To the West

(Source)

Jan had been taken to the next larger town, a town which seemed to be packed with Germans, mostly rear area soldiers, though the occasional combat unit could be seen moving towards the front. Or what had been the front, one of the men guarding him had mentioned that Warsaw had surrendered.

Jan had managed to control his facial expression when he had heard that, but still, it had given him quite a shock to hear that the capital had fallen. He began to wonder what his country's fate would be, especially knowing that many of her soldiers, and her navy he had heard, had gone West, to continue the fight. Apparently no one was going to stay and fight for Poland on Polish ground.

The room he was being held in appeared to have been used for storage prior to the Germans taking over. The room had that feel, but now its contents was a desk, two chairs, and Jan himself. Nothing else.

He heard footsteps approaching, then the door being unlocked. He stood up.

The man who came in smiled at Jan, then said, "Ach, panie Kołodziej, jak się pan miewa?¹"

Jan smiled back and answered, also in Polish, then in German, that he was fine, and why were the Germans holding him here. Jan thought the man was a policeman of some sort, he had that air about him.

Smiling like a politician, the man gestured for Jan to take the chair in front of the desk while he sat behind the desk.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself before, my name is Benz, Wolfram Benz. So Herr Kołodziej, your papers indicate that you are of Polish nationality and were in the Polish Army, which you claim to have deserted from, is that about right?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Hhmm, your hometown is Tarnowskie Góry?"

"Herr Benz, where I'm from, we call it Tarnowitz. But yes, in Poland it's known as Tarnowskie Góry."

"Do you consider yourself a Pole, or a German?"

"I consider myself a Silesian. Right now, well until a few weeks ago, Tarnowitz was in Poland. I suppose the Germans will take it back now."

"Yes, yes, I imagine we will." Benz smiled at Jan.

That made Jan nervous. Smiling Germans always made him nervous, but this fellow had an air of menace about him which was palpable.

Jürgen sat with the rest of the squad, waiting for Unteroffizier Hartmann to return. The squad leader had gone off with their platoon leader, Leutnant Kurt Heidenreich, who had been called up to the company command post.

Across the small river valley Jürgen could see Russian soldiers, whose job was apparently to make sure the Germans stayed on their own side of the demarcation line. After years of hearing Hitler shout out his hatred of Communism, it seemed particularly odd that the Reich was now allied to the Soviet Union, though Hartmann had insisted it wasn't an alliance, simply a non-aggression pact.

Jürgen was sure that the Poles didn't see it that way. Hearing footsteps, Jürgen turned around, it was Hartmann.

"What news Uffz?"

"We're marching to the railhead, tonight. Make sure the lads get something to eat, we leave in 30 minutes."

"Where are we headed?" Jürgen wanted to know.

"Back to Germany for all I know. The Führer hasn't taken me into his confidence as of yet, but when I know, you'll know. Get a move on Junge."

Benz looked at Jan for a long moment before saying, "I'm sure that you've guessed by now that I'm a policeman."

Jan simply nodded, he thought momentarily of making a break for the door, it was probably better to be shot while trying to escape than to be taken somewhere for interrogation, probably torture, then death. As he steeled himself, Benz spoke again.

"Fortunately for you, I suppose, the Polish records in Warschau were destroyed by the Luftwaffe. Silly flyboys, why blow up something which could prove useful later on? But a telegram has come in, they can find no records of you, but there are records of your family, well, what is left of them."

Jan waited for the ax to fall, perhaps he could rush this policeman, take his weapon (surely he has one) then escape. Again Benz spoke.

"I'm recommending that you be reclassified as a citizen of the Reich, not Volksdeutsch², but a full fledged German from Silesia. Therefore, you are eligible to be drafted. Oberfeldwebel!" Benz called out to someone outside the office, that man opened the door and stepped in.

"Sir?"

"This is Herr Jan Kołodziej, citizen of the Reich and late of the Polish Army. Please take him to the induction section for transport to his new unit."

"Jawohl, Herr Feldpolizeikommissar!"

Benz extended a hand to Jan, who took it with a hint of hesitation, Benz then said, "Welcome to the Wehrmacht, I'm sure your training in the Polish Army was inadequate, but we'll have you up to speed in no time."

With that Benz got up, nodded to the Army sergeant, and left.

Oberfeldwebel Krantz shook his head and looked at Jan, "Well, come on then, we should get you to the Army before Benz changes his mind. You are one lucky bastard. That one is Geheime Feldpolizei³, they're almost as bad as the SS. He had a fellow in here yesterday who's now on his way to Berlin, said something Benz didn't like. Man even had a German name, not like you."

Jan was unsure of how to respond, so he said nothing.

Kranz nodded, "You're a smart Polack, better to say nothing. Do as you're told and you'll survive, unless someone takes a disliking to that Polish moniker of yours. Sure you don't want to change it? I can do that when we induct you."

Jan simply said, "I will keep the name my father gave me."

Kranz snorted and said, "Alright then, it's your life, maybe your funeral. Let's go."

Jan was puzzled at the Germans' insistence on drafting him and other Poles into their army. He didn't realize that in the few short weeks of the battle for his native land, the Germans had suffered 17,269 killed, 30,300 wounded, and 3,500 missing.

The Germans needed the men, they weren't done yet, Hitler had bigger plans for Europe.

¹ Ah, Mr. Kołodziej, how are you? (Polish)

² Of German origin, typically in a foreign country, but not a German citizen.

³ Secret Field Police, members of the German Army but often acted under the orders of Himmler's SS, especially in Eastern Europe.

The "Phony" War

(Source)

Private Billy Wallace of the 2nd Battalion, Royal Scots Fusiliers was not a happy man and he was venting his frustration with the British Army, France, and humanity in general to his good friend Connor McGuire.

"I swear to ye Connor, I set my bloody Bergan¹ down for just an instant and some bastard got into it and nicked my shaving kit. Bloody, illegitimate, bastards, and here we are meant to save the Froggies in their hour of need!"

"How d'ye know it was a Frenchie wot nicked yer kit Billy?" McGuire asked.

"Because what would another bloody squaddie want wi' my kit when he's been issued his own bloody kit!" Billy was steaming mad and probably would have gone on again for some time but their sergeant, Bill Greaves, came upon the "scene of the crime."

"What on earth are you on about today Wallace? Beds not comfortable enough? Rations not cooked to your liking? I swear man, you complain more than any other ten men in this bloody army!"

"But Sarge, somebody's nicked my bloody shaving kit! How am I supposed to shave with that? Sar'nt Major will have my arse for not shaving now, won't he?"

"Ye mean this kit?" Greaves held out a British Army issue shaving kit.

"No Sar'nt, my kit, well sure it looks like that, but ..."

"This is your bloody shaving kit ye addled-brained git. Ye dropped it when you were stowing yer iron rations. Which, by the way, I saw you trying to trade with a Frenchie for a bottle of wine!"

"But Sarge, I never ..."

"Clear off you two, get yer kit stowed in the quarters the French government has kindly provided, then get back here. I've a job for you two! Now go!"

When they were out of earshot of the Greaves, McGuire turned to Billy and said, "Thanks Billy, it's another shite job for us cause ye cannae² keep yer yap shut!"

They were on foot, they hadn't eaten much in some time, they were bedraggled and tired. They were Polish soldiers fleeing the destruction of their nation. This bothered Jan Kołodziej more than he cared to believe. His heart wanted to stay and fight, but his head knew that doing so would only lead to death. What with the Soviet invasion hitting hard in the East, his country was doomed.

Jan hissed at Bartek Pomorski, the tank sergeant without a tank, "Why couldn't the damn French and the English fulfill their obligations? Why did they leave us in the lurch Bartek, can you tell me that?"

"I cannot. They, no doubt, have their own problems. You remember before the war? The West was constantly trying to give Hitler what he wanted in order to avoid war. They drew the line at the Niemcy's demand for the Corridor,³ probably assuming they were calling Hitler's bluff. After all, that bastard was a veteran of the Great War, the West assumed that he would want to avoid another blood-letting on that scale." Pomorski had followed the events leading up to the invasion closely. He felt that, as a soldier, he should know about things which might require him to fight, and possibly die.

"Hitler wasn't bluffing though, was he?" Jan said, sounding exasperated with Pomorski's calmness.

"No, he was not, chłopak⁴, he certainly was not."

The sun was starting to come up in the fog-shrouded east, Jan was starting to see the outlines of the nearby hills, "I think we're close to the border."

"We are Jan, it's just around that next bend in the road, through those trees. Hopefully the Romanians on post there will let us in."

Guillaume Micheaux had advanced with his unit into Germany, not far but close enough to have exchanged shots with a German patrol. Shots which had killed his sergeant, Yves Poisson. Guillaume now wore the stripes of a caporal (corporal) and led his own fire team.

He had rallied the patrol and had driven the Germans off, even managing to capture a prisoner. His lieutenant had been very pleased, as had the commander of the regiment who had promoted him on the spot.

"Congratulations soldat, you are one of the few men in this army who seems to know how to take the fight to the Boche. Perhaps we should send you to Paris to teach the politicians how to handle the Nazis!"

"Oui, mon colonel." Guillaume had dutifully agreed with the colonel, but he rather hoped to get sent to Paris for other reasons, certainly not to talk with the old men who had managed to get France into another war with the Germans.

Jürgen von Lüttwitz, confirmed in his new rank of Gefreiter,⁵ walked slowly back to his bivouac. The unit was in reserve for the time being after the serious losses they had taken in the fighting along the Bzura River. Of his own section, two were dead, Ernst Triebig and Hans Grüneberg, Triebig had been killed right next to him shortly before he saw his own death coming towards him in the form of a very large Polish soldier. Another of his men, Friedrich Schultze had been evacuated with a serious wound, word from the doctors was that he would survive but wouldn't be returning any time soon.

Of Hartmann's machine gunners, Max Kurz had been hit in the waning moments of the fight. He would be fine according to the Sanitäter, he just needed a week or so off the line. The Poles had fought hard before withdrawing to the southeast. A rumor was going around that the Russians had entered the fight, hitting the Poles from the east while the Germans hit them from the west.

Jürgen almost felt sorry for the enemy. But after seeing men he knew, men he liked, die and be seriously injured in the past few weeks, he had a growing hatred for the Poles. He understood that they were fighting for their homes, but couldn't they see that there was no way they could stand against the might of the German Wehrmacht?

If he had known the plans Hitler had for Poland, he would have understood better. But not even the Polish people knew the horror they were facing. This wasn't a war of conquest, it was a war of extermination.

The Romanian border guards were sympathetic, even kind, in their treatment of the Poles coming into their country. But they were not allowing these Polish contingents into their country armed.

Jan felt naked without the German machine pistol he had been carrying for over a week. While it didn't have the range of his old rifle, it certainly put a lot of rounds out. It had served them in good stead on the few encounters they'd had with German patrols.

They had started out with fifteen men, four tankers and eleven infantrymen, the infantry from an assortment of units. Only Kornel Jabłoński and Patryk Kalinowski had been members of Jan's regiment, the 20th Land of Kraków, and Patryk was dead. In their last encounter with the Niemcy they had been surprised. Patryk was dead before they knew what had hit them.

Leonard Witkowski and one of the tankers, Grzegorz Jackiewicz, had also died in that fight. They had managed to overwhelm the small German party in the end, actually taking one man prisoner. Before anyone could stop him, Ignacy Grabowski had shot the German. He and Witkowski had been close friends, from the same small village outside Łódź. Jan couldn't blame him for killing that German, besides which, what were they going to do with a prisoner?

Pomorski came up to Jan while he sat there, remembering the flight into Romania, wondering what would happen next.

"Jan, there are rations in the barn, from what a Romanian officer has told me, anyone wishing to go will be put on a train to the port of Constanta, apparently their government is willing to ship us to France, to continue the fight against the Niemcy." Pomorski was chewing some Romanian ratio bread as he talked.

"France? The same France whose soldiers sat in their Maginot Line and watched as we were slaughtered? What, shall we do their fighting for them? Or are we going there to surrender? You know it's only a matter of time before the Nazis turn their attentions to the west." Jan was furious, he couldn't understand the ways of politicians and generals.

"I don't know, but I'm going. I want to continue the fight. Surely you're coming as well."

"No Bartek, I'm going back into Poland. I'm going home to Kraków and my Elżbieta. If she's still alive that is ..."

¹ I have it on good authority that squaddies (British infantrymen) called their rucksacks by this slang term.

² Scots for "cannot"

³ The Polish Corridor, also known as the Danzig Corridor, Corridor to the Sea or Gdańsk Corridor, was a territory located in the region of Pomerelia, which provided the Second Republic of Poland (1920–1939) with access to the Baltic Sea, thus dividing the bulk of Germany (Weimar Republic) from the province of East Prussia. The Free City of Danzig (now the Polish city of Gdańsk) was separate from both Poland and Germany. (Source)

⁴ Lad (chłopak)

⁵ Corporal (Gefreiter)

⁶ Medic (Sanitäter)

The Collapse

(Source)

"Jan, have you seen this?" Bartek Pomorski, a sergeant in the 10th Motorized Cavalry, handed Jan Kołodziej a crudely printed handbill.

Scanning it, Jan saw that it was an order for the forces of both the Kraków and Lublin armies to withdraw to the area known as the Romanian Bridgehead. Jan knew of this only because his company commander had briefed the men about it shortly before the German attack on the 1st of September, nearly two weeks ago.

The Polish commander-in-chief, Marshal of Poland Edward Rydz-Śmigły, had envisioned the Polish military withdrawing to that hilly area on the border with Romania in the event of a German attack. The idea being to preserve the army until the French attack in the West which would draw off German strength. Then the Poles would counterattack and drive the hated Niemcy from Poland.

Unfortunately, from what this handbill said, there had been no French attack. The Poles seemed to be on their own.

"Bartek, is this real? The French haven't attacked?" Jan asked, incredulously.

"Yes Jan, the French and the English are rushing to aid Poland, just as they rushed to aid the Czechs over the Sudetenland. I think we're on our own chłopak.¹" Bartek spat in disgust.

"When do we move? I can't see taking my boys back to what's left of the regiment. The Marshal says withdraw, then perhaps we should do what the Marshal has ordered." Jan handed the bill back to Bartek.

"Well, the Niemcy are between us and the Romanian hills, we'll have to fight our way through."

Cezary Król and Michał Włodarczyk just happened to walk up at that moment, Michał said, "Another opportunity to kill Niemcy, when do we begin?" The smile he offered didn't make it to his eyes.

Gefreiter Jürgen von Lüttwitz watched as the Poles attacked again, the pocket which they were in was slowly collapsing and their efforts to break out were getting desperate. Ammunition was running low, his men were starting to waver in the face of the fierce attacks.

Jürgen yelled at his boys to be ready, another Polish attack was in the offing as the sun began to set. Firing broke out to their front, Jürgen heard a grunt next to him. Schütze Ernst Triebig was down, a Polish rifle round in his chest.

Jürgen's rifle section were working their bolts as fast as they could in support of the machine gun section led by Unteroffizier Kurt Hartmann, their squad leader. The Poles were expertly working their way closer to the German position.

"Grenades!" Jürgen yelled out, just as Hartmann's MG 34 went silent.

Unteroffizier Hartmann looked on as Oberschütze Max Kurz opened the feed tray on his gun, Hartmann could see the jam which prevented the gun from firing. As Kurz worked to free the bad round, Hartmann readied his MP 38.

It was getting dark and he couldn't see any targets to their front, hopefully the Poles had had enough for one day. But no, a flurry of grenade explosions to his right made him look in that direction, von Lüttwitz's rifle squad was on the point of being overrun. In the dim light Hartmann could see a number of Polish infantrymen rushing von Lüttwitz's position. He had no choice, he stood up and engaged the Poles with his machine pistol.

Jürgen was frantically digging in his ammo pouches to extract another clip for his rifle, he could see a Pole, a large man, coming straight at him with a bayonet on the end of his rifle. The man had a look of pure hatred on his face. Jürgen's fingers scrabbled and in his last ammo pouch found a clip.

As he pulled it out he realized that he had no time, but he kept going anyway, better to die trying than simply give up.

Hartmann fired as the big Pole brought his rifle back to bayonet whoever was in the trench in front of him. The man twisted, then fell to his left as the 9 mm rounds hit him from hip to shoulder. Hartmann let up on the trigger, thinking, "What a Grünschnabel² am I, short bursts Kurt, short bursts."

Hartmann fired another burst at a retreating Pole, he missed with the last three rounds in that magazine. "Damn it, I'm firing like a damned rookie!" He quickly loaded another 32-round magazine. He was ready, but it seemed that the Polish attack had subsided.

"Gun's ready Uffz," he heard Kurz announce.

"Gott sei dank.³" Hartmann whispered to the gloaming.

They had had to abandon the two tankettes, they were noisy and they were nearly out of fuel anyway. Jan had no problem letting Bartek lead the way, he knew the area fairly well, having spent time here before the war.

The German ring was closing around the rapidly dwindling organized Polish forces.

"How far to the border?" Jan asked during one of the stops they made to scout the area ahead. Bartek had a map but didn't dare light his torch in order to read it.

"I'm not sure, perhaps a hundred kilometers to the Bridgehead, the border with Romania is farther on, but if we can make it to the area around Przemyśl, then we will be close enough to perhaps rendezvous with other units making for that area."

Jan nodded, "The old fortress city, I know of it. I know a girl there."

Kornel Jabłoński chuckled softly, "Is there any city in Poland where you don't know a girl, Jan?"

Major Hans von Woyrsch looked at Hartmann in the light of a burning Polish farmhouse, Hartmann noted that the Major looked concerned.

"Kurt, we got our asses kicked today. The Poles threw everything they had at us, word from regiment is that at least fifteen hundred of our boys are missing, presumed captured. The Polacks fought well today."

Hartmann grimaced at the slur, his great-grandmother was Polish, but he knew von Woyrsch was an old school Junker, one of the Prussian nobility. No doubt there was a long history of warfare with the Poles and Lithuanians in his family history. But still, "Polack"?

Von Woyrsch didn't notice Hartmann's discomfort at the use of the word, he continued, "Can you believe they actually had cavalry in our rear? Cavalry for God's sake, what is this, the 19th Century?"

Hartmann wondered if the Major had noticed that most of the division's transport was horse-drawn.

As night fell, Polish forces were desperately fighting their way to freedom, no one thought of surrender. If they could escape to the West, the fight would continue until Poland was free again.

The German pursuit paused, time enough to attack again in the morning. As the sun rose on another day, Poland was betrayed once more.

To the east, the first units of the Red Army were crossing the Polish border. Stalin had stabbed his neighbor in the back.

Poland was doomed.

¹ Lad (chłopak)

² Greenhorn (Grünschnabel)

³ Thank God (Gott sei dank)

Remnants of an Army

Polish TK-3
(Source)

Bartek Pomorski nudged his driver, Cibor Borucki, who had his head in the engine compartment. Borucki looked at his sergeant in exasperation, he was nearly done tightening a loose belt, "What?"

Pomorski nodded down the road. Borucki looked, it was a group of Polish infantry, armed with a miscellany of weapons, Polish and German. The men in the other TK-3 were still asleep, Pomorski saw no need to wake them up just yet.

The two Polish tankettes had been separated from their parent unit two days before when they had been caught in the open by a German air strike. They had managed to survive that and had stayed alive since then by staying off the roads in daylight. Currently they were pulled off the road in a small woodlot.

It was close to sunset, Pomorski planned to continue to the east after dark, having infantry along would be nice. He wondered who these men were. As they got closer he called out to them, "What unit are you guys with?"

Jan Kołodziej nearly had heart failure when somebody called out to him in Polish. Looking up, he saw the two tankettes back under the trees. Perhaps they were close to their lines now?

"Kołodziej, 20th Land of Kraków, who are you guys?" Jan was dead on his feet, they'd marched quite a distance today, cross country of course, the Niemcy were everywhere else.

"10th Motorized Cavalry, well part of it anyway, out of Rzeszów. Getting ready to head east, you guys want to tag along?"

"Sure, you plan on heading out straight away?"

"In an hour or so, soon as it's full dark."

"Good, my guys need to get a bit of sleep before we move out."

Von Lüttwitz was still shaken by what he had seen by the side of this lonely Polish road. Sure, he knew the background, he had tried to read Mein Kampf but had set it aside as far too turgid and dark. He knew the Nazis' position on the Jews and the Slavs, but he had always assumed it was simply rhetoric, something to rile up the lower classes and get them to vote for Hitler and his cohorts.

At that night's bivouac, Hartmann had taken him aside, "Trust me Jürgen, I doubt the Führer knows that this is being done, I'm thinking this is more up Himmler's and Heydrich's alley."

"I'm not so sure Uffz, I mean from day one the SS were the Führer's select elite. Those guys back there were SS, weren't they?" von Lüttwitz was getting angry. Hartmann tried to calm him.

"Listen Junge, keep these things to yourself. I'm not sure if those guys were SS, I didn't see any runes on their collar patches. I saw Death's Heads¹, some of the officers had no insignia where the runes would be."

"That's worse Uffz, that's those Sicherheitsdienst bastards, they wear a blank patch on the right collar, they're worse than the Gestapo." von Lüttwitz's voice started to get louder."

Hartmann placed a hand on von Lüttwitz's shoulder, "Careful lad, you could get us both shot."

The small band of Poles moved out well after dark. Pomorski had seen how exhausted the infantrymen were, so he let them sleep for three hours. Jan had been worried about losing most of the night, but Pomorski had pointed out that tired men don't move very far, and they make mistakes. Mistakes which could get them all killed.

"Still Plutonowy, we are losing time, the Niemcy are everywhere." Jan had protested.

"No, they're pursuing the army and trying to get to Warszawa. They have security units in the bigger towns, but unless we get unlucky, we should be safe out here in the countryside. Only during the day am I worried. The Niemcy air force is indeed everywhere. Now, we need to move, I would offer you a ride ..." Pomorski gestured at the tiny TK-3.

Jan chuckled, "Yes, it's barely got room for you and your driver. I suggest that me and some of my boys lead the way, maybe a hundred meters in advance, to scout things out. I'll leave, say, six men with your tankettes as close-in protection. How does that sound?"

Pomorski was impressed, "How is it that you're not an officer Jan Kołodziej?"

"I am terrible with paperwork, just ask my philosophy professor."

Pomorski laughed out loud, "All right college boy, let's get going."

¹ The SS (Schutz Staffel - protection squad) were a complex organization. The Totenkopfverbände, the concentration camp guards, wore the Death's Head (Totenkopf) on their right collar patch, the Security Service (Sicherheitsdienst) had a blank patch. The SS ranks below general officer equivalent wore the SS runes on the right collar patch. They looked like twin lightning bolts. All three branches wore a similar uniform other than the patches.

To the East

(Source)

Jan Kołodziej sat in the ruins of the destroyed village, many of the wrecked buildings were still smoldering. It was a scene of utter devastation. His little band of three - himself, Kornel Jabłoński, and Patryk Kalinowski - had been joined by eight other men, only one of whom had a weapon: Olaf Mazur, Michał Włodarczyk, Leonard Witkowski, Ignacy Grabowski, Cezary Król, Stanisław Nowak, Konstanty Jasiński (who still had his rifle and a few rounds of ammunition), and Jerzy Urbański.

The men were all draftees who were on the verge of finishing their training and then becoming part of the reserve when the Germans attacked Poland. None of them had expected to be caught up in a war and had been separated from their units early in the attack. Jan had found them sheltering in the remains of this village, he was surprised that they had, to a man, volunteered to follow him in an attempt to rejoin the Kraków Army, which was somewhere to the east.

"Sir, how far are we from our lines?" Michał Włodarczyk asked.

"I'm not sure, I can still hear artillery fire to the east, so someone is fighting there, whether it's our boys or the Niemcy shelling our boys, I couldn't say." Jan answered.

"Perhaps a few miles, I just don't know."

Unteroffizier Hartmann had scoffed at von Lüttwitz's promotion to Gefreiter,¹ skipping over the rank of Oberschütze.² "Harrumph, in my day it took a good two years to make Gefreiter, after being an Oberschütze, what is this army coming to?"

Hans Wilfried chuckled and said, "Well, in all fairness to the Herr Gefreiter, in your day Uffz,  Napoléon Bonaparte was still Emperor of France!"

Kurt Becker burst out laughing until Hartmann looked at him and said, "Volunteering for kitchen duty are we Becker?"

"No Sir, sorry Sir." Becker stammered.

"It's all right Junge³, I'm kidding. Jürgen, come with me, we have replacements for the men we lost, I want you to meet them."

Von Lüttwitz followed his sergeant, not sure if he really cared for this new role as deputy squad leader. But then again, he knew he could learn a lot from Hartmann, the man had been in the army since 1935, he was an old hand.

"Make sure your boys get fed. I expect we'll be marching all night." Hartmann remarked.

Von Lüttwitz looked at Hartmann in shock, the men were exhausted, before he could say a word, Hartmann said, "I know, I know, but the officers tell me we have to keep marching to keep up with the panzers. While the Propaganda Ministry tells the world how mechanized the mighty Wehrmacht is, most of us still get to the battle the same way our great-grandfathers did, on foot."

As the two men walked past an army wagon, von Lüttwitz commented, "With most of our vehicles pulled by horses, Frederick the Great would recognize these wagons."

Hartmann laughed, "No he wouldn't Jürgen, many of our wagons have pneumatic tires now! We're very modern that way."

Von Lüttwitz couldn't help but notice that the field kitchen they were passing by most certainly did not have pneumatic tires. But a good many of them did, so that was progress, he supposed.

Jan had chosen Nowak and Jasiński to go with him to scout the nearby road. They could hear the occasional vehicle passing by from their position in the village and Jan thought it a good idea to get a feel for the German presence in this area.

Both Nowak and Jasiński were big farm boys, used to having to kill their meat for supper. The other lads were all city boys, mostly from Kraków. Having lived on a farm with his grandparents for a few years, he knew the ways of the farmer.

Jabłoński and Kalinowski had protested at having to give their rifles to the newcomers, but Jan assured them that it was temporary. "If the Niemcy are on the road, and we can ambush a stray, they'll need those rifles. Unless you'd prefer to come along yourselves?"

Which had stilled their protests.

It was dark now, Jan and his little patrol were positioned near the road in a clump of brush, they had seen two trucks go past, loaded with infantry, and one staff car. They could hear a motorcycle approaching in the distance when Nowak spoke.

"Sir, I have a length of rope in my pack ..."

Jan looked at him in the dim light from the stars, "And?"

"We could string it across the road, take out the motorcyclist."

Jan thought about it for only a second, then said, "Quickly!"

Werner Brückner was struggling to stay awake, his sergeant, Horst Schumer, was fast asleep in the sidecar. "Lucky bastard," he mumbled.

Brückner had a brief glimpse of something in front of him, but he wasn't sure what it was, then he drove straight into the rope which snatched him off the motorcycle as neat as you please. He hadn't been going fast enough to be seriously injured, but when he fell onto the road he had had the wind knocked out of him.

As he struggled to catch his breath, a figure approached from the darkness along the verge of the road. He hoped it was someone who could help him.

After Jasiński had crushed the skull of the man lying in the road, he returned to the motorcycle, which had veered off the road and thrown the occupant of the sidecar into the ditch. He had been dispatched by Nowak in the same way Jasiński had killed his Niemcy, rifle butt  to the head.

"Let's get these bodies off the road, leave the motorcycle where it is but cover it with brush, no one should notice that before morning." Jan turned to tell the men to search the bodies then realized he didn't have to as Nowak handed him a German machine pistol and two ammunition pouches.

Jasiński had collected a rifle and a pistol from the man who had been driving the motorcycle, also a bread bag loaded with food. He was covering the motorcycle with brush, he had a look in the side car, he hissed over at the other two Poles, "More rations!"

Leaving the dead Germans behind, the three men returned to the others. They would move out, now that they had more weapons and some food to sustain their march. Jan had the satisfying thought that while their unit had had to retreat, at least some Poles were still killing Germans!

As the column of weary troops from the 26th Infantry Regiment of the 30th Division marched down the road, Gefreiter Jürgen von Lüttwitz was with his squad in the midst of the 3rd Platoon of the 2nd Company, 1st Battalion, of that regiment. The men were asleep on their feet, he didn't think they could march much longer when their company commander called a halt. Jürgen stepped out to see what was going on.

Ahead on the road were a party of SS men, on the ground nearby were two blanket covered bodies, Jürgen could see from their boots that they were German soldiers. He caught Unteroffizier Hartmann's eye, nodding towards the men on the side of the road. Hartmann just shook his head.

As he watched, the company commander came down the column and stopped at 1st Platoon. He picked a party of ten men and led them back to the head of the column. It was only then that Jürgen noticed the Polish civilians lined up in the ditch beside the road.

Moments later gunshots rang out, within moments the civilians were all sprawled in the ditch, one of the SS men was walking among them, firing his pistol into any who still showed signs of life. Jürgen was appalled, what the Hell was going on?

At that night's bivouac the rumors were spreading, Jürgen had heard two different stories. One was that the civilians had been partisans who had ambushed and murdered two German soldiers on a motorcycle. The other was that the SS had simply rounded up anyone they could and had them shot. There were still Polish soldiers in the forests, trying to make their way east to where the fighting still continued. It was more than likely the motorcyclists had been killed by those men, not the civilians. The SS men didn't care, they were sending a message to the populace, resist the Germans and die.

These SS men were members of Einsatzgruppe II, one of the SS units following the main army, rounding up civilians and killing them, especially those who were teachers, lawyers, doctors, civilian leaders, and the like. It was the first experience Jürgen, and many of the other soldiers, had had with these units.

It would not be the last.

¹ Lance corporal (Gefreiter)

² Private first class(Oberschütze)

³ Lad

Sitzkrieg

Troops of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) Embark for France
(Source)

Private Billy Wallace of the 2nd Battalion, Royal Scots Fusiliers had been rather pleased to be assigned to garrison duty in Edinburgh. His Mum and Da' lived some fifty-five miles away in Kilmalcolm, when he wasn't carousing with his mates, he'd visit them whenever he could.

But now with war breaking out in Europe, he rather wished that his battalion would be called up to join the BEF, which was getting ready to move over the Channel to France.

"So, Sar'nt Major, when d'ya think we'll be headin' for France? Get stuck in against the Huns, help out the Poles, I mean we're at war aren't we?"

Sergeant Major John Brown looked at Wallace for a long minute before he spoke, "We'll go when the bloody government tells us to go, and not a second before. Anxious to get shot at are ye?"

"No Sar'nt Major, it's just that I joined up to fight, not to spend my days square bashing."

Brown shook his head, "Ah the innocence of youth, ye'll see action before you know it. Besides, the Frogs will probably get stuck in well before we do."

Like Wallace, Private James Fitzhugh of the 3rd Royal Tank Regiment was wondering when they would go to France. He realized that he wouldn't be going any time soon as he was still in training, learning to drive a tank at Bovington Camp in Dorset.

His father had been wounded badly in the Great War and had cautioned his son about being too anxious to go to war. "Believe me son, you don't want to go to war. It's a nasty horrible business. Best hope the politicos find some way of settling this before we have to go."

"But Dad, we've declared war, how could it be stopped now?"

"If people started being reasonable for one thing, why the Hell should we care about bloody Poland, it's practically on the other side of the world as far as I'm concerned. Let the bloody continentals sort it out."

Jan Kołodziej and his two men, Kornel Jabłoński and Patryk Kalinowski, were sitting in an abandoned farmhouse, it was apparent that the occupants had left in a hurry. Clothing, pots and pans, and other household items were scattered about.

Kalinowski was stuffing his face with bread, the only thing they had to eat. "So Jan, should we surrender to the Niemcy? I think we're lost."

"Do you see any Niemcy to surrender to? Should we go find them? More than likely they'd shoot us on sight. No lad, we keep moving east until we link up with our unit or another one. The army has to make a stand somewhere, they can't keep running."

Jabłoński looked at Patryk and said, "Are you afraid Patryk? You've seen what the Niemcy are capable of, and yet you want to try and surrender?"

That evening they had watched from the cover of a small copse of trees as the German aircraft, four of them, had strafed a column of refugees fleeing the fighting. Each plane made multiple passes until nothing moved on the road. Men, women, children, all were killed without mercy.

"We're all afraid lads, only a fool isn't, but Kornel's right, the Niemcy are in a killing mood. You're welcome to stay, but I'm moving out." Jan stood up, "In fact right now. Let's go!"

Soldat Guillaume Micheaux of the 142e régiment d'infanterie of the 8e division d'infanterie had sentry duty on the Maginot Line. Rumors were rife that his army, the 3rd, along with the 4th and 5th Armies were to strike into Germany and advance to the German fixed defenses of what the Germans called the Westwall. He gave no credence to those rumors, after all, hadn't France won the Great War by letting the Germans break themselves on the French defenses?

Three billion francs had been spent to build the Maginot Line, why advance? Let the Germans come to them. He had mentioned that to his sergeant, Yves Poisson.

The sergeant had lit his pipe, drawn on it to get it going, then after letting out a cloud of smoke said, "I agree with you lad, but we have an agreement with the Poles. Les Boche have attacked our allies, so the honor of France demands that we attack the Germans. They are weak here in the West, most of their strength is in Poland, now is the time to strike."

Guillaume nodded thoughtfully, what Sergent Poisson said made perfect sense.

So why were they still sitting in their fortifications, he had asked.

"We need to mobilize our reserves first, fill out the units like ours who depend on filling the ranks with reservists. Patience lad, a week, or perhaps two, will see us advancing into Germany, a la baïonnette!¹"

Guillaume didn't think he would like that, advancing into machine gun fire with bayonets fixed? Hadn't his own father died doing just that in 1916, at Verdun?

The politicians in both London and Paris were afraid to make the first move against the Germans. Talking of offensives into Germany was one thing, actually doing so was quite another. Reserves were being mobilized, the British had yet to land in strength.

Besides which, they feared that any overt move against the Germans would bring the Luftwaffe over the cities of Britain and France. Best to wait until everything was in place, two weeks, perhaps the 19th of September, and they would be ready.

Surely the Poles could hold until then?

¹ With bayonets fixed.

A Promotion

(Source)

Schütze Jürgen von Lüttwitz dropped to the ground with the rest of his squad as a burst of automatic weapons fire swept over the advancing men. He swore when he hit the ground as the back of his helmet dug into his back. Bringing his rifle to a firing position he could see nothing to shoot at. What he did see was the assistant squad leader, Gefreiter Helmut Müller lying on his back, sprawled lifelessly in the road.

Looking around he saw the other men in his squad doing the same as him, lying low and trying not to attract enemy fire. That's when he heard Unteroffizier Hartmann shouting for Müller.

"Müller, get the riflemen into the ditch, I'll set up the MG here!"

"Müller?!"

Finding his voice, von Lüttwitz shouted back, "Herr Unteroffizier, Gefreiter Müller is hit, he's not moving!"

"Von Lüttwitz, is that you?"

"Jawohl!"

"Get the men into the ditch, NOW!"

Without thinking von Lüttwitz started to crawl towards the ditch, seeing two of his mates, Wilfried and Becker, he yelled at them, "Hans! Kurt! Mit mir!¹"

When those two started to follow, von Lüttwitz noticed that Müller wasn't the only casualty. Three other men were down, one of whom, like Müller, wasn't moving.

"Guys, grab the wounded drag them to safety, I'll get the corporal!"

As he moved over, staying as low as he could, and grabbing Müller by the straps of his load-bearing gear, he heard the squad's MG 34 open fire. The Poles now began trading fire with the greater threat of the German machine gun, allowing the section, now under the leadership of von Lüttwitz, to drag all but one casualty off the road and into the ditch which sheltered them from Polish observation.

Von Lüttwitz looked at the men in the ditch with him, two, Krämer and Hase, were wounded,  Hase badly from what von Lüttwitz could tell. He had checked Müller, his corporal was quite dead, shot in the face.

"Hans, where's Walter?"

"He's dead Jürgen, his throat is torn open."

Von Lüttwitz nodded, thinking rapidly, with just three men, there didn't seem to be much he could do. So once again, he barked, "Hans! Kurt! Mit mir!" Then he began moving rapidly away from the road.

Startled, Wilfried and Becker followed him. Becker shouted out, "What the Hell are we doing Jürgen?"

"We're going to flank that MG!"

"Jesu!" was all Wilfried managed to gasp.

The Polish assistant gunner, Bolesław Kowalski, saw movement to his left, he saw Germans running from the ditch and into the small stand of trees near the road. He shouted at his gunner, "Józef, the Niemcy are on the move!"

The gunner, Józef Nowak, hesitated before swinging the Ckm wz. 30² in the direction of the trees near the road, as he triggered the gun two rounds from the German MG 34 he had been dueling with struck the water jacket of the gun. The first ricocheted off harmlessly, the second went through the water jacket and then into Nowak's stomach.

Nowak immediately doubled over, screaming in pain. Kowalski struggled to get Nowak off the gun, but it was hard trying to do that and keep his head down. He needed to get the gun firing again, even if it was only to keep the Niemcy from advancing!

Von Lüttwitz, Wilfried, and Becker were behind and to the left of the Polish machine gun position. Von Lüttwitz could see that one of the gunners was injured, there were no other Poles that he could see. These guys had probably been left behind to delay the German advance.

Von Lüttwitz aimed at the struggling Pole, Wilfried and Becker followed suit. For a moment von Lüttwitz regretted not knowing the Polish phrase for "hands up," so he yelled it in German. The Polish soldier turned in shock at hearing the Germans behind him, his hands went up immediately.

Hartmann watched as the Sanitäter worked on the wounded Polish soldier, turning to the other Pole, who spoke German, he asked, "So just you two? No one else?"

"There were more, they were ordered back, we were supposed to fall back as well, then you Germans showed up, so ..." the Pole shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "What else could we do but fight?"

"Uffz³, this man is dead, he lost too much blood."

"You did the best you could Wolf, we need to get this guy back to battalion," Hartmann gestured at the unwounded Pole, "you're heading back that way, right?"

The Pole's eyebrows went up, they were going to have a medic take him back?

The medic drew his service pistol and gestured at the Pole with it, "Let's go."

Kowalski had had no idea that German medics were issued a sidearm.

Leutnant Wilhelm Dietrich finished speaking with Hartmann, then walked over to von Lüttwitz, "You're now acting deputy squad leader, I'm sure Hauptmann Bormann will approve a promotion to corporal as well. Don't spend the extra pay just yet Jürgen." Dietrich grinned as he said that.

"Danke Herr Leutnant, I'll do my best."

¹ With me!

² Polish-made clone of the American Browning M1917 heavy machine gun.

³ Abbreviation for Unteroffizier.

The Bag

(Source)

Kapitan Ignacy Grabowski spread his map out on the ground and beckoned his sergeants over to brief them on the plan.

"Command has set a trap for the Niemcy, we expect them to attack in this direction," he indicated on the map a path between two villages to the west of Pszczyna, "we have strong defenses to either flank and a blocking position here." again he pointed at the map.

"So, we're going to let the Niemcy attack into this trap, rather like a bag, eh Kapitan?" Sierzant¹ Olaf Jasiński commented.

"Exactly Sierzant, once they break through, we let them advance to the blocking position then open fire with everything we've got. Artillery should be available and is targeted on this area within the bag. With luck, we'll cripple the Niemcy attack and drive them back over the border. Any questions?"

Plutonowy² Michał Włodarczyk cleared his throat, he looked skeptical. "Sir, what if the Niemcy attack somewhere else?"

"I wouldn't worry about that, Plutonowy. The high command is certain that they can bait the Niemcy into attacking here. I've seen their plan, it is absolutely flawless." The captain seemed very proud of his presentation, as if he had created the plan himself.

"But Sir ..."

"Follow orders Włodarczyk, you're not paid to think. Gentlemen, dismissed."

With that, the orders group broke up and the NCOs returned to their squads and sections.

Oberleutnant Kurt Jaschke nodded as the Major pointed out to him the direction his tanks should take. "Begging your pardon Herr Major, but the Polish positions seem far weaker about 200 meters to the left of this line you want me to advance on. If we just moved ..."

"Kurt, a Storch³ flew over those positions earlier, the Poles want us to advance on that line. Look here on the map," Major Klaus Mannheim had laid his map on the bow of Jaschke's tank, "along this line and this line the Poles have dug in with machine guns and anti-tank weapons. If we advance along the path which seems easiest, we'll be cut to pieces. No doubt they also have artillery zeroed in on this area. So take your platoon in this direction, you'll have infantry support, a company from the 28th Infantry. Clear?"

"Jawohl Herr Major!"

Elżbieta awakened as the truck rolled to a stop. Lieutenant Gulczyński had insisted that she sit up front with the driver, rather than in the back with himself and a number of men who were either wounded or separated from their units. Gulczyński had commandeered the truck after talking with the corporal driving it. It seemed that he had no orders and was driving to Warszawa as he could think of nothing better to do.

"I tell you Captain, my sergeant told me to take as many wounded as I could and get them to hospital."

"Did you not think to drive to the hospital in Kraków?"

"Bombed out I was told at a roadblock leading into the city. I left the badly wounded men there, these guys I'm carrying now, light wounds. Most of these guys are reservists, just called up. They have no idea where they're supposed to be."

Gulczyński had nodded then told the driver to proceed, and that if they were stopped, he would do the talking. Now they were stopping, Elżbieta noted that there were military policemen ahead. She didn't know enough to be worried.

Włodarczyk watched as a group of German tanks came crawling forward, they were well spaced. He could see infantry behind them, lots of infantry. They weren't heading towards the high command's trap. Surprise, surprise. He wondered why some of the officers never listened.

As he pondered that question, which sergeants have asked since the earth cooled, he heard the thump of artillery in the distance, towards the German lines.

"Heads down lads, we're in for a blow!"

Jaschke was crouched down in his turret, already his battalion had lost a number of tank commanders to small arms fire. He saw a muzzle flash to his left, which was followed by the loud crash of steel on steel. Looking to his left he could see Feldwebel Wagner's Panzer slew to the left and roll to a stop. He had a sick feeling in his stomach as he could see smoke emanating from the hatches of Wagner's Panzer.

Snapping out of his state of shock, Jaschke slewed his own turret towards where he had seen the muzzle flash and opened fire with the coaxial machine gun. He didn't want to waste his 2 cm rounds until he had a solid target.

Jan Kołodziej had no choice but to follow the rest of his unit as the Germans broke through the company on their right flank. Though a number of the smaller German tanks could be seen knocked out on the battlefield, the preponderance of numbers had proven to be too much.

Jan had been told that the Germans were attacking in "the wrong place" and couldn't help but wonder at the stupidity of such a statement. Did the generals really expect the hated Niemcy to attack where the high command wanted them to attack?

Jan was with two of his squad mates, he had no idea where his sergeant was. But Jabłoński and Kalinowski had stuck with him. The two young men, both draftees, had been disoriented and ready to run when Jan had suggested they stick together. Both of the younger men readily agreed to follow Jan.

Now they were making their way carefully to the rear. One man providing covering fire while the other two moved a short distance. Gradually they were drawing away from the attacking Germans who were more focused on the few remaining pockets of organized resistance.

Slowly, yet surely, the Kraków Army was coming apart at the seams. There was no alternative but to withdraw to a more defensible line. Already the German aircraft were starting to hit the columns of withdrawing troops on the main roads.

"Best keep to the woods and fields, boys. We should be able to link up with the main army sometime tonight." Jan told the two boys.

"But Sir, when are we going to eat?" Kalinowski asked.

Jan looked at the boy, "Do you see a field kitchen anywhere? We have to keep moving, or we'll be eating German rations by nightfall."

Jabłoński cast a look back to the west, he was deathly afraid of the Germans. Jan saw that and said, "Don't worry Kornel, the Niemcy aren't supermen, just well-equipped and well-supplied. We haven't lost yet."

Though Jan was starting to doubt that himself. The Germans had broken through the line in just two days. He wondered how the rest of the army was faring. He also remembered the English and the French promising to come to the aid of Poland should the Germans attack.

Jan couldn't believe that they could be of any assistance here. No, the only way they could help would be to attack the Germans along the frontier with France.

"I wonder when that battle will start." Jan mused to himself as he and his two men slipped into the gathering dusk. The battle for Pszczyna seemed to be lost, but the war wasn't. At least not yet.

¹ Sergeant Major (Sierzant)

² Sergeant (Plutonowy)

³ Fieseler Fi 156 Storch (Stork), a light aircraft used for liaison and reconnaissance.