Did I Miss the Exciting Part?

Finally managing to open his heavy eyelids, which felt as if they'd been run over by a truck, Logan saw an angelic face. Wait... was it morning already?

"Hey, Leutnant, this French girl seems really worried about you!" Mark Ella, the former goalkeeper, sat nearby with a bandage around his head and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, looking completely unfazed. On either side of him crouched two children—the younger siblings of "Little Sophie Marceau."

"I can't understand what she's saying, but... it seems the old French couple kicked the bucket," said Lensin Fritz, a Luftwaffe private with a prominent aquiline nose. His left arm was in a sling, and his tone was tinged with pity.

"Huh?" Logan asked in French, "What happened to your grandparents?"

"They're dead," the girl whispered. "Maybe they were too tired and wanted to rest in heaven."

Logan sighed. If not for his sheer luck, he'd probably be queuing at the gates of heaven too.

"I've been very obedient!" the girl said tearfully.

"I know, Kylie. In fact, death might be a release for them. Living is the real pain," Logan said, his words a heartfelt reflection. Despite being alive, his head was pounding, his body felt like it had been disassembled, and he wasn't even sure if his internal organs were still intact. Looking back, the previous battle had been too brutal, too devastating.

The girl lowered her head, seemingly pondering Logan's words.

After a moment, Logan said, "Hey, Kylie! Heaven is a happy place. Those who've passed on will bless us, bless all the living! And your grandparents—they'd want you and your siblings to live well, to be healthy and safe."

The girl turned to look at her siblings, who were still oblivious to the world. Her young face showed a complex mix of emotions: sorrow, tenderness, helplessness, confusion, and a sense of responsibility.

As the saying goes, children from poor families grow up fast. Logan couldn't help but reflect on his own childhood, which hadn't been particularly happy either.

"Yes! And Auntie will live well too, right?" "Little Sophie Marceau" turned back, her innocent yet melancholic eyes filled with determination, reminiscent of Princess Isabella from Braveheart.

"Yes, I promise, in the name of..."

"Dandelions!" the girl finished the sentence with him.

"Why dandelions?" she asked softly.

"Have you seen paratroopers jump? When their parachutes open in the sky, they look like dandelions floating in the wind!" Logan pointed to the paratrooper badge on his uniform. "I'm a paratrooper!"

"Oh! I saw it two months ago. They were so beautiful, like angels from heaven!" The girl studied the badge closely. The three black arches didn't seem related to parachutes, but it was indeed the emblem of the 7th Paratrooper Division.

"Angels? Well... angels get hurt too," Logan said self-deprecatingly. He turned his head with difficulty. "Mark, is the fighting over? How are the others?"

"Finally, you remember the important question!" The former goalkeeper seemed annoyed by Logan's childish conversation with the French girl. He muttered,

"The fighting ended two hours ago. The Allies retreated, bypassing Wormhout and fleeing toward Dunkirk! They must be scared of our bombers! Leutnant Steffenberg woke up before you but just fell asleep again. Oh, and that war correspondent—you guys were trapped under the overturned armored vehicle, yet you only suffered minor injuries. It's a miracle!"

"Overturned?" Logan could hardly imagine the force required to flip a heavy half-track armored vehicle. Was that even possible with ordinary shells? Did the British infantry stuff an explosive under the vehicle?

Thinking about this complicated question made his head throb with pain. Better to rest for now.

The former goalkeeper continued, "I got grazed by a stray bullet near the end of the battle. Lensin wasn't so lucky—a bullet shattered his arm. It'll take two or three months to recover."

"This little injury is nothing," the man with the aquiline nose said nonchalantly.

After lying down for a few more minutes, Logan finally felt the pain in his head subside. Using his sore arms, he propped himself up and sat on the bed. "Did the medic really say I only have minor injuries?"

"Yes!" the former goalkeeper replied. "And your head might have taken a hit. The old wound reopened, so they stitched it up."

Hearing this, Logan felt utterly frustrated. Had fate gone mad? Was it determined to pit his head against steel plates, trying to turn him into a vegetable or something?

Well, he didn't need a mirror to know he looked like a rice dumpling. Confident that he wasn't seriously injured, Logan got out of bed and walked out of the makeshift field tent with heavy steps. Outside, the sky had brightened, but thick clouds kept the world shrouded in gray. Craters, bloodstains, and debris were everywhere—remnants of the battle. Further away, he spotted the overturned half-track armored vehicle.

"Ah, Leutnant, you're awake! How are you feeling?" The bespectacled man, with a hemostatic cotton stuck to his face, looked cheerful and spry. He still had that old-fashioned square camera hanging around his neck—though in this era, it might have been considered quite advanced!

"Uh, not great. How about you?" Having fought side by side, Logan's tone was much friendlier. This guy looked sleazy and weak, but he'd turned out to be quite brave.

The bespectacled man stretched his arms. "I'm ready to take on the British again! By the way, Leutnant, if possible, I'd like to continue our interview."

"Interviewing a hero? Heh, aren't you a hero yourself now?" Logan laughed.

"Heh, I just threw a few grenades. Besides, when the armored vehicle flipped, I thought I was going to die. I was screaming for help! How could I call myself a hero after that?" The man held up his camera. "The most important thing is that my precious didn't break. The photos inside are priceless! How about a group photo?"

Logan quickly waved his hand. "No, no! I'm in no state for photos. I'd just ruin the Luftwaffe's image!"

As they chatted, a buzzing sound came from the sky. They all looked up to see a large formation of German bombers flying from the east toward Dunkirk in the northwest.

"Give those British bastards a good beating!" the former goalkeeper, Mark Ella, shook his fist angrily.

Boom... Boom...

The howitzers deployed near the town also roared to life. Although increasing the gunpowder to extend their range would accelerate barrel wear, the tactical—even strategic—value far outweighed the cost.

Perhaps hearing their conversation, Leutnant Steffenberg, his head also wrapped like a rice dumpling, emerged from a small tent nearby. "Leutnant, you're awake! Uh... my head hurts."

"Feels like someone hit you with a stick again?" Logan joked.

"Pretty much!" the lieutenant said with a bitter smile.

As they breathed in the fresh morning air and chatted about everything but life and death, the clanking of tank treads soon echoed from the direction of the town.

Logan turned to look. Oh, it was a column of tanks!

"Where were these guys last night? Showing up after the fight's over!" the paratrooper lieutenant said with clear dissatisfaction.

The bespectacled man explained, "Oh, Leutnant, you probably don't know yet. This is the Wehrmacht's vanguard, which just arrived this morning. The Leibstandarte's tank battalion suffered heavy losses in last night's artillery barrage. Rumor has it they have fewer than ten tanks left! But... we don't need to worry too much. Their replenishment rate is much faster than the Wehrmacht's!"

"So... the siege of Wormhout is lifted, and our forces have advanced to the outskirts of Dunkirk?" Logan looked at his companions in pleasant surprise. It seemed he was the last to hear the good news.

"Exactly! Our troops have crushed the Allied perimeter defenses like eggshells... pop!" Dietrich suddenly appeared from somewhere, his head also wrapped in thick bandages. Along with the "selfish" Rost trailing behind him, the group looked like a gathering of Indian maharajas.

"So, I missed some exciting stuff?" Logan didn't seem disappointed.

Dietrich laughed. "Yes, brave and wise Leutnant Hans Logan, but what does it matter? I'll have you and your men sent to Sedan. I believe the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht's special train is still there."

"Uh..." Logan thought for a moment. "Can you take care of these French civilians for me?"

Dietrich glanced at "Little Sophie Marceau" and the two children beside her. "Of course! As you wish."

The way he said "you" carried a tone of deep respect from the commander of the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler.

(End of Volume 1: The Unyielding Rookie: Standing Against Fate)