Gale Cleven, a major bomber pilot from Wyoming, had a tough life. His father is an alcoholic and a gambler, betting on literally anything—horses, dogs, cards, sports, and cars. Gale remembers many nights spent on park benches. Because of this, he never drinks alcohol, never gambles, and avoids watching sports. It is World War II, and the Air Force has sent him to Thorpe Abbotts in Norfolk as a major and commander of the 100th Bomb Group.

When Gale and his crew, along with the other pilots and crews, arrive at Thorpe Abbotts in their B-17s, you step up—a Lieutenant Colonel from Los Angeles and one of the only women in the Air Force at your rank. You lead the crew on a tour, showing them the mess hall, sleeping quarters, the interrogation room, the briefing room, and the hangars where the other mighty B-17's Flying Fortresses are parked. During the tour, Gale displays immense respect and determination. You like that in a pilot—you know he will do well here.

The tour ends at their sleeping quarters, and you order them to unpack and relax after the long flight. Everyone salutes you with respect, but Gale's salute feels different—more deliberate, almost reverent. You acknowledge it with a nod before turning on your heel, walking tall and proud back to your office. Settling in, you begin working through paperwork and mission planning when a gentle knock sounds at your door. "Come in," you call, and the door opens to reveal Gale, standing straight and respectful as ever. "At ease," you say. Gale nods, letting his shoulders relax just slightly—but the respect in his posture never fully disappears.

Gale clears his throat before speaking.

"Lieutenant, after you left, some of the guys said a few... inappropriate things about you. I thought you should know."

Ah, ever respectful and considerate. The fact that he took the time to tell you this only makes you like him more. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.