Chapter 1: A New Mission

At the summit of the Obersalzberg mountain in the German Alps, standing at 1834 meters high, the air remains fresh year-round, devoid of industrial pollution. However, to reach the Eagle's Nest, situated atop the mountain, one must first take a flight to the airport at the foot of the mountain, then transfer to a car to reach halfway up the mountain and finally take a cable car. Only after undergoing a series of strict checks can one enter the private castle of Germany's dictator!

Guided by an unfamiliar aide, Logan, who had just returned from Britain to Germany, made his way to the large terrace carved into the hard rock. Adolf Hitler, dressed in a brown military uniform, sat at a table with his most trusted comrade, Field Marshal Hermann Göring, chatting over tea.

Curious and puzzled by Göring's "resurrection" and subsequent changes, Logan had always found it perplexing. He had thought he had rubbed the arrogant and petty guy the wrong way earlier, expecting his path to promotion to be anything but smooth. However, in just four months, he had risen from an Air Force lieutenant to an Air Force major general, equipped with a car and guards, with his daily life taken care of without much thought. His ascent was as swift as a rocket. Was this a sign of Göring's attempt to win hearts?

Despite having decades of foresight, Logan couldn't fathom human psychology, especially that of such capricious individuals.

On the contrary, the ** paced back and forth, tearing at his unpleasant voice as usual: "Come! Our young imperial hero! Look, the proud Briton is finally trembling under our feet! The wrath of Poseidon, Poseidon is truly angry! It needs a nation more suitable to rule the seas, and that is the Germanic! Hahaha! Hail Germania!"

Logan walked over, noticing Göring sitting in a large wheelchair, covered with a silver-white blanket on his legs. With his luxurious style, all the supports might as well be made of silver?

"Respected Fuhrer, Imperial Air Force Major General Hans Logan salutes you!" With that, Logan turned slightly to salute the Air Force commander: "Respected Field Marshal of the Empire, your subordinate Hans Logan salutes you! I hope you recover soon!"

Göring, still obese and bloated, merely nodded slightly in response, not even bothering to look directly at Logan.

Having just brought Romania into the Axis camp and openly sending troops to "protect" Romania one day, Adolf Hitler once again won a victory in a series of international political struggles. So, the **'s mood seemed particularly good. He gestured for Logan to sit down, and had the aide pour a cup of tea for the young Air Force major, excitedly saying, "The Imperial Paratroopers performed exceptionally well in England. Originally, we thought we needed 200,000 troops to secure a foothold in England, but no one could have imagined that our 30,000 soldiers would leave the British helpless. The invincible momentum of the Imperial Army has shocked the entire world!"

Thirty thousand people referred to the troops that landed on the beaches of Le Pétat and conducted deep airborne operations. When they survived the first night, their numbers were not even close to thirty thousand. Of course, if you really counted, the air force and artillery on White Island should also be included. Without them, the 30,000 troops that forcibly landed would not even be enough to fill the gaps in the British teeth!

Growing up environment determined that Logan still had some knowledge of human affairs. He respectfully attributed the credit to his superiors: "This is entirely the result of the wise decisions of the Fuhrer and the Imperial Field Marshal! We only faithfully executed this strategy!"

The ** laughed heartily, and Göring's facial muscles twitched slightly, wearing an ambiguous expression that continued to perplex Logan.

"Now Britain is in dire straits. Not only are our Italian allies eager to share the spoils of victory, even our little Spanish brother can't sit still!" Hitler said with satisfaction, "However, they still don't have the strength to recapture Gibraltar, but they are unwilling to hand over its control to us, so let them sit on the stove for a while longer!"

The speaker seemed indifferent, but the listener was genuinely interested. Logan couldn't help but marvel inwardly: Is Spain going to join the war too? It seems that the arrival of oneself has indeed caused a butterfly effect in historical time and space. Next, will the United States also be drawn into this war?

The ** continued to expound on his thoughts as if no one else was present: "And those yellow monkeys, seeing that the British are failing, are also eager to occupy Britain's colonies in Asia. Our Foreign Minister says that their clumsy performance is really ridiculous. However, they eventually signed the treaty obediently! If it weren't for considering their powerful navy and army, I wouldn't even bother associating with them!"

Yellow monkeys? Mud bombardiers? The treaty mentioned by the little mustache should be the legendary Tripartite Pact! Signed? But those greedy islanders not only couldn't help, they would only annoy the Americans at critical moments and end up smelling bad, achieving nothing!

Logan thought angrily, but unfortunately, with his current status, he had no say in the internal and external affairs of the Empire.

Rambling aimlessly, the little mustache seemed to finally realize that he had gone off topic, and quite far off at that. So, he took a sip of tea, cleared his throat, and said, "Hans, you see, the British government still adamantly refuses to compromise. It seems this war will have to continue! Of course, we have prepared another plan, which is to invite our old friend, the Duke of Windsor, to return to Britain to take charge, but that must be after we defeat the existing British government forces! Our intelligence indicates that the British are withdrawing aristocrats, scientists, and a large number of wealthy individuals to Canada. Of course, they also have a staggering amount of wealth!"

"Is that so? That's truly surprising!" Logan finally managed to say something, albeit irrelevant and uninsightful.

Göring, sitting on the side, sneered, "Hasn't the Navy's raiding squadron been active in the Atlantic? I think they should plunder the British ships fiercely. Perhaps they could even capture members of the British royal family!"

Having not heard from the Air Force commander for a long time, Logan thought he had lost his voice in the roadside bomb attack. But now, hearing him speak, his tone was still as arrogant as ever.

Hitler slapped his thigh, "Old buddy, your suggestion is really good. After lunch, I'll give Reder a call and see if our brave sailors can create a miracle worthy of history just like the Air Force!"

Göring's mouth did indeed show a smug and contemptuous smile.

Logan was now a hundred percent sure that this Göring, was still the same arrogant and rude Göring, whose head had definitely not been blown off by a roadside bomb. But what exactly was the reason that allowed him to achieve an unimaginable promotion path?

"Oh, Hans, speaking of which, our Italian Duce called the day before yesterday. They are very interested in the airborne operation we carried out on White Island and are ready to deploy two paratrooper battalions to Malta to conduct a beautiful German-style joint sea and air operation! However, he needs an experienced senior advisor. I and Hermann have discussed it. Considering that our airborne forces are gradually withdrawing from the front lines to the south of England for rest and rotation, we decided to send you as the guide! Don't worry, this won't take long, at most three weeks! The Italian Duce assured me that the battle of Malta would be over by the end of October!"

"Malta?" The young Air Force major was finally a little confused by this series of unexpected events. Can the Italians occupy Malta? In the original historical timeline, they had enough trouble dealing with that Mediterranean nail, let alone with the support of Kesselring's powerful air force, the Axis powers still failed to take Malta.

"Yes, Malta, an island smaller than White Island and far from any British ports and airbases! In addition to two paratrooper battalions, our Italian allies also plan to deploy their main fleet to transport marine troops to the island. With the disparity in strength between the two sides, the outcome of the battle is completely predictable!" Although the performance of the Italian troops in southern France before the French surrender had been embarrassing enough, the little mustache was still full of confidence in this ally of his. Perhaps in his eyes, taking Malta, such a small piece of land, should have been an easy task from the start.

Logan lowered his head and thought for a moment. Now that the British Navy's strength in the Mediterranean was weak, and recently the Italian fleet had engaged in a head-on battle with Admiral Andrew Cunningham's fleet in Alexandria, forcing the British fleet into an all-out defensive posture, the timing for the Italians to seize Malta was indeed the best. In case the British fleet suddenly decided to give up and return to Gibraltar port one day, the Italian Navy would be in trouble again!

"Go, Imperial Eagle, take a vacation in the beautiful Mediterranean and deepen our friendship with our Italian allies!" the little mustache said lightly. "The British operations will still proceed according to our Sea Lion plan. General Busch is a very capable commander, and he will not disappoint us! In addition, General Student can officially take office as the commander of the 11th Airborne Division this month, coupled with the newly formed 1st Airborne Division, we already have a powerful airborne force capable of deciding the outcome of the battlefield! Oh! Hans, when you come back from Italy, we will have a huge surprise for you!"

A surprise?

Logan couldn't even begin to guess the content of this so-called surprise from the little mustache's smile. He glanced at Göring, whose fat cheeks displayed an unusually calm expression, with a cold and icy tone:

"You don't need to return to Berlin this time. We have prepared a special plane at the airport to fly directly to Italy! General Logan!"

"Yes, respected Imperial Field Marshal!" Logan sighed deeply in his heart. Both of the Empire's most powerful figures had agreed, so did he have a choice? When would he have the opportunity to dictate to others and truly control his own destiny?

Italy, Malta, war. Logan found it difficult to transform his impression of these three words into a White Island-style airborne landing operation. Besides being able to enjoy delicious noodles, visit romantic and artistic military camps, and witness passionate Italian ladies, could he really gain anything from this trip?