Chapter 12 How could it be him?

Staring at the breakwater for a while, Logan shook his head. "Broad daylight, we don't stand a chance! Let's go!"

"Go where?" Lieutenant Steinfeldt asked.

"To the outskirts, take our chances!" Logan's last words seemed somewhat uncertain. If they stayed in Dunkirk, they might still find opportunities for sabotage after dark, but launching another assault on the Allied headquarters like the previous night was unlikely. They had to learn from their mistakes; the enemy would surely strengthen ground defenses around command centers!

"Which way, east, west, or south?"

Logan pondered for a moment. "East! Let's head to Shipkahtelend! We need to find a way to breach there and let our ground troops charge in!"

No one objected, and the group moved in the opposite direction of the crowd. However, they blended in seamlessly—cars and trucks continuously passed by, transporting wounded and civilian personnel from the outskirts to Dunkirk and back.

After walking a short distance, Logan saw several trucks approaching from the beach and sent Tobias to check the situation.

"Hey, we're ordered to Shipkahtelend! Can we catch a ride with you?" Tobias spoke fluently, supposedly due to living with his grandmother, who was half British.

The driver, with a plump face, shook his head. "Sorry, not heading to Belgium, going to Cassel! You can hop on the two behind; they're going to Sasselle, only about 3 miles from Shipkahtelend!"

"Thanks!"

Tobias quickly ran to the back and knocked on the truck's door. "Hey buddy, can we hitch a ride to Sasselle? We've got a mission!"

Without hesitation, the chubby driver stepped on the brake and gestured, "Get in!"

As Tobias settled in the driver's cabin, Logan and the remaining 17 German paratroopers squeezed into the cargo space of the last two British trucks.

As soon as they got in, Logan's gaze was drawn to the long wooden crates piled halfway up the truck. Clearly labeled in English were the words: British Army, Handle with Care!

Logan exchanged a glance with Groth, the versatile old sailor, who skillfully extracted a dagger from his scabbard and gently pried open the top crate.

Through the crack, packs of rifle bullets were visible.

Hiss...

Logan immediately realized there were at least forty to fifty thousand rounds in each of these crates. From an amateur's perspective, it should suffice for a regiment to sustain a medium-sized battle or a battalion for an extended fight!

Were these trucks constantly evacuating soldiers from the front and transporting ammunition from Dunkirk to the forward lines?

Logan pondered heavily. He hadn't seen any ships unloading supplies at the port. Did this mean that the frontline Allied forces were critically short of ammunition?

As the truck rumbled along the rugged road, the distant beach was about to disappear from view when another wave of German aircraft appeared. This time, the German escort fighters engaged in a fierce battle with the previously arrived British fighters. From the ground, the planes whizzed through the air, chasing and tumbling, with several being shot down and trailing black smoke. It was evident that the German Air Force held an overwhelming advantage in numbers. Their bombers swiftly crossed the Royal Air Force's interception and entered the airspace above the port. Within minutes, Logan witnessed dozens of Stukas diving toward the harbor from the outside. Soon, the dock and breakwater were engulfed in rolling thick smoke!

Though silent, Logan's hope increased by a few degrees!

"Hey, Major, look!" This time, Groth cautiously spoke in English and remembered Logan's "new position."

Turning around, Logan's heart nearly jumped to his throat. Bloody hell! Wasn't that the female secretary they spared at the British headquarters last night? With a curvaceous figure, she looked just like a standard Coca-Cola bottle, looking around as if searching for her "lover" from last night.

Seeing the squad of armed British soldiers behind her, Logan knew he should have acted differently last night!

Luckily, these trucks were covered with canvas, and there was a significant flow of people on the road, so the secretary didn't notice them. Inside the truck, Tobias began tinkering with the typewriter again, under the guidance of Lieutenant Steinfeldt, they managed to produce a decent-looking document:

British Expeditionary Force x Division xx Regiment: Given the current crisis, your unit is ordered to retreat to Dunkirk immediately. You must arrive and complete boarding within 4 hours! British Expeditionary Force Headquarters.

The content of this document might not be brilliant, but the standard paper and prominent seal greatly enhanced its credibility.

"Excellent!" Logan gave the two men a thumbs up. If the intelligence department saw this, they might recruit them immediately.

As they neared the front line, the booming of cannons became clearer. Fortunately, the German Air Force seemed to focus all their energy on Dunkirk, and they faced no harassment from German fighters or bombers along the way. Just a few minutes before ten o'clock, the trucks finally stopped. Looking outside, it seemed to be a French village, with a dozen or so houses scattered on the slope near the river, two of which were collapsed, and there were four or five bomb craters nearby. Even such an inconspicuous village couldn't escape the harassment of the German Air Force and artillery!

"Sasselle, we're here!" The chubby driver got off the truck and patted the sideboard, saying, "Officer, can you help me with something?"

"Unload these crates?" Logan asked.

Logan jumped out of the truck and saw several guys dressed in British military uniforms unloading from another truck. All the boxes were temporarily piled up at the seemingly sturdy entrance of a farmhouse. At that moment, four or five soldiers were coming down the hill with two small carts, each one looking tired and dirty. The leading one, a stubble-faced lieutenant, shouted from afar:

"Thomas Major said if we can't get 20 boxes of ammo up there in half an hour, the next time the Germans attack, our boys will have nothing but bayonets to talk to them with!"

The soldiers who were moving the ammunition boxes burst into laughter. "That's a good one!"

"Hey, Lieutenant, which unit are you guys from?" Logan asked, standing in place.

"We're from the Norfolk Regiment!" the man replied. "Sir, we're part of the East Lancashire Division. Any questions?"

"How's the situation up ahead?" Logan inquired.

The lieutenant hastened his pace and walked over. "Can't say it's good, but it's not too bad either! Since dawn, we've repelled three German assaults in a row and taken down over a hundred of their soldiers!"

"That's good to hear! I just came from headquarters, tasked with delivering urgent orders to Heverlétre." Logan asked. "Your division headquarters is still there, right?"

"You mean General Montgomery's headquarters?" the lieutenant asked.

"Who?"

Logan's reaction startled the lieutenant and left his accompanying German paratroopers a bit surprised.

Thinking he might have said something wrong, the British lieutenant hesitated for a moment before saying nervously, "I mean our division commander, General Montgomery..."

Montgomery! Logan repeated the name in his mind. In 1940, he might have been an inconspicuous figure, but by the end of the North African campaign, he was considered the best British army commander!