Polish calvery

In the vast expanses between the fields, several German Leopard tanks formed a sharp, advancing formation, penetrating deep into the Polish hinterland, over 50 kilometers east of Krakow. The German armored forces had swept through southern Poland with unprecedented speed, their medium-sized tanks, equipped with large-caliber artillery and thick, sturdy armor, marking their debut as the war's protagonists. This technological marvel transformed the nature of warfare, showcasing human ingenuity and experience in the grim art of combat.

"The Polish army was not found on the left! We seem to be advancing too fast!" Marcus's voice crackled through the headphones, prompting Ren to lower the binoculars from his eyes. The terrain was ideal for tank warfare, with virtually no obstructions in sight. Nearby, just off the road they had traveled, was a small mound covered with bushes, unexamined due to lack of time and perceived threat. In the eyes of the German armored soldiers, the enemy forces left behind posed almost no threat.

Ren chuckled into the throat mic, "Commander, Marcus says you're pushing too fast; he didn't even pull up his pants after his business." He then pulled a tin box from his jacket pocket, flipped open the lid, and offered some chocolate candies to Andre, who was half-out the side door, laughing. "Thank you," Andre waved off the offer, his eyes briefly glancing at the two thin white lines on his tank's gun barrel before he burst into laughter again.

"I'm Commander Carter," came the voice of the lead vehicle's commander through the headset. "Tank 112, report any signs of gas! Put on a gas mask! I can smell Marcus from here! Hahaha!"

Laughter erupted in the headset from the commanders of tanks 114 and 115, mixed with Marcus's retort: "Ryan! Be careful, or I'll jam that tank barrel where the sun doesn't shine!"

"Okay! That's enough joking around!" Carter's voice came over the intercom. "We haven't seen the Polish defenders for a day. They must be retreating faster than we advance, or we've completely bypassed their lines."

"Since we broke through their defenses and took a detour, leaving over 500 Polish prisoners for the infantry, we haven't spotted any more Polish forces," added the captain of tank 114. "Maybe they've retreated all the way to Warsaw?"

"Tank 114, we can't drive straight to Warsaw!" Marcus joked, "We're headed east, and Warsaw is to the north."

"I think we've breached the main line of Polish defense," Ren added. "If we encounter them again, it'll likely be their second-line reserves."

"Attention! I see a Polish soldier ahead on horseback! Looks like a scout," Marcus suddenly shouted in the headphones. "Behind me! My rear! God, your 5 o'clock position, Commander!"

"I see them, Marcus! Two riders, likely scouts," Carter adjusted his turret to finally spot the Polish soldiers who had appeared behind them. "They must be part of a retreating force. We should encircle and intercept them."

In the distance, the two Polish riders turned their heads in panic and galloped toward a nearby hill—clearly, there was a larger Polish force behind it. Normally, with only five tanks, a cautious approach would be prudent until the size of the enemy was known. However, the German tanks, emboldened by their superior performance that had dominated previous encounters, often attacking Polish forces many times their number, had gradually shed caution.

These tanks were the pride of the German armored divisions, highly esteemed by the head of state. Along their route, they had destroyed numerous trucks and cannons, obliterated 15 Polish tanks, captured over 1,700 soldiers, and even taken a Polish division commander prisoner.

Ryan glanced at Andre and pressed the throat mic to issue combat commands: "Clark! Check the ammo for the machine gun! Bruce, load a grenade, and prepare an armor-piercing round!"

"Keep it simple next time!" Bruce interjected.

"Maintain formation! Adjust the vehicle! Aim at the enemy's likely position! Tank 115, you cover our rear and keep us updated," Carter commanded loudly.

"Tank 112, understood!" Marcus responded.

"Tank 115, understood!" came another voice.

"Tank 114, understood!" echoed another.

The tanks tightened their formation and approached the hill overlooking the rice fields. "Bauman, turn the vehicle," Ren instructed, gripping the hatch as the tank approached the seemingly innocuous mound. The sight that greeted them as they crested the hill was startling. Behind the mound lay a vast assembly of Polish cavalry, resting. The rumble of the tanks startled the horses, and both men and beasts turned their stunned gazes towards Ren and his crew.

"If I were you, I'd close the hatch," Andre murmured, peering through his gun sight.

"Company commander! Should they attack, or do we take the initiative?" Marcus's voice buzzed in Ren's ear.

Before a command could be issued, Andre pressed the fire button. The cannon roared, sending a shell slicing through the air into the mass of Polish soldiers and horses, erupting in a violent explosion. The blast was like a signal, awakening the dazed forces into frantic action.

"Machine gun, fire at will! Clark!" Ren shouted as he ducked into the tank, securing the hatch. He was determined not to be the first tank commander in history to fall to a cavalry charge. As the tank plunged down the hillside into the melee, the mounted machine gun in front chattered violently, mowing down soldiers and horses alike.

Bruce loaded another grenade into the cannon, and Andre fired without aiming. Their tank sliced through the crowd like a steel blade through tofu, leaving a trail of bloodied corpses and stunned cavalrymen who had forgotten to flee.

The Polish cavalry, splattered with the blood of their comrades, stood frozen, unsure of what to do next. The nature of warfare had changed too quickly for them. That morning, they had been ordered to this location, sworn to defend their country and fight to the last—now, they only knew the overwhelming strength of their enemy, realizing that valor alone might not secure victory.

"For Poland! Charge!" A cavalryman rallied, pulling a spear from the ground and donning his steel helmet. He spurred his horse over the bodies and toward the German tanks, shouting, "Polish warriors! Follow me if you fear not death!"

His call stirred others. Soldiers turned their horses and charged, some firing rifles, others brandishing sabers as they rushed towards the relentless advance of the German tanks.

"They're mad! God!" Clark exclaimed, reloading the machine gun as Andre mowed down the advancing Poles. The tanks slowed, hindered by the bodies of fallen horses.

Ren could hear bullets pinging against the tank armor. "Marcus! Can you cover me?" he called out amidst the chaos, feeling the situation spiraling.

"I can't see you! There are Poles on my tank trying to pry open my hatch!" Marcus's voice cracked with tension. "Someone help me!"

"Clark, keep firing!" Ryan yelled at the gunner, who was nauseated by the carnage. "Or I'll throw you out!"

The machine gun resumed its deadly song. Ryan patted Andre on the shoulder. "Turn the turret, find tank 112, and help Marcus!"

"Steady the vehicle! Bowman, keep us on course!" Ren commanded as the tank lurched.

"They're trying to jam our tracks with spears! How can I keep it steady?" Bowman responded, frustration in his voice.

"I've got tank 112 in sight! Three Poles on the turret!" Andre reported, firing a burst of tracer rounds. The bullets sparked off Marcus's tank, knocking several attackers to the ground.

Suddenly, Clark screamed, "I can't see the Poles anymore!"

Ren realized they had overrun a Polish cavalry position. "Tank 113 calling 111! Company commander, I can't locate you!"

Carter's strained voice came through, not from tank 111 but from another channel. "I'm pinned by horse corpses! They're attacking my tank with sabers! I'm surrounded by Poles! Tank 114 needs support!"

"Load the grenade!" commanded Renn with urgency. "The grenade is loaded!" Bruce responded loudly, his voice echoing inside the metal confines of the tank. "Open fire!" Renn shouted, his voice filled with a mix of command and thrill. "Bauman! Turn the front of the car! Let's go back and find car 111 and car 114!" he continued, directing the driver through the chaos of battle.

"I'm following you!" Marcus shouted into his headset. "I saw them gathering! Your direction at 9 o'clock."

"Follow me!" Renn suddenly laughed, a sound that seemed almost out of place amidst the violence. How long had it been since he had felt the adrenaline rush of dancing between life and death? How long since he had partaken in such a killing feast that affirmed he was still alive? Was the title of the devil long forgotten?

He grabbed the submachine gun from the rack, lifted the captain's hatch, and with Andrea's stunned expression watching, he protruded his upper body out of the tank. He aimed the submachine gun at a Polish soldier positioned to the left of the turret. As the bullets from the drum were spent, he laughed heartily, seized the hatch, and ducked back into the safety of the turret as bullets from the Polish cavalry rained around him. He then secured the hatch shut.

"Fire!" Andre, caught up in the frenzy of Renn's emotions, shouted with a laugh. He adjusted the artillery, fired at the dense mass of Polish cavalry, and then took down several who dared to rush toward them with the coaxial machine gun. They waited for Bruce to reload the ammunition.

Car 113 took the lead, plunging back into the disarrayed Polish cavalry. Even as European military powers were gradually phasing out cavalry units, the Polish army maintained as many as 40 regiments. This was partly due to the lack of motor vehicles and poor road conditions, which made cavalry advantageous during the swampy conditions of the rainy seasons. Additionally, Poland cherished a deep-seated tradition of cavalry that dated back to battles against the Grand Duchy of Moscow, the Tatars, and the Turks. Their bravery was a source of national pride.

However, when faced with the heavily armed and technologically superior German forces, these traditions seemed almost anachronistic. Tank 113 collided with the Polish cavalry, who had gathered for a charge. The contrast was stark: a spear over two meters long against a 75mm cannon, a thin saber against a 7.92mm caliber machine gun. It was clear without doubt—the flesh and blood stood no chance against the relentless machinery of war.

"I found tank 114!" came a voice from the command car 111, which had lost contact earlier. Commander Carter's voice crackled through the headphones. "I'm trying to get closer to it! There are too many Polish cavalry around!"

Despite the valiant efforts of the Polish cavalry, their charge could not halt the German tanks. A brave cavalryman who charged at the tank with his long spear was swiftly cut down by Clark's machine gun, his horse collapsing beneath him. The surrounding Polish cavalry hesitated, caught between bravery and the stark fear of death. While some continued their charge, many chose to flee the battlefield, turning the area into a scene reminiscent of purgatory. This escape only added to the chaos, rendering any organized counterattack futile.

Seizing the opportunity, Rennes opened the hatch once more and unleashed another barrage of bullets from his submachine gun. This reckless display hastened the Polish defeat. After the skirmish, the German tanks emerged largely unscathed, save for some superficial marks and shallow dents on their painted surfaces. The toll on the Polish side was grim: 513 cavalrymen lay dead with 31 captured—a whole regiment had fled, decimating the largest mobile force in Poland's southern hinterland.

In the ensuing days, the Polish government desperately sought assistance from Britain and France, hoping their distant allies would intervene. Despite repeated appeals from Warsaw and the ominous reports from the British Ambassador detailing the sounds of bombings, action from Britain and France was limited to a symbolic warning issued to the German Head of State, Akado. Both countries, still hopeful to see Germany turn its aggression towards the Soviet Union, hesitated in their response, preferring to wait for a secret indication from Germany regarding its next move.

Back in Berlin, in the office of the German Head of State, Akado reviewed frontline reports with a pensive silence. The thought of Europe's most advanced technology clashing with traditional weaponry seemed almost surreal to him. "My leader," the officer who brought the report gently reminded him, bringing Akado out of his reverie.

"The staff are seeking your opinion. Our forces have penetrated deep into Poland but may face a counterattack. Should we consolidate our positions before continuing?" the officer inquired.

Akado, reflecting on the lessons of past conservative military strategies that had cost Germany dearly, decided against a cautious approach. "I think our battle plan should not be overly conservative against such a weak opponent," he advised. "Let the troops continue to advance at a suitable pace, encircle, and annihilate the Polish field forces to secure a favorable position for taking Warsaw."

As the officer left to relay the orders, Anna appeared at the door with a smile, introducing Mr. Augustus, a wise and experienced strategist, into Akado's office. Despite his age and the humorous quip about being seen as an enemy if he refused the invitation, Augustus agreed to lend his expertise to Akado's cause. In return, he requested access to financial records and other documents to begin his work.

As Augustus departed, Akado instructed Anna to provide him with recent combat reports and infrastructure plans, confident in the strategic adjustments they were making. Underneath the top report on his desk, a document marked with the highest-level seal of the SS Gestapo confirmed the security clearance of Augustus, affirming him as a safe and valuable addition to their efforts.

In these turbulent times, the lines between old honor and modern warfare were being redrawn, and Akado was determined to lead Germany through these changes with a blend of old wisdom and new strategies.