Chapter 208: Justice?
The next morning, the television sales counters along the streets were surrounded by crowds of German citizens.
When Mościcki appeared on the screen, several politically sensitive onlookers immediately began whispering among themselves.
"Isn't that the President of Poland? Why is he on television?"
Soon, the voice being broadcast simultaneously over the radio gave them the answer.
"I offer my sincerest apologies to all German and Polish citizens for the appalling crime of initiating this war."
Mościcki stood before the camera in a suit, holding a prepared script. His voice was calm, without the slightest tremor.
"I admit that the Polish government colluded with the Italian government and the French government with the intention of attacking Germany. I have committed an unforgivable crime. To satisfy my own inflated ambition, I disregarded the lives of millions."
"Only God can pardon my sins. I have now recognized my mistakes, and tomorrow, I will send the war plans to every major newspaper. This is what I should do, and what I must do, because I cannot watch Italy and France drag Europe into the abyss."
"I once again express my heartfelt apology for all the crimes I have committed. At the same time, I implore the soldiers of Poland not to pay for my mistakes."
His voice paused.
Then, with a trace of genuine agitation, as though he were revealing the deepest remorse in his heart, Mościcki said, "Put down your guns. Go home."
Click.
The television screen went black.
The stunned crowd stared in disbelief.
The next day, surrounded by a swarm of reporters, Mościcki arrived at Germany's Supreme Court to complete his final political act.
Together, these two events became an enormous boost to Jörg's prestige.
In the eyes of the German people, it almost did not matter who was right or wrong anymore. The President of another country had personally stood before a television camera and confessed his crimes within two weeks of the war's outbreak.
Such a thing was simply too arrogant.
Too nationalistic.
It was like watching an invincible monarch raise his sword and force evildoers to kneel before justice. Even the President of another country had to stand before the camera like a guilty child, reading from a script and apologizing for his crimes.
The resulting pride rooted itself in the hearts of every German citizen and began to sprout.
Of course, this was only part of what Jörg wanted.
What he valued more was the legitimacy of the war, because that legitimacy was crucial to the strategies that would follow.
Taking a sip of black tea, he picked up the French and Italian newspapers.
As expected, both claimed that the entire incident was a farce directed by Germany itself, and that neither France nor Italy had any intention of starting a war. They absolved themselves cleanly, as though the matter had nothing to do with them at all.
Heydrich, who was waiting nearby, asked, "Führer, should we... send Mr. Mościcki..."
Jörg shook his head and turned on the gramophone.
The recording discovered in Mościcki's luggage echoed through the spacious office, clearly revealing the conversation between Mościcki and Mussolini.
"No promise is still a promise. Find President Mościcki a seaside residence in East Prussia. I will cover all expenses."
After speaking, Jörg leaned back in his chair and pressed the pause button.
President Mościcki had truly given him an excellent gift.
Jörg guessed that Mościcki had kept the recording on the plane because he wanted a bargaining chip after becoming a president in exile who had lost his country.
Unfortunately for him, that bargaining chip would become the final straw that broke Poland.
In Poland, the deliberately leaked recording echoed through the front line command camp by the Bzura River, which had already been under siege for three days.
The shortage of food and medicine meant that the soldiers were relying entirely on willpower to endure.
The mental exhaustion caused by the encirclement was torment in itself. Every day, they heard only artillery fire and the roar of bombers. Their meals consisted of thin, scattered breadcrumbs. Even the toughest man found it difficult to sleep.
Kanonoro understood this very well.
The reason they had been able to persist until now was entirely because of the soldiers' will.
Once this recording spread, once they heard their President apologizing in another country, once they learned that the war they were fighting had been declared unjust by the very man who led them, it would plant thoughts of escape in their hearts.
Justice might be insignificant before nationalism and national interest.
But for soldiers trapped in despair, even a sliver of doubt could become the beginning of surrender.
"General, what... should we do?" asked the commander of one infantry division.
"Why don't we fight the Germans?" Konorow, commander of the Greater Poland Cavalry Brigade, said through gritted teeth. "Gather our forces and concentrate everything on tearing open a gap. I refuse to let it end in such disgrace."
All kinds of suggestions intertwined in the air.
But after long deliberation, Kanonoro no longer wanted to sacrifice more lives for this war.
They were fighting a war that could not be won.
Even if they concentrated their forces and attacked the German defense line, what then?
Were they supposed to exchange hundreds of thousands of lives for a little glory?
Once they left the forested riverbanks, the open terrain would become a slaughterhouse for bombers.
Kanonoro did not want to do that.
The failure of the war was already inevitable. There was no room left for reversal.
A day earlier, he had received news that the coastal naval forces had surrendered. Just now, he had also received reports that the warships that continued to resist had been sunk by German submarines.
In this war, they had been completely overpowered.
They were like a child facing a fully armed soldier.
"I suggest... surrender."
The moment those words were spoken, the entire command post fell into dead silence.
Konorow spoke almost without thinking.
"What did you say? Surrender? You are a soldier, Kanonoro! How can you do this and still be worthy of Poland's trust? Worthy of the people's trust?"
His voice hardened.
"I disagree. I would rather die under German guns than raise a white flag like a coward."
He turned around sharply and shouted, "Who is willing to come with me?"
Only two mid-ranking officers followed him.
Everyone else stared coldly at his back.
From the gazes falling upon him, Kanonoro understood what the other division commanders were reminding him of.
If they launched an attack now, surrender would become a joke.
If they wanted decent treatment, then there was only one thing they could do.
"Konorow."
The soft call stopped Konorow just as he was about to push open the tent flap.
He turned his head, about to ask a question.
Bang.
A bullet pierced his forehead.
Blood shone dazzlingly beneath the sunlight.
The other two mid-ranking officers instinctively tried to act, but in the next instant, two guards firmly pinned them to the ground.
Struggling to lift their heads, they could only watch helplessly as Kanonoro picked up the telephone receiver.
"Hello. Is this the communications office? Send a telegram to the German Army for me."
On the other side, Paulus received the telegram from his adjutant.
After glancing at it, his calm expression did not change, as though he had expected this outcome from the beginning.
"Let the prisoner management department and the civil affairs department handle it. I do not have time to personally accept the surrender of hundreds of thousands of men."
It was not only the Bzura River.
The President's words became the final straw that broke the camel's back.
Scattered troops along the Polish and Soviet border also ceased resistance, and the German Army smoothly took over the border defense line.
The Polish flag, which had flown there for decades, was lowered.
In its place, the conspicuous German flag fluttered in the cold wind.
That barren land had welcomed its new master.
Yet one place still struggled.
Warsaw.
Even though most of the city had already fallen, the national flag in the city center was repeatedly bombed by diving Stukas, yet each time, soldiers planted it again, as though by doing so, Poland had not yet fallen.
Even Jörg was momentarily shaken by Warsaw's will to resist.
After capturing Mościcki, Warsaw's political importance had greatly diminished. In his eyes now, it was merely a city engaged in a desperate last struggle.
Previously, he had not wanted to deploy the Air Force for indiscriminate bombing because he feared it would affect the surrender of other resistance forces.
But now, it seemed his restraint had given this city an undeserved illusion of hope.
"How much of the city do we control?"
The military staff officer reported, "According to the telegram from Blood Wolf, we have already secured fifty percent of the urban area. The industrial district is completely under control. The remaining Polish forces are concentrated in residential areas. Because bombing residential districts is restricted, and the residents in the city have a strong will to resist, Blood Wolf's advance has not been fast."
"Are the losses heavy?" Jörg asked.
"Not significant, Commander in Chief. Most of the losses have been suffered by the Spanish Army. Blood Wolf is only responsible for occupying key areas. Coupled with the defenders' inadequate response, their current losses are only around two to three hundred men, and a portion of those are wounded."
"Tell them to withdraw. Cancel the bombing restrictions."
Jörg's voice was calm.
"Blood Wolf does not need to shed any more blood here. There will be plenty of difficult cities for them to gnaw through later."
As he spoke, Jörg looked at the location of Stalingrad on the map and shook his head.
.....
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