Accompanied by distant booming cannon fire, Logan and his assistants, along with four British women, dined together at this aristocratic-style dining table—pork replaced beef and mutton, paired with fresh vegetables, and the wines from the cellar were surprisingly precious. If the chef could be a bit more meticulous, this would definitely be a perfect wartime dinner!
It was evident that the four British women felt quite restrained in such an atmosphere, not because they were afraid of being poisoned or murdered by the Germans. However, these legendary "evil invaders" were alive and well, sitting beside them, chatting and enjoying their meal heartily. So, unless one was excessively hungry, it was indeed difficult to have an appetite for food!
Nevertheless, war was war. During the meal, the communication officer occasionally came in to report to Logan or Steffenberg. Most of the time, Logan just nodded, occasionally giving some instructions, while poor Steffenberg had to leave twice to attend to his duties. Such behavior would be quite impolite at a proper noble gathering.
Amidst this strange atmosphere, the food on the table was eventually cleared out by the hearty German officers. Logan stood up, raising his glass, and said, "Gentlemen!"
The officers all stood up in unison, while the British women looked on in terror.
"Today is a historic day for us. German soldiers have finally set foot on British soil, enjoying food and wine produced by the British themselves. This is a great progress! In today's battle, everyone has shown the wisdom, courage, and resilience befitting of soldiers. I hope you all continue to perform admirably. At the same time, as the operational commander, I remind everyone that the British counterattack will be fiercer. I hope you all remain vigilant! To the Fuhrer, to Germany, cheers!"
In the final toast, some chose "to the Fuhrer," while others used "to Germany," reflecting the varying values of the soldiers. Logan had many thoughts on this matter, but he had not yet formed a concrete idea.
With the meal finished and the officers leaving one by one, the four British women remained seated, unsure of what to do.
Logan walked over, "Ladies, did the food not suit your tastes tonight?"
"Mrs. Susan" replied coldly, "Feeding German wolves with British food is enough to ruin one's appetite!"
Logan paid no mind to the other women's attitudes. He discreetly glanced at Doreen. The young British girl lowered her head, absent-mindedly fiddling with the hem of her dress.
"It's a dog-eat-dog world!" Logan opened his holster, took out his Luger pistol, and placed it on the table. The cold metal object, though exquisite, was seen as a terrifying weapon of death by the women.
"Weren't you the ones wielding guns to force astronomical war reparations from Germany? While our civilians died of starvation, you were enjoying delicious German oats; while our civilians were barely clothed, you were dressed in magnificent garments made from German textiles! And your army cruelly invaded those backward countries, massacring their civilians, plundering their generational wealth, and even using opium to devour their souls. Who are the real wolves?"
"Mrs. Susan" was speechless, staring at the Luger in Logan's hand, while her fierce daughter moved her lips but dared not say a word.
Logan was satisfied with this reaction and continued, "Of course, we are soldiers of the civilized era. We fight for the interests of our country. When the enemy wields weapons against us, we advance bravely; when the enemy soldiers surrender, we do not mistreat them. As for you, civilians, British civilians, as long as you obey our arrangements, I can guarantee your safety, both life and property. You can see this as a transaction, one based on fair and reasonable premises!"
He gave the women about half a minute to consider. Logan then walked around to the back of Doreen's chair. When his hands lightly rested on the young girl's shoulders, she shuddered like a frightened lamb.
"Ladies, go back to your rooms! Take our sincerity to others. Once the battle on the Isle of Wight is over, you will regain your freedom!"
Mrs. Susan hurriedly got up, her usual nagging and fierceness disappearing in front of the more formidable Germans.
"Doreen, would you accompany me for a stroll in the garden?" Without missing a beat, Logan asked politely.
Just as "Mrs. Susan" was about to leave, she glared angrily at Logan. However, the sight of German soldiers standing nearby with their guns, with their simple yet fierce gaze, intimidated this true British matron. Perhaps she was still entangled in the terrifying rumors about "those above 10 and below 60"!
After a moment of silence, the English girl, who was still being "pressed" into her chair by Logan, said softly, "Auntie, you go up first! I'll be fine!"
Reluctantly leaving, the other two British girls' gazes towards Logan were even more complicated.
Separating Doreen and her companions was just the first step in Logan's small plan. Doing things in an orderly manner was one of the excellent habits he brought from the previous world.
The backyard of the "country villa" was large and unique, with hundreds of jasmine flowers gently swaying in the breeze, bringing a hint of coolness in early August. The faint fragrance in the air made it possible to calm down amidst the faint sounds of cannon fire.
"Since our last meeting, I've been thinking about your name... Doreen, a gift from God!" Logan smoothly spoke in English, and as for the so-called Scottish accent, it would not affect communication and could even ease the subconscious hostility of the other party.
The young English girl still lowered her head, her arm forcibly held by Logan, and could only walk with him in the beautiful garden in the same pace. One had a neat side-parted hairstyle, wore a crisp military uniform and shiny leather boots, with a steady and powerful pace; the other had a traditional princess curl, wore a floor-length floral cloak, and stepped on her small leather shoes, producing a wonderful sound on the cobblestone path. What was most surprising was that both of these European faces had naturally black hair.
After walking for a while, they sat down on a bench in the depths of the flower bushes. The girl finally said slowly, "Actually... I knew you were German that day!"
"Oh?" This was something Logan had not expected before, and it further confirmed his thoughts—that this British girl had a liking for him.
"In the past few years, I've seen some recruitment posters from Germany from time to time, and I was curious why German soldiers all look so handsome and aristocratic!"
Logan smiled and said, "Well, posters always choose good-looking people to photograph, and besides, maybe there's just a different temperament between soldiers and civilians!"
After a few moments of silence, while Doreen was still being "pressed" onto the chair by Logan, she said softly, "Auntie, you go upstairs first! I'll be fine!"
Reluctantly leaving, the other two British girls' gazes towards Logan were even more complicated.
Separating Doreen and her companions was just the first step in Logan's small plan. Doing things in an organized manner was one of the excellent habits he brought from the previous world.
The backyard of the "countryside villa" was spacious and unique. It was early August, with a gentle breeze carrying a hint of coolness, gently swaying the hundreds of jasmine flowers here. The faint fragrance in the air surprisingly allowed one to calm down amidst the faint sound of cannons in the distance.
"Since our last meeting, I've been thinking about your name... Doreen, a gift from the gods!" Logan proficiently spoke in English. As for the so-called Scottish accent, it not only didn't hinder communication but also helped ease any subconscious hostility in the other party.
The young English girl still had her head slightly bowed, her arm forcibly held by Logan's, forcing her to walk in the same pace as him in this beautifully landscaped garden. One with a neat parted haircut, wearing a crisp military uniform and shiny boots, walked with steady and powerful strides; the other with a traditional princess curl, wearing a floor-length floral cloak dress, her small leather shoes making a delightful sound on the cobblestone path. What was most surprising was that both of these European faces had naturally black hair.
When they reached the depths of the flower bushes, the girl spoke slowly, "Actually... I knew you were German that day!"
"Oh?" This was something Logan hadn't expected before, further confirming his thoughts—this English girl had a liking for him.
"A few years ago, I saw some of your German recruitment posters from time to time. I was curious why German soldiers all looked so handsome and had an aristocratic demeanor!"
Logan smiled and said, "Well, posters tend to select good-looking people to shoot. Besides, maybe there's just a different quality about soldiers compared to civilians!"
After walking for a while, Logan sat with her on a bench in a secluded spot. "Do you believe in wartime romances?"
Doreen paused for a moment, then shook her head slightly. "I don't know," she said softly.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Logan asked again.
This time, Doreen nodded.
The fragrance of jasmine, mixed with the unique scent of a young girl (not sure if everyone has it, but at least some do, and it's quite enticing), left Logan slightly intoxicated. As wisps of clouds drifted by, the moonlight gently bathed the dreamlike garden, creating a romantic atmosphere that was irresistible to any woman with a romantic disposition.
As a seasoned womanizer, Logan wouldn't waste such an opportunity. He leaned in slowly, and as he hoped, when Doreen realized the imminent "threat" close to her, she gently closed her eyes.
A tear rolled down the corner of her eye.
To completely conquer the girl in his arms, the French kiss was undoubtedly the sharpest weapon. After a tentative lip kiss for half a minute, seeing that Doreen's subconscious had already accepted this fact, Logan quietly released his "secret weapon" from his mouth: his agile tongue searched for that soft and sweet tongue, and the instant touch made both of them tense up. One side gently teased, while the other shyly dodged and hesitantly responded. Their breathing became heavier, and a delicate, fair hand unconsciously moved from Logan's sturdy arm to his heated chest. After the initial panic of the first few seconds, a tingling sensation rushed straight to their brains, and their consciousness seemed to blank out.
The tongue that entered the fragrant lips intertwined with the tender tongue inside, like eels mingling together. The delicate tongue gradually became less passive. When the man's agile tongue retreated slightly, it unwillingly followed, then sweetly tangled back together.
Under the moonlight, the two on the bench gradually fell into a state of confusion.
With the oral assault successful, Logan's "troops" on both flanks took advantage of the situation: his right hand, supporting Doreen's back, gently caressed her delicate skin through the fabric, while his left hand launched a probing attack towards the sensitive area around her waist, enjoying the enticing sensation of her supple waist gently twisting.
Slim yet strong, delicate yet not coy—what a waist!
The waist was just a foothold; once breached, Logan's restless left hand began to move downward. As his large palm enveloped the small yet round and firm curve, in another direction, his tender fingers exerted sudden force, almost sinking into the warm and broad chest.
Mmm...
The girl's breaths were always the most effective aphrodisiac for a man.
Reluctantly lingering in that extremely elastic area for quite some time, Logan's left hand finally slid downward again. As the saying goes, beauty lies in the thighs. It was difficult to discern the contours through the long skirt earlier, but this time he could finally explore it thoroughly.
Fingers lightly caressing, Logan felt a sense of delight. According to the experiences of seasoned individuals, there's a saying that among beauties, there are those with "buttocks firm until dawn, thighs vigorous until exhaustion." Doreen's petite rear end was already considered top-notch. Unexpectedly, her leg muscles, typically reserved for a lady, not only lacked any sense of looseness but were also remarkably elastic and full of vitality. After lingering enticingly on her thighs for a few seconds, Logan eagerly ventured under the skirt, encountering the skin beneath without any hindrance. Delicate ankles often indicated a tightly compacted area, and her slender calves had not a single trace of excess flesh or muscle. In the bygone era, Logan had always kept a distance from women whose leg muscles appeared unusually developed due to wearing high heels. While such a physique might seem robust, it often left one feeling unfulfilled in bed.
Logan's left hand rapidly advanced above the thigh at lightning speed, cunning fingers silently slipping beneath the smooth skin of her inner thigh. When the peculiar sensation struck, Doreen's hand, which had been resting on Logan's chest, suddenly seized his arm, struggling as she said, "No..."
The movement below ceased, but the onslaught above intensified. In moments, their breath grew heavy once more. The strength of man against the weakness of woman, often the catalyst for "accidental encounters".
As Logan's left hand moved again, Doreen gasped, whimpering, "No... not here!"
Her words, though seductive, plunged Logan deeper into an irresistible abyss.