0700 Hours, 2 September 1939
Location: 10 Kilometers North of Kraków, Poland
The sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the landscape as Erich's squad moved forward, the sound of boots crunching in the damp earth mixing with the distant hum of the Panzers advancing through the Polish countryside. The dawn broke with a cold bite in the air, the warmth of the previous day's fires now a fading memory, replaced by the looming chill of a new day—one that would carry the weight of the ongoing assault into the heart of Poland's defenses.
Erich felt the tension in his chest tighten as they marched forward. The previous day's victory had been hard-earned, but the battle was far from over. Kraków was still ahead, a city that held strategic and symbolic value, and the Germans knew that taking it would be the next decisive step in breaking Poland's ability to resist. But with that came even greater resistance, and Erich knew the scale of the battle would only escalate as they neared the city.
The roads were slick with the remnants of overnight rain, turning the once-sturdy terrain into a mire. The tanks rumbled behind them, their engines roaring through the misty morning as they maneuvered through the treacherous roads. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and the faint, lingering scent of smoke from the previous day's battles.
Erich scanned the horizon, the distant shape of trees and hills slowly coming into focus. The landscape was eerily quiet now, save for the hum of the advancing German forces. The night had been filled with sporadic bursts of artillery fire, the distant thuds still echoing in his mind, but now there was an unsettling calm. The enemy was regrouping, preparing their final stand.
"Keep your heads down," Erich muttered to his squad, his voice barely audible over the noise of the tanks. "We don't know what's waiting for us beyond that hill."
Jonas, his face still raw with the shock of battle, gave him a nod, but Erich could see the uncertainty in his eyes. The boy was still learning what it meant to be a soldier, still coming to grips with the fact that each day might be his last. The faces of those who had already fallen in the previous days, comrades from the squad, were still fresh in his mind, their vacant eyes forever burned into his thoughts.
Helmut walked beside him, his usual calm demeanor now a little more strained. "Do you think we'll meet resistance soon?" he asked, adjusting the strap of his rifle over his shoulder.
Erich hesitated, glancing at the distant horizon. The roads were clear, but the silence felt too still. Too much like the calm before a storm.
"I don't know," he replied. "But they won't give up without a fight."
The air seemed to thicken as they pressed on. There was something ominous in the way the land stretched out before them, the feeling of being watched, as if the enemy were waiting for the right moment to spring their trap. But Erich also knew that the Poles were running out of time. With each kilometer they covered, they were moving deeper into the heart of Poland's defense lines, the distance to Kraków closing rapidly.
The tanks behind them moved with their usual precision, a mechanical beast of war that bulldozed everything in its path. The Panzer I and II, though smaller and less armored than the larger models, moved swiftly ahead, scouting the area, while the Panzer III and IV, heavy with firepower, formed the backbone of the assault. They were pushing hard, relentless in their advance, and the infantry had no choice but to follow.
The trees ahead finally gave way to a clearing, and Erich could see the remnants of a village sprawled out in front of him. It looked abandoned, its houses half-destroyed by the earlier airstrikes, the streets eerily silent. There were no signs of life, but the debris scattered across the open ground told a different story—a story of hurried evacuations and desperate retreats.
"Stay sharp," Erich ordered, raising a hand to signal his squad to halt.
They moved forward cautiously, keeping low to the ground, eyes scanning the broken village for any sign of Polish resistance. The air was thick with tension, and every crack of a twig or distant thud seemed to echo louder than it should. Erich's fingers tightened around his rifle, his senses heightened, waiting for the inevitable.
"Clear," Jonas whispered, his voice barely audible as he moved cautiously through the village's outskirts. "No signs of life here. But we should keep moving."
Erich nodded. "Agreed. The last thing we want is to get bogged down here."
The tanks continued their advance, the massive vehicles shifting through the debris with ease, crushing what was left of the village beneath their tracks. The sound of their engines was a constant reminder of the scale of the assault, and though Erich was no stranger to the noise, it felt different this time. It felt like the pressure was mounting, that the Germans were pushing not just against the Polish, but against the very spirit of the land itself.
As they moved further into the clearing, the trees receded, and the landscape stretched out before them—a wide, open field leading directly to the outskirts of Kraków. Erich could see the distant smoke rising from the city, a stark contrast against the bright morning sky. The city was burning, its defensive lines under attack, but it wasn't going to fall easily. It was the heart of the region, and Poland would fight for it with everything they had left.
"We're close," Erich murmured, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline. "But this isn't over. Not by a long shot."
0900 Hours, 2 September 1939
Location: Outskirts of Kraków, Poland
The closer they got to Kraków, the more the air seemed to change. The quiet of the countryside gave way to the unmistakable smell of burning wood and oil, the acrid scent of a city under siege. Even from a distance, Erich could see the dark plumes of smoke rising into the sky, the jagged silhouette of Kraków's skyline broken by the chaos unfolding within. The city, Poland's cultural and intellectual heart, was not going to fall without a brutal struggle.
Erich's thoughts swirled as they neared the outskirts of the city. He could feel the weight of what lay ahead pressing on him like the humidity before a thunderstorm. The initial rush of the Blitzkrieg, the smashing of Polish defenses, had brought the Germans far into the heart of Poland, but now they faced something different: a determined, desperate resistance. The Panzers had driven deep, but this was the moment when the true cost of war would be felt.
"Form up," Erich ordered, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts crashing against his mind. "We're not pushing into the city yet, but we need to secure the perimeter first. Stay in tight formation, and watch for ambushes."
The squad fell into their usual line, each soldier moving with practiced precision as they swept toward a nearby farmhouse. The farm was abandoned—likely evacuated in the rush to flee the oncoming German forces—but it provided them a temporary position of cover, and for a moment, there was a brief silence as they took shelter behind the stone walls.
Helmut crouched beside Erich, his expression unreadable as he scanned the city in the distance. "This is it," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Kraków's about to get a hell of a lot worse."
Erich nodded. The weight of it settled over him. The city wasn't just another objective. It was a symbol—of Polish resolve, of Europe's fight for freedom. And if it fell, that would be a hard blow to the Polish spirit. But that was exactly why the Germans had to take it.
"Listen up," Erich said, raising his voice so the squad could hear. "We're pushing through the city outskirts first, clearing the way for the tanks. We need to get those positions secured before the full assault begins. Keep your heads on a swivel. The Polish aren't just going to lie down. Expect resistance—snipers, hidden anti-tank positions, whatever they can throw at us."
The men nodded, their faces grim. They had already seen enough combat to understand the implications of their orders. This wasn't going to be a straightforward push. This would be a slow, grinding fight, room by room, street by street.
The tanks rumbled behind them, the ground shaking with the movement of the heavier Panzers. They were preparing to breach the city's outer defenses, but Erich knew it wouldn't be as easy as just charging in. The streets were narrow, the buildings close together, and the Polish were bound to have their own tactics in place—ambushes, barricades, hidden artillery positions.
"We move now," Erich said, his voice firm, though his stomach churned with the anticipation of what was to come.
They moved in close formation, crouching low as they approached the first block of buildings. The street was eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of artillery, the occasional crackle of small arms fire, and the incessant hum of German air superiority overhead. The Luftwaffe had already begun its assault on Polish positions, the shrieking dive bombers creating a sense of impending doom, their calls signaling the death from above.
"Stay sharp," Erich reminded them again, his eyes scanning the street for any signs of movement. They crossed into the first row of buildings, their boots muffled by the thick dust and debris that had accumulated over the past days of bombardment. The tension in the air was palpable, a living, breathing thing that seemed to pull at the edges of Erich's focus.
Suddenly, a crack rang out—a sharp, high-pitched gunshot that echoed down the street, followed by a second, then a third. A Polish sniper. The crack of the rifle was precise, but Erich had already dropped to the ground, his instincts kicking in. He gestured sharply for his squad to spread out, their movements swift and coordinated, the chaos of combat pushing them into a fluid, almost instinctual rhythm.
"Sniper, first floor," Helmut called out, his voice steady despite the chaos. He had spotted the glint of the sniper's rifle—a flash of metal in one of the shattered windows of a nearby building.
Erich didn't hesitate. "Jonas, take point. Get a clean shot on that position." Jonas, still nervous in combat, nodded quickly but without hesitation, moving swiftly along the wall toward the building's corner. The others followed suit, instinctively moving to cover each other as they made their way up the street.
The sniper's shots continued to ring out, but they were becoming erratic now, desperate, as if the Polish shooter was losing patience with the missed opportunities. The faintest sound of a grenade being primed echoed through the street.
"Move, now!" Erich barked, and in a flash, the squad bolted forward, ducking into doorways and behind cover as they neared the building where the sniper was holed up. Jonas, ahead of the others, turned to face the building, his rifle raised, fingers tightening on the trigger.
The sound of a shot rang out just as Jonas ducked behind a stack of rubble, narrowly avoiding a bullet that zipped by his ear. But then came the retaliatory crack of his rifle. The sniper, in the second-floor window, had stopped firing. For a moment, all was still.
"Clear!" Jonas shouted, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and disbelief.
The tension began to ease, but only for a moment. Erich's squad continued forward, crossing through the narrow streets, their footsteps muffled by the oppressive silence that hung over the city. They were deep in enemy territory now, and every corner, every building, every shadow could hide their next challenge.
Erich pushed forward with renewed focus, the task at hand clear in his mind: secure the city, disrupt the Polish defenses, and pave the way for the final push. But as he looked up at the towering spires of Kraków, now visible through the smoke, he knew this fight was far from over.
They hadn't even begun to scratch the surface. The real battle was just ahead
1300 Hours, 2 September 1939
Location: Northern Outskirts of Kraków, Poland
The air was thick with the sound of distant artillery. The steady rumble of Panzers moving in from the east signaled that the encirclement of Kraków was nearing its completion. Erich, crouched behind a dilapidated stone wall, could hear the faint crack of radio static in his earpiece. The voices of officers and commanders crackled through, issuing commands and updates.
"Second and Third Panzer Divisions are approaching from the south and east," a voice confirmed through the static. "We are tightening the noose. Expect resistance to escalate."
Erich nodded grimly. The plan was working—slowly, relentlessly. The city was becoming a trap, its defenders unknowingly herding themselves into the jaws of the German offensive.
From the east, the sound of heavy engines was unmistakable: reinforcements. The Panzer III and IV tanks thundered over the land, their tracks biting into the earth as they approached the city's southeastern perimeter. The infantry, too, was advancing, moving with purpose toward their designated objectives. Behind them, the Luftwaffe continued to dominate the skies, the occasional roar of dive bombers signaling the next round of destruction to be wrought upon the Polish positions.
"We're pushing into the heart of the city now," Erich muttered under his breath, adjusting his grip on his rifle as he surveyed the street ahead. His squad was ready to move again. The street before them was empty, but Erich knew better than to think it would stay that way.
"Helmut, set up at the corner, keep your eyes peeled. The others—move in tight. We'll clear this section street by street," Erich commanded.
They advanced cautiously, keeping their movements swift but measured, anticipating resistance at every turn. They were well beyond the initial shock of the blitzkrieg, now in the thick of urban combat. Every building could be an enemy position, every shadow a potential sniper.
As they neared a junction, the sudden sound of a shell exploding nearby rattled the team. The ground shook under their feet, and a cloud of dust and debris billowed from the explosion. Erich's heart raced for a moment as the echo of the blast reverberated through the streets, but he quickly regained his composure. They had to push forward.
"Jonas, check the building on the left," Erich said, his voice sharp. "Helmut, cover him."
Jonas moved swiftly, his body low to the ground as he entered the shadow of the building. The squad followed suit, moving along the edge of the street. The walls of the buildings around them were scorched by previous artillery strikes, some of the windows already shattered from the early bombardment. The once-proud city now resembled a war-torn husk.
As they crossed the street, a sudden burst of fire from a hidden position forced them to take cover. Bullets pinged off the stone walls, the sharp staccato echoing around them.
"Take cover!" Erich shouted, his voice a command born from instinct.
The squad dropped behind whatever cover they could find—half-destroyed vehicles, piles of rubble, and remnants of abandoned barricades. The gunfire came in rapid bursts, but Erich's squad had already learned to move fluidly under fire. They held their positions for a moment, listening closely for any sign of where the fire was coming from.
A series of short bursts answered the question—sniper fire, from the upper floors of a building across the street. They had been spotted. The Polish resistance was starting to adapt, and with every passing minute, the city became more dangerous.
Jonas quickly moved to a better vantage point, his rifle raised, scanning the windows across the street. Erich could feel the tension rise as his squad held their positions, listening to the sniper's fire grow closer.
Then, without warning, a massive rumble shook the ground, followed by a deafening explosion.
A bomb, dropped from the sky. A Stuka dive bomber screamed through the sky above them, its engines shrieking as it released its payload on the Polish position.
The blast sent debris flying, and a thick cloud of dust enveloped the street. Erich's squad, temporarily blinded by the explosion, quickly scrambled to their feet, prepared for whatever came next. The smoke hung in the air like a thick fog, but the roar of tanks in the distance was unmistakable—the reinforcements from the east had arrived.
"Forward, now!" Erich barked. The city was on the brink of collapse. The reinforcements were here to finish it. The Panzers were surging into the southern parts of the city, their main guns already tearing through the last of the Polish fortifications.
As they moved forward, the city began to open up before them—blocks and blocks of buildings lay ahead, most of them in ruins. The soldiers around them pushed forward with determination, and the unmistakable sound of tanks rolling in from the east rang in Erich's ears.
They had breached the heart of Kraków, and now, with reinforcements tightening the noose from all sides, the final phase of the battle was underway. There would be no escape for the defenders now.
"Keep moving," Erich said, his voice firm. "The city is ours. We just need to finish it."
And so they advanced—deeper into the heart of Kraków, toward the final push that would determine the city's fate.
1500 Hours, 2 September 1939
Location: City Center, Kraków, Poland
The streets of Kraków were a warzone—burned-out vehicles, collapsed buildings, and the twisted remnants of Polish defenses littered the area. The air smelled of smoke and sulfur, the acrid scent of burning debris stinging Erich's nostrils. The sounds of the battle had shifted now, less frequent but more intense. The Polish defenders were no longer a unified force but fragmented pockets of resistance, trying desperately to hold on to the last vestiges of their city.
Erich and his squad pushed deeper into the city center. The constant rumble of German tanks, the growl of half-tracks, and the pounding of artillery from distant positions mixed with the sharp crackle of small arms fire. The streets that had once been filled with the hustle and bustle of daily life were now eerily quiet, save for the war raging all around.
Erich had seen cities fall before—he had even participated in the destruction of one—but there was something different about Kraków. Maybe it was the deep history of the city, the architecture that had withstood centuries of conflict. Or maybe it was the determination of the Polish defenders, who fought like men cornered by a beast, knowing the end was inevitable.
"Watch your step," Helmut called out, voice tense. "The streets are full of debris, and I don't trust those rooftops."
Erich nodded. They had already encountered sniper fire, and he knew that the Polish forces were desperate, using every trick they could to slow down the German advance. Even though they were outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered, they were still dangerous in their desperation.
The squad moved cautiously, staying low and close to the cover of walls and wrecked vehicles. They reached a wide plaza—once a vibrant gathering place now a charred expanse of rubble. At its center stood a monument to a Polish king, its statue now cracked and scorched by a direct artillery hit.
"We'll push through here," Erich said, his voice low but commanding. "Keep the line tight. No stragglers."
His squad moved forward, their rifles at the ready, eyes scanning the horizon. The deep thud of a distant explosion shook the ground beneath them, sending dust swirling into the air. It was another Stuka strike, clearing out a final holdout of Polish infantry. The Luftwaffe had been relentless all day, and Erich couldn't help but admire the precision and terror their bombing runs invoked.
But the battle was far from over.
As they moved through the plaza, a sharp crack of rifle fire tore through the air, followed by the high-pitched scream of a shell whistling overhead. A series of explosions rang out in quick succession, followed by the sound of grinding metal. The ground trembled beneath their feet.
"Ambush!" shouted Jonas from the front.
Erich's instincts kicked in immediately. He dove for cover behind a nearby stone column, pulling his squad to safety. The crackle of automatic rifle fire came from the far end of the plaza, followed by the unmistakable roar of a machine gun.
"Suppressing fire!" Erich barked, motioning for the squad to return fire. "Helmut, move left and flank them. Meissner, take the right."
The squad responded with practiced efficiency, laying down fire as they moved into position. The Polish defenders had set up a machine gun nest, and it was clear they meant to sell their lives dearly. Erich gritted his teeth. Every Polish soldier who resisted in these final moments was another reminder of the cost of war, of the lives lost on both sides.
A burst of machine gun fire whipped past Erich, and he returned fire, his shots piercing the air toward the hidden position. The recoil of his rifle jolted through his body, but he didn't flinch. Every shot was a reminder of the grim reality: either they eliminated the enemy now, or the enemy would keep fighting until they were dead.
Jonas and Helmut moved in from the left, taking up position behind a half-destroyed cart. Meissner advanced from the right, pushing forward with swift, deliberate steps. The Polish resistance was thinning, but they fought with an intensity borne from their knowledge of the inevitable defeat.
After a few tense moments, the machine gun fire stopped. Erich took a deep breath and signaled for his squad to move.
"We've got the area cleared," Erich said, his voice steady but filled with a sense of urgency. "Push forward—there's no time to waste."
They moved quickly, crossing the open space of the plaza with their rifles raised and eyes constantly scanning for any sign of movement. Erich's mind raced as he thought about the bigger picture. The encirclement of Kraków was nearly complete, and with every passing minute, the resistance was falling apart.
The sound of tanks could be heard in the distance as the southern reinforcements neared the city center. They were close—too close for any remaining defenders to mount an effective counteroffensive. Erich knew that within hours, Kraków would be fully under German control.
As they reached the far end of the plaza, a series of loud explosions echoed from the direction of the city's main railway station. The enemy had attempted to make one final stand, but the power of the Panzer divisions, combined with the relentless Luftwaffe bombing, had crushed their last hope.
By the time Erich and his squad reached the edge of the city center, they saw the first of the German reinforcements moving in. The city was now a charred shell, its defenses shattered, and its infrastructure in ruins.
It was done.
Kraków had fallen.
Erich stood in the shadow of a crumbling building, watching the smoke rise from the city. He didn't feel the victory he had expected. Instead, there was only a heavy weight in his chest, a gnawing emptiness. The battle was over, but the war was far from finished.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to his squad. "Let's move out. There's more to do. The war's not over yet."
And with that, they began the long march to the next battle—another city, another enemy, another day of survival in a war that had no end.
0600 Hours, 3 September 1939
Location: Temporary Strategic Quarters, Kraków, Poland
The dim glow of the early morning sun filtered through the windows of the makeshift headquarters. Erich stood in front of a large wooden table, his uniform freshly pressed, his boots polished to a dull shine, as the room filled with high-ranking officers and soldiers alike. A heavy atmosphere lingered in the air—victory had come, but it was bittersweet. There was no time for celebration.
Erich's focus was interrupted by the arrival of a military official, a man he recognized only by his stern countenance and ornate uniform. The officer approached with a case in hand. Without a word, he opened it, revealing a medal that gleamed in the dim light.
The officer's voice, though calm, was firm. "Unteroffizier Erich Stahl, for your valor and extraordinary conduct during the capture of Kraków, you are hereby awarded the Iron Cross, 1st Class. Your actions have been exemplary in leading your squad through the chaos, securing vital territory, and carrying out the blitzkrieg with precision. Your ability to think strategically in the heat of battle has saved countless lives and ensured the success of the operation."
Erich stood still as the officer pinned the medal to his uniform. It was heavier than he had expected, symbolizing not just recognition, but responsibility. He allowed a fleeting moment of pride to pass before his gaze returned to the room, now aware of the eyes upon him.
"Heil Hitler!" the officer barked, and the room echoed with a chorus of solemn replies.
Erich's thoughts briefly drifted, wondering if this moment would remain in his mind once the fighting resumed. No matter how many medals he earned, the cost of war would never be measured by such symbols. He tucked the thoughts away, refocusing on the task ahead.
---
0715 Hours, 3 September 1939
Location: Kraków Airfield, Poland
The convoy of trucks rumbled through the streets of Kraków, their engines humming steadily against the backdrop of the morning air. Erich's squad, along with the new orders in hand, was tasked with an unexpected mission. No longer would they be marching on to the next city to continue the blitzkrieg. Instead, they were to escort a diplomat—a representative of the German state—on a journey south.
The airfield loomed in the distance, an open space surrounded by the occasional plane, its engines warming up in preparation for the journey ahead. The diplomat, a middle-aged man with sharp features and the air of someone used to command, stood nearby, his briefcase clutched tightly.
Erich and his squad stood in formation near the trucks, awaiting final orders. The diplomat approached with a nod, his face set in a tight, professional expression.
"Unteroffizier Stahl," the diplomat greeted, extending a hand in formal recognition. "I've heard much about you. This mission, though, is as delicate as it is important. You will be guiding me safely to Italy, where we'll be meeting with high-ranking officials. It's imperative we reach our destination quickly, without interruption."
Erich returned the handshake, his gaze steady. "Understood, sir. We'll ensure your safety, no matter what."
---
0800 Hours, 3 September 1939
Location: Onboard the German Transport Aircraft
The engines roared to life as the plane ascended from the airfield. The view of Kraków quickly became a distant memory as the aircraft climbed into the clouded sky. The hum of the engines was nearly drowned out by the occasional murmur of conversation between Erich's squad members. Everyone was on edge, the unfamiliar task ahead of them putting everyone in a rare position of uncertainty.
The diplomat sat calmly in his seat, papers spread out in front of him as he adjusted his glasses. A few other officers were onboard as well, though they kept to themselves for the most part.
As the plane leveled out, Erich leaned back in his seat, his eyes momentarily closing. The flight was supposed to be a brief respite, but the long hours of combat and the weight of the medal still fresh on his chest kept him restless. The hum of the engines filled the silence as the plane cut through the clouds.
Without warning, the radio crackled to life, the static piercing the calm. A voice—cold, authoritative—cut through.
"This is German radio, broadcasting from Berlin. Attention, all personnel—effective immediately, Germany is at war with the United Kingdom and France. The declaration of war has been made. The Fuhrer's decision is final, and we will move forward with the goals set before us."
The message ended, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. Erich's eyes locked with the diplomat's for a brief moment.
The tension in the cabin was palpable, the gravity of the moment sinking in. The wheels of history were turning, and Erich could feel the weight of it pressing on him. The war had only just begun, and what came next would change everything.
---
The plane continued its journey southward, cutting through the skies toward Italy. With each passing mile, the noise from the engines became a constant backdrop to the thoughts swirling in Erich's mind. The medal on his chest felt heavier than before, a reminder that his actions would soon be entwined with much larger forces. He didn't know what awaited him in Italy, but one thing was certain—the world was now irrevocably changed.
---
0900 Hours, 3 September 1939
Location: Airborne, En Route to Italy
The steady hum of the aircraft's engines was the only sound that filled the cabin as the squad and diplomat sat in uneasy silence. Erich's thoughts wandered between the war unfolding below and the bizarre nature of their mission. Just a few days ago, they had been pushing forward with the relentless advance through Poland. Now, they were being taken away from the frontlines to escort a diplomat to Italy, a task that seemed almost trivial in comparison to the violence and chaos they had witnessed.
The diplomat, a man named Herr Friedrich Müller, was seated across the aisle, engrossed in his papers. He had not said much since boarding the plane, other than the formal introduction and the reminder of the importance of the mission. His demeanor suggested that he was accustomed to high-stakes negotiations, though Erich couldn't help but wonder how someone like Müller, so detached from the frontlines, could truly understand what was at stake.
The squad members, seated in various corners of the aircraft, were trying their best to relax, but the tension of the journey weighed heavily on them. The unfamiliar task, the long flight, and the looming uncertainty of what awaited them in Italy kept everyone on edge. Helmut, always pragmatic, cracked open a ration pack, the sound of the wrapper tearing cutting through the quiet.
"Do you think we'll get some rest once we land?" Jonas asked quietly, his youthful voice betraying the exhaustion that had built up from the days of nonstop fighting.
Erich glanced at him, his voice low. "We'll get there when we get there. Right now, just keep your eyes open."
---
1200 Hours, 3 September 1939
Location: In the Skies Over the Alps
The aircraft continued its journey southward, crossing over the mountain range that separated Germany from Italy. The peaks of the Alps were a stark contrast to the flat plains of Poland they had left behind. From the windows, the landscape below looked serene, almost peaceful—a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that had gripped their lives for the past several days.
Erich could feel the weight of his new role as he sat in the aircraft, looking out at the changing scenery. This wasn't where he expected to be, and certainly not after everything that had transpired. But the war had a way of throwing unexpected tasks at men, and this one—an escort mission—felt almost absurd in its insignificance.
Herr Müller looked up from his papers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the view. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" he remarked, his voice calm, almost detached from the situation.
Erich nodded. "Beautiful, but dangerous. The world is changing."
The diplomat smirked. "Indeed. But perhaps the change is for the better. Only time will tell."
Erich didn't reply, instead watching the clouds below as they parted to reveal the distant Italian countryside. He didn't share Müller's optimism. There was nothing beautiful about war, and he doubted that anything good would come from it, no matter what the politicians said.
---
1400 Hours, 3 September 1939
Location: Italian Border
The plane's descent began as they neared the Italian border. The aircraft's engines roared louder as it adjusted its altitude, and the familiar tension in the air grew once more. Erich's squad members straightened in their seats, their bodies braced for the landing.
Müller put away his papers, briefly glancing at the squad before turning his attention back to the approaching landscape. His face was impassive, yet there was something calculating in his gaze. Erich couldn't quite place it, but the man had a way of carrying himself that suggested he was more than just a diplomat.
As the plane made its final descent, Erich thought about what awaited them in Italy. They had no clear idea of what the political discussions would involve, but Erich knew that the path to war was long and twisted. If anything, this mission might offer him a brief reprieve from the horrors of battle.
But only a brief one.
---
1430 Hours, 3 September 1939
Location: Airfield, Northern Italy
The aircraft touched down on an airfield that felt a world away from the conflict they had left behind. The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. The squad disembarked from the plane, their boots hitting the tarmac with a heavy thud.
The diplomat, Müller, was the first to step out, his composure as perfect as ever. Several Italian officials awaited them at the edge of the airfield, their uniforms pristine, their expressions unreadable. A brief exchange of words passed between Müller and the Italians, but Erich paid little attention. His focus was on the surroundings—this was no longer the realm of warfare; it was the realm of diplomacy, a game that he had never understood or been a part of.
After the formalities were exchanged, the group moved toward waiting vehicles. The diplomat's vehicle was armored, flanked by Italian guards. Erich and his squad took up position around it, watching for any signs of danger. It was strange, this new role they were taking on—no longer soldiers of the front, but protectors of a man who spoke words while the rest of the world fought.
As the convoy began to move, Erich felt the tension rise again. This was unfamiliar ground. But in the back of his mind, he knew that while this mission might seem less critical than the war, it would still play a role in shaping the future.
And the convoy made its way deeper into Italy