Another Fanatic
"Who is Leutnant Hans Logan?"
When this slightly hoarse voice came from behind, Logan was fiddling with a Lee-Enfield No. 4 rifle left behind by the British sergeant. While the large-caliber revolver was effective in close combat, in a trench battle, a rifle was clearly more useful!
"Oh, that's me. And you are…?" Logan turned around and saw an SS officer in his early forties, fit with a small, round face. Based on his personal understanding, Logan saw this unit as "fanatics," and their commander was naturally the "fanatic leader." Of course, the biggest leader was none other than the Führer himself!
"Josef Dietrich, commander of the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler!" The "fanatic leader" extended his right hand. "Leutnant, you've done us a great favor!"
Logan had a faint memory of this name. He replied modestly, "Just a small trick, nothing to boast about! But it seems the British have seen through it now."
"Oh?" The "fanatic leader," who looked to be in his early forties, was surprised. "You're saying… you tricked them into leaving, rather than them withdrawing on their own?"
Logan smiled. "These British wouldn't leave without a reason! In fact, last night we raided the British Expeditionary Force headquarters in Dunkirk, killed twelve British and French officers, including Lord Gort, used their radios to pull off a little trick, and forged a few fake orders! Tobias, bring over the codebook and those officer IDs!"
The Luftwaffe sergeant quickly brought the Bible-sized codebook and the twelve British and French officer IDs to Logan, who handed them to the "fanatic leader."
"I hope this helps!" Logan said generously.
The man was overjoyed. "My God, Leutnant, you'll surely receive the Iron Cross for this! No, even the Iron Cross First Class wouldn't be enough to honor your achievements! I'll send a telegram directly to the Führer!"
Logan smiled faintly. The combat effectiveness of the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler wasn't the point—the name alone was impressive. Being the commander of such a unit, Dietrich was clearly no ordinary man.
The "fanatic leader" called his adjutant and ordered him to immediately send a telegram to the High Command in the name of the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, reporting everything that had happened here and strongly recommending that all units take advantage of the chaos in the Allied command to launch a fierce attack on their defensive lines.
"It seems victory is within reach!" Dietrich clenched his fist in excitement.
Whoosh…
"Take cover!" This time, Logan quickly pushed Dietrich into the trench. Although the British shells eventually flew over the position and landed on the other side of the canal, the SS commander gratefully said,
"Leutnant Logan, you're my lucky star! I owe the paratroopers another one! Thank you so much!"
Logan helped Dietrich dust off his shoulders and said, "If we're thanking anyone, we should thank the High Command for approving this risky operation, the Luftwaffe headquarters for their strong support, General Kurt Student for his candid advice, and finally, thank heaven for favoring us!"
To his surprise, Dietrich laughed heartily. "My friend, you're quite the character! Ultimately, shouldn't we also thank the Führer for his wise leadership? And speaking of General Student, I still feel guilty about him!"
"Oh? What do you mean?" Logan asked.
"You don't know?" Dietrich said. "My idiots accidentally shot the general during the Rotterdam operation. I had to dismiss several officers over it!"
There was such a thing? Logan thought to himself. He only knew that General Student had been injured but never knew how. It seemed a bit of gossip was good for the soul.
Whoosh… Whoosh…
A few more shells came over, kicking up large clouds of dirt in front of the British-built positions. Ahead, the British infantry, having turned back, were organizing a new attack. But apart from a few field guns, all they seemed to rely on was the extraordinary courage of their officers and men!
When the British infantry advanced to within a few hundred meters of the position, Dietrich finally ordered them to open fire. Instantly, dozens of MG34 machine guns roared to life. The legendary "sound of tearing linen" combined with the crisp crack of rifles, casting a "morale-draining" spell on the British!
Logan fired repeatedly with the Lee-Enfield No. 4 rifle, proud of the British. But every time he pulled the trigger, his target either fell immediately or had already fallen back. After firing a full magazine, Logan realized he probably hadn't hit a single target—it felt like he had time-traveled again, from the fast-moving, armored warfare of World War II back to the machine gun and trench warfare of World War I: under the dense fire of German Maxim machine guns, British and French soldiers fell like stacks of wheat!
Amid the crisp machine gun fire, the German soldiers who had been stuck on the other side of the canal finally vented their frustration, while the exposed British infantry suffered terribly. The dense rain of bullets wove an impassable web of fire on their path, and every step forward came at a heavy cost. Churchill and Gort had gone to great lengths to preserve Britain's manpower, but these young, healthy soldiers fell in droves on this weed-covered field. Without a doubt, countless British mothers who had lost their sons and British women who had lost their husbands would weep daily, gazing across the Channel!
A few minutes later, the MG34 machine guns finally ceased their roar, with piles of shell casings rolling around the gunners' feet. In less than ten minutes, no standing figures could be seen in the field. In front of the position, the number of bodies lying haphazardly was too great to count quickly, and a few survivors remained in a prone position. As for the unfortunate souls who were wounded but not dead, they could only moan in pain, hoping for rescue.
"Since machine guns were first deployed on a large scale in combat, sending infantry alone to charge enemy positions has been an utterly foolish act!" Dietrich said gravely to Logan. "But just a few hours ago, I had to drive my own men to do such foolish things. Leutnant Hans Logan, from today, the entire Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler will be your most reliable friends! If you ever run into trouble, come find me!"
"I just did my duty…" Logan suppressed his inner joy and said sincerely, "As for you and your unit, I've always held the utmost respect! It's an honor to have such friends."
After two costly charges, the British infantry on the other side dared not cross the line again, instead digging trenches far away. Dietrich paid no mind to this. He had his troops speed up the crossing while discussing the Allied deployment in Dunkirk with Logan using the captured maps. The maps they had looted from the British Expeditionary Force headquarters last night and the observations they had made along the way that morning now became invaluable intelligence.
Dietrich and his staff huddled together for a long discussion, with Logan "egging them on" from the side. They finally reached an important conclusion: given that the Allies' ultimate goal was a large-scale sea evacuation centered on Dunkirk, they neither would nor could maintain the current ring of defense. As the German ground forces pressed forward, the Allies would inevitably fall back to form a smaller, more solid defensive perimeter around Dunkirk, buying as much time as possible for the evacuation of other troops.
Finally, Logan drew a bold red circle on the map with a pencil and pointed to a small dot in the center. "Wormhout, right here! We'll embed ourselves firmly here, like a nail in the Allies' backside, making them restless! In no more than 24 hours, our forces will close in from all sides, crushing this egg to pieces!"
Logan thought the analogy wasn't bad. He checked his watch—it was already 2 p.m. Looking across the canal, the Leibstandarte engineers had finally erected the first pontoon bridge, with the second one taking shape. Amid the rumble of engines, two German tanks slowly crossed the bridge, their faint blue smoke spreading like morning mist.