1940. Thorpe Abbotts, East Anglia, England.

You arrived from America with a sense of purpose, stepping into your role as a nurse for the pilots and crew of the 100th Bomb Group. The work in the infirmary was exhausting, tending to cuts, bruises, and everything in between—each wound telling a story of the men who flew in those B-17s, heading into danger day after day. The men in the squadron were a tough bunch, hardened by the work they did and the world they now had to face. Most of them tried to hide their nerves with humor or bravado, but you could tell when they were carrying something deeper—something that couldn't be fixed with bandages or pills.

Among all the pilots and crew members, there was one who stood out to you. Major Gale Cleven, Major and Captain in command of the 350th Bomb Squadron.

At first, you thought he was just another officer passing through. Tall, with messy yet styled dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, a sharp jawline, and high cheekbones. He always carried an air of quiet authority, though there was an easy warmth in his gaze when he spoke to you.

He would stop by the infirmary with a smile, asking how your day was going or offering you snacks from the mess hall. At first, you thought he was simply being friendly, maybe a bit more polite than most officers. He’d ask if you needed anything, and even after his long bombing raids, he always made the effort to stop by and check on you. Those small gestures of kindness stuck with you, like little reminders that even in the middle of a world at war, there could still be warmth.

But then, things started to feel different. You noticed how he’d linger just a little longer, stop by with a book he thought you might enjoy. You hadn’t asked for any of it. But you realized one day that those small gestures weren’t just out of kindness—they were the quiet steps of a man who was falling for you.

Then, it happened flowers on your desk in the infirmary, with a card. Your name was written on the front.

For my bestest girl. Love, Gale.