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I.  OH, WHO IS SHE?

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DALLAS TEXAS
1943

       || EVENING HAD BARELY BROKEN WHEN THE BOYS JOLTED CELESTE FROM HER PEACEFUL NAP. The young woman, who had grown accustomed to restless nights haunted by the horrors she had witnessed, was far from pleased. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, her dreams had been free from the weight of those. Her mind had wandered back to simpler times, to the carefree days of her youth.

Yet, now, all reminiscent thoughts were shattered, courtesy of her relentless companions; Arnie, Frankie, Robert and Jackson. The upcoming departure to England loomed over them, and the boys were determined to mark the occasion with a night of revelry. While they could hardly contain their anticipation, Celeste couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The crew of 6, known each other since 1940, and return to the states in 1942. Now some of the boys were set on rejoining the 100th or becoming fighter pilots once again.

Celeste, on the other hand, had been designated the responsibility of training fresh-faced pilots and delivering crucial forts across the channel. Her father, James yet again pulled a few files. Believing she would be safer away from the frontlines. You see, being the daughter of high ranking officer had it corks but also had its downs.

Sitting in the front seat of the Willy's jeep, the dusty road rattling beneath her—her mind was tugged in a whirlwind of thoughts. Each question pulling her closer to uncertainty. It wasn't fair, she thought. Celeste had worked just as hard as the male counterparts, poured in the same sweat and determination, and yet here she was, stuck. Manning aircraft away from the front. Tethered to the back row, her dreams hanging precariously in a balance.

As the countryside of Texas blurred past her, Celeste couldn't help but ponder the next destination. England. A land that held both familiarity and the unknown. Biting at the tip of her lower lip, would she be able to adapt as she had in China? The prospect both excited and unnerved her. Surely, her mother's side of the family would welcome her with open arms. Warm reunions, shared laughter, and memories awaiting to be made.

But there was other questions that tugged at her heart, one that consumed every waking moment. Would she muster the strength to mold young souls into fearless pilots? Just as she had in China? Boys much younger and less mature than herself? Being under the pressure to prove herself more as she was a woman in a man's world. It was much different than old bones and buildings. They don't have to talk in order to prove their inner secrets nor did they ever talk back. They never judged her based on her gender.

Celeste propped her right foot against the dash, her eyes fixated upon the poorly attached mirror beside the windshield. The fading landscape reflected her own pensive expression. Vibrant greens and golds springing back the spectrum of emotions she felt. Excitement mingled with apprehension—determination tangled with self-reflection.

She thought back to the days of her own training, the grueling hours spent in simulators and classrooms, shaping her into the skilled aviator she had become. Her instructors hadn't looked at her through the lens of gender; mainly because of her father. A lot had seen her potential, recognized her talent—but there were some that didn't.

The jeep bumped along the rugged road, jolting Celeste out of her reverie. She glanced over at Arnie, her dear friend from childhood—his blonde locks interwoven with strands of brown. And a face that made just about any girl swoon over him. His presence provided her with a sliver of reassurance.

Celeste groggily adjusted the golden-lined aviator glasses onto her nose, emitting an audible sigh of discontent. The 24 year old wasn't as enthusiastic as her male counterparts. They had the opportunity to soar with the big guns, while she was forced to remain below, restricted solely because of her gender. It irked her to no end that women in the service were unjustly deprived of the very same opportunities given to men.

The boisterous cheers reverberated from behind Celeste, echoing like a symphony of unruly wolves. Whilst over there, a moniker was bestowed upon them, becoming known as the untamed progeny, the wild brood. Both Jackson, a born and bred Bostonian, and Frankie, hailing from the heartland of the Midwest, were engaged in a lively banter about the bevies of women who would surely flock to catch a glimpse of their heroic selves.

"Can't help but wonder if our gallant exploits on the battlefields of China will turn heads and earn us some extra admiration," he exclaimed, words dripping with the unmistakable cadence of his Bostonian heritage.

Arnie merely snorted to which caught the Bostonian's attention, " They can't resist me, gentlemen," Jackson declared with a mischievous grin following. "I've got them swooning already." Arnie, known for his witty comebacks, couldn't help but playfully remark on Jackson's towering ego. "Oh Jack, it's not the ladies who are swooning, it's the mere sight of your face that sends them into a faint."

Laughter ensued by Robert as Jackson pretended to be offended by Arnie's jest. "Well, for your sake, Arnie," he pauses as he gives him pat upon the shoulder, " I hope charm isn't solely based on looks. Or else you'll need all the help you can get!"

The ole boy from Pennsylvania was never one to back down, instinctively shooting back, "Don't worry, buddy. I rely on my personality to win hearts, not my dashing good looks like you do." Celeste, being the no-nonsense officer with a dry sense of humor, was usually on top of her men like a hawk whilst on the job. But once time came to get off, she became different. Perhaps it was the war that was changing her. She'd often go to the bars with them, only to whip out a book on planes or ancient history—but this time was different

A stifled chuckle emerged from her lips, before flashing a glance towards the infamous bar that now lay in front of them. Without a second to think, Arnie immediately jolted to the left, sending dashes of rocks and dirt into the air. The boys in the back barely caught themselves from falling out. Then coming to a screeching halt, causing Celeste to duck forward—nearly hitting her head upon the dash.

Her irritation was quite evident as she shot a glare at him. "You better not treat any of the new planes like that," she warned assertively. Arnie, however, brushed off her concern with a dismissive snort. "Oh, please," he retorted casually, voice tinged with a hint of playfulness.

But Celeste, growing more frustrated by her friend's lack of respect, reminded him, "Oh please? My ass, That's precisely why you have so many demerits against you. Breaking fighters for no reason other than being too lazy to fully stop." She exclaimed whilst removing herself from the vehicle.

Frankie sensing the chief leader about to go on one of her rants, jumped to the aid, " Alright guys let's go!" He yelped before hopping out the back. Slowly, all piled out of the small jeep—her glare could be felt by all. Ben held up the rear. He was a shy boy, from Wyoming and never was one to talk much—only keeping to his books.

Yet, as the crew gathered, fixing their ties and uniforms, Celeste made it known she stood firmly on business. " Now Boys, no chaos. As much as I adore all your lively conversations, let's not forget the gravity of our duties here," the senior officer interjected, her voice tinged with amusement. "We are shipping out tomorrow, so let's not cause any trouble."

All had acknowledged with subtle nods and gentle tsks—where she would have preferred being saluted, but these would do. With a harsh inhale, Celeste waved them on ahead. Jackson and Arnie were the first to enter into the dimly lit sophisticated establishment. The air was saturated with the enchanting melodies of a slow jazz tune, caressing the souls of those present.

Their sight fell upon a duo in center—standing there a dashing young Major, a member of the esteemed 100th Regiment. Though Jackson nor Arnie could figure out who he was. His eyes were as deep and expressive, where one could get lost if one stared long enough. His face had that faraway look in it, which cannot be described in words. His smile, which reached up to his eyes and wrinkled them—flaunting his modesty and humility.

The very top of his military haircut was slicked back, depth of hues upon his brown hair was like the finest cathedral choir—a perfect pitch coming together in soul-warming symphony. Some strands did escape and gently pressed against his forehead. But again, Egan wasn't a man who cared for the rules of the military—often sporting a combed mustache.

Egan found himself effortlessly swaying to the rhythm of the music, as if his body were weightless. All his prayers were answered, he was going to England to give hell to Hitler. His indulgence in alcohol, perhaps more than necessary, only added to the euphoric sensation coursing through him. A mischievous smile danced upon his lips— eyes fixated on the captivating woman in-front of him.

The duo had been slow dancing, his hands resting lazily upon her hips—with hers tucked around his neck. She was a petite beauty, her lustrous brunette locks framing an enchanting smile that mirrored her inner radiance. It was no surprise that she shared a deep bond with Marge, the beloved companion of Gale.

Both had carried small talk between them—mainly because Marge had pushed the agenda. Egan was always a hit with the ladies, mainly because of his dashing good looks and charismatic nature. The uniform just helped some more. Yet, being so close to the bar probably wasn't in the best of interests. As the new duo were preparing to find their seats among Gale and Marge, it was interrupted by one of John's men. A captain with a sense of cringy humor—offering up a shot in celebration of the major leaving for England.

John's short conversation with the woman he had just met became a distant murmur, fading into the background as the shot glass was passed over. " Of all the drunks in the hundredth." The airman spoke proudly, raising his drink to the air—followed in short by his partner. As their clinking glasses filled the air, their exuberance truly caught the attention of Arnie and Jackson.

Two airmen that never understood the word, personal space...known for their affinity for celebration and libations over there, made their way into the midst of this unfamiliar gathering—Completely forgetting about finding a table. They had accepted this as an invitation.

"Hell yes, what are we celebra.."Arnie's boisterous question was abruptly halted as his eyes fell upon the striking stripes adorning the uniform of the tall airman. A sudden realization washed over him, causing him to freeze in his tracks. Jackson sensing his buddy's confusion, turned to follow his gaze and shared his realization.

However, Egan was quite confused with the two airmen himself. Their uniforms was just like his yet, was wildly unaware of the patch that dawned the right sides of their biceps. The captain from before observed the unfamiliar boys with curiosity and annoyance—partly in fact because they just barged in uninvited. Arnie swiftly shifted from his carefree stance to a rigid attention, quickly taking note of Jackson's arrogance. As a last resort, he jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

The sly pilot responded by grabbing at his side, but with a sharp side eye from Arnie, the young chap quickly caught on—now realizing what the whole toast was about. This major was to be in charge of them and their flying. Jackson muttered inaudible oh shit beneath his breath.

Egan's stalwart gaze drifted towards his trustworthy bud, who was stationed by his side. Their eyes met briefly, mirroring the slight bewilderment that tinged their thoughts. While most of the boys in the bar were familiar faces to him, these men were strangers.

Summoning a restrained expression, Arnie, with the utmost respect, addressed the officer, "Hello, Major, sir." His hand instinctively rose to his head, executing a crisp salute. He knew Celeste would rip him a new one if he did not follow the rules.

Though taken aback, Egan acknowledged Arnie's unexpected display. A twinkle of amusement danced in his eyes as he returned the salute with a nod. "At ease, gentlemen. No need for formalities," he replied, squinting his eyes upon the ranks laid on Arnie's uniform, " 2nd lieutenant." his voice resonating with a hint of sarcasm.

Feeling a mix of pride and embarrassment, Arnie lowered his hand and unclenched his tense muscles. But Jackson let out a sheepish chuckle, realizing the magnitude of the situation they had unknowingly stumbled into. As the atmosphere shifted more towards awkward, John extended a welcoming hand. "I'm Major Egan of the 100th and whom may you two be?" There was moment of silence before the eldest of the duo spoke, placing himself in the limelight.

"Ah yes, i thought you looked familiar." Arnie spoke through clenched teeth—graciously accepting the handshake, " I'm Arnie and this here is Jackson." looking over to his wingman for any support.

But the Bostonian's attention quickly averted over to Robert making a remark to Celeste, whom always the picture of poise, made her way in—Closely followed by Ben.
Celeste held frustration etched upon her delicate features like cracks on a broken mirror. Whereas Ben and Frankie, were excited about a night out and drinks. Well, maybe Ben wasn't all that thrilled.

"I just don't get it," Celeste exclaimed, her voice dripping with exasperation. Her words echoed through the bar, commanding attention from the patrons who nursed their drinks nearby. The chief leaders hands trembled, fingers curled into fists, as if ready to strike anyone who dared question her anguish.

" It's ridiculous," she muttered, casting a weary glance at her companions. "I will always be stuck with these less important missions while you guys, who I trained, get to fly the intense ones." Ben, the usual quiet and educated man from Wyoming, sighed and ran his thumb against
the stubble upon his chin. "It's not about training, chief leader," he spoke softly, voice holding a note of understanding. "It's about timing, luck, and circumstances aligning in their favor."

Celeste merely shook her head, sending untucked strands of her perfectly excused bun cascading around her face. "That's what they say, but I can't help but feel overshadowed. I've given everything to be here, to prove myself, but it seems like I'm always one step behind." Frankie who held mischievous glint in his eyes, chimed in with a smirk. "Maybe being a 'daddy's girl' this time didn't work, huh?" His words hung in the air, laced with a touch of playful sarcasm.

The young chief leader's brows furrowed, irritation flaring within. "It's not about that!" she snapped. "I've earned my place just like everyone else. Yet, I'm constantly overlooked, seen as incapable of handling the intense missions."

Her fierce presence however, had not go unnoticed by the new air executive. Of course, how could it when everyone in the bar could hear her complaining. Jackson simply winched at her voice carrying upon the lively atmosphere. Knowing she was truly riled up, something had triggered her temper in the mere seconds they were gone.

As she turned from side to side, failing her arms about in anger—the wings upon her uniform caught the light, seemingly capturing Egan in intrigue. But it was her delicate features that truly held his unwavering gaze. Her hair was the brown of aged mahogany, rich and deep, yet with the subtle hues only time brings. Her piercing look held a depth that he had never witnessed before. The uniform perfectly capturing her body's nature form.
However, she barely batted an eye towards him. Was this the first he'd been looked over by a woman? Perhaps...

Celeste just happened to scan the room in between her ranting when catching a glimpse of her two knuckleheads " Oh for fuck's sake." She muttered under her breath. Her bore-holes-through-you gaze then set upon Arnie's. Who just happened to look at her like a deer in headlights. With deep exhale, her left brow slightly raised, Celeste slowly raised her hand before pointing at him—beckoning him back with slow, drawn-out movements of her index finger.

With a nervous laugh,Arnie budged in, " Well, Gentlemen that is my cue to leave." He clicked his tongue upon the roof of his mouth, " It was nice meetin' you all." The young lieutenant smiled at the major and captain before stepping away. That was before he simply waved his wing buddy off, giving a simple thumbs up. Jackson watched with disbelief as his bud quickly fixed himself beside Frankie, before being pinched by Celeste upon his arm.

The midwestern scanned the bustling room, searching for a comfortable booth —he was always making sure to keep Celeste's temper down and saving his buddies asses. He did finally find one, tucked fairly close to the lively bar. Mainly for Jackson's sake, so he won't have to go far. As Celeste made her way over, she promptly took note of the gentleman sitting in the booth beside them. He was a dashing fella as well and smart. Cleven was his name, Gale Cleven—or Buck. A prominent pilot, known throughout the 100th and his girl, Marge.

Celeste had met Cleven a few months prior during a training session, but the two hadn't exactly talked much. Only exchanging mere hellos and nods. Maybe he knew who her father was and was scared about interacting with her. So saving them both from having to reintroduce themselves, she only acknowledged his presence with a subtle nod. Cleven reciprocated her gesture with a slight nod of his head, acknowledging her presence.

Jackson returned his attention back to the major and his captain buddy. " Well. It was pleasure meeting you all. And sorry for the intrusion." He pauses once more, glancing back to his group, " I better get the drinks going or else i may not even make it to England." Jackson chuckled nervously, before quickly departing.

The captain's weathered face displayed an arched quizzical brow and emitted a sigh that stretched into a prolonged "okay" under his breath. With the ease of someone who had seen it all, he extended another shot towards Egan, a shot of liquid courage nestled in his calloused palm.

"Now that, my friend, is something truly extraordinary," he murmured. "A female pilot. You don't come across that every day." His words dripped with curiosity. "I can't help but wonder who her father is." However, beneath the captain's facade of casual interest, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled in Egan's mind. It was not the identity of the pilot's patriarch that concerned him now, but rather, it was her.

He had heard about the WAAC's but hadn't looked too closely at it. Egan hadn't exactly meant any. The captain's voice mellowed Egan back into reality, "Remember I want, all the blankets on a cot and a window view." He remarked, nudging the major lightly in the shoulder—before making his goodbyes to Cleven and Marge. "Consider it done." Egan mumbled, returning to his glass.

Just as the captain moved to leave, he quickly spun around, a playful glint in his eye, "You know, it's not often we come across such captivating souls like her. It would be a shame to let her slip away without discovering her name." Egan merely raised his brows in acknowledgment—he already had that thought.

The major paused briefly, twirling what was left of the rum— debating if he wanted to return to his seat or stay where he was. Curiosity gnawed at Egan's mind as he observed the room. The air crackled with anticipation, as whispers and hushed conversations floated like ethereal melodies.

The brunette from before was stuck on talking to Marge—even involving Cleven in. As he stood there debating, he caught another fleeting glimpse of the unknown woman pilot—her irresistible voice was captivating.

The crew had fully settled in and started on, laughter soon harmonizing with the jazzy tunes floating through the air. As the cheerful ambiance enveloped them, Jackson assumed the role of the designated drinks-fetcher, a duty he performed with a familiar display of grumbling.

As the Bostonian with fixed darken hair and olive skin,
awaited the drinks to be prepared—a mysterious figure emerged from just behind him. There was a second of silence, Jackson sensing a presence stood behind him—his eyes of robin egg blue darted from side to side. He was ready to engage if this fellow didn't make himself known.

But the bloke was non other than the major. His broad shoulders and carefree demeanor was the telling tale. Egan casually leaned his arm against the weathered counter, angling his body outward before slamming his glass down—demanding attention.

"So," he began, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and intensity, "what is this patch for?" Egan's gaze focused sharply on a lone patch adorning the airman's bicep. Jackson, taken aback by the sudden interest from the major, studied the patch intently before responding.

"Ah, that signifies my service in China," Jackson replied, his voice tinged with a subtle hint of surprise. He raised an eyebrow slightly, wondering how many people in the room were oblivious to the involvement in the China campaign.

A faint "ahh" escaped Egan's mouth as he leaned further into the counter. Another delicate moment of silence lightly pirouetted in the air, hanging between them like a suspended breath. Egan's voice, carefully laced with feigned nonchalance, broke through the silence—attempting to unveil the hidden enigma. "So who is she? The pilot?" he inquired, his words gently gliding on the edges of curiosity.

Jackson's hand hesitated mid-air, inches away from securing the platter, as he wrestled with the weight of his reply. "Oh her? Oh, she's nothing short of extraordinary, I must say," he responded cautiously, his words tiptoeing on the edge of secrecy. Deep within, he knew that offering mere glimpses of information would surely displease Celeste.

Nevertheless, he attempted to paint a vague picture. "She possesses an uncanny sharpness of wit, effortlessly dressed in a cloak of charm." Not content with the superficial descriptions, Egan's urgency gradually seeped into his voice, like an unexpected shadow darkening a sunny day. Prodding further, he yearned to unearth the buried truths. "Okay, then What is her name?" His words resonated with a relentless hunger for knowledge.

Jackson's mind danced momentarily in hesitation, searching for the right steps to take in this intricate dance of disclosure. "Uh, well, we happened to cross paths during training," he paused, his voice threading a thin needle of uncertainty. "To be more precise, she was our esteemed trainer in China. She was already there on other terms. Fate's peculiar hand led us, me and the other three companions were sent."

"Oh, you were in China? That seems rather courageous of you," a voice exclaimed from behind him—her words dripping with euphoria. It was as if her excitement had crept upon her words, enveloping the air around them.

Unbeknownst to Egan and Jackson, the brunette had silently approached them, patiently awaiting her turn to join the conversation. However, Egan's response was half-hearted, lacking the enthusiasm she presented. "Yeah, good for you, buddy," he retorted with a tone that hinted at indifference.

Jackson narrowed his eyes, having spent time surrounded by men of various temperaments, he was astute enough to recognize the major's lack of intrigue in not knowing Celeste's name. It was evident to him that Egan's nonchalant response was his way of attempting to hurt Jackson's ego.

Filled with mischievous curiosity, Jackson decided to take matters into his own hands. " Well I best be going." He replied, before taking the tray. Returning to the booth with a tray of beverages, he couldn't help but complain about the demands of his role, frustration evident on furrowed brows, and expressed his grievances as he set the drinks before his comrades. " Here ya go you bunch of losers. Always making me the rat." He exclaimed before sitting down with a loud thump.

Celeste merely leaned in and whispered mischievously to him, "Worry not, my dear friend. If this unending task of drink-fetching burdens your soul, I shall serenade you with the sweet tunes of a violin." Frankie snorted up half his drink at her comment.

And thus Celeste began acting, her fingers dancing gracefully in the air with her imaginary violin. " Oh hush." He whispered, taking another swig. "Arnie, Celeste. Everyone. I think you guys all owe me a dollar." The young chief leader merely flashed him a look of disbelief, before placing her drink down. " Come on, you guys won't believe the attention I've been getting from the girl over here at the bar." Jackson exclaimed with a mischievous smile.

This time instead of Arnie, it was Frankie. The Mideast fella playfully retorted, "Oh really? Are you sure it's your charming personality they're after, or just your unconventional looks?" Jackson mockingly gasped and pretended to be offended. "How dare you, I'll have you know that these women appreciate a man like me. It's not my fault you can't handle the competition."

" Oh my goodness, I feel like I'm back in high school in the girls lock room with how You both act." Celeste grumbled, " and stealing a major's girl isn't a victory to be proud off ." Jackson only mocked her tone, "Oh yea, me stealing. well that major doesn't seem too interested in her. He was fishing me for information on you. Jeez, I felt like i was being interrogated. Like when did I end up in Germany. "

" I hope you didn't utter a word.." she snapped back— exasperation riding upon her tone. "Oh my, as if.. I didn't say it." He boasted, acting as if he had just saved her from a fire.

Celeste felt her stomach churning with an insidious knot. But her eyes, as if guided by an unseen force, slowly drifted across Jackson's broad shoulder, landing on the mysterious airman seated at the next booth. In all honesty, the major possessed an otherworldly charm - a striking pilot with an aura of enigmatic allure. His dark tousled hair and finely carved features seemed like the masterpiece of a divine artist.

Fate, in its whimsical nature, had already unfurled its tapestry of coincidence. The moment Celeste dared to steal a clandestine glance in his direction, their eyes inexplicably locked. Panic rushed through her veins like an electric surge, propelling her to forcefully yank her gaze away, desperately seeking solace elsewhere. And yet, a lingering curiosity persisted, tugging at her like an irresistible magnet.

Resentment simmered beneath the surface as Celeste muttered through clenched teeth, her voice barely audible amid the buzzing sounds of the restaurant. "He can keep on asking, because I know his kind all too well." With determined resolve, she reached for her napkin, meticulously folding and unfolding it—seeking an anchor amidst the turbulent sea of emotions swirling within her.

"Oh, really? I highly doubt that," Jackson replied, his voice laced with skepticism, eyebrows raised in disbelief. He couldn't help but let out a subtle chuckle at the absurdity of the claim. "And how would you know when all you ever did was bury your nose in a book at the bar?" Celeste tucked her arms tightly across her chest—prompting biting at her lower lip.

The silence hung like a poison, with Frankie and Robert's eye darting back and forth between. Jackson, instead of waiting an answer— heard the moment of the ladies beside them. His eyes then shifted towards them approaching juke box, their laughter tinkling like delicate chimes in the air. The corners of his mouth curled into a devilish smirk as he confidently declared, "Alright then, while you all have your jolly time, I shall gallantly make my way towards that enchanting brunette."

With the flick of a coin into the jukebox, a lively song began to roll. Strolling on past the piercing gaze of the major. Jackson flashed the brunette a charming smile, his steel-blue eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "Good evening, my name is Jackson," he greeted her, his voice smooth and velvety as before.

Startled by his approach but intrigued, the brunette allowed a shy smile to unfurl on her lips. "Hello," she replied, her voice as delicate as a summer breeze. With effortless charm, Jackson engaged her into a dance. Their words melted between laughter and thoughtful contemplation as time lost its grip on them. The woman, captivated by his effortless charm, couldn't resist—even though it caused a pang of dismay to Marge. Yet Egan, stuck in conversation with Cleven didn't even bat an eye.

As they exchanged words, his gaze inadvertently wandered towards the female pilot. Egan was still burning over Jackson for not telling him. He grinned his jaw from side to side, his index finger tapping slowly upon the table. She seemed to possess an aura that was hard to ignore, drawing Egan's attention like a moth to a flame. Cleven took note of this, expressing a loud sigh. "Don't do it. If you are looking at who I think you're looking at. You are better off walking away." He sternly warned. Yet the plea, like a delicate piece of music, fall upon deaf ears, seemed to dissipate into the air before reaching its intended recipient

Egan was a prisoner to his own impulses, blinded by the allure of the unknown. Cleven's warning, though earnest, was like water cascading off his back, unnoticed and unheeded. " Nah, you know me. I'm going for it." He tossed his napkin down with thud—before quickly fixing his tie.

And so, against cleven's best wishes, he crossed the threshold of the known and stepped into the realm of the unfamiliar. Uncertainty mingled with anticipation, creating a cocktail of emotions that danced within his heart. As he approached, his piercing pale blue eyes, reminiscent of a cloudless sky, locked onto Celeste's with unwavering intensity. The rhythmic beats of his heart drowned out the sounds of reason, forming a cacophony of desire and defiance.

Major John Egan stood tall and authoritative, his presence emanating an air of confidence that demanded all attention. As he addressed the group, his piercing blue eyes scanned the faces before him, savoring the tension that hung in the air.

"Hello, gentlemen...Arnie," Egan greeted, his voice carrying a hint of mischief—winking at the second lieutenant. His eyes then shifted to the only woman present. The Major couldn't help but admire her beauty up close. "And miss," he added with a nod—acknowledging her. Ben, for his reserved nature, discreetly cleared his throat—paying his respects to the Major but refraining from engaging further.

Egan, known for his charm and cunning, gave a warm smile—attempting to mend his initial blunder. "I apologize for my lack of manners," he confessed, his voice a touch of self-deprecating humor. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Major John Egan. And might I add, a man yearning to know the stories behind your faces." His hand gently raised upon the left side of his chest. He gaze shifted from Arnie to Frankie and finally to Celeste—like a painter observing a blank canvas before creating a masterpiece.

Celeste, however, proved to be a force not easily swayed. Unlike others, that easily swooned over him when he merely looked their way—she maintained an air of composure, refusing to acknowledge his existence. Unyielding, she sat in silence—quietly sipping the alcohol. Egan, undeterred by her aloofness, pressed on, his curiosity piqued like a ravenous flame—fueled by a sudden gust of wind. " And you," he says, pointing a finger upon Celeste, " The mysterious female pilot. May I kindly ask of your name?"

Celeste merely snorted, " No you may not.." but, Egan's piercing gaze searched her face, his curiosity evident in the subtle curl of his lip. " But why do you withhold your name?" His eyes squinted, " chief leader, I presume?" Egan's voice was velvety and deep, entrancing her like a siren's song. His persistence intrigued her, yet Celeste clung to the secret behind her lips.

A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes as she met his steely gaze. "Because, my dear sir, I am under no obligation to disclose such coveted information." Egan took a step
backward, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. "But surely, in this momentary encounter, a name would be an insignificant token to exchange for what your men did, bursting in uninvited at my celebration?"

Celeste's lips contorted into a semblance of a smile, but the lines on her face betrayed her true feelings. It was a smile of thinly veiled annoyance, an attempt to fend off the man sitting across from her who seemed oblivious to her lack of interest.

"I understand your frustration," she said, her voice dripping with a smoothness, like honey cascading down a spoon. Her eyes darted towards Arnie with glare that could burn right through him.

Turning her attention back to Egan, Celeste tried to convey her disinterest in the most polite way possible. "But I have no control over them," she explained, her tone tinged with exasperation. "I merely trained them."

Egan grinned, undeterred by her curt response. "Ah, come on now," he said, leaning forward, his heavy breath mingling with the scent of his drinks. "No need to get defensive." This time, Celeste couldn't suppress her irritation. Her words lashed out like a whip, each one carefully chosen to send a clear message. "We are enjoying our drinks before shipping out," she snapped, words laced with a touch of ice. "Now, please leave us to our own devices."

She hoped that her sharp retort would discourage his advances and send him fleeing as many had before him. But to her bewilderment, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Egan's smile widened, his persistence growing as thick as the tension that hung in the air.

Celeste stole a glance at Frankie, silently urging him to intervene. But the Midwestern remained impassive, content to let the scene play out. He knew Celeste was more than capable of handling herself, even if her patience was wearing thin.

With each passing moment, Celeste's frustration grew, overshadowing any attempt at politeness. Egan's intrusiveness had crossed the line, and her facade of a smile shattered like a fragile crystal. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"You clearly don't understand," she hissed, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and warning. "I have no interest in your company. Now, kindly find someone else to pester."

Egan's face paled, his cocksure grin faltering for a brief moment. But before Celeste could fully revel in her triumph, he recovered, his arrogance returning like a tide sweeping away her victory.

Undeterred by her firm rejection, Egan leaned even closer, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. "Playing hard to get, huh?" he said, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice. "I like the challenge." Frankie and Robert both glanced to another of look of uncertainty. They knew Celeste was a volcano warning to erupt.

Her narrowed gaze conveyed her mounting frustration—playing on the dwindling fringes of patience. Egan, however, seemed undeterred by her resistance, finding her spirited retort even more captivating. In an almost childish manner, he pouted his lower lip, tempting her to unleash a torrent of scathing words.

Before Celeste could respond, fate intervened with a cruel twist. Egan, in a moment of carelessness, moved his hand a tad closer—causing her drink to topple over and drench her uniform. The audible gasp that escaped her lips was matched only by her frantic jolt to her feet—arms flailing in an impulsive attempt to rid herself of the unfortunate liquid.

The commotion instantly grabbed the attention of Jackson and the girl dancing—both gasping in shock at the sudden turn of events. Reacting instinctively, Marge and Cleven sprang to their feet, with Marge unconsciously placing a hand over her mouth to stifle her own reaction.

In an unexpected twist, like a harmonized chorus, Frankie, Robert and Arnie's voices resonated together in perfect synchronization—their exclamations reaching an impressive crescendo. Their stunned but melodious response of oh shit lured everyone's attention to the surreal scene unfolding before them, as Celeste and her lap lay drenched and dripping.

" Oh I'm so sorry.. Miss..." Egan's voice trailed off, awaiting Celeste's completion with bated breath. He was almost certain this would have worked. However, instead of replying, with a controlled fury, she finally spoke. Her voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with unmistakable iciness. "This is it," she seethed through gritted teeth, her words dripping venom. The weight of her disappointment hung in every syllable, and Egan recoiled slightly.

With a swift motion, she grabbed a nearby cloth and began frantically wiping the spilled drink from her trousers, desperately trying to salvage whatever remained of her dignity.. "Without another word, Celeste turned her buddies, clutching her jaw tightly as if suppressing a storm of emotions. In a clear, commanding voice, she declared, "Gentlemen, it is time to leave."

With a few groans of annoyance, they reluctantly rose from their seats, disappointment etched on their faces. Each one filed out of the room, their steps heavy with reluctance.
As Celeste moved to follow her crew, walking much like a penguin because of the trousers sticking to her thighs—Egan seemed to block her way. His imposing figure loomed over her, creating a stark contrast that only seemed to intensify their encounter—against her petite frame,. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, bore into the depths of her soul, seeking answers she wasn't ready to divulge.

But Celeste, she was far from being an ordinary damsel in distress. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, mirrored his own determination. Silent yet potent, they emitted a warning, demanding his attention. Every step she took exuded purpose, gracefully navigating the chaos that engulfed her. Even in her disheveled state, her movements retained an air of elegance, captivating all who beheld her. But it was the intense blaze in her gaze that struck him, penetrating deep into his being and leaving an indelible mark on his troubled conscience.

Feeling a mix of awe and trepidation, he instinctively shifted to the side, creating a path for her with a slight bow. As Celeste passed him by, his eyes, magnetically drawn to her retreating figure, absorbed every detail, memorizing the contours of her silhouette. As the bar door swung close, he couldn't help but whisper beneath his breath, "Till we meet again...little lady.." His words, laden with a sense of anticipation, hung in the air, a vow etched into his heart.

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———- ITS FINALLY HERE!!
YOU GUYS BETTER GIVE THIS SOME LOVE!!

I am loving Masters of the air and I've decided to start working on my Band of Brothers and the pacific fics again!!

Next chapter will be up soon!!

Who's ready to see some more spicy Celeste and Egan😈

* Celeste after seeing Jackson
and Arnie doing exactly what she said not to do*