The Seemingly Insurmountable Ice

After a nerve-wracking landing, the Fieseler Fi 156 Storch finally touched down on the grass outside the town of Wormhout. Before the propeller had even stopped spinning, a group of SS officers and soldiers who had been waiting there quickly surrounded the plane.

"Ah, congratulations, Leutnant Logan! The Führer has sent a telegram. Based on intercepted Allied radio communications, your combat report has been preliminarily confirmed. Given the current situation, Operation Cyanide has been declared a success. You are ordered to lead your team to the temporary headquarters in Sedan after the battle!"

Dietrich, the SS commander, spoke with excitement, as if the commendation were for him personally.

Logan stepped off the plane, his legs still wobbly and his mind in a daze. If it hadn't been for the timely appearance of two German fighter planes that drove off the British fighter, he might have become a ghost in the sky by now!

The "fanatical leader" put an arm around Logan's shoulders and said, "My friend, based on my understanding of the Führer, medals and promotions are definitely in your future. You might even return home as a national hero, celebrated by the people!"

"Oh?" Logan finally realized what the SS commander was so excited about. For soldiers, victory and honor were everything. However, although Logan wore a military uniform, he didn't yet have a strong sense of these concepts. To him, everything here—especially this war—felt like an incredibly realistic game. It was so real that it almost felt unreal.

"After the battle... does that mean we're to head to Sedan immediately?" Logan asked calmly.

This was a question the "fanatical leader" hadn't yet considered. After a moment's thought, he said, "My friend, I suggest you leave right away. The fighting here is more suited for ground troops."

If the "big rice dumpling" had heard this, he would have been very displeased. Although Logan loved parachuting, he hadn't been here long enough to develop a strong sense of pride in being a Fallschirmjäger. Moreover, he thought Dietrich's advice was quite reasonable: while the paratroopers' individual skills were impeccable, using them for ground combat was like asking a basketball player to be a soccer goalkeeper—it just didn't feel right.

"Oh, by the way, I think I saw tanks in the woods earlier," Logan suddenly remembered.

"Tanks? In the woods? Where?"

"Uh... on our way back. As for the exact location..." Logan turned to Steffenberg, "Where was that patch of woods? No more than 4 or 5 kilometers away, right?"

The Leutnant thought for a moment. "It's hard to say. It seemed to be to the north, maybe a bit east. We were being chased by that Hurricane, so we circled around a few times. The distance was probably about 5 kilometers."

"Are you sure they were tanks?" Dietrich asked.

"Actually... I think they were tanks, and more than one," Logan replied honestly.

"Ha! You've had a long day. Get some rest," Dietrich said, patting Logan on the shoulder. "Leave the rest to us."

Logan felt conflicted, but what could he say? The Storch was out of fuel and badly damaged.

After returning to the town by car, Logan had Steffenberg gather the paratroopers while he went to check on the artillery. After completing their calibration, the four guns no longer needed staggered firing. Once the gunners loaded the shells and the commander waved his flag, the guns would roar in unison. The Allied troops in Dunkirk were in for more trouble.

A beehive contains both sweet honey and stinging bees. By deploying artillery here, far from the main front lines, to bombard the enemy's last escape port, Dietrich was bound to face fierce retaliation sooner or later. However, Logan thought: the German advantage in the Dunkirk area was undeniable. As long as follow-up troops could quickly expand the breakthrough on the canal line and reinforce the position, the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler (Hitler's personal bodyguard regiment) wouldn't be in trouble. Instead, they might become the primary heroes of this battle.

Lighting a cigarette, Logan noticed a slender figure by the well: "Little Sophie Marceau" was struggling to carry a bucket of water toward the German field kitchen.

"This kind of work should be done by men."

Without leaving room for argument, Logan "took" the bucket and seized the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

"What's your name?"

"Little Sophie Marceau" hesitated, then replied in a voice as soft as a mosquito's: "Kylie. Kylie Legris."

"Oh, what a beautiful name!" This was probably the smoothest French sentence Logan knew.

The French girl didn't say "thank you." Instead, she glanced back at her family, who were still laboring by the well, and cautiously asked, "Can you let us go?"

Logan was taken aback. After pouring the water into the field kitchen's tank, he said, "And then what? Where would you go? There's fighting all around, bullets and shells everywhere, maybe even landmines! I think... staying here is safer than wandering around."

"Little Sophie Marceau" said softly, "Grandpa and grandma are too old to work. Auntie isn't well, and my sister and brother are too young. And they're all so scared."

Logan sighed. If he were the commander of these fanatics, it would be easier to negotiate. But the Luftwaffe and the SS only cooperated in terms of operations; their command structures were entirely separate. Should he beg Dietrich to let these poor French civilians go? How would Dietrich see him then? After all, Dietrich was a powerful and valuable friend.

"Nowhere is safe from fear right now. That's war. But... think about it: on one hand, you work and get food; on the other, you leave here hungry. Hmm?" Logan offered this choice using his limited French vocabulary. Before "Little Sophie Marceau" could respond, he pulled a few bars of chocolate from his bag.

"Here, your sister and brother will be happy."

The French girl hesitated but eventually accepted the delicious treats wrapped in foil. Noticing a German SS soldier watching from a distance, she quickly grabbed the empty bucket and ran back to the well.

Logan watched her slender figure with a sense of melancholy. He saw the two younger children light up with joy at the chocolate, the elderly couple and the middle-aged woman carefully sharing a piece, and "Little Sophie Marceau" herself hiding the remaining two bars in her pocket without eating any.

"Leutnant, everyone's assembled! The SS has prepared two armored vehicles for us. We can leave anytime," Steffenberg interrupted Logan's observations somewhat inopportunely.

At that moment, another round of artillery fire erupted from the gun positions.

"Lent, can you ask the men for some biscuits and chocolate?"

"Huh?" The Fallschirmjäger Leutnant was surprised but quickly ran off to gather the requested items. When he returned, he was carrying a handful of field rations and chocolate bars—originally meant to last three or four days. Fortunately, the mission had been completed in less than 24 hours. Once they returned to the rear, they'd have sausages, ham, and beer to their hearts' content. Who would care about dry biscuits then?

Seeing the food, "Little Sophie Marceau" was both surprised and delighted. The Allied troops who had previously occupied the area, though their own people, had suffered from supply shortages after being cut off by the Germans. They might even have taken food from these civilians.

"I have to go now. Until we meet again," Logan said in his broken French.

The girl remained silent, her eyes still filled with fear but also a hint of confusion and even gratitude.

Germany and France, two age-old enemies, had been killing each other for a century, with millions of soldiers and civilians dead at each other's hands. Could their civilians ever coexist peacefully, or even fall in love?

History's answer was yes. There were no eternal enemies in this world.

With this thought, Logan felt a glimmer of hope. Unfortunately, for now, all he could do was say goodbye.

When Logan approached his paratroopers, it was clear they had already heard the news of their withdrawal to the rear. They all looked relieved. Reflecting on the past 20 hours, the operation had gone surprisingly smoothly, but every step had been a gamble. If the British had stationed troops near the Expeditionary Force headquarters, if they had been exposed on the streets of Dunkirk or somewhere along the way, the slightest mishap could have led to total annihilation.

Before leaving, Logan made a point to say goodbye to Dietrich. The two agreed to meet for coffee on the Champs-Élysées next time.

The Sd.Kfz. 251 half-track armored vehicles could each carry 10 soldiers, so two were enough to transport Logan and his paratroopers. Along the way, the men chatted animatedly, as if the battle no longer concerned them—at least for the time being.