Chapter 136: Forced March
Meanwhile, late at night, in Włodawa, several dozen kilometers from Warsaw, the Polish 10th Infantry Division remained utterly unaware that a wolf pack was closing in.
At the outer perimeter of the camp, two sentries on duty were leaning against the wooden fence, speaking in low voices to pass the time.
"I heard the fighting in Elbląg was brutal," one of them said. "The whole city was almost flattened, but the Germans still fought to the death. They said the bricks were smeared with minced meat. It was hell."
The other guard shuddered and crossed himself.
"Then we're lucky. No matter what, the Germans can't possibly reach this place."
Under the pale moonlight, the first guard twisted his stiff neck.
Then he froze.
Something was wrong.
Why could he hear engines?
He hurriedly checked the duty roster, but there was no record of any temporary troop movement or night transfer. As the rumbling grew louder, the other guard also sensed that something was off.
"Should we raise the alarm?"
The first guard hesitated.
"It must be an emergency redeployment. Don't panic. The fighting in Elbląg only started less than three days ago. It can't be the Germans. It's probably some mechanized regiment being moved at the last minute."
He tried to sound confident.
"This is war. Things like this happen."
The engines grew louder.
A moment later, a tank covered in mud and dust emerged from the darkness and stopped in front of them. Its surface was so filthy that its model could not be identified at all.
The black muzzle of its machine gun slowly turned toward their position.
The two sentries, still thinking the men inside were Polish, shouted for them to get out and show identification.
The next instant, the machine gun opened fire.
Tat tat tat tat!
The bullets shredded their bodies. Before the torn flesh had even fallen to the ground, the tank tracks rolled over the remains, crushing them into the mud.
The armored front slammed straight through the wooden fence.
At almost the same moment, artillery roared.
Around the entire camp, several tanks tore through the perimeter at once. Machine gun fire poured out in violent streams, sweeping every obstacle into splinters and torn earth.
Armored personnel carriers followed closely behind.
Soldiers armed with G43 semi automatic rifles jumped down one after another. Their uniforms were stained with mud, their eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, but their movements remained cold, sharp, and frighteningly precise.
The camp, awakened by gunfire, descended into chaos.
Explosions tore open the darkness. Dust and smoke rolled through the barracks. Polish soldiers stumbled out half dressed, some with their shirts inside out, others with their trousers twisted backward. Many could not even load their rifles properly.
The faster veterans and officers had barely reached the corridor outside the barracks when several black clad figures appeared before them like reapers from a nightmare.
The Poles raised their guns to resist.
Rifle butts smashed into their faces first.
Then came the gunshots.
The entire process was swift and practiced, as if it had been rehearsed countless times.
In the next barracks, the Polish soldiers had finally managed to put on their uniforms when another German squad rushed in.
In stiff, awkward Polish, they shouted, "Everyone kneel! Drop your weapons, or die!"
The pronunciation was almost ridiculous.
The bloodshot eyes behind the rifle sights were not.
To the Polish soldiers, who had only just woken from sleep, those Germans looked like red eyed devils. One by one, rifles were thrown into the central yard, quickly forming a small mountain of weapons.
An entire division, its regimental camps scattered throughout Włodawa, had its combat power dismantled before it could even properly resist.
The only meaningful resistance came from the divisional command post.
Inside the command post, the commander of the 10th Infantry Division had only just climbed out of bed. When he saw several tanks parked outside the building, his composure shattered instantly.
He grabbed the telephone and called one of the regimental headquarters.
The person who answered spoke German.
The commander's face turned pale.
His adjutant, collar crooked and hair disheveled, rushed over and asked repeatedly, "Commander, what do we do?"
"What do we do?" the commander snapped. "Send a telegram to Warsaw, damn it! Right now, there are only two divisions around Warsaw. The nearest army is fighting hand to hand with the Germans in Elbląg. The rail lines have all been blown up. Even if they ran back without eating or sleeping, it would take them four damned days!"
Only after his emotions had slightly steadied did the adjutant speak again, his voice much quieter.
"Sir, I was asking what we should do."
The commander fell silent.
Outside, tank engines rumbled like beasts waiting to devour the building whole.
"What else can we do?" he muttered at last. "Put on a show first. Then surrender."
Downstairs, Manstein had not slept properly for two days. The forced march had made his temper increasingly sharp.
After stepping down from the armored personnel carrier, he drew deeply on a cigarette, his eyes never leaving the map spread across the hood of a vehicle.
An operations staff officer hurried over and reported, "Sir, they say they won't surrender."
Manstein did not even look up.
"Open fire. Shell them once. I don't have time to waste arguing with them."
He exhaled smoke and tapped the map.
"Order all regimental headquarters to rest for one hour. Refuel and resupply. If we run out of shells, use the Poles' shells. If we can't carry something, blow it up. Strip the soldiers' uniforms, gather them together, and burn them for warmth."
As he spoke, Manstein glanced at the wristwatch Rommel had once given him.
"Before dawn, we must reach Warsaw. If Poland still refuses to return what belongs to Germany, I will capture their president and senators alive and hang them one by one in the square while broadcasting it."
He lowered his voice.
"If there is an emergency, wake me immediately."
Boom!
Several captured Polish artillery pieces fired at once.
The small command building was torn apart. Wood, bricks, and dust collapsed inward, and the brief resistance of the Polish divisional command post ended beneath its own guns.
Manstein listened to the artillery as if it were a lullaby.
He did not bother looking for a proper place to sleep. He simply lay down in an open patch of ground, closed his eyes, and let exhaustion drag him into darkness.
Warsaw.
Presidential Palace.
Piłsudski was awakened by a frantic series of knocks.
At sixty one years old, he cursed under his breath, put on his glasses, draped an overcoat over his shoulders, and opened the door.
The panicked faces of his secretary and chief commander made his heart sink. For a moment, even his blood seemed to turn cold.
"What happened?"
The chief commander swallowed hard.
"Mr. President, the Germans are less than twenty kilometers from Warsaw."
Piłsudski's eyes widened.
"What did you say?"
His voice cracked with disbelief.
"Only twenty kilometers? Are the intelligence department and the army eating cow dung? How did they get here? Weren't the main German forces still in Elbląg three days ago?"
He gripped the doorframe.
"Where is the 10th Infantry Division? Order them and the 11th Cavalry Division to return and defend. No matter what, they must hold out until reinforcements arrive."
Fear turned into rage, and rage made his beard bristle like the quills of an enraged hedgehog.
The chief commander lowered his head.
"The 10th Infantry Division lost all contact after sending its final telegram last night. We estimate that it has been annihilated."
Piłsudski's mouth opened.
For several seconds, he could not speak.
"What did you say? More than ten thousand men. Even if they were pigs running wild, it would take the Germans a full day to catch them all!"
The chief commander's face twitched.
"But Mr. President, men are not pigs. If one man surrenders, the others will follow."
Piłsudski suppressed the urge to kick him across the room.
"Prepare a plane. Take me to Łódź immediately."
The secretary quickly stepped forward.
"Mr. President, the control tower reports that there may be continuous snowfall this morning. Forcing a plane into the air could cause an accident. As for trains or cars, they may already be within enemy artillery range."
He hesitated, then added, "And we still do not know which roads are free of German forces. If we run into them…"
Piłsudski fell silent.
He hated to admit it, but the secretary was right.
At that moment, the safest place was no longer the road, nor the railway, nor the sky.
It was Warsaw itself.
"What is the situation along the border?" he asked.
The chief commander answered quickly, "Our troops have advanced twenty five kilometers."
At last, Piłsudski's tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly.
"Then immediately order all armies to reinforce Warsaw. Also, arm the residents of the city."
His eyes hardened.
"No matter what happens, even if we have to fill the streets with corpses, we must hold until reinforcements return."
He turned toward the window.
The darkness beyond it was no longer quiet.
It felt as though an iron tide was approaching.
"They reached Warsaw this quickly," Piłsudski said slowly. "Their supplies must be insufficient. As long as we hold them here, we can wipe them all out."
.....
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