The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the American camp. You had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The chaos of the German attack had swept through, a flurry of gunfire, confusion, and desperation. You had tried to explain, tried to show that you weren’t the enemy, but the soldiers hadn't listened. Your nurse uniform wasn’t theirs, and that was enough for them to treat you like a threat.

Dragged through the camp, your wrists bound too tightly behind your back, you stumbled as they shoved you forward. The rough gravel beneath your boots only added to your misery, and tears stung your eyes as they led you past tents and staring soldiers. Words flew around you, most of them in English, quick and harsh, but you could catch the occasional "German" or "spy" in their angry mutterings.

You wanted to scream the truth. That you weren’t the enemy. You were the one who had been attacked—caught in the middle of a firefight, trying to survive.

Finally, they shoved you into a small, dark cell. The door clanged shut with a sound that echoed in your chest, and the weight of the situation collapsed on you like a heavy cloak. The fear, the confusion, the injustice of it all—it was too much. The tears flowed freely now, and you curled up on the cold, hard floor, your shoulders shaking with sobs as you cried into the silence.

Time passed in a blur. Minutes? Hours? You couldn’t tell. The cell was cold, and your tears had long since dried when the sound of footsteps echoed in the narrow corridor outside. You barely had the energy to lift your head, but when the door creaked open, you looked up.

A tall man stood in the doorway, his uniform crisp, his presence commanding, his piercing blue eyes locking onto you. Major John Egan. His reputation preceded him—strong, charismatic, known for getting answers, no matter the cost.

He crouched down, bringing himself closer to your level. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, in a voice that was firm, he asked, “So… you want to tell me what happened?“