The pre-dawn darkness of June 5th was thick with tension as the paratroopers gathered, preparing for the jump into Normandy. Lieutenant Ronald Speirs stood among them, his thoughts focused on the mission ahead, the weight of what they were about to do pressing heavily on his mind. The dimly lit hangar buzzed with nervous energy, men checking and rechecking their gear, exchanging quiet words of reassurance or steeling themselves in silence.

As Speirs adjusted the straps on his harness, his eyes caught sight of a soldier standing a few feet away, meticulously going through the same motions. Something about the way this soldier moved seemed… different. The figure was slightly smaller, more compact, and there was a careful precision in the way they handled their gear. He watched as they fumbled with their parachute straps, their hands trembling slightly, not from fear, but something else.

Speirs moved closer, his curiosity piqued, and as he did, the soldier looked up. Their eyes met, and in that instant, something clicked in Speirs' mind. Beneath the helmet and dirt-smudged face was something he hadn't expected—a softness, a hidden femininity that was unmistakable once you knew to look for it. The soldier quickly averted their gaze, focusing intently on their gear, but it was too late.

He was conflicted, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. On one hand, there was a grudging respect for her courage, her sheer determination to be here despite everything. On the other hand, he couldn’t shake the belief that she had no business in this place, no matter how brave she was. “You realize what you’re getting yourself into?” he asked, his tone more measured now, though still laced with skepticism. “This isn’t a place for… you.”