A soldier whom the Nazis decapitated for killing the most dangerous man of Third Reich:Jan Kubiš

A soldier whom the Nazis decapitated for killing the most dangerous man of Third Reich:Jan Kubiš

On March 15, 1939, six months after the annexation of the Sudetenland, Nazi Germany invaded and occupied the Czech provinces of Bohemia and Moravia in violation of the Munich Agreement. Adolf Hitler arrived in Prague, and on March 16, by a proclamation from Prague Castle, established the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia.

Konstantin von Neurath, the former foreign minister of Nazi Germany, became its Reich Protector. But Hitler felt his rule was too lenient and that his soft approach to the Czechs had promoted anti-German sentiment and encouraged resistance through strikes and sabotage.

In September 1941, Hitler dismissed von Neurath and appointed Reinhard Heydrich as Deputy Reich Protector. Heydrich became known as the Butcher of Prague for his brutality.

In a land where fear and oppression ruled the day, Heydrich's reign of terror ended on May 27, 1942, when he was mortally wounded by two Czechoslovak paratroopers. One of them was Jan Kubiš.

Jan Kubiš was born on June 24, 1913, in the small Moravian village of Dolní Vilémovice, in today's Czech Republic, then part of Austria-Hungary. His father, František, was a village shoemaker who earned a living supplying footwear to the nearby town of Třebíč.

His mother, Kristina, died shortly after giving birth to Jan's younger brother, Jaroslav. The family was deeply rooted in Roman Catholic tradition, and the children were raised with strict values of patriotism, faith, and modesty.

With limited means, they learned early the importance of work, sacrifice, and resilience. Kubiš grew up in a household that constantly balanced survival with dignity.

His stepmother, Maria Dvořáková, brought additional children from her previous marriage, and together with František, they raised a blended family amid economic hardship. Despite these struggles, Jan's sense of justice and national pride only deepened.

Jan spent part of his early childhood with relatives in the nearby village of Bata Holes before taking up various jobs to help support the family. He worked as a farmhand, tended animals, and eventually worked in a nearby brickyard.

During this time, he became involved with a Christian social athletic movement known as Orel. It was more than a physical outlet. It was a space where his patriotism and Catholic values fused with a disciplined lifestyle.

In 1935, Kubiš began his compulsory military service in the Czechoslovak army. He was assigned to the ninth company of the 31st infantry regiment in the city of Jihlava. Over the next few years, he rose steadily through the ranks, displaying leadership and tactical skill.

When the Munich Agreement shattered Czechoslovakia in late September 1938, and the Nazis invaded the remaining Czech and Moravian lands in March 1939, Kubiš could not stand idly by. Just months later, on June 16, 1939, armed with a grenade, he crossed the border into Poland determined to join the fight against German tyranny.

His journey into exile was treacherous. As he later recorded in his wartime diary, he marched through the woods from 4:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., narrowly avoiding German patrols.

He encountered a patriotic gamekeeper who helped him reach a nearby village where he met a blacksmith and received help and directions. Disguised as a worker carrying hose, Kubiš finally made it to the Polish side, soaking wet and exhausted, but determined.

Kubiš joined the emerging Czechoslovak military unit which was forming in Poland. Soon, Kubiš joined others and made his way to France aboard the Polish boat Chrobry.

In France, he enlisted in the French Foreign Legion with a five-year commitment, though his ultimate goal was to fight for the freedom of his homeland against Nazi Germany. At that time, it was not possible to create Czechoslovak forces in France.

He was stationed in North Africa where he endured the heat, cultural shock, and a different military environment. After the outbreak of the Second World War on September 1, 1939, Czechoslovak soldiers were released from their contracts in the Legion.

Returning to France, he joined the newly formed Czechoslovak army in exile. Alongside his close comrade Jozef Gabčík, he endured poor living conditions, substandard equipment, and shortages of proper uniforms, boots, and outdated weapons.

Despite these challenges, their commitment remained unwavering. The two men formed a deep bond during this time, often cycling together, sharing their frustrations and aspirations.

When Germany invaded France in May 1940, Kubiš and his unit were deployed near Coulommiers, east of Paris. They fought valiantly against overwhelming German forces, but were ultimately forced to retreat.

In his diary, Kubiš recounted the horrors of battle, relentless artillery fire, and the heartbreak of seeing mutilated corpses along the road. Despite exhaustion, he kept up morale by singing and cracking jokes during the retreat.

After France fell in six weeks in June 1940, he and his fellow soldiers managed to reach the southern port of Sète, where they smuggled their sidearms aboard the Egyptian ship Rod el Farag. On July 12, 1940, Kubiš arrived in Liverpool.

In Britain, he found a country determined to resist Hitler. The Czechoslovak units reassembled in a tent camp in Cholmondeley. Though their numbers were diminished, low morale was restored with visits from Czechoslovak President in exile Edvard Beneš.

Kubiš was recognized for his bravery in France and received both the French War Cross and the Czechoslovak War Cross 1939. He continued to train and rise through the ranks.

Kubiš was not content to serve in a regular military capacity. He and his friend Jozef Gabčík applied for transfer to the Czechoslovak Air Force units, aspiring to become air gunners. Though their applications were rejected due to high demand, both men were soon tapped for more secretive and dangerous work.

They were selected for training in sabotage and parachute operations, preparing for a mission that would later shake the Nazi regime to its core. The preparation was exhausting.

From August to September 1941, Kubiš underwent rigorous training in Scotland and at the Ringway Airfield near Manchester. There, he completed parachute jumps and learned the specialized skills required for covert operations.

He was then assigned to Operation Anthropoid, the most daring of all Czechoslovak sabotage missions, the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, the acting Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia, the architect of the Final Solution, and one of the most powerful men in the Nazi hierarchy.

Originally, Kubiš was not part of the team. Gabčík was paired with another soldier, Karel Svoboda. However, when Svoboda was injured during training, Gabčík personally requested Kubiš as his replacement. The request was granted, and Kubiš became an integral part of a mission that would change history.

They continued their training under British Special Operations Executive offices, focusing on marksmanship, explosives, and attack coordination. British documents describe the pair as determined, energetic, and highly effective.

On December 29, 1941, Kubiš and Gabčík parachuted into the territory of former Czechoslovakia. Their landing was far off course due to navigational errors. Instead of the planned drop zone near the city of Pilsen, they landed near the village of Nehvizdy, east of Prague.

Despite injury sustained during the landing, Gabčík dislocated his thumb and injured his ankle. They adapted quickly. Kubiš took the lead, seeking shelter and contacts. Disguised as a returning laborer, he approached the local priest and later connected with members of the resistance.

Over the following months, Kubiš and Gabčík moved between safe houses in Prague and its outskirts, supported by a courageous network of resistance members. Kubiš began a romantic relationship with Marie Kovárníková, a factory worker. Their bond deepened as the mission neared its execution.

Their lives became a careful blend of secrecy and resolve, with even simple outings used to avoid suspicion as they scouted locations and made plans. May 27, 1942 became the final day of the operation.

Heydrich traveled the same route daily from his residence outside of Prague to Prague Castle. As Heydrich's open Mercedes slowed, Gabčík stepped into the road and attempted to fire his Sten submachine gun at point-blank range, but the weapon jammed.

Without hesitation, Kubiš hurled a modified anti-tank grenade at the car. The explosion injured both Heydrich and Kubiš, who was struck by shrapnel on his face. Heydrich initially survived the blast, but succumbed to his injuries on June 4, 1942.

The Nazis responded with savage reprisals, mass arrests, and executions. The manhunt for Kubiš, Gabčík, and their fellow agents from other clandestine operations intensified. The resistance protected them as long as possible, hiding them in the Church of Saints Cyril and Methodius in Prague.

On June 10, 1942, less than two weeks after the attack on Heydrich, Nazi forces arrived in Lidice, a small village near Prague. What followed was not a military action, but an act of terror designed to send a message to the entire population.

All 173 men in the village were rounded up and shot. Women were separated and sent to concentration camps. Children were taken from their families. A handful were selected for Germanization. The rest, 82 children, were sent to extermination camps like Chelmno, where they were murdered.

The village itself was obliterated. Buildings were burned, bulldozed, and removed from maps. Even the cemetery was desecrated. Nazi propaganda initially tried to justify the massacre by falsely linking Lidice to the attackers, though no actual evidence ever supported the claim.

Lidice was chosen not for what it had done, but for what it symbolized, a target to make others afraid. Unfortunately, it worked. One of the agents got scared and betrayed the resistance and his fellow agents who were in hiding. His name was Karel Čurda.

On June 18, 1942, Nazi forces finally surrounded the church in which the agents were hiding. After hours of fierce fighting, Kubiš, gravely wounded, was captured and brought to a hospital unconscious. He died from his injuries later that day. He was 28 years old.

After all seven men who were hiding in the church were dead, the Germans took their bodies to the Institute of Forensic Medicine in Albertov in Prague, where an autopsy was carried out. All the bodies were decapitated and the heads of Gabčík and Kubiš were to be perfectly preserved in formaldehyde and displayed in the crime museum that the Nazis planned to create after the war.

As for the remaining five men, only the skull was to be retained. On April 20, 1945, just a few weeks before the liberation of Prague, the Gestapo took them away and what happened to them next has not been credibly confirmed. Allegedly, their bodies were buried in a mass grave at Ďáblice Cemetery in Prague.

The Nazis took cruel revenge for the successful assassination of the acting Reich Protector. The closest relatives of Jan Kubiš were executed together with other Anthropoid supporters on October 24, 1942 in the Mauthausen concentration camp. That day, the Nazis murdered 262 Czechoslovak patriots.

Among the victims was Marie Kovárníková, the girlfriend of Jan Kubiš. Only one brother of Jan Kubiš escaped death.

The sacrifice of Jan Kubiš remains one of the most heroic acts of the war. His name was nearly erased during the post-war communist era as the regime suppressed stories tied to Western allies. Yet, in recent decades, his story has regained its rightful place in the history of the Second World War and the memory of the Czechoslovak resistance.

From a humble village boy to the man who killed one of the most dangerous Nazis, Kubiš exemplified the courage of the oppressed who dared to resist. Jan Kubiš did not live to see the liberation of his country, but his actions accelerated the collapse of the Nazi myth of invincibility.

Kubiš died believing in the righteousness of his mission, knowing that even a small nation could strike at the heart of tyranny.