When one's luck is good, they get the tiles they want in mahjong, someone offers to treat them when they're hungry, and they can even make a basket with their eyes closed. Just as Comrade Logan's report was concluding, the lovely secretary Miss Sarah brought in a military officer with an expression of reverence.
"Comrade, Captain Monty says he's here on orders from the Fuhrer!"
"Oh?" Logan looked surprisingly at the tall, handsome, and young Wehrmacht officer before him. Perhaps to showcase the perfection of the Aryan race, the guards around the Fuhrer, along with the secretaries walking in the Chancellery, were almost all stunning men and women. Despite Diederich's current state, he was reportedly quite the heartthrob in his youth.
After the secretary left and closed the door, Captain Monty saluted. "Comrade, I'm here on orders from the Fuhrer. He wishes to hear if you have any tactical ideas regarding Operation Sea Lion. Please prepare your plans within three days and head to the Imperial Chancellery!"
"Within three days? Does today count?"
Logan asked somewhat naïvely.
Although the officer in front of him was young, he seemed worldly-wise and responded calmly, "Of course! If you've already prepared the plans!"
Logan retrieved a file wrapped in parchment paper from his drawer. "If you don't mind, shall we depart now?"
As the captain donned his cap, he responded admiringly, "It seems you were well-prepared!"
"It's a coincidence. I just finished writing this plan yesterday, and this one," Logan said as he gestured, "was completed just a few minutes ago!" Originally intended as modesty, Logan's words were met with an even more respectful expression from the officer, reminding him that playing it safe was not the way to go.
The Battle of Britain had been ongoing for five days. Learning from Hermann Göring's "roadside bomb" incident, Adolf Hitler and his high command stayed in the safer confines of Berlin. They instructed the commanders of the armed forces and key officers to travel to occupied territories like France, Belgium, and Poland as much as possible. Punishing the culprits and reinforcing patrols in the occupied territories were essential. Rumor had it that for the past two weeks, the Gestapo and SS had been causing chaos in northern France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Poland, and even Norway. Hundreds of French citizens had been arrested and subjected to brutal interrogations—Logan wasn't too worried about this, knowing that Stephenberg and Rensin were brothers in life and death. Besides, the three of them went in SS uniforms. As for Diederich, given his close relationship with the Fuhrer, he probably wouldn't face much trouble in the end!
Entering the grandiose Imperial Chancellery for the first time, Logan couldn't help but feel like a country bumpkin entering a grand palace, finding everything here both novel and awe-inspiring. The military officers walking to and fro had steady strides and serious expressions. Upon entering the Mirror Hall, Logan was immediately struck by its grandeur, echoing Albert Speer's original design—to make envoys from smaller countries feel the might of the empire!
Walking through the towering corridor, people seemed tiny, and Logan's gaze darted busily between the officers approaching and the exquisite portraits on the walls. Suddenly, a deep blue caught his eye. That fellow... wasn't he Erich Raeder, the highest-ranking admiral in Germany, as seen in movies and photographs?
Seemingly sensing Logan's gaze, the admiral looked up at the young Air Force officer. In response to Logan's military salute, he raised his baton to eye level, but his expression remained unchanged.
It seemed the admiral had just encountered something unpleasant with the Fuhrer, most likely related to Operation Sea Lion, making Logan inexplicably anxious.
As there were already guests in the Fuhrer's office, Logan waited quietly in the Mirror Hall for nearly half an hour before another officer led him to the Fuhrer's office.
"Not in the war room?" Logan asked softly.
The officer replied, "No, the Fuhrer has been in his own office all day! If there's any situation, the generals will call directly from the war room!"
Just then, the door opened, and Milsche stepped out. When he met eyes with Logan, his expression was clearly surprised, but it lasted only a moment before a smile graced his lips.
"Keep up the good work, lad!" This remark left Logan somewhat puzzled.
Entering the Fuhrer's office, Logan was immediately drawn to the classical artistic furnishings, feeling as if he had once again crossed time and space to a surreal, intersecting point.
The dictator of the empire, the supreme Fuhrer, was originally studying a map on his desk with a magnifying glass. He slowly straightened up, the pressure of age and energy evident on his body.
"Hans, my brave paratrooper, I didn't expect you so soon! It's unbelievable! Tell me, what new wonders have you brought this time?"
"New wonders," Logan didn't quite like the term. Like himself and his exemplary airborne division, seen as experimental subjects in a moment of inspiration by the Fuhrer. But what could a small paratrooper unit do to stand out among millions of German soldiers and officers?
"Inspired by the divine, esteemed Fuhrer!" Logan said, feigning mystery.
"Do you believe in gods?" The little mustachioed man asked, half smiling, half not, his expression reminiscent of someone teasing a child.
In terms of age, Logan was indeed a child, but with decades of foresight knowledge, especially with an understanding of and insight into the entire process of World War II, he was anything but just a child!
"You are my god!" Logan complimented insincerely.
"In fact, everyone is their own god! Only oneself knows how great they are!" The little mustachioed man seemed to be deliberately flaunting his philosophical talent.
From a normal perspective, this statement spoke of the strength of human subjectivity. Logan neither agreed nor disagreed but redirected the conversation: "Esteemed Fuhrer, before I elaborate on my plan, may I presumptuously inquire if the Navy has encountered any difficulties in preparing ships?"
The little mustachioed man approached, hands behind his back. "Yes, Rederl has just left... Ah, Hans, you must have spoken with the Grand Admiral?"
"No, Grand Admiral doesn't know me at all. I just guessed some things from his expression!" Logan began to play mysterious again.
The Fuhrer didn't deny it, instead, he stood with his hands behind his back, looking up as if reciting, "We plan to prepare ships totaling 700,000 tons, with a total of 4,000 ships, but so far only 40% have been assembled, and most can only gather in ports in the Netherlands and Belgium. However, our landing plan focuses on creating a route protected by minefields in the English Channel! Mines, the number of mines has not yet reached the planned level! As a result, the landing operation may have to be postponed for a month, until mid-September!"
As a time traveler, Logan certainly knew the importance of time in this war. Every day, Britain had new fighter planes coming off the assembly line. In the original historical timeline, Britain's monthly aircraft production had reached 1,600 by August, while Germany, with half of Europe under its control, had produced fewer than 900 combat aircraft per month in 1940! Furthermore, the secret supply of military materials from the United States continued to flow into Britain, including enough rifles, ammunition, and a large number of anti-aircraft guns to arm numerous infantry divisions—while the German Navy's naval battles were impressive, they were not enough to strategically reverse the situation!
"No, Fuhrer, it can't be delayed... Absolutely not! On the contrary, we should advance the landing operation, even without waiting for the air force to completely gain air superiority!"
The little mustachioed man finally showed his surprise, "Oh? Tell me your reasons!"
"Britain controls a strategic location in the Mediterranean called Malta. Combat aircraft taking off from this island can both escort our fleet and attack the opponent's shipping lanes. Similarly, there is such an island in the English Channel. As long as we can seize it for ourselves, it will have unexpected effects on both air and landing operations!" Logan emphasized, "Esteemed Fuhrer, even if a hundred British generals came, they would never expect us to capture it first! As long as we seize and consolidate this maritime fortress, we can fight for crucial strategic initiative in the air, and it will also be a highly advantageous springboard for the next large-scale transoceanic landing operation!"
"You mean..." The Fuhrer quickly walked to his desk, where there was a map covering the battlefields of northern Europe and the British Isles.
"The Isle of Wight?"
"Yes, my wise Fuhrer!" Logan smiled faintly. The fact that the little mustachioed man could think of this so quickly at least indicated that he was indeed very talented in military matters—this also confirmed some historians' analyses.
"This will indeed surprise everyone!" The little mustachioed man pondered over the map for a while, "Only geniuses and madmen would come up with such a plan. Hans, you must be a genius!"
"Thank you for your praise, my esteemed Fuhrer! If you can approve this operation plan, I would be extremely honored, but I have a few small requests!"
The Fuhrer was obviously attracted by this bold idea, and he generously said, "Go ahead!"
"First, I need four units to implement this plan. The first is to draw two battalions each from the 7th Parachute Division and the 22nd Airborne Division, along with the Exemplary Airborne Division, to form a special airborne brigade; the second is General Dietrich's Guards Regiment; the third is the Goering Division; and the fourth is the 8th Air Corps commanded by General Richthofen (belonging to Marshal Speer's 3rd Air Fleet, equipped with three Junkers Ju 87 Stuka dive bomber squadrons and one Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighter squadron)!"
"Paratroopers, armored units, anti-aircraft units, and aviation! This is a very good combination! But... why does it have to be the Guards Regiment and the Goering Division?" The little mustachioed man's questioning reason was obvious: these two units represented the Fuhrer's Guard and the direct subordinate units of the Air Force Commander. Throwing them into such a dangerous battlefield on the Isle of Wight, if the British cut off their retreat and annihilated them, and then let the British propagandize it fiercely, it would be a serious blow to the morale of the Imperial Army and civilians!
"I believe that only the most elite units can undertake this extremely difficult combat operation, and only by winning victory under extremely difficult circumstances can these two units prove themselves to be invincible forces! Let those conservative generals take a good look. Not only the Wehrmacht is Germany's strongest armed force!" Logan had prepared these arguments long ago, especially the last sentence. He was quite confident that he could impress the little mustachioed man.
The little mustachioed man hesitated for a moment, showing some reluctance to this request. His gaze lingered on the map for half a minute, seemingly making a final decision. Finally, he raised his head, his eyes full of hope, "Intuition tells me that you will bring another military miracle to the Empire! Now, can you tell me the specific details of your plan?"
Logan raised his head. "Of course, my esteemed Führer," he said.