The sound of train whistles echoed in the air, from far to near, and passed over the head. After a few seconds, the earth began to tremble, making a low roar that shocked the lungs. The air was filled with pungent smell of gunpowder. Last night, a heavy rain was filled with sewage, and the water was floating with pale and swollen corpses and limbs, emitting a disgusting fishy smell.

Sergeant Jack Frieddaugen, carrying a Mauser G98a carbine and an M1918 grenade inserted on his belt, led the three remaining infantrymen in the squad to retreat to the north along the muddy road.

The counterattack of the regiment reserves had been defeated, and the Marne River became the end of everything. The battalion was completely destroyed by the enemy's shelling. The frontier companies and platoons lost their unified command. After a nightmare like a nightmare, the hungry and cold German remnants raised their white flags to surrender to the French army. Only a very small number of people broke through the gaps between the French troops in the morning light.

"Squad leader, take a break." Private Hansbert suggested to Daogen. They had been marching for four hours in a row, and their physical energy consumption was approaching their limit.

"Resting on the spot, Green Doug is responsible for the whistle." Daogen looked at his watch and agreed to Private's request.

"What kind of battle is this? The senior officers are all idiots." Bert sat on a stone, pinched the soaked cigarette box into a ball, and threw it into the mud pond on the side of the road.

Daogen turned his head and glanced at his old subordinate, then silently took out his tin cigarette box from the pocket on the hem of his uniform, and handed it to Hansbert.

"Thank you, squad leader." Bert took the cigarette box with a little embarrassed.

"Do you want one too? Klein." Burt opened the cigarette box and first passed it to his comrades on the other side. Private Rowan Klein glanced at him, reached out to take a cigarette from the cigarette box.

"What about you, the Greyhound." Burt asked Private Harry Greendog, who was standing on one side, stood guard.

"Okay, let's have one." The private nicknamed "Greyhound" wiped his hands on the front of his uniform, and then picked up a cigarette from the cigarette box.

"Squad Leader, walk two kilometers northward and you can see the river bank." Bert took a cigarette and then handed the cigarette box back to the squad leader Daogen.

"We must be especially vigilant at this time, as we may encounter the French reconnaissance forces." Daogen took out a cigarette from the box, then carefully stuffed the mottled-painted iron cigarette box back into his uniform pocket.

"Don't worry, the Greyhound's eyes are full of energy." Burt took out an Austrian-made kerosene lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette in his mouth.

"Be careful of the plane!" Greyhound warned loudly. Daogen hurriedly looked up and saw a few small aircraft shadows vaguely revealing in the gap filled with smoke.

"It's fighter jets, they won't waste bullets on our soldiers." Daogen lowered his carbine.

"Squad leader, what should we do after we go back? There are probably only three of us left in the entire company." Bert asked.

"The third company cannot be rebuilt. We should be replenished into the reserve force as usual." Daogen spitted out a smoke ring.

"Squad Leader, will we demobilize?" Bert looked at the squad Leader with anticipation.

"The French are still advancing, and we can't stop their offensive at all. Do you think the superiors will let us leave the army at this time?" Daogen shook his head and replied.

"You know a lot, squad leader, I'm just a farmer and don't understand any situation or strategy at all." Bert nodded in agreement with admiration.

"There are troops coming, it's ours." Greyhound shouted again, then jumped onto the road and waved his hand hard to the distance.

"Is it our support force? If so, they were late for a whole day." Burt stood up with a cigarette in his mouth.

"It should be the division reserve team. Are the above still ready to continue the counterattack? Are the people in the staff crazy?" Daogen walked onto the road with a rifle on his back and carefully put on his helmet.

"Salute!" Seeing the troops approaching, Daogen yelled the order. Four German soldiers stood upright and saluted to a major officer walking in the front of the team.

"Company, keep moving forward!" The major issued an order loudly, then left the queue and walked towards Daogen and others.

"Which unit are you from? Are you behind?" The major walked to Daogen, looked at Daogen's fourth-level Red Eagle Medal and the Non-commissioned Military Meritorious Cross Medal on Daogen's chest, and then raised his hand and replied with a military salute. Those who can get these two medals will not be deserters.

"Jack Fried Daogen, a platoon of the 3rd Company, 2nd Battalion, 57th Infantry Regiment, pays tribute to you, sir." Daogen reported loudly.

"Fifty-Seventh Regiment?" The major was stunned for a moment.

"Yes, sir." Daogen replied with his head raised.

"In the intelligence, the 57th Regiment was wiped out yesterday." The major frowned.

"In fact, we persisted all night, sir, and we didn't break out until the morning." Daogen replied.

"I understand." The major turned around and looked at the moving troops, then turned back to Daogen and said, "I am Major Marvin Graf von Kuenberg, the commander of the Third Battalion of the 702nd Infantry Regiment. Now you guys are under my command."

"But, Lord Earl." Daogen saluted the other party: "According to the rules, we should report to the division headquarters."

"Call me Major, Sergeant, it's an emergency now. The Division Command has retreated to the North Shore early this morning. Now I am the highest-ranking officer on the front line." Major Kuhnberg waved at Daogen: "Come on the team, soldiers, I still have some questions to ask you."

=

"Are you sure that person is Earl Kuhnberg, the former German Army Major?" Weirler frowned and looked at Daogen.

"I thought I had forgotten him a long time ago, but when I saw that face, all the memories came to me again. I could swear to God that that person was Major Marvin von Kuhnberg, commander of the Third Battalion of the 702nd Regiment." Daogen nodded affirmatively.

"He looks a little older and has not changed much in appearance." Daogen said: "He may not have noticed me, or he may have noticed but did not recognize me. But it is understandable that who would have thought that the Army Infantry Sergeant had now become a SS colonel."

"Hitler was just a corporal back then, Dogen." Weirle squeezed his eyes at Dogen: "Now do you think this count wants to be unfavorable to the head of state? Is there any basis?"

"He was killed, and after the war I found his name on the list of deaths. In a legal sense, Kuhnberg was already a dead man, general." said Dogan.

"I understand. Now a dead man suddenly appears at the press banquet at the Prime Minister's Office, which is really suspicious." Weirle extinguished the cigarette butt in the ashtray in the corner of the corridor.

"The Head of State asked me to come to you and deal with this hidden danger as much as possible without disturbing the reporters." Daogen said hesitantly: "I personally hope to catch the live-action. No matter what, he was once a hero."

"Hero? I have seen many heroes, and he is the first one to be resurrected from the dead." Weirler took off his military cap and stroked his hair on his sideburns.

"In this way, you go to Diesenhauven and we can set up a small trap." Weirle summoned into Dogen's ear and ordered.

"This is authentic Norwegian cod. In a restaurant in London, it costs at least two pounds for this plate." Vickwood cut the fish and showed off to his new friends.

"Is that right? I haven't liked fish very much." Mr. G, who should have called him Earl Kuhnberg, had an elegant smile on his face.

"You are British, why don't the British like to eat fish?" Vickwood swallowed the fish in his mouth and picked up the white wine on the table.

"You are American, so how could you like eating fish so much?"

"Actually, I like everything delicious, and my ancestors are Scots." Wakewood pointed to the red hair on his head.

"Well, you can see, Mr. Wakewood." Kuhnberg nodded with a smile.

"May I ask, are you Mr. Henry?" At this time, a man in a civil servant dress walked to the dining table and he politely bowed to ask.

"Yes, I'm Henry."

"Mr. Morris Henry of the Daily Mail," the man added.

"Yes, is there anything wrong?" Kuhnberg picked up the napkin and wiped his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm Shidowen Hill from the Press Secretariat. I'm going to hold a symposium between the head of state and the reporter later. Your name is on the list, but we haven't found the question form filled in by the Daily Mail." Hill replied.

"Symposium? Yes, of course, didn't you find that form?" Kuhnberg was stunned for a moment, then changed into a surprised expression.

"Yes, Mr. Henry, this kind of thing rarely happens. We need these forms as archives, so if you are convenient now." Hill looked around and said, "If you are convenient, can you fill a form immediately, otherwise we will have to regret to cancel your chance to ask."

"I understand, just fill it out here?" Kuhnberg frowned.

"No, you need to go to the press office first." Hill replied.

"No problem, go, Mr. Hill." Kuhnberg put the napkin on the table and stood up.

"I'm sorry, I'll be back when I go." Kuhnberg patted Wickwood's arm.

"It's okay, I'll keep you wine, Mr. Henry." Wakewood nodded with understanding.

"Please go here." Hill led Kuhnberg to the side door of the restaurant.

A soldier with a rifle in front of the door stood in front of the door. He looked them up and down carefully first, and then turned sideways and gave way out of the door.

"Please come with me, Mr. Henry." Hill said with a smile to Kuhnberg, opening the door and walking out of the dining room.

Kuhnberg stood in front of the SS soldier, first looking at the second-level iron cross medal belt that the other party should not be on the button hole of the uniform, then looking at the black war wound medal that should be under the chest pocket, then he nodded to the soldier, turned around and strode out of the door.

"Here, Mr. Henry." Hill waited at the turn of the corridor.

"This is a magnificent building, Mr. Hill," Kuhnberg said with a smile.

"I agree quite with this, Earl of Kuhnberg." At this time, a voice rang behind Kuhnberg.

Kuhnberg stood still, he raised his head and took a deep breath, then turned around calmly, still maintaining an elegant demeanor.

"Long time no see, Major Kuhnberg." Daogen respectfully saluted the other party, and behind him was a row of soldiers with live ammunition guard flags.

ps: I feel unwell, I'm late in the update, sorry.

There is only this chapter today, and I will make up for the one I owe tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

If you can understand me, I will be satisfied. Today I won’t ask for monthly tickets. (.)
Chapter completed!