Chapter 173: The Last Breath
The arrival of the Street Fighting Blood Wolves changed the battle almost overnight.
Once warehouses, holding sites, and prisons where various ethnic groups had been confined were breached, the German Army suddenly gained a large number of local auxiliaries, porters, guides, and transport militia. With manpower restored and supply movement stabilized, the army finally pulled itself free from the mire of street fighting.
More importantly, the cooperation between the elite urban infantry and the Fourth Armored Division became increasingly refined.
The tanks no longer pushed blindly into the streets alone.
Instead, armored units would first break into the central area of a district, crushing barricades, suppressing visible fire points, and forcing the defenders to reveal themselves. Before the Czech Army could organize a counterattack, the Blood Wolves would already be inside the surrounding buildings.
They entered through broken windows, cellars, rooftops, and walls smashed open by shells. They cleared stairwells, seized firing points, marked safe routes, and turned every captured building into a new German foothold.
The Czech soldiers, forced to deal with armor in the streets and elite infantry in the houses, were thrown into confusion.
They could stop one threat, but not both.
In a single day, the First Garrison Division suffered nearly fifty percent combat losses among its fighting personnel. Once its experienced soldiers were gone, the remaining militia and police, lacking proper command and combat discipline, became little more than a disorganized crowd with rifles.
By the fourth night, the German victory had expanded further.
Eighty percent of Prague had fallen under German control.
The remaining Czech forces were struggling to resist near the suburban airport, clinging to the last route of retreat. Government officials and businessmen had long since fled. Council members, ministers, merchants, financiers, and men who once spoke loudly of national duty had all vanished before the sound of German artillery reached their doors.
Only one high ranking government official remained on the battlefield.
Bectot.
Wearing a blood stained suit and carrying a rifle, he moved between different defensive zones, appearing in ruined streets, makeshift hospitals, command posts, and barricades. His presence became the final breath sustaining a force that had already begun to disintegrate.
Everyone knew the capital was about to fall.
But everyone also wanted to hold on a little longer.
For the country.
For Prague.
For Bectot, who had not abandoned them.
In the underground command center, the wartime commander in chief urged him again and again.
"Mr. Bectot, you truly must leave."
The man's face was haggard, and the map before him had more red markings than safe routes.
"The reinforcements sent by the German Army are not ordinary infantry. They are bloodthirsty wolves trained for this exact kind of battle. The First Garrison Division has been gnawed down to the bone."
He lowered his voice.
"The General Staff estimates that we can hold out for eleven more hours at most. If the airport comes under attack, you will not be able to leave even if you wish to."
Bectot shook his head.
His suit was torn at the shoulder. Dust clung to his hair, and dried blood marked one side of his face. Yet his eyes remained frighteningly clear.
"I will keep my vow. I said I would defend Prague until the final moment."
He looked at the commander in chief.
"Malo, you should go."
Malo's expression changed slightly.
Bectot continued, "You are a senior army officer. You should not die here for the sake of symbolism. You still have a greater role to play on the battlefield. Fly to Brno. Even if we lose the Czech region, the army in Slovakia will still need you to lead it."
This time, Malo did not refute him.
He considered himself loyal to Czechoslovakia to the last moment, but loyalty did not require him to throw away his life in a meaningless death. Prague was already lost. Someone had to carry the remaining army eastward.
After a long silence, Malo saluted.
"Mr. Bectot."
Bectot returned the salute with quiet dignity.
Malo then led the remaining members of the General Staff out of the underground command center.
They boarded the last plane.
At that very moment, the German Army launched another assault.
Artillery thundered above. Dust fell from the ceiling. Somewhere in the distance, the heavy roar of tank engines moved closer like the growl of iron monsters.
Bectot slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked out of the command center.
He climbed onto a pile of ruins overlooking the remaining defenders. Soldiers, police, militia, and armed citizens gathered below him. Some had bandaged heads. Some had soot blackened faces. Some were too exhausted to stand straight, yet they still looked up when they saw him.
Bectot drew a breath.
Then he delivered his final speech.
"I regret to tell you all that we have lost."
The words struck harder than any shell.
A quiet tremor passed through the crowd.
Bectot did not soften the truth.
"For the sake of your lives, you may lay down your weapons and surrender. No one will curse you for wanting to live."
He paused.
"But you may also do as I do."
He took the rifle from his shoulder and held it in both hands.
"Pick up your weapons. Fight to the last moment. Defend your country until your strength is gone."
His voice rose.
"Long live Czechoslovakia!"
For a moment, silence covered the ruins.
Then most people slowly lowered their heads and laid down their guns.
They had families.
They had wounds.
They had reached the end of what human beings could endure.
But a small number stepped forward.
They picked up the rifles abandoned by others, raised them high, and shouted with hoarse voices.
"Long live Czechoslovakia!"
At dawn, the final battle began.
There was no fairy tale victory.
There was no miracle born from patriotism.
There were only bombed runways, collapsed churches, shattered barricades, and the white flag finally raised above the operations command center.
"Sir!"
An adjutant entered Manstein's command post, his boots striking sharply against the floor.
"We have taken control of all districts in Prague. The Fourth Armored Division has sent a secret telegram. They have already reached the outskirts of Brno."
Manstein released a quiet breath.
Inwardly, the weight on his chest finally loosened. Outwardly, his expression remained calm and composed, as though everything had proceeded exactly as expected.
"Prepare to use Prague as our base," he ordered. "Launch a rapid attack against the incoming Czech forces. Use armored formations to strike their flanks and destroy their command structure."
The adjutant accepted the order, but he did not leave immediately.
Manstein noticed his hesitation.
"Is there something else?"
The adjutant straightened.
"Yes, sir. We captured the enemy commander. He is also a high ranking government official. Would you like to meet him?"
Manstein was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
In the square, Bectot knelt on both knees.
His face was covered in blood. His suit was torn, his hands were bound, and his body swayed slightly from exhaustion. Yet when Manstein walked toward him, Bectot still raised his head.
In not entirely fluent German, he asked, "What is your name?"
"Manstein."
The German general stopped in front of him.
"Your name is Bectot, correct? I found your information in the government office."
Bectot said nothing.
Manstein studied him for several seconds.
"Do you want to live?"
Bectot's eyes remained cold.
Manstein continued, "I can give you a chance. Say what I need you to say. Help us end this war as quickly as possible. In return, I can allow you to spend the rest of your life peacefully on a small farm in Germany."
Bectot's expression shifted.
It was not fear.
It was disdain.
Manstein saw it and smiled faintly.
"What? You do not believe me?"
He adjusted his gloves.
"I graduated from the Roman Military Academy. In other words, the Führer was once my principal. I have the authority to make such an arrangement."
"There is no need to waste your breath, Mr. Manstein."
Bectot's voice was hoarse, but steady.
"I will not submit to a dictator."
Manstein looked at him for a long moment.
Then he understood.
This high ranking official in a ruined suit was a hard man.
Not a soldier by profession, perhaps, but harder than many who wore uniforms.
Manstein removed his cap and gave him a restrained salute.
Then he turned away.
"Give him a quick end."
With the fall of Prague, the last breath of the Czech region dissipated.
The reinforcing divisions that had been rushing toward the capital chose to surrender one after another. In some respects, those officers in military uniforms proved less resolute than Bectot, the politician in a suit who had fought until the end.
At the same time, Rommel, who had finally obtained the chance to participate in the war, executed a brilliant blitzkrieg toward Brno.
The 19th Infantry Division stationed outside the city had its command headquarters wiped out in a single strike. With its command system shattered, the remaining units could neither coordinate nor retreat in good order.
Seeing that the tide had turned, the hardliners within the Czech military, led by Malo, carried out the order to withdraw to Slovakia and continue resistance.
However, not everyone shared their will.
Some high ranking government officials and a small number of Czech officers chose surrender instead, driven by profit, fear, and the hope of preserving their positions under a new order.
Brno, home to the Skoda Arms Factory, offered no resistance.
Its gates opened to Germany without a single shot being fired.
The Skoda Arms Factory had already been designated as a key target by the German command. Patrol posts were established around it overnight. Workshops, warehouses, archives, and design offices were secured before any meaningful destruction could take place.
A vast number of technical drawings, skilled workers, firearms engineers, and machine tools fell into German hands intact.
By the end of November, the Czech region had officially fallen under German control.
Far away in London, President Tomas of Czechoslovakia, who had been forcibly "protected" by the British government in the name of security, learned of the annexation from a newspaper.
He confronted Chamberlain in anger, but received only an indifferent reply.
"This is a necessary sacrifice for peace, Mr. Tomas."
Chamberlain's tone was calm, almost weary.
"Do not worry. We will guarantee Czechoslovakia's independence."
He paused.
"Only not in its current form."
In mid December, Poland and Hungary officially launched military operations against the Slovak region.
Relying on more than a dozen divisions and general mobilization, Malo initially organized a spirited resistance. The Slovak defensive lines fought with far greater determination than expected, and for a time, it seemed that the shattered remnants of Czechoslovakia might still preserve a core of resistance.
But the battlefield was not decided by courage alone.
With Britain's document, Further Discussion on the European National Question, the fate of Slovakia was settled at the conference table.
The Slovak region was divided into four parts.
The disputed areas near Poland became independent states in name, but in practice they were Polish protectorates.
The same happened to the Hungarian areas.
Czechoslovakia's territory shrank drastically, leaving it with only parts of the Salgótarján and Nové Zámky districts near Hungary as the territory of the new Czechoslovakia. The only consolation was that Bratislava had not been lost.
The remaining central territories were declared demilitarized zones, supervised by Germany, Poland, Hungary, and members of the League of Nations.
At least, that was what the treaty said.
In reality, the region had become a German protectorate.
Military transit rights were held only by Germany, Britain, and France. Poland and Hungary received their shares, but the true strategic artery now rested in Berlin's hands.
The treaty was officially concluded before Christmas.
In Berlin, meanwhile, the presidential election had already ended.
And a wedding was beginning to be planned.
.....
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