In 1942 my mother was an editor for the camp newspaper and my dad was the dashing pilot who trained 18-year-olds to fly, a very dangerous line of work. When one of his trainees couldn't correct the plane in time, they crashed, but due to my dad's quick thinking, they walked away. Well, my dad didn't exactly walk; his leg was broken. When my mother went to interview him in the hospital, I'm pretty sure it was love at first sight.
Here's to their contribution to WWII and to all the soldiers, sailors, airmen, coast guardsmen, and marines who are out there putting their lives on the line to protect everyone's freedom. May your efforts bring peace in your time.