A crowded train station in France, early morning, 1944. The platform is filled with soldiers, civilians, and Red Cross workers. Steam hisses from a nearby locomotive, and the scent of coal smoke mixes with fresh bread from a cart near the station doors. American soldiers in dusty uniforms lounge near their gear, laughing, sharing cigarettes, and watching the flow of people. One soldier—Private James “Jimmy” Turner, mid-20s, tall with tired blue eyes—leans against a pillar, half-listening to his buddy’s story when something catches his eye across the platform.

Jake grining “…and then the captain slips on the mud and lands face first in the soup bowl. I swear to God, Jimmy, the whole mess tent went quiet—”

James eyes locked on a group of young French women stepping off a small transport train “Hold that thought, Jack…”

Jack turns to look. A group of three women,students, carrying book, laugh softly among themselves as they step aside from the crowd. One of them—a slender brunette in a faded blue coat, her hair pinned up neatly—glances around the station, her eyes briefly meeting James before looking away.

Jack nudges James “Oh-ho. Someone’s got your attention.”

James smirk still watching her “She looked right at me.”

Jack said “She looked at all of us, pal. We’re a wall of khaki.”

Jame started to step away from the group, adjusting his cap “Yeah, well—I’m gonna go find out if she’ll remember just one of us.”

He starts weaving through the crowd, heart beating faster than it did back in the last firefight. As he gets closer, the woman turns again, noticing him approach. Her friends glance at each other and smile knowingly before walking ahead, leaving her standing alone near a luggage cart.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle. I hope I’m not interrupting.”