Undisclosed Location, December 2034
Jakub Kowalski is not an easy man to find. The former defence minister remains exiled from Europe for his own safety. While most of his fellow Poles bear him no ill will, a dangerous minority does—enough to keep him under constant protection in a foreign land.
He has turned down countless interview requests. But I had the rare opportunity to meet him a year ago when he guest lectured in one of my university classes. We stayed in touch, and over time, he began to open up. Now, at last, he is ready to talk about what happened.
“You don’t lose half your army and just tell your allies everything will be fine. From day one, nuclear weapons were already on the table. The president and prime minister kept kicking the can down the road—even when the Sikorsky Line fell, even when Warsaw was encircled.
Four of our seven army divisions existed only on paper. Conscripts and firefighters were thrown into them just to keep them standing. Worse, some units took it upon themselves not to fall back, choosing instead to be encircled and wiped out.
Those crabs numbered in the hundreds of millions. We estimated it took just two weeks for one of their 'eggs' to grow into a full-sized Chitarran. It took us 18 years to raise and train a soldier—16 if you cut corners like some other countries did.
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Even with five allied divisions stationed in Poland, it was unwinnable. Those men—whether it was a Belgian general leading a battle group or a Spanish private lugging a machine gun to wherever his sergeant told him—weren’t as invested as we were. They tried at first, but for them, retreat was logical when faced with what we had. For us, it was unthinkable.”
I hesitated before asking, “Did NATO not have any plans or coordination?”
Jakub ran a hand over his brow. “On paper, sure—against the Russian and Belarusian militaries. But those plans went out the window the moment something with laser blasters welded into its crab shell landed on our heads.
We had fistfights in NATO command centers—Western officers trying to save their men from encirclement, Polish officers refusing to let their hometowns fall. We agreed on evacuating civilians, but soon, battalion commanders stopped coordinating with NATO officers on the ground. They’d tell us to fall back; we’d feign ignorance and hold our ground.
Not everywhere was like that. Plenty of our units survived the entire war. But too many died simply out of unwavering loyalty to the land and its people.”
Jakub looked out the window, his face flushed red.
“We received the ultimatum from NATO High Command: move your troops west of the Oder River within two days—no ifs, no buts. Anyone left behind would be vaporized.
Our president resigned rather than give the order. Our prime minister went mad—they had to sedate him. And so, all along the chain of command, the impossible decision landed on me.
Too many lives were at stake. Too many fathers, sons, husbands, and daughters still fighting. I had to save some of them. I had to bear the consequences.
I agreed to be the scapegoat for what happened, for the rest of my life, as long as it meant some of them would live.
There’s a reason each bomber had four air superiority fighters escorting it. A reason NATO sent jets equipped with SEAD missiles to wipe out our radars and air defenses if they even dared to turn on their radars. They weren’t taking chances.
In the end, it’s estimated that only a quarter of our forces made it past the Oder. The rest stayed behind. And it was too late. Logistical problems in the evacuation of civilians and radioactive protections had made it such that the bombing was delayed for a week. By then they were well inside of Germany. It gave us a few weeks to regroup, for new units to arrive from abroad.”