Circle of Hate

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/tmasud/1154906/

Weak Man's Drug

Fantasy, the pathetic drug of the weak-

Unfulfilling, deceiving, and pointless;

Why waste precious time with such trash, mongrel?

Aim higher, search for the pleasures of life,

Not for inconceivable, fake, phantasms.

Go far! Glory lies beyond the horizon!

Why would you, a man, trade the brimming Cup of Life

For an impossible dark and empty Grail

Which lies unsecurely founded upon a low man's mind?

Blame not the stars, you are the sole captain of your fate,

Your weakness and cowardice yours and yours alone.

Charge! Master your destiny, drink from the Cup!

Abandon all false reality and keep in mind :

All dreams must end when the dreamer wakes

Godspeed! You may yet have what it takes.

Survivor's Guilt

Boom. Boom.

The constant, incessant noise and tremor of exploding shells and the screams of the damned formed an almost pleasant, albeit melancholy, tuneful sound in the child’s ears. Slowly, she rose from her stupor, and became aware of her surroundings. She was laying face first amidst a pile of rubble. There was a foul stench upon the air, and the child grimaced as she stood up.

Boom. Boom.

All about her was a scene of carnage. Destroyed buildings, fires, and flying shells sullied the crisp morning air. With a shock, the child realized that this ravaged landscape was her own town, her whole life. Flashes in the sky caught her attention, and she looked up to see bombers and fighter planes shooting at each other in the sky.

It was all too much for her to comprehend, and she collapsed onto her knees, cupping her head in her arms. What was happening? There was a small glimmer in the wreckage near her; something had caught the cold light. The child stood up and walked towards it, and gasped as she realized that she was covered in cuts and bruises everywhere. They began to hurt even as she made her realization, but she determinedly trudged onwards towards the shiny object.

Boom. Boom.

Shells tore into a tall military building only a mile away, eclipsing all the sight and sound of the area. The girl spared a second to glance at the falling building, then turned and retrieved the object. A lump formed in her throat as she recognized it. It was the silver candlestick which had decorated the dining room. This was her house. Only, it wasn’t really a house anymore.

A burning new question drove everything else from her mind and occupied her full focus. Where were her parents? She had to find them! She knew she had to do it quickly, because bad things would happen if she did not. She was not quite able to say what, but she simply knew she had to find them instantly.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. She whirled around, arms outstretched, screaming wildly to call for help, when her eyes fell upon the figure’s face. It was her father. The child choked back a sob, and rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly. She then noticed that her mother was right next to him, and emotionally embraced her too.

Boom. Boom.

“What’s happening, Papa?”, the girl asked in a scared tone.

“The enemy’s attacked us. This is an invasion. Now, we have to get away from here somehow. I think our side’s managed to capture this side safely. Thank God we’re all still safe and alive.”

The girl cut in, fear evident in her face, “How do we get away? There are planes and men with guns everywhere.”

Her father frowned, twiddling his fingers, as he tried to give a positive answer. “I don’t know, dear. For now, we should just stick together and keep far away from trouble.”

The mother nodded in assent, and the three moved away from the general direction of the fighting. They kept trekking for almost half an hour, with the father constantly looking concernedly over his shoulder, when he called them to a stop.

“It’s as I feared. The fight’s moving our way, and very quickly. We need to speed up and find some sort of rescue quickly. And in case anything happens, don’t get separated.” His voice had a slight tremor in it as he spoke, betraying the fear behind his generally neutral tone. The child had the feeling that his last sentence was directed specifically at her, rather than to the whole group.

They began to run again, covering ground much faster with the knowledge that the danger was increasing. The child saw all the carnage and destruction as she ran, absorbing all of it, changing internally, becoming a new person. Nobody who sees war can ever be the same afterwards. Where only hours ago had been a prosperous town, there were now ruins and death.

Boom. Boom.

This time, the roaring of the shells was accompanied by a loud whirring. A helicopter pierced the sky in front of the group and moved towards them. The family huddled together, child sweating nervously, mother praying fervently, and father steadfastly looking what appeared to be certain death in the eye. But as the helicopter landed, it became evident it was not hostile. A smile dawned on the father’s face as he realized what was 

happening.

“By God’s grace, it’s a rescue! They’ve got the rescue copters here!”. His voice was jubilant and full of victory.

The pilot stuck his head out and spoke, in a stiff voice, “Sorry folks, we’ve only got space for one.” It was as though cold water had suddenly been poured on the child. Only one? They couldn’t do that, it wouldn’t be right. She looked back to see both her parents smiling at her.

She spoke blankly, “No. I’m not leaving.” Her voice began to stick in her throat as she grew more emotional. “You said we had to stick together.”

“This is different, dearest. You have to escape. Your mother and I are adults, we can take care of ourselves. But if there’s any chance to keep you safe, we have to take it. No but’s about the matter. Now, be a good girl and get on the helicopter.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and she ran to embrace her parents, overcome by the emotions. She sobbed into her father’s shoulder, saying, “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you. Please.” Her father held her shoulders and slowly, carefully, pulled her away.

The pilot seemed to have been touched by the emotional scene unfolding before him, and took out two metallic button-like items from the helicopter, handing them to the parents. “These here are transmitters. We’ll be able to see where you are from inside the copter, and I’ll come get you soon as I’ve got your girl out safe. I promise you that, I give you my word.”

They took the transmitters and cupped them in their hands, then motioned the child towards the helicopter. Choking back tears, the girl stepped into the helicopter, and waved ferociously as it began to take off, the sound of the rotors drowning out everything, even the farewell shouts of her parents. And then they were gone, up in the air, flying away from all the fighting.

The pilot seemed to take pity on the girl, and pulled up the transmitter screen in front of her. “These two red dots here, they’re your mum and dad. So long as those transmitters keep transmittin’, we’ll be able to find ‘em easy as dandy. So don’t you worry your little head about it, your parents’ll be just fine.”

The girl seemed to be placated for a moment, and the next minute or so passed in silence as she stared intently 

at the screen.

Boom. Boom.

The shrieking of an exploding shell tore through the sky, and an immense shockwave hit the helicopter, sending it spinning into the air, cause such a tremendous vibration that it seemed to the child as though the very metal of the copter was disintegrating. Teeth were jarring, rotors were screaming, and all was shaking, shaking with a devastating intensity.

And suddenly it was all over. The shaking stopped, and the pilot let out a relieved sigh. “Whew, that was pretty close. Looks like we made it though, eh?” He didn’t receive a reply, and turned to look at the girl, who was staring, shocked, at the screen.

Amidst the mass of green lines and white spaces, something had changed during the blast. The red dots were 

gone.

Boom. Boom.

It was in a melancholy, confused state, that the passengers of the helicopter continued their journey towards safety.

Collector Extraordinaire

Space, space, so much free space.

Shelves, shelves, so many empty shelves.

Grab a head, take off the face,

Stack them in twelve’s.

But what next?

Bones, hair, wings, skins,

Teeth, eyes, bloodied fins,

Stick them on pins,

Accompanied by helpful text.

My specimens are as beauty,

Adorning my shelves,

Perfect in ambiguity, are they humans or elves?

The shelves are full;

My collection is complete.

But I am gripped by ennui, so I toss it and repeat:

Space, space, so much free space,

Shelves, shelves, so many empty shelves.

Reflective Judgement ( Poem )

I – The Manifestation

A forest, beautiful, resplendent in green vitality spreads out before me,

Gracing human perception with vividness unearthly,

Far from the worries of the dark realm known as the world,

A painting of life going on through eternity

A spectacle, however, doomed to be maligned,

As an unknown insanity adds its own design,

The strokes of a brush wildly swung from left to right

Turn even the greatest beauty into a fright,

Winds, harbingers of sorrow begin to rise

Hostility pervades the peace,

The air is rent with my cries

Upon beholding the Queen of the Night.

II – The Beholding

Paler than white, with tresses darker than black

The demon maid stares at me,

Deep, dark oceans of Evil pulling, drowning my sanity,

I scream, dismayed by the horror of the attack.

A crow clacks menacingly above,

The only life left to the peace

Watching, with a disgusting love

The face of Terror manifest

I behold her once more, even as she beholds me

Her visage a mask that reeks of insincere beauty

Behind it, a stench of age old death, seasoned with pain newly bloodied

With no pretense of austerity

III – The Truth

Unearthly beauty is now unearthly fear,

As the forest that once was fades away

Replaced by an endless void, with darkness ever too near,

Leaving me facing the figure, yet with infinity to stray

As we watch each other, my fear only grows

And I step back, towards oblivion

But strangely, she follows the same action I chose,

Her eyes boring into mine, four black orbs of obsidian

The perilous beauty of the Truth dawns on me,

A bittersweet light amidst the fear,

Only to a mirror did I adhere

All of my horrifying fantasy

Graveyard of Glory ( Rewritten )

There’s so many of them…!

Janus Kolby sat mounted on his horse, surveying the scene ahead of him. The three stripes on his right shoulder indicated that he was a strzelec of the Polish army, and the stars on the other signified that he was a member of the 18^th Uhlan Regiment. He seemed a young man, maybe of eighteen years of age, and his whole body quivered with tension. His pupils were vibrating with a manic energy, burning black stars in a vast field of white.

He looked again at the incredible scene ahead of him, unable to tear his eyes away from it. Over a thousand German tanks were advancing through the lush Polish countryside towards the border village of Krojanty. The tanks were as an invasive virus in the scenery, man-made tools of destruction ruining the beauty of pristine Krojanty and the deep, lush, leafy forest that formed a green wall around it.

The tanks purred on at a steady rate, heading straight for the forest. It would take them a while to get there yet.  Giant metal behemoths. The greatest of all of the steeds of war.

And I’m going to have to fight them. That’s delusional! Uhlans can’t destroy tanks!

Janus had never before imagined that joining the military would be anything like this. For him, it had initially been a peaceful job, something that he would enjoy, something allowing him to serve his country.

I wasn’t supposed to get tangled up in a bloody war!

Janus fumed to himself for a moment, then started impatiently fidgeting on his horse. Waiting for the Kapitan to begin the ambush was allowing his tension to build up further and further. His thoughts were already darting towards the possible disastrous consequences of the attack.

What if they’re expecting the attack? What if we can’t beat them all? There’s not so many of us anyways, and besides, they’re on bloody tanks! What if we lose? We might all die! Why am I stuck here in this mess?

This was nothing like his early days in the military. Back then it had just been him and his comrades, proudly declaring that they were eager to serve their country in any way they could.

Now that it’s come to it, though, I’m being rather a hypocrite, aren’t I?

The offhand thought passed through Janus’ mind, and he grimaced. Had he really once proclaimed openly that he would die for Poland? Had it been him who had claimed that he would slay all his enemies, no matter how strong?

I was a fool. And now that I’m here, I can see how wrong I was. Real war is different. I don’t want to die. It would be so…-so WRONG! This isn’t supposed to happen!

Janus’ thoughts reached an overwhelming crescendo of despair, and he allowed a groan to escape his mouth. He decided to look at the village of Krojanty, hoping that the breathtaking scenery would capture his attention.

It really was a most stunning place. A picturesque village with a quaint sort of feel to it was nestled comfortably on the fringe of the massive, lush, and beautiful forest. Just by staring at it, some of Janus’ tension seemed to disappear. But not enough. He was still frightened.

When did I first start feeling like this, anyways?  It was only yesterday, wasn’t it?

He had been ordered by the military head at the barracks to join the 18^th Uhlan Regiment and go to Krojanty. Initially, he hadn’t taken it very well. All his false illusions of military life seemed to fall apart in front of his eyes, and he had gone and sobbed shamefully in a corner, berating himself all the while for being such a coward. He had felt horrible cheated by life, and it was in a sulky manner that he had first come here.

Most of it had worn off by now, though, only to be replaced with a powerful, gnawing fear.

Why don’t the others look scared? Is it only me? Am I a coward? Oh God, I wish I had a friend here!

Janus was distracted from his tumultuous thoughts as the Kapitan approached him. He was by far the oldest soldier there, almost old enough to be retired. He had a kind, fatherly air around him, and was much loved by all the soldiers.

“Nervous, Janus?” The Kapitan asked kindly.

Janus stumbled for a moment before replying, but decided to be honest.

“Terrified,” he mumbled, shamefacedly, scratching the side of his face.

The Kapitan chuckled upon hearing his reply, and spoke encouragingly to him “Don’t worry; I was much the same before my first battle. It gets much better once the fighting starts and you don’t have time to think about all the possible ways it could go wrong anymore. Besides, this is nothing. I don’t put much faith in these tank machines, we can always outmanoeuvre them. We shall meet them with fire and sword.  What an energetic boy like you ought to see is a REAL battle, like the ones in the Great War.”

“Sir…you were in the Great War?” Janus was amazed. He was amazed.

He’s a hero! A real, live, Polish war hero! Maybe we still have a chance after all!

The Kapitan’s eyes twinkled as he replied, “Yes, I was indeed. And I can assure you I felt much the same as you before my first battle. Don’t you worry about a thing, young man. Just enjoy the fun. Trust me, it’ll be the most exhilarating experience you’ve ever had.”

Janus fell completely victim to the paternal air of the Kapitan, and let out his greatest, and most shameful fear.

“Sir…do you think that we’re all going to lose? …To-to die?” He practically stammered the words, unable to say them without feeling an intense feeling of shame. But to his great surprise, the Kapitan only laughed, a tuneful chortle that gave the misleading impression of a much younger man.

“To die? We may, and yet we may not. Does it really matter all that much?”, he asked. “I found out the secret to enjoying life long ago, during the last war. It’s to stop worrying. Some things may go well, others may not. Accepting this makes everything easier, doesn’t it? All that can ruin your life is that horrible feeling, worry. It clouds everything else, and forces you to see the beautiful world as a hellish, god-forsaken place.  So, my advice is that you simply don’t worry. Only the good God can see the outcome of our battle.”

He cast a last friendly glance at Janus, and then spoke again, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get the troops into position. I’d suggest you get to your post too, young man!”

Janus watched him ride away; calling out orders to the Uhlans, and it was as though a great weight had lifted from his chest. He had found a friend, it seemed.

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all. We might just win this war yet. And if not, what does it really matter anyways!? We’ll have done our best, and we’ll die defending our country. What more can I wish for?

The Uhlans had all assembled, and were arranged in rows of a hundred. It was an awe-inspiring scene, thousands upon thousands of men with gleaming weapons mounted on their horses, facing down a slope which led to the forest of Krojanty. It was a scene right out of a fairy tale.

Janus was in the front ranks, and his tension had all but disappeared. He felt astonished by its absence. It had been replaced with a feeling of hope, a desire to do his best. The forces arranged, the Kapitan turned around to face them and spoke.

“Fellows! Comrades! Friends! It seems as though it’s finally time for us to begin. Before we charge, I want each and every one of you to know that the people of Poland will be forever indebted to you, and your actions on the battlefield today will determine the future of our beloved country.  Today, you show yourselves to be men! To be soldiers! To be heroes! And now, we charge! Onward, heroes of Poland!”

The Uhlan’s charged, tearing down the beautiful slope at a breakneck pace, dashing through the scenic landscape like a bowshot.  Janus felt empowered to see such vital energy in all his friends. The Kapitan had done his job well, and they were now all as ready to fight as Janus. He laughed enthusiastically as they rode.

They will sing about us for decades to come! We’ll be the immortal heroes of Poland!

As the cavalry neared the tanks, they began to sound the horns of war, massive bellowing sounds emanating from among the ranks of horses. It was time! They would all prove their worth!

The tanks were taken completely by surprise as the first ranks of Uhlans fell upon the frontline of infantry defense. Janus charged in, and looked into the eyes of a German soldier, stabbing him as he passed. Even though he was rushing by, he saw the man die, saw the light leaving his eyes. And he felt a new feeling rise in his chest, taking the place of the fear which had been there only minutes ago.

I have power. They cannot best me. What are they fighting for, anyways? I’m fighting for a reason! There’s no way that they can defeat me!

He had enjoyed it. Enjoyed seeing the man die. And Janus learned one of the truths of the world then. The only two types of people were the predatory and the prey. He had been the prey up until now. But it was oh-so-much more satisfying to be a predator.

He slit another German’s throat in his next rush, watching the red nectar seep out from his neck as he inevitable surrendered to fate and succumbed to the wound.

Within seconds, the infantry defenses were decimated. But by now, the tanks were ready to fight. As the cavalry charged them, trying in vain to damage them, they were taken off guard. A tank had fired. The shell exploded near a group of Uhlans, piercing the sky with the sound of a massive explosion. The sudden silence which followed was terrifying. And then, there were more explosions.

The Poles screamed and broke formation, spreading out randomly into the battlefield, trying only to avoid the devastating shells. The tanks fired, again, and again. Grown men cried, hundreds screamed, and horses ran amok. What had only minutes ago been a victorious charge was now a massacre.

What? We’re losing? But…how?

Searching for the reassuring face of the Kapitan, Janus scanned the battle. His eyes fell upon him almost at once, and he screamed.

“Sir! What should we do? We cannot match these monsters!”

The Kapitan looked at Janus, and was about to speak, when a shadow fell over him. A shell was about to land. He looked straight up at the men who had rallied to him, and gave them a comforting, kindly smile.

But then he was gone, gone in an explosion of fire and smoke, a terrifying pandemonium of limbs and shrapnel. The Poles screamed in unison. Their leader was gone; they had no chance any longer. And then they began to run, to flee, doing whatever it was that they could to get away from the horrifying battle.

Janus looked on helplessly as they were cut down by oncoming shells. Fleeing was only serving to have his allies slain faster. Where there had only minutes ago been a peaceful forest there was now devastation, a wildfire, a graveyard to be.

However, he had no intentions to flee. He was at peace with himself after the Kapitan’s words, and decided that he would stay and die for Poland. And then, an incredible rage took over him. These foreigners had stained his country. They had sown Her fields with the blood of Her own children! The vile, two faced, monsters! He would kill them all!

By some luck, he was still alive, and he meant to make the most of it. He dashed forwards, slashing wildly at the nearest tank. He 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.

Graveyard of Glory

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.