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Launstroff, Département de Moselle, République française, samedi, le 7 mars 1936
Wellingen, Saarland, Deutsches Reich, Samstag, 7. März 1936


Brigadier Jean-Étienne Jeanney was proud of his new rank. As maréchal des logis Roquebrunne was off on emergency leave, he was acting commander of le 5837e troupe des renseignement (cycle). And he took the dozen men of the patrol off on a reconnaissance along the border. Rather than go down the main road, they took the back roads. Which were lamentably devoid of frontier posts and markers. Nevertheless, les poilus rode along, joyously (if you didn’t count every man except the brigadier — they thought he was a total âne).

Michel Pfaffendorf had a small farm near the border. He had reclaimed it after the Saarland had been reunited to the Reich, and prided himself on being a loyal and faithful follower of the Führer, a fellow Frontkämpfer. So when he saw a troop of Franzis parading through the territory of the Reich, what could he do but hasten into town to notify the authorities? Running in some haste, hitching a ride on a wagon of hay going into town, he managed to get there. His heart pounded as he rushed to the police station, hoping someone could notify the Führer that they were being invaded!

Korporal Hans-Jürgen Lebowski of the Grenzpolizei had been wounded in Romania, and been given the position after long service in the border patrol on the border of Poland. Mostly to get rid of him. When the news came in, he was shocked (some said he was shocked already) and his semi-coherent report — to be fair, he had also started the day with a liter of good beer — to headquarters spoke of a infantry detachment crossing the border.

SA-Hauptsturmführer Ido-Rasso Halberstam, detailed to the Berlin police headquarters, had managed to stay out of the fighting, and always regretted it. When the call came from Saarbrücken regarding a French infantry battalion crossing the border, he was dumbstruck. It took him a few minutes, dropping the book at least once, fumbling its pages, and finally he found the name of the officer at the Reichskriegsministerium to call. He was panicky, imaging Frenchmen storming in and finishing the job that the SS had done regarding the treason of the man they didn’t dare name any more, and somewhat incoherent.

Major Horst Graeben had been a transport officer in the War. He had retired as a hauptmann, been recalled as one, and while the officers who had been leutnants when he was a leutnant were now obersten, he was relegated to being a glorified hotel clerk. The police officer who called was incoherent. As best Graeben could understand, a French division was crossing the border near Saarbrücken. He took the note, and then called a senior officer — one he’d been junior to during the War, which made it more humiliating.

Oberst Heinrich Reinhard Dieb of the Operations Department of the Reichskriegsministerium didn’t trust the observational abilities of civilians. On the other hand, he knew full well how perilous the situation was. So when he was informed that the leading elements of a French infantry corps were mobilized and crossing the border, he rushed to inform Authority.
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