"Karl, could you take over for a moment? I need to take a piss," Leon said, leaning slightly as he glanced at the older man behind him.
"Huh? What?" Karl muttered, rubbing his eyes. He tilted forward and almost fell from his chair, his breath heavy with alcohol.
Leon flinched at the smell, then stood up and walked out quickly.
"You got it, right?" he asked, sticking only his head back through the doorframe.
"Yes, yes," Karl replied, winking, clearly annoyed.
Leon shook his head and limped toward his favourite bush beside the metal fence. He opened his trousers and relieved himself.
His gaze wandered across the greenery climbing the fence and stretching into the distance, fields and grassland defining the horizon. The sun shone brightly over the land.
"This year ought to be a good harvest," he murmured as he finished.
He turned around, and that was when he saw it.
A military truck sped into the station's parking area, halting with a sharp, screeching cry of brakes. Polish soldiers jumped out, shouting orders.
Leon's eyes widened.
"Are the Germans here?" he called out, but quickly dismissed the thought as more trucks arrived, soldiers pouring out and running toward him.
"Hey, you!" an officer shouted, reaching him first. "Turn all railway signals green coming from Warsaw. Immediately!"
The man grabbed Leon by the shoulder, nearly throwing him to the ground.
"Wha…" Leon began, but was cut off.
"We tried to contact you. No response. Turn the lights green now. Vital reinforcements are on their way. Quickly!" the officer barked, spittle landing on Leon's face.
"Yes," Leon said, already running toward his hut.
Reinforcements, huh. They are here after all, Leon thought as he limped inside.
"Fuck, move, Karl!" Leon shouted, shoving the man aside and jolting him awake.
Leon's fingers flew across the controls. Sweat dripped from his forehead, slicking the buttons beneath his touch.
"This should be it…" he muttered, stepping back and raising his hands.
Only minutes later, massive trains thundered into the station, brakes screaming as they came to a halt. Whistles blew. Orders were shouted. Soldiers poured out of the wagons.
Leon watched through the window, unsure what else to do. He kept watching, not even noticing Karl's snoring behind him.
Soldier after soldier poured onto the train tracks, rushing toward the city.
Leon followed them as if pulled by a magnet. He limped after them, slower than the rest. He passed hastily erected artillery positions. Mortars and machine guns were being placed at street corners. Soldiers unloaded sandbags to cover a gun nearby. Leon stepped aside, but one of them still shoved him.
"Hey, watch out!" the soldier shouted angrily, dropping the bag before running off to grab another.
Leon kept walking, trying to make it home safely. His unease grew with every step as he noticed the shutters closing all around him, one window after another.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to move faster.
"This goddamn foot," he hissed in frustration, leaning against the wall of a house.
One window beside him was still open.
Surprised, Leon glanced inside.
Several Polish officers stood around a table, arguing fiercely.
"We have established the second defensive line around the marketplace," one of them reported. "The first is being reinforced. Many soldiers are hidden in the cornfields."
"Sir… do you think it will hold?" another asked.
An older man answered, stroking his beard.
"If our air force, our great Polish air force," he began, his tone almost ironic, "arrives soon, then maybe…"
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"Maybe we should wait?" a voice said not far away.
"No."Paul answered decisively, lowering his binoculars as he turned toward the officers standing loyally behind him. Beyond them, a tank turret protruded from the forest cover, half-hidden by trees and greenery.
"I will tell you what we will do," Paul said, his eyes wide, filled with boundless hunger.
He explained his plan briefly, then left his officers in heavy silence.
"Are you with me?" he suddenly shouted, his voice rising.
"Always," Hasso answered at once, snapping a salute.
"Yes," Reicher said, straightening.
Leichthofer and the others nodded.
"Then ready the tanks!" Paul shouted, turning away and climbing onto his own.
When Paul slowly raised his hand, thunderous engines roared to life within the forest, like wild animals awakened, searching for prey.
"They don't give us their trust!" Paul shouted, turning toward the dozens of tanks arrayed behind him, countless eyes fixed on him."They don't give us permission. They don't give us the Luftwaffe. So what will we give them, men?"
He paused, then continued with a terrifying smile.
"We will give them victory!"
Paul brought his hand down. At his signal, the tanks surged forward, one after another, bursting from the forest onto the open plain. Sunlight streaked across steel as the formation revealed itself.
Even if you give me sticks and stones, remember this, you fools...I will win, Paul thought as his tank tore across the grassland, the first buildings already looming ahead.
"Open fire on their positions!" Paul shouted into the radio as his own tank crew rammed a shell into the chamber.
Thunderous explosions tore into the first line of defense, a sprawling trench system.
"They never learn, do they?" Paul said aloud.
Large sections of the trench collapsed, earth swallowing the soldiers beneath it.
"Come on, you fools, shoot back!" an older officer shouted, lifting his rifle and rising above the trench line.
Before them stretched a vast cornfield. Hundreds of soldiers lay hidden within it.
Then, suddenly, a single man rose from the field.
He stepped forward, fully exposing himself. Before him, hundreds of German tanks advanced relentlessly.
"AHHH!" he screamed, charging toward them with his rifle raised.
That single act of courage ignited something in the others.
All across the field, dark silhouettes rose from the corn, one after another. Countless figures emerged, turning the golden sea into a field of moving shadows.
Then the artillery erupted.
Dozens of shells were fired from within the city, arcing through the sky. Many struck the ground, hurling dirt and grass into the air. Then one found its mark.
A German tank vanished in a roaring explosion. Thick smoke engulfed it. For a moment, it seemed destroyed.
Then it emerged again. The turret burned, flames licking across the steel.
"Fuck, what are these tanks made of?" the older officer shouted from the trench.
In truth, it was not the tanks themselves, but the shells that mattered. Small caliber artillery, incapable of piercing the Panzer III's inner hull, yet still able to damage it.
The turret burned, but the tank continued forward. Not least because of a single order Paul barked into the radio.
"Never stop!"
Inside the tank, the crew obeyed. Despite the inhuman heat building within the steel hull, they did not halt.
The formation pressed on.
At the its heart rolled hundreds of trucks, shielded by tanks on all sides, carrying infantry and anti-air units. They were the beating heart of the advance, protected by steel.
Soon, the formation reached the cornfields. On the horizon, aircraft emerged, their intent unmistakable, their target already chosen: Paul's tank division.
Polish soldiers screamed, their combined shouts rivaling the roar of engines and grinding tracks tearing the land apart.
They charged straight at the tanks.
One hundred meters. Maybe less.
Artillery shells struck among the trucks, some exploding in violent fireballs. Instead of breaking morale, it seemed to harden it.
50meters
30meters
10meters
An unknown soldier tore a grenade from his belt as a tank thundered toward him.
Then nothing happened.
It was bizarre. The tanks, the entire massive formation, simply continued forward, barely acknowledging the infantry. Some unlucky men were crushed beneath the tracks. Most were ignored.
Because this was no longer a ground battle.
It was an aerial one.
Paul knew this. He had explained it to his officers beforehand.
"To survive, we either need aircraft of our own, which we do not have," he had said, "or we use a shield. One powerful enough to protect us from their bombings, at least for now."
"A shield?" Reicher had asked, confused.
Leichthofer struck him lightly on the shoulder and whispered,
"He means the civilian population of Gniezno…"
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