Pocket

Lefebvre's body gradually grew cold in Lorraine's arms.

The bullet pierced his temple cleanly and decisively. Lorraine's hand holding the gun was still trembling; his other hand gently closed his eyes, which were finally free of pain. A trace of relieved peace lingered on his young face, as if he had finally awakened from a long nightmare.

"I'm sorry," Loran whispered, her voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. "I'm sorry."

He sat in the trench for a long time, holding Lefebvre in his arms. The explosions outside gradually subsided, and the Stuka squadron turned north to search for new prey. Refugees and fleeing soldiers began to crawl out of their hiding places and continued their westward advance. No one bothered him, and no one dared to.

Lorraine finally laid Lefebvre down, gently straightened his collar with his fingers, and then stood up.

He pulled the photograph from Lefebvre's pocket; it showed a young woman holding a baby, smiling in the doorway of a small house. He placed the photograph in the cloth bag he carried on his chest, along with the belongings of Boucher, Ramirez, and the others. The bag was bulging and heavy, like a stone pressing on his heart.

"I'll deliver it," he said. "I promise you."

Continuing westward, Loran encountered a strange companion.

He was a lieutenant in his forties, his uniform stained with mud, his left arm in a sling, and an unlit cigarette between his right fingers. He sat by the roadside beside the wreckage of a bombed truck, watching Loran walk towards him from a distance, his eyes vacant and weary.

"Is there any water?" he asked.

Lorraine handed him the canteen. The lieutenant took it, tilted his head back, poured half a canteen down, and then handed it back.

"The 101st Division," the lieutenant said, his voice hoarse like sandpaper, "dispersed yesterday morning. What about you?"

"The 55th Division," Lorraine said, sitting down beside him. "Stony."

The lieutenant paused for a moment. He turned to look at Loran, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Stony?" he repeated, "The Stoney who's been on guard for three days?"

The lieutenant stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. It was a complex smile, containing admiration, bitterness, and a hint of self-mockery.

"You are heroes," he said. "We ran away without firing a single shot."

Loran shook his head. "No one can blame you."

"I know," the lieutenant said, "but we know it ourselves."

They sat in silence for a while. Another explosion could be heard in the distance, but it was much farther away now.

"Where are you going?" the lieutenant asked.

"Dunkirk," Lorraine said. "I heard there are ships there."

The lieutenant nodded and stood up.

"Let's go together," he said. "It's always easier for two people to live than one."

They began traveling together. The lieutenant's name was Duval; before the war, he was an elementary school teacher, teaching history and geography. He wasn't a talkative man, but whenever he did speak, he always managed to say something that made Lorraine feel less alone.

"Do you know what happened here in 1914?" Duval suddenly asked as they passed through a small village.

Lorraine shook her head.

"In September 1914, the French army held off the German army here. After four days of fighting, only thirty-seven men survived." Duval pointed to a dilapidated monument at the entrance of the village. "My grandfather was one of those thirty-seven."

Lorraine looked at the monument. Half of the monument had been sheared off by artillery fire, but the inscription on the base was still faintly legible: "Dedicated to the heroes who defended France."

"He later told me," Duval continued, "that war isn't about who's right and who's wrong. War is about someone deciding to trade someone else's life for their own."

Lorraine turned to look at him.

Duval gave a wry smile: "I've taught history for twenty years, and I've finally discovered that history is actually quite simple. It's just one group of people who want to live, and another group who don't want them to live."

That night, they spent the night in an abandoned barn.

Duval quickly fell asleep, emitting soft snores. Lorraine leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, but he couldn't fall asleep. The cloth bundle in his arms pressed painfully against his chest; the belongings inside seemed to still be warm, reminding him of faces that would never return.

He opened his eyes and pulled the black cube—his cell phone—from his inner pocket.

So much time has passed, and the battery still has 3% left.

He suddenly felt a strong urge to see if the information from the future contained any explanation for what was happening before his eyes.

He turned on the screen. The blinding light made Duval turn over, but he didn't wake up.

Loran dimmed the screen and opened a folder he hadn't had time to look at closely. The title was simple: "The Origins of World War II: Several Historical Perspectives".

He began to read.

The material comes from the 21st century and is quite long, but the core argument is clear: Hitler's launching of the war was not a momentary impulse, nor was it simply madness. He had a complete ideological and strategic logic.

First, the living space theory.

"The German nation needs sufficient living space," Hitler wrote clearly in *Mein Kampf*. He believed that Germany, stripped of its colonies after World War I and further exploited by the Treaty of Versailles, was inevitably facing a crisis due to the imbalance between its population and land. The vast plains of Eastern Europe, especially Ukraine's breadbasket, were, in his eyes, his "destiny."

Second, revenge and washing away the shame.

The defeat in 1918 and the Treaty of Versailles remain a deep wound in the hearts of every German. Territorial concessions, reparations, military restrictions, and war crimes were exploited by Hitler, transformed into hatred for the "November Invaders" and a thirst for revenge against Britain and France. He promised to make Germany great again.

Third, racism and ideology.

Hitler simplified world history into a struggle between Aryans and Jews, and between Bolshevism. In his view, the Soviet Union was not only a target for living space, but also the headquarters of Jewish Bolshevik conspiracies. Destroying the Soviet Union was both a means of seizing land and a "sacred mission" to complete ethnic cleansing.

Fourth, an accurate assessment of the West's weaknesses.

Hitler observed the appeasement policies of Britain and France and concluded that they wouldn't actually fight. The militarization of the Rhineland, the annexation of Austria, and the dismemberment of Czechoslovakia—each time he was gambling, and each time Britain and France backed down. This convinced him that when he attacked Poland, the West would still back down. Even if they declared war, it would only be a "silent war."

Loran's finger stopped here. He remembered the leisurely people in the Parisian cafes a few months ago, the confident smiles at the General Staff meeting, and the soldiers drinking wine behind the Maginot Line.

"Sit-in War".

From the very beginning, this war was not asymmetrical. One side was desperately preparing, while the other was waiting for the other to give up.

He continued reading.

Fifth, economic and time pressures.

By 1939, Germany's economy was on the verge of collapse. The frenzied military buildup had consumed enormous amounts of foreign exchange and strategic materials; without waging war to plunder resources, the economy would self-destruct. Hitler had said in an internal meeting, "We have no time. The Western Front must be resolved by 1940."

1940 years.

Lorraine closed his eyes. It was May 1940. Hitler's timeline was as precise as a Swiss watch.

Sixth, misjudgments about the German army, from commanders to soldiers.

There was a passage in the document that Loran read three times:

"Hitler's assessment of German generals was far more accurate than his opponents' assessment of him. He knew that most senior generals, such as Brauchitsch and Halder, harbored doubts about attacking the Western Front, so he used the success of the Blitzkrieg to bind them, making it impossible to turn back once it began. He also knew what ordinary German soldiers would fight for: not the Nazi Party, but the shame of defeat, the glory of their families, and the sense of mission to 'defend the motherland' shaped by the propaganda machine. After the victory in Poland, the confidence of the German army had swelled to its peak. They believed themselves to be invincible."

Lorraine recalled the German soldiers he had seen in Stoney. They truly believed themselves to be invincible. Even if they were repelled, it was only a temporary setback, not a sign of wavering.

Seventh, a fatal misjudgment that paralyzed the western front.

The last paragraph was like a knife, piercing Loren's heart:

"Hitler's biggest misjudgment of the Allied forces on the Western Front was underestimating their fighting will in dire straits. But at the same time, he accurately judged that: the French command system was rigid and slow to react; the main British forces were concentrated in Belgium, leaving their flanks vulnerable; and Belgium's neutrality prevented the Allies from deploying in the Ardennes region in advance. All of these judgments were proven correct by facts."

As Loran read this passage, she suddenly felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

Hitler's assessment was correct. The French army was indeed rigid, its reactions were indeed slow, and its flanks were indeed vulnerable.

He turned off his phone.

In the darkness, Loran lay with his eyes open, thinking for a long time.

Duval rolled over and asked sleepily, "Still not asleep?"

"I'm thinking about something," Lorraine said.

"What is it?"

Why did Hitler start the war?

Duval was silent for a few seconds, then chuckled softly: "You're not the first person to think about this."

"I know," Lorraine said, "but I might be thinking about something else."

"What's the problem?"

"If he's really that smart and can calculate so accurately, do we still have a chance to win this battle?"

The barn remained quiet for a long time. So long that Loran thought Duval had fallen asleep again.

Then Duval's voice came from the darkness, soft but clear:

"When my grandfather was guarding that village, nobody thought he had a chance of winning. He survived after four days because he discovered something."

"What is it?"

"No matter how powerful the enemy is, they are still human. Humans make mistakes. What you need to do is not wait for them to make mistakes, but force them to make mistakes."

The next day at dawn, Loran and Duval continued westward.

Around noon, they encountered a small, scattered British detachment. Eight men, two jeeps, and a damaged radio. The captain leading them, Jenkins, was a red-faced Scotsman who always had a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his mouth when he spoke.

"The French?" Jenkins looked at Lorraine, his eyes filled with wariness and weariness. "Where are your men?"

"That's all," Loran said.

Jenkins nodded, without asking any further questions. He had seen far too many people die on this road.

"Where are you going?"

Dunkirk.

Jenkins exhaled a puff of smoke: "We're going too. I heard they're organizing an evacuation over there. Four hundred thousand people, all heading towards the coast."

Four hundred thousand men. Lorraine repeated the number to himself. If these four hundred thousand men were annihilated at Dunkirk, Britain would lose its last organized army, and France would collapse completely.

"Do you have a map?" Loran suddenly asked.

Jenkins paused for a moment, then pulled a crumpled map from the Jeep and spread it out on the hood.

Lorraine leaned over and looked at the map. His finger started from Sedan, slowly tracing the route of the German advance across the plains of northern France, finally stopping at Dunkirk.

"They're here." Loran pointed to several marks on the map. "The 10th Armored Division was delayed for three days in Stoney, but the rest of the troops have bypassed us and are advancing towards the coast."

Jenkins looked at his fingers, his expression turning serious: "You understand this?"

"I'm a staff officer," Loran said. "The 55th Division."

Jenkins spat out his cigarette butt and stubbed it out with his boot: "Go on."

Loran drew a line on the map with his finger: "The main direction of the German attack is here, Arras. If they break through at Arras, they can cut off the connection between the British and French forces, and then head north all the way to Dunkirk."

Jenkins stared at the line, remaining silent for a few seconds.

"What should we do then?"

Lorraine looked up at Jenkins. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was as pale as paper, but there was something in those eyes that Jenkins had never seen on many faces.

"Let the British fight a battle in Arras," Lorraine said. "Not a retreat, but an attack. Use your best troops, your strongest tanks, and attack from the flank. Even if you only hold them off for twenty-four hours."

Jenkins was stunned: "Attack? We're retreating, and you're telling us to attack?"

"It is precisely because of the retreat that we need to attack," Loran said, pointing to the map. "Your troops are concentrated south of Arras. If we attack north from here, we can threaten the German flank. They will definitely stop to respond. Even if they only stop for one day, more people can be evacuated."

Jenkins stared at the map for a long time. Then he looked up at Loran.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I said, 55th Division staff officer."

"No," Jenkins shook his head, "I'm asking, who exactly are you?"

Loran remained silent for a few seconds.

That evening, they found a working telephone in a small town called Etaple.

Jenkins contacted a staff officer in the British 50th Division. The voice on the other end of the phone was intermittent and the signal was poor, but he still relayed Lorraine's analysis as completely as possible.

"Are you sure?" the staff officer asked. "Are we going to attack Alas?"

"Confirmed," Jenkins said. "A French staff officer said this is the only way to stall them."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone. Then the staff officer said, "I will report this to Brigadier General Montgomery. But there's no guarantee it will be adopted."

The phone hangs up.

Jenkins turned to look at Lorraine: "Do you think they'll listen?"

Loran shook his head: "I don't know."

"Then why did you make me make this call?"

Loran gazed out at the pitch-black night. In the distance, in the direction of Dunkirk, firelight flickered. That was the German Luftwaffe bombing the port.

"Because I promised many people, 'I would give away some things. Those things are more important than my life.'" he said.

Jenkins looked at him without saying a word.

Loran took the cloth bag out of his pocket, opened it, and revealed a photo, a pipe, a ring, and a letter inside.

"These are the remains of people who died in Stoney," he said. "Their families are still waiting for them to come home."

Jenkins remained silent for a long time. Then he reached out and gently patted Lorraine on the shoulder.

"We'll get out of here alive," he said. "I'll help you get out of there."

Two days later, on May 21.

South of Alaska, 70 tanks from the British 50th Division and the 1st Army Tank Brigade launched an attack on the German flank.

This was the only time the British launched a proactive attack during the entire French campaign.

The offensive immediately turned into a fierce battle. German anti-tank guns and 88mm anti-aircraft guns crippled the British Matilda tanks one after another. But the British did not retreat; they pushed through the artillery fire and advanced deep into the German lines.

A gap has been torn in the battle line.

When Guderian received the report, he was directing the 19th Panzer Corps toward the coast. He hesitated for three hours before ordering a halt to the advance and a turn to deal with the flank threat.

Three hours.

For the 400,000 people evacuating to Dunkirk, those three hours meant life and death.

On May 23, when Loren and Duval finally arrived at the outskirts of Dunkirk, they were met with a long line of soldiers stretching for kilometers. Soldiers moved slowly forward along the beach in long, winding rows. In the distance, the outlines of ships could be faintly seen on the sea.

"We've arrived," Duval said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "And your plan—the British believed it so easily, and it actually worked. It's unbelievable."

Loran didn't speak. He stood on the dune, looking at the gray sea. The sea breeze was cold, carrying a salty smell. The roar of airplanes came from afar; the Stukas were coming again. The crowd on the beach began to scatter, but quickly gathered again.

They're still in line. Still waiting.

Loran turned and looked south. From the direction they had come from, towards Alas, the sounds of gunfire could be faintly heard.

The British troops are still fighting. This is to buy them time.

"Let's go," Lorraine said. "It's time to go home."

They descended the dunes and joined the long, silent procession.

While waiting to board the ship, Loran took out his phone, which had only 1% battery left, opened the notes app, and wrote down a line:

"On May 21, 1940, British forces launched a counterattack at Arras, delaying the German advance for three days. Those three days gave 5 men a chance to survive."

Sometimes, that's how history works. It's not decided by the generals, but by those who are willing to attack, even if they know they might not return.

After he finished writing, his phone screen flashed once and then went dark forever.

Lorraine put her phone back in her pocket and closed her eyes.

In my ears, there were the sounds of waves, the roar of airplanes, and the faint sound of distant artillery fire.

But what he was thinking about was something else entirely:

If Hitler was truly that clever, how would he have dealt with the Dunkirk trap? Would he have continued to push forward with armored forces, or...?

He suddenly opened his eyes.

"No, that's not right," he muttered to himself.

Duval turned to look at him: "What's wrong?"

Loran didn't answer. He stared at the distant sea, his mind racing with various possibilities. If he were Guderian, if he were Hitler, what would he do?

They won't rush in. That would trap the armored forces in the swamps and canals.

They will stop, let the air force bomb, let the infantry surround, and let the artillery bombard.

Tie the bag tightly, and slowly tighten it until the person inside suffocates.

Loran's heart clenched suddenly.

If that's the case, then these 400,000 people won't even get to board the ship.