Chapter 2: Farewell, Montgomery!

"The quantity of force is never the sole factor determining the outcome of war."

As the resolute German tanks mercilessly rolled over the British trenches and the Stuka squadrons, launching relentless assaults, repelled the equally frenzied reinforcements from the British fleet, the soldiers of the British army entrenched in their last stronghold succumbed to utter despair.

The enemy's white flag forever symbolizes the commanders' pride.

Seated atop Tank Number Four, Logan watched with a calm expression as the bedraggled British prisoners marched past him in a long line, all silent, with only the sound of marching feet echoing in his ears. Just a few days ago, these brave British soldiers had charged at the defenses of Bamburgh Castle with unwavering determination, their fearlessness even earning Logan's admiration in the face of the intense German firepower.

Victory and defeat, an eternal truth. However, Logan did not catch a glimpse of his unseen "old adversary," Bernard Law Montgomery, for it was just last night that the army general had left White Island with his staff team on a boat, which proved that there were some stories behind the Dunkirk evacuation that were anything but coincidental.

Once the news was verified, respect turned into disdain. Even when faced with the dire straits of Dunkirk or Bamburgh, Logan had no intention of abandoning his comrades and fleeing alone. Such a character might not make him a formidable warlord like Cao Cao, but can a true leader ever think of preserving their own life as soon as danger looms?

Contempt, yet not without respect. Logan had experienced both defeat and victory in his two encounters with Montgomery. While he was pleased to have turned the tide, he was also acutely aware of Montgomery's military prowess. His daring and meticulous offensive tactics set him apart from many British commanders. While some believed that Montgomery only dared to launch offensives when he had an absolute advantage in manpower, especially considering his less-than-stellar reputation in North Africa, according to some fair and objective historical records, Montgomery was indeed an outstanding commander with a strong drive for innovation in tactics.

Next time, if there was a next time, Logan thought to himself, he must ensure that this fellow has no way to escape!

With the conclusion of the Battle of Wootton Harbor, Logan rallied his forces and effortlessly subdued the British landing forces entrenched in Cowes, East Cowes, and Yarmouth. In the final battle, some British infantry still displayed considerable combat prowess, but flesh and spirit could never withstand the might of iron and determination. By nightfall, save for a few scattered British soldiers hiding in civilian homes, there was no longer any British military presence on White Island.

The anti-landing operation ended in victory. Under Logan's leadership, the German troops who landed on the island began a vigorous "Great Production". On the basis of the original eight makeshift airports, they developed seven new airports on flat terrain and constructed twelve trench-style artillery positions along the coastline. With steel and cement gradually arriving by ship, sturdy gun emplacements began to appear right at the doorstep of the British people!

With artillery ranging from 105 to 150 millimeters capable of covering most areas of the Solent Strait, the Fuhrer with a small mustache once again displayed his imagination as an artist. He urged the army and navy to quickly transport long-range heavy artillery to the Isle of Wight, in order to bombard military targets inland from there, psychologically delivering the heaviest blow to the British. If the British still refused to compromise, these heavy guns would then provide powerful fire support for large-scale German landing operations!

So, a team of army engineering troops was quickly dispatched to the Isle of Wight. Their task was to reinforce Portsmouth Harbor and establish a custom rail line extending from the southeastern port to the northern part of the island. According to the Fuhrer's plan, the Germans would transport the formidable K5E via sea. This train-mounted cannon had a caliber of 280 millimeters (first equipped by the German army in 1936, historical records show that 28 guns were produced throughout the war), with a range of 60 kilometers when using GR35 shells. The entire K5 railway gun system consisted of a series of carriages, including locomotives, crew cars, supply cars, and ammunition cars. There were two firing modes: firing directly on the railway or fixed on a dedicated railway turntable.

In every aspect, the design of the K5 was classic, with simple carriers, outstanding ammunition handling equipment, and loading mechanisms, giving it astonishing mobility. Even deployed on the front lines so close to the enemy like on the Isle of Wight, it could evade British night airstrikes through rapid relocation.

Thinking of the scenes of cross-sea bombardment, Logan felt a sense of revisiting "StarCraft": when playing as the Terran race, he often utilized transport aircraft to airdrop tanks near enemy bases. As the tanks switched to long-range artillery mode, those clueless peasants would be waiting to be slaughtered!

Unfortunately, before the long-range heavy artillery was in position, Logan received a telegram: he was to leave immediately for the Imperial capital, Berlin, where the Fuhrer would personally reward those who made outstanding contributions to the Battle of the Isle of Wight!

Although leaving many profound memories on the Isle of Wight, the fortress had taken shape, and the responsibility of attack and defense had been handed over to the air force and army artillery. As a paratrooper officer, Logan found himself idle all day. So, he happily boarded the transport plane - wondering what kind of reward awaited him. Promotion? Haha, then he would become the youngest general in the Empire! Medals? Wow, perhaps he would pioneer the Silver Oak Leaf Knight's Iron Cross Medal of this time and space? Position? Hehehe, being the overall commander of Fortress Operation was just a temporary appointment. Why not aim for a division or corps commander position?

If it weren't for the other officers in the cabin, Logan would almost burst out laughing.

Also flying off the Isle of Wight were eleven other officers headed to Berlin: two company commanders from the Assault Parachute Regiment, Lieutenant Gehardt Scherme from the Exemplary Parachute Company, and Lieutenant Albert Barkhorn from the 22nd Airborne Division. Both had performed excellently in the initial airborne operations and made outstanding contributions to the final victory in the following battles. Four platoon-level officers from the "Fuhrer Guard Flag Unit" had also displayed excellent performance in combat and received strong recommendations from senior officers of the unit. In Logan's view, such recommendations should be very fair. A single officer from the "Goring General Corps" accompanied by four sergeants, though not high-ranking, displayed astonishing courage, and this unit's casualty rate in the Battle of the Isle of Wight was even higher than that of the paratroopers!

The Ju-52, driven by three engines, flew smoothly, and the cabin was quite noisy, so Logan only exchanged a few words with familiar or unfamiliar officers along the way. In just over a week, he hadn't had the chance to get to know everyone in the landing force. The relative lack of historical "knowledge" also occasionally caused him to miss some figures who would have been famous in the original historical timeline, such as 26-year-old Sergeant Michel Weitmann, commanding a Type 3 assault gun in the "Fuhrer Guard Flag Unit" (ranked 3rd in historical combat records and the most famous tank ace), the obscure tank soldier Helmut Wendorf (ranked 6th), and a batch of future tank elites like Hans Philippson, Helmut Windolf, and Alfred Gonsalv.

Just as the main instigator of the Battle of the Isle of Wight, Logan, flew away from the now no longer beautiful island, a meeting that could possibly influence the fate of the entire UK was taking place in an underground fortress located in the city center of London.

In the room, both male officers and female secretaries had serious expressions, refraining from speaking more than necessary. The only sounds were the hurried footsteps of men and women in leather shoes across the cement floor.

Outside a heavy wooden door, two army generals, both middle-aged, anxiously and nervously awaited the decisions being made by the higher-ups in the conference room. One had a thin face with weary eyes, giving the impression of a shrewd individual, adorned with the rank of British Army Major General; the other was slightly taller, with large but lifeless eyes, sparse blonde lip hair, exuding an air of loyalty and stability, yet holding the rank of only an Army Brigadier.

With a creak, the door opened, and a white-haired Army Marshal stepped out, speaking in a hoarse voice, "Bralaud, come in!"

In this cramped and quiet space, even the slightest sound seemed to pierce through people's souls. The relatively slender officer reflexively stood up from his chair, hesitated as he adjusted his collar, lowered his head slightly, and walked in briskly.

After the heavy door closed, all the noise instantly disappeared.

The one left outside, with drooping eyelids, absentmindedly looked at his newly polished leather shoes, gleaming brightly enough to be used as a mirror.

The lonely wait felt like an eternity.

Finally, the door opened again, and the slender Army Major General emerged, donning his crimson-brimmed military cap as he stepped out. He solemnly shook hands with the older general and bid farewell.

"Harold!" The elderly general tilted his head slightly, seemingly unconcerned about the strain his aged neck might endure from this movement.

The Army Brigadier, with his lifeless eyes, walked heavily past, exchanging only a nod with the slender figure as they crossed paths.

At this stage of the war, who still had the inclination to care about others' fates?

Before entering the room, the Army Marshal, who could almost be described as "long in the tooth," patted the younger officer's shoulder, lowering his voice, "The coward has been sent to train colonial troops in Africa, along with his staff team, bringing disgrace to the British Army! Defending Britain requires warriors like you. Don't let us down! Do your best!"

"Do your best? With what?"

The officer, whose beard matched the brown color of his hair, still had drooping eyelids. He tried to lift his spirits but found that no effort could overcome the harsh reality: after losing air superiority, nearly all of the 15,000 well-equipped British infantrymen had been wiped out, while the enemy's numbers were only around ten thousand. If the Germans were to send two hundred thousand elite troops ashore, would Britain still have any hope?