Chapter 15 Bread and Milk

As soon as the dawn broke, General Puchel got up. Due to a sleepless night, he had two huge bags under his eyes, but his hair was meticulously combed, paired with a neat military uniform and shiny medals, he still looked radiant.

Puchel originally thought Captain Logan would gather the Model Paratrooper Regiment early in the morning. After all, this was a unit that had only been formed for 12 days, with soldiers from two active-duty divisions and several reserve battalions. They might not have met each other before, and the officers had no experience working together. Puchel could imagine the level of proficiency such a unit could achieve in simplicity, being a seasoned military man.

This was definitely a risk! Puchel couldn't help but feel a bit worried. Perhaps he shouldn't have agreed to Captain Logan in the first place, this eccentric and quirky fellow! How did he let himself be led by the nose by him?

At 7 o'clock in the morning, there was finally some commotion in the barracks of the Model Paratrooper Regiment. Around a quarter past seven, Puchel heard a burst of cheers. At first, he thought Logan had announced to his subordinates that the unit would soon be reviewed by the Führer—an extremely prestigious reward for German soldiers nowadays!

But when he learned from Scob that Logan had just announced to all officers and soldiers that the parade and marching exercises for the next two days were canceled, Puchel almost lost his mind: Didn't this lad know the importance of being prepared and not slacking off in times of war?

After breakfast, Logan took the troops to the riverside. Currently, the 7th Parachute Division was stationed in the western outskirts of Saarbrücken, next to the beautiful Saar River. Despite being in the dry season, the river was still wide enough for larger inland vessels to pass through. However, apart from the bare riverbank and large tracts of farmland, there was only a very ancient watermill.

Soon, Puchel received a new report from his adjutant: Logan had divided his troops into several groups, with one group building a grandstand opposite the watermill, while the others took turns conducting attack and defense drills around the watermill.

Puchel was frustrated once again: Did this lad intend to fool the wise Führer and the generals of the High Command with just an old watermill?

The frustration didn't stop there. After receiving orders from the High Command last night, Puchel issued a special martial law order to the entire division: all leaves were suspended, and no one was allowed to leave or enter the camp without permission. Soldiers were not allowed to have any contact with the outside world in any form. This martial law order also applied to Logan's Model Paratrooper Regiment. However, in the morning, Logan's adjutant, Stefenberg, applied to leave the camp with two soldiers. When asked for the reason, Stefenberg initially mysteriously claimed it was for preparation for the review. Only after repeated questioning did Puchel learn that they wanted to go to Saarbrücken to procure an inland barge.

Puchel couldn't make sense of it and reluctantly allowed Stefenberg to go. As a result, in the afternoon, they indeed arrived with a barge that could carry at most two hundred tons. Out of caution, Puchel sent the division's guards to inspect the barge thoroughly. The report he received was that it was an ordinary civilian ship with nothing suspicious!

Throughout the afternoon, Logan continued to idle around with his troops by the riverbank. In the evening, the officers and soldiers even went into the river for a refreshing bath. Puchel felt his nerves becoming increasingly frazzled. When it grew dark, Logan's so-called surprise finally arrived: two trucks belonging to the Führer's Guard Regiment arrived, loaded with British uniforms and equipment—reportedly according to a special request from Captain Logan.

What medicine was Logan selling in his gourd? Puchel's mind was filled with more and more messy thoughts, like a ball of yarn messed up by a kitten, difficult to unravel and making no sense!

At midnight, with the help of two glasses of milk, Puchel finally managed to fall asleep, only to be rudely awakened by his adjutant (what a pain), and to his dismay, Logan's so-called surprise came again!

This time, the surprise brought by the air force commander's elite unit, the Hermann Göring Division, which arrived with four Ib-type tanks, four IIc-type tanks, sixteen Sdkfz221/222 armored vehicles, thirty-seven millimeter anti-tank guns, and thirty motorcycles. This convoy was quite grand, and someone unfamiliar might think it was an armored division of the German army marching at night.

Not only these equipments, but the ammunition brought by trucks almost crushed the empty ammunition depot of the Model Paratrooper Regiment!

Poor Puchel couldn't sleep and his mind was filled with all sorts of chaotic thoughts. He even felt that if he had a few more subordinates like Logan, he could retire much earlier—what normal commander could endure such torment?

Early the next morning, just as Puchel had managed to doze off for a bit, his door was rudely knocked on again.

"General, General!" Scob's voice was still so anxious.

"I don't need a report about Logan!" Puchel shouted impatiently.

"No, General, it's a top-secret telegram from the High Command!" Scob didn't dare to shout loudly, looking like a small dog who had been wronged.

Puchel jumped out of bed and walked to the door in a few steps, opened the door with a bang, "What?"

"It's a top-secret telegram from the High Command, you see..." Scob handed the telegram to the angry bull of a commander.

Puchel took a look, his eyes widened like copper bells: "Today?"

"What about today?" Scob pretended not to have sneaked a peek at the contents of the telegram.

"The Führer is coming today?" Puchel asked incredulously.

"What? Today?" Scob asked, pretending to be surprised.

"Get Logan here, on the double!" Puchel said.

Ten minutes later, when Scob brought in someone wearing British military uniform, Puchel instinctively reached for his gun.

"General, you called for me?" The person in the British military uniform spoke fluent German, and Puchel looked closely—other than Logan, who else could it be?

"Captain, what is this..." Puchel started to say.

Logan grinned, "Hey, don't worry, I'll explain everything to the Führer during the review, the effect will definitely be quite shocking, and we will definitely achieve our expected goal!"

Puchel suddenly felt that this guy's smile was quite sinister.

"Oh, alright! Captain, since it has come to this... just don't mess up the hard-won opportunity! Here, there's a telegram from the High Command, the Führer will arrive this afternoon!"

Logan's eyes lit up, "This afternoon? That's great, that's great!"

"Don't you think it's too hasty?" Puchel asked weakly.

"No, the sooner, the better! We can't afford to delay!" Logan grinned again, "We must complete that plan before Göring launches the air raid on Britain!"

Puchel sat there dumbfounded. The fact that the arrogant and unreasonable Hermann Göring had sent tanks overnight, and from his own elite troops no less, what did that imply? While it wasn't exactly admitting defeat, it was certainly a concession to the cunning schemes of this Hans Logan!

Oh God, what else could this Logan come up with! Puchel's heart drummed with apprehension.