"We lost almost 70 cargo ships to U-boats last month alone. And if we can't get the material from the United States to Great Britain, We don't be stepping foot on the continent." Scoffed the brunette. "The 350th will be in high position with Major Cleven as lead pilot, and Major l/n as his co." Colonel Huglin moved on to the model planes to showcase the positions. "Now, you might be wondering... two pilots in one plane; it's as good as placing all the eggs in one basket." He murmured. "But that's only because of the perils this mission holds. And because l/n has a concussion and cannot fly on her own until the doc says she can." He quickly added.
"This has nothing to do with our faith in her capabilities being a woman. In fact we all were raised well enough to respect our women. Please note that her gender has nothing to do with her skills; and she is a very skilled woman." Rambled the man, his words trailing off into an aimless stream of consciousness. The room erupted with soft snickers, amused by the man's tendency to go off on tangents. Embarrassed and seething with frustration, the girl simply sunk lower into her seat, as if seeking refuge from the judgmental glances of her peers.
Her cheeks flushed crimson with humiliation, yet beneath her outward display of defeat, a fierce determination burned within her. She refused to let this moment define her, silently vowing to rise above the scrutiny and prove her worth on her own terms. That, however, did not stop her from internally wishing eternal silence upon this clown. The group was undeniably hostile, their skepticism palpable, but not once did they cross the line into disrespect. Despite the initial resistance, she had no trouble blending in, her resilience and competence gradually earning her their begrudging acceptance.
While some men took longer than others to come around to the idea of her presence within their circle, she remained steadfast, steadily winning over even the most headstrong men with her unwavering determination and undeniable skill. Today's mission was supposed to be different. It would've been the perfect opportunity for her to earn her place among the best of the best. But thanks to Huglin's own insecurities, which he projected onto the bomb group, the spotlight was snatched away from her before she even had a chance to revel in it. His persistent doubts cast a shadow over her accomplishments, dampening the recognition she rightfully deserved.
Irrespective of her efforts to prove herself, she found herself sidelined by the commander's misplaced anxieties, a frustrating reminder of the barriers she still faced in gaining true acceptance within the group. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the chance she got, even if it was to just co-pilot one of the most independent men on the entire squad, who also happened to be her ex who broke her fucking heart before running off to lord knows where to do lord knows what until the two mysteriously bumped into each other five years later at a local tavern only a couple of hours before the first crew of the bloody 100th was shipped to England.
The constant reassurances she provided herself failed to quell the rising tide of frustration and anger. With each passing moment, she could feel her blood practically bubbling, her rage simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. The sense of suppression weighed heavily upon her, like chains shackling her potential and suffocating her spirit. Notwithstanding her best efforts to remain composed, the mounting pressure threatened to consume her, fueling a firestorm of defiance within her soul. In times like these, she usually made her way to the gym to unleash her demons. But in a place like this at a time like this, she was absolutely helpless.
Clenching her fists and shutting her eyes, she let the voices all around her drain out, as she visualized herself beating the crap out of them Nazi bitches. Though it initially helped to soothe her, she soon found herself carried away by the storm of emotions raging within. Her fingernails dug mercilessly into the flesh of her palms, a futile attempt to contain the torrent of anger threatening to engulf her. Instantly noticing her quivering fists, Buck acted swiftly, placing his hand atop hers and gently balling her fist, a silent plea for her to cease the self-inflicted pain. In that intense moment, their eyes locked, his touch offering a lifeline of calm amidst the tempest of her emotions.
Loosening her grip, the girl couldn't help but feel her cheeks flush with uneasiness. It wasn't until he held her hand that she realized just how much she had missed the comforting presence of the man beside her. In that simple gesture, she found solace and a sense of belonging that she had been yearning for in the midst of her turmoil. Despite the vehemence of the moment, a subtle warmth blossomed within her, silently acknowledging the depth of their connection. Offering her a soft nod, the blonde beckoned her draw in deep breaths to help cool herself down.
Taking his advice for the first time after all those years, y/n made a conscious effort to redirect her attention, shifting her focus back to the mission at hand. Regardless of the lingering memory of the comforting touch, she pushed aside the temptation to dwell on it, determined to channel her energy into the task ahead. With renewed resolution, she submerged herself in the intricacies of the mission, allowing the urgency of the moment to overshadow the sensation of his skin against hers.
"Now that we've established our love and admiration for women, let's go back to discussing the mission, please." The brunette continued, making the girl wonder what exactly it must've been that she missed. "So, as I was saying... the 349th will be low, very low with Major Veal as lead; and I'll be up front with Lieutenant Dye in the 351st." He explained. "After formation, the 100th will join the 94th, 95th and 96th bomber groups." He added. "We will be in the low-low." The room that was once booming with pleasant chatter was now solemn as they began understanding the gravity of this mission.
But just when they believed that it couldn't get any worse for them from here, the Colonel informed them that they'd be flying in a total wing strength of 78 heavy bombers. "In broad daylight? That's fucking suicide-" The girl scoffed to herself. "Not when you're blessed enough to fly with the best pilot the 100th has ever seen." Buck quipped with a cocky grin, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. "He's right... I can basically sense the spirit of God radiating off of him right now." A young lad sitting behind them leaned forward to whisper.
"That's probably just the aftershave; which I realize must be a foreign concept for you, eh, Babyface?" y/n teased the boy, keeping a new nickname for the stranger who'd be flying with them today. "Heh- looks like Bucky's got competition." Snorted Pipsqueak, comparing the girl's ability to slander to the drunkard's. "For who has a better moustache? Easy, she wins." Scoffed the brunette. "At least I can grow a moustache." She retorted, making the men roar out with laugher. "Same ol' Duck." Mumbled the blonde, smiling broadly for the first time in years, his nose scrunching up a little as he shook his head softly.
"Major Bowman, our intelligence officer will take it from here."
(1.6k words)
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