NationStates Jolt Archive

The moonlight was covering the countryside like a calm silk blanket, nothing disturbing the peace that seemed to be upon the ground. Yet even with this deceiving scene, the tension was almost palpable.

The lieutenant rubbed his face with more soot as he sat down on top of an ammunition box. His olive gray uniform blended in quite well with the night time and the soot he now put on his face would further the subterfuge. More than two dozen soldiers spread out to either side of the lieutenant were identically preparing themselves with soot and black paint.

“Oi, Jaeger; have you heard any news on that contraption?” asked on trooper. The radioman took off his headset and looked at the soldier.

“What do you think Franz? Do you think that the Fuhrer talks to me directly on this? That I am all knowing because I carry this piece of crap on my back all the time?” he asked indignantly. The man lowered his head sheepishly at the rebuke and mumbled something about not meaning to insult him.

“Cut the talk,” hissed the lieutenant. “Or do you want the Poles to hear you?”

“Like they can hear us, probably too busy drinking vodka and making love to their mothers!” said on soldier down the line. The entire company laughed quietly. The lieutenant could help but smirk at the joke, but quickly regained his composure.

“Enough of that alright, we’re going to be attacking soon. Make sure you have your extra ammunition and grenades. We’re taking the town of Wieluń in less than half an hour, so keep sharp.” Lieutenant Gerhard walked crouched over back down the end of the line.

“Keep sharp he says,” murmured a private. “Why don’t I stick my sharp bayonet right up his-.”

“Enough of that,” growled a sergeant. “You heard the Lieutenant. I want an ammo check right now. Strip your gear and re-pack it. Make sure you have your rations and water.” The men grumbled but followed the grizzled sergeant’s orders.

Only a few moments later they heard a low roar carrying through the air. They all looked up and through the faint moonlight saw the large and terrifying forms of bombers flying through the dark sky.

One man whistled. “Wouldn’t want to be the poor bastard on the receiving end of that package, it’ll hurt.”

“Get back to work!” howled the sergeant.


* * *
Bomber pilot Hanz Krazmann looked through his land scope at the ground. He checked his instruments, then again, and then again a third time. They were less than 3 minutes, according to his map and the navigator, from their target. He picked up his communications mike.

“Bomber hold, this is the captain. Prepare for bombing.”

The bottom of the medium bomber opened up like the doors of hell. The bomber crewman worked a turning handle, manually opening the hatch. He made sure all the bomb packets were in position then picked up the comm mike.

“Bombs prepared.”


Just before them on the ground lay a sleeping city, street lights lit and shining, showing the shape of streets. Farmers were just waking for the early work they were set to do. All was at ease, safe in the thought that peace was theirs for at least one more day.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.


“Bombs away,” came the order. The crewman nodded and pulled a lever. Within a heartbeat the packets of bombs fell from the craft. This was copied by the seventy other bombers flying in formation over Wieluń. The bombs fell, the fires sparked, the screams began.

* * *

“Fire!”

Krump-ching. The artillery battery fired off another salvo of rounds over the border and into the Polish frontier. The bombardment had begun at 04:40. It had been going on for an hour.

* * *

The old man stood working his scythe, cutting down the tall stalks of hay that were occupying his farmland. He whistled as he swung, a tune picked out from his childhood. The sun was just peaking over the horizon and he instinctively knew it would be a good day. He had thought it bad when the buzzing sound had come through the air, but he supposed that it had been nothing more than a side effect of the large bottle of vodka he had drunk. He smiled and went back to his work.

His tune was suddenly disturbed by a rumbling sound. He stopped swinging his scythe and lifted his ear. It was a clinking sound, something he had never heard before. The very ground even began to shake. He looked around in horror.

Suddenly from the far forest wall, where he had hand-built a five foot stone wall, he saw what looked like a box moving toward him over the top. There were several boxes in fact. What could they be? He almost started walking toward them when suddenly a section of wall erupted and fell out, a large box crashing through it.

The boxes crashed through and over the stones. The farmer cried out in horror. It was as if the devil had unleashed some horde of demons upon him. But his fears were only heightened when he watched as men in gray uniforms and carrying guns followed the tanks through the gaps.

“Gah! The Germans are here!” The farmer tried running but was gunned down by a machine gunner.

General Walther von Brauchitsch stood in his command center with a somber look on his face that belied his feeling of triump. As commander in chief of Operation Fall Weiss, any success of the campaign would go to him and thus raise him in status, something that was always a plus.

Aides and other logistical troops, men who ran his headquarters, moved around him like busy bees. A large radio set sat in the far corner, three operators sending out orders and taking in intelligence. And that intelligence was something to be happy about.

Army Group North under Kluge had reached the Vistula, some 10 kilometres from the German border, Küchler was approaching the Narew River, and Reichenau's panzer division was already beyond the Warta river putting him in a position to flank and cut off the large city of Lodz. If Kluge continued to push Reichenau then they would be on the outskirts of Warsaw within a week.

"All this in only three days," Brauchitsch murmmered to himself. "Damn it all if I don't think that Guderian had something to do with it."

* * *

"20 degrees left! 300 meters!" called the gunner. The turret operator used his control stick and moved it left. The turret turned on its axis, its cano barrel staring at the Polish tank that had just appeared over the hill.

The crewman thrust the shell into the barrel and closed the cap. "Ready!"

The officer sat just inside the cupola of the tank and looked out with his sight at the polish tank. It was a strange design, and it had already brought hell onto the heads of his supporting infantry.

"Fire!"

The cannon of the Panzer III roared and flame erupted from the barrel. The Polish tank which had been moving along at a slow pace was jarringly halted as the round impacted on the hull. It blew through the armour of the tank and killed the crew inside. It began to burn.

The panzer crew cheered. The officer smiled and picked up his radio.

"This is Lieutenant Eichmann reporting. Polish tank sighted a destroyed. More could possibly be here at the front. Requesting reinforcements."

The reply came back sooner than he expected. "This is Colonel Drobber, 8th Army Panzer Division. We see you now Eichmann, we're advancing up behind you. 34th Infantry Battalion is moving up on your right flank as I speak and is taking up that hill position."

Eichmann popped his head just above the rim of the cupola and looked out to his tank's right. He could see a large formation of infantry spread out in assault form moving up a hill. A few half-tracks were following with what looked like anti-tank cannon and heavy mortars.

"Acknowledge Colonel Drobber sir, what are your orders?"

"Protect the infantry's flank and move up to a position where you can see the countryside. Just don't do what that idiot Pole did. Your driving one of those newer models, and I don't want the supply officer yelling at me again just because one panzer commander got excited."

"Yes sir, colonel."

Eichmann smiled and then ordered the tank forward. The two supporting armored cars and platoon of infantry moved up with him. They slowly made it up to the apex of the hill. The infantry battalion had taken up their position and were making ready their defence. It was a safe assurance to have some of those anti-tank guns aimed in the other direction.

Eichmann however was slightly appalled when he gazed from his position into the countryside before him and even more happy that the 34th had gotten ready so fast. For right there, no more than 800 yards afore, was an advancing line of tanks, at least thirty, supported by a large number of infantry.

"Sheise! Jurgen, get on that radio and report to Colonel Dobber. A large Polish counter-attack is coming in. Get some Luftwaffe support if any of those damned fly-boys are in the vacinity."

"Jawohl!"

The crew got busy and fast. Since they didn't want to be exposed to everything that might come their way, Eichmann had them back up until only the turret was visable above the hillside. He heard explosion as the mortar crews of the 34th Battalion opened up.

"Target aquired sir, 600 meters and closing. Speed estimated at 23 kph."

"I got it! Traverse at at 30 degrees right, spin speed at 3," ordered Eichmann. he looked through his sights at the first Polish tank in the advance. The turret revolved and the barrel came down slightly a few centimeters.

Sweat dropped down Eichmann's brow. He had no more than forty rounds of ammunition left. Each round had to count as much as possible. It was all about timing, if he missed...he couldn't miss. The tank entered the left side of his sights. He waited until it was almost at the center before he gave the order.

"Fire!"

The Polish tank literally drove into the shell as it impacted onto the hull of the vehicle. It exploded similarlly to the previous one that they had taken out. The mortar rounds were taking their toll, knocking out two approaching tanks and causing the infantry to faulter, putting huge gaps in the tight formations that the Poles stubbornly kept to.

"Second target aquired, 20 degrees left 570 meters and closing."

The tank crew repeated their well honed craft of fighting and worked the Panzer III with a smooth expertise, heightened by anexiety of being the only other German tank out there. The crew's support vehicles were firing support with their 20mm flak guns, but were having little effect on the Polish tanks.

The rifles and machine guns of the 34th Battalion erupted into a crecendo of noise as they began pouring fire down upon the approaching line. Mortars continued to be fired and the anti-tank 37mm guns began shelling the Poles.

They had taken out about four tanks when Eichmann was getting real worried. The Poles were continuing to advance and were not stopping. They were less than 400 meters away and closing fast. If they weren't stopped then his panzer would be overwhelmed and destroyed. They were also running out of shells.

"Where's that damned Luftwaffe support!?" asked Eichmann, exacerberated.

"A flight of Stukas reported in and are on their way," responded his radio man.

"Well tell them to haul ass-"

Suddenly there came a loud whine, like a shriek of demonic souls reaching out from hell, that filled the air; even dulling the sound of gunfire and cannon roars. Eichmann dared to look up through his cupola and saw a wave of dive bombers flying over head.

"About time you beautiful bastards!"

With bone chilling wails the bombers dived. Polish infantry fell to the ground in terror or tried running. Bombs fell with precision, smashing into infantry and tank alike. Three more Polish tanks were destroyed. The attack broke up and halted. The German defeneded ridge side erupted in cheers.

"God must hate me if he has to save me with the Luftwaffe," said Jurgen with a smirk. Eichmann laughed at him.

The cheers and laughter however died quickly. Their job complete, the Stukas had left. With the evil planes out of the skies the Polish line began to advance again.

"Damn stubborn fools! Don't they know when to retreat?"

"Their too drunk to."

"Target aquired, 320 meters, treverse 20 degrees right and 4 down."

"Gun ready."

"Fire!"

Eichmann found another target and pressed the firing pin. It clicked but was not followed by the roar of a cannon firing. Eichmann stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded. He looked down in the hull.

Hanz, the gunner, was shrugging. "Out of rounds sir."

Eichmann swore and slammed his fist into the side of the turret.

"Polish tank approaching, 270 yards. Its found us sir," reported his driver.

"Get out of the tank!" yelled Eichmann. The crew complied with enthusiasm. Eichmann scrambled out of the cupola and jumped from the turret to the ground. His men cameout of side hatches and the like, getting out of the tank as fast as possible.

Eichman turned and watched as the Polish tank turned toward them, raising it's barrel. Its all over, my first command and I screw it up like this Eichmann thought.

Suddenly the Polish tank blew up. It looked as if it had blown up from the inside and Eichmann couldn't believe his eyes. All along the line Polish tanks were blowing up. It was a miracle.

"Sir, look! To the left!" yelled Jurgen.

There on another ridge, barreling through the sparse trees and over the incline, came a large group of German tanks. Panzer Is, IIs, several StuGs, and even a pair of Panzer IIIs were charging down the hill, firing off their cannon as they came. Infantry mounted in half-tracks and armored cars advanced as well.

This unexpected turn of events threw the Poles into utter confusion. They were flanked and without support. Nearly all the remaining tanks were knocked out. The infantry and what tank crews that could escape ran for their lives. With a cheer and a war woop, the 34th Battalion charge down the hill, slamming into the left flank of the buckling Polish line.

Eichmann couldn't believe it. He just walked up to the side of his tank and leaned against it. It was a bit much for one day. He was so overwhelmed he didn't even notice an armored car drive up next to him, or that his men snapped to attention.

"You've had quite the day, haven't you Lieutenant?" asked a voice. Eichmann turned and saw a man standing before him in a black long coat with gold eppauletts on his shoulders. The face was cracked into a smile and Eichmann remembered who it was. He snapped to attention, his senses regained.

"Yes sir, General."

Guderian nodded and looked over at the retreating Poles. His panzers were chasing after them, the infantry trying to catch up. He turned to the panzer commander.

"You did well today Captain, hopefully in the future you will do so again." He returned the salutes of the crew and returned to his armored car. It drove away, following the battle.

Eichmann stared at it as the car raced away. "Captain?" asked Jurgen. "Does that mean you've been promoted sir?"

"I believe it does," said Eichmann.