Interwar Period – Widerstand (1)

British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain returned to England after negotiations broke down, then went back to Munich twice to negotiate again.

Damn, I thought the Munich Agreement was just capitulation and surrender. How many times did he get pushed back and forth like this?

Leutnant Colonel Oster kept trying to trigger the plan, but the leadership—especially Halder—ordered it halted whenever Chamberlain appeared.

Hitler, determined not only to take the Sudetenland but to devour the entire Czechoslovakia, presented conditions Chamberlain could never accept.

Consequently, Czechoslovakia declared a general mobilization, giving us our last chance. Leutnant Colonel Oster demanded a decision from the leadership, but it was ultimately cancelled when Mussolini took the initiative to intervene.

On September 30, the Munich Agreement was signed. In the end, all Britain and France achieved was delaying the occupation of the Sudetenland by ten days—territory the Germans had already been set on seizing immediately.

The great powers sold out Czechoslovakia in exchange for less than a year of false peace.

The Czech army had built fortifications and declared a total mobilization, but, trusting Britain and France, surrendered the Sudetenland without firing a single shot.

France, which should have defended Czechoslovakia, instead forced it into submission—under the guise of aiding its ally Poland—and even helped Poland plunder the province of Teschen (Cieszyn in Polish) first.

Amid this filthy international politics—a true betrayal by the West—Czechoslovakia was abandoned to its fate.

In the end, our operation failed.

While all of Germany cheered wildly, praising Hitler as a hero, I entered the Sudetenland with my troops and watched villagers salute the Führer, chanting “Heil Hitler,” oblivious to what the future would bring.

I could do nothing but stand there and watch.

October 15, 1938 – Berlin, Northern Germany

"The heroic feat of the Great Führer reclaims German territory!"
"British Prime Minister shouts “Peace in our time” in London – Germany’s victory without war!"
"Germany’s justice and the greatness of the Germanic people triumph!"

All kinds of provocative newspaper headlines littered the streets of Berlin.

Returning from the Sudetenland’s occupation, Berlin was overflowing with praise for Hitler and the joy of German reunification without war.

The Munich Agreement—according to historical records—showed just how passionately all of Germany adored Hitler for accomplishing a feat incomprehensible not only to people of this time but even to later generations.

“Sieg Heil! Long live the liberator of the German people, the Führer!”

But standing in the midst of that era, witnessing fanaticism that bordered on worship, that absolute support—it was suffocating.

Everywhere, townspeople rejoiced, praising Hitler and shouting, “Long live the great Nazi-made Germany!”

“Germany is great! Heil Hitler!”

Seriously… how could we possibly break this absolute support?

Did I really believe that one person could stop the runaway nationalism—the most extreme madness and agitation in human history—driving this nation?

What did I believe in? What have I been running toward?

Wasn’t there something each person could do, even against the tide of history?

Or was my determination, my fight while risking my life, just a meaningless struggle?

I had clung to the only rope I saw—never stopping to check if it was a rotten rope.

The great wave of history seemed much deeper and stronger than I ever imagined.

A sharp, annoying knock broke through the noise in my ears.

“Damn it… what now…?”

I opened my eyes, my skull pounding from a brutal hangover.

“Damn… water…”

After gulping it down, I realized I was in a mansion—my father’s house—once filled with insurgents.

Now, there was only me.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

The knocking continued. I stumbled to the door and opened it to find Claudia standing there, looking stern. She blinked in surprise and pinched her nose.

“Ugh, the smell of alcohol… how much did you drink?”

“…Reporter Jung?”

“Yes, it’s me. Ugh, the smell…”

Goddamn… why is she here again?

“…Go back. There’s no one here now. Our mission has failed, and yours is over.”

Yeah. It’s over.

After the Munich Agreement, with all Germany worshiping Hitler, there’s nothing left we can do.

Soon will come Kristallnacht, then the annexation of Czechoslovakia, the non-aggression pact, the invasion of Poland, the fall of France…

It’s all over.

No—maybe it’d be better to put a pistol to my own head.

Claudia stared at me for a long moment, her expression softening.

“You’re talking like it’s already over,” she said quietly.

“It is over,” I muttered. “The chance is gone. After Munich, there’s no way to touch him. Everyone loves Hitler now.”

Her brow furrowed. “So you’re just going to drink yourself into oblivion and wait for the world to burn?”

I hesitated. “You don’t understand—”

“Then explain it to me,” she cut in.

I took a long breath, then told her everything. The crystal-clear chain of disasters to come: Kristallnacht, the collapse of Czechoslovakia, the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact, the invasion of Poland, the Second World War, the Holocaust, and finally the devastation of Germany itself.

And then—without meaning to—I said it.

“I know all this… because I’m from the future.”

Her eyes widened slightly. For a moment I thought she might laugh. Instead, she crossed her arms and studied me like I was an unsolved puzzle.

“…That’s one hell of a claim.”

“I don’t expect you to believe it,” I said. “But it’s the truth.”

Claudia tilted her head. “I don’t know if you’re insane or the most dangerous man I’ve ever met, but… you’ve never struck me as a liar.”

That caught me off guard.

She took a step closer. “Do you think I’ve been hanging around you for the scenery? I’m part of the Widerstand too.”

I blinked. “The what?”

“The underground Social Democrats,” she said, her voice low. “We operate in Berlin, mostly under the cover of journalism. That’s why I was interested in you from the start—your urgency, your warnings. They didn’t sound like ordinary paranoia.”

I stared at her. “So all this time…?”

She smirked faintly. “What, did you think I was just a nosy reporter with a crush on you?”

That… was not an image I needed right now.

“Listen,” she continued, “maybe you’re a prophet, maybe you’re just a drunk soldier. I don’t care. What I do know is that sitting here waiting for disaster is exactly what Hitler wants.”

“Claudia, you don’t get it. The public—”

“—isn’t the whole country,” she interrupted. “Answer me honestly: are all the insurgents dead?”

I frowned. “…No.”

“Has the war already started?”

“…No.”

“Has your preparation been for nothing?”

I clenched my fists. “…No.”

“And do you now think Hitler is right?”

“…Hell no.”

She gave a small, satisfied smile. “Then stop talking like a corpse.”

Her words landed like a slap.

“Right now, the Confessing Church, the liberals, and the social democrats still have lines open. You’re not alone. The future isn’t set in stone—unless you give up and let it be.”

Her voice was calm but unyielding. Somewhere deep inside me, a spark I thought was dead flickered again.

For the first time since Munich, I smiled—a real smile, rough and unexpected.

She rolled her eyes. “Good. Now clean yourself up.”

“What for?”

“Our first kiss,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m not kissing someone who reeks of alcohol.”

And just like that, in the middle of ruin and hopelessness, she left me standing there with a stupid grin.