Poland, September 14th, 1939
The air smelled of trampled grass, manure, and smoke. Miles from the main camp, an advance unit of the Leibstandarte's armored company moved through a rural stretch of farmland and hills. Falk watched the horizon from his seat in the Panzer IV, the metallic taste of the last battle still lingering in his throat.
"Movement up ahead," Helmut reported over the radio. "Rider… no, riders. Cavalry."
"What kind of madness is this?" Konrad muttered, rotating the turret.
Falk raised his binoculars. He confirmed it with disbelief. A Polish cavalry unit—at least two squadrons—was advancing in an open line toward them. Not retreating. Charging.
"Are they insane?" Lukas shouted. "They don't have heavy weapons!"
"They have courage," Ernst replied tensely, loading the first shell.
Falk didn't shout. He didn't need to.
"Fire only at effective range. Precision. Respect the enemy."
The thunder of hooves became a hollow echo. The Polish riders brandished sabers—some carried rifles. None hesitated. Their faces were hardened, resolute, desperately human.
"One hundred meters," Helmut announced.
"Fire," Falk ordered.
The cannon thundered. Then another. And another. Horses fell. Men, too. Some got so close that one struck the Panzer's armor with his saber before being gunned down. A shard clipped the communications antenna, briefly cutting off their link.
It lasted only minutes. But they felt eternal.
When it was over, the field fell silent. A riderless horse wandered aimlessly among the bodies and smoke. The wind carried bits of straw, blood, and shattered pride.
Falk climbed down from the vehicle. He walked among the fallen. One Polish officer was still breathing, gravely wounded. Falk met his gaze. The man didn't speak. Falk offered him a drink from his canteen.
"What kind of war is this?" Konrad murmured behind him.
Falk didn't answer. He looked down at the broken saber lying beside one of the corpses.
"A war where even courage is useless against steel."
In the distance, German soldiers collected weapons, wrapped bodies in blankets. A young SS recruit, new to the company, vomited by the roadside, unable to look.
Helmut approached and whispered:
"This war won't get cleaner. Just faster."
Falk climbed back into the Panzer. The interior smelled of gunpowder and oil. Lukas started the engine, and the treads began to roll.
"Destination?" Konrad asked from his post.
"Forward," Falk answered, voice low.
And then, the distant roar of more German engines confirmed it—they would keep advancing.Even if the memory of that absurd charge would follow them forever.