Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 301: We walk a narrow line and there’s a storm on either side.

The Reich Chancellery in Berlin had never looked so imposing to Konrad Henlein.

He’d been here before twice, in fact but this visit felt different.

He waited under a high archway for nearly thirty minutes before the doors opened.

"Gauleiter Henlein," the SS adjutant said, voice clipped. "The Führer will see you now."

Henlein stood, adjusted his lapels, and walked.

He entered a long room with a single window, two chairs, and one desk.

Behind it sat Adolf Hitler, arms folded, eyes sharp.

"Henlein," Hitler said without standing. "Come in. Sit."

Henlein bowed and took the offered seat.

The door closed behind him with a heavy thud.

"Tell me," Hitler began.

"How bad is it in Eger?"

Henlein hesitated. "Bad enough. Our people are restless. The Czechs are tightening their grip more patrols, more arrests. They’re scared."

Hitler nodded slowly. "Good."

Henlein blinked. "Good?"

"Calm is useless to us," Hitler said, leaning forward. "I don’t want riots not yet. But pressure? Discontent? That’s what we need. Let them feel the noose tightening."

Henlein nodded. "Yes, mein Führer."

"Excellent. Now listen carefully." 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Hitler leaned forward, his voice colder.

"You are to make demands louder, firmer, week by week. Ask for language rights, political autonomy, territorial reform. Insist on our people’s right to govern themselves in their own land."

He paused.

"But you must never agree to anything."

Henlein looked confused. "Not even a minor concession?"

"Especially not a minor concession," Hitler said firmly. "Make the Czechs look unreasonable. Make them overreact. Make the world think they are the aggressors."

Henlein swallowed. "And if they... don’t overreact?"

"They will," Hitler said, smiling faintly. "Trust me."

He stood and paced slowly behind his desk. "You will be the voice of the Sudeten people. But I will be their shadow. You speak. I listen. But we never resolve."

Henlein nodded slowly.

"And Austria?" he asked cautiously. "What message does that send the Czechs?"

Hitler turned to face him fully now.

"Austria was the first door. You will help me open the second."

In Prague, Defense Minister Ludvík Krejčí sat in a room with Prime Minister Milan Hodža and Foreign Minister Kamil Krofta.

Foreign Minister Krofta tossed the intelligence report onto the table.

"Henlein met with Hitler today."

Hodža sighed. "What does the bastard want now?"

"The usual," Krejči muttered. "More ’rights’ for Sudeten Germans. German judges, German schools, German officers in our border garrisons"

Krejčí tapped the report. "He’s pushing for full German language status in all public institutions. Education. Judiciary. Military offices in border towns."

Hodža sighed. "That’s not an autonomy request. That’s a sovereignty test."

"He’s setting up a grievance narrative," Krejčí added. "The same model they used in Austria."

"And if we refuse?" Krofta asked.

Krejčí’s answer was immediate. "They escalate. Accuse us of oppressing Germans. Incite protests. Maybe even cross-border ’volunteers.’"

Hodža leaned back, rubbing his forehead. "And if we give in?"

"Then we hand them the border piece by piece."

Everywhere it’s effect was being felt.

In cafés, young men argued quietly about conscription.

In churches, priests slipped warnings into sermons.

And in Sudeten towns like Karlsbad and Aussig, families whispered over dinner.

"Will they take us like they took Austria?"

In a classroom in Ústí nad Labem, a teacher handed back German-language grammar tests.

One student hesitated.

"My father says we won’t be speaking Czech much longer," the boy said softly.

The teacher froze, then knelt beside him.

"Your father may be worried. But here, you speak what you’ve learned. Both languages. That’s how we stay civil."

The boy nodded, but didn’t smile.

Back in Berlin, Henlein stood before the Propaganda Ministry, nervously rolling his gloves in one hand.

Joseph Goebbels stepped out to greet him, smiling like a man who already knew the script.

"You’ll be in Karlsbad next week, yes?"

"Yes," Henlein replied. "Public address. Regional meeting."

Goebbels nodded. "Be sure to say that Sudeten Germans feel under siege. Say you fear for your people. Use the word humiliation. That one always plays well."

Henlein winced slightly. "And if Prague calls me a liar?"

Goebbels laughed. "Then we print it bigger."

Henlein climbed into the car waiting for him, his smile tight and shallow.

The closer he got to Sudetenland, the more it felt like the fuse had already been lit.

In Prague, Prime Minister Hodža met privately that evening with President Edvard Beneš.

"They’re not just testing us," Beneš said. "They’re staging us."

Hodža nodded. "If we reject autonomy, they’ll accuse us of tyranny. If we accept, we legitimize their separatism."

"We walk a narrow line," Beneš murmured. "And there’s a storm on either side."

They both stared at the map on the wall.

The border was jagged, wrapped tight around Czechoslovakia like a vice waiting to close.

"Do we call up more troops?" Hodža asked.

Beneš shook his head. "Not yet. Not unless they do."

"And if we blink too late?"

"Then we go to war alone."

In the Sudeten village of Varnsdorf, an old woman swept the snow from her stoop.

She had lived through wars and buried three sons.

She had seen monarchs fall and parades roll through, uniforms changing every decade.

Now, her neighbors spoke German louder.

The Czech postal worker who used to deliver letters now came once a week instead of daily.

And when she greeted the local policeman a young Czech man he no longer stopped to chat.

Things were changing.

But no one said so outright.

At the town hall, a local councilman handed out translated leaflets from Henlein’s party.

"Autonomy means peace," they read.

"Your voice matters."

In Berlin, Hitler reviewed Henlein’s talking points for the upcoming Karlsbad speech.

He crossed out one phrase and replaced it in pencil.

"Demand cultural dignity."

Not "request." Not "hope." Demand.

He handed the speech back to an aide.

"Let them know the border is not a wall. It is a mirror. And they will see themselves in us whether they like it or not."

Henlein left Berlin that evening by train, heading south.

As the carriage rocked gently in the dark, he stared out into the countryside and thought not of victory, but of noise how many voices he would have to raise before one shot would be fired.

In Prague, Krejčí met quietly with army officials.

No large movement.

No mobilization.

But certain units would be placed closer to the border.

"Quietly," he instructed. "I want them visible, not loud."

Colonel Svoboda asked the question that hung in every room.

"Do you believe war is coming?"

Krejčí answered without blinking.

"Not yet. But war doesn’t begin with bullets. It begins with lies."