overlords during the Protestant Reformation. They returned centuries later and built a new abbey facing the old. Unfortunately for the monks, covetous secular hands were never far behind. For nearly a century, the abbey buildings housed a Prussian military academy. One of its graduates was Paul von Hindenburg, Germany’s last commander in chief during World War I and the man who named Adolf Hitler as Germany’s Chancellor.
Now Legnickie Pole served as a temporary headquarters for another invading force.
The cluster of jeeps, trucks, and armored vehicles constituting the 7th Panzer Division’s forward command post filled a small campground on the edge of the village. Infantrymen, Milan antitank missile teams, and air defense units stood guard around the perimeter. Polish stragglers cut off by the rapid Confederation advance were showing an irritating reluctance to accept defeat and surrender. Instead they seemed determined to fight on — attacking supply convoys, command posts, and even fighting units whenever possible. Constant vigilance was necessary — especially at night.
Lieutenant Colonel Willi von Seelow paused before following Colonel Bremer into the central headquarters tent. Since the war began he’d been spending eighteen to twenty hours a day inside the brigade’s cramped M577 headquarters vehicle — preparing and discarding or distributing new operations plans as the tactical situation changed. Now he relished this rare chance to stretch to his full height. It was also a chance to breathe fresh air only lightly tinged with diesel fumes, smoke, and sweat.
Flashes lit the night sky to the south, followed seconds later by the muffled drumbeat of heavy artillery. III Corps gunners were pounding stubborn Polish rear guards holding the road junction at Jawor. A flickering orange glow to the west marked a village set ablaze during the day’s fighting.
Von Seelow could also hear the steady rumble of heavy traffic crawling south and east along the highways outside the town. He frowned. With six divisions converging on a front only fifty kilometers or so wide, the roads were clogged. Vital supplies — tank and artillery ammunition, and diesel fuel — weren’t getting forward fast enough. Unless those rear-area logistical tangles could be sorted out, this offensive risked bogging down under its own weight.
He shook his head, pushing away strategic concerns beyond his scope, and went inside.
Bremer was up front, near a pair of cloth-covered map stands. The 19th Panzergrenadier’s short, dark-haired commander stood in the middle of a small circle of other senior officers, chatting amicably with the men who led the division’s two Panzer brigades. Willi pushed through the crowded tent to join him. General Karl Leibnitz had evidently summoned all of his combat commanders and their top staff officers to this late night meeting.
That wasn’t surprising. With events knocking their prewar plans further and further out of whack, the 7th Panzer and the other Confederation units inside Poland urgently needed new instructions and new objectives.
The assembled officers came to attention as Leibnitz pushed past the tent’s blackout flap.
“At ease, gentlemen.” The general took his place at the front. “Let’s not waste time with formalities.”
He pulled the cover off the left-hand map. It showed the EurCon Army’s current positions and those held by the Poles. “Summer Lightning has failed to achieve its primary objective — the encirclement and annihilation of the Polish 4th and 11th mechanized divisions. The Poles have fallen back too far and too fast for us to get behind them.”
Von Seelow and the others nodded. Despite their best efforts, the 7th Panzer’s rapid advance through the forest had netted only a few laggard enemy units — none larger than company-sized groupings of antique T-55 tanks and wheeled troop carriers. Poland’s best troops had escaped the trap. The war plan’s vaunted “jaws of steel” had closed on empty air and deserted Polish farmland.
“As a result, we’ve been given new orders by II Corps.” The division commander turned to the map on the second stand. It showed a set of red arrows arcing north past Legnica before turning and coming south again.
“We turn northeast, pushing along these tertiary roads here and here.” Leibnitz traced them as he talked. “Our first objective is the bridge over the Cicha Woda at Kawice.” He tapped a tiny village near the junction of the Oder River and its small tributary.
“From there we advance southeast toward Sroda Slaska and Katy Wroclawskie, using the Oder to protect our left flank.” The general saw their understanding and nodded. “That’s correct, gentlemen. If we move fast — very fast — we can swing around the Polish lines and cut them off from Wroclaw before they have time to retreat again.”
What? Willi wondered which idiot on the corps staff had come up with this half-baked half-measure. Without stopping to consider the consequences, he shook his head and took a step closer to the map.
The movement and gesture caught Leibnitz’s attention. “Something about this plan troubles you, von Seelow?”
Suddenly feeling all the eyes in the crowded tent boring into his back, Willi nodded. “Yes, Herr General, it does.”
“Well?”
Willi swallowed the urge to retreat. His duty as an officer required him to speak up. “This turning movement is too shallow, Herr General. Once the Poles realize what we are up to, they’ll have little trouble shifting local reserves to slow us down or seal off our penetration entirely. And once that happens, we’ll only find ourselves locked into a bloody, head-to-head slugging match again.”
“And what do you suggest instead?” The general’s flat tone made it very clear that he had better damned well have an alternative in mind.
“That we advance north
Leibnitz pondered the map in a silence that dragged uncomfortably. Then he shook his head. “Our orders are clear, Colonel. They come straight from General Montagne himself. He has little patience and less time for perfect ’staff school’ solutions. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Von Seelow groaned inwardly. Until now their French corps commander had seemed content to rely on his staff and his division commanders. The prospect of trying to carry out superficial plans hatched by Montagne himself sent chills down his spine.
“Good.” Leibnitz scanned his assembled officers. “We move out at first light. I suggest you all make sure your vehicles are topped off and restocked. Once we break into the enemy’s rear areas, it may be some time before we can be resupplied.”
His gaze fell on the commander of his reconnaissance battalion. “Major Lauer’s tanks and scout cars will lead the way. Your watchword, Max, is speed. Speed, speed, and still more speed!”
His ears still burning from the general’s implied rebuke, Willi von Seelow listened to the rest of the briefing in silence.
Sixty Leopard 1 tanks, Luchs scout cars, and Fuchs infantry carriers raced east, thundering through fields of standing wheat and corn. Dust plumes marked their passage. Robbed of rain by several days of unseasonably clear weather, the roads and fields were dry.
Major Max Lauer spat to clear some of the dust from his mouth, and used one gloved hand to swipe at his goggles. He squinted down the dirt road ahead, trying to catch a first glimpse of the little farming village called Kawice.
It appeared as soon as his command tank crested a low rise rolling up out of the flat Polish countryside. A half-timbered church steeple rose above scattered roofs only a couple of kilometers away. Small stands of trees traced the meandering path of the narrow river that cut Kawice in half. The bridge linking the two halves was still out of sight. But at this speed, his battalion would be on top of it in minutes.
A voice crackled through his headphones. “Rover One, this is Rover Charlie One.” The commander of C Company — a mixed force of Leopards and Luchs scout cars — had something to report. “Spot report! Vehicles moving toward the town! Across the river.”
Lauer snapped his head in that direction and raised his binoculars. At first, he could only see the yellow- brown haze of dust churned up by speeding tracks and tires. Then he could make out individual vehicles — little more than brown and light green dots at this distance. They were moving up the road from Sroda Slaska at high speed.
