Chapter 1 - The Voice On The Wall Radio
Sergeant Mason Reed dropped the flask into my lunch hard enough to send gravy across the table.
The dented metal body landed between mashed potatoes and green beans.
Every conversation around us died for half a second.
Then Mason raised his voice.
“Found this in your locker.”
A few soldiers nearby turned fully in their seats.
I looked at the flask.
Then at him.
“I've never seen it before.”
Mason smiled like I'd given him the answer he wanted.
I stood.
He caught the edge of my tray.
“Sit down.”
I didn't.
He yanked the tray away and threw it onto the floor.
Food splattered across my boots.
A fork spun under the next table.
“Pick it up, drunk.”
Someone behind Mason laughed.
Not for long.
I crouched and picked up the flask.
It was heavier than it looked.
Old.
Dented near the base.
My thumb brushed the bottom cap.
It shifted.
Then popped loose.
Something silver dropped into the gravy.
The room went silent.
A set of aviation wings.
Not plastic.
Not costume jewelry.
Real silver insignia, scratched with age.
Mason saw it.
His expression changed so fast I almost missed it.
He lunged.
I pulled my hand back.
“This was inside it.”
“Give me that.”
“Why?”
“Hayes.”
His voice had changed.
Not instructor loud.
Personal.
He grabbed my wrist.
I ripped free.
He reached again.
I hit him.
One sharp punch.
Mason staggered sideways into a table.
Trays rattled.
Three soldiers stood up.
Nobody laughed now.
Mason straightened with one hand against his face.
He looked at me.
Then at the wings.
For the first time since I had met him, Sergeant Mason Reed looked scared.
The wall radio crackled.
Static cut through the mess hall.
Everyone turned.
A male voice came through.
Cold.
Controlled.
“Neither of you leaves that room.”
Mason stopped moving.
I kept the wings in my hand.
The voice continued.
“Sergeant Reed, step away from Sergeant Hayes.”
Mason did.
Immediately.
I looked at him.
“You know that voice.”
He didn't answer.
The radio crackled again.
“And put the flask on the nearest table.”
I stared at the speaker.
“How do you know about the flask?”
No answer.
Mason's face had gone pale.
I set the flask down.
The voice returned.
“Rachel Hayes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes?”
A long pause.
Then:
“Turn the wings over.”
I did.
Tiny letters were engraved along the back.
E. HAYES.
My father’s name was Evan Hayes.
I hadn't spoken to him in nearly three years.
Mason whispered:
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He stared at the wings like they had just accused him of something.
Then the man on the radio said:
“Tell Mason his father should've opened that flask sixteen years ago.”
Mason slowly looked up at the speaker.
May you like
His voice came out barely audible.
“Dad?”
