses and the soft melodies that filled the air. For Brauchitsch, it was a night to remember, a culmination of hard-fought victories and a harbinger of future triumphs.

Meanwhile, on the Eastern Front in Poland, the situation was starkly different. In a muddy trench, a young Polish soldier clutched his neck, a bullet having just torn through it. Around him, the sounds of battle raged on, with medics scrambling to attend to the wounded amidst the chaos. Supplies were dwindling, ammunition was nearly spent, and the Polish forces were rapidly being pushed back by the relentless German advance.

As the Polish defense crumbled, a low-ranking officer received the grim news from his superior: Warsaw had fallen, and they were fighting for what little remained of free Polish territory. With a heavy heart, the officer made the difficult decision to retreat, hoping to spare his men from certain death. As they withdrew, they left behind a battlefield marked by the courage and desperation of a nation overwhelmed by a superior enemy.

The contrast between the glittering celebration in Germany and the grim reality on the Polish front highlighted the brutal complexities of war—victories celebrated by some are mourned as devastating losses by others. As Brauchitsch enjoyed the accolades of his promotion, miles away, the remnants of the Polish army faced the harsh consequences of defeat, marking another somber chapter in the tumultuous history of Europe.