Britannia's Fist: From Civil War to World War

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The sweat ran down his face as he lay hidden in the cool Polish forest. Jan Szmanda’s heart pounded as he aimed his musket at the cavalry patrol wending its way along the narrow woodworkers’ road. There were fifteen Cossacks, their lances bobbing with the canter, and an officer who rode at their head, his whip dangling from its loop around his wrist. He was the same one who had “pacified” the three surrounding villages and left them filled with corpses dangling from the trees. “God save Poland,” Jan prayed.

“Wait…wait…wait,” he told himself. He chose the officer as his target and waited, waited. The seconds seemed like hours, then CRACK, the first shot broke the silence of the woods. The officer lurched in his saddle, and Jan’s finger pulled the trigger as did twenty other Poles. Unfortunately, almost everyone had aimed at the officer, the result of amateurs at war. Man and horse sprayed blood as they thrashed into the trees.

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