War

In the bustling office of the 1st Armored Division, several radio operators were intensely engaged with their transceivers. Nearby, General Guderian was reviewing critical documents. His lieutenant approached, handing him a document bearing the seal of the General Command of the National Defence Forces, curiously marked also with the blue seal of the SS General Command.

"General Guderian! I have urgent news! The head of state has ordered the formation of the 1st Tank Army, appointing you as the commander-in-chief. The newly established SS 3rd Armored Division will be under your command," the lieutenant announced, presenting the document.

"Ferrick's troops?" Guderian frowned, turning to his adjutant. "I've discussed this with General Brouchich. It's unwise to allocate the latest Panther tanks to a newly formed division, especially one that's under-trained."

"But we have absolute loyalty to the head of state, General," the lieutenant insisted.

At that moment, a middle-aged man entered, saluting briskly. "Long live the head of state! Good evening, commander! SS Major General Ferrick Gram, reporting for duty."

"Long live the head of state!" Guderian returned the salute. "My concerns are purely tactical. Your division is green; over half are recruits. It's perilous to commit them to battle now."

"The head of state has his strategies, General," Ferrick replied solemnly. "He has prepared the 'Wolf Knights' for the SS. These soldiers can operate effectively even in chaos! My division will not shy from any sacrifice. Please assign us the most crucial tasks."

Guderian was aware of the 'Wolf Knights,' a collaborative training initiative between Germany and the Soviet Union, reputed for producing formidable soldiers. With a sigh, he conceded, "If the head of state has decreed it, I will support his decisions."

He led Ferrick to a sand table, pointing to a small village model beside a forest. "This area was secured by my division this morning. At the time, I was puzzled by the allocation of forces; now I understand why."

Ferrick leaned over the sand table as Guderian traced a circle around the village. "Once the conflict begins, your division must seize this target. Scouts report a well-equipped Polish infantry regiment nearby, with tanks."

"Is my division to capture just this village?" Ferrick asked, his tone dismissive.

Guderian bit back a sharp retort. "This is merely the initial objective. Your forces will then advance to the town beyond and secure the small plain to the south, supporting the 44th Infantry Division on your flanks and crossing the river to engage the enemy."

"Do we have standing orders after taking the plains?" Ferrick inquired, attempting to sound professional.

"The intelligence suggests a significant presence of Polish cavalry in the area. You'll hold the position. If successful, you may push further, though the specifics extend beyond this map," Guderian explained.

"Understood! The SS will fulfill its mission," Ferrick affirmed, though his track record as a frontline commander was less than stellar. Previously a logistics officer in World War I, he had never commanded troops in battle. His post-war career dwindled until he joined the SS, rising rapidly due to the scarcity of seasoned military leaders within its ranks.

Despite his lack of combat experience, Ferrick's logistical acumen was invaluable. His efforts ensured that the 3rd SS Panzer Division was well-supplied and equipped with the latest tanks.

Just then, an adjutant rushed in with a telegram. "Commander, urgent news! The head of state has declared war on Poland 45 minutes ago!"

"How am I just receiving this?" Guderian scrutinized the message. "The Foreign Office issued the declaration, but we're nearly an hour behind!"

"The Air Force launched preemptive strikes 37 minutes ago," an Air Force liaison reported. "300 bombers escorted by 170 fighters targeted enemy installations. They've requested no further sorties to avoid friendly fire."

"My God!" Guderian exclaimed. "Our meticulously planned assault, disrupted within half an hour!"

He immediately ordered, "Notify all units! Full assault now!"

"General Ferrick, return to your division. Commence the attack as planned, immediately!"

"Yes, General!" Ferrick saluted sharply before departing.

Meanwhile, chaos also engulfed the head of state's palace. Calls flooded in, confirming the declaration of war and reporting the premature air strikes.

"Secretary Sindra, confirm with the head of state—General Ronderstadt needs verification of the declaration," one secretary relayed.

"General Braušić reports the Air Force acted prematurely, disrupting plans. He demands an explanation," another added.

As the German command struggled with the fallout, the Polish military was in disarray. Their airfields had been bombed, and their aircraft largely destroyed.

"Get all available fighters airborne now!" a Polish general ordered frantically.

As the SS Panzer Division approached the Polish border, unaware of the gathering Polish counteroffensive, the stage was set for a conflict that would test the mettle of both sides.

Andre perched on the auxiliary hatch of the turret, absorbing the jolts and vibrations as the tank trundled along the uneven road. Beside him, Rennes leaned against the captain's hatch, eyes closed, seemingly at peace despite the chaos. Trucks sped by, their drivers occasionally shouting greetings or waving at the sight of the new tanks.

The road was congested with military traffic, stirring up dust and exhaust that filled the air with a gritty haze. While tanks and armored vehicles claimed the road, lightly armed infantry trudged along the dusty shoulders, burdened with rifles and personal gear. Their formations were disorganized; some soldiers wore just white undershirts with their uniforms slung over their shoulders alongside their rifles. Amidst them, some led dogs, others dragged weary horses, and still others struggled with mountains of supplies, assisted by IDF soldiers with carts.

The constant vibrations of the tank might have been what woke Rennes. He checked his watch by the dim light of the rear lamps—it was 12:36 AM, just four minutes shy of their scheduled rest. Rennes fitted the large headphones and throat microphone from his belt, adjusting them into place. The radio crackled with static and voices clamoring over each other. "Stop! ... Stop! ... Each company ... Stop! Each vehicle ... The captain ... Go to the front ... Go to the assembly!" At exactly 12:40 AM, the command to halt came through.

Ryan often thought of complaining about the poor quality of the radios. In battle, such interference could mean missing critical commands. As the tank column halted, infantry soldiers looked on longingly, some approaching to offer cigarettes in exchange for a short ride on the tanks during the next leg of the march.

Soon, the cooks began distributing food—steaming tomato soup, potatoes, and black bread, drawing envious glances from the infantry who wished they could share the meal. When Rennes returned to the tank, the column started moving again. Three IDF infantrymen, having paid their way with cigarettes, sat comfortably atop the tank above the engine radiator, eyeing their SS counterparts with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"In two hours, we'll be at the border, just as expected. The empire has declared war on Poland," Rennes relayed the news as the tank lurched forward. Despite the lack of training, the reality of imminent combat loomed large. "We have about three hours to rest, then we may be entering the battle," he added.

"We haven't had enough training, Captain," Andre said, a note of concern in his voice. "Going straight to the front, we're likely to see a lot of casualties, our own and our friends."

"There's not enough time for training," Rennes replied with a resigned tone. "But the good news is that the Polish forces at the border are light on heavy weapons. That should mean less threat to us."

Andre stared ahead, his thoughts dark. Not far off, a heavy 150mm cannon was mired in mud, with soldiers straining to free it. Behind it, two military jeeps were parked, their radios visible. Rennes, from his angle, noticed the IDF soldiers saluting the jeeps—clearly part of the command structure.

"The intelligence suggests minimal Polish resistance," Rennes said, trying to reassure Andre, who remained skeptical. "Our advantages include many veterans in our ranks and superior weaponry, though our training is lacking."

Andre shared his own experience to highlight their vulnerability. "In the Sudeten district, despite expectations of no resistance, we encountered fierce fighting. I commanded a platoon of No. 3 tanks. One was hit, and I saw my captain, his face aflame, crawling from the wreckage."

Rennes listened, his expression somber. "Someone has to be blamed, so you were discharged, right?" he asked, his voice tinged with empathy.

"Yes," Andre confirmed. "Now, can you answer something for me? Why did you appoint me as a gunner despite my lack of experience with moving targets?"

Rennes smiled wryly. "Because I believe in your potential. You're precise with stationary targets; moving targets will come with experience."

As night fell, the tank company reached a ruined checkpoint on the Polish border where they set up camp. The remains of a recent skirmish were evident—bodies of Polish soldiers lay scattered, a grim reminder of the war's brutality. Most of the company, exhausted from the night's exertions, chose to sleep, conserving their strength for the battle anticipated at dawn.

Before sunrise, Battalion Commander Hans briefed his captains, detailing their objectives. "Marcus! Rennes! You will cover Captain Carter's tank in the assault on the village. Expect resistance. The grenadiers will depend on your support."

"The Air Force reports increased fortifications. Strike swiftly," Hans instructed, emphasizing the urgency.

After the briefing, Rennes returned to his tank, preparing his crew. "Check the ammo, especially the grenades. We'll be supporting infantry, so pack high-explosive rounds, but keep some armor-piercing shells handy, just in case," he directed, ensuring his team was ready for any scenario.

As dawn broke, a mist enveloped the landscape, shrouding the Polish village in mystery. Carter's tank roared to life, its engine belching smoke as it trundled forward. Rennes, following suit, signaled his driver. "Let's move out!" His tank lurched, then steadied as it joined the slow, inexorable advance into enemy territory.