Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 123 A Blurred Profile

In the still of the night, the moon moved overhead, and the scent of grass and horse manure wafted on the wind.

Slender fingers toyed with a potato, while the creaking of a wheel axle filled the air.

Chanel crossed her legs and leaned her body against the edge of the carriage.

"So you're back after all." The French woman stared blankly at the potatoes in front of her, lost in thought.

The army kept its word this time, and Chanel successfully obtained a return ticket after serving as a volunteer on the front lines for a week—though it was for a horse-drawn carriage.

When the wooden wagon pulled by a crossbowman returned to Paris, three days had passed.

Chanel felt very strange. In the past, she would have rushed to the investors to demand that the funds be paid out immediately.

But now, she feels that the career she once pursued so relentlessly is no longer so important.

why?

Perhaps she felt she no longer needed to prove herself.

From Balduk to Verdun, from a nurse in a field hospital to the only female co-driver on the deadly highway.

Now, when she closes her eyes, she sees a battlefield filled with the sounds of gunfire and German planes diving in pursuit. Whenever she sees such scenes, she can't help but feel excited. The thrill she feels is even greater than when she first achieved success in business.

Chanel tossed the potato into her mouth and chewed it rather inelegantly.

This coarse diet was her staple food during her childhood. After she gained some wealth, Chanel deliberately avoided such things for a time, but now she can eat potatoes while leaning against straw without any concern, just like in a truck.

She could now proudly declare, "I, Coco Chanel, am no worse than anyone else! I am even better than the vast majority of men."

As for investments, let him be.

I will succeed sooner or later!

The battlefield can bring about tremendous changes in a person, regardless of gender.

The French woman exuded unparalleled confidence as she jumped off the carriage.

Taking the key out of her small suitcase, Chanel walked toward her tailor shop, only to be surprised to find someone already waiting there.

"Mr. Kragg? What are you doing here?!" She never expected that the investor she had been longing for would actually come to her door.

The man, who looked to be around thirty years old, took off his hat and extended his hand to the woman. "Thank goodness, Miss Chanel, I thought you had left."

“Mr. Krag, so much time has passed since the agreed time. I thought you had given up on the investment.” Chanel was somewhat flattered by the investor’s attitude, which was so different from before.

“To be honest, that’s what I thought before.” The man placed his top hat on his chest and bowed slightly.

“But after hearing your story in Verdun, I believe a woman like you deserves the respect she deserves.” The man pulled an agreement from his briefcase and handed it to the French woman.

Chanel quickly scanned the documents by the moonlight, a look of surprise on her face.

“Mr. Cragg, your investment is much larger than before, which seems to be against general business rules.”

"Of course, you have to get something for what you put in; that's the most basic principle for a businessman. But I'm not just a businessman; I'm also a journalist."

The other party flashed the camera and ID around his neck. "I'm very interested in your previous story. If you cooperate with me to complete an interview, any extra investment will be your reward."

Chanel took the ID and looked at it.
"Marseille?"

"We are a local newspaper that was just established last year, and we need more articles and hot topics."

"That's it?"

"Of course, that's all."

"Please come in then. I'm sorry, the shop hasn't been cleaned yet." Chanel opened the shop door with her key.

"You see, there's not much to drink here..."

"No, no, no, what we drink is not important." The man pulled out a pen and a diary from his pocket.

"Please tell me in detail about your experiences on the battlefield, the more detailed the better."

"By the way, do you have any photos from that time?"
-
Verdun, German positions.

Quack!! Quack!!
The mournful cawing of crows echoed again in the trenches. Upon hearing the crows' calls, most soldiers instinctively turned their heads, and some experienced veterans even crouched down, covering their heads.

"A bunch of superstitious donkeys! They're just crows, yet you're so cowardly! Are you even His Majesty the Emperor's soldiers?!" Seeing the soldiers' behavior, the German lieutenant supervising the battle roared angrily. He drew his pistol, seemingly wanting to aim at the crows, but the battlefield legends in his mind made him hesitate.

The next second, a terrifying sound came from above, and several small black dots streaked across the sky and crashed down.

Boom boom boom boom! Boom boom boom boom! Boom boom boom boom!
Miss 75 roared, and the French army's rapid-fire cannons accurately covered the position.

When the smoke cleared, the lieutenant lay in a pool of blood. The veterans he had just reprimanded slowly raised their heads, some shaking their heads as if lost in thought.

"Withdraw! Pull up the artillery and withdraw! The priest said that at times like this, the German retaliation is coming." The French sergeant leading the team shouted, and seven or eight men quickly dragged the 75mm gun back into the tunnel.

A few minutes later, the German retaliatory artillery arrived as expected, leaving only shrapnel on the ground.

This is a scene that has been frequently seen on the Verdun front recently, with the artillery of both sides bombarding each other across the trenches as if playing Russian roulette.

I just don't know why? The French seem to have had exceptionally good luck.

Snapped!
A cup was thrown on the ground, splashing water everywhere.

"Damn it! Do the French cannons have eyes? How come they're so much more accurate than our artillery?!" Lieutenant General Dieldorf von Schäfer, commander of the German 18th Army, slammed his fist on the table in anger.

"Sir, please calm down. This is, after all, French territory. It's not surprising that they have some spies working with them. We have urged the air force to strengthen aerial reconnaissance and provide more guidance for ground artillery fire."

The captain's adjutant beside him explained softly, noting that when he lowered his head, a cross-shaped scar on his forehead was particularly noticeable.

Lieutenant General Schäfer glanced at his new assistant and nodded reluctantly. After all, the man was the nephew of the new commander-in-chief, and he didn't want to give him too much of a show of power.

*Thud!* Several photos were thrown onto the table.

“This is intelligence that our agents just obtained. Captain, you go and communicate with the air force yourself, and have them keep an eye on the key targets in the photos.”

"Yes, Your Excellency! I'll go right away."

The captain nodded in agreement, but no footsteps sounded behind him for a long time. The lieutenant general turned around and found his assistant staring thoughtfully at one of the photos.

"Is there a problem, Captain Manstein?"

"Oh no, Your Excellency, it's just that this photograph feels familiar to me."

The assistant saluted and left, leaving the photo in his hand.

The photo was obviously taken casually and is not very clear. You can roughly see a woman smiling in the passenger seat of a truck passing through the countryside, while on the other side you can only vaguely see the profile of a man.
-
Boom boom boom! !

A barrage of artillery fire erupted, and a plume of white smoke rose from the French positions. Miss 75 continued to display her formidable power, suppressing the opposing artillery positions.

Just as the soldiers picked up the iron bucket to cool the cannon barrel, they heard the sound of a propeller overhead.

Buzz buzz buzz~~~ Buzz buzz buzz~~~
German red triplane fighters began to circle over the French positions.

"Damn it! Hide quickly, these German planes are more annoying than flies!" With the artillery sergeant's command, the French soldiers on the position, dragging their cannons, disappeared into the air-raid shelter like meerkats.

Lieutenant Richthofen circled in his beloved plane, occasionally comparing the photographs in his hand with any important targets that might appear below.

Suddenly, his pupils contracted as he spotted a figure he knew all too well.

The Renault truck, which should have been scrapped on the side of the road, was parked brazenly behind the French defense line, with wisps of smoke rising from its roof.

Its design, resembling a battlefield food cart, seemed to mock its own incompetence.

"You little fox, you actually came here." The lieutenant pulled up his goggles, preparing to lower the fuselage, intending to get revenge. However, as the distance closed, Richthofen's expression became puzzled.

It seems that the other party is... um... distributing meals to the soldiers?
Has this fox turned itself into a food truck again?!

The black figure was holding a long spoon and continuously ladling steaming food onto the soldiers' plates. The lieutenant could even see some of them laughing.

At this point, the enemy was almost completely unprepared, and the lieutenant had a 90% chance of taking him down in one go if he launched an attack.

Richthofen's hand was already on the trigger of the machine gun, but when he saw the soldiers queuing in front of the "dining car", he slowly put his hand down.

The red triplane wobbled and pulled up again. When it was out of sight, the black-robed priest on the ground put down the long-handled spoon in his hand, straightened up, and waved his hand behind him.

"Let's retreat; there's probably no chance today."

Someone responded softly, and the sound of metal scraping came from behind. Under the cover of camouflage, there were at least four anti-aircraft weapons positioned around the man in the black robe, their dark barrels fixed on the airspace above him.

(End of this chapter)