Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 172: "Gentlemen. The Rhineland is German again."

4 November 1936

West German Border

05:45 AM.

Fog drifted over the Rhine as three German columns advanced across the bridges at Cologne, Bonn, and Düsseldorf.

They came in silence.

Not a trumpet or drum in earshot only the sound of boots on steel and stone.

First came infantry in long rows, their rifles slung and expressions unreadable.

Then came motorcycles with sidecars, engineers towing signal gear, and light armored vehicles.

At the rear officers in open-top cars, scanning the horizon with binoculars.

Cologne Bridge was the first to fall with in Germany’s step.

A single French observation post watched from a hill near Remagen.

Inside the bunker, two French sergeants stood stiff.

"They’re marching," one said.

"I see them."

"Orders?"

The radio remained silent.

At the Cologne riverfront, an elderly woman held her hands to her mouth as the first soldiers stepped off the bridge.

Others emerged onto balconies.

A few raised cautious salutes.

One man shouted.

"Endlich! At last!"

Above a shuttered café, an old man wept openly as he reached for one.

"Twelve years," he whispered. "Twelve years of waiting."

Pamphlets rained from a passing car.

"Germany marches home. The West is ours again!"

No gunfire.

No flags yet.

Only the boots.

Only the cold.

Only the feeling that something irreversible had begun.

A teenage boy chased one across the cobblestones.

His father pulled him back with a sharp whisper.

"Don’t draw attention," he warned.

The boy looked up. "Are they here to fight?"

"No," the father murmured. "They’re here to be seen."

At Cologne’s Cathedral Square, Captain Wilhelm Kruger gave a terse signal, and his platoon fanned out.

The morning sun was only just beginning to cut through the fog as two men climbed the scaffolding near the great bell tower.

Within minutes, the swastika was raised blood red against grey sky.

A small group of civilians gathered, hushed and unmoving.

No one cheered.

But no one resisted.

A civilian couple passed nearby.

The woman slowed. "Should we cheer?"

"No," her husband murmured. "Just watch."

Kruger turned to his adjutant. "Signal Zossen. Square secured."

Kruger turned to his adjutant. "Send word to Zossen. Square secured."

In the cathedral’s the organist sat quietly in a pew, hands folded.

A soldier passed by and paused.

"You’re not playing?"

"I only play for weddings and funerals," the organist replied.

At 06:30, in Trier, Wehrmacht engineers unloaded from transports and began laying barbed wire across an old customs post that had been disused since 1919.

They worked in silence.

Lieutenant Elsa Riemer supervised the team.

A junior officer approached her. "Ma’am, why fortify? There’s no one on the other side."

"That’s not the point," she said without turning.

"The point is they see us prepare, and they choose not to answer."

In Koblenz, Major Hasso von Manteuffel’s convoy rumbled into the main square at 07:10.

The town still slept.

A baker opened his door, saw the line of trucks, and quickly stepped back inside.

Von Manteuffel stepped from his car, eyes scanning rooftops.

A corporal walked up. "All buildings clear. No resistance."

Von Manteuffel nodded. "Good. Koblenz is now regional HQ. Have signals install communications by noon. Use the hotel ballroom for temporary command."

"You think Paris is awake yet, sir?"

"I think they’re still pretending they’re dreaming."

In Paris, Foreign Minister Laval sat pale-faced, the German movement reports spread before him.

"Cologne, Trier, Koblenz," he muttered. "No artillery. No French zones violated. No casualties."

General Gamelin stood near the window, hands behind his back.

Laval looked up. "They’re walking through the very clause that guaranteed our postwar security."

"No shot has been fired," Gamelin said. "And we are not in a state of war."

"But we are in a state of shame."

Prime Minister Blum entered the room, his eyes heavy. "What’s the British position?"

"They urge calm," Laval said bitterly. "They call it ’an internal German matter.’"

Blum lowered himself into a chair. "Then it is done."

Laval didn’t answer.

He merely circled Cologne, Trier, and Koblenz on the map one by one.

Back in Germany, at the Army High Command, von Fritsch and Beck stood before a map marked with red pins.

"No resistance," Beck said flatly. "None."

Von Fritsch didn’t respond. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

He stared at the pins.

Beck added, "You realize how close we were to disaster? A single French battalion could have routed our men."

"I know," Fritsch said.

"And now?"

"Now he believes he was right."

They both turned as footsteps approached.

It was Göring, smiling broadly.

"Gentlemen. The Rhineland is German again."

"No," Beck corrected. "It was always German. Now it is militarized again."

Göring chuckled. "Call it what you like. The people see strength."

Fritsch asked, "And what if strength turns to hubris?"

"Then let’s pray the world stays blind a while longer."

At 12:00, Hitler entered the radio chamber in the Chancellery.

He wore his uniform but left his cap on the table.

His face was unreadable as the technician adjusted the microphone.

Goebbels leaned in. "Remember, you’re not a conqueror. You’re a restorer."

"I know," Hitler said quietly.

The light turned red.

He began.

"Today, Germany no longer stands divided. The fathers of the Rhine shall march with pride beside their sons. Let the world bear witness we reclaim peace by strength."

He paused deliberately.

"We do not seek war. We do not cross into foreign lands. We return to where we have always belonged."

His voice tightened.

"Let it be known the German people will not live in shame. Never again."

The light turned off.

Silence.

Goebbels exhaled slowly. "That will do."

15:10

Cologne

Private Emil Weber sat with his squad behind sandbags hastily positioned at the edge of the square.

Children watched from a distance.

One threw a rock not at them, but past them. The sergeant didn’t react.

"I thought this would feel more... victorious," Weber said.

"It’s not victory," his sergeant replied. "It’s a test."

"Of what?"

"Of how loud we can march without waking the world."

In Bonn, a small detachment waited at the city gates until confirmation arrived.

At 15:30, the last of the reoccupation waves rolled in.

In one apartment overlooking the river, a retired schoolteacher watched the procession with binoculars.

She whispered to no one, "I’ve seen this before. The flags. The leaflets. The promises."

She closed the blinds.

At 17:00, Elsa Riemer reported her unit’s position near Trier.

A response came from Zossen.

"Hold position. Civilian patrols authorized. Propaganda drop at dusk."

A soldier nearby muttered.

"And still, no French? No planes? No message?"

"They’re waiting," Riemer said.

"For what?"

She looked toward the horizon. "To see if we’ll stop ourselves."

Back in Paris, the cabinet convened again. Laval slammed a hand against the table.

"We have abandoned deterrence. We have abandoned our allies in Prague. We have abandoned ourselves."

Gamelin remained calm. "Had we mobilized, we would be at war tonight."

"And perhaps that would have been honest," Laval snapped.

"Instead, we let them test our spine and find it hollow."

Blum leaned forward. "You want to start war over a border we refused to fortify in seventeen years?"

"I want to keep a promise," Laval said.

Blum said nothing.

At 19:45, back in Berlin.

Hitler stood again before his generals.

"We are now in control of the Rhineland. Not one French soldier crossed the frontier. Not one British plane took off."

He let the silence sit.

"This morning," he continued, "we were gamblers. Tonight, we are victors."

Von Blomberg remained stiff. "With respect, mein Führer, we were lucky."

Göring laughed. "Call it what you will."

But Beck stepped forward. "This gamble worked. But if the next one fails...?"

Hitler looked at him.

"Then it fails. But history does not remember the careful. It remembers the bold."

He left the room.

Beck turned to Fritsch. "He will do it again."

Fritsch nodded. "And again."

That night, in Cologne, the cathedral square remained quiet.

Soldiers ate cold rations.

Pamphlets drifted on the breeze.

A dog barked somewhere in the distance.

Captain Kruger sat alone on the church steps.

His lieutenant approached. "No movement across the river. Still nothing."

Kruger nodded. "They’re watching."

The lieutenant glanced around. "Why haven’t they acted?"

Kruger looked up toward the great cathedral tower.

"Because they think this is the end of something."

He stood.

"It’s not. It’s the beginning."