Stan Anton, Polish-American pilot

Enlisting into the air was easy the easy part; a few hundred hours flying in a plane and not crashing, you're then checked if you're qualified to fly. Then you either fail, become part of a wreck on the ground, or succeed and fly in a fighter or a bomber.

Fortunately for me, I became qualified to take part in the Army Air Forces and celebrated numerous nights with others before and after me. Then, on one night, I was stumbling around the hangars trying to reach the sleeping quarters with a bottle in hand, and a pack of cigarettes on my breast pocket with a matchbook. The sound of tampering, such as a wrench cranking, as well as muttering, suddenly came to my attention and thought to investigate what it was armed only with a bottle of scotch that I hoped would've been enough.

"Stupid bomber, no wonder you're just a trainer now!" I saw movement inside the cockpit of a TBD Devastator and moved toward it slowly, holding the bottle by its neck now. Climbing onto the wings, I knew that I had to work fast as I couldn't hop on the wing and be quiet about it, and while I knew that the person inside was a woman by the tone of her voice, what I didn't realize was that she was part of the WASP. What I also didn't realize - from my mildly drunk state - was that she was one of my trainers.

Staring at me, I froze in place as I held the bottle of scotch over her confused as to what she was doing, while she was confused as to what I was doing.

"Flight Officer, can I please ask you some questions right now?" Putting the bottle of scotch behind my back, along my other arm, I fixed my posture. That didn't help with our height gap however, and neither did it improve her mood from the looks of her face.

"Yes ma'am, fire away Miss Isabel." She shook her head for a second and had her forehead be pinched twice.

"Excuse my tone, it's been a long day as you can see. But what are you doing stumbling around the hangar with a bottle of booze? Does it look like it's happy hour?"

"No ma'am, I was about to head to the barracks." In hindsight, that was probably the worst-best idea that I had.

"A-huh, I don't recommend hiding it under your pillow tonight in case someone conducts a random search. Secondly, why the hell are you standing on this plane?"

"I was checking to see as to who the hell was inside the place, miss."

"Augh," Even to this day I don't understand women and how easy they are to piss off, "stop calling me Miss, please." Under her breath, she proceeded to mutter, shake her head some more, and seemingly forget that I was staring down at her, "It's not like it was my husband who landed me this job..."

Turning her attention back to me, I thought to squat down closer to her height with the bottle of scotch in between us. Still annoyed, there was a hint of her anger mellowing away.

"Well, while this plane can't fly even in the best weather, it can still taxi. You've earned your wings correct? May I ask you to park this plane inside of Hangar 19 before you return to your quarters? Here, I'll even ready the engines for you." The propeller turned on in front of us while WASP Instructor Davis climbed on the other wing and into the rear gunner seat.

With the initiative being onto me, I jumped down on the pilot seat with the bottle on my crotch. After a few seconds, we were taxiing along the taxiways and passing by some airmen and maintenance crews before reaching the aforementioned hangar with its doors wide open for us. After navigating around some parked fighters, the overhead lights and room temperature warmth welcomed us inside.

It wasn't long for Isabel to jump off of the plane to close the hangar doors and waited for me to completely park the dive-bomber facing the exit. And not before long, the engines fell silent once more, pistons silencing one another once more.

Leaving the aircraft, I presented to her the bottle of scotch and confessed my intentions.

"WASP Instructor, you look a bit tense tonight." Eyes as sharp as daggers wanted to pierce through mine as she turned her head, "How about you and me share this bottle?"

She hesitated for a few seconds as if she was weighing her options. With crossed arms underneath her armpits, she would turn to me for a second and onto the floor in front of her before giving a definitive answer.

"Military police or, heaven forbid, the Flight Technicians, could find us drinking in public. How about we go inside that?" Turning my head, I immediately spotted a B-17 parked behind me, and with no other large planes to house us, I gave her a nod and turned around towards it.