Resignation

Akado stepped out of the house into the cool air, the silence inside still ringing in his ears. It was a heavy quiet, filled with unspoken tensions and unaddressed grievances. Despite the palpable discomfort, no one had left the gathering. It was clear that there were important matters to discuss, yet no one dared to be the first to break the silence.

"What does the head of state mean by his remarks? We all recognize the Army's achievements and his role in them, but to say such things in front of us all, isn't that a slap in the face?" whispered one of the ten senior generals, his hands clasped behind his back in frustration.

"Mind your words. Speaking lightly of the head of state's comments is no trivial matter," cautioned the SS commander from the northern front, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "You'd better be careful!"

"That's right! The head of state has demonstrated his foresight and correctness. Our job is simply to execute his directives," interjected Studen, one of the staunchest supporters within the head faction. He gave the old general a dismissive look, snorted disdainfully, and exited the room.

"I advise you to consider retirement," Rommel added sharply, his tone less forgiving. "You were the most vocal opponent of transforming the armored forces into their own branch. Now, your infantry is barely managing to move the artillery west of Pomerania. I seriously doubt they could reach Warsaw, let alone advance further."

The veteran general trembled with rage, pointing a shaking finger at Rommel, but before he could retort, he was interrupted.

"Enough!" boomed the voice of William Liszt, the commander from northern Germany. "We are all soldiers of the empire, sworn to the head of state. We must fulfill our duties as Germans ought to."

"Has our modest string of victories made us forget the virtues of restraint and humility that befit a soldier?" Liszt continued, his voice stern as he coughed slightly. "The head of state is disappointed because we often fail to execute his orders as he envisions. We meddle and alter battle plans, thinking we know better. This is not the mark of good subordinates. We must reflect on our actions."

With that, Liszt made his way to the door, pausing only to address the old infantry commander, "Submit your resignation tomorrow. I will ensure you are retired honorably, for the sake of the army's dignity."

The old general, his pride wounded, could only nod, tears brimming in his eyes as he bowed his head, a gesture he hadn't made in many years.

Meanwhile, Akado had reached his car where Fanny was already seated. Noticing his arrival, she leaned against him, her presence intended to soothe. "What's wrong? You seem upset. Did the generals disobey your plans again?"

Akado, amused by her insight yet grateful for her presence, replied, "Angry? Perhaps a bit. I'm more worried, actually. Our paratroopers are sustaining losses, and while these aren't critical now, what if future blunders jeopardize our entire strategy?"

"You're not angry then?" Fanny smiled, her charm seemingly dissipating his concerns. "I suppose I guessed right—it's the generals, isn't it? They're testing your patience."

"If only they were as perceptive as you," sighed Akado, his mind racing with scenarios of potential failure. "Sometimes, I feel surrounded by incompetence. I miss the days when Augustus was here. He understood everything so quickly; it's refreshing to have a confidant."

"My dear, Germany is blessed to have you, and having another like Augustus is more than anyone could ask for," Fanny reassured him. "You shouldn't expect everyone to match your brilliance."

"What should I do, though? It terrifies me to think they might ruin everything I've worked for," Akado confessed, his gaze drifting to the pilot's dormitory where he saw Studen emerge and stride towards his own vehicle.

Fanny chuckled lightly, "We share the same dilemma. Too many fail to meet my standards, trying too hard to prove themselves, only to falter. Hugo and I often have to manage these blunders."

"Really? How do you handle it?" Akado inquired, genuinely curious.

"It's simple," Fanny explained with a grin. "You think your people aren't smart enough, whereas I believe mine are too smart for their own good. They overthink and make poor decisions. That's why I place the most obedient, not necessarily the brightest, in key positions. It makes management much easier."

Akado's eyes lit up with realization. Indeed, history had shown that the most loyal often proved the most useful. People like Admiral Klug, who was known for his unwavering loyalty and competence in routine matters, could be instrumental in solidifying his control over the military.

Just then, William Liszt exited the building. Seizing the opportunity, Akado called out, "General Liszt! A moment, please!"

As Liszt approached, Akado shared his plans quietly, "I'm considering establishing a new H group army. I've thought long about who should lead it. What do you think of Klug?"

"General Klug is a seasoned officer, well-suited for this command," Liszt responded, understanding the implications of Akado's choice. "I'll draft a recommendation letter immediately."

Pleased, Akado nodded, "I've heard you and the central F Group Army are planning a pincer movement to encircle Warsaw in two days. Is that still the plan?"

"The strategy is under review. Some argue that we're ceding too much to the Soviets," Liszt explained, then paused, "But these plans may have already been set into motion based on the latest revisions."

"That line was drawn by me," Akado clarified, his voice firm. "These concessions are for greater gains... I'm more concerned about keeping our movements hidden from Britain and France until we can reinforce the Western Front."

"Hidden? What exactly are you suggesting?" Liszt asked, puzzled as he was not privy to the details of the Western strategy.

"It's safe to tell you now, but keep it discreet," Akado leaned in, whispering, "The Siegfried line is a ruse. The funds were redirected to public infrastructure, and those troops are being trained for an offensive."

Liszt gasped, taken aback by the audacity of the plan, "My... Head of State, you are a genius."

"I've known for some time," Akado replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, recalling a compliment from years past. "Now, help us secure the eastern front. No mistakes. Thank you."

"Long live the head of state!" Liszt saluted as Akado returned to his car, the convoy ready to depart. As they drove away, the northern German and Polish forces commenced their assault, confining the Polish Pomerania Legion to a small enclave, the artillery thundering in the distance.

"I'm dining with Rommel tonight," Akado mentioned to Anna, his co-pilot. "Let's keep the menu simple, perhaps just the starch-heavy lunch meat. We mustn't waste precious resources, especially with the supply lines so stretched."

As the convoy wound its way through the countryside, Akado's thoughts lingered on the challenges ahead, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders, yet his resolve firm. The future of Germany, under his guidance, was being shaped with each decision, each command, each whispered strategy.

The siege of Warsaw by German forces marked another grim chapter in the history of Poland. As dawn broke on the second day, the people of Warsaw faced hardships of an unprecedented scale. The Polish government, resolute in their decision to defend the capital at all costs, had managed to repel the initial German assaults. However, the Germans swiftly retaliated, escalating their tactics to treat the civilian population as combatants, which dramatically increased the mortality rate among the residents.

On a street that had once been lined with brick, now marred by trenches dug to thwart the German advance, a Polish soldier was seen speaking anxiously with his wife and their one-year-old child. The soldier's defensive position lay just a few kilometers to the north. The conversation was tense, overshadowed by the constant threat of artillery and the looming question of survival—not just for the soldier on the frontline but equally for his family amidst the city's chaos.

Only minutes earlier, a German bomber had been shot down, crashing in a fiery heap on a nearby street and creating a massive crater. The wreckage attracted a crowd of civilians and reserve military personnel who confirmed the deaths of the four German crew members. The sight of the enemy's demise brought a grim cheer among the onlookers—a stark reminder of the desensitizing effects of war.

Throughout the city, ordinary Poles and soldiers worked side by side, fortifying their positions. Tram tracks were uprooted and buried under piles of rubble to serve as makeshift anti-tank barriers. An overturned bus, flanked by heaps of stones, formed a rudimentary barricade on a broader avenue. These improvised defenses played a crucial role in repelling a subsequent German attack, though the enemy's artillery barrage intensified by the afternoon.

The siege brought many horrors, including the sight of dead horses littering the streets—a grim resource for the starving populace. Despite the risk of disease, desperate citizens carved meat from the carcasses to sustain themselves through the siege.

Amidst the chaos, a young boy named Payevsky sat beside the twisted remains of what used to be his home. The ruins also entombed his brother, marking the beginning of a personal tragedy that would see his father killed by shrapnel and his mother succumbing to illness after consuming tainted meat.

Further devastation was wrought when a hospital in the southern part of Warsaw was struck by a bomb, leaving a crater over ten meters wide and at least two meters deep. The facility was rendered useless, its patients and a doctor among the casualties, with several more injured.

Not far from the hospital, a bomb had also decimated a nearby Catholic church, its wooden structure splintered into chaos. Fortunately, prior evacuation efforts had spared the lives of those who would have been present during the strike.

An American journalist, documenting the siege, described the desperate conditions faced by the civilians. People scrambled for any semblance of safety, often displacing others in a frantic bid for survival. The reporter's dispatches provided a poignant, if not harrowing, account of the siege until his untimely death in another air raid, killed by a shard of shrapnel.

In a miraculous contrast, a nearby maternity hospital was struck, yet the shell did not detonate. The newborns inside were spared, though the explosion's impact caused minor injuries among them. The emotional toll on their mothers was profound, their relief mixed with the ongoing anguish of the siege.

Outside the city, in a previously developed farm area, hungry Poles risked German patrols to dig for potatoes. The area became a deadly trap as German Luftwaffe fighters, spotting the activity, swooped down to strafe the civilians. A young boy sat in mute shock next to his deceased mother, while a little girl nearby wailed over the body of her sister, gruesomely killed by the attack.

The war's brutality was not lost on German Head of State Akado Rudolf, who was briefed by his generals in a trench on Warsaw's outskirts. They detailed their plans for continuing the assault, using heavy artillery and coordinated air strikes to force the Polish defenders southward.

Akado, unmoved by the suffering inflicted upon Warsaw, authorized a relentless bombardment aimed at weakening Polish resistance. As the shells fell, the civilian death toll climbed, a grim tally that seemed only to reinforce the futility and horror of the siege.

As the day drew to a close, news of the SS's third armored division reaching the agreed demarcation line with the Soviet Union brought a strategic victory for the Germans. Yet, the war was far from over, with Warsaw continuing to resist even as other areas fell.

Akado's orders were clear: the majority of German forces were to be redeployed to consolidate their gains and secure occupied territories, a stark reminder of the shifting tides of war and the relentless pursuit of military objectives, regardless of the human cost.