Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 173: "Versailles is dead. It died the moment the first German boot touched the Rhineland."

Chapter 173: "Versailles is dead. It died the moment the first German boot touched the Rhineland."

The Palais Bourbon was already packed when Prime Minister Léon Blum entered at 09:03.

The French Cabinet sat divided not by party, but by fear.

Blum removed his glasses, wiped them, and placed them carefully on the table.

"Germany has completed its occupation of the Rhineland. Cologne, Koblenz, Trier. The entire zone is under Wehrmacht control. No resistance met. No Allied presence challenged."

Foreign Minister Laval leaned forward. "And we allowed it."

"Not entirely true," said Defense Minister Maurice Viénot. "We reserved action, pending British cooperation."

From the rear of the chamber came the voice of Major Étienne Moreau.

"We still have time," he said. "The occupation is not yet consolidated. We send two divisions only two and we force them back. We call the bluff."

The room turned.

Blum looked at him. "You’re not a member of this council, Major."

"I was asked to advise the Defense Ministry on emergency mobilization," Moreau said calmly. "And I am advising it now Germany is not ready for war. Neither are we. But hesitation hands them the initiative."

General Beauchamp, seated beside Viénot, spoke next. "The Major is correct in one respect their readiness is shallow. Their troops are limited. Most are pulled from other fronts Spain, Bavaria."

"But they crossed regardless," Laval said. "Without waiting for our response."

Viénot stood. "Mobilizing now risks full-scale war. The people have no stomach for it. The Spanish Civil War bleeds our allies. Britain remains aloof."

"You speak as if the war has not already begun," he said.

Blum looked up sharply. "Major..."

"No," Moreau said, stepping forward. "Listen to me, all of you. Versailles is dead. It died the moment the first German boot touched the Rhineland. We act now, or we accept that this man this Hitler will define the borders of Europe with soldiers, not signatures."

Laval stiffened. "You cannot override diplomacy with panic, Major."

"Diplomacy?" Moreau’s tone sharpened. "I fought in Spain. I faced Guderian’s tanks in the Guadarrama range with rifles and ruined trenches. I watched the Condor Legion bomb cities while the League looked away. Don’t tell me about diplomacy."

Viénot frowned. "And then what? March to Berlin?"

Moreau shook his head. "We don’t need Berlin. We need the bridges. We need to force them to blink. If we do nothing now, we will fight them later on worse ground, at a worse time."

Viénot scoffed. "You’re a soldier, not a prophet."

"I am both," Moreau answered. "Unfortunately."

Blum raised a hand. "Even if we acted, even if we sent divisions would the British stand with us?"

Laval exhaled. "No. Eden has already issued his statement."

London.

Anthony Eden stood before a semi-circle of ministers and press aides.

The message was carefully worded, its tone neutral.

"The German reoccupation of the Rhineland, while a matter of serious concern, remains a continental affair. The Prime Minister is in close contact with Paris. We urge restraint from all parties."

Reporters pressed forward. "Does His Majesty’s government support sanctions? Will there be League involvement?"

Eden held up a hand. "Our position has always been that of dialogue. Germany has not crossed any border. They have, in their words, returned home."

One aide leaned over to whisper, "Baldwin prefers we ride this out."

Eden whispered back, "So do I. But not forever."

Back in Westminster, Baldwin met with his advisors in a smaller, private room.

A map of Europe lay on the table, thin red lines crisscrossing the Rhine.

"This is not the moment to agitate continental waters," Baldwin said.

"We’re barely holding the Conservatives together as it is. The Spanish conflict is still ablaze. Public opinion is not in favor of another war."

"But Prime Minister," one advisor replied, "what signal does this send?"

"That Britain no longer wages war over treaties signed twenty years ago," Baldwin snapped.

"We signal we are not France’s pawn."

Moscow

In office in the Kremlin, Stalin sat with Pravda’s chief editor.

He waved a paper in the air.

"This will be our line: Germany’s reoccupation is a betrayal of Europe. A step toward fascist dominance."

"Yes, Comrade Stalin."

"We condemn it. Loudly."

"But do we act?"

Stalin leaned back, eyes distant.

"No. We purge. We prepare. Let them all bleed while we clean house."

In the days to follow, Pravda printed fiery denunciations:

"Germany’s militarist foot now crushes the peace of the West. Versailles is trampled, and Europe sleepwalks again into war."

But in private, Stalin ordered more arrests.

Rome

Mussolini stood on a balcony, speaking to a modest crowd at the Palazzo Venezia.

"Germany reclaims what Versailles unjustly stole! A proud nation refuses to bow!" freewёbnoνel.com

Inside, his foreign minister leaned over to an aide.

"He’s enjoying this far too much."

"The French must be livid," the aide whispered.

"They are. But they won’t act. And Hitler knows it."

Later that day Étienne Moreau sat with General Beauchamp at a quiet bistro not far from the Ministry.

The lights were dim.

"We had the moment," Moreau said. "And we let it pass."

Beauchamp poured a glass of wine. "Do you think they would have followed you?"

"No," Moreau said. "But sometimes the act matters more than the result."

Beauchamp nodded. "And sometimes the result is everything. Koblenz is vulnerable. The units there are soft. Most are parading, not preparing."

Moreau spoke.

"Then we should have strike. We mobilize two divisions. Not for invasion but to show them we are not paralyzed."

Beauchamp nodded. "And what will you tell Blum?"

"The truth," Moreau said. "That if he lets Hitler keep the Rhineland, he’s giving him Austria next. And then Czechoslovakia. And then.."

He stopped.

He had to.

He could not say too much.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Beauchamp spoke again.

"I once thought Versailles would be enough to hold Germany in check. That treaties were stronger than tanks."

Moreau didn’t answer.

He looked out the window instead, where two children splashed in the puddles near a lamp post.

In Berlin, Hitler reviewed translated transcripts of Eden’s statement, Pravda’s article, and French cabinet memos intercepted by Abwehr.

He read in silence, then handed them to Goebbels.

"They’ve all spoken. None have acted."

Goebbels grinned. "The world speaks often. Acts rarely."

Hitler stood, walked to the window, and looked out over the darkened capital.

"They call this peace. But it is only silence."

"And silence," Goebbels said, "can be broken. By the right voice."

Hitler said nothing.

His mind was already elsewhere.

Back in Paris.

Blum called for another meeting.

Blum sat pale and weary.

"We have received further confirmation. No German withdrawal. No offer of negotiation."

Laval said, "We are now drafting a formal protest."

Moreau stood. "And then?"

"Then... we wait."

Moreau’s voice cracked as he raised it. "You’ve all seen what happens when we wait. Spain is burning. The League does nothing. Abyssinia is gone. The League did nothing. And now this?"

Viénot snapped back, "Do not lecture us, Major. We are not children."

"Then stop acting like it," Moreau shot back. "You think Hitler stops with the Rhineland? No. This is rehearsal."

He looked around the table, eyes burning. "He will rise, because we will not."

Beauchamp rose. "If the cabinet won’t approve formal mobilization, at least move reserves to Metz. Quietly. Let Germany see that France breathes."

Blum nodded faintly. "Agreed. No mobilization. But a shift. Discreet."

Moreau shook his head. "Discreet won’t be enough."