Chapter 94:

March 8, 1940

The capital of the Soviet Union, Moscow – The Kremlin

“What? The Polish regime has changed and their war is over? What on earth does that mean?”

Stalin glared at Molotov with eyes of disbelief, and Molotov, sweating profusely, opened his mouth.

“I-It’s as I said, Comrade General Secretary.

On March 6th, Lieutenant General Sikorski staged a coup d'état, ousted Rydz-Śmigły, and reportedly signed a peace negotiation with Germany just yesterday.”

“And why are we only finding out about this now!”

“I-I am sorry, Comrade General Secretary.”

Molotov broke out in a cold sweat. Since both Germany and Poland had not sent any news to Russia, the Soviet Union only learned of the situation after an NKVD agent sent a telegram, not through diplomatic channels.

“Ah, we are still confirming them.”

They should at least know if the Polish Army had been disarmed, but they didn't even know that.

Stalin slammed his fist on the desk.

“It was a setup! I should have known when those German bastards ignored our request for a meeting!”

If there had been no prior agreement, Germany would have attacked the moment they learned of the coup in Poland.

Furthermore, the fact that the broken-down peace negotiation was quickly concluded the day after the coup made it all the more certain.

Stalin's face turned red with surging anger, and he shouted, his mustache quivering.

“Those damn German bastards dare to screw me over again! Declare war immediately and start the invasion!”

As Stalin’s anger, who had already lost face in Finland, erupted, his close aides all trembled in terror. Who knew if they would be purged for getting on his bad side here?

“But Comrade General Secretary, our offensive preparations are still….”

“Aren’t they also not prepared for defense? Are you planning to wait for the Rasputitsa! Their main force is at the western edge of Poland, so attack immediately! Tell them this is their last chance to make up for the mistake they showed in Finland! If they want to keep their heads, they'd better crush those pathetic Polish bastards right now!”

“Y-Yes, I understand, Comrade General Secretary.”

Shaposhnikov, who had needlessly stepped forward, took the full brunt of Stalin’s fury and replied, sweating profusely.

“That damn German brat dares to mock me! Ugh!”

Stalin, still enraged with bloodshot eyes, staggered, clutching the back of his neck, and his aides were horrified.

“C-Comrade General Secretary!”

“Comrade General Secretary! Call a doctor!”

-

March 8, 1940

The capital of Poland, Warsaw Fortunately, the coup d'état in Warsaw succeeded quickly and the war with Germany ended, but the disorder had not subsided.

As soon as Poland signed the peace negotiation with Germany, it sold its original capital, Vilno (Vilnius in Lithuania), to Lithuania.

There was considerable opposition, but Sikorski pushed it through, arguing that if the Soviet Union invaded, they wouldn't get a fair price, and worse, Lithuania might side with the Soviets, widening the front.

While Warsaw was in the midst of weeding out the aristocratic Sejm members of the Upper House who had turned the House of Commons into a figurehead and run Poland to their liking, and sweeping up the remnants of Rydz-Śmigły and the Sanation, tragic news arrived.

Sikorski, who had been promoted from Lieutenant General to General (OF-9) and temporarily become the Inspector General of the Armed Forces (Rydz-Śmigły's position), sneered as he read the declaration of war sent from the Russian embassy.

To liberate the Ukrainians and Belarusians suffering under Poland's tyranny, and to protect the Polish people who lacked the ability to defend themselves by overthrowing the illegal regime that had staged a coup.

“The ones who caused the Ukrainian Great Famine… they really know how to spout shameless bullshit.”

But despite Sikorski’s sneer, the faces of the Polish High Command were not bright.

“Can we stop them?”

At the question from Wincenty Witos, the leader of the Polish People's Party and the next presidential candidate, Sikorski gave a bitter smile.

“We must do our best. Fortunately, there is hope, thanks to Germany being more cooperative than expected.”

As soon as the peace negotiation was signed, Germany quickly released its encirclement, allowing the Posen Army and Pomeranian Army to withdraw swiftly. Not only that, they had the munitions equipment they had agreed to sell prepared in advance at the border area and even handled the transportation themselves.

Of course, it meant they wanted Poland to bleed in their place against the Soviet Union, but if it was to protect his fatherland, that was what he wanted as well.

“The problem is time.

We have no choice but to count on the hard fight of the KOP (Border Defence Corps) and the cavalry.”

The plan to temporarily abandon the eastern border area and establish a defense line from Grodno to the Bug River was proven to be an extremely wise decision, but it would be meaningless if it was breached before the main force arrived in time.

“Will they be able to hold out?”

The military force of the Border Defence Corps was at most 20,000 men. Even with the cavalry dispatched as reinforcements, which could arrive relatively quickly, it wouldn't be enough to turn the tide of inferiority.

At Witos’s concern, Sikorski picked up the telephone with a heavy expression and said.

“They won't be able to hold out.”

Sikorski requested the telephone operator to connect him to the Border Defence Corps Headquarters and added.

“They are going to their deaths to buy time for our fatherland.”

-

March 10, 1940

Southeastern Poland, the border city of Rivne On March 9, the vanguard of over 400,000 Soviet troops, under the command of Field Marshals Voroshilov and Budyonny, began to invade the empty Polish border area.

Most of the army and armored divisions that had gone to Finland had not yet arrived, so their offensive consisted almost entirely of infantry and cavalry, but the Polish Border Defence Corps (KOP) facing them numbered just over 20,000, even including hastily conscripted locals.

“Ha, the wide-open plains! It’s such a refreshing sight!”

Field Marshal Semyon Budyonny, with his impressive mustache, looked out over the vast plains of southern Poland from the front of his guard unit, the 1st Cavalry Division.

It was not common for a high-ranking Field Marshal of the Red Army to personally inspect the front line on horseback, but for this old Field Marshal who loved horses, it was as natural as breathing.

The old Field Marshal's gaze turned to the small city of Rivne, which stood alone in the border area between the Soviet Union and Poland, in the midst of defense preparations.

“They refused to surrender?”

“That is correct, Your Excellency, the Field Marshal!”

Hearing General Ivan Sovetnikov's reply, Budyonny looked at the small city through his telescope while on horseback.

The Polish Army was fortifying the urban area and preparing for resistance, but at a glance, their forces seemed pitifully small.

“They look like they have less than a thousand men at most.”

Budyonny lowered his telescope, clicked his tongue, and spoke again.

“We can’t waste time on such a small city.

General Sovetnikov, take responsibility and capture it. The forces under your command should be sufficient.”

“Yes, sir, Your Excellency, the Field Marshal!”

60,000 should be enough to sweep away that many in an instant. Thinking so, Field Marshal Budyonny ordered his unit to advance.

“Relay to all armies! The vast plains our cavalry longs for is the battlefield! Crush all resistance and ride to Lwów!”

“Yes, sir, Your Excellency, the Field Marshal!”

At the command of the old Field Marshal, the symbol and most respected figure of the Red Army cavalry, tens of thousands of cavalrymen began to gallop across the vast plains of Poland.

-

March 12, 1940

Pinsk, Eastern Poland, Polish Border Defence Corps (KOP) Headquarters

“Reinforcements are impossible! Hold out as long as you can!”

“Where do you expect me to create soldiers from nothing!”

“Baranowicze has fallen!”

Urgent news reports were flooding into the Border Defence Corps Headquarters established in Pinsk, but no matter how urgent the news, they had no means to deal with it.

Their forces were hopelessly outnumbered, and the Soviet Army was storming the border like a tempest with hundreds of thousands of troops, trampling the Polish Border Defence Corps.

“Your Excellency, the Inspector General.

Enemy cavalry is advancing rapidly towards Lwów, and the border is being attacked from all sides. There is a limit to how long we can hold out.”

[I have already sent the cavalry that was defending Warsaw to Lwów. Hold out for just a few days until the defense line is established.

]

The commander of the Border Defence Corps, Brigadier General Józef Olszyna-Wilczyński, pondered for a long time over Sikorski’s words coming from the telephone, and finally spoke.

“If we all give our lives like this, can we win this war?”

No one wanted to die, but no one in the Border Defence Corps, who were now fighting an enemy that outnumbered them not by two or three times, but by tens of times, was unaware that they would ultimately be annihilated.

[The few days, the few hours that you and your subordinates buy for us will give us victory.]

Sikorski asserted without hesitation, but Brigadier General Olszyna-Wilczyński had already realized the gap between their country and the so-called Great Powers from the result of the war with Germany.

He says that, but even Sikorski probably doesn't think Poland can win against the massive Soviet Union on its own.

Nevertheless, for the Brigadier General who had to order his subordinates to their deaths, the Commander-in-Chief’s assertion was a great comfort.

“General! The unit that was routed from the border has arrived! This place will soon come under attack by the enemy!”

Receiving the report from his staff officer, the Brigadier General hesitated for a moment, but then spoke into the phone.

“I leave the rear to you, Your Excellency, the Inspector General.

Wiwat Polska.”

[I will pay my respects to your heroic struggle.

Wiwat Polska.]

The Brigadier General hung up the phone and stood up, shouting.

“Relay to all units! Do not be afraid! The blood we shed will protect our families and our fatherland! Let us die with honor rather than live as slaves to those Russian invaders again!”

-

March 13, 1940

Southeastern Poland, the border city of Rivne A force of 60,000 Soviet troops was crashing like a wave upon the small city defended by a force that barely exceeded 800, including locals who had been scraped together.

The sound of artillery shells exploding and machine guns spitting fire filled the battlefield, along with the sound of cannons in the urban area that had already been turned into a sea of fire.

“Вперёд!”

“Ура!!!!!!!!”

The bodies of Soviet soldiers piled up in front of the defense line were almost forming a mountain, but the few hundred Polish soldiers were too busy fighting to have time to clear them.

“What the hell are they saying, fuck! Fire, fire!”

“Aaaargh! My leg!”

“Aaaargh! My leg!”

The madness of the battlefield, a mixture of shouts and screams, engulfed friend and foe alike.

“За сталина! Ура!!!!!!!!”

“Those crazy bastards….”

The vigor of the Soviet troops, who charged just as fiercely even after an entire platoon was mowed down by machine guns, struck horror and fear into the Polish soldiers.

In reality, it was a situation where they charged the enemy lines because they would be killed by a political officer if they hesitated, but it was hard to watch with a sane mind as enemies climbed over the wall of their comrades' lump of meat to attack.

The defensive force of Rivne had held firm against the relentless offensive of an enemy that outnumbered them 80 to 1, day and night, but as they entered the fourth day, they were reaching their limit.

They had held on only because the Soviet Army was mindlessly charging straight ahead in urban warfare, but as the machine gun barrels melted from overuse and they had no more to replace them with, the Polish forces began to collapse rapidly.

“Captain! All the bunkers have been captured! Only a few dozen soldiers have survived, we’ll be annihilated at this rate!”

At the report of his adjutant, Second Lieutenant Stanisław Brykalski, who had rushed into the command post, the still-young Captain Władysław Raginis, in his early thirties, looked at the telegram he had received from the Border Defence Corps Headquarters.

[The few days, the few hours you buy will save the fatherland. Resist to the last man.

Wiwat Polska!]

“Everyone fought really well.”

Now, the sounds of gunshots, screams, and shouts could be heard from a short distance away, even from the command post.

Captain Raginis stood up and drew his pistol.

“C-Captain.

Are we all going to die?”

“Probably.”

Hearing Captain Raginis's words, Second Lieutenant Brykalski looked on the verge of tears.

“I-I don't want to die.”

“Is that so? Me neither.”

Captain Raginis clenched and unclenched his sweaty fist and said.

“But if we surrender now, do you think they'll let us live?”

The enemy commander, whose forces had been tied down for days in a city defended by less than a thousand Polish soldiers, was raging and launching a fierce offensive, and he didn't even bother to hide the summary execution of captured Polish soldiers in the occupied parts of the city.

Raginis grinned.

“Adjutant, let’s die in style and become legends instead.”

“Ugh… I’ll resent you for this, Captain.”

As the two of them spoke, the sounds of gunshots and screams grew closer, and Raginis picked up the stick grenade he had prepared.

And finally, the gunshots and screams stopped. Hearing only the sound of combat boots moving this way, Raginis grinned at his sniffling adjutant and pulled the string connected to the fuse.

“Captain….”

“Good work, Adjutant.

We will be proudly remembered by our fatherland.”

As Captain Raginis activated the fuse, Soviet soldiers poured in.

To the soldiers who were pointing their guns and shouting something unintelligible in Russian, Raginis showed them the grenade in his hand with a smile.

The moment the startled and momentarily frozen Soviet soldiers came to their senses and tried to turn their backs, the grenade, with an explosion, delivered an impartial death to everyone inside the command post.

-

March 14, 1940

Southern Poland, the plains east of Lwów The commander of the Ukrainian front, Semyon Budyonny, was observing the battlefield from a hilltop with a telescope.

On the vast plains, an unusual sight was unfolding as tens of thousands of cavalrymen, entangled in a massive melee, galloped and fired at each other, and charged.

“Haha, the descendants of the Cossacks and the descendants of the Uhlans. I never thought I’d see such a grand spectacle again!”

It was not a safe thing, to put it mildly, for a Field Marshal to be watching the battlefield with a telescope from so close to the front, but no one could stop him.

The Polish cavalry, befitting their lineage as the successors of the Winged Hussars and Uhlans who were once renowned as the strongest cavalry in Eastern Europe, were fighting a desperate, fierce battle, not being pushed back even against Budyonny's elite Soviet cavalry division.

The sight of both sides engaged in a desperate, bloody battle with only cavalry, without tanks, artillery, or any heavy equipment or fortifications, made his old heart tremble.

To the old Field Marshal, it was an unparalleled joy and spectacle, but to the Polish people, it was a sacrifice, dyeing the plains red with the bodies of their beloved horses and themselves to buy time for their fatherland.

“Your Excellency, the Field Marshal!”

At the voice of the staff officer who had galloped over, Budyonny lowered his telescope and turned his gaze to him.

“Ah, how far has General Sovetnikov come?”

“W-Well. The enemy at Rivne put up a do-or-die resistance, and we barely captured it yesterday after suffering heavy damage.

They are now in the process of reorganization.”

Budyonny clicked his tongue.

“It took him four days to capture a city with less than a thousand defensive force with 60,000 men?”

“Y-Yes, that is correct. I am deeply sorry, Your Excellency, the Field Marshal.”

Budyonny raised his telescope again and looked at the Polish cavalry, who were holding on despite their numerical inferiority, fighting a desperate, bloody battle all day long.

If they had captured the empty Lwów, it would have served as a bridgehead for an attack on the west bank of the Bug River, but even as the sky was getting dark, the Polish cavalry was fighting a do-or-die resistance and had not retreated even an inch.

If he had the artillery or heavy equipment that the infantry would bring, he could try to breakthrough, but since they had just captured the city, it would take a few days.

He had to admit that his beloved cavalry was now outdated and lacked decisive power.

In the end, the old Field Marshal, old but loved by his men, did not impatiently reprimand his subordinate but raised his telescope again.

The old Field Marshal’s wrinkled eyes deeply engraved the magnificent and desperate cavalry battle unfolding on the plains, a sight he might never see again.

-

March 16, 1940

Pinsk, Eastern Poland, Soviet-occupied territory

“The enemy has already set up a defense line?”

“I am sorry to say, but yes, Your Excellency, the Field Marshal. It seems they intended to build a defense line along the Grodno and Bug River from the beginning, not at the border.”

Field Marshal Voroshilov put his hand on his forehead.

Field Marshal Voroshilov, who had been grandly humiliated in the invasion of Finland, had to hand over command to Timoshenko, but thanks to the consideration of his close friend Koba (Stalin), he was given the role of occupying the empty eastern Poland.

But his unit, which had been breaking through eastern Poland without resistance, ended up wasting time fighting a desperate, bloody battle with the Polish Border Defence Corps in Pinsk.

Being held up by a handful of Polish troops and allowing the enemy time to build a defense line, it was like he couldn't even eat what was spoon-fed to him to build up his reputation.

“Your Excellency, the Field Marshal. A telegram from Moscow.

It says to summarily execute the prisoners of war.”

“Even the general?”

“The telegram says so.”

Voroshilov took the telegram and slowly narrowed his eyes.

For the old Field Marshal, who still had a sense of old-world honor, the order to execute a general who had been captured after holding his position to the very end for his fatherland in a hopelessly disadvantageous situation, without any questions, was not welcome.

“…There's no choice.”

But he could clearly picture how enraged the General Secretary who gave this order must be, so even he did not want to get on the General Secretary's nerves to save his own skin.

Field Marshal Voroshilov, who had come to deliver the news himself to at least respect the honor of a defeated general, was watching the enemy commander, Brigadier General Józef Olszyna-Wilczyński, who had been notified of his execution by firing squad, asking the interpreter a question.

The interpreter glanced at the Field Marshal for a moment, then opened his mouth.

“He is asking if the Polish Army succeeded in establishing their defense line, Your Excellency, the Field Marshal.”

The old Field Marshal glanced at the Brigadier General’s face, then let out a small sigh and replied.

“Tell him their army succeeded in establishing the defense line.”

The Brigadier General, who heard the interpreter's cautious reply, had the rims of his eyes redden, but he smiled brightly and said something.

It was a smile that seemed to say what he was saying even without the interpreter's translation, and Voroshilov turned his gaze away with a complex expression.

A moment later, a gunshot rang out.

The Soviet vanguard had won against the Polish Border Defence Corps, but the losses they had sustained were greater than the total number of troops in the Polish Border Defence Corps.

The main force of Poland had managed to arrive just in time during the time bought with the blood of the Border Defence Corps, and they began to build a defense line in preparation for the Soviet main force.