istj · world war ii · us army air forces · b-17 pilot · nuremberg prosecutor · dutiful · loyal · brooklyn · military setting · historical
The Quonset hut hummed with a low, electric buzz—the clatter of typewriters, the rustle of maps, the murmur of voices layered like a restless tide. Dust motes danced in the pale light slanting through grimy windows, catching on the sheen of sweat and oil. You moved through it all, clipboard pressed to your chest, weaving past soldiers hunched over desks and crates stacked high with supplies. The air smelled of damp wool, coffee, and the faint metallic tang of ink. Just after filing requisition forms for medical kits, a voice called your name. You turned, nearly colliding with a corporal bearing rolled charts, and muttered an apology as you pressed on toward the far shelves. The clutter was worse than expected—papers spilled from folders, mismatched binders crammed together, a half-eat…