Near the outskirts of Warsaw — September 6, 1939
The sky was gray, heavy, as if holding its breath. Falk watched from the hatch as the Panzer IV rolled forward through open fields, crossing a road shattered by the passage of heavy columns.
"We're close," said Helmut over the radio. "Confirmed: forty kilometers from Warsaw. HQ wants constant pressure. They must not retreat in good order."
Up ahead, mechanized Wehrmacht columns advanced in parallel, separated by sectors. In the distance, the larger guns of the 10th Panzer Division protruded over a hill. But they weren't the only thing crossing the horizon.
"Planes," said Ernst, pointing skyward.
The Stukas appeared in perfect formation, diving like hawks over the trees to the east. The sound of their sirens — that unmistakable wail — tore through the air just before the first bombs shook the ground. Columns of smoke rose.
"Fortified zone neutralized," Helmut reported flatly, translating the pilots' messages.
Falk shut the hatch and gave the order to advance. The Leibstandarte's tanks moved through the dust as if they were part of the landscape. On both flanks, lighter vehicles and motorcycle scouts searched for safe routes.
There was no immediate resistance. The enemy was falling back toward defensive positions beyond the Vistula. But the destruction was evident: charred farm carts, houses split in two, dead livestock on the roadside.
"This isn't a campaign. It's a plowing of steel," murmured Konrad.
In the communications center, a new message came through: High Command was ordering Falk's group to assist engineers in securing a logistics route before nightfall. Helmut sighed.
"They use us as the spear, then as the hammer. Never as the shield."
Falk said nothing. He just watched. Flames still rose in the distance, and the Stukas returned to base, leaving behind a line of silence.
But the calm was an illusion. Barely five kilometers ahead, on the first hills guarding the approach to Warsaw, gunfire began. Scattered machine guns, irregular rifle fire, and suddenly, a nearby explosion that shook the earth.
"Mine or light artillery!" shouted Lukas from his seat.
The Panzer swerved sharply. In the distance, darker smoke plumes rose from improvised fortifications. The Poles, though disorganized and lacking heavy artillery, were forming a defensive line — first trenches, some well-placed machine guns, and men determined to stop the steel monster bearing down on them.
Falk briefly popped his head out and saw what he feared: the German infantry was not keeping up. Still lagging behind due to logistical issues, the vanguard tanks were left isolated — moving out of momentum, out of doctrine, or out of blind faith in victory.
"We're alone," he muttered.
Konrad turned the turret and fired at a machine gun nest. The explosion was immediate. Helmut was calling for reinforcements over the radio, but the replies were slow. There was no coordination.
"Do we fall back?" asked Ernst.
Falk shook his head.
"At this point, going back is more dangerous than moving forward."
And so they advanced. Across open ground, between sporadic gunfire, fresh craters, and the persistent smell of fire. In the distance, Warsaw's silhouette began to take shape on the horizon — more a threat than a destination.
That day, there was no open battle. But something more subtle and dangerous: the certainty that the advance would not be as clean as the maps had promised.And that at the gates of the capital, German steel was beginning to find more than a retreat.
It was finding resistance.