Chapter 171: Troops Depart from Prague
By the time Prague's reply arrived in the early hours of the morning, it was already too late.
Outside the headquarters of the First Border Division and the Second Infantry Division, engines roared through the darkness like iron beasts awakening from the earth. A moment later, German tanks smashed through the outer walls with brutal momentum, sending bricks, dust, and shattered timber flying across the courtyard.
Karel de La Narde and Levin Lar had no time to respond.
The front line troops had already abandoned resistance under the confusion of conflicting orders. With their command structure paralyzed and their defensive lines opened, the two division commanders could only watch as German soldiers leaped down from their tanks, rifles raised, boots striking the ground in disciplined unison.
An officer pulled out a list.
"Commander of the First Border Division, Levin Lar?"
Levin Lar's expression stiffened.
"Present."
"Commander of the Second Infantry Division, Karel de La Narde?"
Karel's jaw tightened, but he still answered, "Present."
The German officer glanced at their faces, confirmed their identities, and gave a brief nod.
"Take them."
Soldiers moved forward at once.
In another sector, the Czech Third Infantry Division initially attempted to resist. Its officers were not willing to surrender without orders, and its men had not yet been struck by the same paralysis as the border divisions.
But that resistance lasted only until German tanks cut off their retreat and surrounded the division command post.
When armored vehicles blocked every road, when machine guns covered every exit, when the rumble of tank engines pressed against the windows like a death sentence, the division commander finally understood that courage and suicide were separated only by necessity.
For his own safety, and perhaps also for the survival of his men, he chose surrender.
By noon the next day, Manstein's Third Armored Division had gained complete control over the border region.
The cost was fewer than twenty casualties.
The result was the capture and disarmament of nearly forty thousand Czech soldiers.
Many of those soldiers did not even understand what had happened. Their rifles were intact. Their magazines were full. Some had stood in trenches and fortifications built to resist Germany, only to be ordered aside before firing a single shot.
A border defense system that Czechoslovakia had treated as a shield had collapsed in one night, not because its walls were weak, but because its nerves had been cut.
In Prague, Bectot had never expected Germany to strike so suddenly.
When the first confirmed reports reached the capital, he was thrown into complete turmoil.
He issued military orders, summoned staff officers, demanded troop movements, and at the same time sent urgent invitations to the British and French diplomats stationed in Prague. In the government building, voices rose one after another, telephones rang without pause, and clerks ran through corridors carrying telegrams marked with red wax.
Bectot repeatedly condemned Germany's unprovoked aggression. His words were sharp, desperate, and furious.
Yet the response from Britain and France left him dumbfounded.
The British diplomat looked at him with a grave but distant expression.
"Mr. Bectot, I am sorry, but from the information currently available to us, I believe the Czech side bears the primary responsibility for this matter."
Bectot stared at him.
The French representative added in a measured tone, "In the early hours of last night, Berlin sent us a secret diplomatic cable. It stated that Czech artillery shelled the German Czech border and included a complete set of photographs as evidence."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then Bectot slammed his palm onto the wooden table so hard that the teacups rattled.
"Neither I nor President Tomas ever ordered the shelling of Germany!"
His voice shook with anger.
"I swear before God, this is a German trick. They created the excuse themselves. They fabricated a reason, a convenient pretext, and their real goal has always been Czech territory!"
He leaned forward, eyes bloodshot.
"Even the simplest political fool can see through this. Why can't you?"
His roar received only cold stares.
The British diplomat's expression became colder. The French representative lowered his gaze, gathered his papers, and rose from his seat.
One by one, the diplomats from Britain and France stood up and left.
No threats.
No promises.
No support.
Only the sound of the door closing.
Bectot remained standing for several seconds. Then he forced himself to calm down, pressed both hands against the edge of the desk, and turned toward the wartime commander in chief who had been temporarily appointed beside him.
"How many troops do we still have available in the Czech region?"
He paused, then corrected himself.
"No. In total."
The commander in chief's face was grim.
"In the Czech region, we still have five divisions. In Slovakia, we have twelve divisions. However, the Slovak units are still a considerable distance from Prague, while the German armored forces are only two days away."
He pointed to the map spread across the table.
"Among the five divisions in the Czech region, only the First Garrison Division can immediately return to defend the capital."
Bectot's expression darkened further.
The commander in chief hesitated briefly, then continued.
"And I have very bad news, sir. A few hours ago, the Polish and Hungarian governments sent diplomatic reprimands, demanding that we properly address our ethnic issues."
He drew two lines along the Slovak border.
"At the same time, our border troops in Slovakia have reported frequent border skirmishes instigated by Poland and Hungary. I have reason to believe that both countries are preparing to move into Slovakia."
His voice grew heavier.
"If that happens, we will face the rapid advance of the German Army from the front and a pincer attack from the Polish and Hungarian armies on both flanks."
In a single night, the situation had deteriorated beyond recovery.
Bectot felt a chill spread through his blood.
He could not understand how an ethnic conflict had transformed so quickly into a national disaster. Only yesterday, they had been speaking of border security, diplomatic pressure, and international mediation. Now, Germany had broken through the frontier, Britain and France had washed their hands of the matter, and Poland and Hungary were circling like wolves drawn by the smell of blood.
"Can we organize a defensive battle for Prague?" Bectot asked.
Prague was not merely a city.
It was the capital.
Its political symbolism and practical value were both extraordinary. Once Prague fell, the government would be forced to retreat to Brno. If Brno, the country's second largest industrial city, could not be held, then the entire Czech region would be lost.
They would lose their industrial base.
They would lose countless arms factories.
They would lose the very foundation that allowed Czechoslovakia to continue fighting.
After that, they would have no choice but to retreat into Slovakia, squeezed between enemies and deprived of their strongest heartland.
The commander in chief answered carefully.
"I can try, sir. But I must still advise you to take a plane to Brno immediately. That is the safest option."
Bectot shook his head.
"No."
His voice became firm.
"Arm the police. Arm all Czech and Slovak citizens who are willing to fight. Give them rifles."
The commander in chief looked up.
Bectot's eyes were cold.
"Since the gloves are off, we have no reason to trust any German, Pole, or Hungarian. Detain all foreign groups that may damage our defenses. Lock them up before they can create more chaos."
He turned toward the city map.
"Before the German Army arrives, blow up every road that can serve their advance. Main roads, intersections, bridges, thoroughfares within the city. Destroy them all."
The room was silent.
Then Bectot said word by word, "If I leave, I will be the last to leave."
He looked at the officers and clerks gathered before him.
"This is Prague. The capital of Czechoslovakia. President Tomas is not here, so I will stand in his place. I will fight with this city to the last drop of blood."
The commander in chief nodded.
He was, like Bectot, one of the president's trusted men. At such a critical moment, hesitation would only invite collapse.
"Sir," he reminded in a low voice, "the council members and politicians should also be kept quiet. If they panic or begin negotiating privately, the city will fall before the Germans arrive."
Bectot answered without hesitation.
"Then make them quiet."
His hand pressed down on the map.
"Protect Prague at all costs."
It had to be said that Bectot's decisiveness mattered.
The agents from Germany's Internal and External Intelligence Department, who had intended to stir up unrest in Prague from within, unexpectedly ran into a wall.
Roads across the city were destroyed by controlled explosions. Armed patrols appeared at intersections. Police stations distributed rifles to Czech and Slovak residents, and those who took up arms were not confused border soldiers waiting for orders from a broken chain of command.
They knew exactly what they were defending.
Their homes.
Their capital.
Their country.
Their will to resist was far stronger than that of other ethnic groups.
Barricades rose across the streets. Furniture, sandbags, stones, tramcars, and shattered masonry were dragged into position. Landmines were laid beneath broken pavement. Windows were turned into firing positions. Church towers and rooftops became observation points.
Prague began to transform itself into a fortress.
On the third day, Manstein's Third Armored Division arrived on the outskirts of Prague.
That morning, the attack began.
German artillery opened fire first.
The field guns captured from the Czech Army were dragged into German service and turned against their former owners. Alongside German guns, they thundered toward the city with cold efficiency.
Boom!
Residential buildings were torn open one after another. Walls burst outward. Roofs collapsed. Glass shattered across empty streets. Dust and smoke rose from falling debris, spreading through the city like a gray morning fog.
Then the tanks advanced.
Two German tanks were the first to enter the urban district. Their tracks crushed brick, glass, and furniture beneath them, while their guns swept slowly from side to side.
Behind them came German infantry armed with G43 semi automatic rifles.
The soldiers moved quickly, using the tanks as mobile shields. Squads spread through alleys and courtyards, clearing residential areas with practiced coordination. Their boots struck broken stone. Their officers gave short, sharp commands. Their rifles remained raised at shoulder height.
Doors were kicked open.
Inside some houses, residents, stunned by the shelling and still half awake, reached for rifles with shaking hands. But courage alone could not make them soldiers.
Against men trained systematically for war, their resistance was tragically fragile.
Bang.
Bang.
Gunshots cracked through the rooms.
Bullets tore through bodies. Blood spread across floors, tables, and broken walls.
In the streets, German machine gunners occupied high positions and established fields of fire. Engineers moved under their cover, clearing roads blocked by brick, rubble, and overturned vehicles. Every action followed a method. Every squad knew its task. Every advance was measured, covered, and reported.
For a time, the German attack seemed unstoppable.
But as the day wore on, Manstein gradually realized that he had underestimated Prague's will to resist.
After occupying nearly one third of the city, the German advance slowed sharply.
Landmines hidden throughout the streets made every movement dangerous. Each intersection had to be inspected. Every pile of rubble might conceal explosives. Every window might hide a rifleman. Every cellar might contain armed civilians waiting for German boots to pass overhead.
The fighting became slow, bitter, and suffocating.
Armed civilians appeared everywhere.
They fired from attics, behind curtains, through holes smashed in walls, from behind barricades, and from the ruins of buildings German artillery had already struck. Some died after firing one shot. Others disappeared through back doors and cellars, only to reappear two streets away.
By evening, Czech Army units inside the city began launching small scale counterattacks.
They lacked the armored strength to drive the Germans out, but they understood the terrain. They struck at exposed infantry squads, targeted engineers, harassed supply routes, and forced German units to pause again and again.
By late on the fourth day, the Third Armored Division was still bogged down inside Prague.
Manstein studied the map in his command vehicle, the lines of advance marked in pencil and the stalled positions circled in red. Outside, artillery rumbled in the distance. Reports came in one after another, each of them confirming what he already knew.
Urban warfare was not the specialty of the Third Armored Division.
Tanks could break open a front.
They could race across plains, shatter command posts, encircle divisions, and turn enemy formations into scattered fragments.
But in a city like Prague, where every street became a trench and every house became a bunker, armor alone was no longer enough.
If the battle dragged on, not only would he fail to take Prague within five days, but the Czech forces on both flanks would return to defend the capital within three days.
At that point, the rare offensive opportunity Germany had seized might be lost.
Manstein's pride resisted the decision for only a moment.
Then discipline prevailed.
He picked up the order form and requested reinforcements from headquarters.
The Urban Warfare Blood Wolves Infantry Division.
The Blood Wolves had been following behind the armored spearhead. Now Manstein pulled them to the front and ordered them to undertake what they did best.
Street fighting.
House clearing.
Close assault.
The systematic destruction of urban resistance.
To ensure success, Manstein did not stop there.
He sent another telegram to Rommel, who was stationed in Vienna.
The request was clear.
The Fourth Panzer Division was to attack Brno while the Czech border troops were stretched thin.
If Prague was the heart, Brno was the industrial lung of the Czech region.
Manstein intended to crush both.
.....
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