Western Poland, September 1st, 1939.
The order came without ceremony, without speeches. A firm voice on the radio, with a Berlin accent:
"All units: commence advance toward Mokra. Repeat, commence advance. Blitzkrieg in execution."
Falk lowered his head briefly, as if sealing an agreement with himself. Then he looked up and said:
"Lukas, move out. Advance column, fifteen-second spacing between tanks. Helmut, stay on tactical channel. Ernst, safety off and loaded."
The ground was no longer paved with cobblestones or imperial stone. Now it was black earth, soaked by dew and the tracks of dozens of Panzers rolling forward without pageantry. No flowers, no girls waving at the roadside. Only crushed corn and fresh retreating footprints.
Lukas wiped the back of his neck, sweating despite the cold morning. He looked through the half-open hatch, eyes fixed on a horizon with no buildings.
"I liked it better when people clapped for us," he muttered.
Konrad didn't answer. He was checking his sight with almost ritual precision. His hands looked like stone, but his eyes betrayed something else—something he hadn't felt in Austria or Czechoslovakia.
"This time it's real war," he finally said. "The ones ahead don't give a damn about our uniforms. They'll shoot anyway."
On the radio, Helmut scanned through the channels. Several officers reported that the advance on Mokra was smooth. That the Poles were retreating.
"'Advancing with no significant resistance,'" he read aloud. "I hate when they speak too soon."
Falk was standing with the hatch open, watching the column move forward. The morning light struck his calm face, but his knuckles were white with tension.
Then the first shot rang out. It wasn't a warning shot—it was a cannon blast that tore through a Panzer III like it was made of tin.
Explosion after explosion. Fire came from a grove to the right. Not many, but well-positioned. And they knew what they were doing.
Konrad swung the turret. Caught a flash between the trees. Fired. The shell bounced off immediately. No effect. Only frustration.
"They've got fortified positions!" he shouted.
Falk assessed the situation in seconds. The column was still taking fire. If they didn't flank, they'd be picked off one by one.
"Lukas, full turn northwest. We'll go around the woods. Ernst, get ready for suppressive fire. Helmut, try to reach the 4th column. Tell them not to charge in blind."
The maneuver was swift. Precise. As another Panzer exploded in the rear, Falk's tank veered onto a side path. They skirted the forest. In less than four minutes, they were behind enemy lines.
Konrad saw the Polish gunner reloading. No helmet. Just a kid. He fired.
Silence.
The Panzer IV fired three more rounds. The positions fell silent.
When the German column resumed its advance, Falk said nothing. He simply closed the hatch and took a deep breath.
Helmut, headphones dangling, muttered:
"They weren't many. But they knew what they were doing."
Falk answered without looking at him:
"That makes them worthy."
No one spoke for the rest of the way to Mokra.