Iron and Blood: A Triumph of the Will

Gromlandburg, German military base

The greyish dawn sky was dotted with sparse morning stars, and the wind swept from the Baltic Sea straight to the south bank of the Warta River.

Mist billowed over the Varta River.

The German Shepherd, kept by the German army, opened its nose and sniffed hard; a faint smell of blood had been lingering in the air for a long time.

Further into the military camp, through the thick fog, one could see the bodies left behind by the attackers the previous night.

The Germans had clearly anticipated yesterday's attack, so they converted a barn not far from the barracks into a fortress, making the Poles who attacked there pay a bloody price.

Wolf was holding Mass next to the military camp, which was unusually quiet these days.

Last night was a bloody and violent affair, not to mention what he was about to do, which was far from peaceful.

While reciting the contents of the Bible, Wolf raised his hand to look at his watch.

Seeing a trace of blood on the watch face, he couldn't help but frown slightly, take out a handkerchief and wipe it clean. This was a gold watch that Joachim had given him.

Wolf cherished it greatly, and after wiping it clean, he checked the time.

Looking at the sun again, it was still hiding behind the horizon, lazily refusing to rise.

So Wolf decided to accelerate the sun.

With a wave of his hand, seven or eight German soldiers led a dozen or so Polish militiamen forward.

Because they were militia members, they were dressed in civilian clothes.

However, Wolf was very thoughtful and specially found them a set of Polish military uniforms to change into.

It allowed them to have some dignity before they died.

A respectable military uniform, blindfolds covering their eyes, and their faces turned toward their beloved motherland—the East.

He kicked the Polish militiaman on the left, sending him to his knees, and his other subordinates quickly followed suit.

"Click!"

The sound of a bullet being chambered shattered the tranquility of the German military camp with a gunshot.

The man on the far left of these Polish militiamen fell to the ground, his red and white brain matter splattering from the cracks in his skull.

The yellow-green grass was covered in sap, but what surprised Wolf the most was that the Polish militiaman was still alive.

He made groaning sounds, his legs twitching as he tried to get up from the ground.

Wolff clearly wouldn't give him that chance.

Take two steps forward, lift your foot, and press it down.

The German soldier's signature high boots slammed down on the Polish militiaman's back.

Raise your hand, aim, and pull the trigger.

Wolf finished his suffering and then moved on to the next person.

"Bang..."

Several more gunshots rang out, and the seven or eight people who had been kneeling on the ground became corpses.

Those who were still alive were trembling with fear.

Seeing that the timing was right, Wolff finally revealed his true skills.

Remove the magazine and reload the bullets.

He put the pistol back on his waist, took the flask from his companion, and took a large gulp.

Killing so many people in a row caused Wolf some physical discomfort.

No one is born a butcher, and this applies equally to Wolf, who transitioned from being a driver.

The more people he killed, the more he needed to numb himself with alcohol, because only in this way would he feel that what he was doing had meaning.

After drinking the strong liquor, his spirits finally recovered somewhat.

He stepped forward again, raised his hand, and grabbed it.

With gloved hands gripping the trembling Polish militiaman, Wolf coldly asked in Polish, "Where is he?"

"I...I don't know."

"Bang!"

Without uttering a single unnecessary word, Wolf raised his gun and fired.

"Take off all your blindfolds."

Wolf gave the cold instructions.

The other German soldiers responded immediately and removed the blindfolds from the Polish militiamen's eyes.

These Polish militia members, after enduring a long period of darkness,

When I opened my eyes again, it was as if I were in hell, with the blood and corpses of my compatriots everywhere.

They were terrified.

Wolff did not hesitate and continued to draw his gun and fire!

However, this time he deliberately missed; he didn't hit the back of the head, but instead hit the cervical spine.

So this was not an immediate fatal wound. The person who was hit screamed and fell to the ground, convulsing uncontrollably.

The man tried to get up, but his bound hands prevented him from doing so, so he could only crawl like a maggot.

This hellish scene, witnessed by other Polish militia members, directly broke down their psychological defenses.

Yes, they were indeed staunch Polish nationalists, and they were prepared to be executed.

But such a painful and hellish way of dying simply cannot make faith overcome fear.

This is an agonizing torment that comes from the very core of one's being.

So when the cold muzzle of the gun was pressed against his spine, the Polish militiaman whose body was being aimed at trembled violently and uncontrollably.

At the same time, he felt a warm current flowing towards his crotch, making his lower body feel wet.

He slumped down, muttering, "I know... I'll say it..."

"Gdzie on jest?"

Where is he?

Wolf put away his gun, crouched down, and stared at the man's face.

The latter didn't even dare to lift his eyes, because that face filled him with fear.

"At 14 King Street..."

"Go find it."

Having achieved his goal, Wolf naturally had no intention of continuing to kill.

He holstered his gun, turned to his men, and said, "Drag them out of their rat holes!"

"What about them?"

"Kill everyone else, give him a new identity, and then release him."

.......

Potts, at Elizabeth's home

Although Joachim's activities last night had terrified Elizabeth, she went about her business as usual when she woke up this morning.

Breakfast is ready.

Then she gathered some grass and went to the barn to feed the two or three cows that her father had stolen from the other Poles the night before.

As a collaborator with the German army, Elizabeth's father really made a fortune last night.

He somehow became one of Wolf's henchmen, and under Wolf's patronage, he even rose to the rank of a minor leader.

So Elizabeth's father is no longer a Polish separatist.

He has become a true "patriot," loving his country from the bottom of his heart.

However, the word "love" should definitely be put in quotation marks. His desire for German rule here was purely to protect the property he had plundered.

If the Germans were to take back these properties one day, he would surely become a Polish separatist again.

At least that's what Joachim thinks.

Joachim opened his eyes groggily.

He sat on the edge of the bed, in a good position where he could clearly see Elizabeth's movements through the glass.

The Polish girl is now wearing only a tight-fitting shirt and squatting next to the cows to milk them.

Joachim blinked.

From his vantage point, he could easily see the girl's two long, fair legs, which, to be honest, really stimulated male hormones.

Driven by an almost instinctive urge, Joachim ultimately failed to maintain his composure.

Feeling a bit hot, he licked his dry tongue and then lit a cigarette.

As the cigarette was lit.

He checked the time; it was about time to get to work.