Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 132 Espionage
Gudong! !
As the truck passed an intersection, it jolted violently, and Chanel felt as if she were being lifted into the air.

To avoid hitting her head, she had to use one hand to hold her head down while using the other hand to protect the small suitcase beside her.

"Miss Chanel, why do you always carry that suitcase?" Mr. Krag, who claimed to be a reporter from Marseille, was holding the steering wheel as the two of them drove another Renault truck toward the front lines.

"These are my samples. Didn't you say you'd invest more in mass production of my product after conducting a frontline interview? How come you've forgotten?" The French woman lifted a corner of her suitcase, revealing a silk scarf and bottled perfume inside, and asked with a puzzled expression, tilting her head.

“Oh, right, I did say that. I was just too excited. You know, there aren’t many opportunities to get firsthand information from the front lines. I got a little too excited.” Mr. Cragg laughed and subtly changed the subject.

A wary look flashed across Chanel's face.

She is now a woman who has truly been on the front lines, and even though it was only for less than ten days, she already understands the cruelty of the battlefield.

Aside from completely inexperienced rookies, no one would go to the battlefield with a joking attitude.

Even "that guy" is the same.

Mr. Cragg's current relaxed state is rather abnormal.

However, having spent years navigating the social world, she was no ordinary, naive woman. Although she harbored doubts, she showed no outward signs of anything amiss.

“Mr. Kragg, the journey has been a bit boring. Would you like to talk about something?” The businesswoman leaned closer to the passenger seat, clutching her small suitcase, a mysterious smile on her face that resembled that of someone else.

"Of course, of course! What would you like to talk about?" The man who claimed to be a reporter immediately showed interest.

"Tell me about my invention this time," the woman asked, pulling a small bottle from her suitcase and holding it in her hand.

"This is a perfume I developed independently. The inspiration comes from whiskey bottles that men love. The amber color is very alluring, and the scent mimics the fresh feeling of linen drying in the sun, which I remember from my childhood. However, I haven't decided which one to use yet..."

“Wait a minute, please wait a minute!” Mr. Cragg interrupted the young woman’s incessant chatter.

"Madam, I'm a war correspondent. I'm more interested in news from the battlefield. Could you tell me about what's happening there?"

"For example, the story of the priest you mentioned earlier is very interesting. Could you tell me more about him?"

"What are his strengths? What are his past experiences? When did he come here from the north?"

"Huh? Did I say before that the priest came from the north?" the businesswoman asked, puzzled.

"Oh, I was just guessing, of course I was just guessing..."

call!!!!!
A strong gust of wind swept across the sky! Several triplanes painted with the Iron Cross flew overhead!

"German planes!" Chanel pointed to the sky.

“Oh, don’t be afraid, I’ll protect you.” Mr. Cragg seemed nervous as he increased the speed of the car, but he didn’t look nearly as nervous as a truck driver on the battlefield.

Sure enough, the planes first dove down, then pulled up without any further action, circled a few times, and then disappeared into the distance.

"Has it left?" Chanel leaned out of the car window, gazing at the sky with lingering fear.

"Perhaps they don't perceive us as a threat?" Mr. Cragg explained to the woman beside him with a smile, spreading his hands in the driver's seat.

“You’re so brave. I was terrified just now.” Chanel pressed her hand to her chest, looking like a frightened deer.

"You flatter me, I've just had a bit more experience." Mr. Cragg said calmly, gripping the steering wheel.

Chanel looked on with admiration, silently stuffing the perfume bottle back into her small suitcase, her eyes glancing intentionally or unintentionally at a colorful silk handkerchief tied to the car window.

The car returned to silence, and Chanel leaned against the door, seemingly dozing off.

The two remained silent, each reciting a phrase to themselves:
"Idiot!" As the truck approached Bellville Fortress, the soldiers could hardly believe their eyes. A civilian truck, without any cover, had broken through the German artillery and aircraft blockade and arrived at the front line, also bringing along a batch of supplies most needed on the battlefield.

When the soldiers discovered there were women on the vehicle, the entire fortress erupted in chaos, as if it had been bombarded.

People were speculating about the identity of this woman.

When people saw Chanel jump out of the car and run towards the priest in black robes, they finally understood.

"Oh, so she's the woman who was with the priest. It's not surprising that she has some unique qualities."

The soldiers scattered in all directions.

“Father El, let me introduce you. This is Mr. Clag, a reporter from Marseille, and also my patron.” The French woman slowly walked over and extended her hand.

“His driving skills are excellent, and he’s suited for the same profession as you.” The woman deliberately emphasized the latter part of her statement.

The priest in the black robe twitched almost imperceptibly—not long ago, Chanel had told him with a smile that he was perfectly suited to being a conman.

Feeling the pressure of the French woman's hand, Qin Hao nodded knowingly. The next moment, a mysterious smile appeared on his face, just like the Chanel on the street:
“Mr. Krag, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please come into the bunker first, as it’s not safe here since German planes fly here every day.”

“You’re right.” The man readily agreed and walked forward with a smile.

That evening, under the dim light of a kerosene lamp, the fortress held a brief welcome party for "Mr. Reporter".

Krag smiled and greeted the soldiers, then took out his camera to take pictures of everyone. During the meal, people talked about many things related to the fighting here, and the reporter carefully took notes.

At night, a dark figure quietly emerged from the bunker, carrying a small bag, and went to an open area.

Click!

The sound of a pistol being cocked rang out.

"Mr. Kragg, where are you going so late?" Under the moonlight, the priest in black robes stood with a gun in his hand.

"Uh, I just have a bit of an upset stomach and need to go to the toilet," the man forced a smile and tried to explain, while hiding his small bag behind his back.

"Oh? Is that straw in your hand? It seems like too much? Or is it that your stomach is different from others when you're a spy?" The priest in black robes bluntly brought up the topic, pressing him step by step.

Seeing that his plan had been exposed, the man gritted his teeth, threw out the small bag in his hand, and a gray carrier pigeon took flight.

Quack!

A mournful cry rang out, and soon the sounds of fighting came from the sky as some kind of bird caught the pigeon.

Grayish-white feathers fell one after another, and the man reached into his robes again, ready to fight to the death.

Qin Hao frowned, hesitating whether to kill the other party outright.

But someone acted before him.

Snapped! ! ! !

A perfume bottle the size of a palm smashed right onto the back of Mr. Cragg's head, and the air was instantly filled with fragrance!
The French woman, who had always done manual labor as a child, had a strong grip. The German spy rolled his eyes and immediately fainted.

"He's not dead, is he?" Chanel tilted her head and looked at the person in front of her, asking in a somewhat uncertain tone.

(End of this chapter)