War Volumes - I : Brandenburg

The first of ten chapters to make up the volume contained here.

Background

The Battle of Brandenburg was one of many conflicts within the Southern European campaigns of both Bavaria and Mazovia. Under command of Wladyslaw Casimir, the commander of the Mazovian Polish forces, and Reinhardt von Model, commandant of the Bavarian Southern armies. 

In 1942, the Holy Roman Republic, which resided as the nation to house Brandenburg, declared war on the Bavarians, after striking an alliance to Nordland, the Norwegian democracy whom rivaled Bayern heavily. 

The Holy Roman Republic was a mediocre-sized country, containing remnants of Austria, Czechoslovakia, Slovenia, and Hungary, but remaining as an Austrian-influenced nation. 

Brandenburg was a key industrial center for the Holy Romans, serving as the primary location of the war machine, producing firearms, vehicles, and aircraft fuselage. With the city under siege, the HRR's primary command staff ordered a full defense, almost similar to the defense of Berlin by Nordland some six years latter of this battle.

The Ninth, Seventh, and Fifteenth Armies of Mazovia, accompanied the Twenty-First, Eighteenth, and Second Armies of Bavaria. Mazovian armor had been ordered to flank West of the city, then to wheel inwards and occupy the entrances to Brandenburg, in attempts to block off supplies entering. The Bavarians were directed to lay siege to the main city for five months, but only had enough ammunition for two. By day three of bombardment, the city had been evacuated of civilians, leaving only the defense system comprised of Holy Roman Landguard militia units, and primary defense forces. The key point of control remained on Reynard Bridge, named after the fifth son of the Emperor to Holy Rome in 1928. On March 10th, 1942, roughly 490 Holy Roman troops set themselves behind, below, on, and ahead of the bridge, armed with nearly outmoded equipment, and awaited the assault of the Bavarian-Mazovian onslaught.

Story

We trundled down the roads, now nearly ripped apart from earlier bombardment by the Bavarian Army. The first month was absolute Hell, even in the training halls of Vienna during my drilling to ascend to operational rank of Grenadier, the rumors of the horrors found in Brandenburg spread like fire among bales of hay. 
The trucks continued in procession down cobblestone paths, then back onto the familiar grainy asphalt. Behind and before us were various tanks and vehicles of the Holy Roman armories : Pz. 730s, Leichttraktor M30s, Büssings, Pz.IIs, etc., of course, no one had said these would be updated vehicles. 

The grip I had upon my Mauser only tightened as we passed under the shadow of the Reynard Bridge, fear entangling me and presenting me gruesome outcomes of what was to come. Lost in thought, I drifted back to when the only comrade I seemed to have in these campaigns, was sent off with a Reconnaissance Division, ordered to scout the outskirts of Brandenburg for the oncoming forces and relay the information back to the command, whom remained settled within the city hall.

"Out of the truck! Let's go! Los! Los!", shouted the officers outside, brushing the cloth flaps of the trucks to shine in light to our weary and tired eyes. The flaps to our truck flew open, a grim officer with thick glasses grasped his pistol and barked at us heavily, "Get out of this f*****g truck right now! There is no time for waste!", he began pulling soldiers out roughly, but ironically dropping them down gently, pushing them lightly to join the already massing lines, ready for briefing by the current Non-Commissioned and Commissioned officers standing as our commanders. 

Slowly we assembled into seven large rows, the tops riddled with both cloth caps and brown helmets. Officers strode back and forth among us while others stood before the lines, hands clasped behind their backs, standing straight as ramrods. The senior officers, only limited to three, finally halted in front of all the troops, clicking heels in attention and saluting us briskly. We returned the greeting, awaiting the head of the three to begin his speech. 

He began, with a growing sense of tiredness and exhaust in his voice, but countered by a small feeling of morale, "Gentlemen, Countrymen, Soldiers, and Citizens, of the Holy Roman Imperium's remnant," he paused for a moment, seemingly to collect his thoughts. No one had referenced Holy Rome as an Imperium, since the abdication of the final Emperor, and the dissolution to a republican government. This officer must have been a veteran, he had to be, only the most senior of officers, who served under the Emperor in previous decades, still refer this small country as an "Imperium." 

He continued, slowly the morale began to rise, though the exhaustion still resounded heavily, "We have been threatened by war from the most devious and malign nations that surround us. Even if, we appear small, like a mouse, defenseless and weak, I will let you all know, and know well, one thing. We are stronger than they all will be. We are capable, they have numbers, but we have strategy. Despite we are desperately outdated, outmoded, and outnumbered, we shan't let this city fall. No man leaves this city intact if need be to repel the Polish and Bavarian Huns. There will never be a day, when the courage and bravery of our nation falters, where it fails to prove itself ever so useful in our battles, our fights, our wars!"

Brief silence. Only the slight gust of wind that blew ever so slightly, ruffling the officer's greatcoats. Fire crackled nearby, perhaps from the wreckage of strewn cars, charred and abandoned like most of the city. The speech continued for the final interval, now and after the vocal officer had paced back and forth before us for a few moments. "Gentlemen, I ask you, one favor. That you do, your duty. There will be a time when you will be remembered for this brave defense, where the enemy is repelled and you all receive a glorious welcome in your return to Vienna after the war. Where you may return to your families, your homes, and your friends. I do not promise you your livelihoods, or that you will survive for that matter, but I can promise one, thing. You will be revered heroes of Holy Rome, and either your heads, or your headstones! Are graciously decorated for your services.", he stopped, chuckling to himself for a moment, staring at the dusty gravel below him, before glancing up and staring at the rows again,

"May the Emperor assist us all. God bless."

We were dispersed into the whirlwind of chaos afterwards, officers clambering to organize squadrons of troops, and brigades of Landguard. We were latter of the bridge, just behind it's loom, where two large-width ramps led up onto the top half. After the shadow was the rest of Brandenburg, a long road stretched downwards into oblivion it seemed, being intersected by various other streets, and walled by both intact and demolished buildings. Marching, marching, continuous marching. I'd been paired with a squadron of fifteen troops, me, myself, and a Mauser M95. The procession led up the left ramp upwards onto the main bridge, upon stepping to the top section we were quite appalled by the wrecked roads, scattered with more burned out cars, concrete barricades, and mutilated bodies. It was quite sad to realize how much had been caused by a mere two months of Bavarian bombardment.

Two hours. Two hours of patience, down the gutter. Minute by minute grew increasingly dreadful. Seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to months. My mind raced with strange thoughts as I stood there, crouched, kneeling in position with the rifle's barrel resting on the bridge's barrier. Was this all because of us? Did the Holy Roman people do something? Was it Nordland's fault? Was it the world's fault? Seconds passed with more and more questions. Who will win this war? Will it be us? Them? Someone else? What is this war eve-a sharp crack. 

A small armored car, marked with HRR eagles sped into the vicinity, a flag waving bright red from the top gunner's pod, before two soot-faced pilots emerged, screaming there was Hell inbound, before receding back into the car and revving away. The officers looked mildly discontent, as if wondering if it was a mere joke played by some very risky fools. Alas, it was not a joke.

Machine gun fire ripped from the now gathering morning. We had been undergoing instructions and drills through the entire night, with only an hour of rest and a refill of our canteens. Now, we suddenly grew alert from the closing sound of gunfire emerging from far down the oblivious avenue before us. Below the bridge we remained crouched upon, the armored units gathered, trucks being parked to form a makeshift defense, cloth covering of the personnel trucks being ripped to accommodate gun barrels. Tanks of different postures entered the truck wall and focused their pieces on the far-down road. Slowly, ever so slowly, the faint trundle of engines approaching became more and more pronounced. 

Officers below had begun their attempts to spot out the vehicles approaching, but the thin dew fog was enough to blur their binoculars enough.

Minute by minute, our overseers above on the bridge continued to ensure us victory, claiming that if we defended well, we'd all be sent home on Honorable Discharge with a medal of valor. Most of us tried to take that advice as morale boosting, but it was contrasted by our tiring emotions and slow descent into hopelessness.

As if all had changed, the first sign of foe approaching was the speakers of a Mazovian armored car, luckily, my studies of Polish before the war helped me decipher the message,

"Attention, Holy Roman forces! You have been outnumbered by the nations of Mazovia and Bavaria! Under orders of Reinhardt and Wladyslaw, commanders of this force, we ask you to surrender by volunteer! If you do not comply, you will be forced to surrender, and your condition of treatment will be significantly worse!", the loudspeaker remained static for briefly a minute, before an opposite voice, raspy and old, took control and repeated the message in German.

The assaulting force had appeared to halt before us, in loudspeaker distance but not in viewing distance, where there was silence, not one gun fired. 

Below us, the senior commander, whom had regaled us with his speech, whispered into one of his assistant's ears, whom then departed in a quick jog, and returned with a large machine, a bulky metal box, with a rod protruding from the top, and speakers on four ends. The commander unhooked a phone device from the side, and proceeded to speak,

"Mazovians, and Bavarians. This is Senior Commandant Rüstveirling, of the Holy Roman defenses to this city. We ask for you to withdraw your forces, we do not want war. The Imperium has only declared war in an effort to impose fear and dispel any ideas of invasion. This is a sincere request that Brandenburg is left be and safe, your bombardments have only caused chaos and left thousands of civilians homeless, injured, or dead. Again, please, withdraw.", he proceeded to place the phone back onto the machine, and resume his original position, waiting for the reply.

"Under orders of Reinhardt, and Wladyslaw, we are unfortunate to say, that your request must be denied. Whether a false declaration or not, you have angered Bavaria and Mazovia, therefore must suffer consequence. Good day."

It was set, immediately, the first AP rounds flung through the defensive truck wall, whizzing and striking both vehicle, wall, building, and personnel. The gun fire erupted massively, fog clearing, the forces opposing us were revealed. Twenty to thirty tanks approached slowly, comprised of Bavarian and Polish armor, accompanied by troops in the uniforms of our foe. 

The officer behind us ordered to open fire, to which we complied. It was difficult to gain my bearings at the first shot, which bounced off a Polish 7tp, but the second shot struck a Bavarian in the chest, felling him and leaving him in a soaking pool of blood. Aim, fire, aim, fire, aim, fire, repeating this step over and over proved beneficial for me and my life, eliminating any opponent who might just end it. The tanks trundled forward much quicker, HE shells bouncing off their chassis and turrets.  Howitzers had been moved into place for our defenses, Pz.730s falling back to be replaced by Nordland-lent PaK guns, which drilled AP into the light Bavarian assault. 

Five minutes into this onslaught, and already the Landguard reinforcements were needed. Spandau mounts were set on both truck and roughly-dug foxholes, opening fire with a medium chatter, forcing Bavarian and Mazovian troops to take cover behind both operational and destroyed armor. It had become a semi-stalemate, gunfire being exchanged behind cover, the original speaker vehicle used by the Bavarians now sitting behind the carnage, spouting morale-boosting messages to the falling forces. 

Stukas now swarmed above, these were Bavarian dive-bombers, screeching with sound only added by audio transmitters under the nose and rotor. Slowly the explosions burst around the bridge, knocking down buildings and destroying parts of the truck wall in front of our held bridge. Our only resistance was the bridge-set machine guns aimed skywards, chaotically spewing lead and downing few planes, the pilots dodging gracefully, but bomb-less. They departed to the nearest airfield to refill and refuel, leaving their ground forces in the hands of fate.

Landguard moved in, what joy. I stared behind me to witness the militia units clutching Panzerfaust, lining in between us and aiming downwards upon the hiding and fleeing opposition. A single command of "Feuer!" led to the release of roughly twenty rockets, plumes of fire and earth rose from behind and in front of the fallen enemy armor. Bodies flew from behind their cover, some complete, some missing limbs, and finally, simply and only helmets without owners.

The defense seemed over. Remainders of the Bavarian-Mazovian joint forces retreated heavily, and I counted only two Pz.IIs trundling off, missing pieces of their chassis, one's grill beginning to catch fire, before exploding into a fiery ball, two operators climbing out and rolling on the asphalt, before lying still as burning twigs.

Our rest was wonderful that night, we felt that the sleep, food, and joy was well earned. I myself resided to sit with many new comrades that I had made during the onslaught, one I saved from a Panzerschrek round that barreled through the right barrier of the bridge, knocking off a good deal of it, and leaving a nasty crack on the flank. I set myself down, resting my head on the pillow they had brought in from a nearby, abandoned furniture emporium, and began to think.

Author's Note

1 of 10
Volume I