WWII military commentator? Even a dog could be one.

12. Smith Barton and Sean Wayne

"This is not a good idea, really, I mean, I'm not ready to be a father."

"You can give it a try."

Sean sat silently in his seat, looking out the window.

Marilyn boldly sat down next to Sean. "Don't worry, I can do the laundry, clean the room, and even cook."

"You've skipped the baby care stage, isn't it great to have a thirteen-year-old daughter?"

"NO!" Sean turned around and glanced at her impatiently.

"I can earn money and support myself. See, you've saved a lot of money."

"NO!"

"Okay, do you have a favorite Hollywood actress? I know a lot, like Greta Garbo. Have you seen Gone with the Wind?"

Nonsense, the movie channel has shown it countless times on its "Classic Movies" program.

Sean nodded.

"I can introduce you to the leading lady, Vivien Leigh; you're about the same age."

Sean stared intently at the talkative girl in front of him.

"I mean, I mean she's only a few years older than you."

"Spare me."

The little girl chuckled as she kicked her cloth shoes.

I'm going to San Diego in the next few days.

"I can wait for you at home, so you don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself. I'll go to the film set whenever I have free time. They all like me. I'm used to being alone for days on end. Nobody cares about me, nobody looks after me. I rely on myself."

Aren't you going home?

That's not my home.

Seeing the expectant look in her eyes, Sean didn't know what to say. He had never adopted a child in his past life. She, like him, lived in a place called home, but didn't feel like home.

"Okay, come with me to San Diego, and I'll take you to an orphanage when we get back."

Marilyn winked at Sean: "Then it's settled."

"Let's go, I'll buy you some clothes."

Shortly after getting on the bus, Sean stood by the door again.

Marilyn Monroe followed behind him with a grin, kicking the floor incessantly.

A day later, two figures, one tall and one short, appeared at Union Station in Los Angeles.

The short-haired girl wearing a watermelon hat, brown overalls, and chunky leather shoes looked quite playful.

She pointed to the station. "Let's go, San Diego, Sean. You didn't buy me a swimsuit. It's a seaside city."

"Shut up, we're not on vacation."

Union Station in Los Angeles is beautiful, but Sean rarely goes in it, even though he lives nearby.

This white building, incorporating Dutch colonial revival style, is California's largest transportation hub and one of the largest railway stations in addition to urban road traffic.

As Sean entered the station, he looked up at the wooden ceiling and marble floor, and there was even a garden in the central courtyard.

It's hard to imagine that it's a train station.

"I'll go buy the tickets."

Watching the little one run off with the money, Sean looked around, carrying his own bag.

This was his first long trip since he transmigrated.

They need to take a 13-hour ride on a green train.

"Sean." Marilyn waved her train ticket happily as the two arrived at the waiting room and found seats.

Marilyn Monroe held the bread and cookies in her hands, shaking them triumphantly.

"You don't even know where to buy food. What would you do without me?"

Sean glared at her with a stern face.

"Because of you, my travel costs have increased by almost $20, not including the money I spent on clothes for you."

Do you think Britain and France will send troops next?

"I heard that Germany has annihilated four divisions and a cavalry brigade in Pomerania, Poland."

"Yes, they only suffered fewer than 700 casualties, my God."

Listening to the battle reports from a few days ago, Sean's right corner of his mouth curled up slightly. Wasn't that obvious? With fixed trench warfare and cavalry, how could you expect to cut through an iron can with a saber?

"Ronstadt's troops have captured Krakow, Poland's second-largest city and its industrial region."

"Eliminate the potential for war," Sean sneered, the German army's movements as precise as historical records.

"Guderian's 19th Panzer Corps has crossed the Narew River and is approaching the rear of Warsaw. My God, he has been advancing all the way from the Northern Group in East Prussia to southwestern Poland and is unstoppable."

This is inevitable; Guderian was the father of armored assault warfare and a world-class general.

Sean listened quietly; history had not changed in the slightest, nor could it be changed.

"I heard this is called mechanized air-ground integrated warfare."

"Isn't this an armored group tactic?"

"It's air-ground integration, that's what that Los Angeles Times commentator named Sean Wayne said. Even Guderian admitted that Sean is a great military expert."

"Heh, I didn't expect that this tactic was first conceived by us Americans."

"Yes, I heard that Little Mustache is going to award Sean a knighthood and call him the Empire's American hero."

Needless to say, Sean was a little embarrassed.

"Shouldn't we invite French and British generals to come and attend our classes?"

"Haha, that's right."

"But why did such a brilliant tactical idea come from a commentator? What were our generals doing?"

"They might be gaining weight from eating donuts."

"Ha ha!"

Indeed, in later generations, three out of ten American soldiers were fat.

Even someone at the time emphasized during the military parade that there should be no fat people.

Sean thought of a certain emperor, wondering if he was older than him and if he would ever be able to meet him.

"Are they all talking about you? You're that Sean Wayne."

"Shh! Keep it down!" Sean put his index finger to his lips.

Marilyn Monroe nodded in realization, a sly grin spreading across her face.

The two boarded the train with their luggage and bought cheaper hard seats.

Fortunately, trains in the United States are not crowded now.

There are four seats in a row, but they are not all full. The aisle is very spacious.

There were two seats on each side. Marilyn Monroe sat by the window and looked out the window with curiosity.

Sean sat in the aisle and picked up a book.

In this day and age, without cell phones, it's hard to find a way to pass the time.

Bang! A tall, imposing man sat down in front of him, his bag on the table. He was wearing a gray-green military short-sleeved shirt and green military trousers.

"Sir, this is a public facility."

Sean looked up with displeasure. "You put the bag on the table. How are we supposed to use it?"

"What are you looking at, kid?" the man asked, staring at the book in Sean's hand.

Sean looked at the guy in front of him strangely. The guy was rude and even behaved like the Irish thugs on the docks.

"Shakespeare?"

The man seemed to have lost interest.

Yes, Sean had never read Shakespeare's original works in his past life. He heard people talk about them every day, but he had never read them himself. Only after buying them did he realize that the difference between the original and the translated version was like heaven and earth.

After all, English is not as ornate as Chinese, which uses metaphors, parallelism, and personification. English descriptions are simpler and more direct, or rather, rudimentary.

How should it be read?

It's like a web novelist describing a view of a valley, a mountain stream, a rocket launch, and a perfect shot.

There's only one word for it in English: FUCK, or SUCK!

Online novel authors can write hundreds of words about the word FUCK, and it's something that can only be understood intuitively, unlike in English, where FUCK is simply FUCK and can be clearly stated.

This indeed made it difficult for Sean to immerse himself in the joy of reading.

"Young people should learn more useful things. If war breaks out, you can't defeat your enemy with literature."

What nonsense are you spouting?

Sean stared blankly at the guy in front of him.

"Hey, that's very rude of you," Marilyn Monroe yelled at the man, clearly annoyed.

Seeing that it was a cute little girl dressed as a boy, the man lost interest and gave up.

He took out a green military-grade can and a bag of chocolates.

"Want some?"

Marilyn Monroe looked at Sean.

Sean shrugged and nodded. "Say thank you."

"Thank you, sir." Marilyn happily snatched the chocolate and tore open the wrapper.

"You've raised your daughter exceptionally well."

Hearing the man say that, Marilyn Monroe smiled and pursed her lips.

Sean stared intently at the other person. "She's not my daughter. I'm only 21."

"Is that so?" The man's expression instantly turned serious as he raised his arm. "If not, then you're in trouble. Listen, kid, I'm taking you to the police station. Don't be afraid, little girl, I'll help you."

"He's joking with you. He's my adoptive father."

The man laughed heartily, "Looks like he still wants to stay single. Your daughter is adorable."

I'm single, I'm only 21, how many times do I have to say it?

Sean was holding his breath.

"Having an adopted daughter at such a young age, it seems you're not entirely useless. I am Smith, Smith Barton."

What did you say? Say it again?

"Smith Patton?"

Do you recognize me?

"He definitely doesn't know him. In fact, apart from working at the docks, he's at home all day long." Marilyn happily ate her chocolate.

I know him, Patton. How could I not know him?

Sean looked at the legendary American general with curiosity.

Well, he's not a general yet, just a colonel.

"Where are you from?"

Krakow

Fort Krakow Army Base, home to the 7th Cavalry Regiment in U.S. history.

It really does seem to be Patton.

"Where are you going, kid?"

"Let's go to San Diego," Marilyn Monroe blurted out.

"Haha, I'm going to San Diego too. Those damn bastards arranged a lecture, and I'm actually going to listen to someone who's never been in a war or served in the military talk about military affairs. It's fucking hilarious."

Sean had a dark expression on his face.

Marilyn Monroe covered her mouth and chuckled softly. Yes, your teacher is right in front of you.

You're insulting a bald man in front of a monk! Sean isn't in a good mood.

"speech?"

Hearing Marilyn Monroe's curious question, and seeing the mischievous smile on her face.

Patton wasn't surprised; this soldier, who was like a bandit, was very gentle with children.

"Yes, it's that Sean Wayne, the guy who predicted that Germany would invade Poland and defeat them in a week."

He had never even touched a gun before, and the organizer's war department even told me that he was actually a young man.

Don't you think this is funny?

"Why do you say that?" Sean was a little dissatisfied. Was he that bad? I know much more than you guys.

"Because he has never been on the battlefield or served in the military, how would he know how to fight a war?"

Besides, he is very young. Perhaps there are geniuses in this world, but even geniuses need time to mature in war.

Just because he uttered a few strange terms and predicted a few battles? They've all gone mad.

"But Sean is right every time," Marilyn Monroe said, equally dissatisfied.

"He was just a lucky kid; God doesn't always favor him."

"But he gained Guderian's approval."

"Guderian was indeed an excellent commander and tactical thinker, but what about Sean? Just because of a few terms he used? Does he have a complete theoretical framework for tactical thinking?"

Marilyn was stunned. Sean had only written reviews; he hadn't actually published a book.

Seeing that the two no longer objected, Patton raised his victorious chin and extended his hand.

He had the upper hand in the debate and wore a smug smile.

"George Smith Patton."

Sean chuckled and extended his hand as well. "Sean Wayne, I'm the lucky kid you were talking about."

"Ah! You're that American hero from that empire?" Patton exclaimed in shock.

"Yes, I am the only American to have received the German Knight's Medal."