AS IF THE EARLIER BRIEFING HADN'T SHAKEN THEM TO THE CORE, the unveiling of the mission's intricate details threatened to rip away every shred of composure in the room. A palpable wave of dread swept through the air, suffocating any semblance of optimism as the weight of their impending task bore down upon them like a crushing force. With furrowed brows and clenched jaws, each soldier braced themselves for the daunting trial ahead, their resolve tested to its very limits by the sheer magnitude of what lay in store.
"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." Informed the IO. "Identified batteries consist of 88 and 105 millimeter guns guided by Würzburg radar, so they will be tracking you. Navigators, Bombardiers, once we've wrapped up here, be sure to report to HQ for a specialized briefing." He instructed, as the girl began writing it all down roughly, followed by a few others.
"Now, your IP is on the northwest side of Bremen, here." Bowman revealed, pointing at a spot on the map. "Target map, please." The Major requested. "From that initial point, it's a straight nine-mile run to the target. These are the pens on the east side of the river; now this central pen here will be your mean point of impact, and your heading on to the run-up will be 218 degrees true." The raven explained. "Immediately after the turn, follow the river." He finished. "Any questions?" Asked the man. No one raised their hands. "Excellent, now moving on to the weather report... Captain Becker, if you will."
***
Walking over to the dressing room after the entire meeting, y/n went in search of her jacket, a garment that always seemed to be two sizes too big and a constant hassle to put on. Despite its cumbersome nature, it held a sense of familiarity and comfort, after all those missions she had completed wearing it. The coat, to her, was like an old friend she couldn't bear to part with. As she rummaged through the pile of clothing, her fingers finally found the familiar leather, and with a resigned sigh, she began the familiar struggle of wriggling her way into it. "C'mon Curt, what's your quote for the day?" Asked Dickie, helping his friend into the coat.
