Echoes in the Shadows

16

1942, London

A young American military officer, impeccably dressed in his uniform, leapt out of a car and, after showing his credentials to the guards, entered a heavily guarded U.S. military base's administrative building in the United Kingdom.

"My goodness, Lieutenant!"

Two pilots in U.S. Air Force uniforms approached, and Lieutenant Brad recognized one of them as a fellow patient from the hospital, a pilot from the 8th Air Force Squadron. The pilot whistled softly in surprise upon seeing Brad.

"I didn't expect you to be discharged so soon! I thought you'd be out of action until the end of the war!"

The pilot feigned astonishment and concern, causing a slightly embarrassed reaction in the still pale-faced lieutenant. Nonetheless, Brad politely smiled, nodded, and continued towards the stairs.

"Kren, who is he? Do you know him?"

After the two pilots walked away, the other, puzzled, asked his whistle-blowing companion.

"He's Lieutenant Craig Brad—son of someone you might know, a big shot."

"I don't know any big shot!"

"But you do! Think about the newspaper you were reading yesterday... whose face did you burn with your cigarette butt?"

"Oh my! You don't mean... that guy?!"

A long whistle echoed between the two.

"Kren, I bet that big shot's son is here with a medical discharge proving he's unfit for service."

Hearing this, the pilot named Kren paused for a moment, then smirked disdainfully.

"He did look the part when he checked into the hospital. But if any doctor dared to issue such a certificate to him, they wouldn't live another 24 hours... Lieutenant Brad is a workaholic!"

As Kren uttered these seemingly disconnected remarks, he glanced back once more at the retreating figure of Lieutenant Brad, just as he disappeared around the stairwell.

Two hours later, at a secret U.S. military base in the UK:

"If it's a British pilot, then let the British rescue him!"

"Chief, we just had a brawl with those British pilots at the bar last week. Why should we save them now?"

Lieutenant Brad didn't pay any attention to his subordinates' protests. His attitude was as resolute as ever. "It's an order!" he said with a calm and determined voice. After all, the men in front of him were handpicked by him from American prisons for their notorious backgrounds. Leading such an assault team deep into Nazi-occupied territory required special leadership skills.

"This pilot knows about a plan of our military," the Lieutenant added with an unusual softness in his voice.

"Chief! You've just recovered from your injury! Talk to them about sending someone else..."

Howard, once known for his pickpocketing skills, looked at the Lieutenant with pleading eyes, his gaze filled with difficulty and entreaty, seemingly more for his own sake than anyone else's.

"Right! We could go find that doctor to give you a certificate!"

Juliano, an expert in cracking safes, rolled up his sleeves and assured Lieutenant Brad as if convincing a doctor was as easy as cracking a safe.

"We're parachuting into Holland tonight. I'll tell you the details of the operation this afternoon!"

Lieutenant Brad's merciless conclusion marked the failure of the gang's attempt to 'shake military morale'.

"Chief—"

As Lieutenant Brad walked out of the room and closed the door, the collective cry of frustration from the gang of rogues was sealed behind the heavy 19th-century wooden door.

For some reason, Lieutenant Brad felt an inexplicable urge to laugh – these unruly rogues...