How Could It Be Him?

After staring at the breakwater for a while, Logan shook his head. "In broad daylight, we don't have much of a chance. Let's go!"

"Where to?" asked Leutnant Steffenberg.

"To the outskirts. Let's try our luck!" Logan's last sentence sounded somewhat lacking in confidence. If they stayed in Dunkirk, they might find opportunities for sabotage after dark, but another surprise attack on the Allied headquarters like the previous night was unlikely. As the saying goes, "Once bitten, twice shy." The enemy would surely strengthen ground security around their command centers!

"East, west, or south?"

Logan thought for a moment. "East! To Leuven! Let's try to create a breakthrough there and let our ground forces charge in!"

No one objected, and the group headed in the opposite direction of the crowd. But this wasn't enough to make them stand out—cars and trucks constantly moved along the road, bringing wounded soldiers and non-combatants from the outskirts and then leaving in the opposite direction.

After walking a short distance, Logan saw several trucks coming from the beach and sent Tobias to check the situation.

"Hey, we're ordered to go to Leuven! Can we hitch a ride?"

Tobias's English was fluent, reportedly because he had grown up with his grandmother, who was half-British.

The mustachioed driver shook his head. "Sorry, I'm not going to Belgium. I'm heading to Cassel! You can take the two trucks behind me. They're going to Kessel-Lo, just three miles from Leuven!"

"Thanks!"

Tobias quickly ran to the back and knocked on the truck's door. "Mate, can we hitch a ride to Kessel-Lo? We're on a mission!"

The burly driver didn't hesitate to hit the brakes and jerked his head back. "Hop in!"

Tobias got into the cab, while Logan and the remaining 17 German paratroopers quickly crammed themselves into the last two British trucks.

Once inside, Logan's attention was drawn to the long wooden boxes stacked in the truck. They were clearly labeled in English: "British Army, Handle with Care!"

Logan gave Grote a look. The versatile former sailor pulled out his bayonet and, with minimal movement, pried open the top box.

Inside were square paper packages of rifle ammunition.

Hiss…

Logan immediately realized that these nearly identical boxes contained at least 40,000 to 50,000 rounds of ammunition. To an outsider's rough estimate, that would be enough for an infantry regiment to sustain a medium-sized battle or an infantry battalion to fight for an extended period!

Were these trucks constantly withdrawing soldiers from the outskirts and transporting ammunition from Dunkirk to the front lines?

Logan struggled to make sense of it. He hadn't seen any ships unloading supplies at the port! Could it be that these ammunition supplies were brought to Dunkirk by retreating units earlier?

This back-and-forth transport of personnel and ammunition seemed like redundant work, but Logan suddenly wondered: did this mean the Allied forces desperately resisting the German advance at the front were now critically short of ammunition?

As the truck moved along the bumpy road, the beach soon disappeared from view. Another wave of German aircraft appeared. This time, the German escort fighters engaged in an intense dogfight with the previously arrived British fighters. From the ground, the planes roared through the air, chasing and rolling, with several trailing black smoke as they were shot down. The Luftwaffe clearly had a numerical advantage, and their bombers quickly broke through the Royal Air Force's interception to reach the port. Minutes later, Logan watched over a dozen Stukas dive toward the outer port. Soon, the pier and breakwater were engulfed in thick smoke!

Though Logan remained silent, the hope in his eyes grew stronger.

"Hey, Major, look!" This time, Grote cautiously used English and remembered Logan's "new rank."

Logan turned around, and his heart nearly jumped into his throat. What the hell! Isn't that the secretary we spared at the British headquarters last night? With her ample chest, slim waist, and wide hips, she's like a classic Coca-Cola bottle! Is she looking around for her "lover" from last night?

Seeing the squad of armed British soldiers behind her, Logan regretted playing the damn gentleman yesterday!

Fortunately, the trucks were covered with canvas, and the road was crowded. The secretary didn't spot Logan and his men. Inside the truck, Tobias was fiddling with the typewriter again. Under Leutnant Steffenberg's guidance, he produced a convincing document:

British Expeditionary Force, X Division, XX Regiment:

Given the critical situation, you are hereby ordered to immediately retreat to Dunkirk and complete boarding within four hours!

British Expeditionary Force Headquarters.

The content of the document wasn't particularly brilliant, but the standard paper and prominent seal greatly enhanced its deceptive power.

"Excellent!" Logan gave the two a thumbs-up. If the intelligence department saw this, they might immediately recruit them.

The closer they got to the front, the clearer the rumble of artillery became. Fortunately, the Luftwaffe seemed fully focused on Dunkirk, and they weren't harassed by German fighters or bombers along the way. Just before ten o'clock, the truck finally stopped. Logan looked out and saw a French village. A dozen houses of varying sizes were scattered on a slope near the river, with only two in a state of collapse. A few craters could also be found nearby. It seemed even this inconspicuous village hadn't escaped the attention of the Luftwaffe and artillery!

"Kessel-Lo is here!" The chubby driver got out and patted the tailgate. "Sir, could you do me a favor?"

"Unload these boxes?" Logan asked.

"Yes, sir. They're short on hands!"

Logan jumped out and saw several men in British uniforms unloading boxes from another truck. All the boxes were temporarily stacked at the entrance of a sturdy-looking farmhouse. Just then, four or five soldiers came down the hill with two small carts, all covered in dust. The scruffy lieutenant leading them shouted from a distance:

"Major Thomas said if we don't get 20 boxes of ammo up there in half an hour, our boys will have to talk to the Germans with bayonets during the next attack!"

The soldiers unloading the ammunition burst into laughter. "That's a good thing!"

"Hey, Lieutenant, which unit are you from?" Logan asked, standing still.

"Norfolk Battalion!" the man replied. "Sir, we're part of the East Lancashire Regiment. Any issues?"

"How's the situation up front?"

The lieutenant quickened his pace and approached. "Not great, but not too bad either! Since dawn, we've repelled three German charges and taken out over a hundred of their men!"

"That's good! I just came from headquarters with an urgent order for Leuven! Your division HQ is still there, right?"

"You mean General Montgomery's headquarters?" the lieutenant asked.

"Who?"

Logan's reaction startled the man and slightly surprised his own paratroopers.

Thinking he had said something wrong, the British lieutenant hesitated for a while before nervously saying, "I mean our division commander, General Montgomery…"

Huh…

Montgomery! Logan repeated the name in his mind. In 1940, this might have been an inconspicuous figure, but after the North African campaign, he would be regarded as Britain's best army commander!