War Volumes - I : Posen

Second of ten chapters composing this volume.

Background

The kingdom of Posen resided under Poland, originally a Prussian duchy, now combined with it's sister Silesia. Posen had declared independence from the German Empire upon it's collapse into the Weimar Republic in 1919, asserting it's armed forces to train, then taking part as a belligerent in the Soviet-Polish War in 1920. 

King Marcin I decreed Posen to be Poland's brother, in spite of the resentment held by the families of Jan Sobieski IV, and Feliks Casimir.

Marcin and his Field Marshal, Konstanty Rokossowski, led Posen through countless defenses against the onrushing Bolsheviks, Polish, and Germans many times through the Interwar Period. Nevertheless, one of the most famous battles to be waged was the Siege of Il Warta, one of three fortresses comprised on the Posen-Russian border. 
Roughly nine hundred Soviet troops crossed over the border in 1934, accompanied by tanks, trucks, and aircraft cover. The siege lasted five months, countless defenses being employed, to even American volunteers being drafted into the defense of the fortress.

Story

The night was quiet for a time being. The sun settled itself within the horizon, dawning the obsidian sky and brittle sparks of stars. It was short lived, as I resided at my watch on the Eastern wall of the fortress, Il Warta, the flares launched by Soviets glimmered and faded in the pitch black of night. I rustled myself a bit, tilting my slanted helmet back for more sight, and shifting the Karabinek on the shoulder to the opposite. This was a frequent habit of mine, since I had contracted some form of shoulder problem, weight couldn't be handled on one shoulder for such a long period before I faced severe pain, rendering me unable to raise my arm for even an inch.

These were hours most would dread as civilians. Frightened by the sulfuric signals that glowed red, green, blue, yellow, and such, they would hide in their small cabins and sheds until daylight, sure that they would live another day. Even then, they weren't safe from the massacre ensued by Soviet biplane squadrons, catching eye of the small Posen towns, diving in to strafe and bomb. On my movements with the Third Army eastward, we encountered much of the scenario, passing villages riddled with craters, bullet-ridden houses, and corpses lying strewn aside. 

From my flashbacks came a realization, that I was out of my psych and I should rather not be, lest it determines whether I can signal an attack or not from this flank. Of course, we've received very minimal assault by the Bolsheviks, encountering only small armored car onslaughts, easily beaten by howitzers stationed on the outskirts of Warta Fortress and within the walls. Very rarely have we seen true attacks, most occurring much farther up our borders, almost near the point where the borders of Posen, Russia, and Poland all meet. There among the grasslands were countless trench systems and bunkers, set down by Russia and Poland, in the event one attempted to invade the other.

My patrols only carried on until three in the morning, where I fell back into my cot after trudging down a staircase and resting until six. Then rising to wake, eating, cleaning myself, having a briefing hour, and then free time, which I used to sleep until my patrol began once again at eight in the evening. But for now, I closed my eyes and remained still, drawing the helmet over my face and dozing off.

Morning. The sun was ever so present at this hour in Spring, winter had subsided and the darkness with it, now at six, the fiery ball of gas was already overhead. Bugle sounding, it was a good idea to wake myself or be kicked awake by any other man, atrocious enough to do so. I sat up from the sleep, rubbing my eyes heavily before kneeling to gain my bearings, and grabbing the rifle for support. It was fairly easy to get up, eat the pork and eggs we rationed from nearby villagers, and then proceed to use a washcloth on myself, then resume to free time, which was nap time.

"You've been rather quiet today, Alek.", the familiar chub hand of the officer known as "Ojciec Niedźwiedź", or "Papa Bear" patted me awake from the cot. I chuckled a bit and turned to him, "There hasn't been much to talk about lately, Heniek. Not one Bolshevik has even dared cross the trench line on the outskirts of this, very, fortress.", I smiled for a moment and returned myself to a resting position, looking upwards. Heniek Brazoveg was one of the primary officers situated in Fortress Warta, he overlooked, he commanded, and he served as the father to a very large family. Originally he was a volunteer in the Tsarist Remnant's armies, touring the Carpathians until it's collapse in 1930. Every night, we'd listen to him tell stories of giant snow bears, vicious Hungarian wolves, and bloodthirsty Bolsheviks hiding in mountainside trenches, as if we were listening to bed time stories our father told us once when we were children.

"I'd advise you not to be cocky, Alek. There's always going to be a chance we'll be faced by them sooner or later, and that attitude may get you killed.", he stared at a nearby Renault tank chattering by, tracks churning over the silt flooring of the inner fort's walls. "I'm aware, but sometimes that attitude can prove helpful when you remain without morale..", I replied, checking the small brass watch upon my right arm, as it read fifteen minutes to eight, I woke a little more from my daze, grabbing the rifle from the small oak table nearby, and shaking Heniek's hand quickly in farewell. To remain as a guard is a high duty, in order to keep our Posen safe, there must be strict vigilance.

Night fell, but there were no flares. I questioned the lack of small sulfur flashes dotting the sky. Was there a retreat farther back? Did they plan something else? Have they surrendered, and the war is over? All of these sounded rather wonderful, but I remained guard and watched the distance carefully. There would be no guarantee that the Russians would have been repelled without a good push, and as of late, most of Posen's forces were stationed far more in the Northern regions, within Fort Rokossowski, named after our Grand Marshal. Still, this was no time to think or daydream too hard, I slowly moved my hand to the flare gun, holstered on my left thigh, poised to draw and fire in the case of spotting the night dwelling Soviets. I didn't want to serve as the foolish guard to end the fort's occupation by Posen.

Surely though, I had spotted rustling in the bushes below, and as of now, there have been no signs of medium to large-sized wildlife present, so something else was responsible. I glanced once at the spotlight next to me, questioning whether to use it or not, using it may blow their cover, but it would signal that they've been discovered and a full frontal attack would occur. Instead I did the only thing I could even manage to muster action to, I pulled the flare quickly from the holster, felled the hammer into place, raised it up facing the sky and pulled the trigger, releasing a sharp, whizzing, red flare.

Soldiers around the campfire rose quickly, shouting and gathering their items in preparation for a defense. Officer's cabins flicked alive with lamps inside, and they stormed out, waving their pistols and screeching their whistles. I remained with my rifle laid on the edge of the wall, knelt and waiting to fire on the first sign of an assault. Heniek trundled himself up the stairs and next to me, aiming down at the small brush below us and asking me, "Why did you fire, did you see something!?", I nodded quickly, poising the rifle on a sudden protrusion in the bush and firing. Out fell a man, clad in Soviet uniform, his helmet fumbling off.

Heniek stood still for a moment, before yelling out into the inner walls to soldiers, "Atak! Atak! Obronne teraz!"

The searchlight flaps flew open, beams of lamps shining on the brush distant to the walls, only to be returned by machine gun fire from Russians. "Holy f**k, night raids.", Heniek sighed, before treading back down to direct troops on the walls and into the fort's entrance. Already T-18 tanks were smashing the barbed wire skirting the fortress, Bolsheviks following behind, potshotting their Mosins and Fedorovs in response to the open chattering of Posen guns on them. Precise fire at this time was mandatory, not one shot could be missed, or it might spell tragedy for this entire defense. Howitzers below puffed with shot, cratering around the fort and knocking down various Russian vehicles. Shock troops whom managed to enter the fort were only brushed aside by the fierce machine guns at the end of the gateway. Renaults patterned the outside and the inside, battling the enemy armour and using their coaxials to knock back troops.

By morning there was only death. Despite most of Posen's troops remained within the walls of the fort, the Russians had deployed mortars late into the fight, arcing over the walls and striking three points, before the armor was successful in crushing the tubes. They had been slammed back quite far, being pushed straight into the outskirt trench lines, where they ultimately faced defeat, and withdrew to their outposts to wait for the next assault.

God Save Posen

God Save Marcin