v. EYES DON'T LIE

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA
MASTERS OF THE AIR

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THORPE ABBOTS
EAST ANGLIA,
JUNE 25TH-27TH 1943

| THE SYMPHONY OF WAR ECHOED THROUGH THE SKIES WHILST ITS GHASTLY TALONS OF DEATH threatened to reach beyond the boundaries of reality—casting a sinister shadow over the hearts of airmen. The date was June 25th, a day draped in uncertainty and dread. The 100th squadron, under the leadership of Major Cleven, had only just acclimatized to their new surroundings a mere 3 days ago.

Whilst their rigorous training back home had honed their skills for combat, nothing could have prepared them for the harrowing events that awaited in the sky. For many young airmen, this marked their first mission and possibly their last.

Celeste, fraught with anxiety, observed the ominous morning sky as the mission drew near. Jackson, now reassigned to fly in Cleven's aircraft, added an extra layer of concern for her. She traced a trembling finger over the date on the calendar, her heart racing in trepidation. "It'll be just like every other time," she whispered to herself, attempting to quell her rising panic.

But deep down, she knew this mission was different. She wouldn't be by Jackson's side, safeguarding him against his impulsive decisions. While the Bostonian possessed street smarts, his lack of aerial smarts always posed a danger.

Now, Celeste had to place her trust in Major Cleven to ensure Jackson's safe return—along with the rest of the squadron. In the brief encounters she'd had with the commanding officer, she found solace in his presence. His voice carried a reassuring warmth that had always comforted her soul. However, when the group returned—she detected a rare flicker of fear in the young major's eyes. In all her years of flying, Celeste knew that look all too well.

But because of the mission's unsatisfactory performance, it was deemed best to push her B-17 training till June 27th. Most of the men that returned were locked in a dreary lack of confidence with none of the planes ever dropping a single bomb—Bremen had taken out 30 men and 3 planes in a matter of minutes. But against all the odds, Jackson had made it back in one piece, as did Yankee.

June 27th came just as fast as the 25th had. And Celeste saw it fit to be at the air base early—meeting with lemmons to put her mechanic training to good use on the damaged Bombers. As she worked away, with the young corporal beside her, he felt it necessary to tell her that Major Egan was already at the base. Even before the sun kissed the night away.

Drinking, of course, it was his favorite pastime beside being a womanizer. But this time, it wasn't to party..but to raise drinks towards the loss of the three crews. With an exaggerated sigh, Celeste wrenched the last nut free—before carelessly tossing it in the bin.

Emerging out of the dark compartment, her sight flickered across the air strip to the C-47 resting in its compound. It hadn't moved since they had arrived and she was itching to get back in.

Lemmons decided to call it a morning on Celeste as he and his crew would finish in the repair efforts. So in need of some respite, Celeste made her way towards the bomber designated for their training. Practically the only one that seem to escape somewhat unscathed.

However, her attention was diverted by the sight of her bicycle still propped against the stack of empty crates—a subtle ah escaping her lips. The incident from before hadn't left her mind, recalling using Egan's bicycle instead. In due time, she'd give it back to him.

With a casual shrug, Celeste settled down, grappling with the weight of her gear as she leaned herself against the sturdy tire. Finishing with an exhausted hmmf, she fished out a small journal from her pocket, flipping through its pages until she reached a specific part. There, amidst her clumsily drawn sketches formed a map. Her finger traced the lines, her mind diligently checking for accuracy.

Meanwhile, Major Egan, attired in his military uniform, emerged from the shadows cast by another B-17. His movements betraying a hint of sluggishness—-his unruly brunette locks peeking out from beneath his slightly askew cap. Grasping a sheepskin jacket from the driver's seat of the jeep, he struggled to don the garment—a comical dance ensuing as he wrestled with the sleeves.

"Gosh damn it," he muttered under his breath, before ultimately winning the battle. Catching a glimpse in the side mirror, he quickly adjusted his tie with a yawn. And with that, he decided to expel all the night demons away with a sudden shake of his head. Producing an unexpected gabble sound—prompting a chuckle from the nearby mechanics. Though Unfazed, the Major slid on his aviator glasses with a flourish before turning his attention towards the plane awaiting him.

However, his progress halted as his gaze fell upon a figure seated by the tire. Intrigued yet cautious, Egan approached with deliberate steps—attempting to muffle his advance. Thoughts of reprimand faded when he recognized the familiar silhouette—Jefferson.

Lost in the pages of a journal, Celeste remained unaware of the Major's approach—her focus solely on the intricate drawings within the worn pages. He hesitated a moment, marveling the way the wind teased loose strands from her tightly pinned braids— coercing a dance across her pale skin. Taking note of the subtle twitch of her nose as she concentrated.

Softening at the sight, the Major lingered in the background, content to watch Celeste in her element. But his boisterousness ego got a hold of him. "You know, having that might get people thinking you were spying on us." Egan jovially quipped, propping himself casually against the sleek engine one.

Celeste let out a derisive snort and lifted her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. "Oh really? And who, pray tell, would dare to make such an accusation?" she retorted, a hint of sarcasm lacing her voice. After her comment, she closed the leather-bound journal with a resounding thud.

As she rose to her full height, Celeste shot him a skeptical glance— eyes narrowing slightly. Egan played arrogance in his demeanor, adjusted his aviator glasses with a flick of his wrist—a sly smile playing on his lips. "Maybe I would." His whole demeanor was laced with a touch of challenge as he held her gaze—-the machinations in his mind hidden behind the mirrored lenses.

Celeste, undeterred, closed the gap between them, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Is that so?" She countered, a touch of cockiness evident. "You might get yourself shot if you sneak up on people like that."

"Ohhhh..." a playful glint held in his eye as he pretended to consult his wristwatch. " I might reconsider... on one condition," he teased. Celeste, intrigued by his proposition, raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "And what condition might that be?"

Egan, now standing up straight with a sense of authority—cleared his throat subtly before speaking. "Unless, you are wanna to tell me your first name." Celeste held a line for lips—-knowing he wasn't go to let this go. Having caught on to on his playful tactics way before, she was more than willing to shoot it right back at him, "Certainly."

Egan found himself momentarily stunned by her abrupt acquiescence—though the sharpness of his intellect was momentarily eclipsed by the radiance of her smile—catching him off guard yet again. Without missing a beat, he leaned towards her with anticipation—-his thoughts already racing to spell out her elusive name.

"I must say, I wasn't anticipating such a swift change of heart," Egan remarked, his curiosity palpable in his voice. Inside, he was fighting to hard back the urges he held.
" It is P..."but her expression turns more serious as she levels a stern gaze at him. " Pe...rhaps I shall remind you that I'm here to train you on etiquette. On that basis, we do no not recklessly share our first names in this war. As a major, I presumed you would know this."

Egan slowly straightening himself up, clicking his tongue upon the roof of his mouth. She was playing against him in every possible manner and it only fueling the fire, the cravings. But perhaps, there was another reason as to why.

Admist this, the crew started arriving, one by one hopping out of the jeep— thanks to the help of Corp. Nathan driving them. Approaching the fortress, each groaning in tired annoyance—with parachutes and life jackets strongly secured.

The tension Celeste and Egan crackled in the air, a silent battle of wits playing out. The major berated himself internally for falling into Celeste's subtle snare once more. "Come on, what's in there?" he prodded, the sound of his gum chewing punctuating his words. Celeste methodically tucked the small journal away in her right pocket— gaze never leaving his. "It's none of your concern."

Before Celeste could fully assert, the interjection of the Midwestern disrupted the fragile balance. "That's where she keeps all her spicy stash," he quipped, poking himself into the conversation. Celeste's eyes narrowed in defiance. "No, it's not!" In a playful move, she lightly punched the man's arm—eliciting a mock cry for help.

"Alright, enough." Arnie remarked, playfully nudging them forward—guiding them towards the opening. Robert wasted no time and was the first to enter, with the 2nd lieutenant following behind.

Celeste, feeling a rush of impatience as Arnie dawdled in
front of her, gently urged him forward. " Bus boy, please move yourself." She nudged him in a playful yet insistent manner. Arnie merely replied, "Yes, princess..." before disappearing into the plane.

The metal exterior of the bomber proved to be treacherously slippery from the morning dew that clung to it. After all, England wasn't exactly known for being sunny and dry. It seems nothing had changed since being there all those years ago.

Each placement felt like a lesson in coordination, reminiscent of a child learning to walk—carefully getting one foot up after the other. Celeste found herself stumbling, her footing betraying her at every stretch. The unconventional method of hoisting herself into the B-17 aircraft had taken a toll on her core muscles—leaving her sides aching from the exertion. Manifesting as muttered curses under her breath as she prepared to make another attempt.

It was a work out in itself—not quite like what she had witness in bootcamp, but fairly similar. But her foot lost traction once more upon the slippery surface—her hands instinctively tightened around the exterior. Falling out of these would have definitely caused a brain injury or at the most, back pain. Which meant, she'd be put out of service.

Celeste experienced the sensation of defying gravity as the weightlessness enveloped her body, pulling her back to the ground. Suddenly, she felt a pair of hands make a gentle landing on her back. Startled, she turned around swiftly, half-expecting to find Egan, only to be met with a sight that surprised her - 1st Lieutenant Jackson.

"Your prince charming has arrived," He chuckled, offering a push to help her onto the plane. Inside, as the curious boys marveled at the sight of the B-17, Celeste paid no heed to their excitement—her focus solely on the lieutenant. "What brings you here?" she inquired, a hint of curiosity reflecting on her brow.

Fresh from his mission over Bremen, Jackson's timely presence was puzzling yet oddly comforting. Nonchalantly, the Bostonian shrugged before casually leaning against the plane. "Frankly, I couldn't pass up the chance to witness your training in action," he remarked teasingly.

Celeste shot him a quizzical expression before rolling her eyes theatrically. "Oh, spare me,"—before immersing herself fully into the plane. But as Jackson entered then turning to close the hatch, only to bump into the major. The Bostonian, though taken a back, only flickered him a sheepish smile as Egan made to move past him.

Now face to face, Egan managed a smirk, " Hello there buddy." Jackson, unsure of what to do, swallow the bile forming in his throat, " hi sir." Egan was surely different when sober than drunk. One minute both were buddy, buddy and now Egan maintain that look once again. Oh, yeah... he still held a grudge against the young 1st lieutenant.

"You're lucky to have been on Cleven's ship..." was all Egan muttered before flashing him a wink. Walking up the small compartments, Celeste twisted herself sideways to enter the cockpit—with Egan following in suit. It had been 5 months since her last flight in the B-17—her eyes danced across the array of instruments then to the individual buttons upon the center console. Carefully, she moved herself onto the left—seating down with a loud thud. Wearing all that flight gear surely took it out of her.

In the confines of the bomber cockpit, Egan eased himself into the co-pilot seat with an almost reverent care. As he settled, a robust belch erupted from him—reverberating against the metallic walls. The sound cut through the tension like a knife, causing Celeste to instinctively grimace.

She perched herself loftily to one side, her posture exuding a sense of precision and discipline in stark contrast to Egan's nonchalant demeanor. Egan wore his cap at a jaunty angle, the sheepskin jacket draped haphazardly over his broad shoulders, creating a rather lumpy silhouette.

Fingers dancing over the switches in front of him, he barely had a moment to begin his pre-flight checks before a sharp exhale interrupted his motions.

Casting a sideways glance, catching the brunette's unrelenting scrutiny, Egan felt a wave of reproach crashing against him. "Just because Colonel Huglin is no longer in command of us, does not serve as an excuse for you to cling to your old ways," Celeste admonished—her words were like a whip crack in the confined space of the cockpit.

Authoritative yet tinged with a weariness born of repeated disappointments. Without pause, her fingers danced over the array of switches at her station—-a ballet of precision and speed. "Now, with that being said...pull yourself together.. Adjust that cap, and for heaven's sake, fix that damn jacket of yours." Her directives left no room for negotiation. "You're training me and I'm training you per Col. Huglin's instructions."

Unlike her demeanor towards him, Egan was quick to  submit to her commands. He slowly realigned his cap with the once complacent slouch in his posture straightened into a rigid stance—his uniform willingly conforming to the standards expected of him. As the last crease was smoothed from his jacket, he passed a glance in her direction. " You know Cleven hates this jacket. Not exactly sure why."

Celeste slowly shifted her sight to him, her lips forming a slight grimace, " I mean.. it seems like you sleep in that jacket. So I do not blame him." Stifling a laugh as she reached for the paper of flight checks.

Jackson then slammed the hatch shut, focusing all attention to him. "Oh hey! Look who it is." Arnie exclaimed, giving him a hearty shake before embracing for a hug. Joyous laughter erupted from the others as they congratulated him on the first mission over Europe.

Arnie and Jackson engaged in a playful sparring session, throwing phantom punches at each other with swift precision. Their movements were accompanied by exaggerated grunts and dodges—creating a lively spectacle. 

Upon hearing the commotion Celeste, though preoccupied with pre—flight checks, sighed lightly. Upon Placing the paperwork in the nook beside, "alright boys, knock it off." She mumbled, words laced with a touch of maternal reproach.

Arnie and Jackson, with synchronized obedience, responded, " Yes ma-mom." "Don't make me come back there and give you a proper mom whomping." She snapped back, with both men started snickering under their breath—before Robert joined in. " Yeah Jackson, thinking you the big shot now."

Celeste started shaking her head side to side, like a mom in disappointment in her kids. Egan couldn't help but chuckle at the antics—glancing over to her where a fate smile dare to tug at her lips. It was only a few rare moments where a one graced her lips.

"Alright guys." Egan noted before readying the duty clipboard, " Jackson, you are the right gunner. Arnie, you typically would be the co-pilot but that's my duty today, so you'll be left gunner." Arnie groaned loudly before he switched places with Jackson.

"Okay, Robert you are top gunner and Frankie you are acting as bombardier with Benny as navigator." With duties listed off, all took to their respective positions. Celeste methodically affixed the handset to her cap— deftly readjusting the muffs to fully cover her ears.

With one click, the B-17 came to life, various instruments on the panels sparkled into action—their illuminated displays casting an ethereal glow in the cockpit. Celeste seat by attentively, squinting her eyes—trying to block out the immense strength of the light. The first engine hummed to life, belching out a billow of smoke before gradually reaching its full rotational rhythm.

The second engine dutifully followed suit, its growl blending seamlessly with the symphony of mechanical vigor resonating throughout the aircraft. In harmonious unison, all four engines roared—their combined power resonating through the morning air.

Celeste stood poised at the aircraft's controls as the plane taxied along the runway. Moving her hand to a white scarf that peeked out—taking out an end of it. Egan then the movement, watching as Celeste tenderly pressed a kiss onto the pristine fabric.

In a moment of quiet contemplation, the brunette closed her eyes and murmured cryptic words under her breath—the cadence reminiscent of a distant culture. With a swift motion, she tucked the scarf back into her jacket, demeanor returned to composed and focused.

But Egan observed her in silence, his hands resting firmly on the steering wheel. As the clearance came through from the control tower, both fixed their gaze ahead—preparing to pilot the bomber into the sky. Egan, began to offer suggestions, only to be met with a firm dismissal from Celeste. She reminded him of her extensive training, emphasizing that she was more than capable of handling the training.

The bomber had taken to the air quite smoothly—it was just slightly least robust than the C-47. Whilst airborne, Egan groggily whipped out the clipboard beside him once more—studying the map intently.

"Now make sure to maintain air speed. Look at the gauge here." He interjected, pointing his finger in the direction of the instrument panel. Celeste merely huffed in frustration, she knew where it was. After a few minutes, the major then commanded her make a sharp left turn, mainly to see how quickly she reacted.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Celeste and Egan's bodies unknowingly swayed along with the plane—its wings vibrating against the wind. Upon straightening out, Egan ordered for the bomb bay doors to be opened then closed.

But that's when Celeste and Egan's tension reached its peak. As she rounded out yet another turn, Egan, with a glint in his eyes, disrupted the flow. "Hey, 1st Lt. Jackson it looks like you're getting reassigned again buddy." Jackson passed a glance to Arnie before grumbling. "I'm telling ya, he does not like me.." The Bostonian whispered, making to sure the coms would not pick it up. He assumed it wasn't of Cleven's doing.

"So who wants to hit the bar later? Jack, Get to meet your new crew." A quiet sure escaped Jackson's mouth before Celeste's irritation seeped through her words. " Can we please concentrate on the task at hand?" We must adhere to each step meticulously without these unnecessary distractions." Robert through the com, unfazed spoke, "Oh, come on, Chief leader. It'll be a good way to unwind after this session." Celeste's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with frustration.

Taking another deep breath before responding, "The both of you, this is not the time or place for such discussions. We have a duty to focus on our training and ensure we perform flawlessly." The tension between the two simmered, the hum of the plane's engines almost drowned out by their escalating argument. As they continued the training amidst the mounting discord, Ben exchanged uneasy glances with Frankie—-silently hoping for a resolution before Celeste exploded.

As Egan teasingly nudged Celeste's shoulder, he couldn't help but playfully remark, "God, why are you so stubborn? You gotta loosen up." His mischievous grin was infectious, but Celeste's response was anything but lighthearted.

"Because last time I let my guard down, something really bad happened," Celeste retorted, her voice initially firm but betraying a hint of vulnerability that caught Egan off guard. Her struggle was evident as her lids fluttered, a barrier to emotions on the brink of release.

The abrupt shift in atmosphere was palpable as Celeste's words reverberated through the cabin, the lively chatter giving way to a weighted silence that hung heavy in the air. Arnie and the others felt a wave of unease wash over them, memories of years past flooding their minds.

Celeste, with a resolute yet pained expression, offered no further explanation, leaving him to ponder the depths of her past. Egan, sensing the gravity of the moment, turned his gaze towards her with growing concern. The gradual fading of his confident smile mirrored the subtle shift in Celeste's demeanor.

Observing the intensity with which Celeste gripped the wheel—her knuckles had strained white. Egan recognized the deep-seated tension that coiled in her muscles. Despite the layers that shielded her, the weight of an unknown past burden was unmistakable.

As a spark ignited within him, a shift occurred in his being. It wasn't the common primal desire that ensnared most men—rather, he beheld her with a profound sense of affection. The kind that emerges when one truly falls for another soul, a sensation foreign to Egan until that moment.

Watching as her eyes frantically darted back in forth—looking for anything in the sky that may jump out. He realized that had it been anyone else, especially a rookie airman, he would have cracked a joke. Now found himself refraining from jests this time. Something about her demeanor set her apart.

Tracing the contours of her face, he observed the delicate shades of dark blue and purple that lay beneath her slightly sunken eyes. How many sleepless nights had she battled through and still made herself presentable the next day? The way her lower lip quivered as she nipped at the insides. But it was her eyes themselves that seemed to give her away— the emerald encased a darkness only she knew.

Egan had never been truly aware of it until that moment, a pang of regret spreading through his being. How could he have been so oblivious? It was now, as she momentarily let her guard down—shedding the tough façade she often wore, that he realized his oversight.

Caught up in the excitement of the chase, he had let his judgment slip. She was not like the women he typically encountered at the bar, flaunting their extravagant lifestyles with fur coats and jewelry, their only concerns revolving around hairstyling appointments.

Slowly, the pieces started to fall into place in Egan's mind, understanding why she had been distant towards his advances. Cleven, too, had employed a similar tactic when he sought to protect himself from potential harm by maintaining a certain emotional distance from others.

Watching her bore a frigid stature, he reminisced in the first two missions he flew whilst stationed here—the fear that enveloped him whole was unlike any other. Being 25,000 feet in the air with a machine that could be blown apart at any moment—wasn't exactly comforting. A constant gloom that held over his entirely—he'd been in her shoes already.

Then today witnessing all the men at the interrogation tables, shouting at the note takers of how many they had lost—watching as friends aircraft were blown to pieces. It wasn't all that glorified as the posters made it out to be.

Celeste sensed the unwavering gaze of his eyes fixed upon her, a silent intensity that seemed to penetrate into the depths of her being. "How about you take a photo, it'll last longer." She sneered—focus initially drawn to the intricate gauges that dotted the cockpit. A moment of profound silence cloaked the confined space around them.

"You're not alone," the major uttered softly, his eyes gradually shifting back to the expanse ahead. Celeste felt a constriction in her chest at his words—did he perceive this as a mere jest? An attempt to manipulate her, to provoke her into capitulation. Yet, she was not alone, surrounded by her me who were like family. "I... I am not alone. I neither require nor seek an advocate on my behalf." Her voice quivered as she struggled to articulate her defiance—her resolve barely perceptible amidst the fissures that marred her composure.

With fingers clasped firmly around the steering wheel, she subtly turned her head to confront him—her brows knitting together as a torrent of emotions cascaded across her countenance. It was in that moment that he reciprocated her gaze, their eyes locking in a silent exchange. Gradually, she began to discern the subtle contours of his face, the faint creases that etched his cheeks—a testament to the myriad smiles he had bestowed throughout his existence. Each line a story untold, each mark a memory cherished.

"You don't have fight it by yourself." Celeste felt a surge of fear as Egan's whispered words echoed. The intensity in his gaze made her heart race, knowing the truth seeping from the chosen words. "I frequent the pubs to savor every moment, knowing any day could be our last in this job," Egan stated, his eyes never leaving Celeste's. Her eyes quickly darted elsewhere. The reality gnawed at her—pilots faced slim odds of returning safely.

In that fleeting moment, Egan glimpsed beneath Celeste's tough exterior, noticing the fragile cracks. A hint of a smile played on her lips—revealing vulnerability. A strange connection pulsed between them, unspoken but felt deeply. "Yes, it could be our last," Celeste admitted, uncertainty hidden beneath her facade, "but I'll find a way to endure."

Before Egan could respond, a deafening bang reverberated through the aircraft—shaking it violently. The dreaded sound disoriented the crew, causing Ben to cower under the table in terror. Celeste struggled to stay grounded in her seat.

Beneath them, the bomber quivered violently, emitting a haunting moan that reverberated through the straining engines. Celeste, regaining her composure amidst the chaos, observed the once vibrant hues fading into somber grays tainted by billowing black smoke that engulfed engine 2. The propellers of this engine spun erratically, detached from the synchronized dance of engine 1.

A sense of dread crept over Celeste as she muttered a soft curse under her breath, her eyes widening in apprehension at the imminent danger before her. How unfortunate that this calamity had to unfold under her watchful gaze. Deluged by a torrent of thoughts, she pondered if the engine had sustained prior damage, but the sight of beige-hued liquid trickling from below told a different tale.

The telltale signs pointed towards a mechanical failure, perhaps a dislodged bearing in the oil pan, brought about by the forceful maneuver she executed moments ago. However, a new threat emerged, vying for dominance in her already tumultuous mind. The swirling smoke and the desperate cries of the engine's distress stirred a tempest of emotions within her, each anchored in the unfathomable depths of fear.

Meanwhile, Lemmons was goofing around with Sammie when the young boy fixed grimace upon his features. The corporal raised a brow before turning to follow his gaze, only for his smile to immediately fade. A trail of smoke behind a B-17's engine was never a good sight to see. Let only one that was being flown by a colonel's daughter... Lemmons immediately shouted the commands to readied themselves in the event they did a belly landing.

Celeste was transfixed on the unfolding scene as Arnie and Jackson's chatter filled the radio—reminiscent of an overused reel of film playing on repeat. "Looks like engine two took a hit," Egan remarked casually, his gaze shifting to Celeste. Immediately noticing her frozen state, her hands quivering on the wheel. Her eyes then briefly met his, a flash of fear passing through them before she shook herself out of the trance.

Egan, observing Celeste's unease, spoke reassuringly, "Don't worry little lady, I've got this." However, Celeste bristled at his tone and the use of the term "little lady." "It's 'we,' and no, it's a mechanical failure that can be rectified with the appropriate tools," she asserted firmly. With a determined look at the damaged engine, Celeste made a swift decision, "We need to feather it to salvage the rest." She met Egan's gaze meaningfully—signaling her intent.

Impressed by her knowledge and quick thinking, Egan nodded in agreement before reaching to power down the engine. As the propellers came to a halt, the billowing smoke began to dissipate—no longer engulfing them in a thick cloud. Celeste maintained her focus on the engine, watching intently as the situation improved gradually.

Not being far from the airstrip made it all the better. Yet, Egan felt hesitant about the maneuver—afraid the plane may not have those minutes to reach it. "We need to get her on the ground as quickly as possible. I suggest the meadow here."

Celeste, her brow furrowed, then pointed towards their airbase in the distance. "We should aim for the airfield, it's our best shot at making a safe landing." But Egan merely shook his head. "No, the airfield is too far away," he countered, his tone filled with confidence.

"No," Celeste shouts back, " We have time to make it to airstrip. It's literally right there." But Egan merely flicked his hand up in dismissal—believing pushing it further would destroy any attempt to fix it. But the young Brunette wasn't having it, fighting at every opportunity he tried to speak.

As a last resort, He attempted to grab the wheel from her grip, trying to redirect its course. And As if it all happened in slow motion, the plane then started to lag to one side. "We are going to the airstrip!" Celeste shouted, before pushing his hand away from hers.

"This is a direct order from your commanding officer." But Celeste caught him off, " Don't you play that on me. We are both the same rank." Arnie flashed both Jackson and Robert a look of annoyance—steadily grinding his jaw back in forth. At this rate, no way anyone was making it out alive.

As both continued to argue back and forth, their voices rising with each passing moment, Arnie's voice soon crackled over the radio. "Oh for Pete's sake...You both just decide already." His stark claim silenced both officers immediately— Celeste and Egan exchanging looks. "Both sounding like a married couple of 20 years. If we're going down, I'll be damned I'm going out listening to you two." He grumbled.

In unison, they both turned towards the direction of his voice before yelling, "Arnie!" Feeling chagrined, Celeste added, "You know better than to speak out of turn, use proper radio etiquette." Arnie gripped at his radio button, "now I'm getting yelled at like I'm a kid. But Jefferson has gotten us this far, I'd go with her anywhere." He ended with a firmness.

"Airstrip it is..." Egan then whispered, passing a subtle salute to her—adjusting himself to prepare the landing gears. Both angled the plane horizontally to the strip— their very breath caught within as the landing gear began lowering. With one more push, the bomber lands upon the brightly lit tarmac, jolting them forward with a powerful force—wheels kissing earth with a small and joyous bounce.

But the arrival back to ground was short lived when Lemmons frantically waved for the crew to evacuate the aircraft. Celeste immediately sounded the alarm, instructing the men to make their exit. Despite the urgent situation, Celeste remained steadfast in her seat, determined to ensure the safety of every crew member before leaving herself.

Egan, with a mix of frustration and concern, locked eyes with her. "Jefferson, I command you to abandon the plane. I..." he began, only to be cut off by Celeste's resolute declaration, "As the flight commander, I will be the last to leave. I insist that you all exit first." Egan, exasperated but understanding her resolve to stick with rules—rose to his feet with a sigh. "Are you satisfied now?" he muttered, squeezing through the narrow aisle to reach the exit.

With Celeste following closely behind, Egan stepped out of the aircraft to find Lemmons waiting anxiously outside—a bucket at his side and various tools in his pockets. The mechanic's furrowed brow betrayed his deep concern as he inspected the malfunctioning engine. Despite the urgency of the situation, Egan's attention was diverted to Celeste as she appeared at the doorway, pausing midway to remind him of their manual procedures, as instructed by Colonel Huglin.

"You know, in the expert manual of flying, it always emphasizes not leaving your wingman behind, offering to go together," Celeste shouted, her tone holding a touch of smugness.

Egan shot a quick glance at Celeste, a glint of determination in his eyes as he extended his hand towards her. There was a moment of hesitation as Celeste, known for her stubborn nature, let out a dismissive scoff, implying that she could manage on her own. However, amidst the chaos of the situation, Egan's keen eyes caught sight of the familiar scarlet and golden hues engulfing the aircraft's machinery.

Before words could be exchanged, a wave of panic swept over the scene, warning of the impending explosion that threatened to take the entire plane. Reacting on pure instinct, Egan's body moved before his mind could fully process the danger. Without a second thought, he swiftly grasped Celeste's jacket and forcefully pulled her towards the safety of the ground.

In a matter of heart-stopping seconds, Egan shifted his position, his arms enveloping Celeste's waist protectively, forming an impenetrable barrier between her and the imminent danger. The deafening noise of the impact reverberated through the air as they collided with the ground—a symphony of chaos and fear.

As the world around them seemed to blur into a haze of uncertainty, Egan's hand moved with a mind of its own, instinctively rising to shield Celeste's face from the impending catastrophe. And then, in a split second that felt like eternity, a deafening roar ripped through the air, drowning out all other sounds in its wake.

In that suspended moment of time, as the flames licked at the edges of their fragile sanctuary....

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AUTHOR NOTES
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________ Cliff hanger sort off....🤪

Who's ready for the next chapter?!!😈we really getting into it now

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