A Meeting of Minds

"Small-caliber rapid-fire cannons! Not even a single 25-pounder howitzer? Are they all British troops? Or are there some French mixed in?"

Listening to the explosions outside, Peter muttered to himself, though neither Dietrich nor Logan, who were standing close by, could make out his words.

Crammed inside the constantly shaking "sardine can," Logan felt a sense of suffocation, especially as the smoke from the explosions drifted in, making him cough uncontrollably. He suddenly wondered: Did Hans Logan originally suffer from bronchitis or some other lung condition? Or was his respiratory system just naturally sensitive?

The enemy's artillery fire continued unabated. Suddenly, a helmeted figure burst in at what felt like 70 miles per hour, nearly shoving the person on the other side out of the cramped space!

"Re...report...enemy forces spotted to the west...spotted..." The man, dressed in an SS combat uniform, was gasping for breath.

"Spotted what?" Dietrich had to shout over the noise.

"Enemy troops! Probably...French! A large number of them..."

"Huh? The French?" Dietrich said calmly, "Those fools are here to die again? Tell Jankel to give them a good thrashing!"

After catching his breath, the man finally managed to speak in complete sentences: "The French have brought tanks this time! Renault R-35s and Somua S-35s! About 30 in total!"

"Thirty? Where did they dig up so many junk tanks?" Dietrich seemed more curious than surprised. After the battles at Sedan, Laon, and in Belgium, the French armored forces had been largely wiped out, with many tanks abandoned along the way. The closer one got to Dunkirk, the rarer it was to see French steel on the move.

"I don't know, but they're definitely advancing toward our positions, along with over 3,000 French infantry! Jankel's unit might not be able to hold them off alone!"

Hearing this report, Dietrich's expression finally shifted from indifference to concern. The artillery outside continued to roar, and he decisively said, "Let's go, we need to see the situation on the front lines!"

"But it's dangerous out there..." Before Peter could finish his sentence, the "fanatical leader" had already charged out fearlessly.

Without much thought, Logan followed, leaving the flimsy "earthen can" behind.

The world before dawn should have been shrouded in deep darkness, but now it was awakened by bursts of fiery light. The air was thick with the pungent smell of gunpowder, and Logan's throat itched as much as his nose. The small town and its surroundings were defended by over 3,000 German troops, but aside from Dietrich and his officers, the cobblestone streets were eerily empty.

Whoosh... Boom!

An incoming shell struck a stone house with a pointed roof, just 20 meters away from Logan and the others. The young Luftwaffe lieutenant watched in awe as stones, wooden beams, and all sorts of debris shot into the air before raining down in a spectacular display.

At that moment, Logan was suddenly shoved from behind, stumbling and nearly falling. Before he could react, a strong hand grabbed his collar, and he heard the sound of fabric tearing. After these two abrupt actions, Logan completely lost his balance, tumbling awkwardly to the ground and rolling a couple of times.

"Take it easy, brave fallschirmjäger! Don't you care about getting hit by falling debris?"

The man who had spoken also fell to the ground due to the momentum. Logan looked up and saw it was Peter.

The falling debris clattered against the ground and rooftops. If any of it had hit his head, he might have needed stitches!

"Whew... thank you!" Logan said, rubbing his sore elbow as he sat up.

Peter kindly admonished him, "Don't mention it! Just don't freeze up like that next time!"

Logan felt a bit embarrassed at having his inexperience exposed. Battlefield experience wasn't something you could gain just by watching movies. The high casualty rate among new recruits was likely due to their inability to react properly in dangerous situations. If it hadn't been for Peter help earlier, Logan might have been lying in a hospital bed, unable to move.

Seeing the "brave fallschirmjäger" lost in thought, Peter patted his arm and asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine!" Logan quickly got to his feet. The enemy's artillery fire hadn't let up, and the street was no place to linger.

The two crouched and quickly made their way through the town to the northern defensive positions. Like the other three sides, this section of the defenses had been built on the trenches previously dug by the Allies. It now featured barbed wire, trenches, and anti-tank gun emplacements. The town's defenses formed a connected ring, placing Wormhout within a circular defensive system—on the British Expeditionary Force's operational maps, this town and three others on the outskirts of Dunkirk were key strongholds of the final defensive line, originally intended to hold back the German onslaught. Now, they had become a stage for the SS to prove their worth.

Dietrich had arrived earlier and was now discussing something with a tall, bald officer. Logan had already noticed that the SS officers and soldiers shared certain traits: they were generally tall, handsome, and young.

Logan followed Peter over and overheard them mentioning "Panzer IV tanks."

"Are we mobilizing the armored units so soon?" Peter interjected as soon as he approached.

Seeing his old comrade, Dietrich didn't seem surprised. He said, "Our infantry guns can't handle the French Somua S-35s. Only the Panzer IV's main gun can stop them now."

The bald commander, who reminded Logan of a famous German striker from the 1990s, added, "Our minefields are weak, and they were mostly depleted during the enemy's last attack."

Logan was about to bring up the 88mm flak guns temporarily under his command when Peter said, "Not necessarily! I think the Panzer IVs would be more effective if held back for a counterattack. As for the Somua S-35s, we could try another approach."

"What approach?" Dietrich asked.

Peter said slowly, "Anti-aircraft guns."

"Anti-aircraft guns?" Dietrich glanced at Logan, who was standing nearby.

"Yes, the 88mm flak guns!" Peter continued, "Although I don't know why Leutnant Logan initially took command of them, I just remembered some battles from the Spanish Civil War: our Condor Legion used these guns to destroy enemy tanks, and the results were reportedly excellent."

Then, Peter turned to Logan, "Leutnant, could you lend them to me temporarily?"

Logan broke into a cold sweat. He hadn't expected this artillery commander to also know the "trick" of using the 88mm guns. At first, he had wondered if Peter was also a time traveler! It turned out that using the 88mm guns against tanks wasn't something Rommel had pioneered. If it hadn't been for the Battle of Arras, this SS artillery commander might have become famous for this tactic.

"Well, since we're aiming for the same goal... I'll formally return their command to you now!" Logan said, going with the flow.

"Oh? Are you all planning to use anti-aircraft guns to fight tanks?" Dietrich looked at the two guys in front of him, who differed significantly in stature, age, and experience.

"That's right!" This time, the two answered in unison, then exchanged a smile.