Chapter 137: The Rabbit and the Eagle
At the same time, along the German border, the Polish 1st Cavalry Division and the poorly equipped 1st Combined Arms Division were advancing across the broad plains.
The latter possessed a large number of infantry fighting vehicles and a small number of tanks. On paper, it looked like the future of warfare. In reality, it was still a force stitched together in haste, half modern, half old world, with cavalry columns marching beside engines that coughed smoke into the cold air.
From high above, the scene resembled a strange painting.
Tank tracks, wheel marks, and long lines of infantry carved dark scars across the frozen earth. Horses breathed white mist. Boots crushed frost. Engines rumbled forward with mechanical confidence.
Inside the command vehicle, Toz held his binoculars and stared ahead.
They had already advanced twenty five kilometers, yet there was no joy on his face.
The German Army's reaction was too strange.
There had been only scattered harassment, small scale probes, and the occasional distant gunshot. No organized resistance. No defensive line. No artillery positions. No counterattack.
The advance had gone so smoothly that it almost felt like an outing.
Even the villages and towns along the route had been emptied. Not a person remained. Not a cow, not a cart, not even a scrap of wool left hanging on a fence.
It was as if the entire land had withdrawn into silence.
Could it be that the Germans had truly transferred all their forces toward Danzig?
Toz lowered his binoculars and looked up.
For a brief moment, he seemed to see a glimmer of light among the clouds.
Ahead of them stretched a vast forest, dark and silent, its trees standing like a wall at the edge of the plain.
But if one looked carefully, one would notice several towering iron structures hidden among those trees. Behind them, concealed beneath the cover of the forest, the secret military airfield of the Cardolan Communications Company opened its hangars for the first time.
Inside the radar monitoring station, two officers whose official identities had long ago been marked as missing from society picked up their microphones.
Their voices were quiet and steady.
"Target has entered the designated range. High and low altitude radar networks have detected no aircraft taking off or landing in Polish territory. Request permission to dispatch ST 01, ST 02, and ST 03 experimental dive bombers for systematic incapacitation."
A pause.
"Requesting KT 01 and KT 03 experimental fighters to remain on standby."
In the underground operations command center, Bock picked up the microphone.
"Permission granted. Take off."
Then he turned to the operations staff officer beside him.
"Begin the annihilation operation."
Paulus stood not far away, slightly distracted.
The moment Berlin's order had arrived, he had already drafted a defensive plan. Yet the temporary deployment authority granted to them had opened the door to a far better option.
Defense was too passive.
On this terrain, against an enemy marching openly across the plain, offense would be cleaner.
More decisive.
Paulus glanced at Bock and asked in a low voice, "Tell me, Bock. When were those radars deployed in the forest? And where did these airfields come from?"
He frowned.
"I am a mid to high level commander in the Wehrmacht, am I not? Why do I know nothing about them?"
Bock shook his head.
"Do not ask me. I do not know either."
Then he looked toward the map, his expression cold.
"But I do know one thing. The Poles on that plain are about to have a very bad day."
Above the clouds, the thick cover of gray was perfect for hiding aircraft.
Three Stuka dive bombers rolled out of the cloud layer and descended like hunting birds.
After briefly tightening formation, they separated and rushed toward the three Polish columns advancing across the plain.
"This is ST One. Target found."
"This is ST Two. Target also found."
"This is ST Three. You already know what I am going to say."
Static crackled in the headphones.
Then came the tower's voice, rough and barely clearer than the noise around it.
"This is Tower. Begin the show, boys."
On the ground, Toz noticed the glimmer in the clouds drawing closer.
At the same moment, a piercing scream tore through the sky.
Whooooosh!
It was not a sound any man needed experience to understand.
It was the howl of a hound chasing death.
The troops who had just been advancing in formation froze in place. Their instincts screamed before their minds could comprehend what was happening.
A commander raised his binoculars toward the sky.
His face changed.
"Bombers!"
He threw himself sideways and roared, "Disperse! Quickly!"
But it was already too late.
The Stukas dropped from the sky. At the moment they reached bombing altitude, they released their payloads.
High explosive bombs cut through the air and fell straight toward troop carriers, tanks, transport trucks, and every conspicuous piece of military equipment on the plain.
Boom!
One bomb landed directly in the center of a transport truck.
The ammunition that had been prepared for the enemy became the vehicle's own funeral bell.
The sympathetic detonation tore open the frozen earth, blooming into a magnificent flower of mud, fire, steel, blood, and charred flesh.
Men screamed.
Horses shrieked.
Vehicles overturned and burned.
The deathly howl came again.
There was nowhere to run.
On the vast, empty plain, the Polish troops were like rabbits exposed beneath the shadow of black eagles.
Each dive brought claws forged from explosives. Each climb left behind severed limbs, shattered steel, and bodies broken into shapes that no longer resembled men.
Worse still, they had never expected Germany to possess an air force.
There were no prepared anti aircraft positions, no trained response, no coordinated counterfire. Their most elite units had become fish on a butcher's table.
"Run to the forest!" Toz shouted.
He had already realized that the aircraft were focusing on vehicles and heavy equipment.
"They cannot see clearly in the forest!"
He jumped down from the command vehicle and ran toward the treeline with all his strength.
The moment he stepped over a fallen branch, there was a sharp click beneath his boot.
A bounding mine leapt upward and exploded at his waist.
Steel balls tore through his body.
In an instant, Toz was split into two bloody halves, his face destroyed beyond recognition.
Other Polish soldiers continued charging toward the trees.
One after another, they rushed into the forest.
Then row after row of men burst apart into mist and fragments before the eyes of those behind them.
Only then did the survivors understand.
The forest was not salvation.
It was another mouth.
Terrified, they turned and fled back toward the plain, only to be met by aircraft descending again, machine guns spitting downward.
When the horrifying shriek finally faded, the surviving soldiers had not even managed to loosen their tightened nerves.
Then, from the distance, came another sound.
Engines.
Dozens of tanks roared across the ground, advancing toward them.
The surviving Polish soldiers were exhausted, leaderless, and stunned into despair. Their minds held only fatigue and terror. Some even forgot to surrender.
They simply stood there as the tanks came.
Then came the pursuit.
The hunt.
The machine guns.
It was only when hot blood splashed across their faces, only when severed fingers brushed their cheeks, that they finally remembered the instinct to live.
One by one, they raised their hands.
Those few lucky enough to survive turned and looked behind them.
The plain was covered with corpses.
They had stepped onto German soil.
Now they would be buried in it.
Behind them, inside a church in a nearby town, the Polish Army's operations command center had fallen into complete disorder.
Commander Otyland frantically tried to contact one unit after another.
Every radio channel was silent.
The 1st Cavalry Division, once regarded as invincible.
The Combined Arms Division, built with immense resources and high hopes.
Gone.
All gone.
He stared through the broken window at the metal aircraft circling in the sky and shook his head, murmuring in disbelief.
"Arrogance kills."
His voice trembled.
"They never wanted peace. Their military industry never stopped. They are not a defeated nation. They are a hungry wolf wearing a mask."
But the tanks did not give Otyland time to continue his condemnation.
After he sent his final telegram to Warsaw, a thunderous boom shook the church.
The wall was smashed open by a tank.
The guards instinctively returned fire.
That was interpreted as refusal to surrender.
The next moment, machine gun fire swept through the command center in a straight, merciless storm.
Rat tat tat tat!
Men, maps, radios, and desks were all shredded together.
Their twenty five kilometer advance was reduced to nothing in a single day.
And that collapse became the final spark that ignited Warsaw.
.....
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