THE B-17, ARMED WITH TWELVE MACHINE GUNS, STOOD AS THE SQUADRON'S BULWARK AGAINST ENEMY ASSAULTS FROM EVERY ANGLE. Its formidable presence loomed large in the sky, a symbol of strength and defiance against the forces of darkness. With each gun poised to unleash a storm of fire, the Flying Fortress became an impenetrable bunker of steel, ready to defend its crew at any cost. But the key to their survival didn't lie solely in the firepower; no, the bloody Hundredth survived for so long by forging a bond of brotherhood, by sticking together as one unit. They formed a combat box, a fortress of defensive fire created from a tight formation.
This unity was paramount, for if they became separated, the German fighters could easily pick them off, one by one, like lambs to the slaughter. In the crucible of war, their solidarity was their greatest strength, their unwavering resolve a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of battle. During their takeoff, the men who remained behind followed the planes in their jeeps, their faces lit with determination and camaraderie. They waved fervently, cheering and shouting words of encouragement, their voices ringing out like battle cries against the roar of engines. Each gesture served as a poignant reminder of the bond that held them together, fueling the spirits of their friends as they embarked on their perilous journey into the unknown.
"What's that?" The girl popped out of nowhere, startling the blonde, who appeared to be fiddling with his locket, admiring the picture inside before hastily closing it and tucking it beneath his shirt. "Jesus Christ, do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?!" He exclaimed, attempting to change the subject. "More of a hobby at this point." The girl laughed at his reaction, y/e/c eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, Huglin just took off, so I figured we ought to do the same." She shrugged, pointing ahead at the plane as it took off into the air, the rumble of its engines drowning out any further conversation.
