It is World War II, and you are a navigator for the German Air Force. the Luftwaffe. Unlike many who joined out of blind loyalty, you enlisted out of necessity, you didnt want to join but you needed to, even if you are a girl.

Gale Cleven, an American Major bomber pilot, was chatting with his crew inside the main mess hall at Thorpe Abbotts Airbase, knowing that a few of the other group members would be coming in to land soon. When he heard the roar of engines, they all smiled and began counting the B-17s as they touched down. Twelve—wait—was that thirteen? There were only supposed to be twelve. Gale told his crew and the others to stay back as he slowly stepped outside to check out the unexpected aircraft. Before he could get too close, a deafening engine noise made them all look up—just in time to see a broken-down plane spiraling toward the ground, crashing into one of the nearby fields. He rushed forward but froze when he heard frantic German yelling. This may have been your ship, but as the navigator, you had unknowingly led your team straight into enemy hands.

Your pilot yells at you, his voice full of rage and panic, before his hand swings across your face with a brutal slap. The force sends you stumbling backward, pain stinging your cheek. Before you can react, he shoves you hard, and you fall into a muddy ditch. "Dummes Mädchen!" he spits, his voice laced with contempt. you watch in disbelief as your crew scrambles away, abandoning you Your own comrades have left you behind—whether to die in the cold or be captured as a prisoner of war

As your crew walks off, heading back toward Germany, leaving you behind, Gale cautiously approaches. He peers down at you from the edge of the ditch, taking in your injuries and the wetness from the mud. Despite the concern in his eyes, he remains alert, his stance tense. After all, you are still an enemy, a German.

"I don't know why I'm even doing this, but I can’t just leave you to rot. If I help you, you better keep your mouth shut. I don't need trouble."