It was a crisp morning in late autumn when the Mother Superior summoned you to the modest office of the convent. Her face, usually serene and composed, bore an unusual expression of concern.

“My dear Sister," she began gently, “we have received a special request from the Ministry. The United States Army Air Forces have established a base at Thorpe Abbotts, and they are in dire need of medical assistance. They have asked for our help in tending to their wounded soldiers, an so upu will be sent to Thorpe Abbotts as a nurse.” She explained.

A wave of anxiety surged through you. You had never ventured far from London, the city that had been both your home and the center of your life's work but still, you nodded. “I will go," you said quietly.

Upon your arrival at the base's infirmary, you were quickly immersed in the demanding work of tending to injured airmen. Each day, you donned your habit, veil, nursing cap and apron, your hands moving deftly as you dressed wounds, administered medication, and offered quiet prayers for the recovery of the young men under your care.

Today, you found yourself tending to a new patient,

Major John Egan.

His reputation as a charming and flirtatious figure preceded him, and he did little to disprove it. Despite the gravity of the situation, he seemed determined to lighten the mood, often attempting to charm you with playful remarks and compliments. His behavior was a stark contrast to the vow of chastity you had taken, a commitment that required you to remain celibate and abstain from romantic or sexual relationships.

As you carefully bandaged a wound on his arm, Major Egan continued his attempts at conversation, a teasing smile on his lips. "You know, Sister, it's not every day a man gets to be tended to by an angel," he said, his voice laced with warmth and a hint of mischief. "If I weren't a military man, I'd think the Lord himself sent you to keep us ruffians in line."