vi. THEY 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏 DESERVE YOU

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA
MASTERS OF THE AIR

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THORPE ABBOTTS

2 MINUTES AFTER
MECHANICAL FAILURE

      || THERE'S A NUMBNESS THAT ENVELOPES THE MIND IN A MOMENT OF FEAR—A RIGIDNESS THAT CLAIMS HOLD OF ANY THOUGHT. One moment is suspended in comfort, whilst the next is a fleeting glimpse of trepidation. A flick of the finger is all it takes for a world to be turned upside down. The events had transpired so rapidly that Celeste didn't have the opportunity to process.

Amid the thunderous clash of her meeting the unforgiving ground, the yells that came from her boys turned on her flight or fight mode—bringing her back to a bygone time. Their rapid footsteps contrasted against a deafening thud. A pitiful groan then rent the serene atmosphere— a reverberating metallic clang echoing on the hardened surface.

" Sorry, sorry." Lemmons shouted rather hastily, frankly out of breath. "The engine is fine, I just dropped the pail." Yet even with that remark, Egan still clutched onto her with fervor— nestling his head within the curve of her neck. Even she dare not to stir, as In a strange twist, Celeste felt herself drawn closer to him.

The individual whom merely hours, days, weeks before had aroused disdain within her. Her grip tightened around his shearling coat—seeking an intimacy she couldn't quite comprehend. Albeit her consciousness was rebelling against it. Was she craving a caress or an embrace following a lengthy absence?

The hushed whispers from the worried crowd of onlookers carried upon the wind. Most were from the Woman's auxiliary land brigade—having been attending to cattle. Even a few of the 100th was there, each gawking at what happened. Perhaps a bad omen to use this craft after the carnage from Bremen.

She had squeezed her eyes so tightly, they were physically shaking. It was only when Lemmons' authoritative voice cut through the din, ensuring everyone's safety, that Celeste finally mustered the courage to stir.

Quite hesitant, Celeste fluttered opened her eyes only to reveal Egan's—his scanning every part of her face for any wounds. Being Inches apart, they found themselves quickly locked in a silent exchange—their eyes mirroring a multitude of unspoken words.

Having her so close after tirelessly vying for her attention stirred a tempest awakening—albeit in the form of an unwelcome arousal. Mentally cursing himself that of all times, it had to be now.

The tips of their noses barely touched, lips parted slightly as if both meant to speak—yet not finding the words. Had the invisible threads of tension been tangible, they would have crackled with electricity above.

Words lingered unspoken as Egan managed a shaky chuckle—was he really nervous for once in his life. But she didn't dare to move herself, only slowly unclenching her fingers from the fabric where her nails left indents. "Sorry..." she whispered—knowing he quite liked that jacket.

But when he smiled, Celeste quickly noted it was different.. it was one of sincerity. The young woman couldn't help but find herself fixated on the curls of his rich brunette hair—the way each playfully dancing across his forehead. Then trailing down to notice the way the corner of his eyes slightly creased. Perhaps in that moment, she held understanding as to why the girls swooned over him.

No, no... what was she thinking? Egan was annoying, over cocky. She still wasn't over him ruining her trousers either.

Thankfully, it seemed fates were in her favor, as the sun's embrace was obstructed by a looming shadow—embodying the silhouette of a man. "Oh my.., are you okay?" Arnie's voice trembled with concern, his features etched with worry. Jackson stood steadfast by his side—gaze narrowed in focused scrutiny at Egan.

"Well," Egan started, his eyes flickered up to meet Arnie's, "I must admit, I did not thing would escalate so quickly."He pressed a subtle wink back towards Celeste—just as his characteristic cocky grin graced his lips.

"As if," she retorted with disdainful air, before swiftly pushing him off. Upon gaining her footing, Celeste tried to keep her head low for moment—her cheeks flushing a slight pink; oh how she tried to hide it. The 24-year-old would be lying if she didn't feel something surged within her—admiration, affection, and an underlying depth she hesitated to acknowledge.

"Ce...," the word lingered tentatively on the Bostonian's lips as Celeste staggered slightly. But he abruptly silenced himself—realizing the near slip of her given name. The 1st lieutenant, in an attempt to make it up, retrieved her cap. But extending it towards her, only to have it swiftly snatched away with a sharp retort.

By that time, the commanding officer Jack had strode over, hands tucked into his trouser pockets—sharp eyes assessing the scene before him. "What seems to have happened here?" he inquired—studying Lemmons with a slight squint. The man was of imposing stature with a drawn-out visage and deep-set eyes.

"It's a mechanical issue.." Celeste blurted out, grasping the attention of both lemmons and the commander."Sir."

Jack raised an eyebrow at the unexpected interruption, but a slight nod indicated he acknowledged her concern. "Thank you," he murmured before refocusing on the corporal.

Egan with his new felt feelings, couldn't resist a jest at Celeste. Leaning forward, tapping at her pant leg, "No helping hand for me, Chief Leader? This would mark the second time I've come to your rescue."

Celeste, rolled her eyes in response, the sound of her cap brushing against her thigh—sliced through the tense silence like a sharp blade. "Yes And?" she retorted, a hint of playful defiance in her voice. "Do you want a metal or something?"

Frankie held his lips taut, his eyes slightly squinted from her harsh comment. So, just like at the bar, stepped in to assist the major. He always had his friends' backs—trying to keep them from getting into trouble. Egan accepted the help graciously, though the Midwesterner struggled a bit with the major's taller and more robust frame.

Upon watching the duo struggling, Celeste felt she had enough and pushed on past them. Joining Lemmons as he explained what the root cause was. Egan soon waltzed over, thumbs tucked behind his parachute.

Celeste soon felt his presence behind her. "You see, in this particular scenario, the princess typically would embrace her valiant rescuer." Egan's claim lingered in the air, carrying a whimsical charm that clashed with Celeste's. She slowly turned to face him, it seemed both had returned to jesting.

The glint in his eyes betrayed a lofty idealism as he painted a picture of a damsel saved, a princess enchanted by a knight in shining armor. His gestures, theatrical and animated, sculpted an imaginary scene of embraces and kisses, a narrative straight out of a fairy tale.

"She would then proceed to praise him, followed by a tender kiss on the cheek." Celeste, however, remained unfazed as she delicately removed the oily residue that seeped from a shrapnel puncture; sliding her index and thumb together.

Her gaze, cool and unyielding, met Egan's zealous gaze without flinching. Preferring the rich tapestries of ancient history over the whimsical allure of fairy tales, Celeste harbored a staunch belief that such fantasies belonged solely within the pages of books.

The prospect of a Prince Charming descending from the heavens to rescue her was as foreign as the echoes of a bygone era. Celeste knew that in this life, one had to be their own champion, to rise from the ashes of adversity with unwavering resolve. In her reality, there were no knights in shining armor coming to her rescue; she understood that she alone held the power to lift herself up from any adversity.

"Should you desire me to bow at your feet and stroke your ego, perhaps you would find more pleasure among the Germans."

This comment allow elicited a slight ghost of a smile from her. A small chuckle escaped his lips, placing his hands back behind the yellow parachute.

"Oh bloody hell!"A loud voice pierced through the murmurs of the onlookers. And whom did that voice belong too? Well the one and only Rene. Apparently she had been on duty to report at the tower moments before the B-17 had the unexpected mechanical issue—-at least, that's the story she stuck to.

In a flurry of blonde locks and determined strides, Rene made her way through the small crowd towards her friend. Celeste and Egan, their eyes locking in a silent exchange laden with unspoken words.

"Please, tell me you're okay!" The blonde exclaimed, her arms spread wide as she aimed for a bear hug. She collided into Celeste, nearly toppling her over. The brunette initially caught off guard—tentatively patted Rene's back.

Rene held onto Celeste so tightly, like a panicked mother—before pulling away. There, a mix of joy and disgust on her face. "Oh my, you reek of engine oil again," she quipped, her nose scrunching up.

But her attention meandered from Celeste towards Egan. A melodramatic sigh escaping her lips—twinkle of mischief dancing in her eyes.

"Thank you immensely, Major," Rene purred. "As we already know, she'll never openly admit it, but she is very appreciative." Her voice carried a hint of flirtation.

Meanwhile, Celeste buried herself in the intricacies of the engine—her focus unwavering until a pointed throat-clearing from Rene shattered her concentration. Good ole Rene redirected the spotlight towards Celeste.

"Wouldn't you agree?" Rene's voice held a confident air.

Celeste clicked her tongue against her cheek in a display of irritation. Tilting her head back slightly, she then looked at Rene with the stubbornness of a petulant child.

Standing with one hip casually cocked to the side, Celeste hesitated. There, her hand poised midway between them. With a flicker of uncertainty, she licked her lower lip before finally extending her hand fully towards Rene.

"Fine," Celeste's tone was laced with reluctant acquiescence.

"Thank you."

Celeste's words escaped her lips in a fragile whisper, barely audible, causing Egan to furrow his brows slightly, a hand raised to his ear in curiosity. Ever the inquisitive one, he leaned in closer.

"Now, what was that?" He prodded, his interest piqued, while Celeste scrunched her nose—a familiar gesture of hers whenever she felt uncomfortable or lost in thought.

"Thank you," she managed to muster, summoning all her strength for those two simple words. As was her custom, she avoided meeting his gaze, her eyes trailing past him to focus on a spot over his shoulder. It was then that she caught Rene giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up, a mischievous Cheshire smile dancing on her lips—clearly reveling in the moment.

"Oh my," Arnie chimed in, a small smile playing on his lips, "It might snow today. That's the first time I've heard her genuinely thank someone." He enveloped Celeste in a warm hug before she playfully jabbed him in the stomach.

Rene winced slightly, a hand hovering over her mouth, observing the scene unfold before her eyes. Arnie doubled over in mock pain, clutching his stomach, letting out exasperated groans—-only to straighten up abruptly as he noticed Egan's presence looming nearby.

Arnie shifted his gaze from Egan to Celeste, who had now positioned herself next to Rene. He muttered, the pain evident in his voice, "Jefferson and I go way back..."

Celeste shot daggers at Arnie, instantly sensing his intentions. "We grew up together and were stationed together," the 2nd Lt.. continued, but his words were abruptly cut off by the sweet and overly innocent voice of another woman.

Ah, the owner of the voice materialized before him Lil, the young brunette bartender.  "Thank the stars you're unharmed, Egan," Lil exclaimed with a mix of relief and admiration—her warm smile drawing him in before enveloping him in a comforting embrace.

Arnie, regaining his composure, shot an exasperated glance at Lil's theatrics—a subtle eye roll betraying his annoyance. He bit down on his inner cheek with a mix of frustration and contained ire before disdainfully clicking his tongue against his teeth.

Meanwhile, Celeste and Rene, witnesses to this unfolding drama, exchanged uneasy glances that spoke volumes in the silence that hung heavy between them. Rene's disappointment or perhaps disgust was palpable, evident in the sharp click of her tongue against the inside of her cheek as irritation flared within her.

On the other hand, Celeste felt a bitter surge rising from the pit of her stomach, a searing sensation that curled upwards into her chest—threatening to choke her. Her teeth ground together as she struggled to contain the burgeoning storm of emotions brewing within her.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, Celeste cleared her throat loudly—the sound cutting like a knife through butter.

Lil shot a fleeting glance in Celeste's direction. Contempt painted her features swiftly, yet she adeptly masked it—assuming the facade of a relieved friend.

"Oh, pardon my lack of etiquette," Lil chimed in smoothly, masked with a subtle challenge beneath their velvety cadence. Turning to Arnie before redirecting her gaze back to Celeste.

"Ah, it's you..." she mused, delicately placing a finger to her lips, feigning recollection. "I vaguely recall our encounter at the bar, where tensions nearly escalated into conflict..."

Celeste, unfazed, crossed her arms defiantly, narrowing her eyes at the diminutive woman before her. "Want an autograph or something?" Her retort was sharp, a barely concealed hint of frost in her voice. If Lil thought she could puncture Celeste's confidence with such feeble attempts, she was sorely mistaken. After all, as a female pilot navigating a male-dominated realm, she had weathered far worse barbs.

"Apart from overhearing the conversation, it's evident you're not accustomed to showing gratitude... So, allow me to convey your sentiments to Egan later," Lil quipped, her words dripping with sarcasm—accentuated by a raised eyebrow challenging Egan to agree.

Celeste recognized that look all too well; it held depths of disdain, perhaps stemming from their last encounter when she thwarted their intimate moment to retrieve the bike. Sensing the tension rising, Celeste subtly nudged Rene to move along.

But just as they began to depart, Lil couldn't resist a parting shot, "I'm also thrilled that you managed to survive." Her words, though coated with a thin veneer of civility, carried an undertone of forced acceptance—-as if she was swallowing back bile after witnessing a disturbing scene.

Celeste, unyielding in her demeanor, offered a resigned shrug and a sarcastic retort, "You do you, boo," with a mock display of surrender. Rene couldn't help but roll her eyes at the bartender's feeble attempt at humor. With a comforting pat on Celeste's back, the duo started to walk away, only to be halted by the authoritative voice of Jack.

Snapping his fingers in demand for their attention. "Oh no, not so fast, Miss Jefferson," the officer declared, then signaling to Egan. "You both need to report to the infirmary for a check-up."

Pausing, Celeste bit her lip in frustration before offering a mock salute in compliance. She had hoped to retreat to her quarters quietly, but it seemed fate had other plans.

As they approached their bikes, Celeste couldn't shake off the sour taste left by the exchange. Her generosity towards Egan had waned, clouded by the unpleasant encounter. The morning air carried a hint of tension, underscoring the unease that lingered between them.

Livid with sudden rage, she felt her mood plummet upon spotting the woman walking alongside her unsung hero. Her fists clenched even tighter at the sight of Egan climbing into the jeep with the bartender girl.

A twitch in her eye betrayed her inner turmoil as she swiftly reclaimed her bike from the heap of rubble and cheerfully wheeled it over to where Rene stood. "Here you go. With compliments from the commander," she offered with a sly smile.

Rene raised a questioning brow, her head cocked to the side. "Compliments, you say?" she inquired, observing as Celeste nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders. "Yes, of course. All for the greater good in this war effort."

"Is he aware of his generous contributions?" Rene quipped, mounting onto the bike as they prepared to depart. "There is way more to those two than meets the eye. We can discuss it further over a drink at the bar tonight."

But Celeste shook her head, her nose wrinkling in discomfort. "No, not tonight. I'll pass on that," she murmured. The unresolved tension hung in the air, promising more intrigue and revelations to come.

But Rene let out a frustrated sigh, her voice carrying a tinge of exasperation. "Missy, dear, while I appreciate your desire to rot away in your bunk, have you ever considered the impact of your absence on the boys? Having some fun?" Rene implored, her tone tinged with a hint of melancholy—akin to a puppy yearning for affection.

Celeste, with an air of nonchalance, retorted, "Oh, they will manage just fine. I am not their caretaker, after all." Her tone was laced with annoyance as she urged her bicycle to move faster along the dusty trail.

Scoffing lightly, Rene reluctantly trailed behind Celeste, resigned to the fact that this discussion was leading nowhere. As the duo pedaled down the winding dirt paths towards the doctor's office, Celeste basked in the gentle warmth of the sun while reveling in the rhythmic cadence of the earth beneath her wheels.

Breaking the comfortable silence that enveloped them, Rene interjected with a touch of playful humor, "I never suspected a hint of malice in her demeanor."

Celeste, her eyes twinkling mischievously, teased, "Well, perhaps my influence played a part in that."

Chuckling softly, Rene quipped, "Miss prim and proper orchestrating mischief? Unthinkable."

With a contrite expression, Celeste confessed, "I may have, in a subtle manner, interrupted their intimate rendezvous."

Playfully swatting at Celeste's arm, Rene exclaimed, "Ah, the plot thickens! Now her frosty disposition makes perfect sense."

Exhaling deeply, Celeste shared, "Honestly, I suspect she harbored animosity towards me from the outset."

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THORPE ABBOTTS
EAST ANGLIA
3 DAYS LATER, JUNE 30th

|| THERE WAS A FEW MOMENTS WHEN CELESTE WOULD HAVE THAT LITTLE THING CALLED; PEACE. And by few, she really meant it. Rene had come barging in unexpectedly at ungodly hour. The young blonde just couldn't wait and had some exciting gossip to share with Celeste.

Lil may have her eyes on another, a certain captain who was fairly close to finishing 25 missions. Why Rene felt she needed to know this was beyond her. But Rene was persistent, hinting that Maj. Egan would see and thus be free. Celeste didn't even bat an eye at the mention, yet even flat out denying it couldn't erase the ting pinged at her heart. She dare say it may have caused a slight lift to one corner of her lips.

News spread quite quickly of Egan being demoted by Colonel Harding, a man whom she had yet to meet. That now left Jack as the new air exec. But it was not all sunshine and love gossip, as a plane from the 359th crashed after a failed training exercise.

The balls of fire and smoke reminded her all too well of those in China—where training missions didn't always work. A pilot would drop too quickly and smack right into trees. She should have been training them, training Barnhill— it would have never happened if she had been there. But because of Col. Huglin's orders, Celeste was restrained from helping.

But finding peace, she'd find herself doing rounds around the older buildings—scouting for any lost possessions of the bygone era. Admist that, Celeste would look around the rock walls she had marked and with the help of Sammy—whom directed her.

Doodling in her dainty journal, documenting the finds she had made—brought her that comfort she carved. Now, hiding herself away. Before her sat an odd looking coin, one she quickly determined to be from the Roman period. After all, East Anglia was under rule by the empire until its demise.

It was a coppery color, but that could have been the thousands of years under the mud for all she knew. Holding it arms length away, Celeste began to draw the coin face next to its documentation. She wasn't an artist by any means, couldn't even draw a flower. But when it came to artifacts such as this, she was an expert.

The burden of the new recruits' tragic demise weighed heavily on her as the day progressed into night. She lacked familiarity with them, unable to even recall all their names, yet a sense of sorrow engulfed her. Her gaze shifted to the photograph capturing her standing alongside the group of young men under the emblem of a tiger flag.

Exhaling deeply, the young woman placed the pencil down with a resounding thud—bringing her hands up to shield her eyes. The only sounds that filled the air were the chirping crickets and the echo of birds bidding their final farewells as a guttural sigh escaped Celeste's lips.

As she lifted her hands away, fixating on the golden hues of the setting sun, pondering of the lost pilots...Did they have the luxury of leisurely observing their friends from above?

Celeste's gaze flickered towards the glistening silver adornments gleaming in the corner— a stark contrast to the dull reality of the room. Her attention fell to the two bicycles leaning forlornly against the wall, "Oops," she whispered—a mixture of amusement and chagrin touching her lips.

The memories flooded back, unwelcome yet vivid. Egan astride that bike, a grown man cloaked in boyish zeal—only to descend in a tangle of limbs seconds later. A fleeting warmth tingled through her—a ghost of a chuckle dancing in the shadows of her mind.

The sudden barrage of loud bangs shattered Celeste's reverie, jolting her back to the present. "Hey Chief, open up!" Frankie's familiar voice resonated, followed by Robert's teasing call. Irritation crept into Celeste's voice as she responded, "Can't a girl have a moment of peace?"

A persistent knock echoed through the room, each sound a reminder of the world outside waiting to be acknowledged. "Come on, Princess, you know everyone is waiting for you to celebrate Jackson's reassignment," Arnie's voice urged—laced with a hint of concern.

The words struck a nerve, reminding Celeste of her past comrades—a consequence of past disagreements that still lingered in the air.

Celeste heaved a deep breath, propelling herself up from the cushioned seat. They weren't going to relent. Another insistent rap at the door made Celeste snap the leather-bound journal shut, muttering under her breath, "Fine! I'll go."

Upon meticulously adjusting her uniform, her thoughts betrayed—wandering unexpectedly to Egan. The memory of his touch, the way his silhouette enveloped hers, played vividly in her mind. A sense of belonging she had never known. Celeste's fingers paused on a button, her gaze drifting, captivated by the fleeting sensations that surged through her.

"Celeste, are you ready?" Jackson's voice boomed from the outside, punctuated by yet another forceful knock on the door. Startled, Celeste shook herself from the reverie, fingers deftly securing the last buttons of her attire. "Hold on." she called out—voice tinged with a hint of distraction.

Gripping her uniform taut at the ends, making sure her tie was fastened tightly. A last peek in the mirror, quickly adjusting her pinned hair—slicking her hand against the rolls. Exiting the room, Celeste was met by Jackson's expectant gaze. "All set?" he inquired, his tone laced with a mix of impatience and curiosity.

REACHING THE FINE ESTABLISHMENT, it seemed not much had changed. Celeste sauntered into the dimly lit bar with Jackson leading the way—the rustic wooden door creaking behind them. Arnie exuded confidence in every step as he walked beside her—casting a protective glance around the crowded room.

Robert and Frankie followed closely behind, their footsteps barely audible over the chatter and clinking of glasses. The familiar scent of cigarettes and fresh beer enveloped them as they stepped into the bustling bar, a haven for rowdy RAF and American pilots, with civilians scattered in between like puzzle pieces.

A subtle unease gripped Celeste as memories of her previous, unwelcoming reception flooded back. She nudged Jackson gently, whispering, "Are you sure it's wise for me to be here again? I can't shake the feeling that I'm not exactly welcome here...."

Jackson waved off her concerns with a dismissive gesture, "Ah, don't worry about it. That old man will get over it, Don't fret, my dear." However, his Bostonian reassurance did little to calm the tempest of nerves swirling within her. But atlas, she trusted Jackson's judgment and followed him towards the bar. On the way, she took note of Lil speaking with the so-called captain, apparently the gossip was right.

Standing by the worn oak counter, Jackson leaned casually as he placed their drink orders—engaging in easy banter with the bartender. Celeste's gaze wandered through the crowded room, searching for familiar faces among the sea of strangers.

A flicker of recognition crossed her features spotting Egan in a corner—her breath slightly hitched. He was surrounded by some of the 100th, with Cleven beside him—their heads bent in conversation. Amongst them, sat three RAF pilots with their backs turned towards her.

Her moment was abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable voice of Rene echoing across the bar. " Ah! There she is' Miss prim and proper." She exclaimed, before getting up with arms out for an embrace.

Celeste gleefully accepted the hug, with Rene thanking Arnie for finally convincing her. "All right you rats." Jackson exclaimed, carrying a tray adorned with short glasses—-each filled to the brim with amber whiskey.

The liquid that gleamed under the room's dim lighting. Arnie, with a keen eye for detail, observed the rich color. "What kind of whiskey is this, Jackson?" he inquired with genuine interest.

The Bostonian beamed proudly and responded, "This, Arnie, is your absolute favorite." The Pennsylvanian brought his hands together in a reverential gesture—as if preparing to offer a praise. "They found some." Rationing had made it hard to get any whiskey or scotch—but Four Roses had been Arnie's all time favorite.

But having a friend, whom was the daughter of colonel, could help get something's. Arnie raised his glass, "Cheers to that!" As the group prepared to indulge in the fine spirits, Jackson distributed the glasses amongst his friends, including Celeste, who eyed the whiskey with mild distaste. "I'll pass on the shots, guys. You know I'm a one-glass kind of gal," she remarked—attempting to slide the unwanted drink back towards Jackson.

Both Jackson and Rene, however, wore expressions of disappointment. "Oh, come on, Celeste, you have to make an exception for this occasion," Rene insisted, gently nudging the glass back into Celeste's hands.

Realizing her resistance was futile, Celeste let out a resigned sigh and lifted the glass to her lips, bracing herself for the fiery liquid within.

"To friendship and good times!" Jackson exclaimed, raising his own glass in a celebratory toast. The group clinked their glasses together, the sound ringing out in the air.

Celeste winced as the fiery liquid glided down her throat, a faint grimace crossing her features. "One down!" Jackson declared triumphantly, punctuating his words by emphatically placing his glass on the table.

Six shots of the potent whiskey had swiftly disappeared before Celeste's realization. "Alright, that's enough," she muttered—beginning to signal for a more moderate drink order.

However, before she could make the switch, a captain interjected—positioning himself between Rene and Celeste. Their expressions mirrored confusion as they regarded him as if he had committed a grave offense. "Hi, sorry..." he stuttered, extending a glass towards Celeste, "This is from the major."

Casting a skeptical glance at the captain, Celeste arched an eyebrow before tentatively accepting the drink. "And which major might that be, Captain...?" she inquired—tone laced with curiosity.

"Captain Harry Crosby," he clarified, his unease evident in his demeanor. Celeste's lips formed an 'oh' of comprehension before awaiting further elaboration. "Ah, apologies, Major Egan," he corrected, avoiding eye contact by busying his hands in his pocket.

Celeste's composed demeanor wavered at the mere mention of the major, a subtle flicker of emotion darting through her unreadable eyes. "Thank you," she uttered softly, her gaze shifting only to find his eyes already fixed on her with a certain intensity.

There existed a palpable undercurrent between them, an intangible connection that eluded Celeste's precise understanding.

Raising her glass ever so slightly in acknowledgement, offering a subtle nod towards the major—who mirrored her gesture with a flash of a brilliant smile. A warm sensation began to bloom, either that or indigestion.

However, as she observed the minor disarray of his loosened tie and slightly undone uniform, a sense of annoyance crept into her consciousness—overriding the initial allure of the moment. Even amidst the haze, an inner voice within Celeste screamed in silent protest at the perceived impropriety.

As if that wasn't enough, Lil had come over—disregarding Egan's words as he tried to talk with her. Celeste's mouth twisted with bitterness, a familiar taste she couldn't shake,. Gazing down at her drink, she sought solace in the swirling liquid

But her moment of peace was short-lived as Rene abruptly nudged her arm. " your 2 o'clock," she alerted, prompting Celeste to shoot her a quick glance before following Rene's pointed finger. Her eyes widened as she slowly turned her head to see Timothy sauntering through the door, a look of irritation etched on his face. "Looks like he's brought some reinforcements," Rene mumbled, lighting another cigarette.

Following closely behind Timothy was a rather stout woman, likely in her late 40s—favoring a slight limp in her left leg. Trailing behind her were two men, unmistakably Timothy's children or perhaps even grandchildren. Celeste casually raised her glass to her lips—gaze fixed on the approaching family. As Timothy settled at the far end of the place, he finally caught sight of her.

His gaze locking onto her with a mix of surprise and disdain.

With a deep breath, Celeste steeled herself, turning back around to face Rene. "Hey! Come on and join us!" A voice rang out, with Celeste and Rene looking around for its source.

It came from Egan's table. Upon noticing her glancing in his direction, the major diverted his sight elsewhere. But sat beside the two friends, a rowdy captain stood up—his ebony locks carefully slicked back, with an immaculate uniform.

Jackson was the first approached and was warmly welcomed by the man. "You must be Jackson." Extending a firm handshake towards the Bostonian. Jackson's eyes crinkled at the corners in a silent exchange of acknowledgment. "Indeed, that's me."

" great! Major Egan has spoken highly of you, I am Captain Curt Biddick, and you'll be part of my crew moving forward."

Jackson was quick to detect a trace of Irish lilt in Curt's speech. "Bronx or Boston?" he inquired with a friendly smile. Captain Biddick's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Well the city, all the way! And you?"

"Same here, born and raised in the city," Jackson confirmed with a sense of pride.

The two men then engaged in a firm handshake, followed by an embrace. Curt then turned to Cleven, expressing his gratitude for sending another Boston native his way. He jokingly added, "Thank you, Cleven. I've had my fill of Texans lately. It's good to have a bit of East Coast spirit around here," he chuckled, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Upon laying eyes on Celeste as she gracefully stood beside Egan at the table—the Irishman's attention was swiftly diverted. Not because he intentionally wanted to, but simply because she commanded it. A shimmer of admiration or perhaps desire flickered across his gaze as he rose to his feet once more, making a show of wiping his hands on his trousers.

It was in this moment that Curt, with a sudden burst of energy, nearly toppled the table as he leaned across it—extending his hand towards her. " And who might this enchanting individual be?" The irishman inquired, his voice tinged with genuine admiration.

"Oh! This is Jefferson, a dear friend and mentor from our time in Asia," Jackson chimed in proudly, gesturing for Celeste to step into the spotlight next to him. Arnie, taking a slightly more relaxed stance, positioned himself slightly behind her; one leg propped casually on a nearby chair, his elbow nonchalantly resting upon it.

Curt, visibly intrigued by Celeste's presence—introduced himself with a flourish, "I am Curt. Curt Biddick."

Celeste responded with a subtle yet confident smile, graciously accepting his handshake. "Chief Leader C. Jefferson," she declared with poise, her grip firm and unwavering.

Curt casually inquired, "What is the first name?" before Egan interjected with a smirk, "That has been a mystery I've been trying unravel for months." Cleven only smirked— observing the banter around him.

Celeste responded coolly, her tone laced with playful mystery, "And it's a secret I intend to keep."

As the conversation swirled around them, the topic shifted to the daring feats of the bomber pilots. One of the elder RAF flyers turned to the group and inquired, "Have any of you ever dreamt of becoming a fighter pilot?"

Egan, ever the joker, quipped, "Yes, he is. A fighter pilot who happens to fly a bus" Laughter rippled through the group at his jest.

But the youngest RAF of the group, noticing the tiger patches that adorned the biceps of each pilot with Jackson, pointed towards them. "What's those patches for?" he asked, genuine intrigue coloring his voice.. "I've never seen them before on any American servicemen."

All the boys of her regiment glanced to Celeste as the one to answer. Of course....

"Well, before we truly joined the war. I and many other fellow Americans were sent to China. I was sent there to help train pilots. Mainly Chinese that is, to our P-40's." She then points to Arnie and Jackson and the other three, " This are the knuckleheads I had to deal with among more.."

"So you're a pilot?" the blonde RAF chimed in, The young lad, eager and inquisitive, perched at the edge of his seat as he glanced at Celeste with admiration.

"Yes, I am," Celeste responded, a glint of pride in her eyes. She gestured towards the wings proudly displayed on her uniform, a symbol of her hard-earned expertise. The young lad erupted in applause, his enthusiasm infectious. However, the air around them grew tense as the older pilots exchanged disdainful glances.

"Damn, you Yankees must be losing a lot of men to have women piloting your crafts," the middle RAF remarked, his words laced with arrogance as he packed his pipe with more tobacco. The laughter that had filled the room faded into uncomfortable silence, the jovial atmosphere replaced with a sense of unease.

Undeterred by the disparaging remarks, the youngest boy spoke up, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "Please continue, ignore them."

"Well, I was instructed to train the Chinese to use our planes against the Japanese. Their aircraft just wasn't up to date with what their opponents had. Frankly, not a lot of people know this."

Celeste clenched her jaw, feeling the strain in her muscles, as she listened to the group belittling the efforts of the foreign pilots assisting in the war effort. "Hmm, wasting valuable resources on those people, when you all could have been over here helping your own kind," remarked the middle-aged man with a derisive chuckle—nudging his companion.

"What do you mean by 'your people'?" Celeste retorted, her voice laced with restrained frustration. She found herself exchanging a glance with Egan.

"You know what I mean. No wonder there seemed to be so many casualties. A woman pilot training the Chinese? It's like the blind leading the blind," the man continued, his tone dripping with condescension.

Egan's gaze hardened as he turned towards the men seated opposite them. His voice grew steely as he interrupted, "Now why would you say that?" His eyes bore into the skeptics. "She has likely flown more missions and seen more battles than you ever have."

Celeste caught the shift in Egan's demeanor, a protective instinct to protect his own kicking in. Unwilling to let the derogatory remarks slide, Egan leaned in closer, scrutinizing the insignia on the man's worn RAF uniform.

"Lieutenant or whatever the fuck," he muttered under his breath. The challenge in his gaze dared the men to underestimate the capabilities of those they deemed unworthy.

"Yes, you are quite correct major." Rene mused, her trademark smile graceing her lips. By the looks of it, Rene hadn't exactly liked the two older RAF pilots.

"You Americans, thinking you have bested everyone. Look you can't even properly take your alcohol." The dark haired RAF explained—mainly pointing towards Egan before taking a drag from his pipe. 

Celeste with steel in her gaze, stood her ground. The clenching of her fists betrayed the simmering rage within—a storm raging silently beneath the surface.

Celeste's gaze shifted between Jackson and Robert, then to the RAF pilots. With flat expression, Celeste downed her drink in a single gulp—the burn of alcohol a fleeting distraction. Before forcefully setting the glass back upon the table—the sharp sound echoing through the room. Locking eyes with the one RAF pilot, she exuded a confidence that dared him to challenge her further.

Without missing a beat, Celeste then turned towards Arnie, snatching his glass of whiskey with a calculated finesse that left no room for argument. She downed the amber liquid in a swift motion, the fiery liquid burning a trail down her throat. With a quick shake, she handed the empty glass back to Arnie with a pointed look.

"There," Celeste declared, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a sharp blade. "If you both wish to pick fights, at least have the decency to finish them."

" Lieutenant." She spoke, raising a mockily salute, before nodding a farewell to the others.

With a final glance, Celeste turned gracefully on her heel, Rene nodding approvingly as they linked arms. The young blonde teased and praised Celeste for her fearless response to the bullies, who often targeted her. Their moment of triumph was abruptly shattered by the interjection of the other pilot.

"Seems like someone needs a lesson in knowing when to keep quiet," he sneered, his words laced with condescension. "A lady ought to understand her place, not loiter around like a man."

Celeste froze in her tracks, her teeth clenched in frustration. Slowly, she pivoted back, closing the distance to face the pilot squarely. "What did you just say?"

The pilot smirked, arrogance dripping from every word. "You heard me. If you want to speak like a man, be prepared to fight like one." With that, he rose from his seat and advanced towards her, his imposing figure overshadowing her petite frame. His elongated visage and mismatched eyes only added to his unsettling presence.

Egan, on the other hand, honed in on the Englishman with laser-like focus. His jaw clenched with intensity, his gaze piercing through the man standing before Celeste. Adrenaline surged through his veins, his heart drumming a fierce rhythm in his chest. Under his breath, he muttered a warning, "You lay a finger on her, and you'll regret it."

Celeste's lips curled into a smug smirk, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes as the Englishman's words washed over her. She licked her lower lip, a subtle yet deliberate gesture, her gaze flickering momentarily to Arnie before snapping back to the pilot.

With a swift, determined motion, she reared back her fist and delivered a resounding blow to his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground, his hand instinctively reaching to clutch his side in pain.

"拿著那個，你這個混蛋!" (Take that, you prick.)
Celeste's voice boomed in Chinese—the words dripping with venom. Punctuated by a defiant middle finger thrust upwards. Arnie and Frankie amused by the unfolding drama, sprang into action—surrounding her like protective shield-wielding knights. Though their outward demeanor seemed calm and collected, inwardly they couldn't help but chuckle at the fiery display before them.

Curt erupted into raucous cheers, unable to contain his exuberance as he clutched onto Cleven's jacket with fervor. Egan, caught in the moment, moved as if to embrace Celeste in a gesture of support, but thought better of it—-wary of becoming the next target of her wrath.

As the Englishman slowly rose to his feet, his once-immaculate uniform now rumpled and askew, he cast a disdainful gaze towards Celeste. "You are a rather aggressive woman," he spat, his hand still cradling his throbbing jaw.

Curt, never one to miss an opportunity for a jibe, began to poke fun at the bewildered RAF pilot, goading him further, with Jackson joining in the jest.

Yet, for Celeste, this was more than just a moment of impulse fueled by alcohol and pent-up frustrations. It was a surge of long-suppressed rage, a force that had been dormant within her for far too long.

As she readied herself to strike once more, her hand frozen in mid-air, feeling a sudden warmth envelop her smaller hand. A protective barrier forged by a much larger, powerful grip.

"Okay, okay, there Miss lady." he began, gently coaxing her to step back. Her responses, however, were a jumble of words that seemed to be floating in the night air, devoid of coherence.

As Celeste continued to resist, Egan couldn't help but feel a tug of empathy towards her. The struggle felt akin to trying to grasp a slippery meatball, evading his attempts to regain control of the situation. Sensing the curious gazes of onlookers nearby, Egan managed a sheepish smile, feeling the weight of Celeste's unpredictability upon his shoulders.

"I must extend my sincere apologies," Egan muttered, a touch of chagrin in his tone, "she's usually really well behaved.." before passing a subtle wink. Eventually conceding defeat, Egan made a split-second decision and hoisted Celeste off the ground—cradling her delicate frame securely within his arms.

Despite his efforts to convey a sense of control, the situation spiraled as Celeste's protests grew louder, her voice a mix of frustration and defiance.

"Egan, I'm telling you, release me this instant!" Celeste's voice rang out, a blend of exasperation and determination. She attempted to squirm free from his grasp, her movements met with the steadfast strength of Egan's embrace. Even as she attempted to nudge her head against his chin—her efforts proved futile against his unwavering hold.

With a sense of resolve in his eyes, Egan held one side of his head against hers—his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of amusement. "Not a chance, my dear. It seems a time-out is in order for you."

As Egan proceeded to carry Celeste outside, her protests gradually subsided—replaced by resigned huffs and crossed arms. Curt wasn't far behind, having been encouraged to fight the other RAF. Mainly to make up for the other getting his ass handed to him by a woman.

And so, most of the 100th followed in suit, each encircling the duo as both started punching. Jackson, of course, cheered on his new found friend. Whilst he wasn't one for games, he loved boxing.

Watching the match unfold, Egan finally put Celeste down—with her swatting his arm away from her. He couldn't help but appreciate her fiery spirit—even in the face of defeat. With a shared chuckle, Egan gently eased Celeste onto the nearby bench. "Time out served," Egan declared with a theatrical bow—earning a begrudging smile from Celeste.

But as the match meant its end, with Curt jumping around, saying it was because he was Irish—Celeste decided she was over this.

With a look of distain, she began to walk towards her group, with Arnie being the one take her by the hand, letting her lean into his chest. Egan placed his hands into his pockets, a watching as the group slowly walked away—with Jackson and Robert jumping around like children.

But all his eyes were on, was her....walking away with her head on someone else.

Egan muttered just barely above a whisper. " Those RAF'S just don't deserve you my little lady."

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AUTHORS NOTE

YO, YO
the chapter is FINALLY HEREEE

IM SO SORRY!! But I'm really finicky about my writing 😭it NEEDS TO BE PERFECT

Also, you guys are gonna hate
me in the next chapter or so 😭😭

Adding on, starting to seeing Celeste come a bit undone👀👀she's definitely going to do it more