"Every road has an end, we just have to follow the road...... "Kevin. Second Lieutenant Wallace stood on a high dirt slope, looking at the blood-red cliff wall illuminated by the setting sun in front of him, and couldn't help but sigh with heartfelt emotion.

"Walk along the fart, where is the end? Isn't this the English Channel? The Scotsman crouched beside a bush of wild daisies by the side of the road, and he took off his black round hat and scratched his short tan hair.

"Sir, I think I know where we are." Platoon deputy Owen. Sergeant Kusmo ran over with a map, crouched down beside the platoon commander and spread it on the lawn by the side of the road.

"I climbed up to the roof of the farmhouse over there and took a closer look at the terrain around me, and this map showed that we should be near Kingston now, and we could go this way along the coast to Dover, and in that direction we could get to Dier."

"When it gets dark, let's go to the farm to rest, the soldiers have been marching for two hours, and we need to find a place to camp and boil some hot water." Wallace brushed his tousled hair and put on his military hat again.

"We should have turned at the junction in front of us, which is a scenic trail with a golf course below you and a resort villa area in that direction. We really shouldn't have cut corners over those two bush walls, or we would have seen the signpost to Dover. The sergeant folded the map and mercilessly sprinkled salt on the platoon leader's wounds.

"We are Scottish and we never get lost in the wilderness." Wallace angrily tugged at the leaves of the poor bush. Crumple it in your hand and crush it.

"It's not us, it's you, you're the most directionless Scotsman I've ever met." Cusmo gave Wallace a hard hit. The gray-white second lieutenant platoon commander slowly drifted away with the sea breeze.

"All stand up, let's go to the farm over there to rest, when we get there, the first shift will be on guard, the second and third shifts will prepare dinner, if we still can't contact the headquarters, we may have to spend the night there tonight." The sergeant walked up to the soldiers who were stumbling on the side of the road and gave a loud order to stop the march. In exchange for a cheer from the soldiers.

It was finally time to end this aimless march, and it was a very physically demanding exercise to walk around the field paths and bushes for half a day. The rapid march that had been maintained with high intensity since the departure in the afternoon, and the whole platoon was exhausted, but the destination was still far away, which greatly damaged the morale of these soldiers. If it weren't for the brave and bold platoon commander, he would be very popular on weekdays. These guys are going to start making trouble and saying weird things a long time ago.

The soldiers wore black Scottish hats with silver-plated cockades, short brown-and-yellow shirts of the Army, kilts with blue and green stripes, high wool socks, and British low-top shoes. The infantry carried canvas ammunition bags on their chests and marching backpacks on their backs, bayonet sheaths, infantry shovels, water bottles, and gas mask bags hung from canvas belts around their waists, and each rifleman carried a Lee Enfield rifle and a long bayonet. One hundred rounds of 0.303-inch ammunition.

This infantry platoon was armed with a Bren light machine gun, which was operated by the machine gunners in the platoon command squad. The platoon command squad also carried a two-inch mortar, with a total of 12 shells, each of the four infantrymen drawn from each squad. The rest of the squad were all riflemen, and the squad leaders carried two grenades.

This is the armament of a standard British infantry platoon at this time, or is it because these Scottish infantry have received a year of military training and belong to the rare elite units at present, that the superiors will allow them to have this "gorgeous" equipment.

At present, the rapidly expanding British Army is seriously underarmed, some ordinary companies may not be able to be assigned a mortar, and some soldiers of the newly established units have only been given a grenade so far, and they do not know whether to use it to kill the enemy or kill themselves.

After receiving the report from the Sandwich Barracks in the afternoon, Churchill ordered an elite infantry battalion to be sent to reconnoiter the area around Diere.

The War Department was a problem with this, as the roads leading from the north to the coast were still blocked by the flow of refugees, and troops could only be mobilized from the southern periphery. The garrisons in those places were difficult to defend themselves, and there was no elite to speak of, and the Dover garrison had long been in good standby, waiting for the attack of the German army on the opposite side, and no one could mobilize a single soldier without the authorization of the wartime cabinet and the fortress command.

Eventually, the Army Executive Committee found a suitable force, but only one platoon, and the Scottish infantry platoon, which had just been transferred from the north-west to the south, was resting near Elsham to be transferred to the Scottish Highlands Battalion at Fort Dover to be redeployed there. Don't look at the small number of people in this platoon, but the origin is not small, he belongs to the British Royal Highland Regiment, which is also known as the Black Guard. The Army Executive Committee delegated combat readiness and dispatch to the Kent County Command Post, which set the route for the unit and was responsible for its logistical supply.

The original 1st Battalion of the Royal Highlands Regiment was wiped out at Dunkirk, but it still retained a reserve native army in Scotland, and almost a company of reserves was responsible for local defense, and this platoon was the latest company in this reserve.

The old unit was left behind to recruit and train the Royal Highlands Regiment to reorganize, and the platoon was transferred to Dover to reinforce the Scottish Highlands Battalion at Fort Fort.

Historically, Scottish soldiers were no longer allowed to wear their plaid skirts at the beginning of the year, and it was not until 42 that the British Army re-imposed the ban when the Scottish soldiers were about to revolt. And now, because Dunkirk was defeated too cleanly, there was not even a single British left, and as a result, the local Scottish troops left in the country became fragrant, and the army was extremely lacking in such well-trained troops, and the only formed Scottish brigade became the main force in the army, and it was transferred to the vicinity of London that month to take on the heavy responsibility of defending London.

In order to envelop these unruly Celtic barbarians, the British Army revoked the ban on the brain-dead short skirt, as long as this group of Scots is willing to obediently go to the battlefield to work for the Anglos, no matter what they want to wear, even if this group of guys wants to learn from the ancient Greeks to fight in the sky, they can only raise their hands in favor, and they will also write articles to praise each other's antiquity.

Wallace's platoon was full of pure Scottish barbarians, all the platoon were from the same township, and the villages were less than two miles apart, and many of them were classmates in elementary and middle schools, and they knew each other very well. The bonds of this human relationship are very strong, and the whole row is like a big family.

As the platoon commander of the parents is more like everyone's big brother, this nearly two-meter-tall strong man is actually only twenty-four years old, in the early years in the local area was known for his fierce courage and perseverance, and at the same time is a serious middle two disease patient, extremely admired the senior with the same surname as him, every day at home hard to practice two-handed swords.

"The order we were given from above was strange, to get to Sutford Farm and be on standby, but I looked through the map and couldn't find what they said about this place." Cusmo sat at the dining table in the farmstead's living room, holding a magnifying glass and poring over the map.

"They used to say on the radio that they were going southeast, over the Dover Highway, at the fork in the old ladder road. There is this road on the map, but God knows that there are all small roads in this direction, and there are no road signs at all. Wallace said indignantly with a cup of hot soup.

"These English guys are obviously bullying, and we Scots are easy to bully. Let me meet the idiot who gave us orders, and I'm going to let him know what will happen if he fools the Black Guards. ”

"Before you teach that guy a lesson, you should examine yourself, why did you not think of finding a guide in the local area, now we are trapped in this abandoned farm with no village and no store, and I don't know how to write the battle diary and post-event report." Kusmo lowered his magnifying glass, and he turned the knob of the kerosene lamp on the table to brighten the wick.

"Whatever you want to write, I won't interfere with you." Wallace gulped two large sips of hot soup, put down his glass, leaned back in his chair and turned his head to shout into the corner of the living room. "Did you contact the Kent County Command, what is wrong with your radio station, and you won't let this idiot mess around."

"Don't talk to me, Kevin, the radio is working fine, but it just can't get a signal from the Kent command post, and the frequency they give us is now a bunch of contact codes for unknown troops, using a different password than ours, maybe the Royal Navy or Air Force. It's so chaotic in the communication bands right now, it's like a London stock exchange, where someone is making announcements every minute. Ay? This guy's hands are so fast. ”

The communications non-commissioned officer squatted in front of the radio station and frowned and adjusted the frequency knob on the panel, he tried more than a dozen frequency bands, and found that the nearby radio communication channels were very busy, and some frequencies actually had four different radio call signs at the same time, this kind of thing was really abnormal, and he had never encountered this situation in the memory of the communications non-commissioned officer. The communications non-commissioned officer subconsciously had some vague guesses, maybe something big was happening right now.

"Don't talk like you've been to London, do you know what a stock exchange looks like?" Wallace pried open a can of fish with a knife, then tapped the can on the table, and after attracting the other's attention, he threw the can at the head of the communications officer.

"I attended a summer camp organized in London during the summer vacation of college, you dirt bun." The communications non-commissioned officer grabbed the can, only to get the oil leaking from the crack in the lid on his hand.

"God, Kevin, you're a complete asshole." The communications non-commissioned officer hurriedly took off his headphones and took out his handkerchief to wipe the oil stains dripping on the Scottish plaid skirt.

"Look, it's a purely technical issue." Wallace happily pried open another can of fish, and he took a piece of pickled fish with a knife, put it in his mouth and chewed it. (To be continued......)