· 。ﾟ☆: *.☽
▎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 ▎
»»————- 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦: 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘵𝘩🕊️
𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙴 — 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚊𝚛
𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴
𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭...
— ᴱᵐⁱˡʸ ᴰⁱᶜᵏⁱⁿˢᵒⁿ
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
AFTER ENDURING AN AGONIZINGLY PROTRACTED JOURNEY TO FRANKFURT, the inseparable duo found themselves forcibly wrenched apart, violently torn in opposing directions; each thrust into the merciless clutches of relentless interrogation, their bond shattered, their hearts rent asunder by the cruel hands of fate. "Hey, you lay a finger on her, and you'll regret it!" The raven's voice pierced the air, laced with venomous fury as he confronted the German guard ushering y/n away. Every word dripped with a potent mixture of defiance and desperation, a final plea to protect his beloved from the impending torment of separation.
"Focus on saving your own ass, Egan... I can handle myself." y/n cried out, her voice tinged with fear and concern as she flinched after witnessing him receive a punishing blow to the gut for his outburst. "RUHIG!" Barked the blonde, commanding silence and absolute obedience as he escorted the girl away, his tone brooking no dissent. Instantly complying, the y/h/c reached the room within minutes. "Major l/n, please enter..." Greeted an unfamiliar man, his accent thick but comprehensible. As the guards departed, she felt a slight sense of relief, though it was quickly overshadowed by disgust upon seeing Hitler's portrait hanging on the dark, oppressive wall.
"I am your interrogator, Lieutenant Wagner." He introduced himself, his dull grey eyes fixed on the vacant seat before him, gesturing for her to take it. Startled by the abrupt slam of the door behind her, y/n quickly masked her unease with a cough, then composed herself and walked over to the chair. "Can I pour you a... cup of tea?" He asked, asked tentatively, uncertain if such hospitality was even available. "Whiskey, neat." The girl demanded instead, her gaze unwavering — fiery orbs boring into his, her guard held resolutely high, poised to strike at a moment's notice if necessary. "Thanks..." She murmured, taken aback by the decency.
"Here's to your misery; may it never end." She mumbled to herself, her tone bitter as she raised her glass for a toast. "I didn't quite catch that." The man leaned in closer, genuinely puzzled by her words. "I said here's mud in your eye." She repeated, feigning innocence. "I don't know that one." Wagner remarked, his curiosity piqued. "Here's um, mud in your eye." He toasted amiably, despite the unfamiliarity. Taking a sip each, they both set their glasses down, ready to delve into the serious matter at hand. "So, where shall we begin?" Lieutenant Wagner straightened his posture, drawing in a sigh as he prepared for the interrogation ahead.
"How about that ridiculous picture on the wall?" y/n scoffed, glancing at the photo with utter abhor. "Is that his bad side, or does he always look like a rotten gargoyle?" She mocked der Führer, unable to resist the temptation to ridicule his ugly appearance, a reflection she believed of the ugliness within. Her disdain for the dictator was palpable, quite evident in her scornful tone and cutting retorts "Let's start with your journey to Dulag Luft..." Began the interrogator, only to be swiftly interjected by the y/h/c, who steered the conversation away. "Or how about every single American got shot down in the town we were in before we got to Frankfurt?"
Redirecting the topic, avoiding the initial line of questioning, y/n's strategic shift hinted at a reluctance to divulge certain details to protect others and conceal her own involvement. "Oh my goodness- What town?" Questioned the brunette, genuinely concerned for the lives lost. "Rüsselsheim." She replied flatly, her tone devoid of emotion. "That's tragic! I will add that to the report." He murmured, fetching a pen and notepad to document the information. Despite his duty to conduct the interrogation, the gravity of the situation wasn't lost on him, and he recognized the significance of the loss, and more so the retaliation that might come along.
"Your colleagues, the ones who were killed, if you give me their names and rank, I can pass it on to--" Wagner started, but the girl quickly cut him off, admitting that she had no knowledge of their identities. "Just happened to be put together." She frowned, a realization dawning upon her. She understood that her response was exactly what the man wanted to hear — an acknowledgment that she wasn't captured by the police, but instead, was undercover the entire time. "Look, I really appreciate the drink, and would like a thicker blanket too, but as far as what you're gonna get for me... It's gonna be my name, rank and serial number, as per protocol."
"Yours is O-699611." Mused the brunette, glaring dead into her eyes. . "I already know everything I need to know about you, Bremen Bomber." He added with a sweet smile. "You were born in y/o/l, moved to Casper, Wyoming when you were no more than 10 years of age, and enlisted in the Air Force when you were only 18; that makes you the first and only woman in a field dominated by men, especially in times like these." He revealed, laying bare her personal history. "Other than that, are you married? Hmm... from what I heard, definitely not. Not after the little incident on 8th." He smirked, implying knowledge of her relationship with Gale Cleven.
"Squadron: 351st, occasionally assisting the 418th; Group: the 100th Bomber Group — H for Heavy, headquartered at Thorpe Abbotts." Lieutenant Wagner recited, each detail landing like a heavy blow, leaving the y/h/c's face pale with astonishment. This enemy interrogator possessed more intimate information about her than even her own aircrewmen did, unsettling her with the depth of his insight into her life and military service. "Do you have a passion for baseball, Major?" He inquired, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity. "Or perhaps, like your assumed... dare I say, boyfriend... sports aren't quite your cup of tea?"
"Certainly, that's not a national secret — your proximity to Major Buck Cleven." He chuckled deliberately. "You two grew up together, yes?" He cocked up a brow, leaning back in his seat with a smug expression. Silence hung heavy in the air. "Cigarette?" The brunette then offered politely, lighting one for himself first. "Sorry they're not as good as your American brands." He sighed apologetically, handing her one after she nodded softly. "Lucky Strike is my personal preference." He told her, attempting to establish a casual rapport amidst the tense atmosphere of interrogation. "Do you miss him? Buck Cleven." He questioned bluntly, his eyes fixed intently on her, searching for any flicker of emotion in her response. "No? Yes?" He pressed.
"I hear he was quite the flyer." He deadpanned, emphasizing the word 'was' with calculated precision. He then strategically grabbed a newspaper from the top of a pile, revealing the bold headline: Eighth Air Force Succumbs in Bremen! "I read of his exploits in the Regensburg attack." Wagner admitted, his tone carrying a hint of begrudging respect. "And of yours in... Pretty much the entire nation." Scoffed the man coldly, his smile failing to conceal the venom in his words. "He was a friend of John Egan's, wasn't he?" He said, tone dripping with disdain. "The Unholy Trinity, they'd call you back at the base." he said mockingly.
"It seems we're shooting down all the good pilots." He gloated proudly. "Oh yeah? And look where that landed you." y/n retorted, her expression unreadable as she took the newspaper into her own hands, mirroring his earlier action. With a subtle twist, she revealed the headline of the paper placed beneath from last week: Bremen Singlehandedly Obliterated in Infernal Onslaught! Her response was a silent but pointed reminder of the cost of his arrogance and the inevitable fate of those who dared to oppose her. "Did you know that on your Münster attack, only one of your planes returned?" Wagner sucked his teeth, trying to maintain his composure.
"One." He repeated grimly. But despite the somber news, a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of the girl's lips, which only made her interrogator a lot more nervous than he's like to be. y/n l/n couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for her friend, whose survival amidst such adversity spoke volumes of their bond; for she had been his mentor back in Texas. Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal... A testament to the strength of their friendship, and the resilience of the best of the best. He was the victor, and y/n didn't need any details to be sure of that fact. "Back to you, Major l/n..." He coughed a little, clearing his throat.
"I regret to inform you that you are, as you say, in a bit of a pickle." Wagner mumbled, his smile fading into a stern expression. "We know you were the Bomber who 'singlehandedly obliterated' Bremen. And we also know that nobody ordered you to do that, which makes you not only a criminal, but also a spy due to your refuge in Varel." He informed, each word carrying the weight of impending doom. "The Gestapo doesn't deal well with spies." He added solemnly, the gravity of the situation settling heavily between them.
"But, not all is lost... I can still help you, but I'll need verification of your group, your squadron, and your plane." Instructed the Lieutenant, his offer of assistance laced with a hint of urgency. As much as she feared what was in store for her, Major l/n wasn't about to betray her comrades to the foe like that. Her loyalty burned fiercely within her, an unyielding resolve that refused to waver even in the face of adversity. Yet, she understood the delicate balance of power in this war-torn landscape. With a deep breath, she steadied her nerves before speaking, her voice firm but controlled. "y/n l/n, Major... O-699611."
"Major..." Wagner's sigh carried a tinge of disappointment, his attempts to sway her met with stubborn resistance. "May I suggest that you're not doing yourself any favors?" His raised brow conveyed a hint of skepticism. "The Gestapo operates differently from me." He explained, striving to bridge the gap between them. "I, like you, am a flyer, a man- a PERSON of honor." He reflected, seeking common ground. "And I can empathize in ways my less understanding colleagues from the highly indoctrinated security forces might not." He affirmed.
Regardless of his efforts, her expression remained impassive, her resolve unshaken. Undeterred, he softened his tone, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "I'd like to talk to you about Buck Cleven, y/n... But I'd like you to talk to me as well." He persuaded her, extending an olive branch of cooperation. "The number of replacement B-17s expected at Thorpe Abbotts next week, for example." He stated, hoping to tempt her with valuable intel. But she remained resolute, repeating her statement intense valor.
"Y/n l/n. Major. O-6.9.9.6.1.1..."
(2.0k words)
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬