iii.  SO, TWO PILOTS WALK INTO A BAR
MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

————— —————

EAST ANGLIA,
THORPE ABBOTTS

| THE AFTERNOON HAD UNFOLDED WITH A DISTURBING BLEND OF TENSION AND ANTICIPATION; akin to a melodramatic drama playing out on an old-fashioned stage. However, unlike the fictional characters that typically inhabit such narratives, the individuals involved in this particular saga were all too real.

The colonel she meant with was less than enthusiastic to see a woman in charge of anything—let alone the C-47's. Though he was entirely too ill in her opinion to be at the head of such an operation, yet Celeste held her tongue firmly.

He had wasted no time in asserting himself above her status, reminding Celeste of where she stood and emphasizing training would need to he continued. As if that weren't enough, he even suggested that she needed further schooling on mechanics—a comment that stung deeper than she cared to admit.

The fact he knew her father and still acted this way—said a lot. Then again as much as Celeste despised the colonel, both seemed to have a grown distaste for the Major Egan. He annoyed both equally...Yet that didn't help the colonel's reputation in Celeste's case.

It felt like an eternity as she sat there, forced to endure the colonel's condescending banter and thinly veiled insults. She had to remind herself of the greater purpose, the importance of staying focused on the mission at hand. After what seemed like an eternity of this belittling encounter, the colonel finally released her from his grip.

The young officer did not realize how worn out she'd become—the lag from Greenland to England was becoming more and more apparent as she walked. Once approaching her quarters, Celeste became quite acquainted with the room she was designated to. Hiding herself away in the tiny living compartment or that's even if one could call it that.

This tiny room, nestled away from other men's rooms, would become her sanctuary amid the chaos. It was a far cry from the glamorous officer's quarters she had dreamed of as a young recruit, but after countless nights spent restlessly tossing and turning amongst her noisy crew—-this humble abode felt like a haven.

The room itself was a worn-out reflection of Celeste's weary soul. The peeling wallpaper, yellowed with age, held stories of long-forgotten battles fought and won. The threadbare rug, worn thin from the countless footsteps of airmen who had come and gone, whispered secrets of camaraderie and sacrifice. Every inch of the room bore the weight of memories, both joyous and heartbreaking.

Celeste's tired eyes drifted to the bed, its narrow frame offering little comfort after an exhausting flight. But it was not the comfort that drew her gaze; it was the collection of photographs that adorned the bedside table. She had made sure to make the place feel like home before anything—it was only minutes upon entering when she withdrew the frames from her officers chest.

A wave of nostalgia washed over as she slowly got up and walked towards the photographs. One in particular stuck out among the rest—where ten young men stood with her in front.

There she was, down on one knee beside Arnie, clutching a tiger flag as if it were a lifeline. Behind them stood Frankie, his boyish grin lighting up the room, and Jackson, his eyes filled with determination. Robert, Ben, and four others lined up beside each—their expressions a mixture of pride and anticipation. They had been a band of brothers, fearless and resolute—-ready to take on the world.

In that moment frozen in time, they celebrated their first successful mission as a newly-formed squadron. The photograph immortalized their youth, their innocence, and a bond that transcended words. The smiles that graced their faces were pure, unadulterated joy, ignorant of the trials and tribulations that lay ahead.

But Celeste knew. She knew the horrors that awaited them, lurking in the shadows of the battlefield. She knew the sacrifices they would make, the lives they would lose. Her heart ached with the weight of that knowledge, and yet, she was unable to shield them from the harsh realities of war.

With a heavy sigh, Celeste tore her gaze away from the photographs—thoughts drifting to the present. The once vibrant squadron was now but a memory, each of the young men gone, leaving behind only the ghostly remnants of their presence. She and the 5 were the last ones standing, bearing witness to their bravery and determination. It was a burden she carried with pride, but also a burden that had worn her down to the core.

Even turning her sight elsewhere wasn't enough, so Celeste fixed to turn the photo the other way, yet her slender fingers hesitating halfway. Heart yearning for the familiar comfort of her old friends. Surely, the other four boys would have been there, their laughter echoing through the room, hooting her on to join in on the fun.

The memory of their spirited antics tugged at her like an invisible force, urging her to let go of her worries and immerse herself. She passed a side glance over her shoulder, half-expecting to see them there—their mischievous grins pleading her forth.

But the room remained empty, devoid of their lively presence. Celeste sighed, the heaviness of missed opportunities weighing down upon her. She knew well that her absence would be keenly felt. Fidgeting with the pen in her other hand, twirling it over her index finger absentmindedly. The countless doodles she had been scribbling for the past hour seemed suddenly insignificant compared to the memories.

Her emerald eyes wandered, seeking solace in the darkening sky. Its colors shifted from vibrant blue to a fiery orange, a poignant reminder of time slipping away. The offer from Egan, to join them at the pub, had lingered in her mind since he offered it. Part of her longed for the warmth of the company, the raucous laughter and shared stories that always filled their gatherings. Admittedly, Celeste would be lying if she didn't feel some sort of guilt about not going, about letting her arrogance hold her back.

The etchings that whimsically defined the location of the ancient stone walls would have to remain untouched for now, as Celeste reluctantly tore her gaze away. Outside, the windows relentlessly battled against the feeble gusts of wind, showcasing their vulnerability. Sensing the urgency of the moment, Celeste swiftly shut the worn journal, carefully concealing it within the secret confines of a closed drawer.

Against her own reservations, Celeste succumbed to the call of duty and meticulously arranged her obsidian tresses to conform to the strict regulations. Slipping into her distinguished dress uniform, she spared no effort in ensuring every button was fastened flawlessly. The jacket, tailored to perfection, mirrored the resplendent elegance of its male counterpart—-as it gracefully embraced her contours. Nestled on her uniform, her flight wings emanated a radiant shimmer, their silver accents forming a captivating diamond at the very core of their design...

The long walk to the pub was nothing short of adventurous, despite the ominous threat of impending bad weather. Celeste strolled along the narrow cobblestone streets, her senses heightened by the anticipation of what awaited her at the end of this journey. It was as if the very air crackled with excitement, promising an unforgettable evening.

As she reached the entrance of the pub, a wave of noise and commotion greeted her. The establishment appeared shabby and weathered, its rustic charm evident from the peeling paint on the walls and the flickering neon sign that announced its name in fading letters.

The small space was packed to the brim with rowdy RAF and American pilots, their raucous laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the occasional tuneless hum of a drunken sing-along. It seemed as though every corner of the pub was occupied, with only slivers of space between the bodies of the patrons.

Navigating through the chaotic scene, Celeste weaved her way through the sea of people towards the bar. Despite the crowd's unruly nature, she maintained a sense of grace and purpose in her movements. Her gaze wandered, catching sight of a young woman at the bar, effortlessly blending in with the RAF uniform she wore.

Her golden locks shimmered in the dim light, matching the radiance of her perfectly manicured nails and the vibrant hue of her crimson lips. Celeste couldn't help but be captivated by the sight, finding it a stark contrast to the roughness surrounding her.

With a keen eye, Celeste discreetly scanned the crowd, seeking out familiar faces amongst the sea of strangers. It didn't take long for her to locate her companions, their presence unmistakable. However, there was the another—Egan, ever the center of attention. He stood tall in the midst of the boisterous group, his infectious charisma drawing others towards him like moths to a flame. Jackson, on the other hand, seemed to have had one too many drinks, clinging onto Egan for support as they harmonized in a somewhat melodious, yet highly intoxicated, duet.

With a soft grunt of annoyance, Celeste took the empty seat that laid two chairs away from the woman. The bar area was dimly lit, yet still held some lighting. The scent of freshly open liquor lingered in the air. But Celeste continued to watch, her eyes drawn to this woman—her face though, was obscured by a cascade of golden curls.

She hadn't yet seen the woman's face, but her voice was strikingly familiar. It floated through the air like a melodic whisper—full of warmth and familiarity. But with her memory rocketed all over the place, there was no way to pinpoint it. The bustling bar seemed to fade into the background as Celeste tried to unravel who she was.

But it wasn't until the brunette had ordered that the woman paused in her speech and slowly turned around to face her. The atmosphere suddenly grew silent, as if time itself froze. And there, in that suspended moment, it clicked. It was a face she hadn't seen in years, yet recognized without a single doubt.

"Oh my jolly. Is that you? Miss prim and proper?" The blonde exclaimed before sliding herself across the lone chairs. The cigarette she held between her index and middle fingers emitted thin trails of smoke into the air, dissolving into nothingness amidst the lively atmosphere. She looked Celeste up and down, her gaze dancing around the air Corps uniform adorned by her old friend. The shade of olive green with a dashing cap, suited Celeste perfectly.

Celeste's surprise turned into a chuckle, a tad taken back by the unexpected encounter. Upon scanning her face, it suddenly clicked—her old childhood friend from London. Memories flooded in like a torrential rain, washing away the years that had passed between them.

"Ah Rene. I figured that might be you." Celeste greeted her with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia. They quickly exchanged a hug before sitting back down, immersing themselves in the reunion. It had been ages since the two had seen one another, and the stories they had to share seemed boundless.

1930 was the last time Celeste had seen Rene, before both hit puberty and grew up, forging their own paths in life. Rene was much different than her younger self, her features more refined, carrying an air of confidence and maturity. Darkened brows framed her honey-colored eyes, and her rosy cheeks boasted a well-formed glow that spoke of a life well-lived.

"What a fine young woman you have become, Miss prim," Rene remarked, a hint of flirtation in her voice. "You Americans sure know how to put a uniform together. Yours is positively enchanting, enough to make all the old boys in the tavern weak at the knees."

Celeste defiantly shook her head, her expression conveying disbelief. "I highly doubt that," she retorted, her voice laced with skepticism. Before she could finish her sentence, in the midst of Celeste's skepticism, Rene interjected, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. "Unless, of course, there is someone," she teased, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Just as the tension between the two friends began to build, a booming voice reverberated across the room, shattering the moment. It was Egan, once again making a spectacle of himself. As his energetic performance unfolded, it became evident that his target of attention was the young bartender, who appeared utterly infatuated with him.

Celeste couldn't help but tear her gaze away from the exchange between Rene and herself, her attention captivated by Egan's antics. She wore a dismissive look of distain upon her features—unable to contain her amusement. Taking another drag of her cigarette, Rene couldn't resist the temptation to tease her friend further. "So, what do you think of the major?" she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Snorting dismissively, Celeste responded as if she had been mocked by Rene's words. "Him? Please," she scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. Rolling her eyes, Rene gently slapped Celeste against the shoulder, feigning an offended expression. "What? He's quite handsome if I do say so myself."

However, Celeste was quick to counter, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, please. You think anything with a mustache and some moves is handsome." Her words were punctuated by a playful smirk, challenging Rene's opinion.

The banter between the two friends continued, their laughter filling the air as they poked fun at each other. In that moment, their friendship felt unbreakable. And even though they held opposing views on Egan's charm, it only strengthened the bond they shared.

Rene raised an eyebrow, looking at Celeste with a knowing smile. "Well... I mean, what about you? Miss 'stealing glances over there'?" Her gaze instinctively darted towards Egan before returning to Rene. Celeste feigned nonchalance, taking a quick sip from her drink. "Me? No, never in this lifetime," she assured, trying to brush off the suggestion. "He is all yours."

But Rene winked and leaned in closer, her voice lowering suggestively. "Well, you know, I do like my men with a high rank." The sentence lingered in the air, filled with playful innuendo, as their laughter blended with the lively music and chatter around them.

As Celeste and Rene engaged in conversation, sharing laughter and animated gestures, they were suddenly interrupted by the swift approach of an older gentleman. His footsteps thundered with anger and frustration, causing Celeste, with her well-honed ability to detect incoming disturbances, to tilt her gaze skyward. And there he was, swiftly closing in on them.

The gentleman possessed the unmistakable marks of time etched upon his forehead, a testament to the countless years he had witnessed. His slightly tattered clothing and the proud tilt of his hat hinted at a life lived on the fringes, amidst the turbulent winds of fate. As he drew nearer, a mischievous smile danced upon his lips, his eyes sparkling with an undeniable curiosity. "Hello, my lovely lady," he greeted Rene with a warm vigor, extending his hand.

Rene, ever the polite companion, reciprocated his handshake with a gentle smile. Yet, as the gentleman turned to face Celeste, a shadow darkened his expression, animosity swirling within his gaze. His eyes traveled up and down Celeste's form, his features contorting with a palpable disgust. Although Celeste had grown accustomed to receiving indifference from people, this encounter felt different, an encounter that resonated with a malevolence unspoken.

With a grumble, the gentleman uttered words tainted with disdain, his voice tainted with the weight of societal expectations. "Women should not be wearing pants in this establishment," he muttered, his tone dripping with scorn and archaic beliefs.

Celeste stood tall, her spine refusing to bow in the face of such unjust criticisms. She took a measured breath, steadying herself in the face of this unjust judgment. The wretched words, though a familiar refrain, were still like arrows aimed at her spirit. Yet, this time, she would not allow them to penetrate her armor. Instead, she met the gentleman's gaze with unwavering resolve.

Gently but firmly, Celeste responded, her voice laced with dignity and self-assurance. "Sir, times are changing. The world moves forward, embracing diversity and allowing individuals to express themselves freely, without the constraints of gender norms. It is not for you to dictate what women should or shouldn't wear."

"Well that may be young lady, but here women are not allowed in this bar if they are wearing pants." His disdain oozed like a poison, infecting the very air they breathed.
Celeste was no stranger to ignorance and prejudice, it had been there from the very moment she started boot camp. Yet, she stood her ground. With a defiant flicker in her eyes, she refused to let his baseless opinions dampen her spirit. She had fought battles much tougher than this, and she wouldn't let this man's venom penetrate her soul. Her eyes glanced around the room—searching for anything.

"Now where does it express that women can't wear pants here?"She added, her lips slightly curved into a smirk. Timothy with a discernible distaste for the female pilot, continued his relentless banter. His voice dripped with authority as he asserted, "I couldn't care less if it isn't explicitly documented, it's a rule that I personally enforce."

Undeterred, Celeste stood her ground, matching his energy and determination. Her vibrant emerald eyes, filled with righteous indignation, pierced through his bloodshot gaze. She calmly retorted, "Rules are most effectively followed when they are clearly defined in a book or displayed for all to see."

The confrontation escalated rapidly, far beyond what anyone had anticipated. Celeste's unexpected height, equal to his own, only added to the intensity of the moment. Enraged and feeling cornered, Timothy lashed out, threatening to involve the police. His words filled with venom, he spat, "You are nothing more than filth, a blight on this generation."

As if to enforce his distain, Timothy aggressively jabbed his finger into Celeste's right shoulder, applying a force that caused her to stagger back slightly. The pain radiated through her body, but she refused to let it break her spirit. Celeste returned to her composure, her fists clenched to where her knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, a shrill cry cut through the tension, breaking the spell of the escalating argument. Rene leapt to her defense— unwavering determination, she stepped forward and firmly grabbed Timothy's arm—pulling him away from Celeste. "Do not touch me!" She yelled, " I am an officer of the Women's Army Air Corps." His face does not appear to cha be any different than just anger at her words. " My father is Colonel James Jefferson, He will have an issue with this."

By this point, the commotion had attracted the attention of the entire surrounding crowd of airmen and civilians. The echoes of their heated argument reverberated across the lot, creating a spectacle witnessed by all. "Who cares what your father is... he should know better than to let his daughter prance around like this."

Celeste scoffed loudly, her jaw slightly agape in disbelief at the audacity of this older man. The slight curl in her lip betrayed her irritation as she regarded him with a mix of contempt and amusement. "You should be the last person to lecture others about rules when you've just touched a woman."

Timothy, infuriated by Celeste's comment, jerked his arm away from Rene's grip and took a step forward. His face flushed with anger, he bellowed, "I can do whatever I please, and what I want right now is for you to get the hell out of here!" He stomped his foot hard on the aged wooden floor—his frustration reverberating throughout the room.

Across the room, Egan and Jackson, captivated by the growing commotion, couldn't help but smirk at the spectacle unfolding before them. Egan, swaying to the music as he danced with the young bartender—subtly turned his head to catch a glimpse of the target of Timothy's rage. Never did he expect it to be Celeste—standing defiantly with her fist clenched, gaze unwavering.

As the older gentleman raised his voice once more, Egan's nostrils flared outward, where adrenaline coursed through his veins; mainly from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed that evening. Unable to tolerate any physical altercation, the major swiftly stepped forward, his movements purposeful and determined.

In a swift motion, Egan grabbed the older man's wrist, his grip tight and unyielding. Timothy yelped in pain as he turned to face his assailant, where surprise now etched on his face. Upon recognizing the imposing figure of the young major—he pleaded for his wrist to be released.

Egan cocked a slight brow before Releasing his grip on the wrist— exchanging a knowing look with Celeste where a silent understanding passing between them. Then, with a stern expression, he turned his attention back to the old man. "What is the problem here?" The major's voice exuded a calm authority, demanding an explanation.

The older man, taken aback by Egan's presence and unwavering demeanor, stuttered over his words, his voice losing its initial fervor. "She's..." He hesitated, struggling to articulate his thoughts. Egan leaned forward slightly, a hint of impatience in his eyes, urging the man to continue.

"Come on, man, spit it out," Egan pressed, his tone slightly more assertive. The older man pointed a weathered finger at Celeste, his voice laced with disapproval. "She's wearing pants, and we don't allow that here," he declared defiantly.

Egan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a mixture of disbelief and amusement crossing his face. He exchanged a bemused glance with Celeste, disbelief etched on both their faces. Stepping closer to the older man, Egan spoke with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "So, you're causing this ruckus because she's wearing pants? Is that really the issue here?"

The older man shifted uncomfortably, clearly caught off guard by Egan's response. He mumbled incomprehensibly, unable to justify his irrational objection. Egan sighed and turned to Celeste, a lopsided grin on his face. "Well, Miss Jefferson, it seems we've stumbled upon a fashion police at this fine establishment." He then turns to Timothy, " She has every right to be here as us airmen do." The old man's wrinkles deepened as he mumbled incomprehensibly, unable to justify his irrational objection.

Egan sighed heavily, his breath heavy with a mix of exasperation and amusement. He turned towards her, for once in her life, Celeste experienced a fleeting tinge of euphoria that danced through her veins upon hearing Egan's words.

It was a rare moment of validation that she swiftly attempted to dismiss, reluctant to allow herself to embrace the happiness that threatened to engulf her. However, before she could completely shake off this unfamiliar sensation, Timothy grunted loudly, his face contorted with anger as he moved swiftly towards Celeste.

"There are rules!" Timothy exclaimed with a hint of menace in his voice, his frustration palpable. Like a protector swooping in, Egan swiftly stepped in front of Celeste, his piercing gaze fixed on Timothy. With a defiant point of his finger, Egan began, "No need to get aggressive, my friend. Especially for such a short little man... shorty."

Timothy staggered backward, unintentionally bumping into Arnie and Jackson, who wore distinctly quizzical looks on their faces. They both exchanged glances, silently communicating their disbelief at the situation unfolding before them. Gesturing towards the exit, they wordlessly urged Timothy to leave.

As Timothy reluctantly made his way towards the door, he shot one last cutting glare at Celeste, his voice dripping with a menacing tone. "This is not over," he grumbled before slamming the door behind him, leaving the room filled with a palpable tension that seemed to linger in the air.

The room slowly came alive with the sound of music and lively chatter, as glasses clinked and the floor creaked from the rhythm of dancing feet. Rene and Celeste returned to their seats, their energy still evident. It wasn't long before Egan joined them, his presence commanding attention.

"Well hello, ladies," Egan greeted them, flashing a toothy grin that Celeste knew could charm even the toughest of souls. Rene quickly fell into his trap, her honey-colored eyes tracing the contours of his wings. She extended her hand, and Egan smoothly accepted it, placing a subtle kiss upon her delicate skin. Their eyes met, a silent language of flirtation passing between them. This little dance of seduction caught Celeste's attention, her brow raised in both curiosity and skepticism.

Both Rene and Egan turned their gaze towards her. Determined not to succumb to the same snare, Celeste, too, extended her hand forward. Egan, elated at the thought of repeating the gesture, eagerly reached out to accept her hand, a gleeful anticipation plastered across his face.

However, Celeste had no intention of allowing him to shower her with hollow pleasantries. Instead, she seized his hand, holding it firmly in an upright position, denying him the opportunity to kiss it. She then shook his hand with a strength that conveyed her refusal to be ensnared.

" Thank you, for getting to him bugger off," Rene exclaimed with a flirtatious glimmer in her eyes. Egan acknowledged her gratitude with a nod, his eyes then shifting towards Celeste, hoping for a similar show of appreciation. However, Celeste simply blinked absentmindedly, refusing to play into his expectations.

"She'll never express her gratitude," Rene interjected, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Indeed," Celeste responded dryly. "Major Egan is such a smooth talker that he can even smooth talk a drink right into your lap."

Egan nodded in agreement, his mischievous smile never leaving his face. "That was entirely my fault, and I did apologize profusely," he admitted, embracing his reputation for being both charming and occasionally clumsy.

Rene looks to Celeste, " Well do you think he can smooth talk more drinks into our glasses?" She spoke, lifting her glass towards him. By this time, the young bartender he had been dancing with, was kin making her presence known.

"No, he has a bet to win now." She added, making sure to place her hand upon his chest. Her eyes then flickered to Celeste, an expression of jealously reminiscent in her features.

"Oh yea that's right. we're going to play darts with good ole Tommy boy over there." Egan points towards the younger boy—one Celeste had noticed before. A very simple and kind fellow. "Ooo darts. I love a good game." Rene added, before putting out her cigarette. Celeste sighed heavily, " Well if it means watching you get your eye taken out. I guess I'm in."

Celeste strode closely behind Rene, her curiosity piqued by the bustling atmosphere that enveloped the room. The air was thick with anticipation and the clinking of glasses echoed through the crowded tavern. She marveled at the sight of patrons gathering. It was no secret that Tommy, an unassuming figure with a quiet demeanor, possessed an unrivaled skill in the art of darts.

He had proven time and again that he could effortlessly surpass any challenger who dared to step into the ring with him. It was this reputation that coerced most spectators to forego participating in the competition and instead satiated their excitement by placing desperate bets.

Of course, on his usual fashion, he made a strong comment towards the Irish—but it good taste. Egan swaggered towards the bar with an air of confidence. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he boisterously called upon Jack, the barkeep, to showcase his aim. "Jack! Toss an apple my way," Egan bellowed, his voice echoing through the room like thunder.

As the apple arced gracefully towards Egan, he snatched it from the air with the precision of a seasoned marksman. Now positioned center stage, he prepared to make his grand proclamation. "Tommy here, is the best damn dart slinger in the whole of East Anglia." announcing with proud stumps upon the floor.

Although Celeste raised an eyebrow in silent disapproval, her grip tightened around her glass, firmly holding it in both hands before her. She exchanged a knowing glance with Rene, who merely scoffed at the audacity of Egan's grand claims. Tommy, a man whose shy demeanor stood in stark contrast to his extraordinary talent, seemed unaware of the attention that had befallen him. While others saw him as an eccentric figure, Egan saw something different.

Egan, never one to miss an opportunity for a grand wager, turned his attention to a hefty gentleman positioned nearby. ""Now, if he wins this. I get both bikes." He proposed, his eyes locked with his opponent's. The man grumbled in reluctant agreement, his hopes secretly yearning for Egan to be bested. " Yeah, alright you're on Yank."

"Both." The major presses forth once more—to which the man acknowledges. Egan, whilst passing a glance towards Celeste, leans towards the young bartender, " And I get a kiss." The woman merely smiles in agreement to his negotiating.

Yet Celeste finds it unfortunate, a rather unpleasant arrangement. Jackson and the gang had finally took their normal positions beside her. They had all indulged a bit too much, and now Celeste was forced to endure their drunken antics. As she observed the group, a mischievous thought sparked in her mind.

The mention of bikes piqued her interest - an efficient and enjoyable mode of transportation, unlike the jeeps or the tiresome act of walking. She bit her lower lip gently, mulling over her plan.

With a gentle grip on the back of Tommy's head, he cautioned the young lad. " Alright Tommy not my eyes, not my eyes. All right? Tommy." Egan whispered, his voice laced with concern. The young lad paused for a moment, meeting Egan's gaze before offering a swift nod of assurance.

Egan extended his arms, feeling the tension in his muscles, emitting a low, primal grunt that resonated throughout the room. With one hand partially covering his eyes, he nonchalantly balanced an apple on his brunet hair. Celeste couldn't help but smirk, doubting that such a feeble attempt would protect his eyes. But before the dart-throwing game commenced, Egan cunningly pointed at Celeste, " And you, no partying if I lose an eye."

Without much concern, the young brunette shrugged her shoulders, secretly relishing the thought of witnessing such a day. Exhausted with the situation, Egan barked loudly, signaling Tommy to begin the game. "Alright, whenever you're ready!" he declared before fully concealing his eyes.

With an air of confidence, Tommy set his sights on the dartboard. The room fell into a tense silence as the dart left his fingertips. It soared through the air, its trajectory uncertain. And then, with a satisfying thud, the dart embedded itself precisely in the center of the board. The gang erupted in cheers, congratulating Tommy on his impressive aim.

Whilst the ex owner of the two bikes grumbles, " I just lost two bikes Tommy! What's wrong with ya!"

Egan's excitement filled the room, causing a contagious wave of enthusiasm to sweep through the crowd. The cheers were so loud that they echoed off the walls, creating a broken chorus of jubilation. Even Jackson and Arnie, who were usually reserved, couldn't help but join in the merriment. However, amidst the commotion, Celeste couldn't help but feel exasperated by their lackluster performances, yearning to bring an end to the chaotic celebration.

Just as Egan finished applauding Tommy, Celeste abruptly blurted out, capturing everyone's attention. All eyes shifted towards her as she passed an empty glass to Robert, taking a few calculated steps towards the towering figure of Major. A sly smirk played across her lips as she began to speak once more, her voice dripping with intrigue. "I say, let there be another game. More fun awaits us," she provocatively proclaimed, her gaze fixed on a young woman whose surprise and jealousy were palpable.

Raising a curious eyebrow, Egan tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, is this a challenge from the Miss little lady.?" he queried, slowly closing the distance between them. Their proximity brought Celeste within range of experiencing the alcohol-laced breath escaping Egan's lips. Though his tone was lighthearted, she detected a hint of defiance that didn't sit well with her. Nevertheless, she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated.

Yes, I am challenging you. It seems only fair," Celeste responded, her voice steady despite her brewing frustration. Pausing, she observed as Egan's features contorted through a range of expressions, a carousel of emotions reflected in his eyes.

"Ah, interesting," Egan chuckled, his amusement escaping through his voice. "If I win, I shall claim one of those prized bikes. It seems I could use one," he proposed, his eyes never leaving Celeste's intense gaze. Before she could respond, Egan's mischievous nature took hold as he playfully booped the tip of her nose with his finger.

Celeste furrowed her brows in a mix of confusion and disgust, repulsed yet somehow captivated by Egan's audacity. The bystanders watched, their anticipation reaching a fever pitch, eager to witness the outcome of this unexpected challenge.

Summoning her resolve, Celeste muttered through clenched teeth, "Fine." The word hung in the air, heavy with determination and a fierce yet subtle competitiveness. Egan's laughter filled the room, reverberating like a child who had successfully stolen candy without being caught. Returning to his original position, he jogged back, fueled by the pursuit of yet another victory.

"Now, Tommy," she said, her voice gentle and comforting, as she placed a warm hand upon his shoulder, "I want you to win this beautiful bike for me." Her whisper, like a soft breeze, brushed against his ear, as her gaze locked onto Egan, who stood nearby. A pang of jealousy flickered in his eyes, his sturdy features momentarily freezing in place.

Her words, dripping with sweetness, were like liquid honey, tempting and alluring, capable of swaying any heart. And Tommy, oh how his heart soared with euphoria, his excitement spilling over like a bubbling fountain. In that moment, he could think of no one else but her.

Celeste, fully aware that she had achieved her desired effect, slowly withdrew her hand, a smug satisfaction etching itself upon her face. She reveled in her victory, relishing in the power she held over Egan now.

With a deep breath, Tommy steadied himself, determination shining in his eyes. He took aim and launched the dart forward, its slender body slicing through the air with precision, landing perfectly next to the prior one. Egan let out a loud groan, his face contorted with frustration, as he flung the apple to the floor in defeat.

Celeste turned her attention to her boys, a triumphant smile curving her lips. "Looks like I've got myself a new champion and a new bike, boys," she declared, her voice filled with pride and satisfaction. And Egan, reached his hand for a shake of which she gravely accepted—"better luck nice time Bucky..." Egan was quite surprised at her using his nickname, " Oh really now."

But he was unable to contain his surprise as she smiled in return, "Hey, you're smiling, I never thought I'd see the day." A mixture of awe and disbelief colored his words, as he watched a rare, genuine curve blossom upon her lips..... Celeste merely rolled her eyes, "Tell me when you are  leaving so I can get my bike..." she whispered, before taking her seat beside Rene once more.

An hour passed before the brunette noticed the bar was oddly quiet and the reason for that, well Egan had slipped out at some point. This quite annoyed her, knowing he was suppose to tell her when he was leaving so she could get her bike.

Now a new challenge began when Celeste attempted to reclaim her newly won bike from the Major, only to discover that he had absconded with the young bartender once the contest concluded. Determined to retrieve what was rightfully hers, Celeste set out to track down the Major, unfazed by the role she played in interrupting his plans.

With a casual air, one hand nonchalantly tucked in her trousers pocket while the other deftly grasped a small pebble from the ground, Celeste took aim using her middle finger as a slingshot and her thumb as the propelling force.

With remarkable precision, the pebble struck the side of the Major's head, prompting him to reel back in surprise—before promptly clutching his temple in pain. It required another well-aimed one to capture his full attention though. There Lil awkwardly removed herself out from under him. The young bartender patted her dress down, glaring away at the chief leader that stood before her.

"You were interrupting something..." Lil finally spoke, her voice slightly raised in utter annoyance. She had spent forever trying to win the major over—adding in extra beers, free kisses, waiting for him to return from a flight to finally get to this opportunity—only for this female pilot to come along.

Celeste merely crossed her arms upon her chest, allowing a loud sigh to escape her lips—" Please there will be plenty of other opportunities..." Both women then stared another down as if the other was waiting to pounce. Egan drunkly  moved to take Lil by the arm, trying to calm her rage within.

That's when it clicked within Celeste way the young bartender had been upset with her. With a slight scoff, she assured the young woman she had no intention on setting attention to the major. But Egan had something to say about that statement of course, opening that big mouth of his once more. " Oh really now. I take that as an insult..." he chuckled before stumbling down to the ground. But Lil wasn't laughing, instead she gritted her jaw—clenching her fists tightly before wrenching herself free of Egan's grasp.

She marched off with a huff, leaving Celeste and Egan alone in the alley. With him yearning for her companionship—reaching his hand out as if to grasp Lil. As the major struggled to regain his balance to follow in pursuit, in Savoring the moment, a mischievous smirk danced on Celeste's lips.

"I suppose I'll take that as another smile ," Egan quipped, now turning his direction towards her. "Let's cut the pleasantries. My bike, please," Celeste retorted. The major merely groaned in frustration, before slowly gesturing towards the prized possession leaned against a nearby wall. "Much obliged," she sarcastically remarked before departing, leaving the Major to ponder his actions as the rain commenced its descent. "Wonderful..."

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AUTHOR NOTE
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——HERE WE GOOO
THIS CHAP IS FINALLY HERE !!!
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WHAT DID WE THINK ABOUT THIS CHAPTER??!!!!

Also, the pants situation. It really did happen during ww2-a lot of places didn't allow women in if they were wearing pants .

Also now Egan knows her father's name 👀 what will he do now???