First, listen to people. If your soldiers feel valued they’ll support you forever . You don’t have to let them control your decisions, but their thoughts are always worth listening to.

Second, make sure you know your soldiers’ strengths. Know the right person for the right job . And make sure they know their own strengths too. It’s easy to forget them when times are difficult .

Third , recognise that you will make mistakes. I made plenty. But t he last person who never made a mistake never made anything.

And f inally, love your soldiers. Even if they’re a pain in the arse, love them.

We might actually win this war, Ewan. Grant may see it as impossible, and once in a while you will be tempted to think so too, but it’s not beyond us. And t he reason is simple : we are the U nderdogs , and history has shown us that the one thing dictators have to fear is underdogs . They are the ones who start revolutions, win civil wars, and show off the incredible strength hidden inside regular people . If you win this war – if this small, untrained militia of less than a dozen brings down Nicholas Grant – if a group of teenagers from a special school defeats an army of million s – it will prove the might of underdogs , once and forever.

We are Britain’s last line of defence – outnumbered, outgunned , but not outwitted . We are the people who will bring civilisation back , who history will remember for a thousand years . W e are the Underdogs of Spitfire’s Rise .

Do me proud, my boy. You don’t need someone like me for this.

With love,

Dr Joseph McCormick.

PS – the pain of missing someone is always worth it for the joy of having known them. Always.

*

And with that, McCormick’s friendship with Ewan was over.

But a part of him lived on in Ewan, clear and inextinguishable. That was something, at least.

Ewan felt a throbbing in the back of his head: his usual doubting reaction when someone told him they trusted him. McCormick’s kind of trust could change anyone’s life, but the inevitable question lingered in Ewan’s mind.

‘Am I worth it?’ he breathed to himself, unaware that he had spoken.

The Memorial Wall did not answer him, and the words on the letter did not change. McCormick had said everything he was ever going to say, and the questions from then on would be Ewan’s to answer.

‘Worth what?’ came a friend’s wounded voice from the stairs. Ewan closed his eyes.

‘Nothing, Shannon.’

She reached the basement, wandered over to the Memorial Wall and sat down on the floor next to him. Ewan was surprised when she leaned against him and rested her head against his chin. But he accepted, and placed an arm around her shoulder.

Ewan lay his letter on the ground, face down.