Chapter 138: Peace Negotiation
Warsaw.
Piłsudski's speech was still being broadcast throughout the city, but his voice lacked the force needed to steady a capital on the edge of panic.
He spoke of national honor, sacrifice, resistance, and the defense of Poland. Yet the words sounded hollow. There was no careful preparation, no intelligence guidance, no clear emotional rhythm. It was a speech delivered by a man trying to seize control of a storm after the roof had already been torn away.
Worse still, Berlin had prepared far better.
Agents from the Internal and External Intelligence Department had already flooded Warsaw. They carried preprinted leaflets, photographs, and carefully worded accusations. Within hours, they had spread across streets, alleys, train stations, markets, church doors, and factory entrances.
Every message carried the same meaning.
Piłsudski had started the war.
Piłsudski had dragged Poland into disaster.
Piłsudski had sacrificed Polish soldiers for his own ambition.
A bizarre scene soon unfolded in the streets of Warsaw.
On one side, the police were handing rifles to civilians, organizing barricade construction, assigning mine laying work, and ordering citizens to prepare for street fighting.
On the other side, German spies and local sympathizers were distributing leaflets, showing photographs, and stirring resistance against the government.
The police found themselves trapped in an impossible position.
If they arrested the agitators, they risked inflaming public anger and turning suspicion into open rebellion.
If they did nothing, then what was the point of handing out weapons to a population already being told that the government had betrayed them?
Inside the Military Headquarters Building, hurried footsteps echoed again and again through the corridors.
Telephones rang without pause. Officers shouted over one another. Maps were marked, erased, and marked again.
A call from the front line reached Kenlasu, the overall commander.
"No matter what happens, delay them!" Kenlasu roared into the receiver. "Hold them there!"
Behind him, his secretary kept tapping his shoulder.
The first tap was ignored.
The second made Kenlasu's expression darken.
By the third, his patience snapped.
He turned sharply and barked, "Speak! What is it?"
The secretary did not answer in front of the others. He glanced around the room, waited until the officers nearby became absorbed in their own work, then carefully handed over a newly arrived telegram.
Kenlasu's impatience deepened when he saw the man's secretive manner. He tore open the telegram and scanned it.
The words inside struck him like ice water poured directly into his chest.
His eyes narrowed.
He nearly cried out, but the presence of the others forced him to swallow the sound.
Lowering his voice, he asked, "Who else knows about this?"
"No one, Commander," the secretary replied quickly. "The radio operator who received the information has already been secured. At present, only you know."
The First Elite Cavalry Division.
The iron spear that had once swept across the Polish Soviet battlefield.
Gone.
Just like that.
What hurt Kenlasu even more was the First Combined Arms Division.
Because his theories on mechanized warfare differed from the President's, this division had been his direct military lineage. He had squeezed funds from every corner of the budget, bit by bit, to build it.
Now its structure had been shattered. Its commander was dead. Its equipment had been destroyed or captured.
How could it be rebuilt?
More importantly, if even these two divisions could not defeat the Germans, then unless Poland launched a total war, victory in this military conflict was no longer possible.
Danzig, that festering wound, had torn open the entire body of Poland and filled it with unbearable pain.
They could not continue fighting.
If they stopped now, they might still preserve something at the negotiating table.
If they continued, escalated into full war, and then lost, even British intervention would not save them. Poland would lose everything it had seized from Germany.
Perhaps more.
Kenlasu left the conference room without a word.
He went to an empty corner, lit a cigarette, and smoked in silence.
The secretary followed closely behind him.
After a long moment, the secretary asked cautiously, "Commander, should we inform the President?"
Kenlasu shook his head without hesitation.
"No."
He had already begun thinking about who would bear responsibility once the war ended.
If he informed Piłsudski now, then based on his understanding of the President and of power itself, Piłsudski would certainly push all responsibility onto the military.
And in the military, who else could bear that responsibility but Kenlasu himself?
"No," he repeated, his voice colder. "Absolutely not. Prepare a special car. I am going to the British Embassy."
Meanwhile, at the British Embassy, the small conference room was packed with people.
The embassy had become the safest place in Warsaw.
Members of parliament crowded around the long table, whispering, arguing, and complaining without pause.
"Piłsudski, that coup born dictator!" one left wing parliament member snapped. "An ambitious warmonger who launched a war without authorization! He attacked the Germans in Danzig without parliamentary approval!"
The Minister of Economy immediately followed.
"Exactly! He only needed to give an order to start the war, but does he consider what we must face afterward? So many men are dead. Do any of you know how much the pensions alone will cost?"
He slapped the table.
"And those weapons and machines bought from abroad. With the economy already in ruins, how are we supposed to increase military spending?"
The moment the economy was mentioned, the room turned into a market.
Left wing politicians attacked the current financial situation and blamed it entirely on the right wing's free market policies.
Right wing members immediately countered, arguing that if the left had not obstructed two economic policy votes, recovery would already have begun.
Old grievances surfaced one after another.
Ideological disputes swallowed the original topic. The external threat was pushed aside. The war, the German advance, the collapse of the front, all of it became another weapon in a domestic quarrel.
In the end, every accusation circled back to one man.
The President.
Standing near the doorway, the British Ambassador, Stephen Lier, sighed.
The scene reminded him of the House of Lords.
It seemed that the politics of every country had a special talent for turning disaster into argument.
"Gentlemen."
No one listened.
Lier raised his voice.
"Gentlemen!"
The room quieted slightly.
"Are you here to solve the problem, or are you here to argue? If you are here to solve the problem, then kindly allow me to speak."
He stepped toward the head of the table.
"I have already informed London of your demands. But there remains one matter you must decide. Who will bear responsibility?"
The room fell into a tense silence.
Lier continued, "Too many people have died. The League of Nations needs a culprit to punish, someone whose punishment can prove that violating the peace order of the League carries a price."
Two parliament members immediately became restless.
"Why should we be responsible?" one of them demanded. "This is entirely Germany's fault!"
Another added sharply, "Do we not have a military mutual defense agreement with Britain? Why have you not deployed troops?"
"Our naval bases were blown up by submarines," someone else said. "Does that not prove those German bastards violated the Treaty of Versailles?"
Lier walked slowly to the head of the table. He picked up his teacup, took a sip, then set it down with a sharp tap.
"One matter at a time, gentlemen."
His voice grew cold.
"Yes, Britain and Poland have a military mutual defense agreement. But that agreement does not say that Poland may Polonize Danzig by force. It does not say that Poland may engage in racial persecution, forced expulsions, and ethnic cleansing."
The room grew quieter.
Lier's gaze swept across them.
"Nor does it say that while the conflict is still confined to Danzig and has not yet escalated into a formal continental war, Poland may deploy troops to the German border and deliberately provoke Berlin."
A few faces turned ugly.
Lier did not stop.
"International society operates on a very simple principle. If you strike first, you must bear the consequences of the counterblow. But now, tell me, gentlemen, who is the one receiving the counterblow?"
No one answered.
"All you can do now is obey," Lier said flatly. "If you want a ceasefire, you must unconditionally accept the arrangements of Britain and the League of Nations."
He paused, then added with deliberate sharpness, "We will punish Germany for violating the Treaty of Versailles. But if you insist on clinging to that issue now, then there is nothing more to discuss. Poland and Germany may fight to the end."
His eyes narrowed.
"Would you prefer that?"
This time, no politician spoke.
After a long silence, the Minister of Economy became the first to offer a name.
"The military and the President are inseparable in this matter. I propose that the Commander and the President bear responsibility."
He looked around the table.
"Gentlemen, what are your opinions?"
One by one, heads nodded.
Lier also nodded.
Just as he was about to begin drafting the document, a disturbance at the door drew his attention.
A man in Polish military uniform quickly entered and walked directly toward him.
"Are you Ambassador Stephen Lier?"
"I am."
"I am Kenlasu, Commander of the Polish Military Department and wartime overall commander. I have matters regarding a ceasefire that I wish to discuss with you."
Lier smiled faintly.
Then he turned and asked his secretary a few questions. After confirming that no telegram had arrived from the Presidential Palace, he looked back at Kenlasu and shrugged.
"Come with me, Commander."
He paused, then asked, "You have not informed the President, have you?"
Kenlasu shook his head.
"No."
His expression was grim.
"As long as this damned war can be stopped, I can personally go and invite the President."
.....
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