Echoes in the Shadows

14

Name, rank, and a string of numbers that represented his identity — Lieutenant Langsdale was determined to offer no more than these to the men before him.

However, the aroma of the food tantalized Langsdale, who hadn't eaten all day. His gaze lingered on the meal for a few seconds too long, instantly noticed by the disheveled German Major opposite him.

"If you'd like, you can sit and eat with us," the Major said mockingly, scornfully pushing his half-eaten plate slightly towards Langsdale in a feigned gesture of invitation. Meanwhile, the SS Captain beside him watched the scene with an icy, detached gaze.

With a cold snort, Langsdale removed his bulky, mud-stained pilot's jacket, revealing the relatively neat and clean uniform of the Royal Air Force underneath. He meticulously straightened his collar and smoothed his hair. Then, he pulled out a silk scarf from his collar, a freshly laundered accessory he had donned just this morning before his flight. He used the still somewhat white scarf to painstakingly clean his dirt-smeared face and hands, before carelessly tossing the ruined scarf into a nearby waste bin.

The Major across seemed quite intrigued by Langsdale's performance. As the lieutenant began to wipe his face with the scarf, the Major, seemingly irked by something, abruptly jumped up from his seat and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a cryptic yet meaningful remark.

Langsdale, indifferent to the Major's departure, adjusted himself and then proceeded to the now vacant chair with the grace of a ballroom dancer. He elegantly set about enjoying the meal, which might have been intended for the SS Captain but remained untouched.

"May I?" Langsdale asked with a smile, exuding the courtesy characteristic of nobility, devoid of any provocation.

The suave SS officer gave a cold nod, seemingly indifferent to relinquishing his dinner. Contemplating the likelihood of imminent torture and interrogation at the hands of this man, Langsdale found the meal even more justified and satisfying.

Less than fifteen minutes had elapsed, and Lieutenant Langsdale hadn't even finished his appetizer when the wooden door behind him creaked open again. The reappearance of the German Major, now immaculately groomed, took everyone by surprise, including the stoic SS officer at Langsdale's side. The Major's attire was so splendid it seemed fitting for a parade in front of the Führer himself. In such a brief span, he had managed to appear as though he had freshly shaved.

Aware that he would inevitably reclaim his seat, the Major was followed by several Wehrmacht soldiers. A sergeant, carrying a chair, trailed him into the room, placing it on the other side of the desk. The Major sat down without a second glance, unfazed about whether the chair was properly positioned. Another soldier then brought the dish the Major had initially touched, allowing him to resume his meal with renewed elegance.

Langsdale inwardly mused that he had encountered a true aristocrat. His upbringing had ingrained in him that glancing at a servant to check if a chair was in place during a social dinner was a terrifying act that instantly betrayed lowly origins. This lesson held, he was taught, regardless of one's rank or conquests in Europe.

It was a silent battle at the dinner table, with both officers at either end striving to uphold their military honor through their graceful dining manners. Meanwhile, an inadvertent observer from the Gestapo, merely passing through, witnessed this unique display of aristocratic conduct.