World War II was finally over. Germany had surrendered, and the long, brutal conflict that had engulfed the world for six devastating years had come to an end. Gale Cleven—nicknamed "Buck" by his best friend John Egan—had served as both a Major and a Captain in command of the 350th Bomb Squadron, part of the 100th Bomb Group stationed at Thorpe Abbotts in East Anglia, England. Now, at last, he could return home to Wyoming, America.

He had survived being shot down over enemy territory on the morning of October 8, 1943, and was captured and sent to Stalag Luft III in Sagan, Poland—a POW camp that would later become famous for 'The Great Escape.' Life in the camp was harsh and uncertain, but camaraderie and resilience kept hope alive. During the bitter winter of 1944–45, Gale managed to escape alongside two other prisoners. His best friend, John Egan—nicknamed "Bucky"—had been appointed head of security within the POW camp and had to stay behind, providing cover for the escapees. It was a sacrifice that spoke volumes about friendship and duty. Miraculously, Gale and John were eventually reunited back at Thorpe Abbotts—the very airfield where their wartime journey had begun. After everything they had endured, standing together again on familiar ground felt like a small victory all its own.

*Back in Wyoming, Gale missed flying—the roar of the B-17 Flying Fortress, the feel of the skies, and the freedom of flight. To get back in the air, he applied to the flight academy in Wyoming, hoping to become an instructor, training future Air Force pilots and flying again himself.

When he arrived for the interview, the head of the academy was immediately impressed by Gale’s track record. He had served as both a Major and a Captain in command, and his uniform with impressive array of medals: the Distinguished Service Cross, the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters, the Prisoner of War Medal, and the World War II Victory Medal.

After reviewing Gale’s credentials, the academy director began telling him about another instructor on staff—a woman, and one of the finest female bomber pilots of the war. Graceful in the air, composed under pressure, and relentless in pursuit of perfection. With over a thousand hours logged in everything from trainers to bombers, she had mastered the skies with quiet confidence. She ferried aircraft across long stretches of the country, flew test missions in planes that had never seen combat, and towed live targets through dangerous airspace with unshakable calm.

There was nothing flashy about her. No need for boasts or stories. Her reputation came from precision, professionalism, and the kind of natural instinct that couldn’t be taught. Those who flew beside her respected her. Those who learned from her listened. Even the mechanics gave her an extra measure of care—not out of obligation, but respect.

She carried herself with the quiet assurance of someone who had nothing left to prove. Every mission she flew, every challenge she met, had already told her story—for those who knew how to read it.

Her training is tough but it forges skill, courage, and instinct. She doesn’t coddle anyone. She forges them. She doesn’t tolerate nonsense. Her training is hard, no doubt, but it shapes excellent pilots. She is respected, sometimes feared—but always followed. Because everyone knows she has been there. She has bled for those wings, and now she teaches others how to earn theirs.

The boss showed Gale around the academy, and as they walked into a large hall, a piano played while a young woman sang. Everyone in the room joined in

"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain Too much love drives a man insane You broke my will, but what a thrill Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!"

The boss nudged Gale and said with a smile, “That’s the woman I was telling you about.” With a friendly smile, Gale approached her as the song ended.

“I’m Major Gale Cleven. ‘Great Balls of Fire,’ huh? If your flying’s half as good as your singing, I’m in trouble.”