Chapter 7: The Key

Two short months seemed insufficient to revive the war-torn French town of Monck. As Logan drove his VW82 bucket car back with "Little Sophie Marceau" and her siblings, the landscape remained filled with ruins and broken walls. Even the two households they had seen last time were nowhere to be found. Though the attachment to their homeland was strong, staying seemed like a dead-end path if survival couldn't be guaranteed, especially with many landmines still uncleared in the nearby fields. The once fertile fields now lay barren, devoid of any signs of harvest.

Exiting the car, lighting a cigarette, Logan, in his broken French, remarked, "It seems you still can't stay here."

"Little Sophie Marceau" remained silent, holding her siblings, as they gazed at the familiar streets and buildings, with only a wall facing the street left of their own house, the wooden door nowhere to be seen, and no intact furniture visible inside—just a pile of rubble.

Similar scenes unfolded at neighboring houses, or what remained of them. More tragically, some houses were reduced to mere rubble.

The two children, distracted by the food Logan had brought along the way, showed an uncharacteristic depth of emotion. Holding hands with their sister, they walked through the familiar streets. Suddenly, perhaps sensing their sister's sadness or the absence of familiar playmates, the braided little girl burst into tears.

Logan didn't like seeing women cry, but for this girl, not yet five years old, he didn't feel the usual irritation.

Soon, the two children, led by their sister, returned to the car.

"I always feel like Dad will come back here to find us and rebuild our home!" Despite their sailor father being missing and his fate uncertain, the girl's delicate face displayed an unusual stubbornness.

"Well, let's hope so!" Logan's cigarette still dangling from his mouth, his expression somewhat numb. "He might be stranded in the south, or perhaps at some North African port, or stuck in a British harbor. It's hard to say!"

"Can you help us find him?"

Her clear eyes shimmered with pitiful tears.

"I'll do my best, but... this is still wartime! I can't promise you anything!" Logan sighed.

"Didn't you say last time that the war would end soon? Now France has surrendered, but you're still fighting!" Her words were like soft ropes, inadvertently tightening around Logan's neck.

"Yes, the British are more resilient than imagined, but soon, maybe in half a year, at most two or three years, the war will be over completely! If... if everything is under my control, I don't think this war will drag on until 1943!" Logan took one last drag from his cigarette, then flicked the remaining half to the ground—a waste, but also the most scientific way to smoke, as legend had it.

"If you can help me with something, it will definitely be beneficial for the war to end sooner!" He finally came to the point.

"Little Sophie Marceau" didn't rush to respond. Instead, she led her siblings back to the back seat of the VW82 bucket car, where they found fresh fruits, large chunks of chocolate, and a whole string of sausages they hadn't seen in a long time. For innocent children, these were indeed the best choices to forget their sorrows. Afterward, she turned back to face Logan, tilting her head up to ask:

"Is it something about betraying France?"

"Betraying? No, it's not betrayal! The target is a German, a German officer! Killing him will bring no harm to France, but it will help end this war sooner!" Logan looked squarely at her innocent yet suddenly determined face.

"Are you asking me to kill someone?" There was a hint of terror in "Little Sophie Marceau's" eyes. Killing someone would be too difficult for this girl, who probably hadn't even killed a chicken before, let alone received any form of training.

"No, you just need to do as I say, take this information along with a drawing to the French resistance, and let them take care of him!" Logan said extremely seriously. "I swear on my life, this is not an ambush!"

"Little Sophie Marceau" indeed had a trace of doubt in her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "But I don't know any resistance fighters!"

Logan had already worked out the whole plan before coming. "You don't need to worry about that. Just follow my instructions when the time comes!"

"Will I die?" There was no hesitation. "Little Sophie Marceau" suddenly looked at the two children in the car with a face full of sorrow.

"No!" Logan was confident in this answer. He then listed his conditions: "After it's all over, I'll take you back to Germany and let you stay in my apartment until I find your father for you! During this time, I'll ensure your daily life and arrange for you to have a French teacher! I swear on the name of a dandelion!"

"Little Sophie Marceau" stared into Logan's eyes, trying to judge the sincerity of his words.

"Okay!" Her response came even faster than Logan had expected.

Ironically, this unarmed French girl turned out to be the most reliable person Logan could find this time. While his subordinates were loyal, asking them to leak information to the French and indirectly kill his own air marshal was unreliable!

"Let's go. I'll tell you what to do on the way!"

"Before we leave, I want to go see my grandparents and aunt. Is that okay?" There was no hesitation. "Little Sophie Marceau" said with her eyes downcast.

"Of course!"

Logan still remembered burying the old French couple himself. They were buried in the cemetery behind the church in town, where over six hundred German soldiers and more than two thousand British and French soldiers were also buried— all of whom died in the Battle of Monck. Two of his subordinates would forever remain here!

The dilapidated church seemed to silently narrate the hardships it had endured, and the collapsed statue of Jesus was shocking to behold. The broken pews were exposed to the sun and rain, and a few metal candlesticks were scattered in the dark corners. However, the colorful shards of glass on the ground still shimmered magically in the sunlight.

Turning onto a side road, the rows of wooden crosses, nailed together, looked particularly spectacular compared to the old stone tombstones.

In an inconspicuous corner, they found two crosses inscribed with French. They were simple in style, so simple that they were somewhat poignant. "Little Sophie Marceau" squatted down and whispered softly. Logan watched from afar, lighting another cigarette inadvertently. Since crossing into this era, especially after experiencing the test of war, his reliance on cigarettes had quietly increased. It was no wonder some called it the anesthetic of the battlefield.

War, the damned war, let me end its evil journey with my own hands! Even if it requires the most wicked means!

The first target to fall under his ruthless hand would be Hermann Göring, who had monopolized the air force's resources for years. Just a few days ago, this guy, who was only good at boasting and seizing resources in the war, had been promoted to the unique position of Reich Marshal. His visit to the north of France this time was probably to show off in front of his subordinates!