Reincarnated: Vive La France

The order from Prague finally came.

"All units will resist German entry by force. The defense of the Republic is our sacred duty. Every kilometer must be contested. The eyes of the world are upon us."

The radio operators had wept to hear it not from fear, but from the terrible relief that, at last, there would be no more waiting.

Near Cheb, Colonel Měšťan gathered his men in the frost-bitten dawn.

The village behind them slept.

The border ahead was already full with engine noise.

He stood on a crate, voice hard as iron.

"We have been soldiers since Munich betrayed us. We have trained, drilled, bled, and waited for this hour. The Germans are coming. I will not lie to you they have tanks, planes, all the might of their Reich. But we have this land, our oath, and each other. The President has given the order. I will stand here, and fight. No man is forced to die if you cannot, you are free to go. If you fight, stand with me, and know that history will remember your name."

He looked into the faces some white, some young, some full of scars with age.

No one moved.

He nodded, quietly proud.

"Positions!"

They fanned out into the trenches, rifles loaded, machine-guns sighted on the trees where the first Panzers would appear.

Across the Republic, similar scenes played out.

Some commanders drew pistols and set their jaws.

Others signed last letters to wives and parents, handed over to the chaplain to deliver.

Some older, or simply broken by years of betrayal chose to surrender, ordering their men to lay down arms as the Germans came.

Captain Veselý, outside Plzeň, chose to fight.

He met with his officers in a cold, cramped cellar.

"You have all seen the order," he said. "We are to defend the bridge and the town as long as possible. I know some of you have families in the city. I can't promise anything but this if you stand with me, you do so freely, and for our country. If you cannot, I understand. Make your choice now."

One lieutenant, face streaked with sweat, stepped back. "I'm sorry, Captain. I can't do it. My wife is with child she begged me to survive this war."

Veselý met his eyes. "You're dismissed. Leave now, before it begins."

The lieutenant left in silence.

Veselý looked at the rest. "For the rest of us God keep us. Let's make them pay for every stone."

By mid-morning, the German tanks appeared over the rise.

Veselý shouted: "Hold fire! Wait for my signal!"

The Panzer column advanced, flanked by infantry and scout cars.

They came fast, relentless, in perfect formation.

At two hundred meters, Veselý's machine-gunners opened up.

A storm of bullets rattled the lead Panzer.

Sparks flew, paint chipped no penetration.

Still, the German tank slowed, swiveling its turret.

A shell screamed past, striking a Czech machine-gun nest.

Three men were torn apart.

Veselý gritted his teeth, shouting for the mortars.

"NOW! Bring down the bridge!"

Engineers triggered the charges.

With a thunderous roar, the central span collapsed, sending wood, iron, and bodies into the river.

German infantry scattered.

For a moment, there was chaos.

Veselý's men reloaded, firing again and again.

Two armored cars burst into flame.

A German sergeant fell in the grass, helmet rolling away.

But the Germans kept coming tanks fording the river, infantry in lines, Stukas screaming overhead.

A bomb exploded twenty meters from the Czech trenches, throwing dirt, bodies, and bits of earth into the air.

"Pull back! Fall to the second line!"

Some men did.

Others did not make it.

Veselý grabbed Petr by the collar, hauling him behind a smashed cart.

"Stay with me, Novák!"

Petr blinked, blood streaming down his face.

He fired blindly into the dust, unsure if he hit anything at all.

For half an hour, the battle raged rifles, mortars, shouts.

At last, the order came from division command.

"Withdraw if able. Regroup in the city. Hold as long as possible."

Veselý signaled the retreat.

Half his men followed, the rest were lost, wounded, or dead.

In other towns, resistance faltered or never began.

In Ústí nad Labem, the local commander overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the German columns ordered surrender.

His men wept as they laid down their rifles.

Some spat in the mud at the German officers.

Others stood at attention, eyes blazing with shame.

The townspeople watched, silent, as the swastika replaced the tricolor over city hall.

At Hradčany, news came in by the minute.

"Plzeň holding bridge destroyed heavy casualtiesnrequest air support."

"Ústí surrendered no shots fired."

"Karlovy Vary commander killed partisans reported."

Beneš read each report, jaw clenched.

Marta stood at his shoulder, hands trembling.

"You did what you had to, Edvard," she whispered.

He shook his head. "I did what our people demanded."

He signed the final message to the nation.

"The Republic resists. Where we fall, remember us."

As German armor reached the suburbs of Prague, resistance flickered.

One battalion made a last stand at the Žižkov TV tower outnumbered ten to one, they held for nearly an hour before being encircled.

Grenades shattered the stairwell.

The survivors sang the anthem as the Germans burst in.

Down on the riverbank, a group of students Children of the Republic rushed into the night, leaflets in hand.

"Don't let them forget we fought!" one girl shouted as the tanks thundered by.

She tossed the papers into the wind.

The Germans never even noticed.

By dusk, most organized resistance was over.

Fires burned in the countryside, blackening the sky.

German trucks hauled prisoners away, makeshift field hospitals overflowed.

But not everywhere had surrendered.

In a farmhouse outside Pardubice, a handful of partisans farmers, veterans, two priests huddled over a battered map.

"The army is gone," said the oldest. "But we fight as we can. Every bridge, every rail, every night. We will not vanish."

The others nodded.

Each one had already made the choice.

Across Czechoslovakia, the invasion's speed was devastating, but the cost was real.

Tanks crushed resistance.

But in cellars, forests, barns, men and women whispered.

"We are not done. We are not done."

That night, Beneš spoke to the nation for the last time.

His voice was ragged, heavy with pain, but clear.

"My fellow citizens,

Today we have fought, and we have lost much. But let no one say we surrendered without a cry. You have honored your ancestors and your children. The world may forget this day, but history will not.

Hold fast, wherever you are. The Republic endures in you."

He turned off the microphone.

Marta wept openly.

Beneš looked at her, eyes hollow.

"This is not the end."

"No," she said, voice fierce, "it's not."

And across the battered, burning country, the word went out.

"Resistance. Whatever it takes."