Chapter 210: The Fall of Warsaw
The bombing lasted an entire day.
Under the indiscriminate bombardment of the German Air Force, almost the entire eastern residential district was reduced to ruins. Black smoke covered the sky, and even the fine snow drifting down from above carried a faint smell of gunpowder.
Everywhere the eye could see, there was death.
Ruins.
And clusters of fire burning among collapsed walls.
The blockade had already caused extreme food shortages inside the city. If bombs brought fear, then hunger brought madness. Together, they pushed Warsaw into unprecedented chaos.
On the third day, Lieutenant General Helen, who was responsible for organizing the city's defense, finally could not hold on any longer.
He walked to the center of the defensive line and, under the watchful eyes of the Blood Wolves, slowly raised both hands.
"We surrender."
His voice was hoarse.
"Please arrange for my soldiers properly according to the prisoner of war agreement."
The gun barrel pressed against his head finally moved away.
A dozen minutes later, Paulus arrived by car and formally accepted the surrender.
With that, the Polish War officially came to an end.
After briefly examining the commander before him, Paulus waved his hand.
Two guards stepped forward, cuffed Helen's hands behind his back, and led him directly toward the car.
Before leaving, Helen stopped and asked, "General, will I be shot?"
Paulus did not answer.
In his heart, he respected this general who had fought for Poland until the final moment. But the soldiers who had died capturing this city needed someone to pay the price.
Seeing Paulus's tightly furrowed brow, Helen already understood the answer.
He smiled bitterly, nodded once, and then climbed into the armored vehicle that would take him to the execution ground.
A few hours later, the German Army marched en masse toward the city center.
The Blood Wolves planted the national flag in Warsaw Castle Square, which had been reduced to rubble, then gathered for a group photograph that belonged only to them.
For Poland, this was a day they wished never to remember.
It meant the destruction of their national concept, the collapse of the state that had carried their flag for decades.
But for Germany, this was the empire's first true battle.
The first piece of land crushed beneath its iron hooves.
The news of Poland's surrender soon reached Jörg.
At that moment, he was having a pleasant conversation with Dawes, who had come to convey America's diplomatic position.
"Jörg, if I had the ability to predict the future, I think I should move to Southeast Asia like the MacArthur family and enjoy beaches, coconuts, and sunshine."
Dawes held a cigar in his mouth but did not light it, merely indulging in the habit.
Ever since Jörg had quit smoking, almost no foreign leader or diplomat smoked in front of him. Somehow, this had become an indescribable taboo, as though smoking before Jörg was a sign of disrespect toward Germany itself.
In truth, Jörg himself knew nothing of this taboo.
He picked up his black tea, his expression carrying a rare trace of satisfaction.
Cardolan had obtained another batch of tea leaves from the East for him. The flavor was excellent. How could black tea with sugar and milk compare to this kind of pure fragrance?
"Be careful not to encounter sharks while swimming."
Knowing that Dawes was joking, Jörg set down his teacup and replied casually.
Dawes mimed the motion of aiming a pistol.
"Even if I did, I could put a bullet through its head."
Then he smiled and leaned back.
"We are getting sidetracked, Mr. Jörg. The White House says it will not interfere in European affairs, and there will be no changes to trade with Germany."
Jörg's fingers rested lightly on the edge of his cup.
"I hear Mexico has not been very cooperative lately. It may be the work of followers cultivated by that bald bastard Mussolini. A group of Mexican nationalists is attempting to reclaim the land they lost before the Mexican-American War, frequently provoking border skirmishes."
Jörg smiled.
"Then you should punch them. If you do not teach them a lesson, they will not learn."
"It is not that simple, Mr. Jörg."
Dawes's expression became more serious.
"Roosevelt is also stretched thin. Although the economy is improving, political disagreements are almost tearing him apart. Public opinion, capital, and politicians who originally supported him have, for some reason, largely shifted toward the isolationists."
"The calls to deal with Mexico are growing louder as well, but he himself seems unwilling to go to war."
Dawes sighed.
"Never mind. I do not know what he is thinking. Do not let his wheelchair fool you. He is an old fox, very skilled at mediation and reform."
After the serious discussion ended, Dawes noticed that Jörg's Three-Eyed Raven was already standing nearby.
He smiled and bid farewell to the young Odin.
"I am leaving, Mr. Jörg. Come to my house sometime. My son loves the cartoons from Cardolan Animation Company. Or rather, I love them too. That cat and mouse idea is brilliant, no worse than Disney."
The door closed.
The so-called Three-Eyed Raven was actually Ethan, wearing a monocle.
Due to excessive document processing, there was something wrong with his right eye. Only by wearing a monocle could he continue his work without obstruction.
"Führer, Poland is ours," Ethan said. "The Army is requesting your opinion on the treatment of prisoners of war."
"Proceed according to the established plan. Three years of unpaid labor. Food only."
"How should the Polish residents be handled? Should we directly issue citizenship?"
Jörg thought for a moment before replying.
"No. Increase development of the agricultural areas in central and northern Poland. Confiscate the property and land of all those above the designated line. Prohibit the circulation of gold."
His voice was calm, without any hesitation.
"Those willing to engage in unpaid cultivation work, with only food provided, may obtain German passports earlier."
"The same applies to industry. Go to logistics and obtain an accurate estimate for Poland's economic recovery period. Based on that time, set the schedule for issuing citizenship."
"Then place orders with Cardolan. Begin expanding military factories, and further expand agriculture."
Jörg looked toward the map.
"I need a territory that can supply Germany with resources, not a parasitic tick that drags it down."
He paused.
"Instruct Heydrich to cooperate with the plan."
Jörg was not a saint.
Nor was he one of those idealists who believed goodwill alone could support a state.
Making everyone live like the people of Berlin was impossible. The pain of economic reconstruction could only be borne by the Polish people, and he did not know how long that pain would last.
This was the cruelty of war.
If the pie were large enough, perhaps he would consider leaving behind a kinder reputation.
But under the current circumstances, leniency meant taking resources away from his own army and his own people.
He was not that kind of man.
Perhaps the Polish people would spit on his tombstone in the future.
But he did not care.
Ethan nodded.
The moment he heard Heydrich's name, he understood that after the war, another storm of blood and iron would follow.
Warsaw.
Several trucks loaded with potatoes were dumped in the center of a square.
A small boy reached out to grab one, but a soldier holding a rifle pushed him back.
Under the threat of gunfire, citizens lined up in the cold wind, rubbing their hands together as they handed over their Polish passports and received temporary German passports in exchange.
They took a bite of potato, then began the unpaid reconstruction of their homeland and the military factories.
No one knew how long such days would last.
But to them, simply being alive was already an act of extreme generosity and mercy.
Of course, from a spiritual perspective, some people were still cheering them on.
The recording released by the Polish President completely disrupted the entire political landscape, causing the situation to shift in a direction no one had anticipated.
Italy could brazenly increase troops along the border, provoke Germany, and after securing Athens in the future, just as brazenly march toward Berlin.
But France could not.
The public did not support the idea of a Polish-French joint front, and soldier conscription had stalled.
However, the senior officials of both the government and the military knew very well that Germany would certainly attack. Increasing troops was the best response.
But as long as Germany did not attack first, they lacked the legitimacy for war.
Everything had reached a dead end.
The debate over whether to fight or not raged through France, and everyone hoped that President Daladier, still in London, or Marshal Pétain upon his return, could give them an answer.
.....
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