𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿, no one is searching for love. especially those who would rather have one night stands, and those that are too busy trying to prove their worth.
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝟭𝟬𝟬𝘁𝗵 𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽, nicknamed the bloody 100t...
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WOMEN WEREN'T EXACTLY SEEN AS SKILLFUL pilots at this point in time. Sexism was common in Marilyn's job, most men viewed her as a nurse instead of a bombardier. While she, like her fellow colleagues, were trained in basic first aid procedures, she hardly knew anything about the human body. All she cared about was whether or not her aim was precise. Precise was what got you to be apart of the higher flight teams, the ones that had more of a survival advantage. She was the equivalent to a sniper in the FBI. Her aim was near perfect for being on a machine that experiences 'turbulence' more than the average plane.
When Marilyn stepped foot on Thorpe Abbots, glances were quickly thrown her way. The soldiers were eager to learn who the new face was, since American men were more interested in sleeping around; they wanted to know if she would accompany them. She wasn't one to care about sex, however, she did enjoy it as one normally does. Marilyn had more of a desire to be the best at her job. To make it home to her family in the States.
Her fellow new recruits were quick to find their sleeping quarters. Marilyn, facing no discrimination here in the time of war, was to share the sleeping quarters with the men. Of course, she didn't mind, she preferred being treated as an equal. Even if it was because the military had no interest in giving up another tent for a woman. They would much rather prefer having it for the sick or wounded.
As she set down her stuff with a sigh, she took in her surroundings. Making a mental note to become familiar with it as soon as possible. Her over seeing officer, Major Cleven, had already shown the officers around the base. Marilyn was mute as the soldiers talked anxiously around them, each worried about what they would face up in the air. She unpacked her things, placing her trunk underneath her cot, and placing the picture of her father on the nightstand.
She thought about one of the jobs she was required to do, as she had the best handwriting, was to write letters to the family of the deceased individual. It was a heartbreaking experience at first, finding herself feeling deeply for the family whom were to receive the letter.
They were always the same:
To whom this may concern,
The United States Armed Forces regret to inform you about the passing of (individual's name) on the (date) of (month). We can assure you that your (relationship to the deceased) was one of the best soldiers the 100th bomb group has seen. (Individual's name) was deeply admired and appreciated on the base, and not a day will go by where he won't be missed.
We apologize for this tragic loss, we thank your son for his service in fighting against the Axis Powers. His service to this country will not go unnoticed.
Sincerely, Marilyn Boyd
The letters followed the same pattern each time. Marilyn thought it was unfair, if anyone were to compare letters to that of another individual's death note, they would find no difference between the two. She thought the soldier at least deserved a thoughtful letter. Not one that was copied and pasted. Before she was transferred from her base in Italy, Marilyn had written up to a thousand letters recognizing the death of one's son.
It was something that came with the job, and being the one with the best handwriting was something that was not in her favor. It is seen that handwritten letters are more thought out, they seem like someone actually but their time in to describe the person who died. However, Marilyn knew this was untrue.
The 100th bombing group was seemingly always welcoming new visitors. They had earned their nickname, but felt guilty anytime the survivors heard it. Many lost friends, family, lovers. They lost the ones that knew firsthand what horrific events they witnessed. They lost the only ones they could ever have support from.
For this, Marilyn often found herself putting herself in the position these men were in. Herself being in their shoes multiple times, but somehow she always managed to escape death. It's cold grasp often just inches away from claiming her, but Marilyn always got herself out of a sticky situation. No matter the consequences.
Marilyn had her family back home; an older sister who was to get married, her father and mother whom she missed dearly. Her brother who had just welcomed his second child into his family. For this she fought tooth and nail to get home safe. For after a thousand letters written informing an unsuspecting family of the passing of their child, she refused to have her own family receive this same letter. Only it wouldn't be signed by her.
Her handwriting and the way she signed the letters would cease to exist. Her attitude, that would make even a cocky man shut up, would forever be gone. The way she loved like no one had loved her would be missing. Her family would most definitely fall apart as she was the glue that kept them all together.
Arguably, Marilyn loved her job. She loved the sheer amount of focus it took to drop bombs on the people who were murdering innocent people. The adrenaline rush that coursed through her veins as she shot down another Luftwaffe, one less murderous machine that could easily kill her and her fellow soldiers.
It was the consequences of war that laid thickly on her mental health. The screams she heard, the blood that coated the inside of the B-17, the small holes that ruptured the plane's exterior. The planes falling out of the sky, symbolizing more letters she would write. The parachutes that littered the sky, looking like jellyfish amongst a sea of smoke and blood.
For anytime she watched another plane crash, it was ten more letters she would have to write. The letters becoming seemingly more frequent as the deceased were so easily replaced. It was unfair, she wanted nothing more than to hug the receivers of her infamous death notes. She wished she could tell the stories of the victims, how they made her laugh and how they were her unrelated family.
She could hear the Colonel saying "All is fair in war, Boyd". A saying she hated so much. She quickly came to the realization that humans would be their own demise. And this war further proved the evidence. She had seen so much in her few years of living, she knew she would not be the same person she was before if she were to survive this bloodbath of a war.
All she could do was drop bombs, shoot at the enemy, write letters informing of a death and somehow in the process, survive. She prayed before each mission to return to the base, a day closer to when she could return to her loving family. Survival was what got Marilyn through the hardest points of her life, and she wasn't about to give up now.
