"Have we started the attack?"
As the distant rumble echoed, Logan raised his hand to check the time. It was 8:20 AM. The efficiency of the British army seemed quite high, didn't it?
Listening at the doorway for a moment, Stephenberg shook his head. "No, it's thunder. Looks like a heavy rainstorm is coming."
"Oh! It does sound like gunfire!"
Logan's reaction was quite indifferent. The weather over the North Sea was like a baby, crying when it wanted to and laughing when it pleased. Moreover, the weather around the English Channel was always changeable. Furthermore, the German meteorological station in the North has previously predicted rainy weather for the next two days, lasting perhaps for a week.
Superficially, the reduced attendance of the air force was disadvantageous for the German forces landing on White Island. Sea transportation might even stall due to the lack of air cover. In reality, the threat posed by the British air force to the German forces on the island was also greatly diminished. If the British high command dispatched more ships into the English Channel, it could indeed have a short-term impact on the island's battle situation. However, once the weather suddenly cleared, General Richtofen's Stuka pilots stationed in Northern Europe would be able to unleash havoc with joy!
Calm and composed. Neither impatient nor arrogant. Logan practiced the newly acquired "inner strength technique," sipping tea while perusing various telegrams received by the command headquarters today. When he was away, Stephenberg would promptly contact him according to the urgency of the documents or organize them for his review upon his return.
There were more than a dozen telegrams here, most of which were general messages that Logan needed to be aware of:
Intelligence—Long-range reconnaissance aircraft conducted aerial reconnaissance of British northern bases in the early morning, showing no signs of movement from the British main fleet.
Intelligence—Naval submarines attacked a British convoy in the North Atlantic Ocean, estimating that some ships were carrying a large quantity of ammunition.
Commendation—The Air Force Command forwarded a commendation order to the Supreme Command, praising the valiant performance of the 1st Paratroop Regiment during the battle on August 11th...
Seeing Stephenberg approaching, Logan asked softly, "Lunt, if Operation Citadel succeeds, do you think I might be promoted again?" No missing words.
"Uh, it's possible, but hard to say!" Stephenberg pondered for a moment. "In any case, you will definitely become the youngest general in the history of the German Air Force!"
"Is that so?" Logan finished reading the last irrelevant report, but in his mind, he was calculating what would happen after Operation Citadel. If the British government still refused to compromise, the German forces might launch a large-scale cross-sea landing operation according to Operation Sea Lion. In that case, what role would he play? A spearhead in the airborne assault?
Step by step climbing upwards, when would he reach the top?
Logan sighed inwardly. Thinking about novels with time-travel themes in the past, others either became the son of some important figure or directly possessed a high-ranking official. Now thinking about it, Himmler's sleazy appearance could be overlooked, but Rudolf Hess was not bad either! Although he wasn't handsome, he was dignified enough. At the age of 46... a bit old, but at least he was the third most important figure in the Reich after Goering, not as remote from the peak of power as the earth is from the sky. Alternatively, Reinhard Heydrich, the blond killer, could barely be accepted. At the age of 36, there was potential to be tapped.
After careful consideration, Logan decided to use the outstanding impression he left on the Little Moustache during the two previous operations and this Operation Citadel to achieve a higher position in the subsequent operations. Through the accumulation of snowball-like military achievements, he would realize his grand blueprint of advancing step by step...
"Colonel!" The communication officer standing by the telephone suddenly stood up and said loudly, "The British fleet has begun shelling our positions outside of Bamburg Harbor!"
Logan quickly put away his "big plan" and said to Stephenberg, "Hey, it was bound to happen sooner or later! Connect me to Captain Schultz's headquarters!"
"Captain Schultz..." Stephenberg probably thought he had misheard. Schultz was the commander of the Newport perimeter defense line. Shouldn't he be contacting Colonel Herbert Fraisher, the commander of the defense circle outside Bamburg Harbor, and the SS "Butcher"? However, the duties of the deputy commander prevented him from asking further questions. Thanks to the efforts of the air force and SS communication personnel, single-line communication had been established between various airports, ports, and villages on the island, with some important points even equipped with backup lines.
The call was answered, and Logan picked up the receiver. "Hey, buddy, the Brits are launching an attack from Wootton Harbor towards Bamburg... Yeah, maybe it's just a feint. Don't take it lightly on your end, and be careful to guard against any counterattacks from Cowes, East Cowes, and Yarmouth! Flank them? Yeah, I'm thinking the same. If the British are definitely focusing on Bamburg, I'll send you an additional mobile unit... Alright, we'll have a chance to dine in London!"
After hanging up the phone, Logan returned to his desk and continued to sip his tea calmly.
Steinberg stared blankly at his superior. He didn't understand what kind of person Hans Rogen used to be, but in the two months since "Potassium Chlorate," especially after being reassigned to the Air Force for more than half a month, the changes in his character and qualities were quite evident: he spoke less colloquially and used more military terminology; he became less impulsive and more composed; the only constant was his peculiar thoughts!
Compared to Logan, Steinberg, also 27, suddenly felt that his own growth and progress were too slow. If he didn't want to stay as a captain until retirement, he had to work hard to enrich and improve himself!
However, if this earnest German officer knew that his superior was reminiscing about yesterday's wonderful life while pretending to be busy, his admiration would surely diminish by half!
After finishing a cup of tea, Logan glanced inadvertently and suddenly saw a familiar figure. Dorine stood at the door with a big bowl in her hands, looking shy and hesitant.
"Come in! It's okay!" Logan stood up.
Seeing Dorine's surprised expression, Logan realized that he had just spoken in German, so he awkwardly said in English:
"Come in, it's fine, I've told them you can come and go as you please!"
Dorine walked over slowly, placed the bowl on the table, the soup inside was yellow-green and steaming.
"This is the thick soup Auntie made tonight. I don't know if you've eaten!"
Her voice was soft and gentle, which touched Logan, who had been thinking about fighting with the enemy all day.
Being single was indeed liberating, but who wouldn't want someone to care about them every day?
"I've had a little something!" Logan hadn't picked up the bowl yet, but the aroma wafted into his nose. Unexpectedly, "Aunt Susan's" cooking skills were not bad, but... could there be rat poison or something in it?
This thought only crossed his mind for a moment. In front of Dorine, Logan picked up the bowl and drank the soup clean. Finally, taking a step forward, shamelessly wrapped his arm around Dorine's slender waist. "It's delicious! Thank your aunt for me, and of course, thank you for bringing it yourself!"
Dorine suddenly shrank back, not even wanting the bowl anymore, and left with a sentence, "Take care of yourself," as if flying away.
Watching her graceful figure, Logan couldn't help but wish to end this war immediately and then spend three days and nights battling her on a comfortable big bed. Of course, this thought was just a passing fancy.
"Rent. Is the assault team ready?" No missing words. He turned his head and found Steinberg and another officer giggling.
"Yeah, uh, ready!" The playful officer finally stopped laughing, "Comprised of the 1st Armored Battalion of the Fuhrer Guard Regiment, the 3rd Mechanized Battalion, and the Model Paratrooper Battalion, they're ready to strike at any time!"
Logan could guess what these guys were laughing about with just his toes, but he couldn't get angry.
"Very well! Tonight, keep a close eye on the command post for me. I'm going to personally lead the assault team to flank the British behind!"
"Personally?" Steinberg was surprised but not astonished, just weakly advised, "Or let me lead the team, and you stay at the command post to oversee the overall situation?"
"Forget it!" Logan stretched out his limbs where he stood, "I've decided to develop comprehensively. I want to try out all branches of the military – Air Force, Army, Navy! Not to mention paratroopers, I've already commanded the navy, now it's time for the army!"
Steinberg stepped forward and said softly, "Strictly speaking, the SS can't be considered part of the army!"
"We don't need to split hairs. Anyway, it's ground armored troops!" Logan couldn't be bothered to argue further. He grabbed his military cap from the table and put it on his head, adjusting his collar. "To become an all-rounder, both theory and practice are indispensable! If there's any important situation, contact me directly via radio, remember to use code words!"
"Okay, I know, you always say..." As he watched Logan stride out of the door, Steinberg, who hadn't finished his sentence, continued to speak to himself, "The British will intercept and decipher our radio communications!"
It was difficult to distinguish between thunder and artillery sounds coming from afar, the wind outside was gusting intermittently, but fortunately, this was England, not Russia. Logan, wearing shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, didn't feel too cold. He and Hartmann got on a barrel car, and after about five minutes at half speed, they arrived at the designated assembly point for the assault team.
In the fields beside an unknown village, dozens of stationary tanks and armored vehicles looked like black haystacks. Some half-track armored vehicles were already equipped with short-barreled infantry guns, and the soldiers ready to attack sat on the ground, chatting with each other.
"Hey, guys. Are we ready to go?"
Logan walked straight to the tent where the headquarters of the assault team was located. Inside, there were only a few people, two of whom were familiar faces: one was Major Evan O'Driscoll, the deputy commander of the 1st Armored Battalion of the Fuhrer Guard Regiment, and Dieterich's right-hand man; the other was Lieutenant Karl Zimmerman, the platoon leader of the 3rd Platoon of the Model Paratrooper Battalion, Logan's trusted subordinate.
"Yes, sir!" Both of them answered in order according to their ranks, their chests involuntarily puffing out, clearly displaying their high spirits.
Logan stood with his hands behind his back. "Excellent! Evan, prepare a tank for me, preferably a Panzer IV. I want to personally command the battle!"
"You..." Both Evan and Karl were confused.
A few days ago, after hearing Steinberg tell the legendary story of Count von Luckner, Logan borrowed a classic line from it: "Your Majesty, give me a sailing ship to battle at sea and let me send those Brits to the afterlife!"
Amidst the mechanical roar, tanks started up, armored vehicles started up, motorcycles started up, and the few trucks also started up, each one filled with soldiers. At this moment, they literally achieved "100% mechanized march." Such a state was only suitable for marching and not convenient for fighting. The noise level also increased slightly. Fortunately, the British artillery and naval guns were firing vigorously, and the soldiers were preparing to attack, spurred on by the sound of the guns. The scouts closely monitored the movements of the German forces in directions like Newport and Bamburg, completely unaware that such a large-scale German assault team of a thousand men was rapidly advancing from the southern islands towards their flanks...