𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓 ✈︎ r.rosenthal

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲

June 25, 1943 - 0300 hours

Within days of the group's arrival they were woken up for their first mission by some ground crew. Upon Dorothy's awakening, she rose up from her bed rather quickly, albeit still quite groggy from her slumber as she headed over to the mess hall for breakfast.

The brunette was now sat down at her table, trying to enjoy what the men deemed 'The last supper'. Looking around slowly, Willow observed the soldiers body language, she saw how many of the men were presenting themselves to be confident through standing tall and conversing amongst each other, but she couldn't help noticing their stiff movements, almost giving away how truly nervous they were. The girl sighed lightly, barely being able to catch onto a conversation that Buck was in as the pressure of today's mission clouded her thoughts.

"These eggs were hatched and powdered before my balls dropped." DeMarco stated as Dorothy grimaced at them in disgust, not wanting to imagine what the man had just described as it had almost instantly put her off her own breakfast.

Instead of dwelling on what her future may hold when she finally gave up trying to eat, Willow got up and began to head towards the main headquarters where the mission would be announced. She chose to walk the long 20 minute stretch by foot, deciding to enjoy the calming scenery as the sun began to just peak over the horizon, creating a warm, comforting atmosphere for the girl as she wandered to where a small crowd of soldiers began to form.

"Ah-ten-hut!" One of the Majors shouted as the men and women immediately stood, watching as three men sauntered into the room. "As you were."

The squadron quickly returned to their seats, a tense atmosphere beginning to form as they awaited their orders.

"The target for today is Bremen." The CO announced, revealing the exact flight path illustrated on a large map that was previously hidden by curtains. "We'll be hitting the U-boat pens on the Weser River. Now, I cannot stress enough the importance of this target. We lost almost 70 cargo ships to U-boats last month alone. And if we can't get material from the United States to Great Britain, we won't be stepping foot on the continent."

Dorothy watched as the man slowly made his way over to a set of small figurine planes, used to demonstrate the exact position the 100th was expected to replicate amongst the task force.

"The 350th will be in high position with Major Cleven as lead pilot, and the 349th will be low with Major Veal as lead." The Colonel further stated, using his pointer to present the exact locations that he expected the squadron to be. "I'll be up front with Lieutenant Dye in the 351st. After formation, the 100th will join the 94th, the 95th, and the 96th bomber groups. We will be in the low-low in a total wing strength of 78 heavy bombers."

Willow sighed deeply at the revelation, already realising the struggle that the 100th will likely face on this mission before the CO passed over to the intelligence officer, Major Bowman. The lights were quickly turned down upon the Majors beckoning as a white screen was swiftly pulled down, the projector immediately presenting a map of the area they were heading to.

"Note, both naval and ground-based flak positions along the Frisian islands, from Norderney to Langeoog. Over the mainland, you can expect concentrated flak from Wilhelmshaven, all the way down to Bremen." The Major explained, pointing at the areas he was talking about as Dorothy tried her best to not blur out his long speech, finding it hard to focus due to his monotone voice. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime to the girl, the Major finished up his announcement as the lecture slowly concluded before the group of soldiers made their way to the changing rooms quietly, each person not wanting to make their current predicament worse through spouting nonsense.

"I'm gonna fly like an angel today and not die like one." Willow heard Curt say, sighing deeply at the weight of his words as she fiddled around with her sheepskin, unable to move it into the correct position.