A regularly curved line on the surface of the Earth which cuts all meridians at the same angle; a steady course taken by aircraft along one compass bearing.

* * *

I struggle to actually have a calming sleep. However, whenever I succeed in doing so, I continue having dreams of César. It will be easy to deal with them if it had been those happy ones; some sort of memory or possible what-ifs that despite the fact that they'll hurt me upon waking up, it will give me some hope that they could've been the future in the first place. However, even that small request can't be granted at all.

Even though I am not given a very detailed description of everything that happened, my mind conjures images that filled in the gaps.

Victor mentioned that he saw César landing his Peashooter, managed to run away from the plane for safety until a Japanese Zero ground strafed him, and fell on to the previous' arms before breathing his last with memories of me. With the presence of Capt. Villamor, Godofredo and Manuel—whom I've known had been in Batangas in the first place—right at Nichols that afternoon, is definitely not just because they heard of César's death; it only means that even Batangas Airfield had been bombed and suffered immense destruction. Additionally, having to see the extent of the mortal wounds that César received, definitely leading to blood loss and punctured organs beyond repair...

My dreaming had then been otherwise creative. A foul move of it to conjure such a nightmare that I don't want to relieve, but those I am force to take in.

Because it is proving to me time and time again that I've been a fool myself. That the world where a man such as Elian Basa exists, finding Maj. Zablan alive, and meeting all others I know of to be there in that respective plane... is one vision that my mind had made on its own. A possibility that, for a moment, I dread happening with how happy I've been living my life with César. And now that it had been proven to be the biggest delusional dreaming of mine, it is too much to wish that it had been reality instead than this.

This... the world where César Basa, a lieutenant of the Philippine Army Air Corps, an ace pilot of the Sixth Pursuit Squadron, and my supposed-to-be future husband, had died... is actually my reality. I've been living the past few months in absolute bliss that it all feels like a dream; and looking on it right now, it is definitely like that.

"(Y/N)," I keep hearing César, and for some reasons, every single time that I close my eyes and I continue seeing him dying right there as he whispers my name... It is strange but it had just been a day since the last time I've seen him so alive and just a few hours of seeing him dead... And I am already starting to forget what his voice actually sounds like.

My heart definitely knows it; but my nightmare now overlaps with what I remember. That hearing my own name is even now foreign to me.

Strange... I don't know who I am without César. All I know is that I love him. And now that he's gone, I loved him.

A day is yet to pass fully that I'll wake up in cold sweat, cry then for how much the pain is too much to bear, exhausting myself that lead me to another nightmare, and be in equal repeat.

In the end, knowing that I will not be able to properly have any good sleep at all, I decide to just lie down on the bed until I've dried my eyes. And before I know it, the sun is starting to appear once more; telling me that it had been a day that I've taken the news of César's passing, definitely still in denial, and tomorrow, it could have been otherwise. After all, if it hadn't been for that of yesterday, tomorrow, I'm supposed to find myself as a married woman.

But that isn't the case. I live, and César didn't.

* * *

I then receive a good scope of what happened yesterday. Someone seems to have finally managed to piece everything together for the stories to spread around, and then be imprinted as part of today's newspaper article.

"In Batangas, six Filipino pilots, undaunted by the tremendous odds against them, attacked two enemy formations of twenty-seven planes each as they roared over the airfield at Batangas," the article reads. "Before the enemy aircraft broke formation and disappeared in the clouds, the Filipino pilots accounted for two ships. The six Filipino pilots who took part in the operations at Batangas included Capt. Jesus Villamor, Lieutenants Antonio Mondigo, Godofredo Juliano, Geronimo Aclan, Salvador Manlunas, and Cesar Basa."

The article didn't mention of Manuel Conde, who is actually one of those six pilots as he arrived to Nichols with a crippled plane that then combusted upon stopping and he was lucky to escape right away.

However, even if it had been the case, Salvador Manlunas, who was mentioned in Manuel's place, was also one of the dead. He was tasked with the ground defense in Batangas, and was a victim of a shrapnel during the bombing. Whether he first died than César did is not up to any debate; they are both members of the Sixth Pursuit Squadron who've died. They are not the only ones; there are others, but they are the only ones mentioned. And the only difference of it all is that César is mentioned to be the first Filipino fighter pilot to die in aerial combat and be the casualty of the Second World War.

There is no point in glorifying the dead in such a way. Not just because it is painful for me to take in, but because there is actually nothing to make praise of it. Yes, Death is the end of the road all along where there is no more sufferings or war beyond; that it is natural to die as it is to be born. However, for all of us still living on this plane... even that consolation didn't fill that lost spot.

Aside from that, despite initial reports that Geronimo couldn't be found, early this morning came with a report that he landed at Maniquis instead; and Antonio made it back to Batangas Airfield after bailing out. All others remain in Nichols, as I am informed.

Ironically, it had just been twenty hours since I've learned of César's death, and sixteen hours since the last time I've caught glimpse of him even in the state completely long gone. But it feels like it had been months or even years ago already. And strangely enough, the Japanese somehow stops with its exploit... or if ever they did, it is already beyond what I want to trouble myself of.

Still, even if I return to the medical bay to busy myself, it seems like everyone else there knows what had happened that before I can even do something, too many of them ask me to stop and continue resting. Until it becomes so evident that the one who've requested for me to be far from all of the ordeals come from the high command of both Capt. Villamor and Maj. Fernando. After all, it had been a repeat of not just the medical team, but as well as the other soldiers that I am relieve of my position until I move passed my grief. The greatest question to turn them down is if I'll be able to do so.

"(L/N)?"

I stop at once and my wanderings make me have sense that I am on my way somewhere that my feet will ever lead me to. However, now that someone calls for my attention, I freeze and slowly turn to the direction of who it is who've called for me. After all, I don't know what else I'll be called for aside from hearing the worst of things already from that of yesterday.

The man who've called for me is dressed in a rather formal clothing of a soldier. For some reasons, the insignia that he bore on his uniform is quite different from that of an airman, but it is only expected. As it is very visible that I am being addressed in the presence of an American soldier this time. He asks me another time with that prominent accent in pronouncing my name, "You're (Y/N) (L/N), right?"

After ensuring that he has the right person, I follow after him. He leads me on to a detached part of the still-standing buildings close to the make-shift medical bay where the rooms are cleared off to be used as offices or whatsoever. Along the way, he introduces himself to be First Lieutenant Thomas Wayne of the 21st Pursuit Squadron, and that after a conversation with Capt. Villamor, it had been agreed on that I am to be called. At once, I know already where this meeting is to lead on, and knowing fully, I retort to keep myself from shaking.

Even though the insurance of the dead is handled by a partnership of Filipinos and Americans, majority had been that of the previous. Other dealings concerning the dead, like that of autopsies or burial preparations, are handled mostly by that of the latter. Though it remains as a partnership, one actually favors all others.

Later on, he leads me to a rather huge room, now appearing quite too claustrophobic for there are too many stacks of plastic bags piled high up. Each had been labeled on the edge with a tape bearing initial of names, division and possible serial numbers. In the end, I understand what such items are—all of these belong to the dead, and the reason I am here, though I am not fitting to, is to recover that of what they've managed to salvage from César's person.

"I am sorry for your loss," Lt. Wayne suddenly speaks out of the blue, definitely filling in the almost unbearable silence. "I don't know how painful it is, but it is surely too much after being recently married."

"I am not," I answer at once, causing him to stop for a second and turn to me. "What I mean is that, we... we were supposed to, but... we weren't married."

It is almost just a day and I am already using past tense to address the absence of César, and my heart pricks at that.

"I am... I was and will never be his wife. I am only Miss (L/N)," I add. "His next of kin were his parents, so... they should be the one receiving this."

He seems to be at quite a debate himself that he bites his lower lip, suddenly being embarrassed himself. "I am... I am sorry for the misunderstanding, Miss (L/N)," he says before returning to his own search. A few seconds later, he finds what he is after for, taking then it from a bunch and ensuring that the others on top will not fall over. The respective bag, bearing that of his identification as "Lt. C. Basa, 6FS" isn't anything much—some folded papers, wallet, identification cards, a rosary, his necklace and that bracelet. "I know that these should be delivered to his next of kin, but through his written records of latest data, you're the first one on his contacts."

That's a given, I almost blurt out. Since madalas kaming mag-kasama at kulang na lamang talaga ay ang basbas ng simbahan. We're practically living together until all this hell broke loose...

"Additionally..." He turns over the bag and at the bottom of it, with a few stains of blood on the paper, my name is visibly written on it. "I think he wanted you to have it, first and foremost. But if you don't want to, we can send it to his parents once we've completely prepared everything else. With the number of the dead continue piling, it could take—"

"I'll take it," I interrupt him and slowly overlaps my hands onto the bag, causing him to pull his hands away the next. I then draw it closer to me, chewing the inside of my mouth. "Or rather, I'll be the one to bring it to his parents. I'll also be needing to meet with them over the matter."

Lt. Wayne nods at that and sighs heavily. "And about the body, will you—"

"No. That's a matter that I do not have any right to decide on. But I can... I can tell his parents that it might take long. So, if this is all I need to have, I better excuse myself than to trouble more of your time, lieutenant."

"A-Ah, yes, yes," he remarks, and without even letting him have a further say, I see for myself that the discussion is over.

* * *

I'll be honest to say that I want to see César. Yesterday, when I decide to finally let go off him, I know that it will be the last time that I'll ever be that close to him. The last time that I'll be able to touch him, even if he feels so cold and the peppery skin of death is starting to take effect; to smell him, even if the natural and foul scent of a corpse starts to overpower that of one I am so accustomed of him; and to have a taste of his lips, even if I know he'll no longer respond to any of my kisses.

I know that even if I am to see his face and body starting to decay, I'll not even cringe and I'll still love him. After all, despite knowing that I've also fallen in love with that tall, dark and handsome feature of his, such image will fade. At least, not in my memory and definitely not with how I'll remember him to be the person he was. I, indeed, have fallen in love with his soul.

With all of it being said, I also know that I'll be needing to pay respect to the people who've shaped César to be the man I loved. If things had been quite different, I'll still do honor them, as always, even beyond that supposed-to-be marriage. But now that he is gone, with no further possibility of such a happier meeting, I must see them. I know that too many will bear memories of César, but no one will have more of it than that of his parents. And that of mine...

Lt. Wayne had been too kind to offer me to be personally driven to where I may visit César's parents. However, I decline and say that I can just join a truck that is heading to the Philippine General Hospital or Sternberg Hospital; since both are just close to one another, and just few blocks away will be that of their home.

I manage to hitch a truck ride heading to PGH, and due to the location of Nichols Airfield, the truck will even manage to pass through the street of my intent. The truck is filled with a few critically injured soldiers, which still have a higher chance of survival for being already addressed with first aids but are still in need of further surgeries in a hospital, and a few who are able to move around in the hospital for any further needs.

I, along with them, is the only woman. But I am not out of place. Like them, I am still bathed in blood and dirt, I look with almost empty eyes back to them, and I seem like I've run straight into the war zone with them. Definitely, it is like that; even in the medical bay, it is chaos. I know that these men lost some sensibility of theirs, some sort of innocence and peace that the war had stolen from them. Everyone is a victim, and there will be more number in the casualties as it continues on.

I immediately look away before one of the wounded manage to cast their eyes on me, gazing then at the view outside as everything fades—the gates of Nichols, the streets leading to the airfield, and onward. The streets are quite empty compared to the last time that I've seen such a few days ago be filled with too many people eager to leave the city, cars almost bumper to bumper, soldiers controlling the traffic, and everything being just purely chaotic. The entire city of Manila now appears like a strange place for me.

Before I know it, we finally come across the street heading on to PGH and Sternberg, and then to the respective block of my own destination.

The truck driver seems to be noted about it already that he stops just by the side, and I then move out with some help from that of a soldier just by the edge. I bid my thanks to him and to the driver as I keep the bag I've been given close to my chest, and with only just a nod of acknowledgment, they then move out as well. I first watch the vehicle move away until I lose sight of it, biting then my lip as I try to get my bearings regarding the need to face this next ordeal.

Gaining all the strength that I need to have; I finally dare to knock. It takes a few minutes and a few more knocking before the gates are opened, and Fernando Basa himself appears taken back in seeing me—whether it is about the state I am currently in or the fact that I am merely there, and I guess it had been both.

I know that I have some prepared speech. I know what I want to say and everything else; however, at the sight of his father, once again all reminded of how I usually say to whom César inherited his features the most, I can't help but be reminded of thinking once again about how much César will be by that age, too. That such vision will now just be some big what-if for me to imagine. Such raw pain cuts through my heart so deeply that I end up crying all over again.

* * *

Teaser for the next chapter:

"K-Kumusta naman siya?" she adds. It is not a question that is completely in denial; more of like a question of how he looks. Some sort of inquiry about: Does he appear happy? Is he in peace? Did he suffer?
I catch sight of her husband then, shaking his head slightly. Then, I answer, quite a struggle, "Still the same handsome young man that I know of." I lace my fingers on top of my lap, stopping them from fidgeting. "According to reports, it apparently had been quick."

* * *

A/N: Vote, comment and share! Whatever you do means a lot to me, and I am really wishing for some feedback!
Yes, the angsty chapters aren't still over... Okay, despite the fact that I enjoy the pain that AH had to offer since Chapter 42 (Hey, look, there's roughly ten chapters of it all being angst!), I've been honest since the start that AH was by far my most heart wrenching and angsty work to date, and perhaps even for the foreseeable future. Perhaps, it was because of all the researches and effort I've done to at least give this story a sense of justice it deserves for a truly unsung hero. So, just bear with all the pain for now, okay? And tissues, anyone? Just a few more chapters left to bear with all the pain! I love hearing comments from all of you. <3

A few list of notes/flight trivia to share!
1. There was no record of a 1Lt. Thomas Wayne of the 21st Pursuit Squadron. His name was intercorrelated from that of Lt. Thomas Andrew Hawkins, a fighter pilot who've aided the Sixth Pursuit Squadron during a supposed-to-be encounter with the Zeros at the Bataan Peninsula of December 10, 1941; and of Pt. James Wayne, his assistant aircraft mechanic.
2. To be honest, I am searching for where Basa could actually be buried. However, there hadn't been any record of where his grave could be found. With that, I led the Reader not to decide on what to be done with César's remains and said that such decision were to be made by his parents instead.

Chapter title: Rhumb Line. This is definitely how people usually measure the distance between one location to another. True, this was advisable for locations with short distances; but this didn't work for transcontinental or international flights. Because, what is a Rhumb Line again? It is the straight line made between point A to point B but this is the longest path. Why? Well, the Earth is geoid-shaped, closest will be to say it to be a sphere. I find it fitting for this chapter as it shows a long road or path for the Reader and the other people who've known César to just move on with what happened. After all, like moving on, we tend to look on to just one direction all the while we were unaware that it was a much longer path.

Follow me on twitter @23meraki for more updates and trivia. ;)
#CFBArtificialHorizon