Bandaged, Bewildered, and a Bit German

It was unclear how long Logan had been unconscious, but when he woke up, a searing pain—as if thousands of steel needles were piercing his skull—caused him to convulse violently, like a fish not quite dead.

Ugh...

Finally, a faint light appeared in the darkness, and his body, numb from the pain, began to regain some sensation. Struggling to open his eyelids, which felt as though they had been run over by a truck, he was relieved to find that the terrifying scenes of hell were absent. Instead, a white ceiling reflected a slightly harsh light.

Huh? Is this heaven with winged angels? Or a hospital with nurses in cute uniforms?

Logan tried to move his neck but found it as stiff and weak as his limbs. After a long struggle, he gave up, exhausted. Just then, a large, round face came into view, nearly scaring the poor man out of his wits.

"Hey, Leutnant, you're awake! How are you feeling?"

The voice was rough and unrefined, and the face—plump, with a neck like the Michelin Man and a body as broad as a door—completely shattered Logan's idealized image of an "angel."

"Oh... not great," Logan managed to croak out. Having lived in Germany for two years, he had no problem with normal conversation, but he suddenly realized the nurse had called him "Leutnant."

Leutnant? Is that some local slang?

Before Logan could ponder further, the nurse—wearing a dark nurse's cap and an old-fashioned vest over her dress—poked his arm with her chubby fingers. "Can you feel this?"

"Yeah, a little."

Her chubby fingers lingered on his head for a moment. "Don't worry. The doctor said aside from the severe head trauma, you only have minor abrasions elsewhere. Once you wake up, you'll be fine! It won't be long before you're back on the battlefield, good as new!"

Battlefield?

Logan suddenly felt his head splitting with pain.

"Rest well!" the rough voice said, trying to sound gentle.

What happened to me?

Logan searched his fragmented memories: studying in Austria, adapting to a new life, making new friends, joining a skydiving club...

The last memory was jumping out of an old transport plane. The parachute lines, which he had carefully checked before the jump, had somehow tangled, and the chute hadn't fully deployed. In that moment, Logan could only watch helplessly as he plummeted toward the ground at a terrifying speed.

Ah...

A sudden sensation of falling jolted Logan awake. Was it all a dream?

Turning his head to the left, he saw a row of white single beds. From the decor, it seemed like a traditional European church, but it had been converted into a field hospital.

Logan tried to lift his hands. These weren't his hands—they were larger, hairier, and a different skin tone. It seemed he had become someone else.

Struggling to sit up, Logan noticed that most of the beds around him were occupied. Directly across from him, a man in a World War II-era German uniform, his arm wrapped in thick bandages, gave him an awkward smile.

Logan considered himself someone who thrived on excitement, but this joke seemed to have gone too far.

Alright, if this isn't a dream, I'm now a German?

"What's the date today?" he asked the man in German.

The man, missing a few front teeth, replied with a lisp, "May 20th, Monday."

That didn't fully answer Logan's questions, but he didn't directly ask, "What year is it?" Instead, he cleverly skirted the issue: "Oh, anything big happening lately? I feel like I've been asleep for a long time."

"Big news? There's big news every day! I heard General Guderian and his armored forces are already within sight of the English Channel. The Allied forces will soon be surrounded, and the war will be over in a few weeks! This time, we're definitely winning!"

By military enthusiast standards, Logan might not even qualify as an amateur, but he had some interest in history and had read plenty of "pop history" books.

Alright, so it's goddamn 1940, and I've time-traveled. I'm now a German, about to kick British and French ass, then get sent to frozen Russia, where I'll freeze to death while shouting 'Heil Hitler'? Shit!

The more he thought, the more his head felt like a tangled mess. After what felt like an eternity, the urge to pee hit him, forcing him to confront a more immediate problem.

Slowly pulling back the thin blanket, he realized he was only wearing gray-checkered shorts. Damn, did that fat nurse take advantage of me while I was out?

Looking around, he spotted a neatly folded uniform in the small wooden cabinet by the bed. With some effort, he managed to put on the pants. Just then, that terrifying voice came from behind:

"Oh, Leutnant, you're up already! Come on, don't move, let me help you!"

The chubby hands moved with lightning speed, zipping up his fly in an instant.

Logan's voice trembled. Holy mother of God, with her size, weight, and stability, she could easily compete for the Olympic gold in women's discus. To borrow an old ad slogan: she's the VIP among women, the fighter jet among nurses—no, more like the bomber, at least a B-17 Flying Fortress!

"Thanks, I can manage. Uh... where's the bathroom?"

The formidable nurse, while helping Logan into his gray shirt, cheerfully replied, "Oh, need to go? Number one or number two? If it's number one, just use the bedpan under the bed! No problem!"

Though Logan was no innocent virgin, the idea of relieving himself in public, especially in front of such a robust and imposing lady, was more daunting than skydiving blindfolded.

"I think I'm fine. It's good to move around a bit," Logan insisted, taking two shaky steps before his legs gave out, sending him stumbling forward.

At the critical moment, a pair of thick hands caught him, while a massive "weapon" slammed into his right cheek.

Oh my God! This "Flying Fortress" lives up to her name!

Logan suddenly remembered an online post about a British woman whose chest was so large she nearly suffocated her boyfriend during intimacy. To an Easterner, the story seemed exaggerated, but in Europe, such "formidable" women were not uncommon.

"Thanks... thank you! I'm fine, just a bit stiff from lying down too long," Logan quickly explained.

Having just delivered a "tofu gift," the nurse smiled warmly. "Hey, look at you, all shy. Has it been months since you last saw a woman?"

Cold sweat broke out on Logan's forehead.

"Alright, alright, the bathroom is straight ahead, then to the left. Don't wander off after you're done. I'll be back in ten minutes to give you a shot! Be good, okay?"

With that, she turned and walked away, her ample hips swaying.

Logan let out a long sigh of relief, only to notice the pitying looks from the other patients.

Damn it!

Moving slowly but steadily, Logan made it to the bathroom. As he pulled out his unfamiliar equipment, he couldn't help but gasp.

So yellow, so violent!

Holding the unfamiliar appendage, Logan awkwardly relieved himself, the liquid carrying a faint medicinal smell. Looks like he'd been pumped full of drugs these past few days.

Tucking away his "enhanced" little brother, Logan hurried to the sink to check himself in the mirror. One look at his new appearance made him curse again. Holy crap, his head was wrapped in layer after layer of bandages, almost covering his eyes. What was he supposed to be? An Indian? Or a super rice dumpling?

On closer inspection, he felt slightly comforted: his new face was angular, handsome, and dignified. Though not as good-looking as his original self, it would do—Logan shamelessly thought.

Leaving the bathroom, he found his limbs more responsive. Seeing the bright sunshine and swaying greenery outside, he decided to forget about the nurse's warning regarding the shot and wandered out the door.

The sun was setting, and a few clouds drifted lazily across the blue sky. A white bird flew leisurely overhead. Around the church-like building, tall trees stood straight, their branches lush. Bushes, green grass, and children riding bicycles on the path ahead created a scene full of life and tranquility.

Is this really wartime?

If not for the wounded soldiers sitting in the shade, Logan would never have associated this beautiful scene with the horrors of war.

Breathing in the fresh air, Logan temporarily forgot his confusion and worries. Wearing slippers, he slowly walked along the gravel path. At the first fork, he instinctively turned left and suddenly saw a man sitting against a tree.

Pfft...

Logan couldn't help but laugh. The man, dressed in the same gray shirt and military pants, had even more bandages on his head than Logan, making him look like a super rice dumpling.

Logan tried to stifle his laughter, but tears streamed down his face. The man seemed to notice and glanced in Logan's direction.

"Hans, you're awake!"

Do I know him?

Logan was at a loss. The man seemed familiar, and if he asked questions, Logan wouldn't know how to respond. What should he do? Pretend to have amnesia? Would that get him discharged or put on reserve? Being a soldier was dangerous, but at least in wartime, he wouldn't have to worry about food and shelter.

"Hans?" the man called again.