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  | xvi. NIGHT WAS FULL OF TERROR

MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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' WHEN THE NIGHT WAS FULL OF TERROR AND YOUR EYES WERE FILLED WITH TEARS '

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GERMANY
1943

       || THE FIRST LIGHT OF MORNING SEEPED PAST THE TORN CRACKS OF WORN WOOD. Rays bathed the old room in a soft hue—a warmth that caressed the skin of the entwined figures. The brunette that has so fiercely put up against that stubborn pilot now lay nestled in his arms, with her head gently resting under his chin. Both had found another like two pieces to a puzzle.

A lone breeze danced through the broken window, carrying with it the joyful chirping of birds—heralding in the arrival of a new day. Yet Celeste lay serenely, devoid of the haunting specters that often infiltrated her subconscious.

For the first time in an eternity, her restless mind found solace in the gentle lull of undisturbed sleep. Gone were the echoes of war, the screams of innocents, and the acrid scent of death that once plagued her dreams.

As the first tendrils of wakefulness caressed Egan's consciousness, his bleary eyes sought out the one that never failed to tether his heart. Celeste.... His fingertips traced the arch of her cheekbone—gazing at the soft curve of her lips.

A solitary strand of hair, like spun honey, danced delicately across her peaceful face—with Egan gently tucking it behind her ear. The feather-light touch of his fingers elicited a stirring within her. The flutter of her eyelashes against porcelain skin. A serene smile graced her features, as if she dwelled in a realm of dreams far sweeter than reality itself.

Egan leaned in closer, his eyes tracing the curve of Celeste's jawline, the slope of her delicate neck. A lone sunbeam caressed her cheek—kissing her skin with a tenderness that only nature could muster. Every line, every contour of her face was etched into his memory, a masterpiece he would cherish for eternity.

Her lips curved at the corners once more, forming the ghost of a smile. Celeste stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her eyes fluttered open like delicate butterfly wings. Her eyes, the color of an emerald stone, met his.

"You're beautiful," Egan whispered, the words hanging in the air like a delicate sigh. Celeste, with a drowsy smile gracing her lips, stretched gently, her movements as graceful as a dancer's. " Hello there sleeping beauty." She groggily murmured. He was half expecting her to push him away like she had other times, yet it never came.

"Ah, There's my smile," he remarked softly, just as Celeste reached out—her slender fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. The touch sent shivers down his spine, a sensation that stirred something deep within him. "I never knew this is what love was meant to feel like."

The love she had once felt for the another pilot paled in comparison to Egan. All that pain she carried for so long... It was a love she had finally came to terms with. There was no getting away from Egan at this stage—not ever. He had seen her at her worst, of one could call throwing up whilst drunk, and at her best.

Even nestled within his arms, there was the slightest flicker of doubt for him knowing her name—fearing the same could befall him. The major pulled her in closer, his hand finding hers as he traced invisible patterns on her palm. "Nor I," he murmured. "I never believed it until you waltzed into my life."

Another kiss was placed before Egan gently booped the tip of her nose—one that drew a smirk. "We best be getting a move on, little lady."

But Celeste, her eyes alight with gleam, took his hand into hers. "You don't have to use 'little lady' anymore, Egan," she whispered softly— breath warm against his skin. "You know my name now."

Egan placed his thumb upon her chin, " Ah yes, a name just as pretty as the woman who wears it," he declared, leaning in to capture her lips in a tender kiss. Celeste couldn't help but tease him, "Now who's the poet?"

He scoffed slightly before tickling her sides, causing a semblance of a laugh from her. Celeste tried pushing him off, but he'd only stop if she placed her clothes back on—much to her chagrin. Knowing they couldn't stay here forever, it was far too dangerous.

Celeste's heart fluttered as Egan's hands gently guided her arms into her military blouse, the fabric cool against her skin. A soft smile grazed her lips as she watched his careful movements, each gesture filled with a quiet tenderness that spoke volumes. This intimate moment seemed to encapsulate everything she had ever longed for.

As Egan fastened the buttons, his eyes, the color of a rich sky, locked onto hers, and in their depths, Celeste saw a reflection of her own burgeoning emotions. When he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Celeste felt a warmth spread through her, a reassurance that in his presence, she was safe, cherished.

"Breakfast then?" Egan's voice was a soothing rumble, the timbre reverberating through the quiet space. The suggestion of breakfast pulled Celeste from the reverie that threatened to ensnare her. Though the idea of breakfast was tempting, Celeste found herself rooted to the spot—her fingers absently tracing the seams of her bomber jacket.

The rustic scent of hay intermingled with the earthy aroma of vegetables filled the air, a heady mix that spoke of a life lived close to the land. As Egan moved about, the settled dust swirled around him, adding a sense of motion to the stillness of the barn. He paused, bending to retrieve something hidden beneath a pile of hay—-a small smile playing on his lips.

In that moment, Celeste felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. She gazed at Egan, his rugged features softened by the warm light filtering through the cracks in the barn walls. This man, with his easy smile and unwavering gaze, had entered her life like a gentle storm—-upending everything she thought she knew.

Turning around, a half-eaten cabbage in his hand, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Well, breakfast is..." he began, his rich voice trailing off as he surveyed the remnants of their meal. His gaze fell on the cabbage he had taken, before lifting it up with a theatrical flourish. "This lovely green, with another side of this green," he declared, a small smile playing on his lips.

Celeste sat across from him, her gaze soft and affectionate. "And what about eggs? My four-course meal?" she teased, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

Egan chuckled at her jest, taking a bite of the cabbage and chewing thoughtfully. A slight grimace flitted across his face. "It's not the best, but it'll do," he remarked before settling back down.

Gradually, Celeste's gaze shifted from the cabbage to Egan, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. His eyes sparkled as he held the cabbage morsel. With a playful glint in her eye, Celeste reached out to grab it, but Egan's quick reflexes pulled it just out of her grasp—earning a raised eyebrow from her.

"For my love, breakfast in bed," Egan intoned theatrically. Celeste accepted the piece, wrinkling her nose at the bitterness that lingered on her tongue. Her mind drifted to memories of a time long past, a memory fueled by nostalgia and longing.

"I wish Lady Qin was here," Celeste murmured, her voice tinged with wistfulness as she spoke of their former companion. Her fingertips delicately picked at the cabbage, lost in thought as she remembered the delicacies Lady Qin used to prepare. "She made a lovely soup with an assortment of meats," Just something about her tone was filled with longing for the taste of home.

Oh those memories; Celeste stood by, watching intently as the older woman cooked, as she had done countless times before. Lady Qin had always insisted that Celeste learn the art of Chinese cooking—-telling her that one day she would need these skills. Celeste had never fully understood the significance of those cooking lessons until now.

Egan, with his usual smirk, interrupted. "So do you remember any of it?" tossing a piece of cabbage into his mouth. Celeste rolled her eyes playfully. "Maybe..."

Egan's gaze softened as he tossed in another piece. "One day, we'll make that soup together," he promised, a tender smile curving his lips. Celeste forced a meek one, but her eyes betrayed a hint of pain. Would that day ever come? They were deep in enemy territory, surrounded by hostile forces with no allies for miles.

Egan rose from the floor, extending a hand out. "We have a long road ahead of us." With soft sigh, Celeste knew they couldn't linger any longer—a war was still raging on. As the morning sun peaked, both quickly donned the remaining gear—buckling up belts and carefully slipping on their jackets. Celeste fastened her boots with practiced ease, her eyes stealing glances at Egan as he meticulously checked his weaponry.

The imminent threat of German patrols kept them on edge as they silently made their way out of the barn. Celeste and Egan moved like shadows through the dense forest, their footsteps silent against the floor. The sun peeked through the canopy—casting an ethereal glow that danced among the leaves.

It had been hours of walking through the woods, neither dared to strike up conversation in fear of someone hearing their voices. It was broken only by the occasional rustle of a squirrel or the hoot of an owl in the distance. Trees whispered secrets to each other as the midday breeze carried a hint of crispness. The scent of damp earth mingled with the distant promise of rain in the air.

Celeste followed closely behind Egan as he wordlessly led the way. As they walked in tandem, Celeste found herself lost in thoughts of their shared night—a brief respite from the harsh reality that was their current situation. She couldn't help but steal a glance at him—his jawline sharp in the shades of sunlight.

As they moved cautiously, Celeste found herself not being able to hold back the thoughts she felt. There was just something about the way Egan maneuvered through the foliage. "So, were you ever in the Boy Scouts?" she inquired. Egan, always one for a quick remark, scoffed lightly. "Nah, never really crossed my mind," his voice barely above a whisper. "But hey, I've got enough survival skills to get us through this, right?"

Celeste rolled her eyes at his teasing, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her lips. " Now what about you? Miss prim and proper?" Exasperated, a soft sigh escapes her lips. "I see Rene has been talking again," irritation lacing thick upon her words. "How much did that chatterbox tell you?"

Her worry was momentarily forgotten as Egan was quick to shrug his shoulders—trying not to get Rene in trouble more than she already was. In mock exasperation, Celeste nudged him playfully. "I swear, Rene has been sharing too much about me. She'd be a terrible spy." The tension of finding allied territory seemed to dissipate as they shared a moment of levity.

After another passing of silence and pushing through the thick underbrush, her voice just above a breath, "No, my mother would have never allowed it. She was fairly uptight." She pauses a moment to collect herself, " But My father, oh yes, he was the one to encourage me into my studies of anthropology." A fleeting shadow of regret swept across her features, betraying the depth of her past struggles. "But everyone has their falling out. My father and I didn't see eye to eye for a while there. He never wanted me to go over to China."

Silence laid upon them like a poison, Egan didn't know what to say—he hadn't exactly grown up in a strict and wealthy household. So much wasn't expected of him. But in attempt to remedy the situation, Egan remarked to the lettering he had discovered on her scarf.

"So uh... What do these Chinese characters mean, the ones under the tiger on your scarf?" Celeste let out a soft scoff. "Ah; Fierce one," she muttered, though her tone seemed she wasn't all that enthused by the nickname.

"Oh, really now, I wonder why," Egan playfully mocked, his lips curving as Celeste gently flicked his ear in jest—eliciting a loud "ow" from him.

13:00 hours, where the sun casted dappled patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor—painting a mesmerizing tableau of greenery in various hues and sizes.

Under the sprawling canopy of ancient trees that formed a natural cathedral, Celeste abruptly came to a halt, her lips falling fast into a straight line. The sudden stillness caused Egan to stumble back in confusion—her hand rooting him backwards with unexpected force. He turned to look at her, only to find her frozen in place—-eyes glued to something ahead.

Egan furrowed his brow and muttered softly, stepping closer to follow her gaze. His eyes then widened as they settled upon a small, weather-beaten house. One nestled among the trees, its timeworn timber beams blending seamlessly with the forest's ancient wisdom. The windows, half-obscured by heavy curtains, hinted at something hidden.

As they stood there, a sense of unease creeping over them, two young boys materialized at the threshold of the house. The first, with golden locks and piercing blue eyes, exuded an otherworldly presence beyond his young years. The second, his dark hair tousled from the wind—had an air of solemnity that belied his age.

The boys' gazes bore into Egan and Celeste with an intensity that sent shivers down their spines. The youngest of the two, barely six years old, while the elder, had to be around eleven.

Celeste's pulse quickened as she felt the weight of their stare. Her mind raced with a myriad of questions and apprehensions, each scenario more ominous than the last. The atmosphere around them seemed to thicken, the shadows growing longer and darker—as if the forest itself held its breath in anticipation.

Egan instinctively drew his sidearm, that instinct kicking in as he shielded Celeste behind him with a firm yet gentle grip.

"Egan, don't," Celeste's voice was barely audible, her words a plea for caution as the tension danced in the air. Egan hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenched in a silent debate. Could he will himself to commit such a crime to silent them? No, not now, he couldn't....right?

Yet Egan wouldn't budge, instead tightening his grip upon the gun. Moving his stance slightly, still making Celeste stand behind him. But with the slight pressure on his arm, she urged him to lower his weapon, her eyes shifting between the boys and Egan.

Disgruntled, Egan lowers the weapon before raising a finger to his lips—-urging silence as he tried to gauge the intentions of the young boys.

Celeste, her heart hammering in her chest, strained to recall the few words of German she knew, hoping to bridge the gap in communication. She even thought about bringing the fabric out of her pocket—but that could definitely spell doom for them.

To her surprise, the boys seemed to understand Egan's silent message—-nodding in agreement as a tentative truce settled between them.

But just as Egan turned to lead Celeste away, a sudden, piercing cry shattered the fragile calm of the forest. "Americana!" The German boy's voice, filled with urgency and accusation, cut through the stillness like a knife, sending a jolt of fear down Egan's spine.

"Americana Papa! the youngest German boy then barked, his voice like a whip cracking against silence. Without a moment's hesitation, Egan grasped Celeste's hand tightly, his grip firm and resolute as he propelled them both through the undergrowth, the harsh terrain unforgiving beneath their feet.

Branches clawed at Celeste's skin, the sound of their hurried footsteps echoing through the woods as they raced against an unseen threat, their breath ragged and hearts pounding in their chests.

As the shadows of the menacing forest enveloped Celeste and Egan, a whisper of fear danced through the rustling leaves above. The haunting echo of the German boy's voice lingered in the air like a ghostly apparition, sending a shiver down Celeste's spine despite the warmth of the afternoon.

Eyes, unseen but unmistakably present, seemed to follow their every move, making the dense foliage feel like a trap closing in around them.

The air was thick with tension as they pressed further out  of the forest—their footfalls muffled by the decaying leaves underfoot. With every step, the darkness seemed to grow thicker, suffocating them in its embrace. Celeste felt a surge of panic rising within her—-a primal instinct urging her to flee from the unknown dangers lurking in the shadows.

Breaking free from the suffocating confines, they stumbled into a moonlit clearing—-their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Celeste's heart hammered in her chest as she casted a wary glance at the malevolent trees—-as if expecting them to reach out and drag her back into their depths.

But there was no time to dwell on the terrors they had left behind, for the distant sounds of pursuit echoed through the air. Without a word, Egan seized Celeste's hand in his own and pulled her towards the murky marshland that stretched out before them.

With a shared glance, they plunged into the cold, rank waters—-the mud sucking at their legs as they waded deeper into the murky depths. The sun held over the horizon—-casting an eerie, golden light over the desolate landscape, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that gnawed at their bones.

As they trudged through the murky waters, fear clung to them like a second skin—-each step heavy with the knowledge that danger lurked just behind them. The shouts of their pursuers grew louder, the baying of the hounds driving them forward with a desperate urgency. They had thought themselves clever for seeking refuge in the marsh, but now the very water that concealed them threatened to betray their presence.

The thick reeds and tangled weeds offered scant protection as they huddled close, their bodies submerged in the icy waters, the muck rising to their chests. Celeste's blood rush pounded in her ears—-the world narrowing down to the sound of her own ragged breaths and the distant approach of their hunters. Egan's grip on her hand tightened, a silent reassurance in the face of impending danger.

The distant echoes of boots squelching through the mud sent a chill down their spines, the promise of capture hanging heavy in the air. Celeste squeezed Egan's hand in a wordless plea, her eyes fixed on the impenetrable wall of reeds before them.

Celeste, with her wild brunette hair tangled with mud and sweat, glanced over at Egan—his blue eyes reflecting a mix of fear. They had been on the run for minutes, hours... who knows.

Both dared to hope that they had finally found a moment of respite—-a fleeting chance to catch their breath and gather their waning strength. But fate, it seemed, had other plans for them.

A rustling in the underbrush caught their attention, and Celeste's heart lurched as she saw the silhouette of a farmer emerging from the shadows. His eyes, cold and unyielding, slowly trudged into the water. "We mean you no harm," his voice rang out in broken English—-a hollow promise that echoed with the ghosts of deceit that Celeste had witnessed before. She knew better than to trust words whispered in the darkness of uncertainty.

" Just come to us." Another spoke. "We're going to be spotted," Egan's voice, a mere whisper now, carried the weight of their shared fear. Celeste could feel the tremors coursing through his hand—a physical manifestation of the terror that gripped them both in its icy embrace.

The other farmer approached the marsh slowly, his steps deliberate and steady. His face was a mask of indifference as he raised his rifle—the metal glinting in the light. The middle age man slowly walked past the duo, never once turning his sight to the right—where Celeste and Egan remained hidden behind the greenery.

The pressure mounted as the farmer drew closer, the weight of his presence bearing down upon them like a suffocating blanket. The major, his grip on his gun tightening with each passing second, urged Celeste to finally make a move. With a silent nod, they began to inch their way out of the safety of the reeds—-every muscle taut with anticipation.

But just as they dared to hope for a sliver of salvation, a faint sound shattered the fragile peace. The unmistakable click of a rifle being readied reverberated through the stillness.

Celeste closed her eyes, steeling herself for the inevitable. But instead of the deafening crack of gunfire, there was only the sound of a heavy sigh.

"Come," the farmer said, his voice gruff as he tried his best English. "I will not harm you." He fixed upon them like a hawk spotting its prey. There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the footsteps of the other man coming in from behind. Celeste and Egan exchanged a wary glance, a silent understanding passing between them. There was no way out.

Egan and Celeste raised their hands up, surrendering themselves—with no other choice before them. They slowly rose from their hiding place, their bodies weary and dripping with murky water. The other farmer's eyes narrowed as he raised his rifle—-his lips moving in a silent command. "For you both, the war is over."

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1500 HOURS
GERMANY

|| 1500 HOURS, OR AT LEAST THATS WHAT CELESTE HAD SPECULATED, JUDGING BY SUN'S PLACEMENT IN THE SKY. Their capture marked the end of a fleeting dream—with the harsh reality of the war crashing down with unforgiving force. Would the sight of England's green fields ever greet their eyes again? Or the vibrant city lights of America beckon them home? No longer would there be lively parties or merrymaking with friends.

The flicker of defiance in Celeste's eyes burned brightly, a silent promise to herself to never surrender, to never lose hope even in the face of adversity. She never lost it in China nor would she now.

The train station slowly emerged out of the woods, standing before them like a somber monolith—-a foreboding symbol of the unknown fate that awaited them. Celeste and Egan were roughly maneuvered out of the wagon, prodded along by the cold metal barrels of rifles.

As they were taken towards the waiting train, Celeste couldn't help but wonder if she would see Arnie, Ben, and Robert—hell, even Rene. The mere thought of freedom seemed like a distant memory, a wistful dream that taunted them from afar.

With their hands held firmly against the napes of their necks, they were ushered into the dimly lit train carriage.
Amidst the chaotic shuffle of bodies, Celeste caught a glimpse of one of the guards discreetly passing money to the farmer who had betrayed them. A surge of primal anger coursed through her veins – how could a man with children stoop so low as to trade another's freedom for coin?

The injustice of it all made her blood boil, but before she could voice her seething rage, a sharp shove sent her stumbling into Egan's back. Despite the jolt, Egan swiftly pivoted, his eyes filled with genuine concern. "Are you all right?"

Celeste managed a meek smile, her attempt at reassurance belying the storm raging inside her. "Yes, just peachy..." she forced the words out—swallowing down the pride that threatened to spill over.

Passing a simple glare to the guard, she took her seat beside Egan—the silent exchange of annoyance evident in the gritting of her jaw.

Never before had she found herself in such a predicament—captured, stripped of her freedom, and now en route to a POW camp. Jeez Louis, Celeste knew better than to let herself get caught and yet here she was. All because she felt sense of love for a man.

The train rumbled along the tracks, its rhythmic clatter a stark reminder of their captivity.  As the dim light filtered through the small windows, her sharp eyes caught sight of four other American pilots, distinguished by the bomber patches on their uniforms—evidently not from the 100th squadron.

Celeste's brow furrowed with concern. "Do you know any of these guys?" Egan shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, they're from another squadron—the 459th maybe. I can't be sure."

Her eyes widened in shock, gaze flickering between Egan and the group of pilots. "That's rough, real rough," she muttered—her hand absently rubbing her thigh.

"Hey," one of the pilots spoke up—earning a questioning look from both Egan and Celeste. The young man then points at her, " You're a C-47 pilot right?" Celeste furrows her brows slightly—before he directs his attention towards the French Kiss patch upon the jacket.

"Ah yes..." she whispers, her lower teeth gnawing at the inside of her lip.

"You know, you C-47 pilots sure deserve a medal for what you do." The wounded pilots spoke once more....

Celeste managed a small, wistful smile at his words, her own eyes meeting his. "Thank you,. But let's focus on getting out of here first, alright?"

Before Egan could respond or anyone else for that matter, the young man started again, "Forgive me for saying this, ma'am, but you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a long time. Might be the last, with our luck."

Celeste couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt at gallows humor—a hint of blush coloring her cheeks. "Let's hope that's not the case," her voice tinged with a hint of warmth. Whereas Egan shot the young pilot a sharp look—his jaw clenched with barely concealed anger.

As she sat there, Celeste soon felt the firm grip of a German guard on her arm—pulling her towards him, his gaze cold and calculating. Egan's clenched fist and steely stare were a silent warning, a promise of protection—as he stood ready to defend her at all costs. "Fix him." The guard's broken English words cut through the air.

With a sudden, brutal shove, Celeste was sent sprawling to the ground—her knees buckling beneath her. But Egan was there in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around her, a shield. His defiance was met with a dangerous glint in the guard's eyes, a silent challenge that promised violence if pushed too far.

"It's okay," Celeste whispered, her voice a fragile thread of reassurance as she squeezed Egan's arm. Reluctantly, he released her, settling back down beside the wounded airman—his jaw clenched with frustration and anger.

As Celeste knelt beside the injured man, her hands shaking with uncertainty, she felt a wave of helplessness wash over her. She was out of her depth, her expertise limited to aircraft and anthropology, not battlefield injuries. The wounded man cried out in pain as she tried to tend to his wounds, her inexperience a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.

The German guard's harsh grip on her shoulder pulled her away, forcing her back to Egan's side where he could keep a watchful eye on both of them. Celeste listened to the guards' conversation—the words a sinister melody that sent a chill down her spine. She knew then that their fate lay in the hands of these men, their lives balancing on a knife's edge of uncertainty.

Egan's whispered plan of escape stirred a spark of hope in the brunette's heart—a desperate glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded them. But the other airman knew the risks were too great, the consequences too dire. The young fellow urged caution with a silent shake of his head. That conversation in its self was ended.

As the train car continued, rattling along the tracks, Celeste and Egan sat side by side—with him hunching over occasionally. Oddly, she found herself so fixated on his poor posture. Oh, how she wanted it so bad.

Celeste's eyes flashed with defiance as she heard one of the guards mutter something derogatory about her. Claiming how a woman couldn't figure out how to mend wounds—when that and being in the kitchen was all they were good for.

The words stung, igniting a fierce flame within. Without a second thought, she rose to her feet, fists clenched, and lips pressed together in a tight line. "What did you say?" she spat out in German, her voice dripping with venom.

The guards exchanged startled glances, "You speak German?" One spoke—clearly caught off guard by Celeste's unexpected outburst.

Their hands instinctively moved to their weapons, voices rising in alarm. "Yes and so what? Us American women are far more capable..." but before she could finish her words, arms wrapped around her waist.

Sensing the situation escalating, Egan had acted swiftly, reaching out and taking celeste onto his lap. "Stop it," he murmured into her ear—his tone held firm. It held a certain echo of Lady Qin.

Celeste tensed in Egan's embrace, her breath coming in short gasps as she struggled to contain her rising anger. Lady Qin's teachings echoed in her mind, reminding her of the power of restraint and control. She turned slightly to meet Egan's gaze, his eyes silently urging her to quell her rising temper.

In that moment, she realized the gravity of their situation – they were not facing the Japanese soldiers who often yielded to her fierce demeanor, but a different enemy in unfamiliar territory.

Slowly, Celeste relaxed against Egan, her sharp gaze never leaving the guards who now eyed her warily. In that fleeting moment, they both understood the gravity of their predicament and the need to bide their time until a chance for escape presented itself. Little did Celeste know by speaking in the few words she knew in German—had sealed her fate....

1800,

      The light was far gone from the sky, entering darkness across the horizon. With the gentle rhythm, Celeste and Egan sat in silence, exchanging only fleeting glances as the night blurred past their window. It had been hours since they were taken, or atleast that's what it felt like.

As the train screeched to an abrupt halt, the once tranquil atmosphere was shattered by the urgent clamor of voices and shuffling feet. Guards sneered orders, whilst their dogs barked and flared their shining, white teeth.

The harsh tones cutting through the air like a knife to the ears. Celeste felt her heart quickening as she scrambled to gather herself—her hands trembling slightly with apprehension.

Stepping out onto the platform, her eyes widened in shock at the scene that unfolded before them. The town lay in ruins, buildings reduced to rubble and flames licking at the night sky. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and despair—a stark reminder of the destruction wrought by war.

Women wailed in anguish, their cries piercing the night with a haunting melody of grief and loss. Some clutched their lifeless children to their chests, their faces twisted in agony. Celeste felt a lump form in her throat, her once brave facade was crumbling.

She had witnessed the horrors of war before, but never had she been so close to the aftermath of a bombing. The raw emotions that engulfed the town mirrored the suffering she had witnessed in distant lands—-a reminder of the cruelty and destruction that accompanied conflict.

"Think our boys did this?" one of the airmen asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. Before Celeste could respond, Egan interjected with a sense of grim resignation, "It looks like it just happened. RAF."

"Shit, Brit's actually hit something..." another man muttered before Celeste passed a glare. As they continued to walk, the civilians, mere shadows of their former selves, lined the streets—-their faces etched with a mixture of fear, anger, and despair. Their once warm expressions replaced with glares and grimaces, the weight of their suffering palpable in the air.

Some tented to the wounded whilst others stood over the dead. The glares they received spoke volumes, accusing them of being terror flyers—of being responsible for the devastation that surrounded them.

The smell was upmost unbearable, one will never forget the scent of burning flesh or houses. Celeste felt her breath hesitant at the sight of the raging fires, bringing back grueling memories of the Japanese.

The soldiers escorting them showed no mercy, their expressions cold and remorseless. They pushed at Celeste and Egan forward roughly—their guns never far from their backs.

But it wasn't long before one of the American airman was attacked by a German woman—damming them for the attacks upon their people. Shortly followed by others joining in by throwing rocks and torn wood.

Finding themselves surrounded by a growing crowd of furious civilians. Pitchforks glinted in the fading light of flames, and objects were clenched tightly in calloused hands.

Suddenly, the atmosphere tensed as another insult pierced the air, followed by another, and another—-until a cacophony of hateful words reverberated off the cobblestone buildings. Some of the women in the crowd turned their accusing gazes towards Celeste. A lone figure caught in the storm of hostility, and their eyes burned with shame and indignation.

As the group of enraged men closed in, brandishing pitchforks and rocks, the guards attempted to hold them back, their efforts strained against the tide of fury. A younger gentleman, his face twisted with fury, pointed an accusing finger at the guards. "Stop! Why are you protecting them?" he bellowed, "why?!" his voice cutting through the chaos. Another asked the same, demanding to know why they were protecting the enemy.

Another airman tried to call the guards to help, but to no avail. Before Celeste knew it, everyone was in a full out brawl. A large blank of wood came crashing down upon the airman's head—causing him to immediately fall limp to the ground.

Celeste felt herself scream, her eyes locked on the dead man. But she glanced up just in time to dodge the next swing of the German man—with the beam bouncing off the rock wall. Egan, hearing her scream, was quick to grab her back against him—trying to calm the raging crowd of civilians closing in.

But it was Celeste whom saw the silver glint of a blade being removed from a pocket—her hand immediately clenched Egan's bomber jacket in a frantic rush.

Before they could react, the figure wielding the blade lunged towards them with swift aggression. Egan instinctively positioned himself in front of her—his protective stance a shield against the impending danger. A chilling yelp echoed through the air, drawing Celeste's attention to another airman who was under attack—-mercilessly beaten by makeshift weapons from the debris-strewn streets.

She couldn't just stand by and let this man suffer such a fate.
Unable to bear witness to such brutality, not like she had before. With a swift motion, she pushed Egan's arm aside, eyes ablaze with determination. "Stop it! Stop it!" she implored in German—her arms outstretched in a desperate plea for peace amidst the escalating violence.

However, her cries were drowned out by the cacophony of anger and hostility. In the midst of this chaos, a young and inexperienced guard, overwhelmed by the unfolding events, made a hasty decision.

Before Celeste could react, she felt a sudden impact against her chest, the guard's forceful shove sending her crashing to the ground. Pain flared through her body, her hands meeting the frigid pavement as she struggled to catch her breath. A harsh cough racked her frame as she fought to rise—her eyes locking with the guard's as he pointed an accusing finger in her direction.

"She's a traitor... she speaks German!" was a sentence that cut through her very being, challenging her identity and casting doubts.

Her eyes locked with those of the guard - his dark hair and piercing blue eyes now filled with accusation. The weight of the this hit her, and she felt compelled to defend herself.

"I am not a traitor! I'm American! I only learned German as a child," Celeste protested, her voice tinged with desperation as she tried to reason with the crowd. But her words were lost amidst the chaos that ensued.

The first egg struck her head, its shell shattering on impact and the yolk dripping down her face like tears of injustice. She recoiled from it, with her hand trying to frantically wipe it away. Another followed, and then another. She couldn't help but wonder where they had gotten them...

"Egan!" she yelped in desperation. With a swift movement, Egan enveloped her in embrace—trying to ward away the onslaught of eggs and rocks. The women in the crowd lunged forward, their voices raised of fury as they branded Celeste a traitor.

"It's okay." Egan exclaimed, pulling her closer. Gasping for breath, Celeste felt a surge of shock and disbelief wash over—her hands instinctively reaching to wipe away the sticky remnants of the eggs that marred her once pristine appearance.

"Traitor!" a shrill voice cried out, prompting another egg to be hurled in her direction with unwavering malice.

Egan's voice rose above the chaos, a beacon of steadfast support in the storm of accusations. "She's no traitor, she's an American pilot! ," he proclaimed.

Yet, the accusations persisted, each one more cutting than the last. "Consorting with the enemy," one woman sneered, her disdain dripping like venom as she cast another accusatory glare towards Celeste.

With sharp words in German, the women reached out and grabbed Celeste by the arm—dragging her away from Egan's grasp. "Let go of me!" Celeste sneered. The woman's grip, like vices, tightened around her arm.

Celeste, undeterred by their aggression, met the woman with a swift punch to the jaw. The others gasped, witnessing what she had did. They quickly closed in on Celeste—hurling insults as they tried to pick the wounded woman up. One even slapped Celeste across the face—earning the American a bloodied nose.

Egan, witnessing this, knew he had to intervene. With a swift movement, he stepped in and took hold of the women—tossing her to the ground as if she were nothing but a doll. "That's right," another spat back in broken English.

The older woman among the group, her eyes filled with resentment, spoke in broken English, "You are the filth...Traitor," before spitting on the ground in front of Celeste. The other women around her began to chant "whore" and "Traitor" in German—where their voices rising in anger.

As Celeste tried to stem the blood trickling from her nose, with Egan at her side trying to stop the aggressive advances —a man lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair. Pulling her away from where he stood. A cry of pain escaped Celeste's lips as her hands instinctively rose to loosen the man's grip.

A primal urge surged through Egan as he saw the woman he loved being dragged away. With determined steps, he charged towards the man, his fists clenched tightly. "Let her go!" he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos of the scene as he landed a powerful punch on the man's face.

The other American nearby screamed in shock as be realized the severity of the situation. The man tried to scramble away but was caught and shot by the guards.

As Celeste fell to the ground, Egan stood over her protectively, a silent guardian ready to defend her at any cost. His chest heaved with adrenaline, his gaze unwavering as he dared anyone else to come near.

Egan's senses sharpened as he saw the German guards approaching, their shadows dancing ominously in the moonlight. The chill of the night air was punctuated by the harsh barks of their dogs. Guns drawn, their steel barrels glinting in the dim light.

Celeste slowly stood to her feet, trembled at his side, her eyes wide with terror. Her heart pounded like a caged bird desperate for freedom, where her eyes fixed on Egan.

Despite the blood trickling down his temple from a blow to the head, Egan's instinct to protect her surged within him like a relentless tide. He turned to her, his hand grasping hers firmly as he pulled her close.

"Don't let them separate us," Celeste whispered, her voice barely more than a breath of quivers. "We know what they'll do." She knew what the men would do to her if she was taken and it was a fate worse than death. Celeste remembered what the Japanese had done to the young girls and women—that fate would not befall her.

"I won't," Egan vowed, his gaze locked on her, his eyes a mix of anguish. With a swift movement, he positioned Celeste in front of him—one arm across her chest whilst the other hand brandished a knife to her throat.

The cold kiss of the blade against her throat sent shivers down her spine, the metallic tang of fear lingering on her tongue. Yet, in that harrowing moment, she found comfort in the warmth of Egan's touch—-the beating of his heart a steady rhythm against her back.

His cheek pressed against hers, a tear escaped Egan's eye, unbidden and unchecked—ruining his stoic facade. As the German guards closed in, their orders sharp and guttural, Egan's world narrowed to the woman in his arms. Celeste clung to him, her fingers digging into his arms, a silent plea for it all to end.

With a fierceness, he declared, "I will not let you take her from me! You will not take her!" Egan leaned in, brushing a tender kiss against Celeste's cheek. It was a fleeting touch, a silent promise of unyielding love that transcended the chaos surrounding them.

"Do it, Egan... please..," though soft as a whisper, resonated with unwavering trust, a beacon of light in the suffocating dark. In the silent exchange that followed, his forehead touching the side of hers in a final act of intimacy, a silent understanding passed between them—-unspoken yet profound.

Egan's voice, soft and tender, echoed through the crisp air as he poured his heart out to Celeste, his words melting into the darkness like a sweet melody.

"I love you, little lady. "his voice a soothing caress against her ear. Celeste brought her hand to his cheek, her touch a gentle reassurance.

Their eyes met in a dance of silent understanding. In that fleeting moment, the world held its breath,. Celeste's voice, clear and unwavering, cut through the night like a beacon of light.

", John Egan. The hero of my heart," she declared, her words hanging in the air like a delicate mist. Her breath, a fragile wisp in the chill of the night, carried with it a tenderness. "We'll meet again on the other side..."

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AUTHOR'S NOTE
——

Now children, we must be
disciplined not feral in the comments 😭🫶🏻

I feel like everyone wants to jump me,
but like I can't be sure ☠️

Honestly peace was never an option with me,
I thought we discussed this everyone🫣

HONESTLY I love this chapter so much, I PUT MY WHOLE HEART , SOUL, SWEAT WHATEV IN IT

Literally everyone after reading this chapter

NEXT ON AMOR VINCIT OMNIA
———

Celeste and Egan found themselves
under the pressure of being taken. Celeste must learn to protect herself.