Become Actor

Despite choosing a beach far from the main channel to land, Logan and his paratroopers were still startled by the frantic British soldiers on shore who were desperately trying to wade out to the ships. Out of long-formed instinct, the German paratroopers immediately aimed their guns at their sworn enemies. If anyone had fired, a bloody confrontation would have been inevitable. Fortunately, faced with the dark muzzles of the guns, the nearly crazed men stopped in their tracks, cooled by the seawater.

A middle-aged man who looked like an officer stepped forward and shouted in an accusatory tone, "Are you trying to board a ship? Where's the ship? Can you make room for our wounded?"

Due to the poor lighting and the man's disheveled appearance, Logan couldn't make out his rank. He holstered his gun and waded into the waist-deep water, replying fiercely:

"Board a ship? Board a ship? Didn't you see that ship? If you want to become roast chicken, go ahead and take our boats!"

The Black Sprite had already become a floating inferno—or perhaps it was no longer floating at all.

With a dramatic wave of his hand, Logan said, "Brothers, leave the boats for them. Let's go! There's more important work to be done!"

The British soldiers who had come down from the shore were stunned. Surrounded on land with only the sea as a means of retreat, ships represented hope. These two wooden lifeboats might not be able to row all the way back to Britain, but if a larger ship came close, they would undoubtedly have a better chance of escaping!

The officer fell silent, and the surrounding British soldiers voluntarily made way, looking at the "British officer" with a Scottish accent and his men in British Expeditionary Force uniforms with great respect as they waded ashore.

After walking along the sandbar for a while, Logan finally breathed a sigh of relief. His mood was probably like that of a lover who had just escaped after an affair with a boxer's wife. However, the scene on the beach quickly brought him back to reality. Despite the darkness, he could see an endless sea of people: countless disheveled British and French soldiers crowded the beach like homeless men. A single bomb could send dozens of unfortunate souls to heaven. Anyone seeing this scene might think the Allies were finished, but history had played a huge joke—the Dunkirk evacuation was undoubtedly one of the greatest miracles of the war!

"Hey, mate, where's the Allied headquarters? I need to find the headquarters immediately!" Logan stopped a British lieutenant and asked.

"What? Allied headquarters? No idea! Maybe it's still behind the German tanks!" the young but despondent officer replied casually.

Logan asked several more people, but whether they were British soldiers or French, no one seemed to know if their headquarters was still operational. However, they did provide some valuable information: there seemed to be some kind of headquarters set up in a castle on the outskirts of Dunkirk.

So, Logan led his heavily armed paratroopers further inland, away from the beach. As they walked, they asked for directions, but no one questioned their identity or purpose—with disaster looming, everyone seemed focused on surviving the German onslaught. The usual formalities were now worth less than dirt.

"You mean General Gort and his headquarters?" A British sergeant, who seemed to have had a bit to drink, managed to steady himself and pointed north. "That's not some Allied headquarters; that's our Expeditionary Force headquarters! See that oddly shaped castle on the hill? It's there! It's solid, very solid. No need to worry about German bombs!"

Suppressing a small surge of excitement, Logan patted the man on the shoulder. "Good, thank you! Mate, you've done a great service for the British Empire!"

The sergeant showed no excitement. "Great service? Ha, just get me back to Britain sooner! This damn war! These damn Germans!"

"You will, mate, don't worry!"

Logan couldn't help but feel a bit of mockery in his heart: if the operation succeeded, few of them would make it back to Britain. They'd all be doing hard labor in Adolf Hitler's prisoner-of-war camps!

Passing through streets lined with collapsed buildings, the group left the city of Dunkirk. The castle on the hill looked close, but it was still quite a walk. By the time they reached the oddly shaped castle, their legs were sore. In the previous century or the one before that, it might have played a role in defending against the British fleet, but now it served as a temporary shelter for a group of British officers. The changes of history were truly thought-provoking!

A clean-shaven British captain stopped the group of heavily armed men. After inquiring about their purpose, he demanded to see Logan's credentials.

Logan naturally pulled out the officer's ID forged overnight by German intelligence. He wasn't sure if it would pass muster, but he kept his expression calm and appropriately urgent.

"Major Bimont Shoot, 2nd Battalion, Royal Scots Fusiliers?" The captain's tone was slightly skeptical. In the British Army, many infantry regiments still used traditional designations, though the soldiers of the Fusiliers certainly weren't carrying ancient flintlock rifles into battle, just as the Rifle Brigade had long since upgraded to modern Lee-Enfield No. 4 rifles.

Logan replied in his Scottish-accented English, neither humble nor pushy, "Yes! I have urgent information to report to General Gort! I must report to him in person!"

"Wait here!" With that, the captain took his ID and walked into the castle.

The castle was lit, and the officers inside seemed to be working late. Logan glanced around the guard post. The guards had built two machine gun positions using sandbags, each equipped with a Vickers Mark I heavy machine gun mounted on a high tripod, allowing for both ground and anti-aircraft fire.

Including the machine gunners, there were five guards visible.

Two minutes later, the captain returned with another officer.

"Major Bimont Shoot, I am Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Ring, a staff officer at the Expeditionary Force headquarters. What do you need to report to Lord Gort?" The man, though haggard, had sharp eyes and an air of superiority that surpassed even his captain colleague.

Logan deliberately spoke loudly, "The situation is urgent, and I must report to the general in person! This directly concerns the fate of over 30,000 British soldiers. There's no time to waste!"

Even the guards at the post turned their heads curiously.

The lieutenant colonel gave Logan an unhappy look. "Follow me, then."

This was expected. Just as Logan was about to follow the lieutenant colonel inside, the captain inconveniently said, "Major, please leave your sidearm here."

Without hesitation, Logan opened his holster and handed over the Webley & Scott revolver.

The acting wasn't brilliant, but at least it wasn't suspicious. The German paratroopers, clad in British Army uniforms and wearing the insignia of the Royal Scots Fusiliers, silently stepped aside, ready to follow the orders of their deputy commander, Leutnant Lenz Steffenberg.