Chapter 2
The Underground Resistance
Location: Prague, Czechoslovakia
Time: 2200 Hours, 16 March 1939
Rank: Schütze Erich Stahl, 2. Zug, 9. Kompanie, Infanterie-Regiment 45, 4. Armee
The city of Prague slept under foreign boots, but it did not sleep quietly.
Schütze Erich Stahl stood beneath a cracked archway, his Karabiner 98k rifle slung across his chest, gloved fingers lightly tapping the bolt out of habit. His helmet sat snug, chinstrap buckled, boots caked with city dust and mud. He was on second rotation of guard duty for 2. Zug—his newly assigned infantry platoon under the 9th Company. It was supposed to be quiet. A routine night in a subdued city.
It wasn't.
The Czech capital felt still, but wrong. Not with noise, but with absence. No dogs barking. No midnight drunks stumbling through alleys. Just silence. Too clean. Too practiced.
Stahl shifted his weight, eyes scanning the rooftops. His brain wasn't working off 1939 instinct—it was 2035 muscle memory. He'd walked through enough insurgent-held zones to know when an occupied city was pretending to sleep.
This one was wide awake.
Footsteps echoed behind him. Stahl relaxed his grip slightly when he saw who it was—Oberschütze Helmut Krüger, his bunkmate and squadmate in 2. Gruppe. Helmut carried two mess tin cups, one half-filled with beer diluted from the company kitchen.
"You look like you're about to shoot a chimney," Helmut muttered, handing him a cup. "Lighten up."
"Buildings don't twitch," Erich said without humor.
Helmut leaned against the wall, exhaling a tired breath. "You always this tightly wound, Schütze?"
Not always. Just ever since I was shot at by an old man with an IED in Kharkiv, Erich thought, but said nothing.
Instead, he nodded toward a storefront across the street. "That bakery's awning changed colors. Yesterday it was red over white. Today it's white over red."
Helmut looked over, squinting. "So?"
"It's Czech flag colors. Inverted."
Helmut frowned, processing that. "You think it's a signal?"
"Could be," Erich said. "Or it's coincidence. But I don't like coincidence in occupied zones."
Helmut gave a dry chuckle. "They told us this was a 'peaceful transition.' That we're just a presence. Stabilizing the region."
"Yeah," Erich muttered. "That's what we said in Kyiv, too."
Helmut paused, confused. "Where's Kyiv?"
Erich didn't answer.
A group of officers passed on the far side of the square—two Leutnants and a Feldwebel, judging by their collar tabs and walk. No one saluted. Night watch protocol didn't demand it unless directly addressed. Erich stood still, alert.
As the officers disappeared around the corner, Erich's attention snapped back to the bakery. A shadow moved behind the curtains.
No light. No sound.
Then he saw it—a small chalk mark near the bottom corner of the stone step. A crude "X" with a line through it. Fresh. Hidden from street view unless you were already looking.
Drop point. Old resistance code, his mind registered instantly.
Back in 2035, resistance cells used similar symbols. Sometimes QR codes, sometimes crude chalk or twine arrangements to signal meeting locations or supply runs. It wasn't exact, but the logic was the same.
"Helmut," Erich said quietly, "We're not dealing with scared civilians. Someone's organizing."
Helmut stiffened. "You planning to report it?"
"No," Erich said slowly, jaw tight. "Not yet."
Because in his gut, Stahl knew what came next. Reporting would mean roundups. Interrogations. Civilians caught in the gears. And right now, there wasn't enough proof to stop what was coming.
Only enough to brace for it.
A shift change whistle sounded from a few blocks away. Time to rotate.
As they began the slow walk back to their barracks—a repurposed school near Wenceslas Square—Erich passed another symbol etched into the stone: three dots arranged in a triangle.
That one was universal.
It meant: We are watching.
Erich didn't say a word. But as the cold wind swept through the city and Helmut rambled on about soup rations, one thought burned clear in his mind:
This war hadn't started yet. But the fight already had.
Chapter 2 – The Underground Resistance
Part 2
Location: Prague, Czechoslovakia
Time: 1800 Hours, 19 March 1939
Rank: Schütze Erich Stahl, 2. Zug, 9. Kompanie, Infanterie-Regiment 45, 4. Armee
It had been three days since Erich first noticed the subtle signs of rebellion. Three days since that chalk marking on the bakery's doorstep, the shadow behind the curtain. And every day since, the tension in Prague had only thickened.
He walked with Helmut through the streets, their boots tapping a dull rhythm on the cobblestones, the setting sun casting long shadows across the narrow alleyways. The city still felt quiet, but it was the kind of silence that was more foreboding than peaceful.
The Czechs weren't just waiting anymore. They were preparing.
Erich had spent the last few days observing, scanning for any more signs. Posters were still being torn down or painted over. Strange faces had started showing up in alleyways. And though the authorities had yet to act with full force, Erich felt the pulse of the city quickening, as though it were holding its breath, waiting for the first spark.
But in all his years, both in this life and his past, Erich knew that sparks didn't wait long.
As he and Helmut passed a corner, he noticed a Gestapo car parked at an intersection. Two officers stood outside, smoking, watching the crowds with sharp eyes. Erich's hand instinctively gripped the rifle slung across his chest, but he forced himself to relax. The Gestapo was ever-present, always watching, but for now, they hadn't noticed him.
They moved on quickly, blending into the crowd of soldiers and civilians alike.
Inside the barracks, Erich was met with the same uneasy calm. The platoon was still on routine guard duty—patrolling the streets, making sure nothing "untoward" happened, or so the orders said. His own Zug—2. Zug of the 9th Company—was assigned to check for any illegal activity, particularly anti-German sentiment, and report it back. That was the extent of their responsibility, at least on paper.
But Erich was beginning to see the cracks in that paper. The resistance wasn't going to be so easily rooted out, and it wasn't going to fall apart because of a few Gestapo patrols or occupied soldiers wandering the streets.
It was going to spread. It was already spreading.
As Erich entered the mess hall, the familiar clang of pots and pans echoed. Soldiers sat at long wooden tables, eating in silence, but the air was thick with an undercurrent of something else. A quiet, simmering anger. Some of the soldiers were talking in hushed tones, their voices tinged with frustration. They had their orders, sure, but they could see what was happening outside their barracks walls.
"Erich," Helmut called out from across the room, waving him over to an empty seat. The mess hall wasn't overly full tonight, but Erich had learned to stay wary. There was something in Helmut's voice that sounded off, something hidden.
Erich sat down, eyeing the others. A couple of familiar faces from his squad, but they were quiet—more so than usual. Gefreiter Dietrich and Oberschütze Müller were sitting in the corner, but their conversation stopped as Erich approached.
"Something wrong?" Erich asked, his voice low.
Helmut leaned forward, eyes scanning the room. "We've got orders," he said, his tone serious.
Erich raised an eyebrow. "What kind of orders?"
"Patrol shift. Same as usual. But there's a… special mission." Helmut's voice dropped even lower. "They've caught wind of something. A cell, maybe. Resistance is moving faster than the Gestapo thinks."
Erich felt his pulse quicken. "Are we hunting them?"
Helmut nodded. "We're not sure yet. But you might want to keep your eyes open."
The room went quiet for a moment, as if everyone was waiting for something—waiting for the next move. Then, Leutnant Weber entered the room, his presence commanding immediate attention.
"Listen up!" Leutnant Weber's voice boomed, and the chatter stopped. He was a tall man, with a hard face, his uniform perfectly pressed as if the slightest crease could be a death sentence in his eyes. "There's been talk of insurgents. Resistance groups in the city. Our job is to neutralize them. The Reich's peace must be maintained."
Erich exchanged a glance with Helmut, but neither of them said a word.
"We are to step up patrols," Leutnant Weber continued, his tone ice-cold. "If you find any suspicious individuals, you report them. Do not hesitate. The Gestapo will be working alongside us now. No one operates without their knowledge. Understood?"
A chorus of "Ja, Herr Leutnant" filled the room, though Erich noticed the weariness in some voices. It wasn't a perfect uniformity. Some soldiers were simply exhausted. Others—like Erich—were starting to wonder.
As the room cleared out, Erich stayed behind, staring at the mess tin in front of him. His mind raced. The orders were clear, but the reality of hunting civilians—those who resisted the occupation—felt wrong. He wasn't sure when the resistance would finally expose itself fully, but one thing was certain:
It was only a matter of time before the first shot was fired.
And when that moment came, Erich would have to make a choice: follow the orders and suppress the insurgents or become one of the very people he had been sent to fight
Location: 9th Company Barracks, Prague, Czechoslovakia
Time: 2100 Hours, 19 March 1939
Rank: Schütze Erich Stahl, 2. Zug, 9. Kompanie, Infanterie-Regiment 45, 4. Armee
Erich sat in his cot, staring at the ceiling. The mess hall's conversation, the orders from Leutnant Weber, all swirling in his mind. He had thought about the chalk marks, the strange faces, the silent tension in the city—but more importantly, he had thought about what he should do next. What he should do.
He had considered keeping his findings to himself. After all, the Gestapo was already on the lookout for the resistance. And for someone like Erich—a mere Schütze, a lowly rifleman—reporting anything could be a death sentence. There was no certainty in the decision. There was no clear right or wrong. Just what to do.
But in his gut, he knew it wasn't enough to just let it go. If he stayed silent and the resistance managed to take root, it could mean worse things than simply following the orders. If the resistance was as organized as he feared, it could lead to even greater violence against civilians—and ultimately, more destruction.
So, he made his decision.
Erich stood and grabbed his rifle, walking towards the officer's quarters. The building was dark now, lit only by dim lamps that flickered in the hallway. He approached the door to Leutnant Weber's office, hesitated, and knocked. The sound echoed down the empty corridor.
"Enter," came the curt reply.
Erich stepped inside and saluted.
Leutnant Weber was seated at his desk, his back to the door. He had his uniform jacket unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, and his face twisted in concentration as he looked over a set of maps and intelligence reports. His sharp gaze turned to Erich as he stepped in, offering a brief nod.
"What is it, Schütze?" Weber's tone was clinical, as if anything Erich had to say would either bore him or be beneath notice.
"I've found something, Herr Leutnant," Erich replied, keeping his voice steady. "Something concerning the resistance. I believe they've begun to organize in the city."
Weber raised an eyebrow, intrigued but nonchalant. "Explain."
Erich took a breath, recounting the events of the past few days: the chalk markings, the strange behavior of civilians, and his suspicions about the bakery and the coded messages. He also mentioned the sighting of a few unknown individuals passing through the streets late at night, acting too deliberately to be ordinary citizens.
Weber listened with half a mind, his eyes never straying from Erich's face. When Erich finished, there was a long pause. The Leutnant leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the desk.
"Very well," Weber said, his voice even. "You've done your duty, Schütze. Reporting this is the correct thing to do."
Erich's throat tightened. "But, Herr Leutnant, are we—"
"We're not in the business of making decisions on who is or isn't a threat. Our job is to identify, report, and follow orders." Weber's voice hardened. "If you've uncovered a cell, then we have to respond accordingly."
Erich could see the cold calculation in Weber's eyes now. The officer wasn't interested in investigating or following up on small findings. He simply wanted to get things moving quickly.
"We'll escalate this. I'll notify the Gestapo. They'll handle it from there."
Erich's stomach churned, but he stood firm. He had reported it. The decision was out of his hands now.
Weber stood up abruptly, grabbing his cap and putting it on. "I'll inform the higher-ups. If you see anything else, report immediately. But you will not act on your own, understood?"
"Understood, Herr Leutnant," Erich said, his voice tight.
"You may go now, Schütze."
As Erich left the office, the weight of his decision settled heavily on his shoulders. He wasn't sure what the Gestapo would do with the information, but he had given it to them. He couldn't afford to think about the consequences, not now. The resistance was becoming more than just whispers. It was real. And it was only a matter of time before it would ignite into open rebellion.
---
The Response from the Gestapo
Two hours later, a Gestapo officer, an imposing man with a cruel face, appeared at the barracks. Obersturmführer Schwarz, his rank embroidered in black on his uniform, entered the command building with two subordinate officers. They walked with the confidence of men who knew the power they held.
Erich observed from the hallway, trying to maintain his composure. The Gestapo never failed to make an entrance, and this time was no different. They exuded a sense of dread. They were here to control, to enforce, and to root out anyone who dared oppose the Reich.
The officers exchanged brief words with Leutnant Weber before walking out toward the streets. Erich's heart raced. Whatever would happen next, it was beyond his control.
---
Orders to the Unit
The next morning, Leutnant Weber called together the platoon for a briefing. The room fell silent as he stepped in front of them, the familiar crispness of his uniform adding an edge to his commanding presence.
"We've received information about resistance activities in Prague," Weber began, his voice sharp. "The Gestapo has taken the lead on this. They'll be working closely with us. From now on, any suspicious individuals or actions will be reported immediately. You are to continue your patrols, but with heightened vigilance. The Gestapo will do the interrogating. We will remain objective. We will follow orders."
He paused, his eyes scanning the men in the room.
"You are not to engage unless directly ordered. Understood?"
"Ja, Herr Leutnant!" the soldiers responded in unison.
Erich felt the cold reality of the situation settle in. It was out of his hands now, but something inside him still felt uneasy. He had done his duty as a soldier. He had reported what he saw. But this wasn't the war he had envisioned. The resistance was not a faceless enemy. These were civilians—people trying to survive under an occupation that was suffocating them.
Still, there was no turning back. The order had been given, and now Erich had to follow it—just like everyone else.
Location: Old Warehouse, Prague, Czechoslovakia
Time: 2330 Hours, 21 March 1939
Rank: Schütze Erich Stahl, 2. Zug, 9. Kompanie, Infanterie-Regiment 45, 4. Armee
The cool night air of Prague felt thick as Erich's boots crunched softly on the gravel path. His patrol route had become second nature to him by now. He had walked the same streets countless times, always under the same surveillance, always under the same oppressive tension.
But tonight was different.
Erich had been ordered to patrol a new sector of the city, one that seemed quieter than the others. The narrow streets between buildings were poorly lit, the occasional flicker of a lamp illuminating half-empty doorways. There was something... wrong, though. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he glanced into the shadows.
For days, he had been following the trail—the strange markings on buildings, the subtle exchanges between civilians in dark corners, hushed whispers in alleyways. And now, tonight, it felt as though all those whispers had finally formed into something tangible.
His instincts kicked in when he saw the dim light spilling from the open door of an old warehouse at the end of the street. It was an inconspicuous building—a derelict structure, barely standing after years of neglect. But there was movement inside. Erich's sharp eyes caught figures through the cracked window, darting in and out of view.
He slowed his steps, his hand instinctively reaching for the rifle slung over his shoulder. The sounds of quiet conversations, muffled laughter, and the unmistakable rattle of metal told him everything he needed to know. The resistance wasn't just talking anymore. They were arming themselves.
Erich pressed himself against the wall, keeping his movements slow and deliberate as he inched closer to the window. He could make out the shape of a few men inside, crouched low over crates. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw it clearly: guns, grenades, ammunition—maps, and crates filled with rations. The dealings were unmistakable.
There was no mistaking it now. This was not just a few rogue individuals playing at resistance; this was a well-organized cell, preparing for something far more serious than petty sabotage. The Germans had always feared a coordinated, armed resistance in occupied territories, but seeing it firsthand—this—was something entirely different. These men had resources. They were prepared.
Erich's mind raced. The situation was clear, but the urgency of it was even clearer. If he didn't report this immediately, everything could unravel. The resistance had weapons, and worse, they knew what they were doing. This was more than just information—it was an imminent threat.
He straightened up, moving back from the window, trying to make as little noise as possible. His heart pounded in his chest as he glanced back toward the direction of the barracks. He had to get back to the command center—and fast.
But before he could take a step, one of the figures inside the warehouse glanced toward the window. The flickering light from the lantern inside cast enough illumination for him to catch sight of the reflection of Erich's figure, half-hidden in the shadows.
The resistance member's eyes widened. Then, as quickly as the realization came, it disappeared. The man reached for something—a rifle, maybe? Erich couldn't tell—but it didn't matter. His instincts were already in motion. He turned sharply and sprinted down the alleyway, his boots pounding against the ground. His heart was in his throat, and his breathing ragged.
He knew he had mere moments before he was caught.
The warehouse behind him came into sharper focus as he ran, the figures inside now aware of his presence. The only thing that kept Erich going was the thought of reporting what he had seen. The entire cell could be wiped out if he could get back in time, give the Gestapo and his unit the coordinates.
He took a sharp turn, heading for a secondary street that would take him toward the main road where the barracks were located. The city seemed to close in around him as the adrenaline surged through his body, pushing him faster, farther. But the fear was always present in the back of his mind—the fear of being caught.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Erich burst through a narrow side street and into the main thoroughfare. The barracks were just a few blocks ahead. He could see the faint light spilling from the windows. His feet carried him forward, the sound of his breathing and pounding boots filling the air.
---
Location: 9th Company Barracks, Prague
Time: 0015 Hours, 22 March 1939
The doors to the barracks creaked as Erich entered, almost too loudly in the stillness of the night. His heart was still racing, his palms sweating. He could feel the cold sweat along the back of his neck as he approached the duty officer.
"Schütze Stahl," the officer said, glancing up from the desk. "What is it? You're late for your shift."
Erich barely registered the words. His mind was on the report he needed to make.
"I've found something. A warehouse on Rudolfstrasse," Erich said quickly, forcing his voice to steady. "A resistance cell. They're armed—guns, grenades, munitions, maps. Everything."
The duty officer looked up sharply. "What did you say?"
"I said a resistance cell," Erich repeated, his voice more urgent. "They've got weapons, supplies. The location is Rudolfstrasse, number 24. You need to send someone immediately."
The officer stood up, his chair scraping loudly. "You're sure? You saw them clearly?"
"Absolutely," Erich answered without hesitation. "They're preparing for something. They knew I was there. I don't know how much time we have before they realize I've gone for help."
The duty officer grabbed a nearby telephone and dialed. His conversation was quick, clipped. Erich could only catch fragments of it—"Resistance cell," "Rudolfstrasse," and "Immediate response needed."
When the call ended, the officer turned to Erich. "Stay here. Don't move. We'll send a team to investigate. You'll stay out of this—understood?"
Erich nodded. "Yes, Herr Officer."
He felt the tension in his chest ease slightly, though a pit of dread still lingered. What would happen if the Gestapo arrived too late? What if they got there and the resistance had already vanished into the shadows?
The officer returned to the telephone, his fingers hovering over the receiver, preparing to make more calls.
Erich could only wait now. He had done his part.
But in the pit of his stomach, he couldn't shake the feeling that the real battle had only just begun.
Location: Warehouse, Rudolfstrasse, Prague, Czechoslovakia
Time: 0300 Hours, 22 March 1939
Rank: Schütze Erich Stahl, 2. Zug, 9. Kompanie, Infanterie-Regiment 45, 4. Armee
Gestapo Officer: Obersturmführer Schwarz
The warehouse was eerily quiet in the aftermath of the hasty departure of the resistance. Erich had stayed behind, ordered to remain at the officer's office while the Gestapo handled the immediate investigation. As the sound of boots echoed through the empty warehouse, his thoughts wandered. There was a gnawing sense that something was wrong. The resistance had left quickly—too quickly, perhaps. And despite the Gestapo's presence, Erich knew better than to think the matter was settled. There was more at play here.
Minutes dragged into hours, and Erich's patience began to wear thin. He wasn't used to waiting, especially not when things felt so precarious. The Gestapo officers were thorough, but his instincts told him this wasn't over. They had missed something.
Erich remained at the officer's desk, the tension in the air palpable. He was only an infantryman, a low-ranking soldier who had stumbled upon something far larger than himself. He didn't belong here, and yet, the reality of his position was undeniable. He had a job to do, whether he liked it or not.
It wasn't long before the door to the office swung open, and Obersturmführer Schwarz entered with a brief, clipped movement. Behind him were two other Gestapo officers, one carrying a box of documents, the other holding the crate Erich had last seen in the warehouse. The box contained maps, weapons, and ammunition—the kind of equipment that would make the average soldier tremble.
"Schütze Stahl," Schwarz addressed him with a sharp tone. "It seems your report was accurate. We've found more than we expected."
Erich stood and nodded, trying to remain professional despite the weight of the situation. His mind was still racing, processing the implications of the contents in that box. The resistance was more organized than anyone had thought.
Before he could say anything, Schwarz motioned to the crate. "This box—this could be the break we need to track down the rest of them. The weapons and intelligence it contains... It's more than just a stash. It's a signal. They were preparing something."
Erich couldn't help but agree. The maps—detailed, precise—showed German patrol routes and the locations of key outposts. The resistance was moving in ways that suggested careful planning, and it was only a matter of time before they would strike again.
"The question is," Schwarz continued, "what do we do now?"
Erich hesitated, knowing that his opinion didn't carry much weight here. He was just a soldier—just an observer. But the more he thought about it, the more the situation seemed dire. The resistance was out there, planning, preparing, and waiting for the right moment. They'd left behind too much—enough to make it clear that this wasn't some amateur operation.
"We need to tighten security," Erich said cautiously, his voice steady but with a hint of urgency. "If they were able to leave in a hurry like this, then they have other places to go. The intelligence in that crate… it's too valuable to leave unguarded. We should focus on intercepting them before they can regroup."
Schwarz turned to him with a raised eyebrow, clearly weighing his words. After a long pause, he finally nodded. "You may be right, Schütze. It's clear the resistance is well-prepared. We'll need to act fast. I'll inform the higher-ups, and we'll increase our patrols."
At that moment, another officer entered the room, breathless. "Obersturmführer, we've found something else—another lead. A civilian reported seeing suspicious activity near the Old Town. We're moving in to investigate."
Schwarz cursed under his breath and turned back to Erich. "You'll stay here, Schütze. We need to coordinate with the Gestapo. Keep your eyes open. If anything else turns up, you report it directly to me."
Erich nodded, though the unease in his gut remained. The resistance wasn't finished. They would keep pushing, and they would be harder to stop with each passing day. He was just a small part of this machine, but his role felt increasingly significant.
---
Location: Gestapo Headquarters, Prague
Time: 0600 Hours, 22 March 1939
Rank: Schütze Erich Stahl, 2. Zug, 9. Kompanie, Infanterie-Regiment 45, 4. Armee
Gestapo Officer: Obersturmführer Schwarz
By the time Erich arrived at Gestapo headquarters, the room was alive with activity. Officers were huddled around tables, pouring over maps and documents, their voices low but intense as they debated the next steps. It was clear that the discovery of the crate had rattled more than a few cages.
Schwarz gestured for Erich to follow him into a quieter part of the office. "We need to discuss the next phase of the operation. You'll be working directly with Sturmbannführer Krüger on the investigation. This is about more than just catching a few rebels now—this could escalate."
Erich took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He had no idea what he was getting into, but he had a sense that this was only the beginning of something far larger.
---
Location: 9th Company Barracks, Prague
Time: 0800 Hours, 22 March 1939
The days following the discovery of the forgotten crate were tense. Patrols had increased, and the Gestapo was running intelligence-gathering operations at full capacity. The air was thick with the sense that something big was about to happen—Erich could feel it in his bones.
Every corner of the city seemed to be under surveillance, every civilian a potential informant or enemy sympathizer. There was no room for error.
And yet, even with the heightened activity, Erich couldn't shake the feeling that something was slipping through the cracks. The resistance was still out there, and they had learned to operate in the shadows. Erich had seen enough to know that this fight wasn't over—it was only just beginning.