Graveyard of Glory

A Story by Anor

A fictional story about a Polish cavalry man involved on an attack on German forces in WW2.

Janus Kolby, a strzelec of the 18^th Uhlan Regiment of the Polish cavalry sat mounted on his horse, surveying the scene ahead of him. Over a thousand German tanks were slowly advancing towards the small village of Krojanty. It was the 1^st of September, and it had been only earlier that day that Adolf Hitler had revealed his plans to annex Poland. Janus’ Poland. He was determined beyond all belief to not let that happen.

The tanks drove on; their constant humming sounding almost like the purr of a cat from the distance Janus was at. It was a comforting sound. He wondered if his family was taking care of his cat at that moment. Little Korczak… He could still remember the day he had first seen him.

It had only been three years ago, when Janus had first turned 15. He had been celebrating his birthday eagerly with his family, yet with a slight tinge of disappointment, for he knew that he would not be seeing them again for a long while. Young Janus had decided, that since Poland had begun to rearm, he would join the army. To serve his country on the field was a dream he had always cherished. Although, in a time of peace like this, the thought of Poland going to war was unimaginable, wasn’t it?

Janus grimaced slightly. Only three years ago, it had seemed as though the world would be at peace forever. Locarno, Dawes, the League… did they mean nothing anymore?

He was snapped out of his daydreaming as the Kapitan began barking out orders. The Uhlans were to be ready to charge the moment that the Germans entered the forest around Krojanty. The Kapitan assumed that the trees would hamper the tanks movement, allowing the fluid movement of the Polish cavalry to quickly gain an advantage and demolish their foes. Once the tanks were down, it would be a simple matter to slay the German soldiers. Janus was ready. He wanted nothing more than to stick his blade into the filth who considered the Poles inferior animals. He was fighting for a purpose, he reasoned. And because of this, he would be able to sweep away all in his path. Maybe if he did well enough, he could become a Polish hero! This was Janus’s chance, and he was determined to take it.

He remembered his first few energetic days in the military.

They had been so happy, the young men, training together, living together, being together. They had spent all their time in bliss, knowing that they were being trained to defend Beloved Poland. But even then, none of them had ever wondered. Why were they rearming? Wasn’t the world at peace? What was the purpose?

As Janus followed the Kapitan down the hill, he remembered the sudden jarring moment in his otherwise happy life.

Czechoslovakia.

That was when it had become clear, wasn’t it? When the Poles knew that Hitler the Demon planned to invade them and slay them all. He had made his move, and had conquered poor Czechoslovakia. And then his sights turned East, towards Poland. Janus stood firm now, resolving to protect his country.

How powerful could the German army be, really? The Polish government had told them that they were not that strong, that they could defend themselves. And of course, there was the ever hopeful air that Britain and France would send in their forces soon. This whole issue would be cleared up in a week at max, Janus thought cheerfully.

The Uhlans advanced further, to a separate edge of the forest, and were just past the fringe when the Kapitan called them to a halt. He turned around, and looked at his beloved 18^th Regiment.

“Soldiers! We go now to war! To blood, death, and glory! This may be the last time I face you as your leader, and as such, I give you my last command. Fight for the beloved Homeland! FOR POLAND! FOR POLAND!”

The chant was quickly taken up among the men, and the booming noise of “For Poland!” resounded throughout the forest. The Germans would have heard them, but at this point it did not matter. They were close enough for the ambush to begin.

“CHAARGE!,” screamed the Kapitan. He turned his horse towards the Germans, and spurred it onward to a gallop, a hero from a fairy tale charging gloriously forward to a decisive victory.

Janus screamed too, and his horse, along with thousands of other horses, charged forward to death and glory. It was time for him to show his worth.

In mere seconds the Uhlans had covered over half the distance between them and the Germans. They rode like mounted angels through the stunning green forest of Krojanty, blurred figures dashing through Nature’s pristine beauty.

Janus looked onward at the tanks as he charged. They had not anticipated the attack, and were not yet ready to fire. The Poles would be able to hit them before the enemy could return any damage.

There was sudden screeching of steel on steel as the front of the wave of Uhlans first broke upon the shore of the German tanks. For a moment, there seemed to be a moment of doubt, would the Uhlans manage to penetrate, or not? It was all far too intense for Janus, who had not yet reached the enemy.

But his doubt was all for nothing, as the Uhlan’s effortlessly broke through the front line of tanks, weaving in and out, their blades flurrying like mad demons swinging their talons.

And then it was Janus’ turn! He reached the enemy tanks, and swung his sword, striking one of them. There was a sharp screeching noise, but he had done almost no damage! The tank was barely harmed! Janus’ brow furrowed in dismay, and he charged onwards, striking wildly at other tanks, but to no avail. It was hopeless! They were impenetrable!

All around him, it seemed as though the Poles had come to the same conclusion. What would they do? Just how powerful were these tanks? Was it even conceivable that the ambush would fail and end in retreat?

And then the first shell was fired. A tank at the rear, which had finally gotten ready, fired, the tip of its nozzle resounding with the sound of an explosion. Janus and the Poles collectively held their breath. And then the shell hit a group of Uhlans, exploding on contact. The sudden silence was rent by the screams of agony of the Poles on fire, the crazed neighing of their horses, the sound of bodies falling to the ground.

The Kapitan looked to his forces, and screamed, “Run! Retreat! Save yours-!”, but he was cut off as more and more shells were fired by the tanks.

Janus saw one fly through the air, almost gracefully, towards the Kapitan. The Kapitan looked towards his forces at the just before it reached him, and smiled at them. It was a kind, fatherly smile. But then, he was gone. Gone in an explosion of fire and smoke, a terrifying pandemonium of limbs and shrapnel.

Suddenly, the Uhlans’ glory was not all that was at stake here. Their very lives were in great peril. Janus tried to take command of the men near him, ushering them away from the huddle in the middle of the tanks, trying to carry out the Kapitan’s last wish. But even as they tried to flee, the tanks brought them down. They were too deep in! Their very battle plan was turning out to be the cause for their defeat.

Janus gave up trying to save his comrades, and focused on trying to attack the tanks. He cared not for his life, only for his dear land. Already, the Germans had tainted Her. Tainted Her by sowing Her fields with the blood of Her own children! Where there had only minutes ago been a peaceful forest there was now devastation, a wildfire, a graveyard to be.

Janus had gambled on the fact that if he was near enough to attack a tank, then the others would not dare to fire at him, in fear of damaging their ally. So far it seemed to be paying off. His sword cut through the crisp air like a siren’s shriek, perhaps the last true Polish defender left on the battlefield.

A few Germans had come out of their tanks, and were now shooting at him with their little pistols. But they were no match for Janus. He had been expecting it. Almost as fast as the wind itself, he swept onto those foolish infidels who had forsaken the safety of their tanks, and cut them down. He swept among the tanks, darting, left, right, left, right, cutting and tearing at the exposed men.

But he knew, in his heart of hearts, that the battle had failed. It was not impossible to marshal the remaining forces, to turn them around to victory. The Poles had been defeated here. The Germans were evidently superior. There would be no way for them to win the war. Poland was doomed.

All these thoughts passed through his head as he swayed with his blade. The Germans had all retreated to their tanks now. All he could do was cut in vain at the armoured bodies of the tanks, like a needle pricking at a metal bar.

He charged straight forward at the tank of the commander, screaming in rage, directing all his hatred into the hand clasped firmly around his blade, pointing it straight forward towards the enemy.

He saw the nozzle of the tank facing him. And he saw the shell coming out of it straight towards him.