Chapter 186: The Modlin Army

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Northern Poland, on the border defense line. In a corner of the long northern defensive position.

“Boom!” A shell landed near the reinforced concrete bunker, kicking up a shower of debris, and then gradually subsided, leaving only a wisp of slowly rising black smoke. The shell had blown apart a section of barbed wire. The broken wire swayed a couple of times, making the already dilapidated position look even more desolate.

Germany’s lack of heavy artillery was finally showing its disadvantage on the northern Polish front. Because the Polish Modlin Army in the north had not left its fortress defense area on the border, Army Group P from East Prussia had so far been unable to break through the Modlin Army’s defensive line from the front.

The largest artillery caliber in the German Wehrmacht was 150mm. This level of firepower was convenient for troop mobility and transport, but it was completely helpless against a fortress line. The German artillery had used every trick in its arsenal but had failed to crack open the thick Polish border defenses.

A veteran Polish soldier peered through a slit in a fortress firing point, looking at a low-lying area far in front of the defensive line. Beside him, a water-cooled Maxim heavy machine gun was fixed in its firing position, with almost no recoil and plenty of ammunition. Behind him, three machine gunners and two assistant soldiers were huddled in a straw-covered corner, taking advantage of the lull in the fighting to get some rest.

The German army was not waiting for the Polish defenders to abandon their positions and retreat. They would organize feint attacks with tanks and assault guns, and then retreat after drawing Polish return fire. Although it was safe, the efficiency of such probing was very, very low.

“Is this all the Germans have got? And they still have the nerve to start a war?” the Polish veteran muttered, sticking a piece of straw in his mouth. He continued to chew as he searched for the sun through the firing slit. The occasional shelling had made all the Poles hide in the concrete bunkers, and the cramped, dark interior of the bunkers was a torment for anyone who longed for freedom.

“Someone’s wounded!” a young voice cried out from a trench in the distance. “Medic! Someone’s been hit here.”

To be hit by such an occasional shell was not to say that this Polish soldier was extremely unlucky. It was because the Germans were using their attacks to cover their snipers and observers, who had placed their artillery observation posts in a position quite close to the Polish defensive line. These German soldiers, skilled in camouflage and concealment, would lie in wait in corners with radios and several days’ worth of dry rations. As soon as the Polish soldiers let their guard down, they would call in artillery fire.

This method of fighting made the Polish defenders very uncomfortable. They sent out soldiers to repeatedly attack places they thought were suspicious. Although they inflicted a dozen or so casualties on the German army, the price they paid was often ten to a hundred times that of the Germans. After a few times, the Poles gave up this foolish tactic. No matter how the German soldiers provoked them, they would just hold their positions and no longer go out to counter-attack.

The Polish veteran spat out the straw he was chewing, felt his way along the wall out of the bunker, and, in the concrete-reinforced trench, went around the soldiers who were lying on the ground resting. He walked, hunched over, toward the direction of the shouting.

By the time he reached the wounded man, a medic was already pressing down on the wound and bandaging it. And next to this unlucky fellow lay an even unluckier one. That already cold corpse had had its stomach pierced by a shell fragment. Its intestines were coiled messily on the cold concrete ground, and the man was long since breathless.

Not far from here was a young soldier holding a rifle. He looked in horror as the medic treated his comrade, an indescribable sadness in his eyes.

“How were these two hit?” the Polish veteran asked the young soldier beside him, lying on the edge of the trench. He looked at the crater from the shell not far away. It was still steaming, with a hint of a burnt smell.

“They went to relieve themselves together. They thought the latrine was too far, so they climbed out of the trench to squat and smoke over there, and then…” the young soldier’s voice was still trembling, but his reply was fairly fluent.

“Don’t make this kind of mistake! Understand?” the old soldier said, pulling his head back and looking at the young soldier. “The one thing we’re not short of here is idiots looking to die. They’re in a hurry to go to heaven to serve God. If you’re not in a hurry, then don’t just walk out of your bunker. And it’s best to stay where the armor and concrete are thickest.”

“Th-thank you…” the young soldier said, staring at the veteran and stammering out a word of gratitude.

Just as the two of them turned to go back to their respective positions, the piercing sound of the air raid siren rang out. “Wooo!…”

Looking at the small black dots like sesame seeds below the white clouds in the sky, the old soldier frowned. He had a very bad feeling today, as if it were an instinctive fear of dangerous things cultivated over many years in the army.

This bad premonition made him stand still. He chose a V-shaped section of the trench that could provide cover from explosions, lay on the still slightly cold concrete parapet, and looked up at the approaching German air force bombers.

On the surrounding positions, the anti-aircraft guns began to fire. The thudding sound of the cannons was heard, but due to their small number, it didn’t seem to have much effect on the German planes in the sky. Soon, the German bomber formation flew over the Polish army’s positions.

This was not the first bombing raid by the German Air Force. On the contrary, in the past few days, the German Air Force had bombed here several times. But relying on their well-arranged trenches and thick bunkers and hidden emplacements, the Polish defenders’ losses had not been great. So the German Air Force’s bombing had not had the effect of making the Polish army collapse or retreat.

These Germans are really stubborn, the veteran thought. Why do they keep coming back to experiment again and again, when they clearly know that because the power of their aerial bombs is insufficient, like their artillery shells, they can’t damage the reinforced concrete and armored steel plate fortifications of the Polish defenders? Are bombs and shells free?

Just as this Polish veteran was lost in thought, the German Air Force bombers had already opened their bomb bays and were preparing to drop their bombs. The formation of these planes was slightly messy due to the slight interference from the anti-aircraft guns, but not so messy as to affect their bombing run.

A bomb fell from a plane’s bomb bay, followed by another. Then, like a growing rainstorm, the bombs began to fall in a dense swarm. And that first bomb that was dropped directly hit a high ground on the hilltop over there, which had three machine gun bunkers.

Unlike usual, this bomb suddenly burst like a burning liquid. The blast wave carried flames everywhere. The fire instantly shot up three stories high. The scene of the violent burning made the Polish veteran, who had been staring at the German planes dropping their bombs, have his upper and lower teeth chatter with a rhythmic sound.

The second bomb of this different kind exploded in another place. It was exactly the same as the first. The surrounding soldiers began to stir. Many ran out of the trenches, running frantically toward the open area behind them. But they were soon engulfed by the fierce flames spewing from another identical bomb.

As the German bombers flew overhead, the explosions quickly followed. This Polish veteran suddenly leaped out of the trench, scrambled and jumped into the large crater that had been created by the German shelling earlier, took a deep breath, held it, and curled up into a ball with his hands over his head.

Then he heard the sound of an explosion, and then he felt the pain of the blast wave searing the back of his hand. And then he knew nothing more. After a long time, when he himself thought he was already dead, a wisp of oxygen finally entered his lungs, and he became fully conscious again.

The back of his right hand, the exposed part, was severely burned, and his greatcoat was also scorched black. He knew his right hand was definitely ruined. His right cheek was also burning with pain. It seemed he was probably disfigured. But he was very glad to be alive, because he saw the charred corpses in the trench behind him.

In the distance, a burning man was still rolling on the ground. As far as he could see on the position, it was all blackened. Most of the people were already dead. A few were letting out hysterical wails. The entire defensive position of the Polish army was like a real-life inferno on earth.

Unlike previous incendiary bombs, what Germany had dropped this time was its newly developed secret weapon, “Napalm.” This weapon was specially designed to deal with permanent underground fortifications. It could evaporate the oxygen inside the fortifications and burn the personnel inside. Most importantly, the flames it created were extremely difficult to extinguish.

The Polish veteran staggered. Looking at the position, which was a sea of fire and thick smoke, he didn’t know what to do next. Suddenly, he saw the iron door of a bunker being pushed open from the inside. A burning young face appeared before his eyes. The young soldier from before was now like a swaying torch, screaming and writhing in the trench, and finally collapsing to the ground and turning into a piece of burning charcoal.

All of this had happened in just a few minutes…

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. The Polish veteran saw a bullet pass through his chest from behind. He struggled to turn his head and saw, a hundred meters away, a German sniper with a rifle aiming a second shot at him. Soon, a bullet passed through his throat. He suddenly felt that the burning pain in his right hand and face was no longer there.

“Heil Führer, General Kesselring,” an air force officer said after knocking and entering Kesselring’s office. “News just came from the front. The pilots of the 4th Bomber Wing dropped napalm bombs on the permanent defensive positions held by the Polish Modlin Army in northern Poland.”

“What was the result?” Kesselring asked, turning around after a moment. He had been looking at his air force’s operational offensive schematic with his hands behind his back.

“The results were quite considerable. Actual combat has proven that this weapon has a very strong destructive effect on ordinary underground bunkers,” the officer replied proudly. “The recommendation from the front-line troops is to increase the production of this bomb for large-scale use when attacking enemy fortifications and cities.”

“Send a report to the Führer,” Kesselring nodded. “Send it up with that recommendation.”