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xiii. JUST A TURKEY RUN

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MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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THORPE ABBOTTS,
0500 HOURS

|| FEAR HAD ARRIVED AT 5 O CLOCK ON THE DOT. Leaving the hotel, Celeste's mind raced faster than her journey back from London. The military-issued driver had been swift and urgent—leaving her little time to process what she was doing. The driver's stoic silence only added to the tension in the air, punctuated by stolen glances that spoke more than words ever could.

With every passing mile, Celeste could feel the palpitations of her heart—a steady drumbeat underscoring the gravity of the situation.

Arriving at Thorpe Abbotts, she was promptly greeted by the base guard—"Ah you aren't suppose to be back here yet..." the lengthy man uttered with a meek smile. Celeste in all her usual manner, smirked. " Well, someone has to clean up the mess. Chief Leader C. Jefferson reporting for duty sir..."

As he checked her ID, the man exchanged some comforting words or at least, he tried too. Once the all clear was given, the vehicle roared to life and sped off. The roar of the engine still echoed in the brunette's ears as she stepped out. Slinging her bag upon her shoulder, she promptly opened the door before allowing the lieutenant too.

Celeste had little time to mentally prepare herself—only able to toss her belongings into her quarters. Before being beckoned to the hut. The brunette could feel her the pounding entering her eardrums as she finally stepped foot into the hall. The atmosphere was electrified with dread—the weight of this mission hanging in the air.

Yet, amidst the weight of duty, it was not solely the prospect of the task at hand that gnawed at Celeste's insides, but the unshakable feeling of leaving someone significant behind—bereft of a proper farewell.

Celeste knew she had too, for Egan would vehemently oppose..  But that didn't stop the internal struggle—the need to leave unspoken words lingering like a bittersweet ache in her chest. As she made her way to her designated seat at the front—her mind was racing with possibilities of how or better yet when to convey her emotions.

Should she confide in Rene? —entrusting her with the task of delivering a heartfelt message in her absence? The thought flickered briefly before fading; Rene was known as the resident purveyor of gossip within the base, a bearer of news that traveled faster than the speed of sound. Should Celeste disclose her feelings to Rene, the entire base would likely be privy to her unspoken sentiments even before she had departed.

The silver walls of the hall seemed to echo the somber mood that enveloped everyone, the awkward angles of its architecture mirroring the war. Sammie, sweet Sammie, flashed in her mind for a fleeting moment, but Celeste pushed the thought away. No, Sammie was too young, too innocent to understand.

Celeste started biting at her lower lip, her eyes dancing around the silver walls and clumsy architecture. Letters were no strangers to her; she had penned countless missives to inform families of their beloved's passing. Each word she wrote was a heartbreaking echo of loss. But this letter, this one was different.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Celeste retrieved her weathered journal from the left pocket—the pencil snugly tucked within its spine. The words eluded her at first, dancing just out of reach like elusive ghosts. This letter was more than just ink on paper; it was a conduit for the raw emotions she dared not express aloud.

As the men trickled into the barrack, their presence a tangible weight in the air, Celeste's resolve wavered. The C-47 crews stood before her, a solemn assembly of California Sun, Mango Bingo, and the others. Their eyes spoke volumes, a tapestry woven with threads of anticipation and apprehension.

Fingers trembling, the Brunette put pen to paper, each word a delicate brushstroke painting a portrait of grief and gratitude. As she poured her soul onto the pages of her journal, the men's voices became a distant murmur—their stories of survival and loss fading into the background. Celeste's words were a balm for her own wounded heart..

Months had passed since Operation Husky, and the toll it had taken on the C-47 crews was etched into their weary faces. The very one that took Frankie from her. It sent chills down Celeste's spine. As if history was repeating itself in that very room, the same setting, the same ominous fate looming over them all.

The low hum of whispered conversations filled the oblong space—punctuated by the occasional sound of shuffling feet. As Colonel Jefferson and the wiry man from before step into the limelight—Each crew member stood at attention. Their faces a mask of determination despite the underlying fear that pulsed through the air.

Celeste took her place among Arnie, Robert and Ben—her hands trembling slightly as she tried to steel her nerves. Yet she earned curious looks from all of them, with Arnie furrowing a brow, pointing out the scar upon her nose. "It's nothing.." she found herself whispering before returning her attention forward.

Arnie turned slightly to face both Ben and Robert, knowing full well she was lying. The gravity of the mission weighed heavily on her shoulders—but glancing to a few of the newest members, she knew they weren't feeling particularly strong about this one.

As the older commanding officer began to address the assembled crews, a hush fell over the room. He then moved aside for Colonel Jefferson took hold. His voice echoed through the dimly lit room, heavy with the weight of his words. "As you all know, the war in Europe is taking its toll on our troops. And on civilians," his solemn gaze sweeping over the gathered soldiers. Each face bore the marks of fatigue and determination in equal measure.

Taking a deliberate step closer, Colonel Jefferson clasped his hands together in front of him, a gesture of both unity and urgency. "The 100th has suffered devastating losses at Bremen yesterday. And you all must be wondering what this has to do with you. Well..." His voice trailed off momentarily, the gravity of the situation hanging palpably in the air.

With a steady hand, the colonel turned around, unfurling the large map— his silhouette outlined against the backdrop of a large black map laid out on the table.  One that depicted territories in the Netherlands, some ominously highlighted near the German border. As the map revealed the proximity of danger, Celeste felt a sinking dread slowly begin to take hold of her.

"We have received distressing news from the Dutch resistance," Colonel Jefferson continued, his tone unwavering yet tinged with urgency. "They are in desperate need of supplies, or they fear panic will spread..." He pointed a large stick at the inked markings on the map—emphasizing the looming threat.

"The plan is to airdrop medical supplies and food in or near the city of Enschede. The Germans, angered by our recent bombings, have retaliated by blockading essential supplies from reaching the city."

As the silence basked the room, Colonel Jefferson slammed the stick onto the podium— leveling a stern gaze at the assembled group. "The Germans aim to paint us as aggressors, trying to turn the Dutch population against us." His words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the multifaceted nature of war.

With a final, resolute gesture towards the group. "If we fail to act, the Dutch may turn their backs at us, viewing us as the enemy instead of their liberators.." The room fell silent , with airmen exchanging concerned glances—where the weight of their mission pressed down upon them like an unbearable burden.

"So," Colonel Jefferson began gravely, his voice cutting through the room like a knife just as he picked up a folded piece of white cloth from the nearby table. With deliberate care, he promptly took two corners and shook it fully out—revealing a meticulously painted American flag. Beside it, the words 'I am an American, an Ally' in bold English.

Beneath it, there were translations Celeste presumed to be Dutch and French, reminiscent of the blood chits they had carried while flying along the Flying Tigers—albeit theirs were in Mandarin. The purpose was clear - to prevent friendly fire incidents in unfamiliar territories.

"Everyone will be given one of these," the Colonel announced, holding the fabric up for all to see. "This is meant to be tucked in your uniform pocket. In the unfortunate event that you find yourself in Axis territory, this is to be shown to those who might mistake you for the enemy."

A ripple of uneasy laughter spread through the room. "Well, you can't mistake us for one, we don't smell like sauerkraut," joked one of the pilots, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. A few others chuckled nervously, knowing the weight of the mission ahead. Colonel Jefferson's steely expression softened for a brief moment before he balled up the fabric and tossed it at the joker's face.

"Now that you've all had your moment of humor," the Colonel continued, his tone turning somber once more, "this mission is potentially a one-way trip for some of you. Dropping those supplies will require you to descend below the protective cover of the clouds—300 feet. You'll be exposed, vulnerable. No protection."

The gravity of his words settled over the room as the pilots exchanged knowing looks. Each understood the risks involved in this vital mission. The weight overshadowing any remaining hints of levity. It was perilous, and the odds of survival were slim.

Colonel Jefferson's steely gaze swept over the gathered pilots once more. "Remember your training. Stay sharp. We're counting on each and every one of you to get those supplies through. Godspeed." With those final words, the men stood up.

"Yes sir!" They yelled in perfect unison. Yet joining in didn't help her. Celeste inclined her head ever so slightly, gaze fixated on the ground as she nervously nibbled at her thumbnail. She had faced challenges head-on before, never flinching in the face of danger.

So, why did this moment feel so different? Was it the unsettling realization that she might never see Egan again? His nonchalant banter and overly confident charm replayed in her mind, intertwined with memories of his infectious smile and piercing blue eyes that had a way of lighting up her world.

Her father's disapproving click of the tongue against the roof of his mouth jolted her back to reality, his words washing over her like a bitter wave. A part of her sensed that he was merely stalling, prolonging the inevitable moment when his daughter would be thrust into the clutches of evil. Yet, he would never verbalize such sentiments.

"What I am suggesting is that you all complete any final correspondence to your loved ones, ensure your wills are in order," he announced gravely, his gaze sweeping over the somber faces of the crew members. The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a silent understanding passing among the assembled souls. Some lowered their heads in resignation, while others crossed their arms protectively over their chests.

"I will pass around a pencil and paper for you to list your next of kin or preferred contacts," he continued, passing the paper to the man closest to him. "The army chaplain will be available should any of you require counsel or solace."

Celeste watched as the paper circulated the room, inching closer to her trembling hand. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she painstakingly inscribed the name of the person she wished to inform in case the worst came to pass.

"I expect to see you all back here. Count on it," Colonel Jefferson asserted before dismissing the gathering, each man rising to attention and offering a salute before departing. Silently, Celeste folded the paper with meticulous care, her steps deliberate as she approached her father and returned the document to him.

"Jefferson... a word..." her father's voice echoed through the space—with Celeste pausing immediately at her fathers request.. Arnie and the others do the same, before She sighs heavily— waving them on.

As the young brunette closed the gap between them, colonel Jefferson clears his throat loudly, "Celeste you don't have to do thi.." he pleads, yet his daughter shakes her head, whilst pointing a finger at him, " No I want to do this..." she begins, stomping a foot upon the floor. " I can't let myself stand idly by just because I'm the daughter of a colonel. No, not while letting some inexperienced pilot, who's never seen a day of combat in his life, get himself and his crew killed."

Both father and daughter clench their teeth, staring each other down—with Celeste balling her fists slightly. With a final glance, she turns on her heel and marches on with haste.

"Celeste..." Colonel Jefferson calls out, his voice yearning of a desperate father. Celeste hesitates momentarily, her chest becoming slightly upheaved—there had only been a few times he called her first name.

With a tear trailing down her cheek, Celeste continued on—Leaving Colonel Jefferson standing there. His heart torn between duty and his offspring. Yet as he started walking back towards the podium, Jefferson glanced at the paper of names—his eyes stopping a certain one. Major John Egan...

The corner of lip curves slightly, "that sly son of a gun.." he muttered under his breath..

Upon walking out, trucks were already lined up waiting...  The crews tossed their bags into the backs, before getting themselves up. Most carried on with quiet conversations—with the occasional laugh. Arnie and Robert started playing rock, paper, scissors as a means to pass. But Celeste, she didn't partake in such things. No, she merely let her body sway with the truck—leaning her head back upon the metal bars.

The remaining drive to the planes was a quiet one, no one dare utter a word for mistakenly jinxing everyone. Some sat with their elbows upon their knees, slightly praying to a higher up. Celeste glanced around at the faces of men who came from all over the country.

She gently repositioned the white scarf around her neck, shifting it slightly—her fingers grazing over something hard within the fabric. Clenching onto it, she whispered in Mandarin, slightly praying. Opening her eyes, she was met with Arnie staring at her—a smile wide upon his lips.

"What?" Celeste sneered, before letting her hand fall back into her lap. Arnie raised a brow, he knew what those words were—leaning himself back against the pole.

Once at the base, the C-47's loomed over tarmac, the sun barely cresting over the trees. Illuminating the planes, making their shadows like giant bugs.

Celeste and her crew hopped off, followed closely by California sun's crew. Each of men started off towards their destined aircraft, each heavy with anticipation. Some spilling jokes and comments about their life back home. It was odd sense to ease their minds.

"Ah there she is!" Arnie bellowed through the field, "my beautiful baby, how I've missed you." He proclaims before laying his upper half flat against the lower half of the plane—his arms sprawled out. " Your plane, I'm sure that Jefferson's." Lemmons retorted as he walked up, before placing his hands upon his hips.

"Yes it is. And you think with the way he talks, he'd have a woman by now." Celeste grumbles before tossing her flight bag down. "Oh she who's heart is of cold." Arnie proclaims whilst mimicking placing his hand over his heart. Celeste  groans softly before marching over and swatting his hand.

The playful banter continued between both until their attention slowly shifts to the young man walking up behind them. Robert and Ben both share a look of uncertainty—there was no way he was old enough to be here.

He had blonde hair, blue eyes and a baby face that looked as if it had never grown facial hair. He stammered over, his knuckles white from gripping the bag. The boy noticed Celeste immediately and charted direction towards her.

Offering out a shaking hand, he begins to mumble something, but Celeste couldn't hear it. "What was that?" she acquires, offering to take his hand into hers. Until he started making a gurgling noise and up came vomit, spilling over the tarmac. "Well that's one way to introduce yourself." Robert added, before picking up his bag.

Celeste shot him a glare, with tight lips before she bent down to help the young man up. "It's alright. Don't listen to him." He merely nods, quite quickly at that. "Is this your first mission?"

"Yes.." he quickly scrambles out, his eyes zoning out into the distance. Celeste felt it in her gut that he had joined up for the mere mention of it. She pats him gently upon his bicep, " It'll be alright. Just listen and follow what you've been taught."

She beckons him off towards Ben, knowing both likely shared similar personalities. Ben greeted the young man with a sheepish expression, his words fumbling as he showed him inside. Arnie roughly tossed his bag into the plane, before sharing a glance with Robert—both sharing a look of 'At least we're in this together.'

"2nd Lieutenant, get your butt on the right prop." Celeste uttered as she walked towards the other. Arnie tossed his head slightly back, before he stepped out and started tending to the prop.

See the C-47's large props had to be turned 14 times before igniting the engine. The reasoning, well turning those would turn the cylinders thus draining oil. If those engines started with oil in those cylinders, it would jerk them apart.

"Just a turkey run right?" The Pennsylvanian assures with a meek smile, yet in his tone there's something trying to make him believe what he is saying. She flashes a faint semblance of a smile, " Sure. Just like old times."

As she begun moving the propellers, the engine grinding and faltering—Celeste found herself peering over her shoulder. Her eyes hoping just to catch a glimpse of him running to her, or standing there to wave her—but she knows better.

Egan was probably still sound asleep in the hotel room, snuggling up to the pillow he presumed to be her. It was better this way...

"14." She uttered softly just as the propeller halted to a slow stop. Lemmons had done a remarkable job in patching the ole plane up. Given French kiss had been rocked hard. It was nice to see it ready to soar to the skies once more.

But as she throw her gear inside, Celeste hesitated at the door opening—her eyes flickering over to Sammie who held onto Nugget for dear life. With heartfelt sigh, Celeste slowly she stepped out—before jogging over to the young girl.

Sammie was more than thrilled to see her again, with nugget reciprocating the same. Celeste rummaged through her pockets for moment, before pulling out two papers—the brunette hesitated. Her eyes looking them over, breath caught in her throat—her grasp on the small journal that contain her whole life.

With a meek smile, the corners of her mouth desperately trying to stay unturned— she psssed the journal into Sammie's care. The youngster merely flashed her look of confusion, before Celeste handed her the other paper, a letter. As Sammie took carefully from her, her eyes danced over the handwritten on the cover—One to Major John Egan.

"Make sure Major Egan gets these.. okay." Celeste assured with a slight sniffle, "I don't understand.." Sammie grumbled—" are you not coming back like before?" Celeste found herself clearing her throat loudly, kneeing down to Sammie's height.

" Oh darling. I will be back eventually, but You take good care of Nugget until Egan returns from London." She says softly, adding a subtle pat upon Sammie's head, before roughing up her hair. " That's your mission.."

Sammie's face lite up, all she ever wanted to be in command of anything—to have her own mission like the pilots. The young girl hugged Nugget tighter, even as the cat wanted to be with the brunette.

Celeste gently took the cat into her arms, before lifting her up with her hands- "now Nugget you watch over Egan for me. Okay.." she adds before squeezing the feline tightly. With a final kiss upon the kitten's head, she places her back into the care of Sammie.

With a wave goodbye, Celeste started off towards her plane—heart aching with every step. Gaining entry, the chief leader found herself glancing at the barren ground—half expecting blood to be littered on the floor.

As she trudged forward to the cockpit, Celeste felt a sense of ease wash over her— a sense that they weren't alone in this ride. A faint smile made across her lips, convincing herself that she'd turn around and Frankie would be there cracking a joke.

Celeste slide the small window open, "Clear the prop!" She yelled before switching on the engines. French kiss buckled for a moment before she roared to live. Shaking the straps that held the cargo firm. Her hums echoing throughout the body—one that bought on an odd calm.

With a finally glance at Arnie, both placed their hands upon the throttles. Slowly but steadily, they started adding more until their time to take off came. Pushing the throttles forward, French Kiss steadily made her way down the runway. The boys in the back holding onto anything to them from falling as the craft tilted towards the sky.

      Meanwhile back at the command center, Rene stood at the forefront—her gaze fixed on the intricately detailed map spread across the large table. The terrain of occupied Europe lay before her, a daunting reminder. With practiced precision, Rene adjusted her headset—listening in to the 449th c-47's pilots and the command tower.

Many WAAC's bustled around about her, with some officers glancing through the glass down upon them. As her fingers traced the outlines of the drop zones, Rene's mind raced with calculations and strategy. Each C-47 model she moved represented lives in the balance, her friend's life... The blonde tried her best to reckon Celeste would make it through—she had too..

The sudden chatter of voices over the coms filled the room, a symphony of organized chaos. Rene's keen eyes flickered between the map and the array of blinking lights, her instincts honed by countless hours of training and experience.

"43-7897 French Kiss is taking lead." A woman fixed of raven hair slowly spoke through the microphone. Rene sighed heavily, before taking her stick along a C-47 model and pushing it towards the middle. Other models soon followed behind.

Waiting, waiting... it had been hours and the sun was fully in the air. This was something Rene and the other members hated about this job. Their eyes fixed upon the turning hands on the clock, the slow clicks it made as it counted down the seconds. As her eyes dart back to the map, the young woman beside her leaning, " They should be there by now."

"They're fine..." Rene sneered, her usually carefree demeanor had masked into one of fear and anger. "I know it..."

—————

       || 0900 hours, the sleek readout on Celeste's watch glinted back at her—the time a stark reminder of their mission's urgency. "So...when are you and Egan going to get together?" Arnie inquired with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Celeste's gaze shot toward him, surprise evident on her face. "What?" she asked—her brows knitting together in confusion.

Arnie let out a chuckle, the lines around his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Oh, come on. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Celeste let out a heavy sigh, her eyes wandering to the vast expanse of sky above them. "No, I don't," she murmured softly. "I'm not making any plans like that nor is it appropriate to talk about now."

Arnie leaned back into the chair, "Oh, just give him a chance," he urged, a note of encouragement evident in his voice.

But Celeste raised her hand, moving it up and down in a sweeping gesture. "This right here," she declared with a hint of finality, "is the screen of 'no talk' land."

Arnie's laughter rang out through the park before he composed himself, his gaze turning forward once more. As they sat in companionable silence, a subtle pang of uncertainty tugged at Celeste's heart.

If she were to give Egan a chance, would she be open to the possibilities that awaited her? A myriad of emotions flooded her being as she pondered the prospect. Yes, she finally admitted to herself with a newfound sense of determination. Yes, she would give Egan the opportunity, with an openness to whatever the future might hold.

As the vast sky lay before them, Celeste looked at her watch once again—worry now etched its grip upon her features like the claws of an unseen predator. Neither of the ships had mentioned anything.

"Hey," Celeste's voice broke the tense silence through the crackling coms—breaking the eerie silence that had settled over the crews.  "Navigator, aren't we supposed to be there by now?"

Ben, beads of sweat already forming on his brow, was in a state of visible panic, his eyes flitting back and forth over the myriad of navigation lines before him. "We're about 5 miles out of the city," he replied, his voice strained.

"It's too quiet..." Arnie chimed in, his gaze sweeping warily across the horizon in search of any lurking threats. "That's because they haven't seen us yet." Celeste uttered, before keying the radio button hanging around her neck. "Head lead to squadron, we are initiating our descent. We need to maintain a minimum altitude of 300 feet for the drop to proceed as planned."

As French Kiss, dipped below the shroud of clouds, Celeste deftly unclasped her oxygen mask, allowing the crisp morning air to kiss her cheeks. Her hazel eyes fixated on the sprawling city of Enschede unfurling beneath them like a tapestry of old, a mixture of anticipation and dread swirling in her chest.

"I believe that's it," Arnie's voice cut through the cockpit, his hands tightening around the steering wheel with growing determination. Despite the fleeting glimpses of beauty from their aerial vantage point, the scars of previous bombings blurred the landscape below, a haunting reminder of the price of war.

With the ground steadily approaching, the fate of their mission hung in the balance, the quiet determination of the crew a stark contrast to the chaos that awaited them below.

In an eerie synchrony, dark clouds of smoke began to rise from below—piercing through the aircraft formation like a scene from a twisted nightmare. Flak, every planes fear. It felt as though they were descending into the very jaws of hell itself.

It sent violent tremors that reverberated through their very core. Yet, undeterred by the chaos unfolding around them, Celeste and Arnie pressed on, braving the storm of destruction closing in on them.

"I think they've spotted us now!" Arnie's voice reverberated through the roaring winds, barely audible over the cacophony of explosions and gunfire assaulting their senses.

Before Celeste could issue instructions to prepare the cargo drop, a deafening explosion ripped through the air beneath the left wing—shaking the aircraft to its very foundation. A sharp cry of surprise and fear pierced through the intercom, followed by the violent shudder of French Kiss veering sharply to the left.

"What in God's name was that?" Arnie's booming voice cut through the chaos as Robert and Ben scrambled to maintain their footing—their faces etched with of shock. Arnie casted a brief glance at the damaged wing, his eyes widening in disbelief beholding the gaping hole where the proud star emblem had once stood—a hole large enough to admit a man's head.

Yet, despite the gaping wound marring her side, French Kiss continued to soar forward, her engines miraculously unscathed. Unfortunately, C-47 aircraft were ill-equipped for such relentless onslaught; devoid of armor or means of defense, they sat as vulnerable targets amidst the deadly storm of flak intensifying with each passing moment.

The bursts of explosions only grew fiercer, the Germans were determined to not let allies get to the city. Each detonation threatening to tear the fragile aircraft asunder.

Then, without warning, another explosion erupted ahead, propelling French Kiss into a violent upward buck that sent Celeste fighting with all her strength to regain control of the aircraft. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the controls—her teeth clenching so tightly that she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.

Glancing out her window, Celeste felt everything fade upon witnessing the right engine burst into flames. The once steady hum was now drowned out by the roaring inferno that had consumed it. Blackened smoke billowed and twisted, shrouding the metal structure in an ominous veil.

This explosion had knocked Ben backwards against Robert—whilst sending the new man against the wall. The cargo thrusted around with some having been sliced through from the metal.

Her heart jolted as she watched in horror, the propeller of the right engine spinning wildly out of control, its normal rhythm disrupted by the flames licking at its edges. The entire wing seemed to shudder—the weight of the impending disaster pressing down heavily upon her chest.

"Shit!" Celeste's urgent cry sliced through the chaos within the cockpit, her voice laced with a sense of impending doom. "The right engine is going! We must feather it!"

Yet, even as Arnie rushed to feather it, it didn't do much. The C-47, a sturdy aircraft in its own right, possessed only two engines—unlike its counterpart, the B-17, which had the capacity to limp along with merely two engines operational. Theoretically, the C-47 could manage flight with a single engine, but the weight of the cargo they carried, combined with the gaping wound in the damaged wing, rendered that a precarious prospect at best.

As Celeste turned back to the scene outside her window, her emerald eyes widened as burst of fiery hues that erupted from the failing engine. The vivid display of yellow and red illuminated the sky as if the heavens themselves were ablaze, casting an eerie glow on the distressed aircraft.

Without warning, a violent explosion rent the air, sending a shockwave of heat and debris hurtling towards their fragile metal confines. The propeller, now a deadly missile, careened towards the Celeste, piercing the window before striking down the fuselage. Shards of glass shattered like crystal rain over the cockpit.

Celeste's voice rose in a mournful cry, her words laden with anguish and disbelief. "Fuck!" she wailed, her words a haunting echo. French Kiss was now a fragile bird with a broken wing—caught between the heavens and the earth.

Clenching her arm, blood trickled slowly from the side of head and cheek. But she didn't fret over that, only in gaining control back being her motive. French Kiss was lagging heavily to the right side, whilst the left engine tried to work against it.

Celeste along with Arnie grabbed the throttles to shove them forward for more power, " Come on! Lift your big ass for me!" She yelled—pleading with the plane that had a special piece of her.

Yet French kiss began shaking uncontrollably the more gas they added, " We need to bail!" Arnie yells, but Celeste is adamant, " No! We must make the drop... all.." she snaps, yet the Pennsylvanian's voice over powers hers, " You have your own life and crew to remember." And just as he finished, the handles pulled out from their hands—almost Like the plane was bidding farewell..

And as if someone flicked a switch, French Kiss began banking sharply in a steep dive away from the formation—losing about 20 feet per minute. Captain Stevens, who was piloting California sun, immediately switched coms over, " Officer Jefferson has fallen out of formation. I repeat, French Kiss is going down. French Kiss is going down! I will maintain head lead."

When Rene heard those words uttered from the captain, her heart shattered into a millions tiny shards. She had just gotten her friend back just to lost her again. Rene's tear filled eyes found the girl's beside—her lips trembling, waiting for Celeste's voice would come over.

Oily smoke started streaming from the left engine. With no controls, the plane rolled into a steeper bank. French kiss was in the beginnings to start a belly roll. With a forced grunt, Celeste flipped the switch—yelling for everyone to Abandon ship. She flashed a look to Arnie—a knowing glance passed between them.

She wasn't scared, no, she knew that Jackson and Frankie would be awaiting their arrival on the other side—along with everyone she had lost. "You go Arnie, I'll keep her steady until you all are out." Arnie hesitated—knowing how his dear friend was.

Arnie and Robert, adrenaline coursing through their veins, popped the side door open, the acrid smoke billowing into the cabin, clouding their vision. Without hesitation, they leaped into the unknown, a mix of fear and determination fuelling their actions.

Celeste, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, unbuttoned her jacket slightly. In a gesture that seemed almost unconscious, she reached inside and extracted Egan's scarf. The touch of the fabric against her skin felt like a lifeline connecting her to him— smelling the familiar scent of him.
At least she'd be able to find him in the after life...

With French Kiss spiraling out of control, she held onto the scarf like she was clinging to Egan himself. Despite the weightless sensation that enveloped her, she managed to switch the communication system over, using the dwindling power to transmit something.

Rene, stationed at the base, tensed as the crackling static of the radio cut through the air. A fleeting hope flickered in her eyes as Celeste's voice, filled with raw emotion, broke through the chaos. "I'm sorry I tried. I really did," her words carried a weight that transcended the mere soundwaves.

"I'm so sorry, Egan," she whispered into the void, as if her apology could bridge the gap between them, even in the face of impending disaster.

Then, a heavy silence descended, engulfing the cockpit in an eerie stillness. The radio fell quiet, the static fading into nothingness

——————-

LONDON,

|| THE RAYS OF THE SUN HAD PENETRATED THE STILL ROOM; casting long shadows across the empty space that once held laughter and whispered promises. The piercing shrill of Celeste's scream reverberated through Egan's dream, its echoes weaving through the threads of his consciousness like a haunting melody that refused to fade.

As Egan jolted awake, his heart raced in his chest, a drumbeat of alarm in the silence of the room. His eyes, wide with panic, searched the darkness, but found only emptiness—cold sheets and untouched pillows. A sense of dread coiled in his belly, tightening with each passing moment.

His trembling hand reached out, fumbling through the vacancy beside him, a void that matched the one in his soul. Panic surged through him as he leaped out of bed, the truth crashing down around him like a collapsing tower.

In a haze of confusion, Egan stumbled to the closet, hoping against hope to find some trace of her lingering presence. But the empty hangers and vacant spaces mocked him, a cruel reminder of what was lost. With shaking hands, he hastily dressed, the fabric of his clothes feeling foreign and unfamiliar against his skin.

Questions swirled in his mind like a tempest, each one a knife twisting in his chest. Why did she leave? How could she go without a word, without a goodbye? Racing down the corridors of the hotel, his footsteps echoed like a desperate plea, a futile attempt to outrun the ache in his heart.

Breathless and on the verge of desperation, Egan arrived at the front desk, his voice edged with raw emotion as he demanded answers. The attendant's words hit him like a physical blow, shattering the fragile remnants of his hope. She had checked out early, leaving no trace behind.

The numbness that settled over him was suffocating, a heavy fog that blurred the edges of reality. The emptiness of the room mirrored the void in his chest, a chasm that threatened to swallow him whole. With each passing second, the memories of Celeste faded like wisps of smoke, leaving only an ache where her presence had once been.

Alone in the aftermath of her departure, Egan finally waved a cabbie down—one to Thorpe Abbotts. The weight of worry for her pressed down on his shoulders. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breaths. The sunlight filtered through the car window, casting long shadows on his trousers.

     Egan's heart raced as he approached the base, a mix of excitement and trepidation swirling. The sight of the battered C-47s parked haphazardly sent a chill down his spine. Oil stains adorned the ground beneath them, and thin streams of smoke twisted into the sky. Lemmons and his crew scurried around, their faces etched with concern as they inspected the damaged planes.

"That sneaky little thing," Egan muttered under his breath, determination fueling his steps towards the chaos. He needed to find her, not just to scold her but to ensure she was safe. His pace quickened, the anticipation of seeing her face again pulling him forward. However, his heart sank as he scanned the row of aircraft and failed to spot French Kiss among them.

Parking the jeep hastily, Egan leaped out, his gaze darting around in search of her. "Hey, Lemmons, have you seen Jefferson?" he inquired, hoping for a glimmer of reassurance. The young corporal's solemn expression dashed his hopes, focused on the task of repairs amidst the chaos.

The distant echo of men's voices faded as Egan locked eyes with Rene, her arms folded tightly across her chest, silently observing the tumultuous scene.

In a flurry of emotion, Egan closed the distance to Rene in seconds, his hands grasping her arms with an intensity that startled her. "Where is Jefferson? What is this?" His urgent tone pierced the air, laden with anxiety and a hint of desperation, urging Rene to provide answers that remained elusive.

Rene met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and concern. "Major, it was a drop of supplies ordered by Colonel Jefferson," she whispered, her voice faltering under the weight of the revelation.

A shiver raced down Egan's spine at the confirmation of his worst fears. With resolve hardening his features, he released his grip on Rene and scanned the base.

The blonde closed her eyes for a moment, " She knew the risks, it was a one way trip. ..." Rene inhaled sharply as more tears started pouring out, " She's not coming back, major," Rene's voice wavered—her hand reaching out to touch Egan's shoulder in a futile attempt to offer comfort.

Egan stood frozen, eyes widening in disbelief, body stiffening like a teddy bear caught in a sudden downpour. First Cleven, and now Jefferson... The news hit him like a ton of bricks, threatening to shatter his world into a million irreparable fragments.

"No, no. She's just playing with us," he stammered, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he tried to cling to a shred of hope—one that was rapidly slipping through his fingers.

However, Rene, standing beside him, was not swayed by Egan's feeble attempt at denial. She had heard Celeste's final words echoing in her ears, the image of her plane spiraling down etching itself painfully into her memory. The reality of their loss weighed heavily upon her, a burden too heavy to bear alone.

Egan's hands trembled involuntarily as he brought them to his face, his throat constricting with unshed tears. He closed his eyes briefly, a silent prayer forming on his lips, a plea to a higher power for some semblance of solace in this sea of sorrow.

With a voice laden with pain, Egan finally mustered the courage to utter the words that had been gnawing at his insides. "How do we know?"

"Captain Stevens saw her plane go down," Rene whispered, the finality of the statement settling over them like a thick fog—suffocating and final. The delicate thread of hope that had anchored Egan to the spot snapped with brutal efficiency.

The weight of loss descended upon him like a heavy shroud, enveloping him in a suffocating embrace. Life's cruel hand had dealt him a bitter blow, snatching away the one he loved most in a single, heart-wrenching moment.

"I'm sorry..." Rene's soft voice carried a world of sorrow as she uttered those two simple words. She fumbled in her satchel for moment before taking a journey and letter out. Handing it towards him, " She wanted you to have these. In case... in case she didn't come back."

Egan lifted a trembling hand to fetch the items, his blue eyes glancing over the worn journal and the letter that spelled his name. "Her most precious possession." The blonde uttered, just as Egan traced an index finger along the edges.

With a final look, rene turned away—leaving Egan to face the harsh reality alone. He stood there for quite some time— even after the crews had cleared the field and planes were being fixed. Even Lemmons had become worried, noting the Major hadn't left the position at all.

Egan's gaze fixed on the distant horizon, the blood-red hues of the setting sun painting a melancholic picture in the sky.
"Look for me in the sunset, that's where I'll be," Celeste's haunting words echoed in his mind, a poignant lullaby...

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So I feel like I'm about 5 seconds
away from getting jumped by everyone here.
IM SORRY OKAY 

RANT
So important topic here, a little birdie
told me someone has potentially
copied this book? Like taking ideas and making their characters just like mine... is this true??

Like I get it's fan fiction blah blah,
but I put a lot of work into my fics,
So I'd really appreciate if people didn't copy & paste my work & place their characters in. 🙂

NEW EGAN FIC IDEA

Time travel 👀 she holds the key
to change the war. unbeknownst to her, one visit to a museum sends her on a journey... one that involves one of worst world wars.