The Tough Guy

The explosion lit up the road and the surrounding grassland, the scattered bodies no longer just clad in German gray, khaki uniforms now made up a significant portion. As one of the killers, Logan had taken out at least four or five British soldiers in just a few minutes. If he had been holding an MP38 submachine gun, that number would have been much higher!

But Logan was a man who knew his limits. Two days of firearms training weren't enough to turn a novice into a seasoned veteran. A good weapon only reached its full potential in the hands of an experienced soldier.

Personal achievements were insignificant compared to the sight of three Matilda tanks burning like fireballs. Logan felt a surge of pride, even stronger than when they had successfully ambushed the British Expeditionary Force headquarters.

However, now wasn't the time to celebrate. A shell from the north landed less than five meters from the anti-tank gun. Even Logan, who was farther away, was shaken badly. When he looked up, he saw Steffenberg and several gunners lying on the ground.

"Lent! Lent!" Logan shouted anxiously as he ran toward them. But another shell hit, the blast wave easily knocking him to the ground. His right cheek and forehead burned with pain.

His tired, heavy body wanted to stay down, but a voice in his head said: Logan, you're a fearless bastard. The only thing you should be lying on is a woman's belly. Get up! There are plenty of beauties waiting for you. Get up!

After what felt like seconds, Logan struggled to his feet. When he heard Steffenberg call out, "Leutnant," he felt an indescribable joy. To make a mark in this war-torn era, besides having a reliable and elite unit, he needed trustworthy lieutenants. With his encyclopedic knowledge of weapons, steady demeanor, and humble attitude, Steffenberg was the perfect choice for a military novice like Logan.

"Lent, are you okay?" Logan stumbled over and helped the lieutenant up.

Steffenberg shook his head. "I'm fine. Feels like I got hit with a club."

"Same as me earlier!" Logan quickly helped him move away from the road. Just then, another Allied tank slowly rolled onto the road, its machine gun spewing deadly bullets. At the critical moment, a helmeted paratrooper hurled a Molotov cocktail, and a bright flame erupted on the tank's side.

Although the tank wasn't immediately disabled, the crew panicked. They reversed haphazardly while trying to rotate the turret to shoot the brave German soldier. Not only did they fail, but they also caused chaos among the following infantry. Several Allied soldiers tried to help put out the fire but were quickly mowed down by German machine guns. Soon, the fire caused the tank's engine to overheat and stall. A tanker scrambled out of the hatch, but before he could get his second leg out, precise German gunfire took him down.

While the road was still a battlefield, Logan helped Steffenberg retreat to a relatively safe area. Seeing no more opportunities for ambush, the remaining paratroopers followed.

Logan counted—only eight men, two of whom needed support.

Tobias and Grot were missing. Logan quickly asked, "How's everyone? Is anyone still out there?"

Just minutes ago, the paratroopers had been firing at the enemy with gusto. Now, they looked like they'd been through an all-night brawl—exhausted, weak, and almost numb.

Mark Ella, the former goalkeeper, gripped his MP38 and said, "There might be a few still out there. I'll go check."

Only Dirk, an airman second class (Flieger), volunteered to join him.

A surge of anger rose in Logan. He handed the still-dazed Steffenberg to another paratrooper and took a Mauser rifle from him. "Take care of the Leutnant. I'm going back. As long as our comrades are still breathing, we won't leave them behind!"

Two paratroopers prepared to follow their commander, but Logan stubbornly refused. "No, you stay here and rest. We'll be back soon."

With that, he ran toward the road with Ella and Dirk.

The defenders' firepower had been suppressed, but wary of the three destroyed tanks, the Allied tanks north of the road didn't dare cross the death trap. Instead, they cautiously advanced with infantry leading the way. A few brave German soldiers threw grenades toward the road. Though the explosions posed no threat to the tanks, they still made the British nervous.

"Tobias! Grot!" Logan called out for the two paratroopers he knew best and valued most. Tobias was clever, and Grot was a rare all-rounder among the paratroopers. They might not become pillars of the army, but they were reliable partners and subordinates on the battlefield.

Near the destroyed anti-tank gun, Logan finally heard a weak voice. "I'm here!"

"Tobias!" Logan crouched and ran over, quickly finding the Luftwaffe corporal on the grass. His left shoulder was soaked in blood, but the rest of his body seemed unharmed.

With only two hours of battlefield medical training, Logan quickly applied hemostatic dressing to Tobias's wound.

"I got hit by a bullet. Just bad luck," Tobias muttered, looking at Logan.

"Bad luck? Oh no, Tobias, you have no idea how stunning the nurses are in the hospital. Once you're in, you won't want to leave!" Logan joked to lighten the mood.

"Oh, really?" Tobias's spirits lifted slightly, but when another shell exploded nearby, he grew despondent again. "Leutnant, do you think we'll make it back alive?"

"Of course. The almighty Fallschirmjäger come and go like the wind. No one can stop us!" Logan tightened the bandage around the wound.

"Ah!" Tobias cried out in pain.

"Good job, kid. You're a brave man," Logan said, looking around. "Let's get out of here and find a safe spot. Can you move your legs?"

"I think so," Tobias said through gritted teeth.

Logan helped Tobias up, biting his own teeth this time. Tobias wasn't fat, but he was tall and broad-shouldered, weighing at least as much as Logan. But compared to saving a comrade's life, a little hardship meant nothing. Fortunately, Tobias was still conscious, and his legs were fine. The two quickly rejoined the other paratroopers.

Logan gasped for breath. In the meantime, the paratroopers had bandaged Steffenberg's injured head, turning him into a comical little rice dumpling.

"Hey, Leutnant, you're amazing!" Steffenberg gave a thumbs-up. It seemed the effects of the enemy's stun attack had worn off.

"Amazing, my ass!" Logan looked back. Dirk had brought back another wounded soldier, but Groth was still missing.

Groth was a good name and a good soldier, though not much of a talker. Logan thought for a moment. "Leutnant, take everyone and retreat. I'm going back to see if there's anyone else left behind."

"What?" Steffenberg looked north. More British tanks had appeared near the road, illuminated by the flames. He firmly objected. "No, it's too dangerous! You might not save anyone and end up getting yourself killed! Besides... maybe there are no survivors left."

"At least Groth is still out there! I won't abandon any of my comrades!" Logan stood up resolutely. To be fair, he was more rational than emotional, but when he set his mind to something, he gave it his all.

"But..."

"Follow orders, Leutnant!" Logan cut off Steffenberg's protest. "Take everyone and retreat toward Wormhout!"

"Wormhout..." The lieutenant seemed to have anticipated this. It looked like they were heading into the enemy's encirclement, but on one hand, the retreat distance was shorter. On the other hand, the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler had the manpower and equipment of half a regular armored division. If they were surrounded, the High Command would never sit idly by and let this elite unit, bearing the Führer's name, be annihilated by the desperate Allies.