The War of the Charlatan

In this field hospital near the Franco-German border, Logan spent several days in a peculiar mix of pain and joy.

The pain came from having to face the indomitable "Flying Fortress," a nurse whose weight was no less than 100 kilograms, every single day. On top of that, he had to endure regular injections and medication. If it weren't for the overwhelming authority of "Amelie," Logan would never have cooperated so willingly—he had never been one to follow rules!

The joy, however, came from the surprisingly good food. Sauerkraut with pork knuckle, sausages, ham, smoked bacon, and creamy mushroom soup—each dish was bursting with flavor. After a hearty meal, basking in the sun and chatting with the young, unfortunate soldiers, Logan found himself savoring a simple, carefree life he hadn't experienced in years.

Of course, every afternoon during tea time, Logan had to accompany the pitiful "big rice dumpling." Since their previous conversation, this Generalmajor (Major General) of the Fallschirmjäger (paratroopers) seemed to be deeply engrossed in profound strategic questions. Each time they finished tea, he would pull Logan into a long discussion, almost squeezing every last bit of Logan's amateurish knowledge about paratroopers dry.

Finally, after a day of academic discussions, Logan lay on his bed, sneaking glances at the nurse tending to the patient in bed number three. He couldn't understand why that guy got to have a slender, beautiful nurse while he was stuck with the "Flying Fortress." Maybe that lucky fellow could even spark a romantic wartime fling! Just then, Logan overheard two officers sitting nearby mention "Dunkirk."

Anyone with even a passing knowledge of World War II history would recognize Dunkirk as a turning point in the war. Logan suddenly remembered that the Dunkirk evacuation took place around late May and early June of 1940—right about now!

Thanks to the rapport he'd built over the past few days, Logan enjoyed the privilege of eavesdropping without being shooed away. He leaned over and asked, "Excuse me, I heard you mention Dunkirk... Have we taken the port yet?"

"Ha, pretty much! The Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (High Command of the Armed Forces) just issued a 'halt order' to the frontline units near Dunkirk. Apparently, it's to avoid unnecessary losses for our Panzertruppen (armored forces) in the canal area," explained the Luftwaffe (Air Force) Oberleutnant (First Lieutenant) with a cast on his leg. He was a fighter pilot who had shot down seven British and French bombers in the first week of the Western Front campaign. On May 19, he was ambushed by two British Hurricanes over northern France and had to bail out, unfortunately breaking his leg in the process.

"Well, it's a shame we won't see the British and French surrender a few days earlier, but it doesn't matter. We've surrounded them on three sides, with the English Channel at their backs. Those wretched fellows have no other choice! Next, we'll sweep through the rest of France with ease. Those Frenchmen are probably trembling at the sight of us already!" chimed in the Luftwaffe Leutnant (Second Lieutenant) with a bandaged neck. He piloted the dreaded Stuka dive bomber, though its slow speed made it an easy target for enemy fighters. He, too, had been shot down by a British Hurricane.

"That's right, they're trapped now!" The unfortunate fellow with the cast on his leg got excited but suddenly noticed "Amelie" appearing in the hallway. His head drooped like a deflated balloon.

"I seem to hear someone being rather loud!" The "Flying Fortress" approached with a metal tray, her voice soft but her presence as imposing as ever. The sight of the syringes, especially the gleaming needles, made even the bravest soldiers pale with fear.

"I just remembered something very important I need to discuss with General Student! It's urgent, I must go now!" Logan solemnly cast a self-buff of "Haste" and bolted down the hallway.

"And you two..." The formidable nurse, whose arms could flex into bulging mounds of muscle, smiled as she picked up a syringe from the tray. "Who's first?"

Meanwhile, Logan unceremoniously roused the "big rice dumpling" from his rest:

"The weather, British fighters, the soft sandy beaches, and hundreds—no, thousands—of barges, ferries, and even fishing boats. Reichsmarschall Göring's bombers won't be able to stop the Allied evacuation! Think about it—tens of thousands of British and French soldiers will slip away! They'll return to Britain, and before long, they'll pick up their weapons and fight us again!"

This was almost verbatim from a documentary narrator. Though Logan was a layman in military matters, his memory was excellent, and his fluency in German and English was his bread and butter.

After a moment of deep thought, General Student's face showed profound astonishment. He remained silent for a while before saying, "If you could provide some evidence to support this..."

"Evidence? In a few days, the facts will prove everything, but by then, it'll be too late!" Logan said urgently. If Germany followed the historical trajectory and lost the war, whether he ended up in Allied or Soviet hands, his life would be miserable.

"Leutnant, I understand your concern, but our speculation alone won't convince the Führer to change his mind. Moreover, ordering the Heer (Army) to resume the offensive would be a slap in the face to Reichsmarschall Göring. That's something they would never accept."

"Are we just going to let the Allies slip away from Dunkirk?" Logan asked, unwilling to accept this.

General Student rested his head on his hands. "If that's how it is, then we can only lament our bad luck."

Disappointed, Logan left General Student's room. Perhaps the big rice dumpling was right—no matter how talented someone was, they couldn't change the decisions of those in power. Even the most obvious logic could be overruled by the need to maintain authority.

Returning to his bed, Logan had just lain down when he felt someone tugging at his pants. Instinctively, he kicked out, only to hit something soft. Turning around, he saw the "Flying Fortress" looking at him with a pitiful expression, a shoe print clearly visible on her chest.

"Ah... Amelie, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you! I thought it was Lenz playing a prank on me!" Logan stammered in panic.

The nurse, whose patience was as vast as her physique, dusted herself off and picked up an enormous syringe from the tray. "Fine, take off your pants yourself."

Tears streamed down Logan's face.

As the needle pierced his buttock, fragments of his past life flashed through his mind like a slideshow. Farewell, miniskirt-clad beauties! Farewell, Heroes of Might and Magic and Warcraft! Farewell, smartphones and iPods! Farewell, peaceful, harmonious, and happy life...

Logan's face was filled with such sorrow that the other fellow roommate once again cast him looks of profound sympathy.