Machine gun fire and the thunder of landmines echoed through the city for nearly the entire night.
An entire Polish infantry division had been thrown into the assault. Thousands of n had died before dawn, yet all they had seized was barely one tenth of Elbląg.
Worse still, because most of the fighting had been street battles and small scale engagents, Kenlar, the commander responsible for coordinating seven divisions, still had no clear understanding of how many German troops were actually inside the city.
And because General Headquarters had repeatedly demanded that the city's buildings and residents be preserved, the artillery had been reduced to useless scrap tal.
They could only fight the Germans room by room, staircase by staircase, alley by alley. German rifles, hidden machine guns, landmines, and snipers had turned every street into a butcher's stall. Every ter gained had to be bought with Polish lives.
Inside the makeshift command post, Kenlar stared at the latest casualty report in silence.
Then he made his decision.
"Have the artillery prepare."
The adjutant froze for a mont.
"Commander, Warsaw has repeatedly ordered that artillery and other heavy weapons must not be used against the city. Tens of thousands of residents still haven't been evacuated. Once we open fire…"
Kenlar's hand pressed down slowly, cutting him off.
The adjutant wisely shut his mouth.
"This is a goddamn war," Kenlar said coldly. "Do they expect to fight with my hands and feet tied? How the hell am I supposed to win like that?"
His voice rose into a roar.
"Order the assault troops to withdraw. Then bomb them."
Inside the city, the German defenders soon noticed the Polish troops pulling back from several key streets.
A mont later, the sky began to scream.
Whoosh.
Countless shells tore through the air, shrieking like harbingers of death.
Then they fell.
The entire city trembled beneath the bombardnt.
The Ninth Infantry Division had already sensed sothing was wrong when the enemy withdrew. Most of its soldiers had taken shelter inside the defensive structures originally built by the Poles themselves. The n were mostly safe.
The unlucky ones were the Polish residents who had been tied up and imprisoned in warehouses, cellars, and public buildings.
Bang!
A shell punched through the roof of a warehouse and exploded in the middle of the crowd.
Blood splashed across wooden beams. Charred flesh scattered among torn clothing. The foul stench of burning bodies quickly filled the street.
These civilians had not died under German guns.
They had died beneath Polish artillery.
In the underground temporary command post, Svintu, commander of the Ninth Infantry Division, wiped dust and sand from his hair. His face was blackened, and his voice was harsh enough to cut stone.
"Where the hell is Manstein?"
The sa madness was unfolding in Danzig.
Rilandor, having completely lost patience with the German troops inside the city, directly ordered his artillery positions to open fire on Danzig.
He had no interest in playing cat and mouse with those Germans any longer.
The navy had already inford him that two German cargo ships were sailing toward Danzig.
He did not need to think hard to know what those ships were carrying.
Reinforcents.
Ammunition.
Supplies.
Perhaps even heavier weapons.
Rilandor had never trusted the navy. If the submarines failed to sink those ships, then who knew how long it would take to retake Danzig?
"Division Commander, are you certain you don't want to notify the other two infantry division commanders first?" his adjutant asked urgently. "Their troops launched the second wave of attacks this morning. Thousands of n are still fighting chaotically with the Germans inside the city."
"If you order the artillery to fire now, it could easily cause friendly casualties…"
Rilandor slamd his fist onto the table.
"There's no ti for that! I am the overall commander here, and everything will be done according to my orders. So what if a few n die?"
His eyes were bloodshot.
"The priority is to take back Danzig through artillery bombardnt."
He jabbed a finger toward the map.
"What if the navy fails? What if those ships reach the port and resupply the Germans with ammunition? Are you going to crawl through the minefields yourself and take the city back with your bare hands?"
anwhile, in the Baltic Sea.
Near the Polish naval base at Darłowo, a modified Type E submarine prowled through the ink black depths like a steel leviathan waiting to hunt.
Another K class submarine purchased from the British was still trapped in the dry dock because of a chanical failure. Most of the old torpedo boats seized from Germany during the war were also under repair.
At that mont, this was the only vessel Poland could truly use.
Captain Plary pressed his ear against the headphones, listening intently to the oppressive silence beneath the sea.
The hydrophone carried very little at first.
Only the faint groan of water.
The distant breathing of the seabed.
Then the silence broke.
A strange rhythm erged in his ears. It was not the sound of a large animal thrashing its tail, but the steady pulse of propellers. Several layers of chanical noise overlapped in the water, like a monkey dragging a blade across piano strings.
"Periscope," Plary ordered.
On a submarine, the captain's word was law.
The first mate, who had served with him for years, moved to the periscope and looked through it.
"Not close enough," he reported. "We need to surface more."
"Surface," Plary ordered. "Two ships. One at thirty five degrees off the port stern, the other at fifteen degrees starboard."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Germany has no anti-submarine vessels. The Baltic is about to freeze, and cargo ships will travel at five knots at most for safety. We can catch them no matter what."
His voice grew sharper.
"What we need to consider is how to sink both of them quickly. Prepare the torpedoes."
The crew answered in unison.
"Yes, Captain!"
The submarine rose quickly until the periscope could finally break the surface and peer across the sea.
Sure enough, a cargo ship was cruising across the calm water. Farther behind it, the bow of another vessel could be seen vaguely through the darkness.
No escort.
No warships.
No destroyers.
The two German cargo ships looked like two pieces of fat at placed within arm's reach.
"Turn to starboard," Plary shouted. "We'll sink our German beauties from the right."
The crew was clearly excited.
Even if they were not engaging enemy warships, sinking German cargo vessels with torpedoes still counted as an achievent.
"Yes, Captain!"
None of them knew that deep behind their Type E submarine, the long dormant U-01 had already set its sights on them.
Inside U-01, the air was hot, stale, and suffocating. Because of the unbearable stuffiness, Dönitz had stripped down almost completely, with only his military cap still marking him as captain.
He listened to the sound patterns transmitted by the new hydrophone. The submarine was still experintal, and many of its functions had not yet been fully tested.
But there was no choice.
The country needed it.
Even if U-01 had no torpedoes, even if they were ordered to ram the enemy with the submarine itself, they would do it as long as it protected Germany.
"They're turning to starboard," the hydrophone operator reported.
Dönitz listened for a few seconds, then sneered.
"That British submarine is as noisy as a volcanic eruption. If I'm not mistaken, it's a Type E. I didn't expect the Poles would even want such an antique."
He straightened.
"Surface enough to intercept. Don't let them escape to the right. I don't have ti to play dodgeball with them."
His eyes sharpened beneath the brim of his cap.
"Sink them here."
Aboard the Type E submarine, the sudden noise in the headphones made Plary's expression change drastically.
No.
Sothing was wrong.
Another submarine was approaching.
And it was directly behind them.
"Damn it! Stop turning! Dive! Dive imdiately!"
But it was already too late.
On U-01, Dönitz had already given the attack order.
"Flood tubes one and two."
The launch operator shouted, "Ready!"
Dönitz's voice rang through the cramped hull.
"Fire!"
Two torpedoes, driven forward by compressed air, shot out into the dark water.
Monts later, two bursts of white light exploded dozens of ters beneath the sea.
They struck the hull of the Type E submarine head-on.
The deep seabed beca Captain Plary's grave, and the expensive submarine Poland had bought and modified from the British beca the steel coffin that swallowed him and his crew.
Inside U-01, the noise gradually vanished.
The hydrophone returned once more to the lonely rhythm of the two cargo ships.
Dönitz took a deep breath.
A rare smile appeared on his tense face.
The Polish naval base was not far from their current position. Since actual combat opportunities were so rare, he intended to test a little more.
"Full left rudder. Turn us around," he ordered. "Let U-02 continue escorting the cargo ships."
He placed his cap more firmly on his head.
"We're going to take a look around the Polish naval base."
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
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