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                           | xviii. RAVENSBRÜCK

MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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"As much as we glorify telling people exactly how you feel, be tactical with your words. Minds can be scarred, and hearts aren't made of stone. "

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NORTHERN GERMANY
1943

        ||  OH, BUT DOES DEATH WHISPER A CRUEL LULLABY? ONE THAT ONLY THOSE KEEN TO PAIN HEAR IT? It's a dangerous dance to be in—never knowing when one's last breath may be. And yet there are those chosen for this cause. War... where two love birds sway to the waltz of their own.

The soft glow from the officers hall adds a warmth to the darkness. A Glenn Miller serenade mellows into the background. Where Egan effortlessly twirls Celeste around, her laughter ringing to the chorus. Arnie and Jackson stood beside them, leaning against the bar counter— carrying on with their jokes. Ben, Robert and Frankie were gossiping it with Crosby on the other side.

Arnie made some sly comments, but Celeste didn't listen to him, instead focusing her sights on Egan—that was the only man capturing her sight tonight. He drew her closer, hand falling down her waist. The voices and music  seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

Celeste closed her eyes, a soft hum escaping her lips—readying doe their lips to meet. Yet as they were too, a sudden groan disrupted this moment. Along with it came a shaking, a tremble, a mixture of metal against metal rippling through the false walls—-shattering this fragile world.

Green eyes quickly snapped open—focusing on the discolored fabric above. It danced freely along with the wind. It all came back, Oh how she longed to be free.. Celeste let out a small gasp—her lungs fighting to regain composure.

Blinking the last traces of haziness, the realization hit like a ton of bricks. The dance, the music, Egan - it was all a figment of her imagination, a cruel trick played by her own mind. Even Arnie and Jackson...

Frankly, it didn't stop her mind from racing, with the main goal at trying to make sense of where she was. Where everyone was? The memories of the night before came flooding back like a dagger being driven into her heart.

It took her back to the streets in Nanking in 1937, where she was on trip to see some Ming Dynasty ruins. But instead, Celeste was met with the overwhelming hostility of the invading Japanese—though at that time, they didn't pay her attention as the US was neutral.

One of the guards had noticed her eyes moving around frantically. Where he didn't hesitate to gesture towards her. The other merely nodded, gripping the rifle beside him tighter. Celeste quickly noted this odd behavior. " Where am i?" She sneered through clenched teeth.

Much to her dismay, they didn't heed to her demands, instead speaking in hushed tones. Words that Celeste struggled to understand. She had learned German, yes, but wasn't exactly fluent persay. Frankly, her Chinese was far better. Then again, having Lady Qin as her instructor, there wasn't much time for play.

The musty scent of sweat and rotten wood hung heavy in the enclosed canopy. It finally dawned upon her that Egan wasn't here. Had he been slaughtered as well? Celeste tilted herself to the left, perhaps hoping to see him. Yet only a empty bench remained...

There is when panic settled where fear had been. Celeste tried to push herself up, but was unable too. Her wrists and ankles had been bound by rope—and tightly wrapped at that...well so much for the Geneva Convention.

Laying there sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, her reality a hazy blur as she muttered the names of those she loved. Fate, whimsical and cruel, reveled in keeping everyone she had grown attached too, away.

The rumble of the truck slowly faded as Celeste struggled to rouse herself. With each shaky breath—her nostrils flared, heart beating a frantic pace. Until the vehicle stopped and rough hands grasped her arms, before pulling her out.

The two soldiers hastily sliced away at the rope that held her. Before roughly guiding Celeste towards a train platform. But it wasn't exactly desolate as her eyes focused. There stood a group of women— gathered in lines, their faces etched with tiredness. Eyes windows to souls burdened by unspeakable sorrow.

Most were clad in tattered shawls and worn shoes, whilst their hair was cut undeniably too short. The once bustling streets were a wasteland of twisted metal and burnt debris. Homes that had once echoed with laughter and warmth now stood as hollow shells— memories erased by the hands of war.

The young brunette felt a shiver of unease ripple through her. Something about these women with their haunted gazes and silent pleas, just rubbed her the wrong way. Fearing what had happened last night may happen again, she tried to resist, to break free from their hold—atlas but their grip was unyielding.

It was then that Celeste noticed something peculiar about the soldiers who held her. They didn't move like regular army personnel, their movements were far more coordinated and precise. Their uniforms, though stained with the dirt of battle, were clean and neat, adorned with emblems that Celeste hadn't seen before.

Panic gripped her heart as she thought of Egan again. Was he being held as a prisoner of war? If so, where was he? And why was she here?

Celeste's mind raced with questions all the while struggling. But her protests fell on deaf ears as the soldiers were quite unmoved by her acting.

Ahead of the other women stood a slightly taller and older one. A woman weathered by life's hardships. Her weary eyes surveyed the unfolding fight with a piercing gaze. Adorned with a weathered bandana, its once pristine white now faded, gathered her onyx locks in a hasty bun—that rested at the base of her neck.

"Let me go!" cried Celeste as her heels entrenched into the dirt. As the older woman witnessed the struggle—a pang of sorrow clutching at her heart. Memories of her own lost daughter flooded in, a poignant reminder of the war's grim realities.

The guards soon ushered the American onto the platform, before practically tossing her at the woman in front. Celeste felt gravity pulling down as her legs buckled. Yet, it wasn't the ground that greeted her, instead rather skinny arms. Even as she collided with the fragile woman, Celeste's hands, placing upon the lady's back—could feel the bones.

But it was the smell of body odor that made Celeste rail, yet woman's touch exuded a strange sense of comfort, despite the dire circumstances surrounding them.. "Sorry..." Celeste whispered in German, whilst the woman uttered words in a language unknown to her.

Celeste's gaze then flickered towards the white armband adorning the woman's right bicep. It held a symbol of some sort and a golden star lay embedded on the right breast pocket. Both had to have meant something..

"Achtung!" A voice shouted over a loudspeaker—garnering all the women to stand at attention, their features unmoving.
Celeste meekly glanced around at the crowd, before settling on a figure approaching. His uniform was crisp featuring a dark black—the patches of white stuck out. He appraised the prisoners with a cool detachment— hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Whilst most of the prisoners inclined their heads, Celeste found herself oddly watching him—trying to unravel all of this. Who was this man? What was that uniform?

Yet her train of thought was interrupted when there was a sudden jab at her side. Celeste muttered out a curse, holding a hand down towards the ache— as her gaze landed upon the older woman's glare.

And for good reason, as the commandant was slowly making his way towards them. It was only then that Celeste got the memo and awkwardly adjusted herself—straightening up just as the others had.

He merely casted her a up and down glance of disapproval. No words could describe the utter disgust he held in those darken eyes of his. It was after that he motioned a nod towards the woman. As the man did so, Celeste held her breath momentarily, her fists clenching—but now wasn't the time to fight.

He slowly moved on, beckoning the guards with him. It wasn't long before the whistle flooded the area. The incoming train rattled, brakes hissing and wheels squealing as it drew near.

Celeste lifted her head slowly, her green eyes focusing in on the black engine approaching. Its iron wheels clattered on the tracks, sending vibrations through the air, and a cloud of dust billowed in its wake. The train, a behemoth of black steel, loomed ominously as it approached the platform, its cargo cars trailing behind like obedient children.

The old woman did the same, her grey eyes fixed as the train steadied just a few feet from where they were standing. It made a horrid grinding screech as it came to a stop. Steam appeared from below just as the doors whipped open on the cattle cars.

Soldiers stepped out armed with rifles and ferocious German Shepherds at their sides. The over impending doom was here, its claws outstretched bringing them in to unknown fate. The guards began ordering them to line up single file.

Celeste along with the others were to be piled into the large cattle car—was this the German's version of a sick joke? The car was rattled with holes and splintering wood, a pungent smell accompanied the interior. One that made Celeste feel quite uncomfortable.

The guards yelled, rifles held close, just inching for someone to make the mistake of escaping. But the head lady made sure none would, that the fates they would face would be very worse than that at camp. Little did she know how truly wrong she was...

The watch, faces were set stern, eyes held forward. Not even the slightest hint of any emotion. Whilst another walked along side the singled file line of women, counting each one by one. With her head lowered, Celeste felt it odd, that being an American, she wasn't separated from the rest.

Perhaps it wasn't like the guards didn't know who she was, it was more along the lines of they didn't care. She was just the another enemy in their eyes.

Celeste listened to the men as they walked up and down the line, counting in German. 1..2..3..4 etc... 40, there were 40 of them. That wouldn't sound like much to others but when they're about to be pushed into one cattle car—-it can cramped real quick.

The order for all to board the transport was spoken loud and clear—except Celeste wasn't on board. She shouldn't have been here, it was all wrong. As the leader started walking towards the car, Celeste started backing away—her body colliding with the women that tried to follow. As the guards started yelling, Celeste pleaded with the first that appeared before her.

This wasn't right, she was an American Pilot, an officer and should be treated as a POW. Not to go wherever this crowd was. But try as she might, her heeds were not given a chance. So in a typical Celeste manner, she pushed the guard away that grabbed her arm, " I'm an American Officer!" She yelled—"I should be in a POW camp!" Her pleas encouraged another guard to come over—trying to coax her to follow the rest.

But the struggle ended when a gun was fired into the air.
All the women huddled down immediately, whilst Celeste and the two soldiers stood, breathing heavily. A gentle hum barely escaped the man's lips as he strolled over to Celeste, the emblems upon his collar shining in the daylight.

The man was grizzle looking, a stern set forth face with a thin line for lips and he looked as if his face had seen many centuries due to all the wrinkles.

Perhaps it were likes a tree, where the rings tell the age of tree mate it were the same for him and his wrinkled told everyone how old he was. He cupped his hands together behind his back as he slowly walked in front of the prisoners. His stride held a limp—maybe an injury taken in battle.

His cold eyes met hers with chilling indifference. Without a word, he raised his left hand—one that bore a horse whip and struck her across the cheek. The sharp sting jolted all the adrenaline away from Celeste. She fall backwards, her hand immediately hovering over the cut.

"You are going elsewhere," the oberlieutenant spoke, before his sight fixed upon the older woman. He pointed the whip at her as he spoke in German, " Maria, get better hold of your women..." She merely bowed her immediately, quickly whispering a slight, 'yes' under her breath.

Celeste lay there, clutching her throbbing skin, glaring upon the man that had inflicted this pain. The guards began shouting in German—their harsh commands ringing out above the din of the barking dogs. The women, their faces etched with fear and desperation, were herded towards the train like cattle. Pushed and prodded by the guards, some stumbled and fell—their cries drowned out by the deafening noise of the train.

Celeste felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Maria, her face etched with worry. Still holding her hand to her bleeding cheek, the brunette hesitated, the fear in her eyes mirroring that of the women around her. With a gentle nudge, Maria urged Celeste towards the open door of the train car, her voice a soothing balm in the midst of chaos.

The first step creaked as Celeste leaned her weight upon it, a little squeak rang in her ears which of course brought no comfort at all. It creaked once again when Maria placed her weight upon it. But unlike Celeste, she grabbed for the side bar that was sticking out from the back and by doing that, she hoped to distributed most of her weight over to it. And of course to calm her nerves just a bit.

As Celeste tried to find a little corner to call hers, she found herself bumping into others—all stacked in there like sardines. She glanced from side to side at the car's inside state, and well...it wasn't much different from the outside. Neither one gave her the pleasuring satisfaction of being safe nor comfortable at all.

There reality of the situation sank in. She was being taken away, torn from everything she knew and loved. And there, with one final glance to the horizon, the doors immediately closed—leaving them all in darkness. The rhythmic chug of the train's wheels replaced the cacophony of shouts and cries, the world outside fading into darkness as the train picked up speed, carrying its cargo of human lives towards an uncertain fate.

Of the these unknown passengers did give Celeste a weary glance—even pointing out her uniform to another. But none dared to get close to her like she was some sort of disease.

Whilst others held their heads low, their eyes either fixed upon the floor or closed as they desperately tried to clasp as much sleep as possible. Some bore the thousand yard stare, staring into the floorboards of the truck with such intent that perhaps they saw something there that she didn't.

   Only then did she noticed how torn and mud covered their clothes were. There was a silence to them all, a silence that they all knew where they were going and it wasn't good.

Celeste began looking around, seeing if there was any loosened wood. When that didn't work, she started stomping her foot upon the planks. She repeated it a couple times, searching for weakened spots. But it was to no avail. With a frustrated sigh, Celeste throw up her hands—curling her fingers against her locks.

The war had worked itself around and managed to take everything she held dear away. How many friends had she lost to this god forsaken war? Arnie, Jackson... now of the five, she was the last man standing. How could they have gone on even when the hope of winning was slowly slipping away? Was it when the people starting turning on one another?

Feeling the sting of the cut, the brunette slowly retrieved the white fabric from her pocket. Egan's flight scarf... But his photo followed in suit, falling to floor as like its human counterpart had. Celeste hadn't even realized at the moment until Maria bent down and grabbed it. Her grey eyes examining the dashing young pilot before her—before handing it back to its owner.

A flicker of sorrow flooded through Celeste's eyes as she quickly took it back. It could have been the last piece of Egan she had. "What is your name?" Maria asked, slowly examining the young woman's attempt at cleaning the bleeding cheek. "Celeste..." she muttered of which the raven haired remarked how beautiful the name was..

"You know English?" Celeste found herself asking, quite relieved someone know it. Maria merely hummed beneath her breath, casting a subtle bow at her remark. She expressed how she used to be an English teacher in one of the prominent German universities in Berlin.

As Celeste quickly tucked the photo away, Maria laid her hand out —coaxing for the scarf to be handed over. A flicker of reluctance, the brunette passed it over. Maria's eyes, the color of storm clouds, met hers with a soft intensity—a silent understanding.

Celeste winced slightly as the fabric touched her skin. Her hands coiling into tight fists. "Who.. is he.." Maria stumbles slightly over the English words slightly. The brunette meekly smiles, " Someone dear to me..."

Maria's words, spoken in a voice barely above a whisper, lingered in the air like a haunting melody. "He is a handsome man." Celeste's breath caught in her throat, "Yes he is..." A lump formed as she struggled to swallow the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. "Or was," she whispered, the words heavy on her tongue.

Celeste bite at her lower lip as those words slipped from her lips. Never did she forget she'd have to say them. Maria lowered her sight for a moment, "Do you feel that he is gone?" Maria asked, her voice soft as a prayer. Celeste's gaze met hers,"What?"

The older woman sighed, handing the scarf back to Celeste awaiting hand, " Do you feel it in your heart that his is no longer connected to yours?"

Celeste felt quite dumbfounded at such a question, "Uh,..." she raises her brow slightly, " I don't think so?"

"Good..." Maria began, " You would know the pain if he was..." Even though it was slightly odd, Celeste found it quite reassuring that Egan was still alive. She slowly retracted back into herself—glancing down upon the wooden floor.

They were off heading to the lord only knows where. Maria leaned up against the metal beam, her body having had enough of not getting any sleep. The metal banged against metal as the train continued travelling along the tracks.

As she slowly sat down, still swaying to the movement of the car, she thought of Arnie and his corny jokes. How Jackson and Frankie would still be cracking laughs even in a situation like this. And oh, sweet, sweet Ben, he'd still be on the corner—huddling himself away from the others.

Oh how she missed them, it's not fair... Celeste found herself muttering... how come death had taken them but not her? Her hand found Egan's photo and she clutched onto it tightly. She knew of the Germans found it, they would take it away.

Oh how she to fight the calling of sleep, her eyes had heavy with every passing second. Maria had noticed her fight, "Go to sleep... you don't know when you'll be able too again..." She muttered, giving a reassuring pat upon her shoulder. Celeste held a look of confusion upon her features, that very sentence struck something within. Exactly what did she mean?

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RAVENSBRÜCK, WOMEN'S LABOR CAMP
GERMANY
1000 HOURS

|| AS THE RHYTHMIC CLATTER OF METAL ON METAL GRADUALLY SUBSIDED—Celeste stirred from her fitful slumber, the hazy fog slowly lifting from her mind. Finding herself thinking of Egan's poor attempt at singing—and his quirky dancing.

The shrill cries of the guards and the relentless barking of their vigilant canines filled the air, shattering the silence that had enveloped her slumbering form. Slowly, as if emerging from a deep, murky pool, she rubbed her bleary eyes, a heavy weight pressing against her chest.

With a creak and a groan, the doors of the cattle car grated open—allowing a sliver of blinding sunlight to pierce the gloom within. Blinking against the harsh intrusion of light, Celeste squinted, her senses assaulted by the glaring brightness that flooded the interior of the car. How long had she been asleep? Time seemed to have slipped through her fingers like grains of sand, lost in the churning depths of her unconscious mind.

As she shifted, the ache of confinement and the stiffness of her limbs made themselves known, a stark reminder of the cramped quarters in which she had been confined for what felt like an eternity.

As she was wisked out by Maria, the first thing Celeste saw was the quaint town. Ah, the resort town of Fürstenberg. Where people went on about their daily chores, not even bating an eye at the women being marched through. The aroma of baking bread filled the air, leading Celeste's stomach to rumble.

But anyone that even lagged behind was beaten with the butt of a rifle. And none of the civilians said anything. They were marched from the town through the quiet woods, beside the quaint cottages where the female guards lived with views of Lake Schwedt, before being lead into the hell of Ravensbrück.

Celeste had no idea where they were going or the horrors in store as she walked through a town most had seen only in postcards. Most of the quieter women behind her started to speak up—-with some pointing towards the beautiful lake.

Any hope they did have quickly disintegrated with the crack of whips and the snarl of guards trained to kill. This was the traditional greeting for all women entering the Ravensbrück Concentration Camp.

Ahead awaited a team of female guards, with their male counterparts nearby with a group of German Shepards. Celeste glanced up at the large writing upon the metal sign—
" RAVENSBRÜCK"

But that wasn't what took her by surprise, it the was bodies—dead stacked upon a cart. Their arms and legs hanging out, and mouths and eyes wide open. The smell of decay filled the air, making Celeste immediately hold her breath.

As the disgruntled guards started barking orders to get a move on, Celeste's sight remained fixed on the decaying—women that had been something before this war. Now lay casted among another—less than cattle... Horrid memories of Nanking erupted into her mind. Where women and children laid sprawl out lifeless upon the streets. The Germans were no better than the Japanese in their cruelties.

With snarling dogs in hand, the guards began lining everyone up in single file—ones that many were subject too at school in kindergarten. The rifles slouched loosely over their shoulder unlike the two that were neatly, uniformed in black to the side. The female guards were just as brutal as the male counterparts.

Two officers shortly appeared before them, with both carrying sheets of paper. As the women were herded into lines, the two looked as if they were caught in some conversation about whatever was printed upon the papers.

Celeste watched as one whispered to the other and then the other whispered something to the guard. Then the guard started shouting commands at the others to rally up beside the prisoners. Then, each female guard started counting—guaranteeing all were there and none had escaped.

Two more guards stood facing each other while another stood beside with a pencil and unmarked paper. Then like an assembly line, each prisoner was to pass by them before stopping as they were told a number; given that's where they were to stand.

The one man began counting, but Celeste was pretty sure that half of the women still didn't know how to speak German.

Some of the female prisoners were sluggish as they walked to their respective lines—perhaps it was the lack of water and food. Then again Everyone was going to the same doom whether or not they were ready for it.

She watched as a woman in gray and black uniform with brown hair in an updo—raised the sheet once more as Celeste approached. " 6" Her voice rang throughout the yard. The guard gave her subtle brow raise, perhaps noting something wasn't right.

Oh, Celeste wanted to stand there and yell, plead that she wasn't in the right place. But glancing around at the other women, it dawned she wouldn't have been any different than those in charge. How was she to choose to go and leave those behind?

One of the officers shot her a look as she stood there, furrowing his brows as if he were to do something. But she was pushed forward by Maria—whom quickly apologizing for the trouble.

Celeste flashed Maria a glare, that she would even think to do such a thing. But the old woman was not standing for this, both had gotten their number and it was time for them to be on their way—no need to anger the guards for such a stupid reason.

The commotion only settled down once everyone was in their lines. In the half-light of the breaking day the soldiers stood around them, at ease, but still armed. Each face was impassive, not a trace on it to say they knew where they were or what they were about to do.

Celeste wondered if they were trained that way or if they were just like that from where they came. Perhaps the war had something to do with it... Is there a boy inside each man that knows his gun is no longer a toy and that maybe his foes will?

It was silence for moment for she could hear the footsteps of approaching people. The beating of her own heart in her ears. The brunette raised her eyesight to meet those approaching, a young Nazi officer along with two much older men, took their place upon a small podium. Two other women, fashioned in German uniforms, took their place beside them.

" Achtung!" A board voice boomed across the camp through a microphone. At this coming order, all the women clicked their heels and mustered all strength to stand up. Their arms laid flat against sides, heads held high whilst faces set upon the man who called the orders.

There were five in total of outstanding rank or so Celeste was assuming they were—-standing with a giant microphone. The older man who had called the orders was short and stocky.

This particular person pressed his hands upon the wooden hand railings, his darkened eyes squinting as he surveyed.  He slightly leaned over to the young man beside——one that shared strikingly similar facial features to him.

He had brown hair that was cut short in the typical military style, a sharp jaw line accompanied with a tiny mustache just below his nose. He leaned in as the older man spoke, possibly to better hear. Celeste would soon learn this was Oberlieutenant Josef Wolff—the commandant's son....

His eyes glanced around the sea of prisoners before he finally locked eyes with Celeste. She felt an uncomfortable feeling emitting deep from within, his eyes felt like he was cutting right through her. A cruel smirk started to play across his lips.

Celeste quickly avoided the awkward eye contact with him, directing her eyesight back to the ground, thus singling herself out amongst the crowd. Stupid, stupid, she find herself thinking about what she had just done but then again, she was now failing a direct order.

The old man perked up once again, facing towards the crowd. Now she noticed the fourth man come from behind him. The old man pursed his lips and spoke loudly, " I am commandant Wolff. As long as you abide by the camp rules, you will be treated decently... Break the rules and you will be punished." After he finished, the fourth man beside him started speaking in Polish then Russian, not very good— but enough to suffice of getting the point across.

Wolff waited for him to finish and spoke once more," As long as you are here, you will be put to work." Like a record, the fourth officer began speaking, trying his best to not butcher the words. Celeste, still holding her head low, glanced over to Maria, who looked like her soul had been crushed.

" Is that clear?!" Commandant Wolff loudly proclaimed, The fourth man spoke rather calmly and less harsher when compared to the other. And with what little pride was left in their souls and bodies, the prisoners sounded one last answer to command—each in their respective languages.

Wolff was then handed a clip board, whilst Josef bought over four, small containers. When a new prisoner arrived at Ravensbrück she was required to wear a colour-coded triangle (a winkel) that identified her by category—with a letter sewn within the triangle indicating the prisoner's nationality.

When Celeste reached to the table, she was handed a white triangle with the letter A embroidered in the middle. American.... So they knew who she was and still held her here. Something about this camp was rubbing her the wrong way.

As she began to walk away, that inner voice began tingling—so Celeste paused and turned back towards them.
" Listen,"she started, holding the triangle up, " I'm an American pilot. I should not be here... perhaps there was a mistake." She seethes as she marches over, but is quickly interrupted by a frantic Maria. Commandant Wolff says nothing except tilt his head slightly—hands resting upon his sides.

Maria holds the young brunette back, cradling her arm over her neck. Celeste tried to fight her off, but the older woman held tightly. "Celeste, listen to me." She whispered in a hush tone, bringing the young American on closer, " If you haven't noticed, these are SS troops. So if you want to see your pilot again, stop fighting them. They are more likely to shot you dead."

That very sentence made Celeste's blood run cold, that's what the two lightening bolt emblems meant. With the raise of Wolff's hand, the guards surrounding the group closed in. Each shouting and using their rifle to ram the women in their sides, back, arms—anywhere. Some did fall to the ground, before dogs were on them.

Next they were being hurtled towards a large building, one fitted for showers. But Maria was a tad apprehensive, believing they were being lead to their deaths instead. But as they walked in, it was apparent this was truly showers...

Each female prisoner was to be stripped of their clothes and washed throughly before claiming her new garments. Dresses that held gray and blue stripes, ones that barely fitted to them. Some did not even fit correctly.

As the heavy iron doors creaked open, a wave of damp, putrid air assaulted her senses. The flickering lights on the walls casted eerie shadows, revealing glimpses of the horror that awaited within.

The walls of the bath house were lined with cracked, mold-covered tiles. The pungent smell of decaying dirt and stagnant water hung thick in the air—making Celeste's stomach churn. The dim lights dangling from the ceiling, swaying gently as if whispering dark secrets to the shadows.

Water dripped steadily from leaky pipes, forming small puddles on the floor that reflected the distorted faces of prisoners undressing themselves. Their eyes were hollow, their bodies emaciated, their spirits broken. Some muttered to themselves incoherently, while others sat in stunned silence, their gaunt faces turned towards the ground.

Two women with purple triangles were placed beside a table where they held scissors. They had been there far longer, shaved heads and dirtied dresses. Even their shoes had been worn down. At this table is they would cut the hair of those deemed unworthy by the SS.

But as Celeste approached, she swept away from the line, unceremoniously yanked out by a female guard of considerable build. This guard, named Claude, scrutinized her with a cold, appraising gaze. Celeste felt a shiver of unease crawl down her spine as she stood there. Before a woman who seemed devoid of any flicker of empathy.

"Hello, American," Claude sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "You will get yourself cleaned here." Each word was enunciated with deliberate emphasis, punctuated by the imposing gestures of her hands. Celeste gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to retort. She refused to be underestimated, she wasn't dumb.

"Very well, let's proceed," Claude commanded, waving a dismissive hand as she ambled past Celeste, her gait unsteady, swaying from side to side. But the brunette remained rooted to the spot, a lone figure in a sea of unfamiliar faces and incomprehensible surroundings.

Observing Celeste's hesitation, Claude pivoted back, her expression a silent reprimand. "Do not dawdle," she chided brusquely, striding purposefully towards Celeste. The brunette merely stared at her wide eyed, frozen in place. It felt like she was being yelled at by her mother all over again.

Without warning, Claude seized her arm with a vice-like grip, propelling her forward with unyielding force.
Celeste's escort then pushed her forward, their grip unyielding as they led her towards a small enclosed portion of the bath house.

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, knowing she had been led into a nightmare from which there was no escape. Standing there with her sight set upon the rusted shower, Celeste felt the dread slither on her skin. "Strip of your clothes.." the madam says loudly.

"I'd rather not.." she says, " I am an officer, in accordance with ge..." a loud snap cracked across the empty room, making Celeste hunker slightly. Claude, noting a reaction from her, slammed her palm down once more, " Forget that, you are here now."

There was still a fighter in her, one that rose up from below—she wasn't to be treated like this. But as Celeste thought of doing something, it was as if lady Qin's voice played on repeat. 'Don't do anything foolish...'

So unclenching her fists, Celeste slowly removed her jacket before starting on unbuttoning. Apparently she wasn't going fast enough and Claude stepped in. She hesitated a few times, weary even, only to earn a slap upon her back.

Celeste had never felt so humiliated, so ashamed, even going as far as to cross her arms to cover her breasts. Not wanting anyone to bear witness to her appearance. The water was cold upon her skin, a cruel assurance this wasn't a dream.

She winced as the water coated her cuts and scraps—especially the wound on her arm. The bandage was bloodied and brown, which made Claude ripe it off. Not minding that it gave pain to her prisoner. Celeste only bite at her lower lip, fighting back the urge to punch this woman.

The bloody water slowly trickled down from her cheek—upon her skin, collecting upon the dirtied tile.

"Use soap..." Claude grumbled...

Celeste glanced over to the poor excuse for grey soap—it  resembled more like pumice stone. Far more softer of course. She took turns washing areas, remaining adamant in keeping herself covered.

Once Celeste was finished, she was allowed to dry herself before being given back her old clothes. A subtle bit of relief washed over her—knowing Egan's picture wasn't going to be taken away.

Claude then sat her down upon a chair, before reaching for a pair of rusty scissors. She reached forth for Celeste's hair, her fingers closing around a lock of brunette strands. The American yelped in pain as she pulled harshly—rearing the scissors to cut off the precious identity.

All those years spent taking care of it, gone within seconds. It dropped like fine specks upon the bath floor. But as soon as Claude began, it was over. 

Celeste was expecting her to shave her bald like the others had, but the guard had only given her shoulder length. She was considered a political prisoner and so, was not to have her head shaved.

She then handed a needle and thread, of which Celeste quickly sewed the triangle on the breast pocket. After that, she was casted outside into the main camp. Where many of the women stared at her wide eyed, some with mouths agape. Was it because an Allie was captured just like they were?

But most were more enthused to see her. She was somehow the light in the darkness to them. A beacon if you will. This American pilot had information about the war outside, how life was progressing, what movies were playing... How the tides were turning. The list could go on...

But as Celeste strolled to her given cabin, she found herself slowly coming to a halt. Her gaze focusing on something in the distance. Looking past the fencing, and lake stood the steeple of the church. The cross raising high, over looking the camp and town.

Oh the irony of it all, for that to be there when a camp like this was operating a mere click away. Celeste soon found Maria just outside of the barracks. Inside was no better than the outside. It was cramped and smelled quite awful. Even the bedding was scarce.

But it was the writing upon the walls that caught Celeste's sight. She traced her finger across such lettering, asking Maria what it meant as she didn't know the language. The woman obliged and spoke how it was of the people before them. Those pleading not to forgotten, to carry on their names. A dozen or so names lined the wall where Celeste would be sleeping.

And there, when the sunset was finally setting—Celeste glanced out the dirtied windows. Praying, hoping somewhere out there Egan was alive and well. That he would return to her in one piece and they'd be together again. She closed her eyes for a moment as a single tear laid astray. And perhaps that wish would be granted, but first there's a price to pay.

Little did she know the horrors she would witness by the hands of the guards there...

——————————————————————

AUTHORS NOTE
——

Blah, this is such a filler chapter

But Celeste is a labor camp 😭IM SORRY

But this was an actual labor camp
during ww2. It was in operation from 1939-1945 . It had women from 30 different countries there.
I've added the link below, please look at when you can so these women who suffered here are never forgotten.

https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/tags/en/tag/ravensbrueck?page=2

Soooooo, I feel everyone
is gonna jump me if there isn't a happy ending

Also, there only maybe 4-5
chapters left of this book
and then it's over 😭😭😭😭😭IM GONNA CRYYYYYY

NEXT
ON AMOR VINCIT OMNIA
————-

Egan has been in the new camp for a year,
and is feeling the effects of not knowing Celeste is alive. While there, he reunited with a few people he didn't know he'd see again. Celeste has been ordered to be moved out to the luftwaffe (Stalag III POW camp.)