Oh? Have you taken a liking to me?

The temporary command post of Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler was set up in a two-story hotel located to the south of the town. When Logan arrived there, Dietrich was standing on the small balcony of the top floor, observing the situation in the distance with binoculars.

"What's going on? Are the British attacking?" Logan asked impatiently, having just been on his way while grumbling about forgetting to remind the "fanatic leader" that Montgomery was a formidable character known for his decisiveness.

"Not yet! The outpost hasn't reported anything!" Despite his short stature, Dietrich stood tall and proud, like a spirited rooster.

After the earlier explosion, the area around the town was eerily quiet. Dietrich had deployed several outpost positions around the town, which Logan had seen on his way there. Some were tiny trenches that could only accommodate two people, designed merely to avoid gunfire and detection by distant enemies; others cleverly utilized hills or depressions in the terrain. In any case, if anything unusual was detected, the sentries would promptly contact the command post via wired phone or signal with gunfire!

Perhaps it was just a landmine triggered by animals like pigs or cattle, or some other non-human cause that set off the fuse. As Logan speculated, a sudden flash of light appeared in the darkness to the east, followed by another explosion!

A series of hurried footsteps approached from behind, and an officer in SS combat uniform reported: "Outpost 14 reports a large number of enemy infantry! This post is located to our east, 2560 meters from the front line!"

"Understood!" Dietrich replied coldly. To Logan, this demeanor could only be described as "cool"!

After a while, that officer returned to report: "Outpost 7 has spotted enemy infantry; this post is 2210 meters from the front line!"

"Hmm!" Dietrich simply responded again. Meanwhile, Logan couldn't help but admire how methodical and serious the Germans were; even such distances were calculated with remarkable precision. Compared to lackluster allied troops, they were simply embarrassing!

When the officer came back for the third time, the distance had changed to "2050," prompting Dietrich to calmly order: "Prepare all battalions for combat; artillery will fire its first illumination round as a signal to commence barraging from 2000 meters!"

After a moment of smoking a cigarette, Dietrich looked at his watch and instructed his aide: "Fire two illumination rounds at three thousand meters straight ahead!"

It's hard to imagine a "fanatic leader" commanding a battle so elegantly that years later Logan still vividly remembered this scene.

Moments later, a loud "booom" came from behind as artillery fired; a barely visible dot shot up at high speed into the sky. A few seconds later, blinding light erupted in view, instantly dispelling darkness and leaving only a world of brightness...

Logan gazed at the distance in astonishment; illuminated by intense light, countless yellowish dots appeared on the flat fields. Even without binoculars, one could see these allied infantrymen armed with rifles and bayonets advancing toward Wormhout; their front line was barely over a thousand meters from the German forward positions!

The scene was indeed spectacular, but time had turned to 1940; the era of great traditional infantry had long passed. Artillery and machine guns had become defenders' most effective weapons; an infantry assault on enemy positions would be every commander's nightmare!

In an instant, howling shells stirred up storms of fire and blood across the brightly lit wilderness. In that second, elite infantry trained at great expense by the British Empire fell like weeds; in the next moment, every second saw Germans blooming triumphantly in victory's dawn! In that second, young Britons ended their youthful years; in another moment, women across the strait donned black veils...

German artillerymen were busily engaged while infantry at the front lines remained surprisingly calm. This was understandable; whether it was MG34s on bipods or standard Mauser 98Ks or MP38s, or even fifty and eighty millimeter mortars, their effective range was all within a kilometer. However, this did not prevent an overwhelming situation on the battlefield: as shells gradually covered deeper areas, more allied infantry abandoned their attack and turned to flee. Those left on the battlefield were either dead or wounded or trying to hide from artillery fire like "smart people."

In less than five minutes, the allied hasty offensive came to an end; survivors retreated out of sight while German artillery appropriately ceased its roaring.

Dietrich turned around and proudly said to Logan: "Look at those modern-equipped British and French soldiers; their combat effectiveness is no better than that of African natives! But... I prefer this kind of war; it's much more satisfying than directly beating those British and French commanders!"

Logan stood speechless among the German ranks. Even after experiencing brutal battles earlier, he was still significantly shaken: Was victory sometimes so easy? But why couldn't it continue until the end of war?

"It seems they won't dare come over for half an hour! Come on, let's check on our artillery!"

Without waiting for Logan to speak, this "fanatic leader" put his arm around Logan's somewhat thin shoulders and led him downstairs. Such gestures might be rare among officers of the Wehrmacht, but who was Dietrich? This uneducated veteran of World War I had served as both a policeman and as Hitler's personal driver and bodyguard. He was straightforward yet humorous—still showcasing his personality among many eccentric SS commanders.

The two crossed through streets that had returned to calm toward an artillery position near the north side of town. After more than ten rounds of bombardment just now, thick smoke filled the warm air here. Due to terrain constraints likely affecting positioning, artillery pieces were not aligned perfectly straight; next to each gun position lay numerous empty shells as soldiers transported fresh rounds from nearby trucks.

"Well done, Peter!" Dietrich praised a burly SS officer as he approached him and introduced:

"Let me introduce you; this is my artillery commander Peter Erhoff! And this is Luftwaffe Leutnant Hans Logan—the brave Fallschirmjäger!"

Brave Fallschirmjäger? Logan felt somewhat flattered; since crossing over into this world, it was his first time someone had given him such a title—importantly without being clichéd or overly ostentatious—perfectly fitting for his current "minor role."

"Nice to meet you!" The artillery commander extended his right hand enthusiastically; wow! His palm was even larger than Logan's by an entire size and full of tough calluses!

"You don't know it yet but Peter and I have been comrades for nearly 30 years!" Dietrich proudly stated. "Back then we served together as gunners in Kaiser's army and even collaborated on an AV-7!"

The artillery commander chuckled warmly. "To be precise—it's been 25 years and three months! However, if we exclude my eighteen years serving alone in Wehrmacht—that leaves only seven years!"

"Haha! We didn't lose contact during those eighteen years—how can we not count that?" Dietrich laughed heartily.

Logan naturally asked: "Oh? So you transitioned from Wehrmacht?"

Before Peter could answer, Dietrich jumped in: "Hehe—not transitioned—snatched! When Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler was just established there weren't many true military talents available. Peter served over twenty years in artillery units and even taught at an artillery academy—such treasure is naturally sought after by everyone! However... here he will definitely have more room for development than in Wehrmacht. What do you think Hans? You should consider it too?"

"Ah?" Regarding this question surprised Logan; materially speaking calling this top SS unit nouveau riche wouldn't be inaccurate: best equipment, ample supplies along with considerable freedom—but SS also bore strong political connotations—putting it nicely that would mean possessing powerful spiritual motivation—put bluntly—it's just Nazi henchmen!