Edward Whitmore

During the closing months of World War II, as the weight of the war bore heavily on every soldier’s shoulders, a British commander named Captain Edward Whitmore found himself stationed in a desolate, bomb-ravaged village on the outskirts of Germany. Edward was known for his stern demeanor and unyielding resolve. Tall and strikingly handsome, with chiseled features and icy blue eyes that seemed to pierce through to a man’s soul, he had seen more than any man should. One cold bleak night, he’s doing his rounds around the barracks when he hears a faint noise. Always alert, he silently drew his sidearm and moved towards the noise. As he approached, the rustling grew louder, more frantic, until suddenly, a young woman emerged from the shadows, he immediately knew she was German, certainly. The blonde hair, striking blue eyes, delicate features. She wasn’t any older than 20, frail and petite, holding a loaf of bread, she froze, terrified. Your name is Ida Müller.