Led by a tall and spirited captain of the defense force, Logan traversed the mirror hall of the Imperial Chancellery for the second time in his life, spanning a daunting length of 145 meters. Beneath the towering dome, his individual stature seemed insignificantly small amidst the adulation of the masses, and any pride brought about by such adoration was instantly subdued, replaced by a sense of reverence and solemnity.
If Germany hadn't lost the war, would such architectural treasures be preserved for future generations to admire? Logan pondered, somewhat losing sight of the bigger picture.
"Please follow this way," the young, handsome captain directed.
With about twenty meters left to reach the Chancellor's office, Logan glanced wistfully at the imposing grandeur of the door. Would there be a day when he could also become the master here?
Until entering the conference room, Logan had always thought of the Chancellery as the Chancellor's place for office work and receiving foreign guests, with little connection to military affairs. However, Adolf Hitler was not only the Chancellor of the Empire but also the President and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, possessing ultimate power over the entire empire, without term limits or parliamentary oversight, revered by millions as if he were a deity. In such a context, the Supreme High Command was just an appendage to his personhood; wherever the Fuhrer wished, the Supreme High Command could be—in Berlin, in the Eagle's Nest at the foot of the Alps, in the Wolf's Lair in the dense forests of East Prussia, on a fully equipped train, or in a mobile convoy.
"Please wait here," the captain, whose physique was more suited for modeling than soldiering, politely announced, gently pushing open the door and stepping inside.
"Do not surrender, just wait for destruction!"
As the door opened, Logan heard the distinctive, cadenced voice of the Fuhrer.
As the audience with the leader was scheduled for the next morning, the military officers returning home together were all sent to the best hotel in Berlin for rest, except Logan, who was summoned early—an arrangement not unrelated to the grand strategy!
A moment later, the captain who had escorted him pushed open the door on the right, indicating that Logan could enter.
Taking a deep breath, Logan strode confidently into the meeting room. Although in the eyes of the marshals and generals, he was still just a lowly Air Force colonel, who among them could match the unprecedented achievements he had made before?
The spacious conference room had been transformed into a command headquarters, with a beautiful miniature sand table on the long wooden table. Including the unfamiliar staff officers, there were about thirty to forty people present, but only one voice could be heard. When he quieted down and turned his head to look towards the door, the room fell silent for a moment, somewhat unsettling.
"Ah, our paratrooper eagle has returned! Hans, well done! Descending from the sky, you stabbed fiercely at the Brits' belly button!" Adolf Hitler led the applause, cheerfully welcoming the return of the hero of the battlefield. It was evident that he didn't seem to have lost confidence in large-scale airborne operations, at least not on the surface, despite the fact that more than half of the Fallschirmjäger had suffered casualties, which had made him skeptical of such operations.
The marshals, generals, and senior staff officers in the room all joined in applause. Some of them had recently mocked the arrogant rookie captain; some secretly compared how many years they had spent from captain to colonel; and some of them were still unknown to most of the German people.
As the applause subsided, Logan saluted and said, "I am deeply honored to receive the Fuhrer's praise!"
"Come here, Hans! Tell us, are those surrendering British soldiers absolutely terrified of the Imperial Army?" Hitler was still excited at this point.
Logan confidently replied, "Yes, my Fuhrer! Their eyes are filled with fear!"
"Then tell us, is the Isle of Wight, the nearest island to the British mainland and the favorite holiday destination of the British royalty, no longer seeing a single British plane?" Hitler suddenly clenched his fist.
To this question, Logan cleverly responded, "Yes, my Fuhrer! Under the sun, not a single plane with the circular emblem of the British is seen anymore!"
"And tell us, can our heavy artillery now shell the two largest ports in Britain across the Channel?" Hitler's fists danced in the air.
"Yes, my Fuhrer! Our heavy artillery has forced all British ships to evacuate those two ports overnight. The once bustling docks have become lifeless; the once flying Union Jacks now hang limp on the flagpoles!"
While Logan thought his answers were flawless, he became increasingly curious about what this capricious dictator was trying to convey.
Bang!
Adolf Hitler's fists slammed fiercely on the edge of the large sand table surrounded by officers, shaking his head angrily as he roared, "Then why, when they are clearly terrified, do they refuse to accept Germany's friendship? Why, when they see no hope, do they refuse to accept Germany's help? Why, when they are heading for death, do they refuse to turn around and sit down with their cousin again?"
From sheer joy to furious rage, it was a matter of thirty seconds, and the entire conference room remained silent.
This was Logan's first encounter with such a situation, but certainly not the last.
He understood the principle of standing out in the woods invites the wind to shake, but he also knew that opportunities are fleeting. So when everyone else remained silent and bowed their heads, he spoke up with confidence:
"My Fuhrer, it's because they are not truly convinced of your power! They still believe they have a powerful navy, vast colonies, and steadfast American allies!"
With this statement, Logan indeed captured everyone's attention. Before Hitler could respond, he continued in a lower tone, "They are wrong! Foolishly and irretrievably wrong! The vast majority of them have been incited by the Churchill government and misled by the Americans! Especially the military and soldiers, they always believe that their battleship fleet will break through the strait at the last moment and cut off our retreat, thus winning a Waterloo-like victory!"
"They wish!" Hitler's voice also lowered, he was acclaimed as the most inspirational orator in history. The previous outburst didn't seem to have strained his voice.
Logan seized the moment to add one last remark, "They are indeed deluded, but those led astray by the devil must be awakened with whips and blood!"
Hitler was delighted - such emotional transitions should only occur on stage or in a psychiatric hospital.
"Hans, calling you back for strategic discussions was indeed a very wise decision. Come, tell me, what are your thoughts on the upcoming operations?"
Logan calmly followed him back to the sand table, which encompassed the coasts of France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, and the entire British Isles. The exquisite craftsmanship reflected the Germans' consistent meticulousness and precision.
"During the Battle of the Isle of Wight, what troubled us the most was not the British air force or army, but their navy - whenever it rains or at night, they can avoid bombing our positions and block our sea routes. Undoubtedly, the Royal Navy is the biggest obstacle to our full-scale attack on Britain!"
The German generals present, whether Keitel, Brauchitsch, Kesselring, or Rader, had no objections to this statement. Despite the army being half crippled and the air force half paralyzed, Britain still possessed a world-class Royal Navy. Just looking at the main fleet composed of 11 battleships (excluding the unlucky Royal Oak), 7 aircraft carriers (excluding the Glorious), and 3 battle cruisers made the Germans envious. In addition, there were more than 50 cruisers and nearly 200 destroyers in the vast light fleet. If even half - or even a third - of these vessels were to enter the English Channel at night, not only would the German landing fleet be doomed, but even the landing forces occupying the beachhead would inevitably suffer catastrophic losses!
Hitler looked at the sand table and said, "According to our original Sea Lion plan, the landing sites were selected in a wide front from Ramsgate to the west of the Isle of Wight. We would block the straits at both ends of the Dover Strait and the western entrance of the strait from Alderney Island to Portland with dense mine barriers, ensuring that during the landing, the entire English Channel would only be open to our ships and boats. However, the navy has only managed to gather forty percent of the planned mines and forty-five percent of the ships. According to the estimates of the naval commander-in-chief, at least until the end of September can the most basic objectives be achieved. By then, the air force may have thoroughly destroyed the British morale!"
"The British are probably more stubborn than we imagine!" Logan reminded, "And the British winters are always rainy and gloomy!"
The attitude of the British neighbors, who were considered racially inferior only to the Aryans, was relatively polite. Hitler only said, "Indeed, according to past experience, the North Sea and the English Channel are very bad in the second half of September, and fog begins in mid-October. Therefore, the main landing operation must be completed by September 15th. After this day, the cooperation between the air force and heavy weapons may not be reliable! Right, my knowledgeable and talented naval marshal?"
"Yes, my Fuhrer! We only have one month of good weather left! However, in the Battle of the Isle of Wight, we lost a total of 67 ships and hundreds of experienced sailors. Based on this ratio, even if we launch the attack on September 15th and establish a foothold on the beachhead, we may only be able to sustain the supply needed for ten divisions! At most ten divisions!" Rader said worriedly.
"Ten divisions?"
Logan certainly couldn't guarantee that ten elite German divisions under his full command would win a decisive victory in a large-scale landing operation. Although the previous Battle of the Isle of Wight, although the Sorensen Strait was narrow, it could at least limit the number of attacking British troops - even with ten German divisions with ample ammunition, facing more than twenty British divisions and millions of territorial guards, it would probably be difficult to withstand the first night!
After about half a cigarette's worth of silence, Logan said, "If we could severely damage the British main fleet before the formal landing, making them never dare to set foot in the English Channel again?"
This was a question for Hitler and Rader.
The Fuhrer stared at Logan in surprise for more than ten seconds, then turned his gaze to the commander of the navy.
Facing the Fuhrer's strange gaze, Rader said in a lukewarm tone, "If there is no threat from the British navy, and with all the medium and small warships in our hands, the transport capacity can be increased by twenty-five percent, to twelve or thirteen divisions!"
"Plus the strength of an airborne army, it can reach the scale of fifteen divisions!" Kesselring suddenly interjected.
As the attitude of Hitler became clearer, the Army Commander-in-Chief, Brauchitsch, quickly said, "If the main forces are pre-assembled on the Isle of Wight, the transport capacity can be doubled in a short period of time!"
After several field marshals discussed, the question returned to Logan.
"My paratrooper eagle, do you have any way to deal a heavy blow to the British battle fleet?" Hitler asked sharply, his eyes piercing. If Logan dared to say "not sure yet," the consequences would probably be very serious.
"Fishing!" Logan said calmly, then looked around, "Have any of you ever been fishing?"
Everyone was puzzled. Wasn't the British fleet Britain's last defense? How could it be caught by fishing? Had this young colonel, who had achieved great military feats, been blinded by victory?
"Since the British still refuse to surrender..." Hitler sighed with some regret, "then let us awaken them with whips and blood!"
Logan didn't find it funny when he said it himself, but coming from Little Mustache, it turned into a hilarious image: the Fuhrer dressed as the Queen, wielding a whip and a candle, mercilessly tormenting the corpulent Churchill, shouting, "Will you ever surrender?!"