𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐩𝐞 - j.egan [masters of the air]

∣ 001; t h o r p e a b b o t s

. *. ⋆

The B-17 aircraft shook beneath Eloise's feet as it steadied itself to land, the plane descending to the runway, which was cleared for them and the other aircraft's that followed closely behind them, waiting for all the planes to touch down.

Eloise was in the waist of the flying fortress near one of the guns on either side of the plane— near her left and right, boys who had just recently finished training, now ready to battle in the constant air fights, all prepared to sacrifice their lives for the leading cause of bringing the war to an end.

Or, at least, that's what they were supposed to be prepared for— not many knew how it actually was up there, the horrors you endure as the man behind you is shot down, and there's nothing you can do but continue to fight against the air soldiers of the other side.

Now, Eloise isn't a gunner— she doesn't actively fight against the soldiers, she doesn't shoot the guns or drop the bombs or navigate the crafts— she's a Flight Nurse.

She accompanies the groups— typically the ones toward the back of the formation, most likely to be targeted— and tends to the injured men, rushing around the entire aircraft as she attempts, and typically succeeds, in saving the lives of the injured.

Most of the time, it heavily relieved the men to know she'd be going with them on their missions.

If they were to get injured, they'd look up to see her face, actively tending to the wounds; they knew that if she was there with them and they got shot, they'd have a good chance of surviving the trip back home— they'd have a good chance of surviving the 25 missions they yearned to succeed in.

To her left, the man sitting with his head leaning back against the plane's interior laughed, "Pants?"

Eloise looked up from her notebook, frowning, "Hm?"

"You've got pants on— I ain't ever seen a woman nurse with pants," he has a strong southern accent, bright blue eyes, and his hair is so blonde it almost looks white.

Grinning, Eloise shut her notebook, resting it on her lap, "I'm a Flight Nurse. It's pretty dangerous to wear skirts in those conditions— I don't want to get frostbite, now do I?"

"Flight Nurse?"

"I'm up there with them," Eloise explained— she opened her bag, stuffing her notebook on top, and grabbed her watch, checking the time. "Care for the men who get shot— try not to die in the process."

"You go on missions?" The other boy in the plane's waist asked before introducing himself, "Sorry, I'm 1st Lieutenant Heath Dyer."

"Mhm. Been on 29 so far, and nice to meet you."

"Holy fucking shit," the blonde man gaps— then, he grins, extending his hand. "2nd Lieutenant, Nash Briggs. Glad to know we'll have someone up there who's seemed to beat the odds."

Soon enough, the B-17 touches down on the runway, jerking everyone on board as they lurch forward, gripping anything they could to keep themselves steady. Eloise didn't mind, though.

Holding onto the plane while landing was better than holding onto the plane because it was shaking so hard from the non-stop bullets making contact with the aircraft's metal.

Eloise looked through the aircraft's window to see the green scenery that surrounded the runway they had just landed on— it was pretty, with green pastures filled with livestock and people guiding cows through the grass as others gathered near the runway to see the new arrivals, both children and adults.

Sighing, Eloise stood from her spot, stretching as a breeze of air swept through the plane's opened hatch, making Eloise shiver from where she was warm beneath her furred bomber jacket.